The She Wolf of France (11 page)

If you went a little way out of Paris, you saw that the countryside was prosperous. Mere drovers and swineherds often
possessed a vineyard or
field of their own. Women employed in tilling the land, or indeed in other trades, never worked on Saturday afternoons for which they were however paid; moreover, almost everywhere, work ceased on Saturdays at the third ringing for vespers. The large number of religious feast days were all holidays, as were the feast days of the corporations. And yet these people complained. But what were their principal grievances? Tithes and taxes, of course, as in every country in every period, and the fact that they always had someone over them to whom they belonged. They had the feeling that they were always working for someone else's benefit, and that they could never dispose freely either of themselves or the fruits of their labour. In spite of the decrees of Philippe V, which had indeed been insufficiently observed, there were still many more serfs in France than there were in England, where most peasants were free men, bound moreover to equip themselves for service in the army, and had a form of representation in the Royal Parliament. This made the fact that the people of England had demanded charters from their sovereigns easier to understand.

On the other hand, the nobility of France was not divided like England's; there were, of course, many sworn enemies over matters of personal interest, such as the Count of Artois and his Aunt Mahaut; there were clans and parties; but the whole nobility made common front when it was a question of the general interest or the defence of the realm. The conception of the nation was clearer and claimed greater adherence.

At this period the real similarity between the two countries lay in the persons of their kings. Both in London and in Paris the crown had devolved on a weak man, incapable of that true concern for the public good without which a prince is but a prince in name.

Mortimer had been presented to the King of France and had seen him on several occasions; he had been able to form no high opinion of this man of twenty-nine, whom the lords were accu
stomed to call Charles the Fair
and the people Charles the Fool because, though in face and figure he resembled his father closely enough, he had not an ounce of brains behind his noble appearance.

`Have you found suitable lodgings, my Lord Mortimer? Is your wife with you? Oh, how you must miss her? How many children has she borne you?'

This was practically the sum of the King's conversation with the exile. And on each occasion he had asked him once again: `Is
your wife with you? How many children has she borne you?' having forgotten the answers between two audiences. His preoccupations seemed to be entirely domestic and uxorious. His unfortunate, marriage to Blanche of Burgundy, from which he had retained a scar, had been dissolved by an annulment in which he himself had not, appeared in the best light. Monseigneur of Valois had immediately married hum off to Marie of Luxemburg, the young sister of the King of Bohemia with whom Valois, at that particular moment, wished to come to an understanding over the Kingdom of Arles. And now Marie of Luxemburg was pregnant, and Charles the Fair fussed over her in a rather silly way,

The King's incompetence, did not, however, prevent France from taking a hand in the affairs of the whole world. The Council governed in the King's name, and Monseigneur of Valois in the name of the C
ouncil; nothing
so it appeared, could be done without France having decided on it. She was at this
time giving continual advice to
the Papacy, and the great courier, Robin Cuisse-Maria, who earned eight livres and some deniers - a real fortune - for making the journey to Avignon, was constantly occupied carrying dispatches, requisitioning his
horses from the monasteries on
the way. And it was the same with regard to all the Courts, those of Naples, Aragon and Germany. For the affairs of Germany were being closely watched, and Charles of Valois and his friend Jean of Luxemburg had worked hard to get the Pope to excommunicate the Emperor, Ludwig of Bavaria, so that the crown of the Holy Roman Empire might be offered to whom, indeed? To Monseigneur of Valois himself, of course! This was an old dream with which he was infatuated. Whenever the throne of the Holy Roman Empire had been vacant, or made vacant, Monseigneur of Valois had put himself forward as a candidate. At the same time, the preparations for the crusade were being pushed forward, and it had to be recognized that, could the crusade be led by the Emperor, it would make a great impression on the infidel, and on Christians, too, for that matter.

There was also trouble with Flanders, which was always causing the Crown anxiety, whether the people were rebelling against their count because he was loyal to the King of France, or whether the count himself rose against the King to satisfy his people. And then, too, there was concern over England, and Roger Mortimer was now summoned by Valois whenever this subject was in question.

