by Jean Plaidy
‘A little, my friend,’ cried the Duc, ‘but not too much. A girl such as my daughter has many suitors as you can imagine. You will let me know your answer within the week.’
When he had left Henry considered this. Marriage into the royal house of France. Richard would be deeply disturbed and Henry would be delighted to put Richard into that state.
He discussed the matter with the Archbishop and the Earl of Arundel.
‘It can only mean one thing,’ said the Archbishop. ‘They know something of what is happening in England. Richard’s crown is becoming more and more insecurely fixed on his head. It may well be that we shall not be long exiled from our native land.’
‘Then you think I should accept this offer of Berri’s daughter?’
‘Undoubtedly yes.’
‘I will appear to hesitate. I do not want him to think I am over-eager.’
The Arundels agreed that this was the best way and they were excited guessing what events had come to the ears of the Duc de Berri.
A few days later John Montacute, Earl of Salisbury arrived in Paris. He had come on an embassy from Richard and spent a good deal of time with the King and the Duc de Berri.
He did not visit the Hôtel Clisson which was perhaps to be expected as Henry was in exile and Montacute was the King’s messenger.
Henry meanwhile had decided to agree to the suggested marriage but when he called on the Duc de Berri he was told that it was impossible for him to have an audience. As the Duc had advised him that there must be no delay in agreeing to the marriage with his daughter and he must have known that this was the reason for Henry’s call, this was decidedly odd.
During the weeks which followed the Duc was extremely cool to Henry whose pride forbade him to demand an explanation.
Eventually he did get one, though not from the Duc de Berri.
Berri had decided that he no longer wished to receive Henry into his family and he had come to this conclusion after the arrival from England of the Earl of Salisbury. It was obvious. Richard had heard of the suggested marriage, had determined to stop it, and had sent Salisbury to Paris for that purpose. No doubt he had given the Duc de Berri an account of the shortcomings of Henry of Bolingbroke, and done so so successfully that Berri no longer sought the alliance. It might have been that he was so impressed by Richard’s prompt action that he thought it would be no easy matter to push him from his throne and if that was the case, of what use was the marriage of his daughter, to a pretender to the crown of England?
Henry was despondent and was to be even more so for the King of France himself sent for him and when he stood before him bade him be seated for he was forced to say something which was very painful to him.
‘As you know,’ he said, ‘I have a great regard for the House of Lancaster and have been happy to welcome you at my Court. However, I have heard word from King Richard that he regards my hospitality to you as an unfriendly act towards himself. He says that he will be very disturbed unless I ask you to leave.’
‘Does this mean that you are asking me to leave?’ demanded Henry.
‘I am afraid that is so.’
Following on the affair with the Duc de Berri this was indeed a blow. His hopes had been too high. Now they had come crashing to earth.
He raised his head haughtily. ‘You may rest assured, sire, that I shall lose no time in leaving Paris.’
The King looked mournful but he could not hide his relief. It appeared that Richard was as firmly on his throne as ever and what hope had a poor exile of returning to his country let alone to be its King!
With his few attendants Henry rode disconsolately out of Paris. Where could he go? He did not know. It would be the same story everywhere. He would be received at first and then if he became too comfortable Richard would show his disapproval and he would have to go wandering again.
He was making his way towards Brittany. Duke John of that land was by no means young but was noted for his valour – he was known as John the Valiant – and his violent temper. His Duchess was his third wife and many years younger than he was; she was Joanna, the daughter of Charles d’Albret, King of Navarre, whose reputation was so bad that he was known as Charles the Bad. Charles was related to the royal house of France through his mother who had been the only child of Louis X. He could not of course inherit the throne because of the Salic law which prevailed in France but, as was inevitable, Charles the Bad longed to attain that crown, a desire which had led to perpetual trouble.
Henry had no wish to arrive in Brittany to be told that Richard objected to his being there, so before he entered the Duke’s land he sent a messenger on to ask him if he would be welcome if he came.
When the messenger arrived, the Duke burst out almost angrily: ‘Why does he think it necessary to ask? I have always been on excellent terms with the House of Lancaster. Ride back and tell him he may expect a hearty welcome.’
Henry was overjoyed to receive the news. It solved his problem for the time being. Even so he could not rid himself of his melancholy. Am I always going to be an exile wandering over the face of Europe, never sure of my reception, knowing that I have vast estates in England which I can never see? he asked himself.
The Duke of Brittany determined to live up to his promise and rode out to meet him. This was a great honour and Henry expressed his deep appreciation of it.
The Duke was very old but he still retained a certain vitality. Not for nothing had he been called the Valiant, and Henry returned his greeting with a warmth to match the Duke’s. And then he was aware of a very beautiful woman who rode beside the Duke.
She was young; she glowed with health and she was smiling at him.
‘My Duchess would give you as warm a welcome as I give you myself,’ the Duke told him.
‘Welcome to Brittany,’ said the Duchess. ‘We shall do our best to make you happy while you stay with us.’
