Obeying the King’s instructions which, though somewhat vague in form, were clear in intention: ‘I want no more blood spilt; I no longer want people to be held in prison unjustly; I want everyone to have his rights, and that peace and friendship should reign everywhere,’ the Chancellor, Etienne de Mornay, had drawn up a long document of which The Hutin, when it was shown to him, had felt extremely proud, as if he had dictated all its articles himself.
At the same time Louis X had freed Raoul de Presles and the six other ministers of his father who had been languishing in prison since April. As he now seemed unable to desist from his new policy of mercy, he had even, in spite of Charles of Valois’s opposition, freed the wife and son of Enguerrand de Marigny, who had also been held in gaol.
Such a change of attitude surprised the Court and no one could discover a reason for it. The King had even gone so far as to receive Louis de Marigny in audience, embracing him in the presence of the Queen and several dignitaries and saying, ‘Godson, the past is forgiven.’
The Hutin now used this particular formula on every possible occasion, as if he wished to persuade himself and others that a new phase of his reign had begun.
His conscience felt particularly good that morning, while they put on his crown and draped about his shoulders the great robe decorated with lilies.
‘My sceptre! My sceptre!’ he said. ‘Have they unpacked my sceptre?’
‘It’s the Hand of Justice you need today, Sire,’ replied Mathieu de Trye, his first Chamberlain, handing him the great golden hand with the two raised fingers.
‘How heavy it is,’ said Louis. ‘It seemed lighter on the day of my coronation.’
‘Your barons are ready, Sire,’ went on the Chamberlain. ‘Will you first give audience to Master Martin, who has just arrived from Paris, or will you see him after the Council?’
‘Is Master Martin here?’ cried Louis. ‘I’ll see him at once. And leave me alone with him.’
The personage who then appeared was a man of some fifty years, rather corpulent, dark of complexion, and with dreamy eyes. Though he was extremely simply dressed, almost as a monk might have been, he had, in his manners and gestures, which were at once humble and assured, in the way in which he held his cloak in the crook of his arm and bowed in salutation, something of the oriental. Master Martin had travelled widely in his youth, had reached Cyprus, Constantinople, and Alexandria. There was some doubt about the name of Martin by which he was known; had he always borne it?
‘Have you studied the question I placed before you?’ the King asked him as he looked at his reflection in a hand-mirror.
‘I have, Sire, I have; with a great sense of the honour it is to have been consulted by yourself.’
‘Well, then? Tell me the truth, I have no fear even if it should be disagreeable.’
An astrologer such as Master Martin knew very well what to think of such an opening, particularly when uttered by the King.
‘Sire,’ he replied, ‘our science is not an absolute one. And, even if the stars never lie, our human understanding may fall into error as we observe them. Nevertheless, I can see no sound reason for your anxiety, there seems to be nothing to prevent your having an heir. The conjunction of the planets at your birth is wholly favourable to such an issue, and the stars appear admirably disposed upon the question of your fertility. Indeed, Jupiter is at the apex of Cancer, which is significant of fecundity, and Jupiter, which was ascendant at your birth, is in amical triangulation with the moon and the planet Mercury. You must therefore not despair of producing a child, far from it, indeed. Nevertheless, the opposition of the moon and Mars does not mean to say that your son will have a life free from difficulties, and it will be necessary to surround him, from his earliest youth, with extreme vigilance and faithful servants.’
Master Martin had acquired a considerable reputation by having announced long beforehand, though in extremely ambiguous words, the death of Philip the Fair, as coinciding with an eclipse of the sun which was to take place in November 1314. He had written: ‘A powerful monarch of the West’, taking great care to be no more precise. Louis X, who looked upon the death of his father as a happy occurrence in his life, had ever since held Master Martin in great favour. But, if he had been more perspicacious, he would have realized, from the astrologer’s prudent reserve, that the latter, in his study of the heavens, had doubtless seen more than he was prepared to say.
‘Your advice is precious to me, Master Martin, and your counsel gives me great comfort,’ said The Hutin. ‘Have you been able to discern the most auspicious moment for the conception of the heirs I desire?’
