In a Dark Wood Wandering (47 page)

“Arm those fellows of Saint-Jacques then, but do it quickly,” he said to Saint-Pol. “Organize the guilds into troops, give them money, ask them their grievances, and make them promises; I don't doubt that you will be able to find your way through those districts. Give them gifts, greet them with courtesy. Evidently you know what pleases those people most. But see to it that they receive weapons and instructions before Saint-Lawrence's day.”

“Monseigneur, I think it advisable that you make this request for cooperation yourself,” said Saint-Pol mildly, but with determination. “You can accomplish more by personal sympathy than I can accomplish by promises or gifts. There are people, Monseigneur, who will go through fire and flame for a leader. They need to follow, to cling to something. You can be their leader if you approach them in the right way.”

Burgundy sniffed contemptuously.

“I have never heard that a member of a royal House had to beg for an alliance with butchers,” he cried, leaping to his feet. “A Duke of Burgundy does not beg for a treaty with butchers.”

Saint-Pol shrugged and bowed.

“It shall be as Your Grace desires,” he said formally. “I thought only that a personal appearance would fully restore the confidence in you which had been somewhat dispelled in the course of the year. The people are still well-disposed toward you, Monseigneur, but already there are many who ask themselves why you have not gone forward with the reforms in the Audit Chamber, why you have not revised the taxes, why you have not restored order in municipal affairs during your administration. You know how difficult it is to keep
the people as a friend. But perhaps I do not see these things in their proper light, my lord. In that case I beg you to forgive me. A few days ago I heard a couple of small children singing in the street—The Duke of Burgundy! May God keep him happy!' I hope that will always be the wish of Paris, Monseigneur.”

He bowed once more and walked backward to the door; as he passed he took his riding gloves from a chest. Burgundy watched him, overcome by an uncomfortable feeling of having made a mistake—worse still, of having made himself ridiculous. He knew that in matters like these, Saint-Pol was seldom wrong; the Luxembourger was a shrewd judge of people, a disinterested and devoted counselor.

“Stay, Saint-Pol,” he said curtly even before the other had reached the door. “Sit down here and let us discuss this matter thoroughly.”

Saint-Pol put his gloves down again and briskly approached the table. Burgundy told him that he intended to communicate personally with the Legoix brothers. No twitch in his face, no flicker of his eyes, no irony in his voice betrayed his satisfaction as Saint-Pol replied, “Of course. I endorse your plans heartily. I shall execute your instructions at once.”

Charles d'Orléans awoke from a deep slumber; it had been a long time since he had enjoyed such a sound, dreamless, undisturbed sleep. He turned onto his back and stretched. What he saw around him in the dusk brought him quickly back to a realization of time and place. He raised himself at once on his elbows and peered through the dawn, listening intendy. He lay on the camp bed in his tent. He could hear his pennant fluttering overhead in the wind, horses neighed nearby; further away someone blew a horn. Charles' squire lay curled up on a heap of straw before the curtain which covered the entrance to the tent. Charles leaped from the bed and nudged the sleeping youth.

As the squire sat up, Charles pulled the curtain ropes; a cold morning wind blew in his face. Grey light filtered into the tent.

“Dry weather, clear sky,” he muttered. “God be praised. We can finally begin to do something. We have had two days now without rain. I hope the terrain has become a little less swampy. Over here!” he called out to the youth who, still half-blind from sleep, came carrying the leather doublet which was worn under the armor. While
his arm and leg pieces were being buckled on, Charles looked outside.

The morning star sparkled over the horizon; the tents of his allies and vassals stood to the left and right of Charles' pavilion, outlined against the clear sky. Banners and ensigns floated from their tops; shields with escutcheons hung over each entrance. As it grew lighter, the colors and armorial bearings painted or enamelled on the flags and shields could be distinguished: the lions, falcons, lilies, crosses and stars in saffron, sable, argent and lapis lazuli. Behind the city of tents lay the army camp. The men had spent the night in the open air, in deserted barns on the field, or under hastily constructed shelters made of twigs, straw and hides. The great fires, which the soldiers had kindled after sunset to protect them at least partially from the night cold, were still burning. An odor of roast meat drifted over the camp. Directly opposite Charles' tent on the other side of the field, rose the roofs of Saint-Denis, a suburb of Paris; above the houses stood the heavy walls and towers of the abbey.

