The King Without a Kingdom (11 page)

Not a single word more was spoken about the assassination of Charles of Spain. No punishment, not even for the collaborators, and no reparations. All the accomplices of the Spinning Sow, and those who didn’t hesitate in coming forward from that moment on, received letters of acquittal and remission.

Ah! That Treaty of Mantes did little to improve the reputation of King John. ‘They kill his constable; he gives away half of Normandy. Should they kill his brother or his son, he would hand over France itself.’ That is what the people were saying.

The less significant King of Navarre had proven himself far from inept. With Beaumont, in addition to Mantes and Évreux, he was now able to isolate Paris from Brittany; with the Cotentin, he controlled direct access routes to England.

And besides, when he came to Paris to receive his pardon, it was as if he were the one granting it.

Yes; what are you saying, Brunet? Oh! This rain! My curtain is wet through … We are arriving in Bellac? Excellent. Here at least we are sure to find comfortable board and lodgings, and they can have no excuse for not preparing us a fine reception. The English raid spared Bellac, upon the orders of the Prince of Wales, as it is the dower of the Countess of Pembroke, who is a Châtillon-Lusignan. Men at war are capable of certain kindnesses …

So the story, my nephew, of the Treaty of Mantes draws to a close. The King of Navarre appeared in Paris as if he had won a war, and King John, in welcoming him, was to be seen to be holding a session of Parliament, the two queens dowager seated by his side. One of the king’s counsel came and kneeled before the throne … Oh! It was all rather grand … ‘My most formidable lord, my ladies Queens Joan and Blanche beseech you to forgive Monsieur of Navarre, whom they understand to be in your malgrace …’

Thereupon, the new constable, Gautier of Brienne, Duke of Athens … Yes, a cousin of Raoul’s, the other branch of the Briennes; and this time, the chosen man was no youngster … went to take Navarre by the hand … ‘The king forgives you, out of kindness for the queens, with good heart and good grace.’

To which the Cardinal of Boulogne had the duty of adding loud and clear: ‘May not one of the king’s lineage venture such actions again, as, be he the king’s son, justice will be done.’

Fine justice indeed, while in reality everyone laughed surreptitiously. And before the entire court, the father- and son-in-law embraced each other. I will tell you the rest tomorrow.

T
O TELL YOU THE
truth, my nephew, I prefer the way churches used to be built, like the one in Le Dorat we just passed through; the churches built in the last one hundred and fifty or two hundred years may be technical feats in stone, but the shadow is so dense, the ornamentation so profuse and often so frightening, that one’s heart tightens with fear, as much as if one had got lost at night in the middle of the forest. It is not thought well of to have such taste as mine, I know, but it is the taste I have and I will stand by it. Perhaps it comes from my growing up in our old castle in Périgueux, built within the ruins of a monument from Ancient Rome; nearby our venerable Saint-Front, our Saint-Étienne down the road, how I love to come across forms that remind me of them, those beautiful pillars, simple and regular, those high, rounded arches under which light scatters so effortlessly.

Previous generations of monks were very good at building such sanctuaries, where sunlight pours in so abundantly the stone walls seem softly golden under the high vaulted ceilings, where the heavens are represented, and the choirs surge up magnificently, voices rising up like angels to Paradise.

By the grace of God, the English, even if they have pillaged Le Dorat, didn’t destroy this masterpiece amongst masterpieces, not badly enough for it to need rebuilding. Otherwise, I wager that our Northern architects would have enjoyed putting up some stone monstrosity of their own making, a top-heavy vessel standing on stone legs like some fantastical beast, where, upon entering, one could almost believe that the house of God is the antechamber of hell. And they would have replaced the angel of gilded copper, at the tip of the spire, which gave its name to the parish … oh yes,
lou dorat
… by a grimacing devil with a cloven hoof …

Hell … My benefactor, John XXII, my very first pope, didn’t believe in it, or rather he professed that it was empty. That was going a little too far. If people no longer fear hell, then how can we draw almsgiving and penitences, to redeem their sins? Without hell, the Church could go out of business. It was the hare-brained idea of a great old man. We were forced to make him retract on his deathbed. I was there …

Oh! The weather is really getting colder. One can well feel that in two days we will be entering December. A damp cold, the worst kind.

