A man in his early forties, tall for a Turk, and potbellied, Hussain was an ideal companion. For all his ungainliness, he knew the use of weapons. But he, too, was shocked by Western habits. Particularly they were shocked by the way the women of the city walked the streets unveiled and unescorted, their shoulders and breasts often exposed, talking and flirting with whoever they chose. Though the Greek women in Constantinople were not veiled, they dressed and behaved with the utmost circumspection when in public, for fear of a whipping.
“This is an ungodly place,” Hussain observed.
Having done his best to persuade this Turkish envoy to enjoy himself, the Doge then abandoned him to his own devices, regarding him as a dull fellow. Afterwards, William was happy to shake the dust of Venice from his feet.
From there it was necessary to proceed overland, and with caution. As Anthony Hawkwood had warned him, most of the Christian states had been forced to accept the expanding empire of the Conqueror as a reality against which they could achieve little or nothing. The great exception was the house of Habsburg, who ruled the Holy Roman Empire, and the united dynasty of Castile and Aragon, whose mastery — with their ally the republic of Genoa, equally hostile to the Porte — of the western Mediterranean made travel by sea to France an impossibility for any Ottoman ambassador.
William had thus had to follow Djem’s route through Switzerland and Savoy, and into France — even the fleeing prince had known better than to entrust himself to the mercy of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain.
This was another severe journey, especially as winter was not yet over. William Hawkwood spent days at a time snowed in at remote hill villages. There he was welcome enough, thanks to his satchel of gold coin, but he constantly chafed at the thought that each day’s delay brought close the end of his year of grace.
The country through which he passed, when conditions permitted, was breathtakingly beautiful. Snow-covered mountains reared against the sky, and lakes of unimaginable depth filled the valleys between with a perfect blue.
The people were unlike any he had known before. No more hygienic or modest in their habits than the Venetians, they were far more hardy, as they clearly had to be, for they prospered despite the appalling weather. They lived together in a loose confederation of districts called cantons, ruled by an even looser federal law which allowed each canton to operate very much as it pleased.
Such a lax situation suggested to William they would be an easy prey to any covetous neighbour, and indeed the Swiss cantons had until quite recently been subject to Austrian rule. But the development of their young manhood into the most famous infantry in Christian Europe, allied with the difficulties of mounting a major campaign in their mountainous country, had allowed them to gain their freedom, and this they were determined to preserve.
William could not but wonder how the redoubtable Swiss pikemen would fare against the Janissaries.
*
From Switzerland, travelling as fast as the snowbound passes would permit, Willian and Hussain made their way into Savoy, and from there into France at the beginning of spring, informed as always that Prince Djem was but a few weeks ahead of them.
Here was a green and pleasant land basking in sunshine, and enjoying an early growth of trees, fruit and vegetables. William knew of course that France had been a battleground for more than a hundred years, while successive English kings had sought to make good their claims to the French throne. But most of the fighting that had repeatedly devastated the country had occurred in the south and west; so the east had been relatively untroubled. Thus his journey was a pleasant one, until he neared the environs of Paris itself. There he found numerous once-substantial buildings reduced to ruin.
But Paris drew him on like a magnet. The city surprised and disappointed him. Certainly it possessed a splendid cathedral surrounded by substantial buildings, and it looked easily defensible, since it clung to a small island in the centre of the river Seine. But the small extent of the island meant that its buildings were crowded together on either side of the meanest and narrowest of streets, and even if the growing population had overflowed beyond the bridges, to surround the city with a variety of suburbs, these were no less dank and gloomy.
The filth was indescribable for a man who had lived for the past several years in Brusa, the cleanest and sweetest of cities. It was far worse even than in Venice. Also it rained constantly, and then the streets became open sewers, down which flowed waste matter of every description and every possible odour. Beggars abounded; so did dogs, some of them vicious. Well, there were sufficient beggars in Constantinople, too, but there they were treated with respect, since the giving of alms was a sacred Muslim duty.
Dogs, however, were regarded as lower than snakes in Turkey, and were regularly kicked out of the way. In Paris one apparently kicked the beggars out of the road, and endeavoured not to antagonise the savage dogs.
The inhabitants varied from the very poor to those who at least appeared to be very rich. If William had been amazed at the immodesty of dress and behaviour in Venice, here the upper classes — most particularly when gathered together in the antechamber of the royal palace, in a vast crowd of both sexes chatting animatedly together — were throwbacks to a past only vaguely remembered from his father’s reminiscences. There were men in hose so tight their every particular was revealed — their tunics scarcely reached their thighs — and wearing a variety of hats decorated with plumes or hanging tassels. And women in richly embroidered velvet gowns which they constantly swept from the floor to reveal their no-less-attractive underskirts, and with necklines only barely more decent than those of Venice — due more to the cooler climate, William suspected, than to any modesty.
The rich women were surrounded by a great variety of veils; some, called butterflies, extended to each side of the head on wire frames, while others descended down the back almost to the floor, so that every time one of these resplendent ladies moved, anyone standing close by was liable to become entangled in yards of white gauze.
