In a Dark Wood Wandering (80 page)

The bystanders and members of Burgundy's retinue broke into loud cheers in response to these words. Burgundy smiled in approval. When Charles noticed the expression on Burgundy's face, he tensed somewhat; he realized that the friendliness and hospitality of Saint-Omer were part of a carefully worked-out plan.

Amid the blaring of trumpets and in the light of hundreds of torches, they rode through the gate and entered the city. The crowds lining the roads seemed especially eager to shout with joy. Calls of “Long live Burgundy! Long live Orléans! God bless Orléans! Welcome,
Orléans!” resounded from street to street, from square to square. Despite his depression, Charles was carried away by the tribute; never before in his life had he been hailed in this personal way. The glow of the torches, the shouts and the applause of the surging crowd mounted to his head; he saluted right and left without troubling himself about the distinguished tranquillity of the Duke of Burgundy and his wife, who sat silent and motionless in their saddles, letting the flood of appreciation wash over them.

Pleasantly tired from all the excitement, Charles at last reached the abbey of Saint-Bertin where a new welcoming committee of high clergy awaited. The travelers dismounted and, preceded by chanting youths and torchbearers, set out for the refectory where the evening meal was to be served.

“There are a number of people gathered there who are eager to salute you, fair cousin,” Burgundy said to his guest as they walked. “Surely you must have noticed that your arrival is considered a most important event in my own domains as well as in France. It seems the French cities are awaiting the moment when you will visit them on your way to Blois. Your return home will be nothing less than a triumphal procession.”

“It is hard for me to believe that all this homage is for me,” Charles remarked smiling; he wiped his hot face with a cloth. “This reception surprises me somewhat. I had resigned myself to the belief that I had been forgotten on this side of the Straits of Calais.”

Burgundy raised his brows in ironic amazement.

“Come, come, worthy cousin, you are too modest. How could you be forgotten? The name of Orléans is not one which can be quickly forgotten. From what I hear, your interests have been well looked after during your absence. All you need to do is take up the reins once more. Whether you will have influence and power in the future is entirely up to you.” Charles looked in disbelief at his cousin who walked with great composure at his side.

“Too much is expected of me. Don't forget that all these years I have been completely isolated from ongoing events. Of course it is true that some news reached my ears now and then. But I still cannot form a clear opinion about current affairs. The King of England has charged me now with an extremely heavy responsibility.”

Burgundy thrust his lower lip forward and smiled; for an instant he looked remarkably like his father.

“When you see where your interest lies, you will have no reason to complain about a lack of cooperation in these dominions and in France, fair cousin.”

“My interest?” Charles smiled, somewhat bitterly. “I have only one interest, that of my unfortunate brother of Angoulême, who is still held in England.”

Burgundy frowned.

“Nevertheless, you should have been fully informed before you left England,” he said, shrugging. “You know that the princes of France see themselves shoved aside more and more often, that they are threatened with the loss of their influence in Council and government, that their ancient privileges are being violated. As the head of a feudal House, you have undoubtedly already chosen sides, fair cousin. You are in good company. Moreover, henceforth you can count on my support—the more so now that I know you will cooperate to further my interests too. But we are approaching the refectory, worthy cousin, and this is neither the time nor the place for a serious conversation, is it? Later, we shall have an opportunity to consult with each other in greater detail.

“And now self-confidence, a lust for life, a good hope for the future, Monseigneur—hold your head high, keep your heart cheerful. Everything here is being done in your honor. We are well-disposed toward you. We rejoice over your safe return, we wish to help you put together the full amount of your ransom, as much as it lies in our power to do it. Come, you are a man of consequence. There's no reason for doubt or despondency.”

The light of many torches and candles streamed toward them through the widely opened doors; Burgundy's pages and stewards stood respectfully in rows at the entrance to the hall. Charles could see festively bedecked tables, colorfully dressed guests milling about; in the midst of the brightness and glitter the starched headdresses of the women stirred like sails on the sea. The noble company, led by the abbe of Saint-Bertin and some clerics in ornate vestments, and followed closely by a long procession of courtiers, stepped into the refectory which had been transformed into a banquet hall.