The old Duke looked at his glowing young wife with doting tenderness and Henry was charmed not only by his welcome but by the fascinating Duchess Joanna; and during the weeks that followed, when banquets and jousts were given in his honour, he did not have to pretend that he was enjoying his stay in Brittany and this was not only because for a man in his position it was good to have a sanctuary. It was something more. He found the society of the Duchess Joanna very delightful indeed.
Joanna was a woman of great strength of character. Perhaps a childhood such as hers had helped to develop this. Because of her father’s recklessness and his attempts to claim the throne of France the family had lived in constant danger.
Her grandmother, daughter and only child of Louis X, had married the Count of Evreux and through him had come the kingdom of Navarre which her father Charles had inherited. But what was the kingdom of Navarre when but for this Salic law he would have been the King of France. Charles had married Joanna, the daughter of King John of France, and to them were born two boys, Charles and Pierre, and the girl who was Joanna.
The children had had a stormy childhood all three having spent some time as hostages for their father’s behaviour. They had been held by the regents of France, the Ducs de Berri and Burgundy; and they had been in great peril when their reckless father made an attempt to poison their captors. This was foiled and Charles’s agent was discovered and put to death. Charles himself, however, escaped punishment. It seemed possible then that the retaliation demanded would be the death of the hostages but the Ducs had no wish to be revenged on children. All the same they had been in a desperate situation.
When Joanna was sixteen she had been married to the old Duke of Brittany. The Ducs of Berri and Burgundy had thought this advisable for their great dread at that time had been that the Duke might make an alliance with England and this seemed a good use to which they could put their hostage. So Joanna was duly presented to the old Duke who immediately fell victim to her youthful charms. Joanna was not displeased. It was comforting to be made to feel so important as she was and to have gifts showered on her and fin
e jewel-encrusted clothes to wear. She was determined to enjoy being Duchess of Brittany and if it meant taking the old Duke as well, as long as he continued to dote on her she could endure that.
Then it had seemed that Joanna was settled, her future secure. The old Duke was more and more devoted and whenever he was parted from his bride he was restive and eager to return to her.
Her father was pleased by the match but he had no intention of paying the enormous dowry which he had promised. ‘The old Duke is so infatuated by my daughter he won’t miss a few pieces of gold,’ he reasoned. And he was right, for the Duke was indeed so delighted with his marriage that he made light of the missing dowry.
Charles seemed almost disappointed. He so much enjoyed a quarrel and the last thing he wanted was a peaceful existence. He had for some years been suffering from a distressing complaint which stiffened his limbs and gave him considerable pain and the only way in which he could take his mind from his suffering was to create alarming situations that caused others stress.
Being amused by the Duke’s devotion to his daughter, he thought it would be fun to prod the self-confidence of the uxorious husband.
There was one knight at his Court of whom Duke John had once been particularly fond. This was Oliver de Clisson, a great nobleman who had brought honour to Brittany through his chivalry and bravery both on the battlefield and in the jousts. He was of tall stature and exceedingly handsome in spite of the fact that he had lost an eye in battle in the Duke’s cause. At that time there was a certain restraint between the Duke and Clisson which was due to the Duke’s tendency towards friendship with England, while Clisson felt that it was better for Brittany to support France. Recently Clisson had been to Paris to discuss plans for a possible invasion of England should the opportunity arise and the Duke was displeased that he had done this.
It seemed to his wicked father-in-law, Charles the Bad, that now was the opportunity to play an amusing game. The Duke of Brittany was turning from Clisson on political issues, so Charles thought he would introduce an element of mystery and romance into the situation.
It was easy. He talked of his daughter to the Duke and there was no subject which pleased the Duke more.
‘It delights me,’ said Charles, ‘to see your fondness for the girl. She is handsome, would you say?’
‘I would indeed,’ replied the complacent husband. ‘I would go further. I’d say you would not find a more handsome lady if you searched the whole breadth of France aye and of England too.’
‘It is good to see a man so pleased with his marriage. I hope it may remain so. Aye, that is my earnest prayer.’
‘I thank you,’ said the Duke. ‘I intend to see that it does remain so.’
‘It is always well to hope,’ replied Charles with a hint of warning in his voice which startled the Duke as it was meant to.
‘Why do you speak so?’
‘Well, my friend, she is young and lusty I’ll warrant. She is of my family and I know what we are. You are a fine man for your age . . . for your age, my lord Duke.’
Now the Duke was beginning to be really alarmed. ‘You know something. What are you trying to tell me?’ he demanded.
‘Well, perhaps I should say nothing . . . It is just out of friendship . . .’
The Duke, who could lose his temper, began to do so now. ‘Tell me what you know!’ he cried and he faced the King of Navarre with an expression which clearly indicated he would do him some mischief if he did not speak quickly.
‘I hasten to say my daughter is entirely innocent.’
‘What!’ screamed the Duke.
‘But there is no doubt in my mind how Clisson feels towards her. He is a bold fellow. He is capable of anything. Why he might even try to abduct her. It’s clear to see what a passion he has for her.’
The Duke was so furious that he could have struck the King down there and then.