These exquisite creatures, male and female, looked askance at the tall, red-haired man with the sunburned features, wearing the loose trousers and tunic, the flowing caps and the spiked steel helmet of a Turk. William had even retained a turban to add to his distinction. But he understood that it was the custom in France to uncover when presented to the sovereign, so this he proceeded to do when he was called forward.
The crowd rustled in curious hostility, but William was concentrating only on the King as he was escorted forward.
“I am informed you speak no French,” said a quiet voice in Latin.
William straightened and found himself gazing at a somewhat short and distinctly fat man. He knew that Louis XI was by no means aged — he was fifty-eight — but he looked much older and his movements were slow and painful, as if he suffered badly from rheumatism.
William had also learned that this unprepossessing man with the poor complexion, the big nose and the protruding lips was known throughout Europe as the Universal Spider because of the way he dabbled in every court and every plot.
“That is my misfortune, Your Grace,” he replied.
“But no doubt you speak English,” the King suggested.
William was taken aback; he did not know what to say.
The King smiled. “Fear not, Monsieur Hawkwood. Your King Edward and I are friends nowadays. Our people have fought each other long enough.”
“With respect, Your Grace, the King of England is not my ruler,” William said.
Louis stared at him. “So I have heard,” he said. “You claim allegiance to a mightier power.”
William bowed.
Louis waved his hand. “Send this herd away,” he told his chamberlain. “And you, boy, sit here at my feet and tell me of these Ottomans.”
Hardly daring to believe his good fortune, William hastened to obey, and for the next hour answered every question Louis cared to put to him — about Bayazid, his armies, his people, and his intentions.
“All you have told me concurs with other information I have gathered,” Louis mused. “I find it interesting that your master and I should rule at opposite ends of the continent; it seems to me that we have therefore much in common.”
For the life of him William could think of nothing that Bayazid could possibly have in common with this man, but he sensed immediately what was in the Frenchman’s mind.
“I have no doubt my master feels the same way, Your Highness,” he said.
“Why, that is good. I suspect that recent events have worked well for my people and myself, surrounded as we are by enemies. Monsieur Hawkwood, would I be right in assuming that your Sultan regards Ferdinand the Catholic as his most bitter enemy?”
“You would surely be right, Your Grace.”
“Well, I can tell you that the Spanish are mine also. So there is a bond, is there not? And I will also tell you that they are a far greater danger to me than to Constantinople, as their power lies to my south and now, through connections of marriage, to my east and north. It is an intolerable situation.”
“I have no doubt my master will well understand your difficulties,” William said, cautiously.
“Why, this is splendid,” Louis declared. “Then I would have you explain them to him immediately. An understanding between our peoples, an exchange of ambassadors…perhaps an alliance, would profoundly affect us for the better. Will you undertake this task for me, Monsieur Hawkwood?”
“Willingly, Your Grace. But I fear that for me to return to Constantinople without him whom I seek would anger the Sultan, and negate all our efforts.”
Louis gave him a long stare. “As I was unaware of your coming, Monsieur Hawkwood, and as Prince Djem gave me to understand that he is the lawful heir to the throne of Mahomet, I offered him asylum. You would not have me break my word?”
William endeavoured to prevent any trace of his desperation appearing in his face. “Then, Your Grace, I fear your hopes of an understanding with my master will be stillborn.”
Louis considered him again. “There is no mountain so high or so precipitous that it cannot be climbed,” he said at last. “I can see, Monsieur Hawkwood, that we are both men of sense, and of business too. You will readily understand that pre-eminent in my mind is the good and safety of my kingdom and my people. A king, alas, must allow this overwhelming responsibility to override even his honour at times. But you will equally understand that for me to break my word to Prince Djem, and release him into your custody, without any assurance from your Sultan that he would be interested in my proposals — that would be an act of folly.”
William bowed his head, but his spirits were soaring. He had no doubt now that Louis had discovered a solution to their problem.
“It is my opinion, therefore, that you should communicate with your master, setting out my proposals. I shall await his reply with pleasure. In the meantime, Prince Djem will remain in Paris as my guest. I give you my word that he will not be permitted to leave, and that should your master’s response be favourable, it will place me in a position entirely to reassess my considerations vis-à-vis the prince.”
William did some hasty calculation. It would take him not less than three months to regain the Porte… Three months would be the end of August, and time was running out. While to return empty-handed, with only the French King’s uncertain promises to give to Bayazid, would be to invite disaster.
“Alas, Your Grace…”
Louis smiled. “You fear for your family — and even for yourself.”
“Your Grace?”
“I am informed of what takes place throughout Europe, Monsieur Hawkwood. Word has reached me that the great Hawk Pasha, commander of the Sultan’s armies, is confined to his house and property until the return of yourself with Prince Djem.”
William sighed, realising that dissembling to this man was a waste of time. “Alas, Your Grace, that is the absolute truth.”
