Leaving eight hundred knights under his son Charles to hold the whole of Lombardy, John of Luxemburg, his beard flowing in the wind, had hurried from Parma to Bohemia, which the Austrians had invaded. Falling into the arms of Louis of Bavaria, he had succeeded by means of a great show of affection in clearing up the absurd misunderstanding. The Imperial crown? It would never have occurred to him but for the Pope! And now he had come to see Philippe of Valois to ask him to intervene with the King of Naples, and to provide further subsidies to enable him to pursue his plans for a peaceful kingdom in Italy.
Philippe VI could do no less than organize a tournament in honour of his gallant guest.
Now, therefore, on the plain of Evreux, by the banks of the Iton, the King of France and the King of Bohemia, who were the closest of friends, were preparing to fight a mock war, with more knights under arms indeed than the King of Bohemia’s son had at his disposal to keep all Italy at bay.
The lists, that is to say the enclosure in which the tournament was to take place, had been laid out on a wide level plain; they formed a rectangle of three hundred by two hundred feet, were surrounded by an open palisade of pointed stakes, while inside another lower palisade was topped by a stout rail. During the jousting the contestants’ servants stood between the two palisades.
Three stands had been erected on the shady side and were covered with awnings and hung with flags; the centre stand was for the stewards, and the other two for the ladies.
The plain all around was covered with the tents of the squires and grooms, each flying its owner’s standard; and people strolled out to admire the war-horses.
The first four days of the meeting were devoted to individual jousts, the private challenges one lord issued another. Some wanted their revenge for a defeat at a previous encounter; others, who had never met before, wished to try their strength; or again two famous jousters would be urged on to compete against each other.
The stands were full or empty according to the reputations of the contenders. If two young squires had succeeded in obtaining permission to enter the lists when they were free in the early morning, there would be merely a few friends and relations. But if there was to be an encounter between the King of Bohemia and Messire Jean of Hainaut, who had come expressly from Holland with twenty knights, the stands were in danger of collapsing. It was then that the ladies would tear a manche from their dress to give the knight of their choice; it was a false sleeve as often as not, the silk being attached to the true sleeve by a few easily broken tacks, though not always, since the more forward often delighted in exposing a shapely arm.
There was every kind of person in the stands, and every kind of behaviour. It had been quite impossible to pick and choose among the crowd who made of Evreux a sort of fair of the nobility. There were a number of high-class prostitutes, as splendidly dressed as the baronesses, and often prettier and better mannered, who succeeded in appropriating the best seats, made eyes at the men and provoked them to other tourneys.
The jousters, who were not in the lists, went to sit by the ladies under cover of watching their friends’ exploits, and many a flirtation begun there was continued in the evening during the dancing and the merrymaking in the castle.
Messire Jean of Hainaut and the King of Bohemia, invisible behind their armour and their plumes, each bore on the shaft of his lance six silk manches like so many hearts transfixed. The jousters had either to unhorse each other or break a lance. They were permitted to aim only at the chest and their shields were curved to deflect the lance-thrust. Stomachs protected by high saddle-bows, heads enclosed in helms with visors down, the contestants charged each other. The spectators in the stands shouted and stamped their feet in their excitement. They were a perfect match for each other, and for a long time to come people would talk of the grace with which Messire of Hainaut had set his lance in rest,27 and of how the King of Bohemia had sat so straight and firm in the saddle till the two lances bent like bows and snapped.
As for Count Robert of Artois, who had come from nearby Conches, he rode huge Percheron horses and his weight made him a formidable opponent. He wore red armour and a red plume floating from his helm. His lance was also red and he was peculiarly dextrous at plucking his adversary from the saddle at full gallop and making him bite the dust. But Monseigneur of Artois was in an unusally gloomy humour these days and seemed to be taking part in the tournament rather from duty than from pleasure.
In the meantime the stewards, selected from among the most important men in the kingdom, such as the Constable Raoul de Brienne and Messire Mille de Noyers, were busy organizing the final grand tourney.
Between the time spent in arming and disarming, appearing in the lists, discussing the day’s exploits, dealing tactfully with disgruntled knights who wanted to fight under one banner rather than another, feasting, listening to minstrels after the feasts, and dancing when the songs were done, the King of France, the King of Bohemia and their counsellors had very little time each day to discuss the affairs of Italy which were, after all, the real reason for the meeting. However, great affairs can of course be settled in a few words if the parties to them are in humour to agree.
Like two real kings of the Round Table, Philippe of Valois, looking magnificent in his embroidered robes, and John of Luxemburg, no less sumptuously clothed beneath his spreading beard, solemnly declared, goblet in hand, their mutual friendship. Such matters as a letter to Pope John XXII or an embassy to King Robert of Naples were decided in haste.
‘We must also, my dear Sire, discuss the little matter of the crusade,’ Philippe VI would say.
For he was once again taking up that favourite project of his father and his cousin, Charles the Fair. All seemed so well with France, the Treasury so full and the peace of Europe, with the King of Bohemia’s help, so well assured, that for the honour and prosperity of Christendom a splendid and glorious expedition against the infidel ought clearly to be set on foot at once.