Charles moved away with a helpless shrug of the shoulders. It was no use blaming him for the misdemeanours of the subjects of the dukedom. Perhaps he had been wrong to betray Clisson. He had thought in his friendship . . .
‘You did right to tell me,’ snapped the Duke; and Charles left him with his anger.
He was determined to curb his rage. He wanted to plan calmly. Clisson was already out of favour because of his policies and the fact that there had once been great accord between them only strengthened the Duke’s anger.
He invited Clisson with two great friends of his, Laval and Beaumanoir, to dine with him at the Château de la Motte. They came unsuspecting and after the meal, at which the Duke had impressed them all with his affability, he told them that he wanted to show them some alteration he had made to the palace for the pleasure of his bride.
They expressed great interest.
‘I particularly wish to show you the tower,’ he said and when they reached a narrow spiral staircase he let Clisson go ahead. The Duke was immediately behind and he paused to point out some delicate piece of tracery on the wall to Laval and Beaumanoir.
As he did so there was a shout from above. Guards had emerged to seize and fetter Clisson.
Both Laval and Beaumanoir were immediately aware that they had walked into a trap. ‘For God’s sake, my lord Duke,’ cried Laval, ‘do not use violence against Clisson.’
‘You would do well to go to your home while you are safe,’ retorted the Duke.
Beaumanoir protested: ‘What are you doing to Clisson? He is your guest.’
‘Do you wish to be like him?’ demanded the Duke.
‘He is a great man,’ was Beaumanoir’s answer. ‘I should be honoured to be like him.
The Duke drew a dagger and held it to his face. ‘Then,’ he cried venomously, ‘I must put out one of your eyes.’
Beaumanoir drew back in alarm. He and Laval saw that they were caught. If they attempted to rescue Clisson, they would find themselves the Duke’s prisoners also. All the same Beaumanoir stood firmly and demanded to know on what grounds Clisson was arrested.
In a burst of fury the Duke shouted for guards to come and take Beaumanoir which they did. Meanwhile Laval slipped quietly away and out of the castle.
The Duke went to his private apartments and, still enraged, sent for the Sieur Bazvalen, a man who had served him well through the years and whose loyalty was without question.
‘Bazvalen, my good friend,’ he said, ‘I want Clisson to die at once, and I want you to see that this is done.’
Bazvalen drew back in horror. He knew Clisson well. This demand was too much to ask. He was no murderer. He had killed men in battle, it was true, but this was different.
‘My lord . . .’ he began.
But the Duke waved his hand imperiously. ‘Let him be taken to a dungeon. Kill him, I care not by what means, and then open the trap door and let his body go into the moat.’
Bazvalen could see that it was no use arguing with the Duke in his present mood or he would find himself in danger, but he was determined not to have the death of Clisson on his conscience so he went to Clisson and warned him of what he had been ordered to do and planned that he would return to the Duke and tell him that Clisson was dead and his body in the moat. In the meantime they would plan some means of getting Clisson out of the castle.
But when Bazvalen reported to the Duke he was overcome by remorse. His anger faded and he realised that he had condemned Clisson without proving his guilt. ‘You are without blame, Bazvalen,’ he cried. ‘You but obeyed orders. The sin is on my conscience. I have murdered Clisson.’
He would not eat. He would never sleep in peace again, he said, and when he declared that he would give anything to have another chance, Bazvalen could hold back the truth no longer and confessed that he had been unable to murder Clisson who still lived. The Duke then threw his arms about Bazvalen’s neck. ‘My good good servant,’ he cried, ‘you knew me better than I knew myself.’
The Duke’s anger had faded but he was always one to seek an advantage. His mischievous father-in-law had
made evil suggestions which might be false but Clisson had been working with the French and therefore he could not be released until certain conditions had been filled. The Duke demanded the surrender of several towns which were in Clisson’s possession as well as a hundred thousand florins.
Clisson, delighted to escape with his life, was only too pleased to pay what was demanded and so bring about his release.
Joanna was annoyed when she heard that her husband had suspected Clisson of wishing to be her lover, especially as she was now pregnant, a fact which made her even more attractive in the eyes of the Duke. She was cool to him and when he humbly asked the cause of her displeasure, she cried:
‘You have suspected me of infidelity with Clisson. This has made me very disturbed at a time when you should do everything for my comfort.’
He was beside himself with grief. ‘Never for one moment did I doubt you, my love,’ he assured her. ‘I know you to be perfect . . . in every way perfect. You are my very reason for living. Without you I would die tomorrow and gladly. And the thought of that. . . that . . . monster . . .’
‘You think I would be attracted by a one-eyed varlet.’
‘They say he is very attractive to women . . .’
‘So you would compare me with . . . women.’
‘Never! Never! You stand above them all. I will give anything . . . anything I have . . .’
Joanna smiled at him. It was good to render him humble.
‘I know it . . .’ she answered. ‘But I beg of you do not again insult me by linking me with such as Clisson. I am the Duchess of Brittany. My great-grandfather was the King of France.’
‘My love . . . how can I win your forgiveness?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘I know it is all the measure of your love for me,’ she told him.
She knew too that now there would be even richer presents than before.