The Poisoned Crown

by Maurice Druon

  ‘What’s the matter, Brother?’ said Philippe. ‘You’ve got pins and needles, that’s all. Give your leg a good rub!’

  ‘Oh, do you think that’s all it is?’ said The Hutin.

  And he went out, limping like Everard.

  On reaching his apartments, he learnt that the physicians had given an affirmative decision, and that he would become, God willing, a father in November. At the moment he showed less pleasure in the prospect than had been expected.

  6

  ‘I Assume Control of Artois’

  THE FOLLOWING DAY Philippe of Poitiers visited his mother-in-law in order to wish her goodbye. The Countess Mahaut was at the moment living in her new castle of Conflans, so called because it was situated immediately at the confluence of the Seine and the Marne, at Charenton.

  Beatrice d’Hirson was present at their interview. When the Count of Poitiers recounted the cross-examination of the spell-maker, she exchanged a rapid glance with Mahaut. Both women had the same thought. The creature of Cardinal Caetani seemed to bear a singular resemblance to the man they had used, two years earlier, to poison Guillaume de Nogaret.

  ‘It would be most surprising if there were two ex-Templars of the same name, both versed in sorcery. The death of Nogaret must have made a good introduction to the nephew of Boniface. I expect he’s done a bit of blackmailing in that direction! What an unfortunate business!’ Mahaut said to herself.

  ‘What did this Everard look like?’ she asked.

  ‘Thin, dark, with a mad look about him,’ replied Poitiers; ‘and he was lame.’

  Mahaut was watching Beatrice. The latter nodded imperceptibly; it was clearly the same man. The Countess of Artois felt a sudden dismay; Everard was bound to be subjected to special tortures designed for vivifying the memory of such people. Even if they weren’t in process of doing it already. And supposing he talked? Not that Nogaret was much regretted by Louis X and his counsellors. But they would be delighted to use the murder as an occasion for proceeding against her! What play her nephew Robert would make with it! Her imagination working with astonishing rapidity, she at once began making plans. ‘To kill a prisoner immured in a royal prison is far from easy. And who, even if there is still time, will help me to do it? Philippe, there’s no one but Philippe; I must admit the whole business to him. But how will he take it? If he refuses to support me, I am finished.’

  Beatrice also felt her throat turn dry.

  ‘Has he been tortured?’ asked Mahaut.

  ‘They haven’t had time,’ replied Poitiers, who was leaning down to rebuckle his shoe; ‘but ...’

  ‘God be praised,’ thought Mahaut, ‘nothing is yet lost. I must take the plunge!’

  ‘My son ...’ she said.

  ‘... but it’s most unfortunate,’ continued Poitiers, still leaning down, ‘for we shall now learn nothing more. Everard hanged himself last night in the prison of the Petit Châtelet. From fear doubtless of being put to the question again.’

  He heard two deep sighs; he sat up straight, rather surprised that these two women should show so much compassion for the fate of an unknown and so low a creature into the bargain.

  ‘You were about to say something, Mother, and I interrupted you.’

  Mahaut instinctively touched the relic she wore upon her breast through her dress.

  ‘I was about to say ... what was I going to say?’ replied Mahaut. ‘Oh, yes. I wanted to talk to you of Jeanne. In the first place, are you taking her with you?’

  She had gathered her wits, and spoke in a natural voice. But, good God, what an escape!

  ‘No, her condition forbids it,’ replied Philippe. ‘As a matter of fact I wanted to talk to you about her. She’s three months from her lying-in, and I don’t want to take any risks on the bad roads. I shall be moving about a lot.’

  In the meantime Beatrice d’Hirson was concerned with her memories. She saw once more the back room in the shop in the Rue des Bourdonnais; she could smell the odour of wax, tallow, and candles; she felt the hard contact of Everard’s hands on her skin and the strange impression she had had of being united with the devil.

  ‘Why are you smiling, Beatrice?’ the Count of Poitiers asked suddenly.

  ‘No particular reason, Monseigneur, except that it’s always a pleasure to see you and listen to you talk.’