“Welcome once more, Monseigneur,” said Isabelle of Burgundy, even before she had taken her place under the enormous canopy. “Here comes someone who wants to be the first to pay his respects to you. I hope our surprise will please you.”

From the group of spectators two men stepped foward; one of
them Charles recognized at once as the old Archbishop of Reims whom he had met five years earlier during the conferences in London. The prince of the Church approached him slowly, nodding and smiling, his right hand, on which his large ring sparkled, raised in greeting. The other man remained a few paces behind him. Charles saw a man of medium height, broad-shouldered, with a weather-beaten face and very bright grey-green eyes which looked straight at him attentively; on his chest shone the Order of the Eagle on a wide chain.

“God bless you, Monseigneur,” he said, standing before Charles. “I see that you do not recognize me. I am your half-brother, Dunois.”

There seemed to be no end to the celebrations and ceremonies in Saint-Omer. Time and again when Charles, exhausted and dazed by so much diversion, so much pomp and festive joy, thought that it must surely end now, Burgundy's heralds and stewards announced new amusements. Tournaments, banquets, processions and contests were the background for the two most important events of those weeks: Charles' appointment as Knight of the Golden Fleece and his marriage to Marie of Cleves. His head was beginning to swim. Since all this commotion was in his honor, he could not shirk his duty. He sat in silence, making an effort to smile politely while he watched the endless tourneys which did not particularly interest him. He could not understand how full-grown men could watch, with enthusiasm and excitement, a spectacle which consisted of gaily attired horsemen hacking away at each other. Since he was the guest of honor, the task of awarding the prizes and addressing the victors fell to him. He did this calmly and pleasantly, using, not without irony, antiquated forms of speech and outdated expressions and often, at the request of the ladies present, adding extemporaneous lines of verse. They applauded him heartily; on every side he heard praise of his mildness, his wit, his patience in adversity. “The good Duke of Orléans,” he was called in nearly all the speeches and proclamations. Charles was secretly amused.

So this is the impression I make upon my fellow men, he thought, smiling to himself. Fat and old before my time, tamed forever by adversity, a good-natured lord who can write verses tolerably well. The inner voice which had become so familiar to him during the years of imprisonment seemed to urge him repeatedly to
adopt this view of himself. “There it is, accept it, resign yourself to reality, remember how the thrush in the fable perished because it tried obstinately to race the falcons and sparrow-hawks …” When he thought like this, the image of Blois rose temptingly before him once more: a safe haven, the last place of refuge, far from politics and intrigue, far from court life, from social obligations, foolish pomp and ceremony. The life of which he had dreamt in England rose before him: a serene existence among trusted friends, books and manuscripts in a world populated with the creatures of his dreams and thoughts. These dreams of the future had faded since he had come ashore at Calais. What he had considered at first to be only a task that had to be performed before he could enjoy his retirement, appeared in another light now that he was surrounded by the ambitious men and women of Burgundy.

In the quiet, secluded chambers of Pontefract, Ampthill, Fotherinhay and Bolingbroke, he had forgotten reality. He had considered the temptations and pleasures of the world to be unimportant because they had vanished from his horizon. In Saint-Omer Charles had walked with open eyes into the net which Burgundy had spread to catch him: the celebrations, meetings, ceremonies and applause, the courtesies and honors had been carefully calculated to make the former prisoner forget his past filled with ennui, resignation and enforced abstinence. They had not missed their mark. In spite of his private annoyance at so much childish idle activity, despite his fatigue and his impatient eagerness to fulfil his obligations as rapidly as possible, Charles felt himself, from day to day, becoming more absorbed in the effervescent life of the court. When, in the midst of fabulous splendor and ostentation, Burgundy hung the emblem of the Golden Fleece around his neck—a distinction coveted by kings and emperors—Charles felt a desire to try to fly once more with the falcons and sparrow-hawks. He did not believe his wings were crippled—not yet. He could still play an important role and render service to his country and its people. If it were true, as Burgundy and his confidants had told him in various discussions, that the King of France wanted to continue the war against England, that he violated agreements, did not keep his promises, allowed himself to be ruled openly by his favorites from the third estate who were bent on smashing the power of the feudal princes for good—if all this were true, it would seem that some intervention was necessary.

