The Accursed Kings Series Books 1-3: The Iron King, the Strangled Queen, the Poisoned Crown

by Maurice Druon

  ‘And the other three?’

  ‘Hate Caetani; these are the two Colonna and Orsini. A family affair. Since none of the three is powerful enough to have any hope for himself, they are favourable to me to the extent that I am an obstacle in Caetani’s way, unless of course they were promised that the Holy See would be returned to Rome, which might make them agree among themselves and leave them free to assassinate each other afterwards.’

  ‘And the fifteen Frenchmen?’

  ‘Oh, if the Frenchmen voted the same way, you would have had a Pope a long time ago! But only six are for me, the King of Naples having, through my offices, been generous to them.’

  ‘Six Frenchmen,’ Bouville said, ‘and three Italians, that makes nine.’

  ‘Yes, Messire. That makes nine, and we need sixteen to have the required number. You will realize that the other nine Frenchmen are not numerous enough to elect the Pope Marigny wants.’

  ‘We need to find another seven votes. Do you think that any of them could be acquired for money? I have the means to provide you with funds. How much do you suppose it would cost per cardinal?’

  Bouville thought that he had managed the affair extremely cleverly but, to his surprise, Duèze did not appear to receive his proposal with any particular alacrity.

  ‘I do not believe,’ he replied, ‘that the French cardinals we require will respond to that particular argument. It is not that honesty is a major virtue in all of them, nor that they live lives of austerity; but the fear they have of Messire de Marigny places them for the moment above the things of this world. The Italians are greedier, but hate rules them in place of avarice.’

  ‘I see,’ said Bouville. ‘Everything rests with Marigny and the power he has over the nine French cardinals.’

  ‘Yes, Messire, everything today depends upon that. Tomorrow it may depend upon something else. How much gold can you provide me with?’

  Bouville stared.

  ‘But you have just told me, Monseigneur, that gold would be of no use to you!’

  ‘You misunderstood me, Messire. The gold cannot help me to acquire new supporters, but I need it to keep those I have and for whom, so long as I am not elected, I can do nothing. It would be a pretty business if, when you have obtained for me the votes I lack, I should have lost in the meantime those who support me now!’

  ‘How much money do you require?’

  ‘If the King of France is rich enough to furnish me with five thousand pounds, I guarantee to use them well.’

  At that moment, Bouville needed once more to blow his nose. The other took this for diplomatic craftiness and feared that he had mentioned too high a sum. It was the single point that Bouville made during the whole conversation.

  ‘Even with four thousand,’ whispered Duèze, ‘I could manage for a time.’

  He already knew that the gold would leave his purse only to meet his creditors.

  ‘The Bardi,’ said Bouville, ‘will remit you the gold you require.’

  ‘Let them keep it on deposit,’ replied the Cardinal; ‘I have an account with them. I will draw on it as necessity arises.’

  Upon which he suddenly seemed in a hurry to remount his mule, assuring Bouville that he would not fail to pray for him and that he would be delighted to meet him again.

  He extended his ring for the fat man to kiss, and then went off, dancing over the grass, as he had come.

  ‘An odd Pope we shall have in him, occupying himself as he does with alchemy as much as with church matters,’ thought Bouville as he watched him disappear. ‘Is he suited to the vocation he has chosen?’

  As far as he was concerned, Bouville was not too displeased with himself. He had been commissioned to see the cardinals, had he not? He had succeeded in meeting one of them. To find a Pope? This Duèze appeared to wish for nothing better. To distribute gold? He had done so.

  When he rejoined Guccio and told him with a satisfied air the results of the interview, Tolomei’s nephew cried, ‘It seems to me, Messire Hugues, that you have succeeded in buying at a very high price the only cardinal who is already on our side.’

  And part of the gold that the Bardi of Naples had lent, through Tolomei, to the King of France returned to the Bardi of Avignon to reimburse them for the money they had lent to the King of Anjou’s candidate.

  7

  A Pope is Worth an Exoneration

  THIN-LEGGED, AND RATHER lanky of body, his chin sunk upon his breast, Philippe of Poitiers stood before The Hutin.

