The Royal Succession (9 page)

They left Paris by Mont Sainte-Genevieve and the Porte Saint-Marcel. Dusk was falling over the suburbs.

`When I was young,' said Madame de Bouville, `there were only twenty houses to be seen here. But people can no longer find anywhere to live in the city and are constantly building in the fields.'

The Convent of the Clarisses was surrounded by a high, white wall, which enclosed the buildings, gardens and orchards. In the wall was a low door and, next to the door, a turning-box constructed in the thickness of the stone. A woman came walking along the wall, her head covered with a hood, went to the turnin
g-
box and quickly placed in it a package which she took from beneath her cloak; cries came from the package; the woman turned the wooden drum; pulled the bell and, seeing that someone was coming, ran away.

`What was she doing?''Marie asked.

`She has abandoned' a fatherless child,' said Madame de Bouville, looking at Marie with an expression of severity. `That is how they are received. Come along, hurry up.'

Marie urged on her mule. She was thinking that she might herself have been compelled one day soon to
deposit her child in a turning-
box, and she thought that her lot was by comparison enviable.

`I thank you, Madame, for taking such great care of me,' she murmured, tears in her eyes.

'Ah, at last, a grateful word,' replied Madame de Bouville.

A few moments later the door opened before them, and Marie disappeared into the silence of the convent.

7. The G
ates of the Palace

THAT SAME evening the Count of Poitiers was at the Chateau of Fontainebleau, where he was to sleep; it was the last stage on his journey to Paris. He was finishing supper in company with the Dauphin of Viennois, the Count of Savoy, and the members of his numerous suite, when the arrival was announced of his uncle the Count of Valois, his brother the Count de la Marche, and their cousin
Saint-Pol
.

'Show them in, show them in at once,' said Philippe of Poitiers,

But he did
not go forward to greet his uncle. And when he appeared; walking with martial step, his chin held high and his clothes dusty, Philippe merely rose and waited for him, making not the slightest movement towards him. Valois, somewhat put out of countenance, stood for a few seconds at the threshold of the door, gazed round at the assembled company and, since Philippe obstinately refused to come to greet him, had at last to make up his mind to go forward himself. Everyone fell silent, watching them. When Valois had approached near enough, the Count of Poitiers took him by the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks, which could be interpreted as the gesture of a loving nephew but, coming from a man who had held his ground, was more that of a king.

This behaviour annoyed Charles de la Marche, who thought: `Have we come all this way to be welcomed like this? After all, I am equal with my brother; why should he treat us so haughtily?'

A bitter and jealous expression clouded the regular but unintelligent features of his handsome face.

Philippe extended his arms to him; La Marche had to exchange a brief embrace with his brother but, to give himself importance and try to assert his own authority, he indicated Valois and said:

`Philippe, here is our uncle, the eldest of the royal family. We congratulate you on agreeing with him that he should have the government of the kingdom. For the kingdom would be in too great peril if it were reduced to waiting for a child still unborn, who could not govern it, and would in any case be a foreigner through his mother.'

The speech was ambiguous and ill-conceived. It might have signified that the Count de la Marche wished to see his uncle regent until the birth of Louis X's posthumous child, or until the child's majority if it were a son; but it might also be taken to betray greater ambitions on the part of Valois. La Marche must have been misquoting words with which his uncle had primed him. Some of the phrases in this speech made Philippe_ frown. So Valois was trying to seize the crown, was he?

`Our cousin of Saint-Pol is with us,' went on Charles de la Marche, `to inform you that this is also the opinion of the barons,'

Philippe looked at him in some contempt.

`I am grateful to you, Brother, for your counsel,' he replied coldly, `and for having come so far to give it me. I imagine that
you must be tired as I am, and sound decisions are not
taken in fatigue.
I propose therefore that we go and sleep, and decide these matters tomorrow with fresh minds and in private council. Good night, Messeigneurs. Rao
ul, Anseau, Adam, accompany
me, I pray you.'