‘Ah, Messeigneurs, they’re sounding the horns for water!’
The conference was over. The crusade could be discussed after dinner or tomorrow.
At dinner, there was a great deal of laughter at the expense of the young King of England who had come over three months ago, accompanied only by Lord Montacute and disguised as a merchant, for a secret conference with the King of France.28 Yes, he was disguised as a merchant, like any Lombard! And for what purpose? Merely to negotiate a trade agreement about exporting woollens to Flanders! Really, had one ever known a prince to bother about such things before and to do a wool merchant’s job, as if he were a common tradesman from a guild or Hanse?
‘And so, my friends, since that’s what he wanted, I received him as if he were a merchant!’ said Philippe of Valois. ‘There was no feasting or jousting, merely walks along the rides of the Forest of Halatte; and I gave him a very ordinary little supper.’
Poor Cousin Edward, what ridiculous ideas he had! At this very moment he was organizing a standing army of footmen and introducing compulsory service in his country. What could he hope to gain by that? It was well known – and the Battle of Mont Cassel had given proof of it – that only the chivalry counted in war, and that infantry fled as soon as they saw a breastplate.
‘Nevertheless, there seems to be less disorder in England since Lord Mortimer was hanged,’ observed Mille de Noyers.
‘Order, yes,’ replied Philippe VI, ‘but only because the English barons are tired of fighting among themselves for the moment. As soon as they’ve recovered their breath, poor Edward will find out how much use his infantry is against them. And to think the dear boy once thought of claiming the crown of France! Well, Messeigneurs, do you regret not having him for your prince, or do you prefer your “Makeshift King”?’ he added gaily, beating himself on the chest.
As they came out of every banquet, Philippe said to Robert of Artois in a low voice, ‘Brother, I want to speak to you privately about a most serious matter.’
‘Whenever you wish, S
ire, my cousin.’
‘Well, we’ll try to have a talk tonight.’
But at night there was dancing, and Robert made no effort to hasten on the conversation, because he knew only too well what the King had to say to him. Since La Divion’s avowals – and she was still in prison – further arrests had been made, including that of the notary Tesson, and the witnesses had all been subjected to a counter-inquiry. It was noticed that Philippe did not ask Robert to be present at his brief conferences with the King of Bohemia, and this could only be interpreted as a sign of disfavour.
The day before the tourney, the King-at-Arms,29 accompanied by his heralds and trumpeters, went to the castle, the lodgings of the principal lords and to the lists themselves, and proclaimed:
‘“Oyez, Oyez, most high and mighty princes, dukes, counts, barons, lords, knights and squires I notify you, on the orders of Messeigneurs the stewards, that each of you should this day bring the helm in which he is to joust, and his banners also, to the house of Messeigneurs the stewards, so that my lords the stewards may apportion them; and when they have done so, the ladies will come to see and inspect them to announce their pleasure; and that will be all for this day, except for the dancing after supper.”’
As the helms were brought to the stewards’ house by the servants, they were lined up on chests in the cloister, and divided into two teams. They looked like the spoils of some fabulous, decapitated army. So that they could be told apart, the combatants fixed to their helms, above the torse or count’s coronet, the strangest and gaudiest emblems: an eagle, a dragon, a naked woman, a mermaid, or a rampant unicorn, as well as long silk streamers in the lord’s colours.
During the afternoon, the ladies came to the house, and preceded by the stewards and the two leaders of the tournament, that is to say the King of France and the King of Bohemia, were invited to make a tour of the cloister while the herald stopped before each helm and named its owner:
‘Messire Jean de Hainaut … Monseigneur the Count of Blois … our Lord Philippe, King of Navarre …’
Some of the helms were painted, together with the swords and the shafts of the lances, and from this certain nicknames were derived such as the White Knight, the Black Knight and so on.
‘Messire the Marshal Robert Bertrand, Knight of the Green Lion …’
Then followed a monumental red helm, surmounted by a golden tower: ‘Monseigneur Robert of Artois, Count of Beaumont-le-Roger …’
The Queen, who was limping along at the head of the procession of ladies, put out her hand as if to touch it. Philippe seized her wrist and stopped her. ‘My dear, I forbid you!’ he said in a low voice.
Queen Jeanne smiled wickedly.
‘It would have been a splendid opportunity,’ she muttered to her sister-in-law, the young Duchess of Burgundy, who was standing beside her.
According to the rules of tournament, if a lady touched a helm, the knight to whom it belonged was recommandé, which meant that he lost his right to take part. When he entered the lists, the other knights beat him with the shafts of their lances; his horse was taken from him and given to the trumpeters; and he himself was made to sit astride the bar of the palisade that surrounded the lists and was condemned to stay in that ridiculous position throughout the tourney. The disgrace was inflicted on a man who had defamed a lady, or forfeited his honour in some way, such as lending money on usury or committing perjury.
The Queen’s behaviour had not escaped Madame de Beaumont, who turned pale. She went to her brother, the King, and reproached him.
