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 Gates of the Palace
THAT SAME EVENING THE Count of Poitiers was at the Château 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 on 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. Raoul, 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 Héron, 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 Héron 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 Châtillon 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 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 him 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 he 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 certainty. 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’s suite, that the Count of Poitiers was asleep. Silence fell over the Château. 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 Héron 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 wildlife. 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 reached the gates of Paris while the harsh bells of the neighbouring convents rang out. He found Louis of Evreux and Gaucher de Châtillon waiting for him. The Constable looked depressed. He asked the Count of Poitiers to go at once to the Louvre.
‘But why should I not go straight to the Palace of the Cité?’ 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 notables such as Provost Guillaume de La Madeleine, who had succeeded 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.11 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’s 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 Cité. 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 Châtillon sat more firmly in his saddle.
‘Very well, we shall open the gates ourselves,’ he said.
And he signalled Pierre of the Temple, the royal carpenter, to approach with his workmen, carrying saws, pincers and big iron levers. At the same time the crossbowmen put their feet in a sort of stirrup at the top of their bows, bent their weapons, nocked their quarrels, and took up positions covering the battlements and embrasures. The archers and pikemen joined their shields in a huge testudo above and around the carpenters. In the neighbouring streets loungers and urchins had gathered at a respectful distance to watch the siege. They were being offered a splendid entertainment, which would be matter for conversation for many days to come.
‘I was there as sure as I’m standing here … I saw the Constable draw his great sword … There were more than two thousand of them, for sure, more than two thousand they were!’
Finally Gaucher, in the voice he used for giving orders on the field of battle, shouted, through the raised visor of his helmet: ‘Messires inside there, here is the master carpenter and the master locksmith, who are going to break down the gates. Here, too, are the crossbowmen of Messire de Galard surrounding the Palace at all points. No one can escape. I summon you for the last time to open the gates, for if you do not surrender at discretion, you will all lose your heads, however noble you may be. The Regent will give no quarter.’
Then he lowered his visor as a sign that he was prepared to argue no further.
There must have been a fine panic inside the Palace for, at the very moment that the workmen were putting their levers under the gates, they opened of their own accord. The Count of Valois’s garrison was surrendering.
‘It was time you took the wise course,’ said the Constable, as he took possession of the Palace. ‘Go back to your homes and to the houses of your masters; if you do not assemble, no harm will come to you.’
An hour later Philippe of Poitiers was in occupation of the royal apartments. He immediately took measures for his safety. The courtyard of the Palace, normally open to the public, was closed, a military guard placed on it, and all visitors were carefully checked. The mercers, who had the privilege of trading in the Great Gallery, were asked to close their stalls temporarily.
When the Counts of Valois and de La Marche arrived in Paris, they realized that the game was lost.
‘Philippe has played a dirty trick on us,’ they said.
And they hastened to the Palace to negotiate their submission, having no longer any alternative. About the Count of Poitiers was a large number of lords, burgesses and ecclesiastics, among whom was the Archbishop Jean de Marigny, always prompt to join the winning side.
‘He won’t last. He must be very uncertain of himself if he feels obliged to seek the support of the commonalty,’ Valois whispered to Charles de La Marche when he saw with some vexation that Coquatrix, Gentien and other notables were present.
Nevertheless, he assumed his best manner when advancing towards his nephew and presenting his excuses for the morning’s incident.
‘My equerries of the guard knew no better. They had received definite orders because of Queen Clémence …’
He expected a harsh rebuff and almost hoped for it so that he might have a pretext for opposing Philippe openly. But his nephew gave him no opportunity for a quarrel and replied in the same tone: ‘I had to act as I did, and with the greatest regret, Uncle, to forestall the plans of the Duke of Burgundy, who had a free hand in your absence. I received the news during the night at Fontainebleau, but did not wish to disturb you.’
Valois, to minimize his defeat, pretended to credit the explanation, and even brought himself to be polite to the Constable, whom he believed to be the author of the wh
ole plot.
Charles de La Marche, who was less clever at dissimulation, clenched his teeth.
The Count of Evreux then made the proposal which had been previously agreed with Philippe. While the Count of Poitiers pretended to be engaged in military questions with the Constable and Mille de Noyers, in a corner of the room, Louis of Evreux said: ‘My noble Lords, and you too, Messires, I counsel, for the good of the kingdom and so as to avoid dangerous disturbances, that our well-beloved nephew, Philippe, take possession of the government, we all consenting, and that he should fulfil the royal duties in the name of his unborn nephew, if God so wishes that Queen Clémence should give birth to a son. I counsel also that an assembly of all the chief men of the kingdom be held as soon as it can be convoked, with the peers and the barons, in order to approve our decision and swear fealty to the Regent.’
It was a precise counterstroke to the declaration Charles de La Marche had made the evening before on his arrival at Fontainebleau. But this act had been prepared by better artists. Led by those who were loyal to the Count of Poitiers, everyone present approved with acclamation. Then Louis of Evreux, repeating the gesture the Count de Forez had made at Lyons, went and placed his hands between those of Philippe.
‘I swear fealty to you, Nephew,’ he said, falling upon his knees.
Philippe raised him and, embracing him, whispered in his ear: ‘Everything is going splendidly; thank you, Uncle.’
Charles de La Marche, furiously angry at Philippe’s success, muttered: ‘He thinks he’s the King.’
But Louis of Evreux had already turned to Charles of Valois and was saying: ‘I am sorry, Brother, to have taken precedence of you, my elder.’
There was nothing Valois could do but obey. He went forward with his hands outstretched; the Count of Poitiers left them in the air.
‘I shall be grateful to you, Uncle,’ he said, ‘if you will sit on my Council.’
The Royal Succession Page 8