  ‘In my absence, Mother,’ went on Philippe, ‘I should like Jeanne to live here with you. You can give her the care she needs and you will be able to afford her the protection she requires. To tell you the truth, I am somewhat afraid of the plots of our cousin Robert who, when he can’t get the better of men, attacks women.’

  ‘Which means, my son,’ replied Mahaut, ‘that you place me among the men. If it’s a compliment, it doesn’t displease me at all.’

  ‘Of course it’s a compliment,’ said Philippe.

  ‘Anyway you’ll be back for Jeanne’s lying-in?’ asked Mahaut.

  ‘I hope so, and will do my best; but I can’t guarantee it, since the Conclave has all the appearance of being such a tangled skein that it will take me more than a few days to unravel it.’

  ‘I’m very disquieted at your being away for so long, Philippe, because my enemies will assuredly take advantage of it concerning Artois.’

  ‘Yes, I have no doubt they will. Plead my absence as an excuse for yielding nothing,’ said Philippe as he took his leave.

  The Count of Poitiers left for the south two days later and Jeanne came to live at Conflans.

  As Mahaut had foreseen, the situation in Artois immediately gave reason for alarm. With the return of good weather the barons felt a need to disport themselves. Guided by Robert from a distance, and knowing the Countess to be in exile, they had now decided to administer the province themselves and were doing it extremely ill. They were perfectly content with the anarchy that reigned, and it was to be feared that the example would spread to the neighbouring provinces.

  Louis X, who had returned to reside at Vincennes, determined to put an end to it once and for all. He was much encouraged in this by his treasurer, because the Artois taxes were not being paid. Mahaut could plead that she had been placed in a situation where she could not collect the taxes; and the barons said the same thing. Indeed, it was the only point upon which the adversaries were in agreement.

  ‘I want no more Grand Councils, no more discussions by Parliamentary delegates, at which everyone lies and nothing gets done,’ Louis X had declared. ‘This time I propose to negotiate directly, and I’m going to make the Countess Mahaut yield.’

  The impression made upon the King’s mind by the Caetani affair, though violent, had been but of short duration.

  During the weeks that followed the avowals of the ex-Templar, Louis had been in better health than for a long time past. He had but few symptoms of the stomach trouble to which he was subject; the pious fasts which Clémence imposed upon him had certainly been salutary. He succeeded in persuading himself that a spell had not been cast upon him. Nevertheless, as a precaution, he took Communion several times a week.

  He had surrounded the Queen not only with the most famous midwives in the Kingdom, but also with the most competent saints in heaven: Saint Leon, Saint Norbert, Saint Colette, Saint Julienne, Saint Marguerite, and Saint Felicity, the last because she had only had male children. New relics arrived every day; tibias and molars accumulated in the Chapel Royal. The prospect of having an heir whom he was certain was his own had an admirable effect upon The Hutin; Clémence, by making him a father, had completed his transformation. She had not succeeded in making him intelligent; that would have been an impossible task. But she had made a normal man of him; surrounded with better ministers, he might have become, in the long run, a moderately good king.

  His manner, on the day he sent for the Countess Mahaut, appeared calm, courteous, and relaxed. It was no great distance from Charenton to Vincennes. To give the interview an air of greater intimacy, he received Mahaut in the Queen’s apartment. The latter was engaged on her
embroidery. There was a family atmosphere about the occasion. Louis talked conciliatingly.

  ‘For form’s sake put your seal to the document of arbitration, Cousin,’ he said, ‘for it seems that we cannot have peace but at that price. And then we shall see! The customs of Saint Louis are, after all, not all that well defined and you will always find means of taking back with one hand what you have appeared to give with the other. That’s what I did with the people of Champagne, when the Count of Champagne and the Lord of Saint-Phalle came to demand my assent to their charter. We merely added “except in those cases which touch Our Royal Majesty”; and now when any litigation arises, it always does touch Our Royal Majesty.’

  At the same time, with a friendly gesture, he pushed towards her the bowl of sweets from which he was helping himself as he talked.

  ‘Wasn’t it your brother Philippe who thought out that ingenious formula?’ asked Mahaut.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course it was Philippe who put it into words; but I thought of it, and he did no more than meet my thoughts.’