  ‘Sire, my Brother,’ he said in a calm, cold voice which somewhat recalled that of Philip the Fair, ‘you must admit the truth that has come to light in the inquiry; you cannot deny truth when it stares you in the face.’

  The Commission of Accountancy, set up to look into the financial transactions of Enguerrand de Marigny, had finished its labours the day before.

  For many days, under the painstaking chairmanship of Philippe of Poitiers, the Counts of Valois and Evreux, the Count of Saint-Pol, Louis de Bourbon, the Canon Etienne de Mornay, who was already beginning to take up his new duties, though the title had not yet been given him, of Chancellor to the Crown, the First Chamberlain, Mathieu de Trye, and finally Archbishop Jean de Marigny, had read the documents, searched the archives, studied line by line the Treasury Journal over a period of sixteen years, and had demanded subsidiary explanations and documentary proof. They had not spared themselves, and no avenue of investigation had been neglected. In an inquiry where so much hatred was involved, every possible line had been followed up.

  And yet they had been able to find nothing to Marigny’s disadvantage. His administration of the royal treasure and the public funds was discovered to be scrupulous and exact. If he were rich, it was merely due to the liberality of the late King and the fact that he had known how to invest his money profitably. But there was no evidence that he had ever confused, at least in matters of finance, his private interests with those of the State; still less that he had robbed the Treasury as his adversaries accused him of having done. Was this result really a surprise to Monseigneur of Valois? At most, his was the angry disappointment of a gambler who has lost. He had been obstinate to the end, the only one of the Commissioners, with of course Mornay who had echoed his words and denied the evidence.

  Louis X had now the Commission’s conclusions before him, supported by six votes to two, and yet hesitated to approve them; his hesitation deeply wounded his brother.

  ‘Why did you make me Chairman of the Commission, Brother,’ said Philippe, ‘if you refuse to approve the report?’

  ‘Marigny has many defenders who feel themselves bound up with his destiny,’ The Hutin replied.

  ‘I can assure you that he had none on the Commission, except perhaps his brother …’

  ‘… and our uncle Evreux and yourself, perhaps?’

  Philippe of Poitiers shrugged his shoulders but did not lose his calm.

  ‘I do not see how my future,’ he replied, ‘could be bound up with Marigny’s, and to suggest it is to insult me.’

  ‘That is not what I meant to say at all, Philippe, certainly not.’

  ‘I am not here to defend anyone, Louis, unless it be justice itself, and you should feel obliged to do the same since you are King.’

  History repeats itself; there are situations strangely analogous. The same temperamental hostility that had existed between Philip the Fair and his youngest brother, Charles of Valois, was repeated in Louis X and Philippe of Poitiers. But the characteristics were curiously inverted. Face to face with a brother who really ruled, the envious Valois had largely played the part of a mischief-maker; now it was the elder who seemed unable to exercise power properly, and the younger who had a sovereign’s mind. And as Valois, in his vanity, had during twenty-nine years said to himself, ‘Ah, if I were King …’ so today Philippe of Poitiers began to say to himself, and with greater justice, ‘I should certainly do better in his place.’

  ‘Furthermore,’ said Louis, ‘there are a number of facto
rs that displease me. This letter I have received from the King of England, recommending me to repose the same confidence in Marigny that our father did, and elaborating the services he has rendered to both our kingdoms … I do not care to have my actions dictated to me.’

  ‘Do you refuse to take good advice merely because it is given you by our brother-in-law?’

  Louis X’s large lustreless eyes refused to meet his brother’s.

  ‘Let us await Bouville’s return. One of the equerries sent on ahead has reported that he will arrive today.’

  ‘What has Bouville to do with your decision?’

  ‘I want news from Naples, and about the conclave,’ said The Hutin with growing impatience. ‘I do not wish to oppose our uncle Charles at the very moment he is arranging for his niece to be my wife and is creating a Pope for me.’