Master Martin hesitated for a moment.
‘Let us talk only of the first, Sire, I cannot speak with sufficient assurance of the others. I lack the hour of the Queen’s birth which you tell me she does not know, and which no one else can give me; but I do not think I am gravely in error if I tell you that, before the sun’s entry into the sign of Sagittarius, you will have a child, which would place the time of conception at about mid-February.’
‘Before then we shall go on a pilgrimage to Saint-Jean of Amiens as the Queen wishes. And when do you think, Master Martin, that I should begin my war against the Flemings again?’
‘I think that in that, Sire, you must follow the dictates of your own wisdom. Have you chosen a date?’
‘I don’t think that I can mobilize the army again before next August.’
Master Martin’s absent look concentrated itself for a moment on the King’s face, his crown, and the hand of justice which seemed to embarrass him since he held it over his shoulder as a gardener holds his spade.
‘Before the month of August, we have June to get through ...’ the astrologer said to himself.
‘It may well be, Sire,’ he replied, ‘that before next August the Flemings will no longer be bothering you.’
‘I would willingly believe that!’ cried The Hutin, taking the reply in a favourable sense. ‘Because of the fear with which I inspired them last summer, they will undoubtedly come to terms without battle before the season for renewing operations.’
There is no more curious sensation than to be face to face with a man who will almost certainly be dead within six months, hearing him make useless plans for a future he will in all probability never see. ‘As long as he does not die before November ...’ said Martin to himself. For, besides the terrifying conjunction in June, the astrologer could not ignore another disastrous portent, the unhappy position of Saturn at twenty-seven years and forty-four days from the King’s birth. ‘The misfortune may be for him, his wife, or the child he may have between now and then. In any case, these are not things that should be said.’
Nevertheless, before leaving, while his fingers played with the weight of the purse the King had given him, Master Martin hesitated once more, almost from remorse, and felt it incumbent upon him to add, ‘Sire, one more word in connection with your health. Beware of poison, particularly towards the end of spring.’
‘I should therefore avoid mushrooms and edible fungi of all varieties, though I am very fond of them but which, now I come to think of it, have given me stomach-aches to which I am much subject.’
Then, suddenly anxious: ‘Poison! You don’t mean a viper’s bite?’
‘No, Sire. I’m talking of the food that may pass your lips.’
‘Thank you, Master Martin, I shall take care.’
And as he went to the Council, Louis ordered his Chamberlain to redouble his watchfulness upon the kitchen, to take care not to use supplies which were not perfectly fresh and came from known sources, and to see that all foods were tasted twice instead of once before they were served to him.
As he went into the Great Hall, everyone rose to their feet and remained standing till he had taken his place upon the dais.
Once installed upon his throne, the skirts of his robes across his knees, the Hand of Justice somewhat askew in the crook of his arm, Louis felt himself at that moment equal in majesty
to the representations of Christ which glow in cathedral glass. Seeing to right and left of him his barons, so exquisitely dressed though so humble in demeanour, and feeling that they were subject to his power, Louis discovered that in spite of everything there were certain days upon which it was a pleasure to be a king.
‘Now,’ he thought, ‘I shall deliver my judgement, everyone will conform to it, and I shall restore peace and harmony among my subjects.’
Before him were gathered the two parties between whom he was to arbitrate. On one side, the Countess Mahaut, also wearing a crown, and standing head and shoulders above the Councillors grouped about her. On the other, the delegation of the ‘allies’ of Artois. Among them there was a certain lack of conformity in dress, for they had all put on their best suits for the occasion, but they were not all of the latest fashion. The lesser lords smacked of provincialism; Souastre and Caumont had dolled themselves up as if they were about to appear in a tournament, huge helms surmounted in one instance by an eagle with spread wings and in the other by a female bust; they looked about them from beneath their raised visors, somewhat embarrassed by the solecism.
