The Accursed Kings Series Books 1-3: The Iron King, The Strangled Queen, The Poisoned Crown. Maurice Druon

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СКАЧАТЬ Valois. The two young men were delighted with the journey and the whole royal train. In their innocence and vanity, the better to shine, they had fastened the handsome purses given them by their mistresses upon their smartest clothes. Seeing the purses at their belts, Robert of Artois had felt a cruel and passionate joy in his heart. He had scarcely been able to prevent himself laughing aloud. ‘Well my young bucks, my young cocks, fools that you are,’ he said to himself, ‘you may well smile in thinking of your mistresses’ beautiful breasts. Think of them well, for you will never touch them again; and breathe deep of the air of day, for I think that you will have but few more. Your handsome, brainless heads will be cracked open like nuts.’

      Meanwhile, like a huge tiger playing with its prey, claws retracted, he spoke with the utmost cordiality to the brothers Aunay, from time to time tossing them a loud-mouthed pleasantry. Since he had saved them from the pretended cut-throats at the Tower of Nesle, the two young men had been most friendly and thought themselves much obliged to him.

      When the cavalcade halted in the Grande Place, they invited Artois to a cup of cool light wine. They joked together, toasting each other. ‘Drink, my little friends, drink,’ said Artois to himself, ‘and remember well the taste of this light wine.’

      All about them the tavern rang with gaiety, shouts and cries under the sun.

      In the rejoicing town business was as good as on a fair-day, and from the Royal Castle¹⁷ to the church a dense crowd slowed down the horses’ pace.

      The great swathes of multi-coloured hangings ornamenting the windows floated in the breeze. A horseman arrived at a gallop and announced the Queen’s approach. There was immediate commotion.

      ‘Hurry our people along,’ said Philippe of Poitiers to Gautier d’Aunay, who had just rejoined them.

      Then the King’s second son turned to Charles of Valois.

      ‘We are very punctual, Uncle; the Queen will not have to wait.’

      Charles of Valois, dressed entirely in blue, a little the worse for fatigue, contented himself with a nod of the head. He could well have done without the ride and was in a bad temper.

      The church bells began ringing and their hubbub re-echoed from the town walls. The cavalcade went forward along the Amiens road.

      Robert of Artois joined the Princes and went forward stirrup to stirrup with Poitiers. Though he had been dispossessed of his inheritance of Artois, Robert was nevertheless the King’s cousin and his place was in the front rank of the royalty of France. Watching Philippe of Poitiers’s hand clasping the reins of his chestnut horse, Robert thought, ‘It was for your sake, my skinny cousin, it was in order to give you Franche-Comté that I was deprived of Artois which belonged to me. But before tomorrow is out, you will receive a wound from which a man’s honour does not easily recover.’

      Philippe, Count of Poitiers and the husband of Jeanne of Burgundy, was twenty-one years old. Not only physically, but in personality too, he was different from all the rest of the Royal family. He was neither handsome and dominating like his father, nor fat and impetuous like his uncle. Thin in face and body, tall of stature, with curiously long limbs, his gestures were always measured, his voice precise and curt; everything about him, his physical characteristics, the simplicity of his pleasures, the restrained courtesy of his speech, expressed a decisive and reflective nature, in which his head dominated his heart. He was already a power to take account of in the kingdom.

      Three miles from Clermont, the two cavalcades, that of the Queen of England and that of the Princes, met. Eight servants of the house of France, grouped by the side of the road, blew a long and monotonous fanfare upon their trumpets. The English trumpeters replied upon instruments similar but with a sharper pitch. Then the Princes walked forward and Isabella, slim and upright upon her white palfrey, listened to a short speech of welcome made by her brother, Philippe of Poitiers. Then Charles of Valois went forward to kiss his niece’s hand; then, when it was the Count of Artois’s turn, he was able to give her to understand, by the manner of his low bow and the glance he gave her, that all had turned out as he had foreseen.

      While compliments, questions and news were being exchanged, the two escorts waited and watched each other. The French horsemen were impressed by the English uniforms. Sitting still and upright upon their horses, the sun in their eyes, the English bore proudly upon their breastplates the three lions of England; they seemed self-assured and were obviously out to make a good impression upon a strange land.

      From the great blue-and-gold litter which followed behind the Queen came a loud cry.

      ‘So, Sister,’ said Philippe, ‘you have brought our little nephew upon the journey, have you? It’s a hard road for so young a child.’

      ‘I would never leave him in London without me. You know enough about the people by whom I am surrounded,’ Isabella replied.

      Philippe of Poitiers and Charles of Valois asked her the object of her journey; she told them merely that she wished to see her father, and they realised that for the moment, at least, they would be told no more.

      She said that she was somewhat tired with the journey, and, dismounting from her white mare, took her place in the great litter carried by two mules harnessed in velvet trappings, one placed between the forward shafts and the other between the rear. Both cavalcades moved off again towards Clermont.

      Taking advantage of the fact that Poitiers and Valois had taken their places at the head of the cavalcade, Artois drew his horse near the litter.

      ‘You become more beautiful every time I see you, Cousin,’ he said.

      ‘Don’t talk nonsense; I am certainly not beautiful after twelve hours of dust upon the roads,’ the Queen replied.

      ‘Having loved you in memory for many long weeks, the dust is invisible; I can only see your eyes.’

      Isabella leaned back a little among the cushions. Once again she felt a recurrence of that curious weakness which had seized her at Westminster in Robert’s company. ‘Can he really love me,’ she wondered, ‘or is he merely making compliments as he does, doubtless, to every woman he meets?’ Between the curtains of the litter, she could see the Count of Artois’s huge red boot and golden spur upon the dappled horse’s flank; she could see the giant thigh with its salient muscles, and she wondered whether each time she found herself in this man’s presence she would be conscious of the same disquiet, the same desire to let herself go, the same hope of reaching out to unknown territories. She made an effort to control herself. She was not there on her own behalf.

      ‘Cousin,’ she said, ‘tell me quickly what there is to tell, and let us make the most of this opportunity to talk.’

      Rapidly, pretending to point out the countryside, he told her what he knew and what he had done, the watch he had set over the royal Princesses, the trap set at the Tower of Nesle.

      ‘Who are these men who are dishonouring the Crown of France?’ Isabella asked.

      ‘They are riding twenty paces from you. They form part of the escort attending us.’

      And he gave her the essential information about the brothers Aunay, their estate, their parentage and their family relationships.

      ‘I want to see them,’ Isabella said.

      Signalling vigorously, Artois called the two young men over.

      ‘The Queen has noticed you,’ he said, winking broadly, СКАЧАТЬ