  ‘But you must realize, Sire my Cousin, the circumstances are not the same in my case,’ said Mahaut calmly. ‘I have not the majesty of royalty; I am suzerain, yes, but no queen.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you can put the phrase “the royal majesty” since I exercise it above you! Should there be dissension, it will be brought before me and I shall resolve it.’

  Mahaut took a handful of sweets from the bowl, since there was no other food within reach of her hand.

  ‘They’re excellent, quite excellent,’ she said, her mouth full, trying to gain time. ‘I’m not really fond of sweets, but I must admit that they’re quite delicious.’

  ‘My dearest Clémence knows that I like nibbling them all the time, and she always sees that they are provided in her room,’ said Louis, turning towards the Queen with the expression of a husband who wishes to underline the fact that he is properly cherished.

  Clémence raised her eyes from her embroidery and returned Louis’s smile.

  ‘Well, Cousin,’ went on Louis, ‘are you going to put your seal to the document?’

  Mahaut finished chewing a sugared almond.

  ‘Well, no, Sire my Cousin, I can’t put my seal to it,’ she said. ‘Though today we have in you an admirable King, and though I have no doubt that you will act in accordance with the sentiments you have expressed and would exercise the royal majesty in my favour, you will not last for ever and I a lesser time still. And after you, who knows, though God willing not for many years ...’ she added, making the sign of the Cross, ‘there may be kings whose judgements will be less equitable. I must think of my heirs and cannot submit them to the discretion of the royal power for more than we already owe to it.’

  However diplomatic the form in which it was couched, the refusal was none the less categorical. Louis, who had told his entourage that he would gain the upper hand of the Countess by personal diplomacy more successfully than by great public hearings, was rapidly losing patience; his vanity was at stake. He began striding up and down the room, raised his voice, brought his fist down on a piece of furniture; but, meeting Clémence’s eyes, he stopped, blushed, and compelled himself to reassume a royal demeanour.

  In the interplay of argument Mahaut was stronger than he; he’d never get anywhere by that method.

  ‘Put yourself in my place, Cousin,’ she said. ‘You’re about to have an heir; would you tolerate transmitting him diminished powers?’

  ‘That’s exactly it, Madam! I will not leave him either diminished powers or the memory of having had a weak father. And when all’s said and done, you’re going too far! And since you are so obstinate in your effrontery, I assume control of Artois myself! I have spoken! And you can turn up the sleeves of your dress, but you won’t frighten me. From now on, your county will be governed in my immediate name by one of my lords whom I shall appoint. As for you, you will no longer have the right to go more than five miles away from the residences I have assigned you. And don’t come into my presence again, for I shall not be pleased to see you. You may now retire.’

  The blow was annihilating and Mahaut was not expecting it. Clearly, The Hutin had changed considerably.

  Misfortunes come in series. Mahaut had been so suddenly dismissed that, as she came out of the Queen’s apartment, she still had a sweet in her hand. She automatically put it in her mouth and bit upon it so violently that she broke a tooth.

  For a whole week Mahaut remained at Conflans like a panther in a cage. With huge mannish paces she went from the living rooms, which gave upon the Seine, to the principal courtyard, which was surrounded by galleries and from which she could see the weathercocks upon the royal castle above the treetops of the forest of Vincennes. Her rage knew no bounds when, on May 15th precisely, Louis X, putting his plans into execution, named the Marshal of Champagne, Hugues de Conflans, as Governor of Artois. Mahaut saw in the choice of this particular governor, whose name was the same as that of her castle, a deliberately derisive gesture, and a supreme outrage.

  ‘Conflans! Conflans!’ she kept on repeating. ‘I am shut up in Conflans, and a Conflans is nominated to steal my property from me.’

  In the meantime her broken tooth was giving her severe pain because an abscess had formed. She constantly probed it with her tongue and exacerbated the pain. She vented her fury upon her attendants; she smacked Master Renier, one of the choristers in her chapel, because she thought that he sang flat during a service; Jeannot le Follet, her dwarf, hid in corners whenever he saw her coming afar off; she raged at Thierry d’Hirson whom she accused, him and his innumerable family, of being the cause of her immediate troubles; she even reproached her daughter Jeanne for not having prevented her husband from going to the Conclave.