The great barons, who had been selected to attend the Council, had been carefully chosen in equal numbers from the two sides. Charles of Valois and his son Philippe, Charles de la Marche, Louis de Clermont, the Lord of Mercœur, the Count of Savoy and, above all, Robert of Artois, Count of Beaumont-le-Roger, were the supporters of the ‘allies’. It was known that on the other side Philippe of Poitiers, Louis of Evreux, Henri de Sulli, the Count of Boulogne, the Count of Forez, and Messire Miles des Noyers were supporting Mahaut.
The Chancellor Etienne de Mornay was sitting a little in front of the King with his parchments before him upon a table.
‘In nomine patris et filii ...’
Those present looked at each other in surprise. It was the first time that the King had opened a Council with a prayer and asked for divine approval of his decisions.
‘He’s changed,’ whispered Robert of Artois to his cousin Philippe of Valois. ‘He’s now become a priest in a pulpit.’
‘My very dear Brothers and Uncles, my good lords and beloved subjects,’ began Louis X, ‘we are most desirous, and indeed it is our duty, by divine right, to maintain peace within our Kingdom and to condemn division among our subjects ...’
Instead of stuttering in public as he normally did, he was today expressing himself in slow but clear terms; indeed he felt inspired, and those present wondered as they listened to him whether his true destiny would not have been to make an excellent country priest.
He first turned to the Countess Mahaut and prayed her to follow his counsel. Mahaut rising, replied, ‘Sire, I have always done so and shall always continue to do so.’
Then the King turned towards the ‘allies’ and made a similar recommendation.
‘As true and faithful subjects, Sire,’ replied Gérard Kierez, ‘we humbly pray you to act and command in accordance with your will.’
Louis looked about him at his uncles, brothers, and cousins, with an expression that seemed to say, ‘See how well I have arranged matters.’
He then invited the Chancellor de Mornay to read the document of arbitration.
The Chancellor Etienne de Mornay, though still young, was shortsighted. He raised the great roll of parchment to his eyes and began, ‘The past is forgotten. Hatreds, offences, and rancours are forgiven by both sides. The Countess Mahaut recognizes her obligations towards her subjects; she must maintain peace in the province of Artois, must do no harm to or take any act of revenge upon the “allies”, nor must she seek any occasion to do so. She will guarantee, as the King has done, the customs which were in use in Artois at the time of Monsieur Saint Louis and which will be proved before her by witnesses of good faith, knights, clerics, townspeople, lawyers ...’
Louis X was no longer listening. Having dictated the first phrase, he was under the impression that he had drawn up the whole. They were now coming to legal considerations of which he understood nothing. He was engaged in thinking, as he counted upon his fingers, ‘February, March, April, May – it looks as if an heir will be born to me about November.’
‘As for guarantees,’ went on Etienne de Mornay, ‘if complaint is laid against the Countess, the King will have the complaint examined by commissioners and, if it is well founded, and she refuses to give justice, the King will compel her to do so by force. On the other hand, the Countess shall declare the amount of each subvention for the taxes she imposes. The Countess shall return to the lords the lands she has sequestrated without legal proceedings ...’
The Countess was beginning to become excited, but the brothers Hirson, who were sitting beside her, calmed her down.
‘There was never any question of these things at the conference at Compiègne!’ said Mahaut.
‘It’s better to lose a little than to lose all,’ Denis whispered.
The memory of the journey he had made in chains, on the day of Sergeant Cornillot’s death, inclined him towards compromise.
Mahaut turned back her sleeves and went on listening, restraining the anger which was mounting within her.
The reading had been going on for a quarter of an hour. Kierez from time to time turned to look at the ‘allies’ and reassure them with a nod of the head that all was going well.
A shiver of interest passed through the hall when the question of Thierry d’Hirson was reached in the judgement. All eyes were turned upon Mahaut’s Chancellor and his brothers.
‘As regards Master Thierry d’Hirson, whom the allies have demanded should be placed upon trial, the King has decided that the accusations must be brought before the Bishop of Thérouanne, under whose jurisdiction Thierry, as Provost of Ayré, is; but he cannot go to Artois to present his defence, because the said Master Thierry is much hated in that county. His brothers, sisters, and nieces also may not go there so long as the judgement has not been delivered by the Bishop of Thérouanne and ratified by the King ...’
