summoned them urgently. But his messenger received no response, there was only the thumping of horses’ hooves as, at that very moment, the Navarrese were headed back towards Normandy.
King John entered into an acute rage whereupon he hid his vexation by playing the injured party. ‘Look at that bad son, that traitor who turns his back on the friendship of the king, and exiles himself from my court! He must have many a wicked plan to conceal.’
And from that came his pretext to proclaim he would suspend the terms and effects of the Treaty of Mantes, that anyway he had not even begun to execute.
Upon learning this, Charles sent his brother Louis back to Navarre and dispatched his brother Philip to Cotentin to raise an army, he himself choosing not to stay in Évreux any longer.
Because meanwhile our Holy Father, the Pope Innocent, had called a conference in Avignon … the third, the fourth, or rather, simply the same one begun again … between the envoys of France and England in order to negotiate, not just an extended truce, but a real and lasting peace. This time, Innocent wanted, so he said, to see the work of his predecessor through to a successful conclusion, flattering himself he would succeed where Clement VI had failed. Presumptuousness, Archambaud, lies deep even in a pontiff’s heart.
The Cardinal of Boulogne had presided over the previous negotiations; Innocent reappointed him to this office. King Edward of England had always been suspicious of Boulogne, as he had been of me, believing him too close to the interests of France. And yet, since the Treaty of Mantes and the flight of Charles the Bad, King John was also suspicious of him. Perhaps it was for that reason that Boulogne ran the meeting in Avignon far better than anticipated; he had nobody to mollycoddle. He got along well enough with the Bishops of London and of Norwich, and particularly well with the Duke of Lancaster, who is a fine military leader and veritable lord. And meanwhile, behind the scenes, I myself set about playing my part. Little Navarre must have got wind of …
Ah! Here come the coals! Brunet, slide the pan under my robes, would you? It is well sealed I trust, so that I don’t get burned! Yes, that is fine like that …
So, Charles of Navarre must have got wind of the fact that we were moving towards peace, which would certainly not have helped his cause, because one fine November day … just two years ago … there he was, suddenly, in Avignon, where nobody was expecting him.
This was when I saw him for the first time. Twenty-four years old, but with his diminutive stature not looking a day older than eighteen, really very short, the smallest of the kings of Europe; but so well proportioned, so upright in his posture, so agile, so quick-witted that no one dared dream of making him aware of this. Add to that a charming face that well sets off a nose a little on the large side, handsome fox-like eyes, with corners already creased into crow’s feet by shrewdness. His exterior is so affable, his manners at the same time so polite and light of touch, his speech so fluent, assured and spontaneous, quick to compliment, passing so nimbly from solemnity to bawdiness and from amusement to seriousness, and he appears so openly to offer his friendship to people it is easy to understand why women can’t resist him, and men fall prey to his schemes. No, really, I have never heard a more valiant gabber than that little king there! Listening to him, one tended to forget the wickedness that hid behind so much good grace, and that he was already a hardened liar, criminal and master of stratagems. The personal impression he leaves you with make you forgive the secret blackness of his soul.
When he made his appearance in Avignon, his situation was not of the best. He was insubordinate vis-à-vis the King of France, who went about seizing his castles, and he had seriously offended the King of England by signing the Treaty of Mantes without
King John entered into an acute rage whereupon he hid his vexation by playing the injured party. ‘Look at that bad son, that traitor who turns his back on the friendship of the king, and exiles himself from my court! He must have many a wicked plan to conceal.’
And from that came his pretext to proclaim he would suspend the terms and effects of the Treaty of Mantes, that anyway he had not even begun to execute.
Upon learning this, Charles sent his brother Louis back to Navarre and dispatched his brother Philip to Cotentin to raise an army, he himself choosing not to stay in Évreux any longer.
Because meanwhile our Holy Father, the Pope Innocent, had called a conference in Avignon … the third, the fourth, or rather, simply the same one begun again … between the envoys of France and England in order to negotiate, not just an extended truce, but a real and lasting peace. This time, Innocent wanted, so he said, to see the work of his predecessor through to a successful conclusion, flattering himself he would succeed where Clement VI had failed. Presumptuousness, Archambaud, lies deep even in a pontiff’s heart.
The Cardinal of Boulogne had presided over the previous negotiations; Innocent reappointed him to this office. King Edward of England had always been suspicious of Boulogne, as he had been of me, believing him too close to the interests of France. And yet, since the Treaty of Mantes and the flight of Charles the Bad, King John was also suspicious of him. Perhaps it was for that reason that Boulogne ran the meeting in Avignon far better than anticipated; he had nobody to mollycoddle. He got along well enough with the Bishops of London and of Norwich, and particularly well with the Duke of Lancaster, who is a fine military leader and veritable lord. And meanwhile, behind the scenes, I myself set about playing my part. Little Navarre must have got wind of …
Ah! Here come the coals! Brunet, slide the pan under my robes, would you? It is well sealed I trust, so that I don’t get burned! Yes, that is fine like that …
So, Charles of Navarre must have got wind of the fact that we were moving towards peace, which would certainly not have helped his cause, because one fine November day … just two years ago … there he was, suddenly, in Avignon, where nobody was expecting him.
This was when I saw him for the first time. Twenty-four years old, but with his diminutive stature not looking a day older than eighteen, really very short, the smallest of the kings of Europe; but so well proportioned, so upright in his posture, so agile, so quick-witted that no one dared dream of making him aware of this. Add to that a charming face that well sets off a nose a little on the large side, handsome fox-like eyes, with corners already creased into crow’s feet by shrewdness. His exterior is so affable, his manners at the same time so polite and light of touch, his speech so fluent, assured and spontaneous, quick to compliment, passing so nimbly from solemnity to bawdiness and from amusement to seriousness, and he appears so openly to offer his friendship to people it is easy to understand why women can’t resist him, and men fall prey to his schemes. No, really, I have never heard a more valiant gabber than that little king there! Listening to him, one tended to forget the wickedness that hid behind so much good grace, and that he was already a hardened liar, criminal and master of stratagems. The personal impression he leaves you with make you forgive the secret blackness of his soul.
When he made his appearance in Avignon, his situation was not of the best. He was insubordinate vis-à-vis the King of France, who went about seizing his castles, and he had seriously offended the King of England by signing the Treaty of Mantes without
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