Sicily and Constance of Avignon, I was duly thanked with five thousand florins. But I have only ever accepted recompense from those who put their cause in the hands of my talent or my influence. Dishonesty begins when one is paid by the enemy. And I believe that Boulogne could not resist this temptation. Since then, the friendship between him and King John II has considerably cooled off.
Lorris, by withdrawing for a while, once more returned to favour, as is always the way with the Lorrises. He threw himself at the king’s feet, last Good Friday, swore his unfailing loyalty, and cast all duplicity and connivance onto Le Coq, who remained on bad terms with the king and was banished from the court.
It is an advantageous thing to disavow one’s negotiators. It serves as justification when not applying the terms of a treaty. And the king did just that. When he was told that he should have kept his deputies under tighter control, and given away a good deal less than he had, he replied irritably: ‘Negotiating, debating, arguing are no business for a knight.’ He has always affected contempt for negotiation and diplomacy, which has allowed him to renege on any commitments.
In fact he had only promised so much because he counted on respecting nothing at all.
But at the same time, he overwhelmed his son-in-law with a thousand feigned courtesies, always wanting him close by at court, and not only him, but his younger brother, Philip, and even the youngest, Louis, whose return from Navarre he keenly insisted upon. He proclaimed himself the protector of the three brothers and encouraged the dauphin to profess friendship to them.
The Bad didn’t submit himself without arrogance to such excessive consideration, to so much incredible solicitude, going so far as to say to the king, in the middle of dinner: ‘Admit that I did you a favour ridding you of Charles of Spain, who wanted to run everything in the kingdom. You won’t say it, but I relieved you of a burden.’ You can imagine how much King John enjoyed being reminded of such kindnesses.
Then one summer’s day when Charles of Navarre and his brothers were on their way to attend a feast at the palace, the Cardinal of Boulogne rushed up to Charles and said: ‘Turn back and stay in your house, if you value your life. The king has resolved to have you slain later today, all three of you, during the feast.’
This was no figment of his imagination, nor the result of vague rumours. King John had indeed taken such a decision, that very morning, during his State Council, in which Boulogne had taken part … ‘I have been waiting for the three brothers to be together, as I want all three of them slain so that there be no further male offspring of that evil breed.’
For my part, I don’t blame Boulogne for having warned the Navarrese, even though that must have given credence to the idea that he had been bought. As a priest of the Holy Church … and who, what’s more, is a member of the pontifical Curia, a brother of the pope before the Lord … cannot hear that a triple murder will be perpetrated in cold blood, and accept that it should take place without attempting in the slightest to prevent it. It was to let oneself become an accessory to the crime by remaining silent. Why on earth did King John have to speak in front of Boulogne? He only had to give the order to his sergeants … But no, he thought he was being clever. Ah, that king, when he tries to be crafty! He has never been able to see three moves ahead. He must have thought that when the pope remonstrated with him about how he had bloodied his palace, as he surely would, he could always argue: ‘But your cardinal was there, and he didn’t disapprove of my actions.’ Boulogne is no partridge born of the last brood to walk into such an obvious trap.
Charles of Navarre, thus forewarned, withdrew in haste to his house where he had his escort made ready. King John, when none of the brothers turned up at his feast,
Lorris, by withdrawing for a while, once more returned to favour, as is always the way with the Lorrises. He threw himself at the king’s feet, last Good Friday, swore his unfailing loyalty, and cast all duplicity and connivance onto Le Coq, who remained on bad terms with the king and was banished from the court.
It is an advantageous thing to disavow one’s negotiators. It serves as justification when not applying the terms of a treaty. And the king did just that. When he was told that he should have kept his deputies under tighter control, and given away a good deal less than he had, he replied irritably: ‘Negotiating, debating, arguing are no business for a knight.’ He has always affected contempt for negotiation and diplomacy, which has allowed him to renege on any commitments.
In fact he had only promised so much because he counted on respecting nothing at all.
But at the same time, he overwhelmed his son-in-law with a thousand feigned courtesies, always wanting him close by at court, and not only him, but his younger brother, Philip, and even the youngest, Louis, whose return from Navarre he keenly insisted upon. He proclaimed himself the protector of the three brothers and encouraged the dauphin to profess friendship to them.
The Bad didn’t submit himself without arrogance to such excessive consideration, to so much incredible solicitude, going so far as to say to the king, in the middle of dinner: ‘Admit that I did you a favour ridding you of Charles of Spain, who wanted to run everything in the kingdom. You won’t say it, but I relieved you of a burden.’ You can imagine how much King John enjoyed being reminded of such kindnesses.
Then one summer’s day when Charles of Navarre and his brothers were on their way to attend a feast at the palace, the Cardinal of Boulogne rushed up to Charles and said: ‘Turn back and stay in your house, if you value your life. The king has resolved to have you slain later today, all three of you, during the feast.’
This was no figment of his imagination, nor the result of vague rumours. King John had indeed taken such a decision, that very morning, during his State Council, in which Boulogne had taken part … ‘I have been waiting for the three brothers to be together, as I want all three of them slain so that there be no further male offspring of that evil breed.’
For my part, I don’t blame Boulogne for having warned the Navarrese, even though that must have given credence to the idea that he had been bought. As a priest of the Holy Church … and who, what’s more, is a member of the pontifical Curia, a brother of the pope before the Lord … cannot hear that a triple murder will be perpetrated in cold blood, and accept that it should take place without attempting in the slightest to prevent it. It was to let oneself become an accessory to the crime by remaining silent. Why on earth did King John have to speak in front of Boulogne? He only had to give the order to his sergeants … But no, he thought he was being clever. Ah, that king, when he tries to be crafty! He has never been able to see three moves ahead. He must have thought that when the pope remonstrated with him about how he had bloodied his palace, as he surely would, he could always argue: ‘But your cardinal was there, and he didn’t disapprove of my actions.’ Boulogne is no partridge born of the last brood to walk into such an obvious trap.
Charles of Navarre, thus forewarned, withdrew in haste to his house where he had his escort made ready. King John, when none of the brothers turned up at his feast,
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