In a Dark Wood Wandering (6 page)

Isabeau turned toward him. “He's being fetched,” she replied coldly. “I gave instructions that he should not be brought directly here. It was necessary first for Messeigneurs de Berry and Bourbon to become acquainted with our intentions.”

The Duke of Bourbon stopped playing with the dog. The animal sprang toward him in invitation, but he paid no more attention to it. Isabeau ordered it to lie down.

“I cannot say that I find this new plan to be entirely as favorable as it looks,” Bourbon said slowly. His caution in all matters was well-known. During deliberations he bored Berry and roused the impatience of Isabeau and Burgundy. “Why should we encourage behavior that is known to engender suspicion and discontent everywhere? Isn't it wiser for us to stick to remedies which can bear the light of day? In the long run the wisdom of the physicians and the mercy of the Church will help the King much more.”

“In the long run!” Isabeau's eyes became hard as glass. “Hasn't this lasted long enough then? Two years of misery and worry and the King's condition has grown worse, if that's possible. Surely by now everyone knows that all the sacraments of the Church can do nothing against witchcraft …”

“Madame, Madame!” Berry raised both hands in warning. “Your Majesty does not realize what she is saying.”

Isabeau crossed herself. “That is no blasphemy,” she said with
hauteur, to hide her confusion. “But I'm at my wits' end! What has happened to the King does not come from natural causes. That's obvious,” she continued more heatedly, bending forward to stare at the three Regents.

Berry made a gesture more eloquent than words, that signified his benevolently impartial attitude toward this problem. Burgundy stood silent; he betrayed his irritation only by rubbing the thumb and forefinger of his left hand together. Isabeau saw it. She attempted to control her nervousness, beckoning to the dog, which came to her immediately and laid its head in her lap.

A door, hung like the walls with flowered tapestries, opened suddenly to admit two men: Jean Salaut, the Queen's private secretary, and Arnaud Guillaume. Both knelt before Isabeau and the Regents. Arnaud Guillaume wore a stained, patched garment, something between a tabard and a cassock; with his long, filthy hair, his bony, emaciated face, he looked like one of the half-crazed anchorites who mortified themselves for the salvation of mankind. His fasts and flagellations, however, were undertaken with intentions far less than holy. Although he knelt, his demeanor was not in the least humble.

While the secretary addressed the Queen, Guillaume's cold eyes traveled without a trace of timidity over the people in the room: the waiting Dukes who eyed him with extreme reserve, and Isabeau who, with apparent unconcern, was allowing the dog to play with her golden triptych.

“That is good, Maitre Salaut,” the Queen said. “You may go now.”

The secretary arose and, after the prescribed bows, backed to the door, which he shut noiselessly after him. There was a brief silence. The three Dukes stood motionless; the Queen did not stir. If it had not been for the panting dog which snapped playfully at the shiny toy in Isabeau's lap, the royal group could have been painted against the colorful flowers and vines of the wall hangings. Finally, Bourbon spoke.

“You come from Guyenne?” Guillaume bowed his head in assent. “You call yourself a monk,” Bourbon continued. “To which order do you belong?”

The man raised his bright, icy eyes to the Queen.

“I thought I had been called here to cure the King,” he said, “not to be held accountable for a past which is of little significance.”

“This is an extremely impudent rascal,” Berry said half-aloud. He raised his perfumed gloves to his face. Philippe of Burgundy put his arms akimbo and set one leg on the step leading to the Queen's chair.

“Then you believe you can cure the King,” he said curtly. “By what means? Think before you answer; there is no pardon here for frauds.”

“Your Grace has no need to be afraid of fraud,” Guillaume replied in his crude, hoarse voice. “I'm sure of my powers. Here in my breast, under my habit, I carry a book which gives me power over everything living—over the four elements and over all the substance and matter which they contain. Thanks to this book of wonders, I could be ruler of the planets—if I wanted that; I could alter their courses. Aren't the astrologers saying that a comet has appeared which will bring a calamity to France, the death of men and beasts, drought and destruction of all the crops standing in the fields? I could call forth another comet from the heavens, a comet which no one knows about and no astrologer has ever seen—more powerful than the first, so powerful it could thrust the deadly one out of its orbit.”

