The King Without a Kingdom (30 page)

Y
OU ARE WATCHING
Troyes fade into the distance? Beautiful city isn’t it, my nephew, particularly bathed in sunlight, as this morning. Ah! It is good fortune indeed for a town to have been home to the birth of a pope. Because the fine town houses and palaces you have seen around the Town Hall, and Saint Urban’s church which is a jewel of the new art, with its abundance of stained-glass windows, and many other buildings whose distribution you admired, all of that is due to the fact that Urban IV, who occupied Saint Peter’s throne around a century ago, and for just three years, came into the world in Troyes, in a shop, just where his church stands today. That is what gave the town its glory, and a boost of prosperity, almost. Ah! If only similar fortune had befallen our dear Périgueux. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that any more, as you will think that I have nothing else in my mind.

At present, I know the route the dauphin plans to travel. He is following us. He will be in Troyes tomorrow. But he will gain Metz via Saint-Dizier and Saint-Mihiel, whereas we will go via Châlons and Verdun. First of all because I have business in Verdun: I am canon of the cathedral, and also because I do not wish to appear to be joining forces with the dauphin. But being as close as we are to each other, we could at any moment exchange messengers, all in the same day, perhaps; also our dealings with Avignon have become quicker and easier …

What then? What had I promised to tell you and that I forgot? Ah, what King John did in Paris during the four days he was away from the siege of Breteuil?

He had to receive the homage of Gaston Phoebus. A success, a triumph for King John, or rather for the Chancellor Pierre de La Forêt who had patiently, skilfully prepared the matter. Because Phoebus is the King of Navarre’s brother-in-law and they have adjoining domains, up against the Pyrenees. Now Phoebus’s tribute had been due since the beginning of the reign. To receive it precisely when Charles of Navarre was in prison could substantially change things and modify the judgement of several courts in Europe.

Naturally, Phoebus’s reputation has found its way to you … Oh! Not only a great venerer,
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but also a great jouster, a great reader, a great builder and what is more, a great womanizer. I would say: a great prince whose sorrow is to have but a small state. It is maintained that he is the most handsome man of our time, and I gladly subscribe to this view. Very tall, and strength enough to fight with bears, literally, my nephew, with a bear, he did it! His leg is long, hips slim, his shoulders broad, a radiant face, teeth very white in a smile. And most striking of all, a mass of hair of copper and gold, a dazzling mane, wavy, curling over his collar like a natural crown, blazing, which inspired him to take the sun for emblem, as well as his nickname Phoebus, that he writes, by the way, with an F and an é … Fébus … he must have chosen it before knowing any Greek. He never wears a hood but always goes bareheaded like the ancient Romans, which makes him unique amongst us.

I was at his home a while back. Because he has done so well, everything of importance in the Christian world passes through his little Court of Orthez, which he has turned into a great court. When I found myself there, I met a Count Palatine, one of King Edward’s prelates, a first chamberlain of the King of Castile, not to mention highly reputed physicians, a famous artist, and great doctors of law. All of these people were splendidly treated.

I know of only one other such charismatic and influential court in such a narrow territory, that of King Lusignan of Cyprus; but he has far more wealth at his disposal from the profits of trade.

Phoebus has a fast and pleasant way of showing you what belongs to him: ‘Here is my pack of hounds, my horses, this is my mistress, these are my bastards … Madame of Foix is well, thanks be to God. You will see her this evening.’

In the evening, in the long gallery that he had opened down the side of his castle, overlooking a most hilly horizon, the whole court meets and strolls a long while, in superb attire, while blue shadows fall upon the Béarn. Here and there, immense fireplaces blaze, and between the fireplaces, the wall is painted
al fresco
with hunting scenes that are the work of artists come from Italy. The guest who has failed to bring all his jewels and his finest robes, believing he is sojourning in a tiny mountain castle, cuts a poor figure indeed. I am warning you in case you happen to go there one day. Madame Agnes of Foix, which is Navarre, is the sister of Queen Blanche and almost as beautiful, her gown sewn with gold and pearls. She speaks little, or rather, one guesses as much, she is afraid to speak. She listens to the minstrels who sing
Aqueres mountanes
composed by her husband; the Béarnais love to join in singing them together.