Mortimer had taken lodgings near Robert of Artois' house, in
the Rue Saint-Germain-des-Pres, opposite the Navarre house. Gerard de Alspaye, who had been with him since his escape from the Tower, was in charge of his househ
old, in which Ogle, the barber,
held the position of butler. The household had been increased by a few refugees who had also been compelled to go into exile owing to the enmity of the Despensers. In particular, there was John Maltravers, an English lord belonging to Mortimer's party and, like Mortimer himself, a descendant of a companion of the Conqueror. He had been declared a King's enemy. Maltravers had a long, dark face with straight, lank hair, and huge teeth; he looked like his horse. He was not the most agreeable of companions and was inclined to make people start with an abrupt, neighing laugh, which generally appeared quite motiveless. But you do not choose your friends in exile; common misfortune forces them on you. Mortimer learnt from Maltravers that his wife had been transferred to Skipton Castle in the County of York, her sole attendants being her lady, her equerry, a laundress, a footman and a page, and that he received only thirteen shillings and four deniers a week on which to keep herself and her people; it might almost have been imprisonment.

As for Queen Isabella, her lot became increasingly difficult from day to day. The Despensers plundered, despoiled and humiliated her with a patient perfection of cruelty. `I have nothing left of my own but my life,' she sent word to Mortimer, `and I much fear they are preparing to take that from me. Hasten my brother to my defence.'

But the King of France - `Is your wife with you? Have you any sons?' - had no opinion apart from Monseigneur of Valois', and Valois was putting all decision off till he had seen the results of the action he had taken in Aquitaine. But suppose the Despensers assassinated the Queen meanwhile?

`They won't dare,' Valois replied.

Mortimer went to get news from the banker, Tolomei, through whose good offices he carried on his correspondence with the other side of the Channel. The Lombards had a better postal service than the Court, and their travellers were cleverer at concealing messages. The correspondence between Mortimer and Bishop Orleton was therefore fairly regular.

The Bishop of Hereford had paid dearly for organizing Mortimer's escape; but he had courage and was standing up to the King. As the first English bishop ever to be arraigned before a lay court of justice, he refused to answer his accusers, and in this he was supported by all the archbishops and bishops in the kin
g
dom, who saw their privileges threatened. Edward had pursued the prosecution, had Orleton found guilty and ordered the confiscation of his property. The King had also written to the Pope and demanded the Bishop's dethronement as a rebel; it was essential that Monseigneur of Valois should make representations to John XXII to prevent this measure
being taken, for its inevi
table r
esult would be to bring Orleton
to the scaffold.

As far as Henry Crouchback was concerned; the situation was somewhat confused. For Edward had made him Earl of Lancaster in March, and had returned to him both the titles and the properties of his brother, who had been beheaded, including the great Castle of Kenilworth. And then, almost immediately afterwards, the King had found a letter of friendship and encouragement he had written to Orleton, and had accused Crouchback of high treason.

`And your King still obstinately refuses to pay us. Since you frequently see Messeigneurs of Valois and Artois and are their friend,' said, Tolomei, `make sure you `remind them, my lord, of those gunpowder engines with which they have been experimenting in Italy and which must be of great use in besieging towns. My nephew in Siena and the Bardi in Florenc
e can undertake to supply them:
As pieces of artillery, they are much easier to place
in position than those great catapul
ts) with crossbeams, and they
do more damage,, Monseigneur of Valois should equip his crus
a
de with them if he ever undertakes it'

To begin with, the women had
taken considerable interest in Mortimer, in this high, personage with such strange ways, who was always dressed in austere and mysterious black, and who was continually biting the white scar on his lower lip. They made him repeat the story of his escape over and over again, and, as he recounted it, exquisite bosoms tended to heave beneath white and transparent linen bodices. His grave, rather hoarse voice, that had so unexpected an intonation on certain, words,
was calculated to touch the heart-free. On several occasions, Robert of Artois had tried to impel the English Lord into arms that asked for nothing better than to open to, him. He had also suggested to Mortimer that, if his tastes tended more towards the lower classes, he could procure for him women of easy virtue to distract him from his cares. But Mortimer had yielded to none of these temptations, so much so that, since he gave but little appearance of being inordinately strait-laced, people began wondering to what this apparent virtue might be due, and whether it was not that he shared the morals of his King.