“What sort of book is that?” asked the Duke of Berry inquisitively. The person of this filthy ascetic repelled him, but his curiosity had been aroused by the mention of the wonder book. Guillaume smiled slyly and pressed his crossed arms more tightly against his breast.

“The book is intended for a few eyes only,” he said. He made a cringing bow in Berry's direction. “Besides, Your Grace would not be able to read the characters. The writing is older than mankind itself, older than Adam, the father of us all, who left us in original sin.”

Berry's nostrils flared in contempt. He took a few steps toward Isabeau and spoke to her in an undertone. “I consider this the most revolting deception. Send this man away, Madame.”

“Or force him to show you what he is hiding under his habit,” Burgundy said impatiently. “You've used your whip well against less arrogant dogs.”

Berry threw him a cold, angry look. Long ago he had given up all hope of emulating his brother's gift for administration. In the period before the King came of age, Berry's all-too-obvious mismanagement of his assigned provinces had provoked Burgundy to
criticize him sharply; later, Berry suspected, not without evidence, that his older brother had had a hand in the King's removal of Languedoc from Berry's control. He had never forgiven Philippe for that.

“I'm sure that you can hold your own in matters like that, Monseigneur,” Berry said, in his courtly, biting voice. “No one ever did me the impressive honor of calling me ‘the Bold' because I managed to get a place at the table for myself with my fists.”

Bourbon raised his head quickly and Isabeau turned pale. The sorcerer, momentarily forgotten, suppressed a smile; he grasped Berry's insinuation. The Duke of Burgundy's enemies always claimed that he did not owe his soubriquet of “the Bold” to his valiant conduct on the battlefield of Poitiers, but to the public childish squabble for precedence between him and the late Duke of Anjou at the coronation feast of Charles VI.

The Queen, who had reason to fear a personal quarrel between the Regents, came hastily between the two of them.

“My lords, my uncles,” she said, “this is no time for discord. Maitre Guillaume has been recommended to me by highly-placed persons in whom I can place my trust. There are many people at the court who have consulted him with good results. What does it matter whether he lets us see his book? The important thing is the advice he can give us. Go on, speak further,” she said to Guillaume. “No one will force you to show the book. But bear in mind that you will need more than words to convince us.”

The ascetic cast a quick, malicious glance at her.

“Convince?” he muttered. “How can I prove what was disclosed to me in a state of grace? In the land of the blind, it is I alone who can see. Secret signs have revealed to me by God's grace, that our King has been bewitched—within these walls the Devil and all the hellish powers have been conjured up to ruin His Majesty.”

“Enough, man, enough,” said Bourbon. “What are you saying? Have you any accusations to make against anyone? Can you name names?”

“Monseigneur, there is a man who watched for two days and two nights under the gallows at Montfaucon where a thief had been hanged. Do I need to tell you, my lord, what use the corpses of criminals are put to?”

Hastily Isabeau crossed herself. Parts of the bodies of the hanged
were used for conjuration, a dreaded practice. “This man,” continued Guillaume, “I saw today in the palace.”

“How is that possible?” Burgundy asked smoothly. “The palace is not an open marketplace where anyone can come and go.”

“No, Monseigneur.” Guillaume bowed again, his arms crossed over his breast. “But he was not alone. He was in the company of the black astrologer, the southerner, about whom there has been much talk.”

“Salvia,” Burgundy said, raising his brows. “In the service of Orléans,” he added, throwing a glance at Isabeau. The Queen caught his look, but her own eyes remained cold and hard. “From Milan,” she amended in a flat voice. “Salvia of Milan, a trusted friend of
Gian Galeazzo.
” She stressed the last words to make it clear to Burgundy that she rejected any other association. The Duke shrugged and then bowed in agreement. “It is as Your Majesty wishes,” he said evenly.

During this exchange Bourbon stood staring at the ascetic with knitted brows; now he took a step toward Isabeau. “Now that we have established that this fellow is telling the truth, what measures must be taken here? The simplest thing would be to subject Salvia as well as the body snatcher to an interrogation.”

