CHAPTER XLIV

JOHN, KING OF FRANCE

Memorable as the name of John of Valois will ever be in history, as associated with a terrible defeat, and with the countless woes which that defeat entailed upon the nation he aspired to rule, he yet deserves the praise of the valiant for his personal courage, for his chivalrous character, and for his noble saying, that, "if truth and good faith were banished from all the world, they should yet be found in the breasts of kings."

At the time when Philip of Valois, leaving his kingdom exhausted by war and humiliated by disaster, expired at Nogent-le-Roi, John had reached the age of thirty, and won renown as one of the foremost knights of his day. His education in youth had been carefully conducted; he was thoroughly instructed in all the laws of chivalry; and he was not without experience in war. At Cressy, indeed, his sword had not shone in the battle so fatal to the princes of France and the potentates of Europe. But from his twentieth year he had figured as a leader of armies; and in Hainault, in Brittany, and in Gascony he had been matched against warriors of skill and valour. Nature, however, while endowing him with high qualities, had not only denied him those which make a fearless knight a great war chief, but given him many which prevented him from acting with calmness and judgment. Brave, gallant, dauntless in fight, and with a hand strong to smite, he lacked discretion and the faculty of calculating chances; and he was too proud, rash, vindictive, and impetuous to hearken in hours of danger to the counsel of those who were wiser than himself.

Such being the faults and failings of John of France, even flattery itself could not represent him as a man capable of playing for kingdoms and crowns with England's famous king, or with England's king's gallant son. But it was with no lack of confidence in himself, and with little apprehension as to the future, that, after having laid his father at rest among the old Kings of France near the altar of the church of St. Denis, he repaired to be crowned at Rheims.

It was on a Sunday in September that John, with his queen, Joan of Boulogne, was invested with the symbols of royalty in that cathedral which had witnessed the baptism of Clovis, and anointed with that oil which, according to tradition, was brought down from heaven in the holy ampulla to the good St. Remy of Rheims, when he was about to consecrate the conquering Frank, who, moved by the persuasions of his Christian wife, Clotilda, turned from the worship of Odin, and became "the eldest son of the Church." Nothing could have exceeded the grandeur of the coronation ceremony, nothing the magnificence of the feasts which John gave when he returned to Paris, and took up his residence in the Hôtel de Nesle. Impoverished as was the royal treasury, no expense was spared; and John really seemed to be mocking the claims of his dead father's conqueror by the display and noise which he made in assuming those regal honours of which, had he been a wiser man, he would have said, "I scarcely call these things mine."

Nor, at that time, could the danger be deemed so far distant as to encourage even the most credulous to indulge feelings of security. Doubtless there was a truce between England and France; but it was, to say the least, very brittle, and likely soon to be broken, and its existence did not prevent men from undertaking enterprises calculated to bring about a renewal of the war of which, so far, France had had so much the worse. Among others who had made themselves conspicuous in this way, Geoffrey de Chargny had highly distinguished himself.

It seems that Aymery de Pavie, after his unfortunate secret treaty for the sale of Calais, retired to Fretun, his castle in the neighbourhood, and there, with Eleanor de Gubium as his guest, lived at his ease. Fancying that the French had forgotten him, and deeming himself perfectly safe, he took no more precaution than if he had been in London or at Westminster. He lived long enough to rue his recklessness, but not much longer.

In fact, Geoffrey de Chargny, who, after the failure of his project in Calais, was carried prisoner to England, but subsequently ransomed and restored to his own country, never for a moment forgot the trick which Aymery de Pavie had played, and never for a moment gave up the idea of inflicting a severe punishment. Hearing, on his return to France, that the Lombard was living at ease in the castle of Fretun, Chargny, who had been reinstated in his post at St. Omer, did not let the matter sleep; but, collecting a band of men-at-arms, he left St. Omer one evening, and, reaching Fretun about daybreak, surrounded the place, and, passing the ditch, prepared to enter by force.

"Now," said Chargny to his comrades, "no plunder. Remember the truce. All we want is the perfidious Lombard."

Aymery de Pavie, who had stretched himself to rest with a feeling of absolute security, and with no idea that his perfidy was remembered to his disadvantage, was sound asleep, when he was awoke by one of his servants, who entered the chamber pale with fright.

"My lord," said he, "rise instantly; the castle is surrounded by armed men, who are attempting to enter."

"Enter my castle, and in time of truce!" exclaimed the Lombard, astonished. "By my faith, they shall repent their hardihood!"

Much alarmed, Aymery de Pavie sprang up and hastily armed himself; but it was vain. Ere he was ready even to strike a blow the toils were upon him, and, looking out, he perceived that the courtyard was filled with armed men. Escape was impossible; resistance was vain; he found himself roughly seized; and, after struggling for a moment as a cony struggles in a net, he yielded to fate, and was led forth a captive.

Highly gratified at the prospect of a speedy revenge, De Chargny conducted the Lombard and his fair companion to St. Omer, and resolved at once to strike the decisive blow. Immediately the knights and the people of the country were assembled; and the captive, having been led to the market-place, was put to death with much cruelty, amid the jeers of the crowd.

But no notice was taken of De Chargny's lawless adventure. It was John himself who took the step that roused Edward's wrath, and ultimately brought matters to a crisis. No sooner, indeed, did he feel the crown of St. Louis on his head than he was guilty of an act of despotic violence which, he ought to have seen, would involve a quarrel with an enemy whose active hostility, he might have been aware, it was madness under the circumstances to defy.

I have mentioned that when, in 1346, King Edward landed at La Hogue, and when the English, marching through Normandy, seized the town of Caen, one of the prisoners taken by them was the Count of Eu, Constable of France. Carried to England, the constable was lodged in the Tower of London. But his captivity was not without its consolation. Being a gallant knight and accomplished gentleman, he was always well received at the English court, and treated with much courtesy by the king and queen. Naturally, however, the count could not forget that he was a prisoner; and, expressing much anxiety to return home, he was released on his parole, and allowed to repair to France to raise the money necessary to pay his ransom.

Accordingly, the constable, little dreaming of the consequences, embarked for France, and, reaching the coast, made his way to Paris, and presented himself to the new king, whose father he had faithfully served. Whether or not he was really guilty of any disloyalty towards the House of Valois is difficult to decide. It was rumoured, however, that he confessed something of the kind to Walter de Brienne, Duke of Athens; and one Tuesday, when in the Hôtel de Nesle, he was suddenly arrested by the Provost of Paris, and imprisoned.

The constable was not long kept in suspense. Indeed, John of Calais dealt with the Count of Eu almost as summarily as Geoffrey de Chargny had dealt with Aymery de Pavie. On Thursday, about the hour of matins, he was conducted to the courtyard of the Hôtel de Nesle, and there, in presence of several earls and knights, beheaded as a traitor.

If John exhibited courage in the execution of the constable, he showed little of that prudence which he might have learned from reflecting on the fate of his father. The constable, as he well knew, was the King of England's prisoner, released on parole; and Edward would have belied his reputation if he had allowed his death to pass without demanding satisfaction. It soon appeared that the Plantagenet was in no humour to be set at defiance. When the news reached England, he made no secret of his intention to treat John as he had treated Philip, John's father.

"Ho, ho!" exclaimed the king, as his anger rose and his eye flashed, "my adversary's son has put the Count of Eu to death. By good St. George! when this truce expires, I will show him how I can avenge the execution of my prisoners on parole."