The King Without a Kingdom (15 page)

I took you with me this morning, Calvo … I hope you are beginning to put up with the rocking of my palanquin a little better; furthermore I shall be brief … so that we may recap in detail exactly what I granted him, and nothing more. Because, now that he is party to our journey, he won’t hesitate to come and bore you with the supposed consent that he will say I have given to all of his requests. He has already told me: ‘For minor exemptions, I have no wish to bother Your Most Holy Eminence; I will present them to Messire Francesco Calvo, who is certainly a most knowledgeable person, or to Messire du Bousquet …’ Hah! I didn’t bring a papal auditor, two doctors, two bachelors of law and four knights with me just to release from their illegitimacy all the sons of those guilty priests who celebrate Mass in this diocese, or who own benefices there. Moreover, it is a wonder to see that after all the exemptions granted by my holy protector, Pope John XXII, during his pontificate … almost five thousand, of which more than half to priests’ bastards, and in return, of course, for a monetary penance, which helped to replenish the coffers of the Holy See no end … thus today there are to be found as many monks, all in fact the fruits of sin.

As papal legate, I have the latitude to give out up to ten exemptions during the course of my mission, no more. I granted two to Monseigneur of Bourges and that was too many to begin with. I am allowed to confer twenty-five for the notaries’ offices, and then only to clerks who have done me personal favours, not to those who have slipped into the good books of Monseigneur of Bourges. You shall give him one, choosing the most stupid and the least deserving, so as to bring him nothing but trouble. Should he be surprised, you will reply: ‘Ah! Monseigneur expressly recommended this …’ Of those benefices that are unoccupied, in other words, the commendams, whether they be clerical or otherwise, not a single one is to be handed out. Say, ‘Monseigneur of Bourges asked for too much.’ Or, ‘But monseigneur did not wish to make people jealous …’ And, by the way, I want you to add one or two commendams for Monseigneur of Limoges, who has proved himself more discreet. With this bishop, wouldn’t people say that I had come all the way from Avignon only to lavish favours and benefits around Monseigneur of Bourges? I don’t appreciate those who make their way in the world by flaunting their many obligés, and if he thinks that I will put in a word for his mitre, he is deluding himself.

And besides, I found him rather too lenient with the Fraticelli, of whom I saw many lurking about his palace. I was obliged to remind him of the Holy Father’s letter against these stray Franciscans … I know it all the better as it was I who wrote it … who falsely claim the ministry of preaching for themselves, win over the simpletons with habits of a feigned humility and make dangerous speeches against the faith that undermine the respect the Holy See is due. I refreshed his memory of the commandment sent to him to correct and punish these evildoers according to the canon laws, and further, if need be, to call upon the help of the secular arm of justice, as did Innocent VI the other year in the burning at the stake of John of Châtillon and François of Arquate for the crime of upholding heresy … ‘Heresies, heresies … most certainly mistakes, but we must understand them. They are not wrong on all counts. And besides, times are changing …’ This was how he answered me, Monseigneur of Bourges. I really don’t like these prelates who show far too much understanding towards bad preachers, and prefer to court popularity by first seeing which way the wind blows rather than acting ruthlessly.

I would therefore be most grateful, Dom Calvo, if you would keep an eye on that fellow during the voyage, and prevent him from indoctrinating my knights, or from pouring forth to Monseigneur of Limoges or to the other bishops that will join us on the way.

Make his journey hard, even though, as the days are shortening and the cold biting, we will have but short stages. Ten to twelve leagues per day, no more. I do not want us to travel by night. That is the reason why we will go no further than Sancerre today. We will have a long evening there. Beware of the wine that is drunk there. It is fruity and most drinkable, but stronger than it seems. Let La Rue know this, and might he stand watch over the escort. I will have no drunkards in the pope’s livery … But you are looking pale, Calvo. You clearly can’t put up with the palanquin … No, step down, step down quickly, would you.

S
O, THE
G
ERMAN
venture came to an abrupt end, leaving the Navarrese greatly vexed. He had left for Évreux and was becoming increasingly restless. Three months passed; it was the end of March last year … yes, I am right in saying last year … or the present year, if you like … but as this year Easter falls on the twenty-fourth of April, it was still last year …

Yes; I know, my nephew; it is a rather stupid custom in France according to which, while we celebrate the New Year on the first of January, for registers, treaties and all things to be recollected, we only change the number of the year from Easter. Most foolish of all, however, and the thing which creates much confusion, is to have aligned the legal beginning of the year to a moveable feast day. In such a way that some years count two months of March, while others are deprived of April … That, we will certainly have to change, I fully agree with you.

We have already been talking about it for a very long time, but nothing has been resolved. It is up to the Holy Father to decide for the whole of Christendom. And I assure you that in Avignon, as the hub of world events, we have the biggest muddle of all; in Spain, as in Germany, the year begins on Christmas Day; in Venice, on the first of March; in England, on the twenty-fifth. Such that if a treaty involving several countries is concluded in the spring, we can never know which year we are talking about. Imagine that a truce between France and England were signed in the days leading up to Easter; for King John, it would be dated in the year of 1355 and for the English 1356. Oh! It is the most stupid thing, I’ll give you that; but nobody wants to change their habits, however bungling, and one might even think that the notaries, lawyers, prevosts and other members of the administration took pleasure in entrenching themselves in difficulties to waylay the common people.

