“Quiet! Be still now, Maizieres,” Louis said roughly, putting his hand on his tutor’s shoulder. “You are talking drivel about kingship, secret or otherwise. I sit concealed behind the throne and I am exposed to gossip from all sides, it is true, but I am more like an unwanted house animal, an unwelcome dog, than a secret wearer of the crown.”
“Monseigneur, Monseigneur.” De Maizieres folded his hands. “You have more influence than you seem to realize — infinitely more. The place you occupy cannot be allowed to fall vacant, under any circumstances. You have never needed to tell me that you serve the interests of France. I know it; I know you too well to doubt it. You must go on serving those interests, my lord, you are the only one who can.”
“Don’t make me out to be better than I am,” Louis said shortly. “I might not be France’s champion if my interests did not happen to coincide with those of the Kingdom. I am only human.”
“The Queen maintains relations with Bavaria, and the interests of Bavaria are not identical with those of France. The Dukes will not interfere with the Queen’s plans if they are not interfered with themselves. And so the Kingdom crumbles, my lord, like a dry crust of bread. There will be hunger, rebellion, rapine, boundless misery — and the English will manage adroidy to profit from this chaos.”
“And now you want me to struggle like a second David against Goliath — with no weapon except a sling and a handful of pebbles? Do you really take me for a child then, Messire de Maizieres?”
“I take you for a man who knows his obligations,” said de Maizieres, his head bowed. “I am no star gazer nor fawning courtier. I can’t make all sorts of encouraging predictions. It’s more than possible that you will find only frustration, my lord.”
“Or a speedy death,” Louis said. He thought he felt again the palpable cold he had encountered in the dormitorium. He pulled his mantle tight and moved toward the arched doorway.
“Are you leaving already, Monseigneur?” De Maizieres did not stir.
“I wish to hear early mass in the chapel of Orléans,” said Louis. “What else can I do then but submit to the fate which awaits me? God grant me more humility and patience.” He stood for a moment staring at the black and white mosaic tile of the floor. “Do you know, Maizieres,” he went on, in that eager, boyish manner which made him so likeable, “something happened to the King and me when we were still children. Have you forgotten it? I was eleven years old — my father had been dead only a short while. We were hunting in the forest of Bouconne near Toulouse, with my uncle of Burgundy and Henri de Bar — I even believe that Clisson was with us …”
“Indeed I have heard of a wall painting in the monastery of Cannes,” said de Maizieres with a vague smile, “which was brought there about ten years ago in memory of a miracle performed by Our Lady. And I know there is a hunting party in it… in a dark wood, surrounded by wolves, deer and other wild animals.”
“That is the one I mean.” Louis turned and walked back to the table; he stared into the candle flame as he talked, lost in memory. “Night overtook us in the middle of the forest and we could not find our way. The horses were frightened; they did not want to go on, because somewhere near us wolves were howling. Besides, it was pitch dark — a heavy, overcast sky without a single star — and we had wandered off from the servants and torchbearers.
“The King fell from his horse; the animal was skittish because it sensed my brother’s panic. I remember how we stood near each other, in despair in the darkness. Then my brother made a vow: that he would offer the value of his horse in gold to Our Lady of Good Hope if we escaped safely from the forest. Not long after that, we saw the torches of the hunting party through the trees. The monks of Carmes near Toulouse had dedicated a shrine to Our Lady of Good Hope. They had our adventure painted on its walls as an example.”
“Why do you tell me this story, Monseigneur?” asked de Maizieres, raising his tired, slightly enflamed eyes to the young man. “What is the connection between a childhood adventure and the things we were talking about just now?”
“Doesn’t it seem to you that we have, all of us — the King and I and our good friends — wandered off into a forest of the night, filled with wolves and sly foxes? The darkness holds endless danger; we are stranded with no torch to protect us. But even if the King were to offer now all the gold of France I am afraid that no Lady would save us from darkness and disaster. There is no Good Hope for us, Maizieres. We are lost in the Forest of Long Awaiting, a wilderness without prospect,” said Louis, employing an image much in vogue with the poets to express the frustration of hopeless love. “The Forest of Long Awaiting,” he repeated, deriving a kind of mournful pleasure from the sound of the words.
De Maizieres, who was not susceptible to poetic phrases, sighed and shook his head. He had become tired and chilly during the conversation. Besides, a bell could be heard pealing somewhere in the monastery, a sign that the night had ended.
Isabeau woke startled from a chaotic dream; she lay clammy with sweat under the heavy, fur-trimmed coverlet, her heart beating against her throat. At that moment the bells began to chime for early mass in the chapels of Saint-Pol and in the churches and cloisters of Paris. A wave of relief swept over the Queen, although her body ached with exhaustion. The prospect of having to wait a few more hours for daylight, she found unbearable. She turned her head toward the hearth, where her chambermaid Femmette sat dozing by the fire.
“Femmette,” said Isabeau loudly. The woman sprang up with a startled cry, clutching to straighten her wrinkled kerchief. When she saw the Queen’s dark eyes fixed upon her, she knelt hastily on the carpet before the bed.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I was asleep. It was so warm by the fire.”
“Good,” said Isabeau curtly. “Help me get up now.”
She had thrown back the bedcover and shivered in her damp chemise. The chambermaid, who had been accustomed for years to obey Isabeau’s wishes blindly, now ventured a timid suggestion: the Queen had gone late to bed, the ladies of her retinue who had to help her dress were not yet in the anteroom; the Queen’s condition made a longer rest advisable.
Isabeau sighed, irritated, her lips pressed together. If she was goaded, she could burst into a stream of invective. The control she had to exert toward kinsmen and dignitaries of the court taxed her nerves to the limit. She was used to taking out her frustration on her servingwomen. Now too she had to make an effort to hold back her anger; the chambermaid was already kneeling beside her, putting slippers on her feet. Femmette, who saw that the Queen was in a bad mood, remained silent; usually Isabeau spent the few minutes before she received her ladies listening to the chambermaid recount the gossip going the rounds of the city and the palace — the idle talk, the words caught on the sly — but now she was too distracted and annoyed. She had a cloak put round her shoulders and walked heavily to her prayer stool.
The tolling of the bells and her own disordered thoughts made it impossible to concentrate; she prayed mechanically. While the beads of her rosary slid through her fingers, she thought of her plans for the day — she would go to the Audit Chamber to insist on a speedy setdement of her annuity; she would discuss with Salaut, her secretary, the gifts she must offer to relatives, court and servants on New Year’s Day; she had to accept the resignation of the King’s physicians — especially Harselly, whom she considered a stubborn, opinionated bungler — who had dared to attribute the King’s illness to an excess of wine and love. Then she wanted to dictate some letters to Salaut; she longed for the presence of her brother, Ludwig of Bavaria, who since her marriage had often resided in France. Whenever Isabeau, in the treacherous solitude of court life, felt a need for someone with whom she could be her real self, without reserve, she sent a message to Ludwig, who was usually to be found somewhere nearby, hunting and drinking with French barons.