Phoebus himself goes from group to group, greets first one, then another, welcomes a lord, compliments a poet, converses with an ambassador, finds out about the world’s business as he walks, drops an opinion, gives a hushed order and governs while he chats. Until twelve, when vast burning torches carried by valets of his livery come to bid him to supper, with all of his guests. Yes, sometimes he only sits down to eat at midnight.

One evening I surprised him leaning against an arch in his open gallery and sighing before his silvery mountain stream and his horizon of blue mountains: ‘Too small, too small, one might say, monseigneur, that Providence takes malicious pleasure in rolling the dice and mismatching them …’

We had just spoken about France, about the King of France, and I understood what he wanted me to hear. Great men often only receive small land to govern, whereas to the weak man falls the great kingdom. And he added: ‘But as small as my Béarn may be, I intend that it should belong to no one other than itself.’

His letters are wonders. He never fails to inscribe all of his titles: ‘We, Gaston III, Count of Foix, Viscount of Béarn, Viscount of Lautrec, of Marsan and of Castillon,’ and what else … ah, yes: ‘Seigneur of Montesquieu and of Montpezat,’ and then, and then, hear how it sounds: ‘Viguier
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of Andorra and of Capir,’ and he just signs ‘Fébus’, with his F and his é, of course, perhaps even to distinguish himself from Apollo, just as on the castles and monuments that he builds or embellishes, one can see carved in tall letters: ‘Fébus made it.’

There is certainly extravagance in his character; but one must remember that he is only twenty-five years old. For his age he has already shown much skill. Equally, he has shown his courage; he was amongst the most valiant at Crécy. He was fifteen. Ah! I am forgetting to tell you, if you don’t know it: he is the great-nephew of Robert of Artois. His grandfather married Joan of Artois, Robert’s very own sister, who, no sooner widowed, showed such an appetite for men, led such a scandalous life, caused so much carry-on, and could cause a lot more yet, indeed, she is still alive; a little over sixty and in fine health … our Phoebus, her grandson, had to shut her away in one of the towers of the Castle of Foix, where he has her closely guarded. Ah! It is thick blood indeed, that of the Artois!

And this is the man whom La Forêt, the archbishop-chancellor, when all is turning against King John, manages to persuade to come and pay homage. Oh! Make no mistake about it. Phoebus has thought through his decision, and is acting only, precisely, to protect the independence of his little Béarn. Aquitaine adjoining Navarre, and himself adjoining both, their alliance, at present manifest, is not at all in his interests; his short borders are threatened by their combined great power. He would like to protect himself on the Languedoc side where he had a run-in with the Count of Armagnac, governor of the king. So, let us draw closer together with France, let us end this disagreement, and to this aim, let us pay the homage due by our County of Foix. Of course Phoebus would plead for the release of his brother-in-law Navarre, it was agreed, but for form’s sake, only for form’s sake, as if it were the pretext for their reconciliation. It is a subtle game. Phoebus could always say to the Navarrese: ‘But I only paid homage with the intent of serving you.’

In one week, Gaston Phoebus charmed Paris. He had arrived with a diverse escort of gentlemen, any number of servants, twenty carts carrying his wardrobe and furniture, a splendid pack of hounds, and part of his menagerie of wild beasts. The cortège stretched out over a quarter of a league. The smallest page was splendidly dressed, bearing the livery of Béarn; the horses were caparisoned in silk velvets, like mine. At huge expense, but designed to capture the imagination of the crowds. And Phoebus succeeded.

The great lords fought over the honour of entertaining him. All the notables of the town, those from Parliament, university, finance, and even from the Church, grasped at any manner of pretext to come and welcome him at the town house his sister Blanche, the Widowed Queen, had opened up for him for the duration of his stay. Women wanted to gaze at him, hear his voice, touch his hand. Wherever he went around town, he was recognized by his golden hair and people gathered before the doors of the silversmiths and drapers he patronized. The equerry who always accompanied him was also recognized, a giant by the name of Ernauton of Spain, perhaps his half-brother born out of wedlock; similarly, the two enormous Pyrenean mountain dogs that followed him, held on a leash by a page. On the back of one of the dogs sat a little monkey. A most unusual great seigneur, more lavish than the most lavish, was in the capital, and everyone was talking about him.

I will tell you everything in detail; but during this unpropitious July, we were on the ladder of tragedy; and each rung matters.

You will have a large county to govern, Archambaud, and I wager the times will not be any easier than these; one cannot rise up in just a few years from a fall such as ours.