From that moment the Hirsons abandoned the conciliatory attitude they had so far observed.
‘Look at your nephew; see how triumphant he is!’
And indeed Robert of Artois was exchanging smiles with Charles and Philippe of Valois.
Such calm and impudent complacency succeeded in making Mahaut lose her temper. Silencing the Hirsons with a gesture of both her hands, she replied in a low voice, ‘All has not yet been said, my friend! Have I abandoned you, Thierry? Be patient.’
The Chancellor’s monotonous voice ceased; the reading of the judgement of arbitration was over. The Bishop of Soissons, who had taken part in the negotiations, came forward, carrying a Bible, and went over to present it to the barons; the latter rose in a concerted movement and raised their right hands, while Gérard Kierez, in their name, swore upon the Book that they would scrupulously respect the King’s judgement. Then the Bishop went over to Mahaut.
At that moment the King’s thoughts were upon the roads. ‘As to this pilgrimage to Amiens, we shall make it on foot, of course, during the last couple of miles or so. As for the rest of the journey we shall travel in a coach, with plenty of warm rugs. We shall also need furred boots. And I’ll have made for Clémence a cloak of ermine which she can put over her coat to protect herself from taking cold ... We must hope that she will be freed of the pains which prevent her making love.’ He was dreaming as he gazed upon the golden fingers of the Hand of Justice when, suddenly, he heard a loud voice saying, ‘I refuse to swear; I shall not ratify this wicked sentence!’
A heavy silence fell upon the assembly and every eye was fixed upon The Hutin. The audacity of this refusal, thrown in the sovereign’s teeth, terrified even the most courageous with its enormity. Everyone wondered what terrible sanction would fall from the royal lips.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Louis, leaning towards the Chancellor. ‘Who is refusing? The arbitration seemed to me to be wholly fair.’
He gazed round at those present with his large p
ale eyes and they, seeing him so absent, so lacking in all reaction, thought, ‘Really, what a poor creature the King is.’
Then Robert of Artois rose to his feet, pushing his chair aside with a wide gesture of his arm; he went to take up his position immediately before the King, and the flagstones shook beneath his red boots. He took a deep breath as if he were imbibing all the air in the room at a single gulp, and declaimed in his warrior voice, ‘Sire, my Cousin, how much longer are you going to allow people to cross you and laugh in your face? We, your relations and counsellors, will not tolerate it. You see the thanks you get for your forbearance! You know that for my part I was opposed to any diplomatic agreement with Madame Mahaut, of whom I am ashamed as being of my blood; for she takes every mark of goodwill shown her as a sign of weakness and is merely encouraged to greater villainy. Will I be believed, Messeigneurs,’ he went on, taking the whole assembly to witness, and striking his breast till it resounded beneath his scarlet coat, ‘Will I be believed when I say, when I assert, as I have done for so many years, that I have been defrauded, betrayed, and despoiled by that monster in female form who has respect neither for the King’s authority nor for the power of God! But one need not be surprised at such behaviour from a woman who has failed to obey the wishes of her dying father, has appropriated an inheritance which was not hers, and profited from the fact that I was a child to rob me, an orphan!’
Mahaut, on her feet, her arms akimbo, gazed at her nephew in scorn while two paces away the Bishop of Soissons, his heavy Bible under his arm, did not know which way to look.
‘Do you know, Sire,’ went on Robert, ‘why Madame Mahaut refuses to accept today the judgement to which she yesterday agreed? It is because you have added to it sentence upon Master Thierry d’Hirson, upon that damned and bartered soul, upon that master knave whom I should like to see unshod that we may determine whether he has a cloven hoof or not! It is he who, upon the order of Madame Mahaut, secretly helped her conceal the will of my grandfather, Count Robert II, by which he left me his County, his powers of justice, and his goods. The secret of this theft is the link between them, and that is why the Countess Mahaut has laden all the brothers and relations of Thierry with benefices so that they may shamefully fleece this unhappy people, once so prosperous, and now so wretched that they have no resource but in rebellion.’
The Poisoned Crown Page 13
