The King Without a Kingdom (9 page)

The day before Christmas, 1354, in a Parisian town house, such strong words and insults were being bandied about between Charles of Spain and Philip of Navarre, brother of the king’s son-in-law, that the latter drew his dagger and came this close, if he hadn’t been surrounded, to stabbing the constable! The constable feigned laughter, and shouted at the young Navarre that he would have shown himself rather less threatening if there hadn’t been so many others around to hold him back. Philip is nowhere near as astute as his elder brother, but he is more impassioned in combat. No sooner had he been pulled from the room than he proffered the threat that he would exact prompt vengeance on this enemy of his family, and would make him take back his insult. And this threat he would carry out just two weeks later during the night of the feast of the Magi.

Monsieur of Spain was to visit his cousin, the Countess of Alençon. He stopped for the night at Laigle, at an inn whose name is difficult to forget, the Spinning Sow.
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Overly confident of the respect that was inspired, or so he thought, by his title and the king’s friendship, he thought he had nothing to fear when travelling around the kingdom, and had taken with him but a small escort. Now the market town of Laigle is located in the County of Évreux, just a few leagues away from where the Évreux-Navarre brothers were staying in their vast castle. Forewarned of the constable’s impending visit, the brothers readied themselves and prepared an ambush.

Around midnight, twenty Norman soldiers, all tough noblemen, the Sire of Graville, the Sire of Clères, the Sire of Mainemares, the Sire of Morbecque, the Knight of Aunay … yes! the descendant of one of the suitors of the Tower of Nesle; it wasn’t at all surprising that he would be found on the side of Navarre … In short, I’m telling you, a good twenty armed knights, whose names are well known since the king had later to sign, against his better judgement, their letters of remission … sprang up in the town from nowhere, led by Philip of Navarre, broke down the doors of the Spinning Sow and stormed the stairs up to the constable’s accommodations.

The King of Navarre was not with them. In case things went awry he had chosen to wait on the outskirts of the town, beside a barn, in the company of his horse guards. Oh! I can see him now, my Charles the Bad, wound up in his coat, bounding backwards and forwards like a wisp of hell’s smoke the length and breadth of the frozen ground, like the devil who never touches the earth. He waits. He looks at the winter sky. The cold nips his fingers. His soul is twisted with both fear and hatred. He listens intently. He resumes his worried pacing up and down.

First to appear from the direction of the town is John of Fricamps, known as Friquet, the Governor of Caen, his advisor and most zealous machine
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builder, who tells him, gasping for breath: ‘The deed is done, monseigneur!’

Then Graville, Mainemares, Morbecque arrive, and Philip of Navarre himself, and all the conspirators with him. At the inn, they pulled the handsome Charles of Spain out from under his bed where he had taken refuge, and now he was indeed dead, still dressed in his nightgown. They had wickedly run him through, stabbed him eighty times over; eighty body wounds would later be found on him. Each of Navarre’s men had wanted to stick his sword in four times … That is how, messire my nephew, King John was to lose his good friend, and how Monseigneur of Navarre would fall into rebellion …

Now would you please give up your seat for Dom Francesco Calvo, my papal secretary, with whom I wish to converse before we reach our next stop.

D
OM
C
ALVO, AS
I will be most busy upon my arrival in La Péruse, inspecting the Abbey to see if it has indeed been so badly laid to waste by the English as to justify the exemption the monks have asked of me, from paying me my prior’s benefices for a full year, I want to tell you forthwith what should appear in my letter to the Holy Father. I should be obliged if you would prepare the letter as soon as we arrive, with the fine turn of phrase that you are accustomed to using.

We must let the Holy Father know of the news from Paris that reached me in Limoges, and that has been worrying me since.

First of all, the scheming of the prevost of the merchants of Paris, Master Étienne Marcel. I learned that for the last month the prevost has been building fortifications and digging ditches around the town, beyond the old walls, as if he were preparing against a siege. And yet at the present juncture in the never-ending peace talks, the English have shown no intention nor sign whatsoever of threatening Paris, and such haste in building defences is beyond comprehension. But besides that, the prevost has been organizing his bourgeois into corps of municipal officers, whom he has armed and trained, with district commanders and their officers and their NCOs
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to ensure that orders are followed, exactly in the image of the Flemish militia who take it upon themselves to govern their own cities. He imposed upon monseigneur the dauphin, the king’s lieutenant, to agree to the constitution of this militia, and, what’s more, while all royal taxes and tallage are generally the object of complaint and refusal, the prevost, in order to equip his men, managed to put into effect a levy on drink that is paid directly to him.

Ever since the misfortune of Poitiers, this Master Marcel, who formerly made himself rich provisioning the king, but who was piqued four years ago when he lost this role as royalty’s most prestigious supplier, has been meddling in all of the kingdom’s affairs. It is difficult to gauge his designs, beyond making himself important; but he is hardly heading down the path of appeasement that our Holy Father wishes for. Also my pious duty is to advise the pope that, should any request from that party reach him, he should show himself most haughty and give no support whatsoever, not even the semblance of support, to the Prevost of Paris and his undertakings.

You have already understood me, Dom Calvo. The Cardinal Capocci is in Paris. He could well, impulsive as he is and never failing to blunder, think himself clever in hatching plots with this prevost … No, nothing specific has been reported to me; but my instinct tells me there is one of those twisted schemes afoot in which my fellow legate never fails to get involved.

