The Star of Lancaster - Plaidy Jean (бесплатные онлайн книги читаем полные TXT) 📗

The Due d'Orleans was dead. His body had been hacked and mutilated till there was no sign left of the handsome philanderer.

The Queen was in despair; so was Orleans* wife, Violante. There was no doubt that they loved the Duke dearly.

'Find his murderers,* cried the Queen. 'I swear I will take revenge of them.*

The Duke of Burgundy joined his voice with the Queen's.

'There was never a more wicked murder in the whole of the kingdom of France,' he declared.

The Provost of Paris, Sieur de Tignouville, was sent for. Nothing must be spared in the hunt for the murderers, he was told.

*My lord,' was his reply, 'if I may be granted permission to make my enquiries in the hostels of the King's servants and those of the Princes, I will discover the criminals.'

The answer was that whatever help the Provost needed was to be given to him. He was to have free entry into every palace, hotel, shop or house in Paris.

'Then,' cried Tignouville, *I think I shall be able to give you the murderers.'

The Duke of Burgundy showed obvious signs of stress at this pronouncement and the Due de Berri, his uncle, noticed this.

He drew him aside for a terrible suspicion had come to him.

'You know something I believe, John,' he said.

Burgundy could see that there was no point in denying that he was the instigator of the murder.

He answered: 'Orleans was bringing dishonour to the King's bed. He was a menace to the nation. Yes, it was I who hired the assassins to kill him.*

'Oh my God,* cried the Due de Berri. 'Now I have lost both my nephews. Louis murdered and you John his murderer.

'You should not go back to the council,* added Berri.

'Nor will I,' said Burgundy. 'My wish is that none shall be accused of murdering the Due d'Orleans, for it was I and none other who caused what has been done.'

With that he walked out, leaped onto his horse and taking only six of his attendants with him galloped away across the frontier to Flanders.

When it was known that he had escaped there was great indignation and a hundred of Orleans' men gave chase but they were too late and could not catch up with him.

The affair had shaken the Court. People talked of nothing else. There was nothing that could be done to bring Burgundy to justice; and people were beginning to say that Orleans had deserved his death. He had dishonoured his brother; he had

made no secret of his adulterous relationship with the Queen, he had imposed taxes on the people, his rule had nearly brought the country to ruin, whereas everyone knew that Burgundy was a strong man. Fierce he might be, ruthless, violent; but his father's rule had been good and he showed signs of his father's strength.

Violante Visconti, widow of Orleans, was determined that his murderer should not go unpunished. In spite of his infidelities she had loved the Due passionately, and she was eager to avenge him. She arrived in Paris with her children. The weather was bitterly cold—the worst Paris had experienced for several years. Nevertheless she came because the King was in the midst of one of his lucid periods and she believed that she would get justice from him.

She came to the Hotel St Pol, where the King was in residence and she forced her way into the room where he was sitting with his council. There she threw herself onto her knees and demanded that her husband's murderers be brought to justice.

The King promised her that everything should be done. 'We regard the deed done to our brother as done to ourself,' he told Violante.

Isabella, unhappy in her own unsatisfactory marriage, did her best to comfort Violante. She knew what it meant to have a husband done to death.

*We have much in common,' she said sadly. *I feel for you.'

There were rumours in the town. Burgundy had no intention of remaining outside France. True he had murdered the Due d'Orleans but he had done it for France. Everyone knew that he was ruining the country. Burgundy was building himself up as the saviour of France. The King beset on all sides immediately lapsed into madness.

Paris waited for what would happen next. It soon came. A monk arrived with a message from the Duke of Burgundy to the King. Poor Charles, his mind being in a clouded state, was unable to receive the monk; but his son the little Dauphin who was now aged twelve, sat at the head of the council and listened to what the monk had to say.

The burden of his discourse was that it was lawful, honourable and meritorious to slay or cause to be slain, a traitor to his country—especially when that traitor holds greater power than the King. ^^as this not what had happened in the case

of the Due d'Orl^ans, whose object had been to set aside the King and his sons and take the crown himself? Far from blaming the Duke of Burgundy, the King and the country should applaud what he had caused to be done.

The poor little Dauphin was bewildered. So was the council. There was some truth in this. Orleans, the extravagant libertine, had no gift for government. The country had prospered temporarily under the old Duke of Burgundy. Was his son right in what he had done?

While the monk continued to lay before the Dauphin and the council the case for Burgundy, the King recovered and was able to preside and listen to the arguments put forth. It was true, he thought, that Orleans had almost brought the country to ruin; it was true also that the old Duke of Burgundy had saved it. All he wanted was peace and there never would be if he did not agree that what Burgundy had done was good for France. Orleans had been a traitor to him. The King knew of his liaison with the Queen.

A letter was brought to him from the monk who implored him to sign it.

'My lord,' he pleaded, *a stroke of the pen from you and this matter will be settled.'

The King read the letter:

It is our will and pleasure that our cousin of Burgundy abide in peace with us and our successors in respect of the aforesaid deed and all that hath followed it, and that by us and our successors our people and officers no hindrance on account of that may be oflPered to the Duke and his.'

'Just your name, sire,' begged the monk, 'and this highly dangerous matter is at an end.'

Charles was tired of strife. He did not know from one day to the next when an attack was coming on.

He signed.

'Tell the Duke of Burgundy that I will receive him,' he said.

The Duke did not need a second invitation. He came at once to the King.

Charles received him cordially but somewhat mournfully.

'I can cancel the penalty,' he told him, 'but not the resentment. It will be for you. Monsieur le Due, to defend yourself from attacks which it seems likely will come.'

*Sire/ replied the Duke, *i? I am in favour with you I fear no man living/

The Queen was dismayed. The King would not listen to her. She had lost her lover. She was distraught and she wondered what would happen to her.

Isabella, deeply concerned by all that was going on around her, caught up in a marriage which had not been of her seeking, found time to visit her little sisters who were lodged in the Hotel St Pol and were often neglected.

She arrived one day to find they had gone. The servants, distressed and weeping, told her that the Queen had come and taken them away.

'Where has she taken them to?' cried Isabella.

No one could say. This was particularly strange because the Queen had never shown much interest in the children.

Later it was discovered that she was hiding in Melun and had all the royal children with her. The King had lapsed into one of his mad periods and the Duke of Burgundy seized the reins of government and showed by his strength of purpose that he was capable of the task.

After a few months a revolt in Flanders demanded Burgundy's presence, so he left France and rode off to settle the trouble in Flanders.