Indeed, no one guessed the truth, which was simply that the man, who had wagered his safety on a raven's death, had staked a reversal of fortune in his favour on mere chastity. He had sworn an oath not to touch a woman before he had returned to the land of England and had recovered his titles and his power. It was a knightly oath, such as a Lancelot or an Amadis, some companion of King Arthur, might have made. But, as` time went on, Roger Mortimer had to admit that he had been rather hasty in making such an oath, and that it contributed not a little to his depression.

At last good news came from Aquitaine. The Seneschal of the King of England in Guyenne, Messire Basset, who was all the more solicitous for his authority because his name gave rise to laughter, began to take alarm at the castle that was being built at Saint-Sardos. He saw in it both the usurpation of. the rights of his master, the King of England, and a personal insult. Assembling a few troops, he suddenly entered Saint-Sardos, pillaged the town, arrested the officers in charge of the work and hanged them from gallows which, since they bore lilies on escutcheons, marked the King of France's sovereignty over the dependency. Messire Ralph Basset did not act alone in this expedition; several lords of the region had joined in with him.

As soon as Robert of Artois heard what had happened, he called for Mortimer and took him to Charles of Valois. Monseigneur of Artois was beside himself with joy and pride; he laughed even louder than usual and gave his friends playful taps that sent them rebounding again
st the walls. At last the oppor
tunity was at hand, born of his fertile brain!

The affair was immediately discussed in the Privy Council; the usual representations were made, and the men who were guilty of the sack of Saint-Sardos were summoned to appear before the Parliament of Toulouse. Would they present themselves, plead guilty to their crime and make submission? It was very much feared that they might
.

By good fortune, one of them, and only one, Raymond Bernard de Montpezat, refused to surrender to the summons. No more was needed. The rebel was condemned by default, his property decreed to be confiscated, and Jean de Roye, who had succeeded Pierre-Hector de Galard as Grand Master of the Crossbowmen, was sent into Guyenne with a small escort to seize both the Lord of Montpezat and his property, and see to the dismantling of his castle. But it was the Lord of Montpezat who had the better of it, for he took the royal officer prisoner and demanded a ransom for him. King Edward had nothing to do
w
ith the matter, but the turn of events aggravated the case, and Robert of Artois exulted. For a Grand Master of Crossbowmen was not the man to be taken prisoner without serious consequences.

Further protests were made, and now direct to the King of England, supported by a threat to confiscate the duchy. Early in April the Earl of Kent, half-brother to King Edward, accompanied by the Archbishop of Dublin, came to propose to Charles IV that their differences: might be settled by, remitting Edward's duty to pay homage. Mortimer, who saw Kent during his visit (their relations were perfectly courteous though the circumstances were far from easy), assured him of the utter uselessness of the proposal The young Earl of Kent was indeed perfectly aware of it, and had embarked on his mission only with reluctance. He departed with the King of France's refusal, which had been transmitted to him with some contempt by Charles of Valois. It looked as if the war, which Robert of Artois had invented, might be on the point of breaking out.

But, at this very moment, the new Queen, Marie of Luxemburg, died suddenly at Issoudun, having been brought to bed before her time of a stillborn child.

War could not be made
during, a period of mourning; moreover, King Charles was so despondent that. he was almost incapable of presiding over his Council. As a husband, fate appeared to be decidedly against him. He had been first deceived and now was a widower. Monseigneur of Valois had to lay everything else aside to set about finding the King a third wife. For the King had become anxious and ill-tempered, and indeed blamed everyone but
himself, for the
fact that there was no heir to the throne. His father had arranged his first marriage, his uncle the second; and neither seemed to have been very successful.

But it was not so easy now to find princesses who were pre
pared to marry into the family
of France, which people were beginning to say was pursued by bad luck,

Charles of Valois would have been delighted to give his nephew one of his remaining daughters, had their ages been suitable; but unfortunately even the-eldest, the daughter who had been formerly proposed for the heir-apparent of England, was no more than ten years old. And Charles the Fair was far from being prepared to await in patience either the recovery of the comfort of his nights or the assuring of the succession.