  ‘So, at the caprice of our uncle, you are prepared to sacrifice an honest minister, and remove from power the only man who understands today how to run the affairs of the kingdom? Take care, Brother; you will find it difficult to make a compromise. You have noticed how, while we were investigating Marigny’s accounts, as if he were a dishonest servant, everyone in France has continued to obey him as they did in the past. You will either have to restore him to complete power or destroy him utterly, pronouncing him guilty of invented crimes, punishing him for his loyalty; that would be to act contrary to your own interests. Marigny may take another year to make a Pope for you; but he will give you one who is in conformity with the interests of the kingdom, as for instance the late Bishop of Poitiers, whom I know well since he comes from my own county! Our uncle Charles will promise you a Holy Father from day to day; but without doubt he will be able to move no more rapidly, and in the end will get some Caetani who wants to go back to Rome, appoint your Bishops from there, and direct affairs in France.’

  Louis gazed at Marigny’s exoneration, which Philippe of Poitiers had prepared, as it lay before him.

  ‘And thus approve, commend and receive the accounts of Sire Enguerrand de Marigny (Valois had demanded and obtained that the titles of the Rector-General should not be included) and hold him exonerated, he and his heirs, of all receipts made by the administration of the Treasury of the Temple, the Louvre and the King’s Exchequer.’

  The parchment only lacked the Royal signature and the affixing of the seal.

  ‘Brother,’ went on the Count of Poitiers, ‘you have made me a peer of your realm in order to help you and give you counsel. As a peer I counsel you to approve it. It is an act demanded by justice.’

  ‘Justice is the prerogative of the King,’ cried The Hutin with that sudden violence he was apt to show whenever he felt he was supporting a bad case.

  ‘No, Sire,’ calmly replied he who was to become Philip the Long. ‘The King belongs to justice, is its expression, and is there to see that it triumphs.’

  Bouville and Guccio reached Paris in the late afternoon. The capital was already in the grip of frost and the early darkness of a winter evening.

  They found the First Chamberlain, Mathieu de Trye, waiting for them at the Porte Saint-Jacques. He saluted his predecessor on behalf of the King and informed him that he was awaited at the Palace.

  ‘What! Without time for a rest?’ said Bouville ill-temperedly. ‘I’m as tired as I’m dirty, my good friend, and it’s a miracle I can still stand upon my feet. I’m too old for these journeys.’

  He was not pleased at being so hurried. He had thought to dine a last time with Guccio in some private room in a good inn, so that they would have the opportunity to assemble clearly their ideas upon the results of their mission, and be able to say to each other the many things for which there is never time during forty days of travelling, and which one always feels the need to express on the last night, as if there will never be another opportunity.

  They had to part in the street without affectionate goodbyes, since Mathieu de Trye’s presence embarrassed them. Bouville was a prey to overwhelming nostalgia; he was subject to the melancholy of things past; looking at Guccio, as he went on his way, he realized that the wonderful Neapolitan days were disappearing with him, that the miraculous time of recovered youth he had been privileged to know in the autumn of his days was over. His new shoot of life was lopped off and would burgeon no more.

  ‘I have not thanked him enough for all he has done for me, and for the pleasure his company has afforded me,’ thought Bouville.

  He had not even noticed that Guccio had taken with him the money-chests which, less the expenses of the expedition and the cardinal’s bonus, contained the remainder of the Bardi gold; thus, whatever happened, the Tolomei bank would make sure of its commission.

  Not that this prevented Guccio also from having a certain feeling of emotion upon leaving fat Bouville, since in people who are well endowed to conduct business the sense of personal interest never obliterates sentiment.

  Upon entering the Palace, Bouville became aware of a number of things that displeased him. The servants upon his path appeared to have lost the precision of discipline he had imposed upon them in King Philip’s time, that air of deference and ceremony, present in their least gesture, which manifested the honour they felt in belonging to the royal household. There had been a lowering of standards.

  But when the late Great Chamberlain found himself in the presence of Louis X, he lost his critical faculty; he was in the presence of the King and thought of nothing but bowing sufficiently low.