For a week Orléans' troops had besieged Saint-Denis—or rather they had camped around the town, for storm and rain had prevented them from launching an assault. Paris had denied them an entry; the gates were closed, soldiers stood on the ramparts. Armagnac, who had been thoroughly informed of the conditions around Paris, led the army to Saint-Denis; if the village fell, they would have an advantageous base for operations. The people of Saint-Denis had not been fully prepared for the arrival of Orléans' troops. They had not expected that anyone would desecrate by siege so holy a place which held both an abbey and a cathedral. They acted in great haste, pulling down the market stalls to use the wood for shooting weapons and slings. Heavy rainfall brought a welcome postponement of hostilities.

While Orléans' people waited for the sky to clear, the burghers consulted with the Abbot of Saint-Denis. They felt obliged to defend their village for the sake of the people of Paris: bread, firewood and seafish could reach Paris only through Saint-Denis. On the other hand, the Abbot feared that the church and monastery buildings would suffer irreparable damage if there were a siege. He felt responsible for the treasures and objects of art which were stored in the abbey. For that reason the Abbot counseled voluntary surrender. Inside Saint-Denis, opinions on this matter varied widely: the people's terror mounted when somebody on the ramparts reported that
Orléans' army was preparing for an attack. It was rumored in the village that the assault would be led by the Armagnacs, who were feared and detested everywhere.

Orléans now donned his armor. Taking his helmet under his left arm, his sword in his right hand, and followed by his squire, he walked past the tents to the great pavilion where he and his allies met early to eat and talk. Here he found his brother Philippe and Messeigneurs de Bourbon and Alençon, surrounded by nobles of their retinues, already assembled. The Constable d'Albret and Armagnac were not yet present; since dawn they had been busy calling up and instructing the men.

“The weather holds well, my lord,” remarked Bourbon after greeting Charles. He was a tall, plump man of middle age, with an affable, but rather weak, face. He had narrow shoulders, bad posture, and looked somewhat ineffectual in a hauberk and coat of mail. His allies considered him something of a dead weight on them; he was excessively cautious, worried constantly, seeing danger or bad luck everywhere; moved slowly and was distinguished by a striking sluggishness in thought and action. In the most favorable circumstances he showed himself to be calm and reliable, just as his old father had been before him; it was perhaps also because of this quality that he had not allowed himself to be swayed by the recent effort of the opposition party to win him over, with his troops and resources, to Burgunds cause.

“I have just left Monseigneur d'Alençon,” continued Bourbon hesitantly, in a low voice, while he bowed to Charles. “We ask ourselves continually whether it is really wise of you to let Armag-nac's men lead the attack on Saint-Denis. It is true that they know the neighborhood much better than we do, but after the failure at Ham and the events last year …”

Followed by Bourbon, Charles walked to the table which stood in the middle of the tent and let himself be served with bread and meat. Bourbon's words troubled him because they expressed a doubt which he himself shared almost constantly. It had indeed been Charles' intention to let Saint-Denis be taken under the command of de Braquemont and de Villars. He now had a strong, well-equipped army, substantially larger than the previous year, for it had been reinforced by companies from Lombardy and Lorraine. When he had met his father-in-law again in Beauvais a few weeks before,
he had believed at first that he was finished with the latter's recklessness for the present. Armagnac's soldiers were more squalid and gaunt than ever, their ranks notably diminished, their knapsacks and carts empty, because they had been forced to leave their booty behind at Ham and had had little time for plunder during the flight.

Next to the seemly, well-disciplined troops of Orléans, Alencon and Bourbon, who had recently left fortresses and quarters supplied with weapons and fresh provisions, the men of the Midi looked like a pack of beggars. In addition, it was difficult to handle them; they brought fellow soldiers from other districts into great disrepute, stole clothing and food, horses and weapons, and caused unrest in the army by their raucous, lawless behavior.