“Thus your evident anxiety. No doubt the Sultan has cause to view life with suspicion,” Louis said. “I can tell you that the experiences of my own youth and my first years on the throne have not inspired me with any great faith in my fellow man. But I have a solution for that also, if you are willing to take a certain chance. You will not return to Constantinople, young Hawkwood. You will write a letter, which will accompany one of mine, setting out my proposals and your endorsement of them. We will be able to convey to the Sultan that should he wreak vengeance upon your family, it will be to no purpose, because in that case I may easily release Prince Djem to do his utmost, perhaps with you at his side. Whereas a little temperance and understanding will not only win him the prize he seeks, but will also enable him to retain the services of his greatest pasha. Surely only an imbecile would refuse such a fair and advantageous offer?”
“Your Grace, if I could believe that…”
“You fear that your Sultan is an imbecile?” Louis gave a brief laugh. “Well, if he is, think on this: you at least will be safe here. I would have you talk to me again, Monsieur Hawkwood. I find your company refreshing. Besides, you may be able to teach my marshals something of artillery.”
*
The letters were written, sealed by the King, and despatched by special envoy. After that there was nothing to do but wait, and pray. William realised that he would hardly receive a reply before the new year. If ever.
He also understood that he, no less than Djem, was the King’s prisoner. Louis might consider an alliance with the Ottoman empire a useful counterpoise to Habsburg power but, separated by over a thousand miles from Constantinople, he had no reason to fear a quarrel with Bayazid.
There was nothing William could do about his situation. He was allowed to overlook Djem walking in one of the palace cloisters, closely attended by guards, to reassure himself that the prince was alive and well, but he was not allowed to approach or speak with him. He toyed with the idea of leaping down from the wall on which he stood and despatching the murderer of his family before being himself cut down by the guards. But that he would be cut down by those guards immediately afterwards was certain. Nor did he see how committing suicide would help his cause; it would be a very simple matter for Louis to conceal the fact of Djem’s death from the outside world, and he would continue to conduct his negotiations while informing Bayazid that his ambassador had met an unfortunate accident.
If Bayazid was bent upon destroying the Hawkwoods, he would do so anyway. Thus the entire future of the family turned on whether or not, as Louis had said, the Sultan was a sensible man or an imbecile who would destroy his best general out of spite. And William was in the unhappy position of being unable to affect the situation either way. Thus he realised he might as well throw off his grief and his apprehensions, and sample life as much as was possible under the circumstances.
This was not difficult to do, for he enjoyed the favour of the King — though he realised this was like the infatuation of a child with a new toy. Not that Louis was a child: he was the most astute as well as the most ruthless man William had ever encountered. Louis’ attention to detail was remarkable, and unbelievable in a monarch. He delved into the remotest aspect of his kingdom and the lives of his people, accumulating knowledge about them which was carefully recorded and kept in case of need; he boasted that he could arraign any one of his nobles for treason whenever he chose, even if the rash word or deed was an echo from twenty years in the past.
He was also incredibly parsimonious, and this too William found remarkable in a monarch, used as he was to the profligate habits of the sultans. But Louis would never send fifty archers to carry out a commission where forty-nine might suffice — he would save the pay of the extra man.
This did not mean that he disliked splendour and spectacle. Indeed he encouraged it, so long as the cost was borne by his courtiers. The men and women who thronged his court wore the finest silks and satins, as William had early observed; and the balls and pageants were of a splendour he found breath-taking.
For sp
ort there was mainly the hunt, in which the entire court, ladies as well, would take horse and charge into the woods which lay to the north of the city. There were no lions or wolves to be discovered here, but deer — and sufficient wild boar to add to the spice. Dressed in newly purchased tight hose and tunic, and with a feather in his cap, William charged along with them.
But Louis was also a rapidly ageing man. He was aware that he was in the grip of a creeping malady which left him with only a short lifespan to enjoy. Already he could no longer ride to the hunt, even if he liked watching the sport, and often rode out with the cavalcade in a jolting, uncomfortable carriage.
His principal pleasure, however, was in surrounding himself with youth and strength and, where possible, beauty. During the ups and downs of his tortuous life — much spent in open rebellion against his father — he had either betrayed or been betrayed by almost every noble in the kingdom. Though, in the course of time, he had brought them all to heel, he knew just how many of them secretly hated and feared him, and this left him eternally suspicious of them.
His council was composed not of nobles, but of merchants and lawyers of Paris, men he knew he could trust, since their prosperity depended entirely on him.
Thus someone like William Hawkwood, tall, strong, and boldly handsome, an alien from another world and thus entirely dependent upon the King’s favour, could have been designed by Providence to be a favourite. And William soon became aware that he was very much a favourite. Where Louis would never spend a sou upon clothes for himself, and indeed was the meanest-dressed person at court, his tailors bedecked his youthful visitor in the height of fashion — and at great expense to the King. William was given the finest horses to ride, the finest swords to handle, encouraged to dance with the finest ladies in the land…once he had been taught the necessary steps, and sufficient French to carry on a flirtation.
This was heady stuff. William had never touched a woman in his life save for Sereta, for in the Muslim world a man dealt only with his wives and concubines. In Paris he was expected to hold the hand of his dancing partner, to smile into her eyes, to look, if he dared, down her décolletage — she would have been offended did he not — and even, on occasion, to hold her in his arms as they wheeled through a routine. And she was always either the wife of another man, or an unclaimed virgin.
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