And he left the room, without offering his visitors food or showing concern as to where they would sleep.

Followed by Adam Heron, Raoul de Presles and Anseau de Joinville, he went to the royal chamber. The bed, which had not been occupied since the Iron King had died in it, was made, the sheets spread. Philippe thought it most important that he should occupy this room; it was even more important that no one else should do so.

Adam Heron made ready to undress him.

`I think I shall not undress tonight,' said Philippe of Poitiers. `Adam, you will send one of my bachelors to Messire Gaucher de Chatillon to inform him that I shall be at the Porte d'Enfer tomorrow morning. And then send me a barber later on, because
I
wish to arrive there freshly shaven. And have twenty horses made ready for midnight, but only after my uncle has gone, to bed. As for you, Anseau,' he added, turning to the son of the j Seneschal de Joinville, who was
already middle-aged, `I charge
you to warn the Count of Savoy and the Dauphin that they may not be surprised or think that I
distrust them. Stay here until
morning, and when my uncle realizes that I have gone, ride close about him and delay him. Make h
im lose time on the road.'

Alone with Raoul de Presles, he seemed to sink into silent meditation, which the jurist took good care not to interrupt.

`Raoul,' he said at last, `you worked day after day with my father, and knew him better than I did myself. What would
h
e have done in these circumstances?'

`He would have done as you are doing, Monseigneur, I warrant, and I do not say so in order to flatter you, but because I really believe it. I loved our Lord Philip too much, and have suffered too much since his death, to serve you today if you did not remind me of him in all things.'

'Alas, alas, Raoul, I am but little beside him. He could follow his hawk in the air without losing sight of it, and I am short
-
sighted. He could twist a horse's shoe in his hands without difficulty. He has not bequeathed me his strength in arms, nor that majesty which let everyone know that he was King.'

As he spoke, he gazed fixedly at the bed.

At Lyons he had felt himself to be Regent with complete cer
t
ainty. But, as he drew nearer the capital; this assurance, though he gave no sign of it, was diminishing a little. Raoul de Presles, as if he were replying to an unspoken question, said:

`There is no precedent for the situation in which we find ourselves, Monseigneur. We have discussed it enough these last days. In the present weak state of the kingdom, power will go to him who has the authority to seize it. If you succeed, France will not suffer for it.'

Soon he withdrew; and Philippe lay down on the bed, his eyes fixed on the little lamp suspended between the hangings. The Count of Poitiers felt no embarrassment, no uneasiness, at lying on that bed whose last occupant had been a corpse. On the contrary, he drew strength from it; he had the impression of being moulded to his father's shape, of taking his place, of occupying once more the same dimensions on the earth. `Father, come back to me,' he prayed: and he lay still, his hands crossed on his breast, offering his body to the reincarnation of a soul which had fled twenty months before.

He heard steps in the corridor, voices, and his chamberlain answering, no doubt to some member of the Count of Valois' suite, that the Count of Poitiers was asleep. Silence fell over the chateau. A little later the barber arrived with his basin, razors and hot towels. While he was being shaved, Philippe of Poitiers recalled his father's last instructions, given in this very room before the whole Court assembled, to Louis, who had paid but little heed to them: `Weigh well, Louis, what it is to be the King of France. Learn as early as you can the state of your kingdom.'

Towards midnight Adam Heron came to tell him that the horses were ready. When the Count of Poitiers left the room, he felt that twenty months had been blotted out, and that he was taking affairs in hand from the point they had reached at his father's death, as if he were the direct successor.

A fair moon lit the road. The starry July night was like the Holy Virgin's cloak. The forest gave off a scent of moss, earth and fern; it was alive with the secret rustlings of wild life. Philippe of Poitiers was riding an excellent horse and took delight in its strength. The fresh air fanned his cheeks, sensitive from the barber's ministrations.

`It would be a pity,' he thought, `to leave so fine a country in bad hands.'