Secondly, I would like to invite the supreme pontiff to be informed in detail about the strange events that went on at the Estates-General of the Langue d’Oil
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which ended in Paris at the beginning of the month, and to shed on them some light of his holy attention.

Convocation of these Assemblies had been promised by King John to take place in December; but due to the turmoil, disorder and despondency the kingdom found itself in following the defeat at Poitiers, the Dauphin Charles thought himself to be acting wisely when he brought forward the meeting to October. In truth, he had no choice but to try to strengthen his authority, which had come to him in this misfortune, young as he was, with an army in tatters from military setbacks, and a Treasury in dire straits.

But the eight hundred deputies of the Langue d’Oil, of which four hundred were bourgeois, didn’t deliberate on the issues they were invited to discuss.

The Church has long experience of councils that elude the intentions of those who first set them up. I would like to tell the pope that this assembly looks exactly like a council that has lost its way and assumed the right to rule over everything, hurling itself recklessly into reform, taking advantage of the weakness of the supreme power.

Instead of busying themselves with the release of the King of France, our people in Paris immediately showed more concern for the release of the King of Navarre, which clearly indicates which side their leaders are on.

In addition, the eight hundred appointed an eighty-strong commission: this began to toil away in secret to produce a long list of remonstrances containing a little that is right, and a great deal that is wrong. Firstly, they demanded the dismissal and judicial trial of the principal advisors of the king, whom they accuse of misappropriating funds, and whom they hold responsible for the defeat …

On that point, I must say, Calvo … this is not to go in the letter, but just to share my thoughts with you … the remonstrances are not totally unjustified. Amongst those appointed by King John to his government, I know there are some who are worthless, and even downright scoundrels. It is natural that a man should increase his own fortune when in high office, otherwise nobody would take on the burden or the risk. But one should be careful not to overstep the limits of dishonesty and look after one’s own affairs at the expense of public interest. And above all, one must be capable. And King John, not being that capable himself, wilfully chooses people who are not capable at all …

But from that time on, armed with the remonstrances, the deputies increasingly made excessive demands. They demanded that the king, or for the time being the dauphin, govern only with advisors approved by the three estates: four prelates, twelve knights, twelve bourgeois. This council was to have the power to organize and carry through everything that the king had always done previously on his own authority; it would appoint all offices, would be entitled to reform the Court of Accounts
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and any other of the kingdom’s legally appointed bodies, could decide on a prisoner’s ransom, and on many other things as well. In truth, its aim was nothing less than stripping the king of all the attributes of sovereignty.

In this way the kingdom would no longer be governed by the one anointed and consecrated according to our Holy Religion; its helm would be entrusted to this council, deriving its entitlement only from a chattering assembly, and the whole governance of the kingdom would be entirely dependent upon it. What weakness and what confusion! Its supposed reformations … you must understand me, Dom Calvo; and I want to insist on this, as the Holy Father mustn’t be able to say that he hadn’t been warned … these supposed reforms are an insult to common sense and are redolent even of heresy.

And that men of the cloth should side with the Assembly is most regrettable, take the Bishop of Laon for example, Robert Le Coq, who like Marcel had also lost favour with the king, and is thus in close accord with the prevost. He is one of the most vehement.

The Holy Father must see that behind all this agitation is to be found the King of Navarre who seems to be leading the dance from his prison cell, and who will be making matters yet worse should he continue. The Holy Father, in his infinite wisdom, will judge it necessary to avoid intervening in any way whatever to get Charles the Bad, I mean, Monseigneur of Navarre, released from jail, as so many petitions coming from all sides must be begging him to do.

As far as I am concerned, using my prerogatives of papal legate and nuncio … are you listening to me, Calvo? I have commanded that the Bishop of Limoges be part of my retinue to be presented in Metz. He will join me in Bourges. And I have resolved to do as much with all the other bishops en route, including the dioceses pillaged and devastated by the raids of the Prince of Wales, so that they may bear witness before the emperor. I will thus strengthen my case and demonstrate how pernicious the alliance between the Kings of Navarre and England may prove to be …

But why on earth must you keep looking out of the window, Dom Calvo? Ah! It is the swaying motion of my palanquin that turns your stomach! I myself am used to it, and would even dare to say that it stimulates my mind; and I see that my nephew, Messire of Périgord, who has often kept me company since we set out, is not at all adversely affected by it. You do indeed look a little queasy. Very well, you shall get to step down. But don’t forget any of what I have told you when you take up your quill.

W
HERE ARE WE NOW
? Have we passed Mortemart? Not yet! It would seem that I have slept a little … Oh! How the sky darkens and how the days are shortening! I was dreaming, you see, my nephew, I was dreaming of a blossoming plum tree, a big plum tree, round and white, laden with birds, as if each flower were singing. And the sky was blue, the same blue as the Virgin’s mantle. An angelic vision, a true corner of paradise. What strange things are dreams! Have you noticed that in the gospel, no dreams are recounted, except for Joseph’s at the beginning of Saint Matthew? It is the only one. Whereas in the Old Testament, the patriarchs are forever having dreams, in the New, no one dreams at all. I have often wondered why, without being able to find an answer … Has that never struck you as rather odd? It is because you are no great reader of the Holy Scriptures, Archambaud … I see a fine subject for our brilliant scholars in Paris or Oxford to fight over amongst themselves and to provide us with voluminous treatises and discourses in a Latin so impenetrable nobody could understand a word …