Guillaume's eyes lit up. Isabeau made a hasty defensive gesture. “That seems unwise to me. We would be exposed. What we do here must not be aired in public.”

She gave a sign to Berry, who stood closest to the table. He dropped a silver ball into a dish provided for that purpose; the prolonged jingling sound summoned the secretary Salaut from an adjoining room. While Isabeau instructed the secretary to give Guillaume lodging in the palace and pay him a certain sum in advance, Burgundy continued to stand with his hands on his hips and one foot on the step of the chair, staring at the ascetic. He was not in the least interested in the continually changing series of doctors and their methods of treatment, although he gave the appearance of taking an active part in the discussions. This time, however, it was quite different: he suspected that in Arnaud Guillaume he had found a useful instrument at a bargain price. Guillaume bowed directly to him; he responded with a cold glance from under half closed lids. He was quite sure that Guillaume understood where his profit lay.

“Bah!” Berry said contemptuously when the door had closed
behind the two men. “Do you really believe, Madame, that this lout is capable of doing anything for the King?”

Isabeau had risen and kicked the heavy train of her gown to one side. She felt deadly tired and no longer capable of arguing.

“Why not?” she said irritably. She did not care for the Duke of Berry with his exaggerated interest in art and artists; she found him untrustworthy and, although less dangerous than Burgundy, altogether insufferable. She knew that he had lashed out at Guillaume mainly because he had not been able to acquire the book in question; undoubtedly he had expected her to cooperate with him by ordering the sorcerer to give it up. Isabeau did not believe for an instant in the sincerity of the Dukes' solicitude for the madman's welfare; she knew that the plans of his royal uncles did not depend in any way on the King's recovery. On this point Bourbon was the least calculating of the three; and the only one whose compassion for the King was genuine. Usually Isabeau found it easy to play the diplomat at gatherings like these; an appetite and talent for intrigue were in her blood. Now however she was suddenly overcome by depression bordering on despair; she was painfully aware that she stood completely alone and that today and in the future she must brace herself firmly with her back against the wall, to protect everything that she considered rightfully hers. She was in the heart of the Kingdom, apparently safely hidden like the stone in the core of a fruit; but on all sides greedy worms were eating through the rich pulp. With a wave of her hand, she prevented Berry from elaborating on his opinion.

She walked past the Regents, who bowed to her politely, to a door opposite the one through which Salaut and Guillaume had vanished; she had to bend her head to one side to prevent the top of her crowned headdress from touching the door frame. The white greyhound bounded after her.

“You forgot yourself just now, Monseigneur,” said Burgundy to Berry, who was beginning to draw on his gloves.

The Duke of Bourbon made an impatient gesture. “There is no sense in stirring up old ashes,” he remarked, approaching Burgundy. “Monseigneur de Berry was somewhat hasty.”

“I don't care about haste.” Burgundy shoved aside the arm with which Bourbon attempted to restrain him. “My brother of Berry is
not hot-blooded enough to blurt out things which he does not customarily think … and say. What you think leaves me cold,” he added, the bitter lines around his mouth becoming sharper, “but what you say, especially what you say about me publicly, touches me deeply. In your eyes then, I am a braggart, a squabbler? And have you no respect for the name which I bear with honor?”

Berry shrugged. He stood half-turned away from the light, and the shadow which fell over his heavy face made him look a little like a toad, an impression intensified by his ample glossy greenish clothing.

“Have you earned my respect then, brother?” he said affably, but not without malice. “Have you, on your side, furthered
my
interests, or at least not worked against them since you have been occupying a position of power—or say rather,
the
position of power? You have not given me much inducement to honor you or your name.”

Burgundy frowned and sat down, stiffly erect as always, on the bench under the canopy.

“I have had no reason to approve of the manner in which you have been able to arrange your affairs,” he said coldly. “God knows there is chaos in all the provinces, but the mess in Languedoc and Guyenne surpasses anything we have had to contend with in the dominions. You can't expect anything better, of course, when you refuse to lower taxes. No sensible governor lets himself go so far for the sake of miniature paintings and carved towers.”