He could take it as a sign of appreciation of his abilities that he was wanted as a mediator in this affair, that he was regarded as the man who could, on the one hand, bring about an agreement between Burgundy and the French vassals and, on the other, keep the King informed of the desires and grievances of this powerful group. Wasn't it senseless of him to doubt his own capability when every effort was being made to convince him that he was capable? His growing belief in his own worth was strengthened in no small measure when a legation from Bruges came to petition him humbly to intercede with the Duke of Burgundy for the sake of the city. Some time earlier a disagreement had arisen between Burgundy and the people of Bruges; now they begged Charles, who enjoyed a reputation as a peacemaker, to restore the good relationship between the Duke and the citizens. Burgundy allowed himself to be won over after having given Charles the opportunity to plead Bruges' case in full. When the dispute was eventually settled, Charles could only believe that the favorable resolution was a consequence of his actions.

In this atmosphere of positive self-evaluation, he took Marie of Cleves to wife before the altar in the cathedral of Saint-Omer. He felt he could now allow himself to be led to the bridal chamber by a glittering procession of nobles without any feelings of shame or vexation; he no longer feared being looked upon with contempt or pity. Marie's royal education had not been wasted on her; she did not betray her disappointment by tears or sighs. She bore herself in company with controlled dignity and was amenable and obliging when they were alone together—in itself a rare occurence.

Charles found himself invited more and more often to discussions not only by Burgundy and his council but by other highly placed persons as well. He saw clearly now what Burgundy wanted from him: he must point out to the King of France his dereliction in fulfilling the terms stipulated in the treaty of Arras, and he must prepare a meeting of the feudal princes. Burgundy also wanted Charles to swear loyalty to the treaty of Arras and approve all the points covered in the treaty. On this occasion some differences arose for the first time between guest and host. An adder lay concealed in the grass; undoubtedly Burgundy also wanted to hear declarations of guilt and remorse over the murder which had been committed at Montereau. Charles, however, declined to express these sentiments; he had had nothing to do with that business. Dunois,
summoned to swear an oath of allegiance, had no intention of recognizing the treaty of Arras. His refusal finally led to a heated exchange of words on the subject between Charles and Dunois.

“I have sworn fealty to the King,” said Dunois. “Besides, I can have no peace as long as Burgundy has disassociated himself from the Crown. Apparently the King has no intention of putting up with this in the long run.”

“But the King has not rejected the treaty!”

“The King is not so simple-minded as people here seem to think,” Dunois said slowly. “He has more brains than we thought. Just because he does things that many people don't see eye to eye with, doesn't mean that he lacks insight. For me, he remains the man who is first in the Kingdom; I consider it my duty to serve him.”

“My God, in your letters you haven't always sounded like such a willing subject, brother!” Charles, who was sitting at a table before a spread of documents, took off his spectacles and tapped them angrily on the back of his hand. “I seem to remember that you bubbled over with strong condemnation of him more than once.”

“That may well be,” said Dunois calmly and coldly. “But at the same time I never made a secret of the fact that the unity of the Kingdom is more important to me than anything else. When the King hurt that unity I objected strongly to his behavior. But now that he seems to be working for unity—I don't care why—I stand behind him.”

Charles sighed with impatient annoyance.

“You seem to favor him considerably since he granted you an earldom,” he remarked sharply. Dunois looked at him quickly and began to pace back and forth, his hands behind his back. After a brief silence he said curtly, “I deeply regret that you do not know me well enough to know that I have little use for titles and badges of honor, Monseigneur my brother. As God is my witness, I would rather be called Bastard of Orléans than anything else. I serve Orléans as I have always done, and Orléans is a fief of the French Crown. I hope I may never see Orléans follow the example of Burgundy and reject the King's authority because he thinks he is too great to be a vassal.”