“You know nothing can be changed now, Bourbon,” said Charles. “Everything has been arranged. All we can to is try to prevent Armagnac's men from looting the city once it falls into our hands. I intend to place the abbey and marketplace under guard. I am counting on you and Alencon to cooperate.”

Bourbon made a wry face, but before he could voice his objections, Armagnac and d'Albret entered the tent with their following of armed nobles. Armagnac was in rare good humor. He had already drunk copiously before daybreak; the prospect of combat which would unquestionably result in victory made him jovial and boisterous.

“Well, son-in-law, what do you have to say about the beautiful weather?” he asked, throwing his armored arm over Charles' shoulders. “We could not have hit it better. By starting in early we will have the sun at our back as long as possible. In fact, I venture to predict that you will eat your mid-day meal in Saint-Denis. The village will fall apart like a house of cards, mark my words. They can't do much with the weapons they've put on the ramparts. My men are fresh and pugnacious—they have had an eye on the abbey for a long time now. Well, what is it?” He turned impatiently to one of the knights of his retinue. Near the entrance stood a few armed men belonging to a watch patrol; they requested admittance.

Charles stepped forward and told the men to enter. They reported that a number of citizens carrying white flags had just left the Saint-Denis gate. Armagnac snorted contemptuously and hurried out. Standing with his hands on his hips, his legs spread, he watched the delegation approach the camp of tents through the
dank grass; there were magistrates in dark tabards and surely a half dozen clergy—all older men who held up their mantles while they warily sought a path around pits and pools.

“Well, well,” remarked Armagnac. “White flags. They come to request an armistice, Orléans, while they go to fetch Burgundy. Don't let them pull the wool over your eyes!”

Charles' lips were tightly compressed, his eyes dark with anger. He ordered the guards to bring the delegates from Saint-Denis into his tent. Soon the men entered; they knelt and delivered their message.

“Monseigneur, in order to avoid senseless bloodshed, the city of Saint-Denis surrenders to you. Monseigneur, we place ourselves under your protection. We entreat you to spare us the indignity of robbery and mistreatment.”

Armagnac moved quickly forward, to stand between Charles and the delegation.

“Son-in-law, they have no right to ask that of us! For a whole week they kept their gates closed and threw stones at our reconnaissance posts. They tried to offer resistance. Surrender cannot mean the same thing for them as for those who open their gates at once. I repeat—they have no right to protection.”

The men who knelt before Charles looked up. The Gascon stood in front of them; he blocked their view of Charles. They were afraid that Armagnac would convince his son-in-law. The princely allies and their nobles, however, ranged in a close circle about the group, saw what was hidden from the suppliants: Charles' eyes flashed with fury.

“Be quiet, Armagnac,” he said, calmly and coldly. Those who had known his father listened expectantly. “And please be good enough to stand either beside me or behind me, so that I can at least look at these gentlemen while I speak with them. The petition is addressed to me personally—and I grant it. No son of France will plunder Saint-Denis. Even if we had taken the city by storm, I would have forbidden pillage and robbery. It is my express will that there should be no disorder.”

He looked searchingly past the row of horsemen; his eyes became fixed upon a robust, erect man in black armor who stood watching the scene. He carried a helmet and battle-axe under his arm.

“Monseigneur.” Charles bowed slightly; the warrior stepped toward him and doffed his leather cap, revealing his tonsure.

“My lords, this is the Archbishop of Sens,” Charles said, turning back to the envoys. “I confide the custody of the church and abbey of Saint-Denis to him and his troops. I will visit the Abbot myself today with my kinsmen and allies to inform him of my intentions.”

“The devil take it, son-in-law, have you lost your mind?” screamed Armagnac, his face purple with rage. “I have promised my men this day's spoils. They have not been paid for a long time, Orléans. I have been so generous with you that I cannot fulfil my obligations to my soldiers. After the reverses of the past few months, my men have a right to compensation. Saint-Denis is rich; the storehouses in the great marketplace are crammed with grain and the merchants' money chests are overflowing. Those people will start earning money again when the war is over; let them help us now, freely or otherwise—what difference does it make to you, son-in-law? The cathedral holds enough gold to keep all the armies of Christendom under arms for as long as they live.”