Brunet! Aymar Brunet, go and see, my friend, if there isn’t a warming pan in the food supplies cart we could put in my palanquin. The furs are no longer enough, and if we carry on this way, it will be a shivering cardinal that will be getting out at Saint-Benoît-du-Sault. There too, I have been told, the Englishman has wreaked havoc … And if there are not enough hot coals in the chef’s cart, as I will need far more than that required to keep a ragout warm, you are to go in quest of them at the first hamlet we pass through … No, I don’t need Master Vigier. Let him continue to wend his way. Whenever I call my doctor to my side, the entire escort imagines that I am at death’s door. I am in excellent health. I need coals, that is all …

So you want to know, Archambaud, what ensued after the Treaty of Mantes, that I told you about yesterday … You are a good listener, my nephew, and it is a pleasure to educate you in what one knows. I suspect that you even take notes whenever we make a stop; is this not true? Very well, I thought as much. It is the Northern lords who glorify themselves by being more ignorant than an ass, as if reading and writing were work for a mere cleric, or pauper. They require a servant to understand the smallest note addressed to them. We, in the south of the kingdom, have always rubbed shoulders with the Roman civilizations, we have every respect for learning. Which gives us the upper hand in a great many matters.

So you take notes. That is a good thing indeed. As, for my part, I will scarcely be able to bear witness of all that I have seen and all that I have done. All my letters and writings are or will be deposited in the papal registers never to be released again, as is the rule. But you will be there, Archambaud, and will be able to, at least for the business related to France, say what you know, and do justice to my memory if certain others, as I have no doubt that Capocci will … (may God keep me on this earth just one day longer than him) … attempt to conspire to.

So, very soon after the Treaty of Mantes, where he had shown himself so inexplicably generous towards his son-in-law, King John accused his negotiators, Robert Le Coq, Robert of Lorris and even his wife’s uncle, the Cardinal of Boulogne, of having sold out to Charles of Navarre.

Let it be said between us, I believe he was not far from the truth. Robert Le Coq is a young bishop burning with ambition, who excels in scheming and revels in intrigue, and who since his quarrel with the king had openly joined Navarrese circles, quick to see his own advantage in joining forces with them. Robert of Lorris, the chamberlain, is certainly devoted to his master; however, he is from a banking family where one can never resist making a few fistfuls of gold in passing. I got to know him, this Lorris, when he came to Avignon around ten years ago to negotiate the loan of three hundred thousand florins King Philip VI had extended to the pope at that time. I, myself, merely took an honest thousand florins for having put the bankers of Clement VI, the Raimondi of Avignon and the Matteis of Florence in contact with each other; but
he
was rather more generous to himself. As far as Boulogne is concerned, as close a relative of the king as he is …

I fully understand that it is accepted that we, as cardinals, be fairly compensated for our intercessions on our princes’ behalf. Otherwise we would never be able to carry out our duties. I have never made a secret of it, and even consider it an honour, to have received twenty-two thousand florins from my sister of Durazzo for the care of her ducal affairs that I took, twenty years ago … twenty years already! They were severely compromised at the time. And just last year, for the necessary exemption for the marriage of Louis of Sicily and Constance of Avignon, I was duly thanked with five thousand florins. But I have only ever accepted recompense from those who put their cause in the hands of my talent or my influence. Dishonesty begins when one is paid by the enemy. And I believe that Boulogne could not resist this temptation. Since then, the friendship between him and King John II has considerably cooled off.

