The Iron King by Maurice Druon

outbursts.
    ‘Louis, be quiet,’ said Philip the Fair, glancing coldly at his son.
    Then he clicked his fingers, saying, ‘Lombard, stop it!’ Pulling the dog’s head against his leg, he stroked it for a moment.
    Louis of Navarre, who was already nicknamed ‘le Hutin’, that is to say the wayward fool, lowered his head to conceal his inability to control his silly laughter. He was twenty-eight years old, but his mental development was no greater than at seventeen. He had his father’s eyes, but with the difference that his gaze was weak and lacked directness, and his father’s hair but without its lustre.
    ‘Sire,’ said Charles of Valois when Bouville, the Chamberlain, had picked up his chair for him, ‘Sire, my Brother, God is my witness that I have never desired anything but your interest and your glory.’
    Philip the Fair turned his eyes upon him, and Charles of Valois felt his assurance ebbing. Nevertheless he went on, ‘It is only of you I think, Brother, when I see all that has made the strength of the kingdom being wantonly destroyed. Without the Templars and without the Chivalry of France, how can you undertake a crusade should the necessity arise?’
    It was Marigny who replied.
    ‘Under our King’s wise reign,’ he said, ‘we have had no need of a crusade, precisely because the Chivalry has remained quiet, Monseigneur, and there has been no necessity to lead it overseas to expend its ardour.’
    ‘And the question of the Faith, Messire?’
    ‘The gold taken from the Templars has swollen the Treasury, Monseigneur, as has the enormous trade and commerce that used to be carried on behind the banners of the Faith; goods are diffused just as well without crusades.’
    ‘Messire, you talk like an infidel!’
    ‘I talk like a servant of the kingdom, Monseigneur!’
    The King lightly tapped the table.
    ‘Brother,’ he said once more, ‘we have met to discuss the Templars. I ask you for your counsel.’
    ‘My counsel … my counsel?’ Valois repeated, taken aback.
    He was always ready to reform the universe, but never to furnish any precise opinion.
    ‘Well, Brother, let those who have conducted the business so well’ – he indicated Nogaret and Marigny – ‘inspire you with suggestions as to how it should be brought to an end. As far as I am concerned …’
    He made the gesture of Pilate.
    The Keeper of the Seals and the Coadjutor exchanged a glance.
    ‘Louis, your counsel,’ said the King.
    Louis of Navarre gave a start, and took a moment to reply, in the first place because he had not the remotest idea what to say and in the second because he was sucking a sweet made of honey and it had stuck in his teeth.
    ‘Supposing we handed over the Templars to the Pope,’ he said at last.
    ‘Be quiet, Louis,’ said the King, shrugging his shoulders.
    And Marigny raised his eyebrows in commiseration.
    To send the Grand Master back to the jurisdiction of the Pope was to begin again at the beginning, to put everything in question once more, the whole basis and form of procedure, to give up the legal powers extracted with such difficulty from the Councils, to annul the whole effort of seven years and open the way once again to every ruse of the defence.
    ‘And to think that this idiot is going to succeed me,’ thought Philip the Fair, looking at his son. ‘One can only hope that he will mature between now and then.’
    A March shower rustled against the leaded windows.
    ‘Bouville?’ said the King.
    Hugues de Bouville thought that the King was asking him his opinion. No one could have had greater devotion than the Grand Chamberlain, or greater obedience, fidelity, and desire to please, but he had no mental initiative. As always, he wondered what Philip the Fair wished to hear.
    ‘I’m thinking, Sire, I’m thinking,’ he replied.
    ‘Send for candles, one can’t see,’ said the King. ‘Nogaret, what are your views?’
    ‘That those who have fallen into heresy should suffer the