We were approaching the end of March, as I was telling you, when King John flew into a fit of rage … About his son-in-law, of course. Oh! We must admit that he had good cause for annoyance. At the Estates of Normandy, gathered in Vaudreuil before his son, the recently appointed Duke, strong words like none ever heard before were said about him, and it was the deputies of the nobility, stirred up by the Évreux-Navarre clan, who voiced them. The two Harcourts, the uncle and the nephew, were the most violent in their language, or so I was told; and the nephew, fat Count John, got so carried away he shouted: ‘By God, this king is a bad man; he is not a good king, and I shall be wary of him.’ That got back to John II, as you can imagine. Shortly afterwards the new Estates of Langue d’Oil were held: the deputies of Normandy didn’t show up at all. Quite simply refused to appear. They no longer wished to have a share in the grants and aides, nor did they wish to pay for them. Moreover, the assembly was forced to note that the gabelle and the sales tax had failed to produce the revenues anticipated. So it was decided to replace them with an income tax at the end of the year we were in.

I will let you imagine how warmly the measure was welcomed, to be compelled to pay the king a part of all the income they had received, collected or earned during the year, and often already spent … No, it was not applied in Périgord, nor anywhere else in Langue d’Oc. But I know of people from our parts who went over to the Englishman, for fear that the measure be extended to themselves. This income tax, added to the increase in the cost of provisions, sparked riots in various places, in particular at Arras, where the humble folk revolted; and King John had to send in his constable with several companies of men-at-arms to charge the agitators … No, of course none of this provided him with any reason to rejoice; but however great his troubles, a king must always maintain his self-control. Something he failed to do on this occasion.

He was at the Abbey of Beaupré-en-Beauvais to celebrate the baptism of the firstborn of Monseigneur John of Artois, Count of Eu since he had been presented with the possessions and titles of Raoul of Brienne, the beheaded constable … Yes, the very same, the son of Count Robert of Artois, whom he very much takes after in his bearing. Upon seeing him, one is struck by the resemblance; one would think one beheld the father at his age. A giant, a walking tower. Red hair, short nose, cheeks prickling with bristles, and a thick, muscular neck linking his jaw and shoulder in a straight line. He can have only dray horses for his mount, and when he charges, decked out for battle, he makes holes in any army. But that is where the resemblance ends. As for his mind, he is quite the opposite. The father was ingenious, astute, quick-witted, shrewd, too shrewd by half. This one has a brain like mortar that has begun to set. Count Robert was litigious, a plotter, forger, traitor, a murderer. Count John, as if wishing to atone for the sins of his father, likes to think of himself as a model of honour, loyalty and fidelity. Having seen his father deposed and banished and spent time in prison himself during his childhood, with his mother and brothers, he is, I believe, quite overwhelmed by the pardon he received, and his return to grace. He looks on King John as the Redeemer himself. Besides, he is dazzled to bear the same Christian name. ‘My cousin John … my cousin John …’

These three words would be bandied about by cousin John all the time. Those of us who remember Robert of Artois, men of my age, even those who suffered under his infamy, cannot fail to feel a certain regret upon seeing the feebleminded copy of himself that he left us. Ah! Count Robert was indeed a strapping fellow, and a great noise! He filled his epoch with his unruliness. When he died, one might say the century fell silent. Even the war seemed to lose its rumble. How old would he be now? Let’s see … um … about seventy. Oh! He had the strength to live that long, had a stray arrow not killed him, in the English camp, during the siege of Vannes … We can but say that all the perpetual proof of the younger Artois’ loyalty didn’t make the crown feel any happier than the father’s treachery had.

Because it was John of Artois, who, just before the baptism, and as if to thank the king for his patronage, revealed the conspiracy of Conches, or rather what he thought to be a conspiracy.

Conches … yes, that is what I said … one of the castles confiscated from Robert of Artois and that Monseigneur of Navarre was given in the Treaty of Valognes. But some old servants remain there who are still attached to the memory of the Artois.

This is how John of Artois was able to whisper in the king’s ear … a whisper that could be heard at the other end of the bailiwick … that the King of Navarre had met up in Conches with his brother Philip, both the Harcourts, the Bishop Le Coq, Friquet of Fricamps, several Norman sires of old acquaintance, as well as Guillaume Marcel, or Jean … well, one of the Marcel nephews … and a lord arriving from Pamplona, Miguel of Espelette … and all of them were since plotting to attack King John, by ambush, and slaughter him, on the first occasion that brought him to Normandy. Was it true, was it false? I would be inclined to believe that there was some truth to it, and that without having gone so far as to set up the conspiracy, they had considered doing the deed. Because it is very much in the manner of Charles the Bad, having failed to pull off the operation with grandeur by obtaining the support of the Emperor of Germany, to go about accomplishing it with villainy, doubtless without a qualm, repeating the ambush of the Spinning Sow. We will have to wait to appear before the judgement seat of God to find out the whole truth.

What is certain, however, is that there was much discusion in Conches as to whether they would make their way to Rouen, one week later, the Tuesday before the feast of the Third Thursday of Lent, to which the dauphin, Duke of Normandy, had invited all the most important Norman knights to attempt to reach an agreement with them. Philip of Navarre advised that they refuse; Charles, on the other hand, was inclined to accept. Old Godfrey of Harcourt, the one with a limp, was against, and loudly said so. Moreover, he who had fallen out with the late King Philip VI over a marriage where his love had been thwarted, considered himself no longer tied to the crown by any bond of vassalage whatsoever. ‘My king is the Englishman’ he would say.

His nephew, the obese Count John, whom the scent of a banquet would have dragged to the other end of the kingdom, was inclined to go. In the end, Charles of Navarre said that everyone should do as they pleased, that he would himself be going, alongside whosoever wished to join him, but at the same time he approved the decision of others who did not wish to appear before the dauphin, and pointed out that there was wisdom in their retreat, as one should never put all one’s hounds down the same rabbit hole.