Lorris, by withdrawing for a while, once more returned to favour, as is always the way with the Lorrises. He threw himself at the king’s feet, last Good Friday, swore his unfailing loyalty, and cast all duplicity and connivance onto Le Coq, who remained on bad terms with the king and was banished from the court.

It is an advantageous thing to disavow one’s negotiators. It serves as justification when not applying the terms of a treaty. And the king did just that. When he was told that he should have kept his deputies under tighter control, and given away a good deal less than he had, he replied irritably: ‘Negotiating, debating, arguing are no business for a knight.’ He has always affected contempt for negotiation and diplomacy, which has allowed him to renege on any commitments.

In fact he had only promised so much because he counted on respecting nothing at all.

But at the same time, he overwhelmed his son-in-law with a thousand feigned courtesies, always wanting him close by at court, and not only him, but his younger brother, Philip, and even the youngest, Louis, whose return from Navarre he keenly insisted upon. He proclaimed himself the protector of the three brothers and encouraged the dauphin to profess friendship to them.

The Bad didn’t submit himself without arrogance to such excessive consideration, to so much incredible solicitude, going so far as to say to the king, in the middle of dinner: ‘Admit that I did you a favour ridding you of Charles of Spain, who wanted to run everything in the kingdom. You won’t say it, but I relieved you of a burden.’ You can imagine how much King John enjoyed being reminded of such kindnesses.

Then one summer’s day when Charles of Navarre and his brothers were on their way to attend a feast at the palace, the Cardinal of Boulogne rushed up to Charles and said: ‘Turn back and stay in your house, if you value your life. The king has resolved to have you slain later today, all three of you, during the feast.’

This was no figment of his imagination, nor the result of vague rumours. King John had indeed taken such a decision, that very morning, during his State Council, in which Boulogne had taken part … ‘I have been waiting for the three brothers to be together, as I want all three of them slain so that there be no further male offspring of that evil breed.’

For my part, I don’t blame Boulogne for having warned the Navarrese, even though that must have given credence to the idea that he had been bought. As a priest of the Holy Church … and who, what’s more, is a member of the pontifical Curia, a brother of the pope before the Lord … cannot hear that a triple murder will be perpetrated in cold blood, and accept that it should take place without attempting in the slightest to prevent it. It was to let oneself become an accessory to the crime by remaining silent. Why on earth did King John have to speak in front of Boulogne? He only had to give the order to his sergeants … But no, he thought he was being clever. Ah, that king, when he tries to be crafty! He has never been able to see three moves ahead. He must have thought that when the pope remonstrated with him about how he had bloodied his palace, as he surely would, he could always argue: ‘But your cardinal was there, and he didn’t disapprove of my actions.’ Boulogne is no partridge born of the last brood to walk into such an obvious trap.

Charles of Navarre, thus forewarned, withdrew in haste to his house where he had his escort made ready. King John, when none of the brothers turned up at his feast, summoned them urgently. But his messenger received no response, there was only the thumping of horses’ hooves as, at that very moment, the Navarrese were headed back towards Normandy.

King John entered into an acute rage whereupon he hid his vexation by playing the injured party. ‘Look at that bad son, that traitor who turns his back on the friendship of the king, and exiles himself from my court! He must have many a wicked plan to conceal.’

And from that came his pretext to proclaim he would suspend the terms and effects of the Treaty of Mantes, that anyway he had not even begun to execute.

Upon learning this, Charles sent his brother Louis back to Navarre and dispatched his brother Philip to Cotentin to raise an army, he himself choosing not to stay in Évreux any longer.

Because meanwhile our Holy Father, the Pope Innocent, had called a conference in Avignon … the third, the fourth, or rather, simply the same one begun again … between the envoys of France and England in order to negotiate, not just an extended truce, but a real and lasting peace. This time, Innocent wanted, so he said, to see the work of his predecessor through to a successful conclusion, flattering himself he would succeed where Clement VI had failed. Presumptuousness, Archambaud, lies deep even in a pontiff’s heart.