  ‘Well, Bouville,’ said The Hutin, giving him the curtest of welcomes, somewhat to the fat man’s distress, ‘how is Madame of Hungary?’

  ‘Most formidable, Sire; she frightened me. But she has astonishing intelligence for her age.’

  ‘What’s her appearance like, her looks?’

  ‘Most majestic, Sire, though her teeth have all gone.’

  The Hutin’s face expressed horror. Charles of Valois, who was standing beside his nephew, burst out laughing.

  ‘My dear Bouville,’ he cried, ‘the King is not asking you about Queen Marie, but about Madame Clémence.’

  ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Sire!’ said Bouville, blushing. ‘Madame Clémence? But I will show her to you.’

  ‘What? You don’t mean to tell me you’ve brought her back with you?’

  ‘No, Sire, merely her portrait.’

  And he had Oderisi’s portrait brought in and placed upon a table. The two shutters which protected the portrait were opened; candles were brought near.

  Louis went slowly, cautiously, towards it as if towards something dangerous which might explode in his face. Then he smiled and looked at his uncle, his expression happy.

  ‘It’s a beautiful country, Sire, if you only knew it,’ said Bouville, seeing Naples depicted once more upon the two shutters.

  ‘Well, Nephew, have I deceived you?’ cried Valois. ‘Look at that complexion, that honey-coloured hair, that noble pose! Look at her throat, Nephew, what an exquisitely feminine throat!’

  He praised his niece as a horse-coper his wares at a fair.

  ‘And I must tell the King,’ added Bouville, ‘that Madame Clémence is still more beautiful in the flesh than she is upon canvas.’

  Louis fell silent; he seemed to have forgotten the presence of the other two. Head thrust forward, shoulders stooping, he was absorbed in a curious tête-à-tête with the portrait. In Clémence’s eyes he recognized a certain affinity with Eudeline’s expression, a sort of patient dreaming, a serene kindliness; even their colouring was not without a certain resemblance. There was an Eudeline, but born of kings, about to become a queen. For a moment Louis tried, in his imagination, to superimpose upon the portrait the face of Marguerite, her wide full forehead, her dark hair curling about it, her olive skin, her eyes that so easily turned hostile. And then that other face disappeared and Clémence’s remained triumphant in its calm beauty, and Louis felt certain that beside this fair princess he need fear no bodily impotence.

  ‘Oh, she is beautiful, really beautiful!’ he s
aid at last. ‘I am very grateful to you, Uncle. Bouville, I give you two hundred pounds per annum from the Treasury as a token of gratitude for your embassy.’

  ‘Oh, Sire,’ murmered Bouville gratefully, ‘I have been sufficiently rewarded by the mere honour of serving you well.’

  ‘And so now we are affianced,’ went on The Hutin. ‘It only remains for me to get unmarried; we are affianced …’

  He walked up and down in agitation.

  ‘Yes, Sire,’ said Bouville, ‘provided you are free of your present wife before summer.’

  ‘I have every intention of being so! But who has made that condition?’

  ‘Queen Marie, Sire. She has other offers for Madame Clémence, and though yours is undoubtedly the most important and the most desirable, she does not wish to commit herself further than that.’

  The Hutin’s expression grew sombre and Bouville thought that his pension of two hundred pounds was on the point of disappearing. But the King had turned questioningly to Valois, who looked astonished.

  Valois, during Bouville’s absence and unknown to him, had been in postal contact with Naples by courier, and he had assured his nephew that his engagement was in process of being definitely concluded without any time-limit.

  ‘Is this a condition that Madame of Hungary made at the last moment?’ he asked Bouville.

  ‘Yes, Monseigneur.’

  ‘She only said it to make us hurry and give herself importance. If by any chance, though I think it unlikely, the annulment took longer, Madame of Hungary would most certainly prove patient.’

  ‘I cannot tell, Monseigneur; she made the condition in a firm, decided manner.’

  Valois felt a certain uneasiness, and tapped the arm of his chair with his fingers.

  ‘Before summer,’ murmured Louis, ‘before summer … and what point has the conclave reached?’