The little cavalcade emerged from the forest, galloped through Ponthierry and stopped, as day broke, in the hollow of Essonnes,
to breathe the horses
and break their fast. Philippe ate his food sitting on a milestone. He seemed happy. He was but twenty
-
three, his expedition had some small air of success about it, and he talked happily to the companions
of his adventure. His gaiety,
so rare for him, confirmed their determination to support him.

Between prime and tierce he re
ached the gates of Paris while
the harsh bells of the neighbouring convents rang out. He found Louis of Evreux and Gaucher de Chatillon waiting for him. T
he Constable looked depressed,
He asked the Count of Poitier
s to go at once to the Louvre.

`But why should I not go straight to the Palace of the Cite?' asked Philippe.

`Because our Seigneurs of Valois and de la Marche have occupied the palace with their men-at-arms. At the Louvre you will have the royal troops who are all under my orders, that is to say loyal to you, with the crossbowmen of Messire de Galard. But you must act quickly and resolutely,' added the Constable, `so as to forestall the return of our two Charleses. If you give me the order, Monseigneur, I will take the palace by storm.'

Philippe knew that minutes were precious. Nevertheless, he calculated that he had a start of six or seven hours over Valois.

`I do not wish to undertake anything until I know whether it will be approved by the burgesses and the people of the city,' he replied.

And as soon as he reached the Louvre, he sent to summon to the Aldermen's Council room, Master Coquatrix, Master Gentien and some other important notable
s such as Provost Guillaume de
La Madeleine, who had suc
ceeded Provost Ployebouche in
March.

Philippe told them in a few words of the importance he attached to the burgesses of Paris and to the men who directed the arts of manufacture and trade. The burgesses felt honoured and above all reassured. They had not heard words of this nature since the death of Philip the Fair, of whom they had often complained while he ruled them but whom they now never ceased regretting. It was Geoffroy Coquatrix, Commissary for Forged Coinage, Collector of Subventions and Subsidies, Treasurer for the Wars, Purveyor to Garrisons, Visitor to the Ports and Thoroughfares of the Kingdom and a Master of the Chamber of Audits, who replied. He held these posts from Philip the Fair, who had even endowed him with a hereditary income, as was done for the great servants of the Crown, and he had never rendered accounts of his administration.:" He feared that
Charles of Valois, always hostile to the appointment of burgesses to great positions - he had sufficiently proved it in Marigny's case - would dismiss him from his posts so as to despoil him of the enormous fortune he had garnered in them. Coquatrix assured the Count of Poitiers, calling him `Messire Regent' at least a dozen times, of the devotion of the population of Paris. His adherence was valuable, for he
was all-powerful in the Aldermen's Council
and rich enough, if need be, to bribe every beggar in the city to revolt.

The news of Philippe of Poitiers' return had spread rapidly. The barons and knights who supported him hastened to the Louvre, Mahaut of Artois, who had been personally informed, in the lead.

`How is my dearest. Jeanne?' Philippe. asked his mother-in-law as he embraced her.

`We are expecting her to be brought to bed: at any moment.'

'I'll go and see her as soon as I have completed my business.'

Then he discussed plans with his Uncle Louis and the Constable.

`You can now advance on the palace, Gaucher. Try and finish the business, if you can, by midday. But do everything possible to avoid shedding blood. Conquer by fear rather than by violence. I would rather not have to enter the palace over dead bodies.'

Gaucher went and placed himself at the head of the companies of men-at-arms he had gathered at the Louvre, and set out for the Cite. At the same time he sent the Provost to the Temple district in search of the best carpenters and locksmiths.

The palace gates were shut. Gaucher, with the Grand Master of the Crossbowmen beside him, demanded entrance. The officer of the guard, appearing at
a
window above the main gate,
replied that he could not open
without the authorization of the Count of Valois or the Count de la Marche.

`You must open all the same,' replied the Constable, `for I wish to enter and put the palace in a fit state to receive the Regent, who is on his way.'

`We cannot.'

Gaucher de Chatillon sat more firmly in his saddle.

Very well, we shall open the gates ourselves,' he said.