Keep this in mind: when a prince is of a mediocre nature, or as soon as he is weakened by age or illness, unity amongst the royal advisors can no longer be maintained. The king’s entourage splits up, divides, because in order to do their work they take over the pieces of an authority that is no longer being exercised, or is exercised poorly; everyone speaks in the name of a master who is no longer in command; everyone fends for himself with an eye on the future. So coteries form, according to affinity along lines of ambition or temperament. Rivalries are exacerbated. The faithful regroup on one side, and on the other the traitors, who believe themselves to be loyal in their own way.

I call a traitor he who betrays the higher interests of the kingdom. Often, these men are incapable of perceiving it; they see only the interests of certain people of that kingdom; and yet, it is the traitor, alas, who generally prevails.

Around King John, two parties coexisted as they do today around the dauphin, since the same men are in place.

On the one hand, the party of the Chancellor Pierre de La Forêt, Archbishop of Rouen, seconded by Enguerrand du Petit-Cellier; they are the men whom I consider to be the best informed and the most concerned about the good of the kingdom. And on the other hand, Nicolas Braque, Lorris and above all, above all, Simon de Bucy.

Perhaps you will see him in Metz. Ah! Always be on your guard with him and those like him. A man whose head is too big for a body that is too short, is already a bad sign; holding himself up straight like a cockerel, rather ill-mannered and violent when he breaks out of his silence, and filled with an immense pride, though this he conceals. He enjoys power that is exercised in the shadows, and nothing pleases him more than humiliating or destroying anyone whom he deems to be taking to himself too much importance at court or who is gaining too much influence over the prince. He imagines that governing is the work only of cunning, lying, constructing machines. He has no great ideas, only mediocre schemes, always evil, which he most stubbornly pursues. Mere clerk for King Philip, he climbed up to where he is. First president of Parliament, member of the Great Council, by acquiring a reputation for loyalty, because he is domineering and brutal. This man has very publicly administered justice, forcing dissatisfied litigants to kneel down before him in the middle of a court hearing to beg forgiveness, or having twenty-three bourgeois from Rouen executed in one go; but he pronounces as many arbitrary acquittals, or postpones serious cases indefinitely, so as to keep his hands on certain people. He knows not to neglect his fortune; he obtained from the Abbot of Saint-Germain-des-Prés the octroi
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of the Saint-Germain Gate, immediately dubbed Bucy Gate, and thereby collects tolls on much of what goes through Paris.

From the moment La Forêt had negotiated the homage of Phoebus, de Bucy was against it and resolved to thwart the arrangement. It is he who went before the king, just back from Breteuil, and whispered to him: ‘Phoebus is deriding you in Paris through a grand display of wealth … Phoebus has twice met with Prevost Marcel … I suspect Phoebus of plotting, with his wife and Queen Blanche, the escape of Charles the Bad. You must demand of Phoebus a tribute for Béarn. Phoebus does not speak well of you … be careful not to welcome Phoebus too graciously, it will hurt the Count of Armagnac, of whom you have great need in Languedoc. Indeed, the Chancellor La Forêt is too indulgent with the friends of your enemies. And besides, what sort of man calls himself Phoebus?’ And just to put the king in a truly foul mood, he gave him some bad news. Friquet of Fricamps had escaped from Châtelet thanks to the ingenuity of two of his servants. The Navarrese were flouting royal power and were regaining a most deft and dangerous man.

The result was that King John appeared haughty and aggressive at the supper that he held the day before the homage, calling Phoebus ‘messire my vassal’ and asking him: ‘Are there any men left in your fiefs with all those escorting you in my town?’

And he even said to him: ‘I would like your troops to stay out of the territory under the command of Monseigneur of Armagnac.’

Most surprised, as it had been agreed with Pierre de La Forêt that these incidents were to be considered effaced, Phoebus retorted: ‘My banners, sire my cousin, wouldn’t have had to enter Armagnac if those who attacked my lands hadn’t come from there and needs must be driven back. But as soon as you have given the order that Monseigneur of Armagnac’s men should cease these incursions, my knights will happily keep to their borders.’ Whereupon the king continued: ‘I would like them to stay a little closer to me. I have called up the army at Chartres, to march upon the Englishman. I am counting on your being scrupulous enough to join them there with the banners of Foix and of Béarn.’