‘Sister,’ replied Philippe with severity, ‘you should thank me rather than complain.’
That night, during the dancing, everyone was discussing the incident. The Queen had certainly looked as if she had intended to recommander the Count of Artois; and Robert was scowling with fury. He overtly refused to give his hand to the Duchess of Burgundy during the dancing, and then went over to Queen Jeanne, who never danced because of her lameness; he stood before her for a long moment with his arm bent as if inviting her to dance, which was a wicked affront by way of revenge. Both wives tried to catch their husband’s eyes; the viols and the harps sounded in an agonized silence. The merest spark would have set the tourney off that night and started the mêlée in the ballroom.
The entrance of the King-at-Arms, escorted by his heralds, come to make another proclamation, was a welcome diversion.
‘“Oyez, Oyez, high and mighty princes, lords, barons, knights and squires, who are to engage in the tourney! I am to inform you on the orders of Messeigneurs the stewards that you must be in the ranks, armed and ready to joust, by noon tomorrow, for one hour after noon the judges will cut the cords to begin the tourney, for which there will be rich prizes given by the ladies. I am to tell you further that none must take into the ranks mounted grooms to serve him to a greater number than is hereinafter stated: four for princes, three for counts, two for knights, and one for squires; but as to footmen, each may do as he pleases, in accordance with the stewards’ orders. And, may it please you, you will raise your right hands to the saints, and all promise with one voice that in the said tourney none will strike with the point of his sword nor below the belt; and should the helm per-adventure fall from the head of any among you, none shall touch him till his helm has been replaced and laced; and, if any act otherwise, he shall submit to the confiscation of his armour and war-horse, and be banished from all further jousting. And you will swear and promise on your faith and honour.”’
The jousters all raised their hands and cried: ‘Yes, yes, we swear it!’
‘Have a care tomorrow,’ the Duke of Burgundy said to his knights; ‘our cousin of Artois may well turn rogue and break his oath.’
Then they set to dancing again.
8.
The Honour of a Peer and the Honour of a King
THE JOUSTERS WERE ALL in their tents, each of which had embroidered walls and was surmounted by a banner. They were arming: first the mailed hose to which the spurs were attached; then the plate armour for arms and legs; then the leather hauberk over which the body-armour was placed, a sort of cylinder of steel which was either articulated or of a single piece according to preference; then the leather cervellière to protect the head from blows on the helm, and then the helm itself, plumed and surmounted by an emblem, which was laced to the collar of the hauberk by leather laces. Over the armour a brilliantly coloured surcoat of silk was worn; it was long and floating, with huge scalloped sleeves that hung from the shoulders, and the blazon was embroidered on the breast. Finally, the knight was handed his blunted sword and his shield, which might be either a targe or a buckler.
His war-horse was waiting outside, dressed in horse-armour and champing a long-cheeked bit; its forehead was protected by a steel plate to which was affixed, as to the helm of its master, an eagle, dragon, lion, tower or bunch of plumes. Servants held the three blunt lances each jouster was allowed, and the mace which was light enough not to be lethal.
The nobility strolled to and from among the tents, watching the champions being armed and encouraging their friends.
Young Prince Jean, the King’s eldest son, stared admiringly at these preparations, while Jean the Fool, who was accompanying him, pulled faces under his fool’s cap.
The populace, of which there was a great number, was held back by a company of archers; they were unlikely to see much except dust, since the jousters had been trampling the lists for the last four days, and now the grass was dead and the surface, though it had been watered, had turned to powder.
Before they even got to horse, the jousters were sweating in their harness, for the steel soon became hot under the July sun. They would lose at least four pounds in weight during the course of the day.
The heralds went by shouting: ‘Lace your helms! Lace your helms, my lords and knights, and hoist your banners to escort the commander’s banner!’
The stands were full and the stewards, among whom were the Constable, Messire Mille de Noyers and the D
uke of Bourbon, had taken their places in the centre.
The trumpet sounded; the jousters mounted heavily with the help of their servants and took their places either in front of the tent of the King of France or that of the King of Bohemia. They formed escort in file and rode off towards the lists, every knight accompanied by his standard-bearer. Cords divided the enclosure in half, and the two teams drew up face to face. There was a great fanfare of trumpets and the King-at-Arms came forward to repeat for the last time the rules governing the tourney.
At last he shouted: ‘Cut the cords! Cry battle!’
The Duke of Bourbon could never hear this cry without unhappy memories, for it was the cry his father, Robert of Clermont, the sixth son of Saint Louis, used to utter in those fits of madness which suddenly overtook him in the middle of a feast or a royal council. The Duke of Bourbon preferred being a judge to a combatant, for to run away in a tourney was much more difficult than in war. His lameness was a good excuse to stay outside the lists.
The men whose duty it was raised their axes and cut the cords. The standard-bearers shouted their war-cries and broke rank; the mounted grooms, armed with the shortened shafts of lances, some three feet long, lined up against the palisade, ready to go to their masters’ help. Then the earth shook beneath the charging hooves of two hundred horses and the mêlée began.
The Lily and the Lion Page 21