  ‘What the hell do we want a Pope for,’ she cried, ‘when we’re being robbed? No Pope will give us back Artois!’

  Then she turned on Beatrice.

  ‘And can’t you do anything, eh? All you’re good for is to take my money, rig yourself out in fine clothes, and waggle your bottom at the first whipper-snapper who comes along! Can’t you be of any use?’

  ‘What, Madam?’ said Beatrice gently. ‘Haven’t the cloves I brought you helped to stop the pain?’

  ‘If my tooth were all I had to worry about! I’ve got a bigger one than that to draw, and you know his name. Oh yes, when it’s a question of making love-philtres, you get busy, you take trouble, you find me witches! But when I want something important done ...’

  ‘You’re being unjust, Madam; you very quickly forget how I poisoned Messire de Nogaret, and the risks I have run for you.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten; I haven’t forgotten at all; but Nogaret seems small beer today ...’

  If Mahaut did not hesitate before the idea of crime, she nevertheless disliked being forced to speak of it. Beatrice, who knew her well, subtly led her on to do so.

  ‘Really, Madam?’ she said, looking from beneath her long black lashes. ‘Do you really wish for the death of someone so highly placed?’

  ‘What on earth do you imagine I’ve been thinking about for the last week, you fool? What else can I do now, except pray to God from morning till night, and night till morning, that Louis will break his neck in a fall from his horse or choke himself to death with a dried nut?’

  ‘There may be more rapid methods, Madam ...’

  ‘Go and find them, if you’ve got the stomach. Oh, in any case, the King’s not fated to make old bones; one has only to listen to him cough to know that. But it’s now that I want him to die. I shan’t be at peace till I’ve seen him to Saint-Denis.’

  ‘And in that case, Monseigneur of Poitiers would probably become Regent of the Kingdom.’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘And he would give you back Artois.’

  ‘Exactly! My dear Beatrice, you perfectly understand me; but you also see that it’s not easy. Oh, I assure you I shall not be sparing in my reward to anyone who will find me the means of deliverance.’<
br />
  ‘Dame Isabelle de Férienne knows many good recipes for inducing oblivion.’

  ‘Bah! By magic, wax, and incantations! Louis has already had a spell cast upon him, or so it appears, and look at him! He’s never been in better health than he is this spring. You might think he was in league with the devil.’

  Beatrice seemed to be reflecting.

  ‘If he’s in league with the devil, it would perhaps be no great sin to send him to hell by means of some suitably prepared food.’

  ‘And how do you propose to set about it? I suppose you’ll go to him and say: “Here’s a nice pie that your cousin Mahaut who loves you so much has sent you.” And he’ll eat it out of hand. You might as well know that since the winter, owing to some sudden fear, he has all the food set before him tasted three times, and that two armed equerries accompany each dish from the oven to his table. Oh, he’s as much of a coward as he’s wicked. You don’t imagine I haven’t taken steps to be informed!’

  Beatrice looked upwards, stroking her throat with the ends of her fingers.

  ‘He often goes to Communion, so I’m told, and the Host is generally swallowed with confidence.’

  ‘Do you imagine I haven’t thought of that? That’s the kind of thing one thinks of at once,’ said Mahaut. ‘But the chaplain always carries the key to the ciborium in his purse. Do you propose to go and get it from there?’

  ‘Well, one never knows,’ said Beatrice. ‘Purses are worn below the belt. All the same, it’s a somewhat hazardous method.’

  ‘If we strike, my child, it’s got to be a sure blow, and one which no one will ever know was struck by our hands, or at least not until it’s too late,’ added Mahaut, waving her hand above her head.

  For a moment they were both silent, each seeking a solution in her own way.

  ‘You were complaining, the other day,’ Beatrice suddenly said, ‘that the deer were infesting your woods and eating your young trees. I can’t see any harm in asking Isabelle de Férienne for some sound poison into which arrows may be dipped in order to kill the deer. The King is very fond of venison.’