“Certainly, Messire,” answered the landlord nervously; it was not the first time that he had played host to this trio. He thought that the speaker and his friends had come from the Hotel d’Artois. Therefore he added, “But I am running into danger. This is less innocent than gambling or fighting, Messire. Who will protect me if Orléans sends his men after me?”
The stranger leaned forward so that the lappets of his black hat fell loose. The light from the candle stuck on top of the wine casks shone on his face: the large, sharp nose, the mouth with its protruding lower lip, the small but fierce eyes. Thibault gasped and stared; then he fell to his knees and let the wine stream out.
“Get up,” said Jean of Burgundy harshly. “Control yourself. Do as I order and don’t worry about your life. Send your friends through the city — you know the way — and tell them to repeat what Guillaume has said, in the halls, on the bridges, in the market, in the outskirts of the town. Choose some trustworthy men, send them to the Hotel d’Artois. Watchword: ‘the hour is coming — the time approaches—.’ Understand?”
The landlord nodded and went back to the wine vats. The three visitors quickly pushed their way out through the knots of drinking, fighting, loudly wrangling men. Soon they were swallowed up in the dark street.
Burgundy’s death caused what he had tried so painstakingly to prevent during his lifetime: a rapprochement between the Queen and Orléans. Jean of Burgundy inspired Isabeau with an inexplicable fear and aversion; she found him ugly, clumsy and disagreeable. Not for a moment did she consider making the son heir to the confidence which she had given the father. The Queen had been offended by the manner in which he had come to the court after his father’s death and announced himself as the Duke of Burgundy. His arrogance, his rough manners, lost for him whatever good will he might have possessed, especially in Isabeau’s eyes. Under these circumstances it was natural that Isabeau should renew her alliance with her brother-in-law. Now that Burgundy was dead, Berry and Bourbon scarcely set foot in Council or court, and Burgundy’s son did not appear to be trustworthy, the Queen could seek support only from Louis d’Orléans. Gradually they had dropped the coldness of the past few years; they conferred together, carefully avoiding all points on which their opinions might diverge. Once again Orléans played the role of royal host at Isabeau’s side; at those times the Queen noticed how much her brother-in-law had changed over the years. He had lost much of his spontaneity, his natural bouyancy; but in its place were qualities that Isabeau found more attractive: a certain hardness, reticence and the ability to act quickly, at the precise moment. His mind, always simply brilliant, had now become sharp and incisive, flashing with menace, or making a deadly strike, as he chose. In short, he was now a mature man, and an extremely appealing and courteous one to boot.
Isabeau, encountering her brother-in-law face to face almost every day, could not hide from herself, after a relatively short time, the fact that her feelings for him were no longer only friendly. She did not resist this emotion; she did not wish to resist it. She was thirty-five years old; she had sacrificed the best years of her life to a madman who cursed her in his delirium and who terrorized her during his periods of so-called sanity by his strange words and inexplicable behavior. It was true that her sacrifice had some material purpose, but nevertheless she had suffered. At first, after the birth of her last child, she had wanted only to rest and dabble undisturbed in politics. But suddenly she began to crave the joys of love, to feel a longing that was all the more violent now that youth and beauty had gone forever. Her innate pride would not allow her to choose a paramour from among the nobles of her retinue; but toward the King’s brother, who was already in many respects her husband’s substitute, she did not feel such scruples. In this way could she not wreak on Valentine Visconti the vengeance which Gian Galeazzo had escaped through death? And Louis, bound to her by love, could perhaps serve her interests in other ways. The more she thought about it, the more attractive such a relationship appeared to her to be.
When Isabeau was with Orléans, she allowed herself to be dazzled by his charm; but when she was alone, when she saw her faded face in her mirror, she was seized by anguished uncertainty. If she had not desired Orléans, she would have been less upset, less vulnerable; she might even have responded to his flirtatiousness with cynicism or indifference. Isabeau did not completely lose her head; she was much too cold for that, too self-involved. She was restless, capricious and irritable; now she decided to hold a fete, then a hunting party — or an excursion to the Hotel de la Bergerie or a picnic in the gardens of Saint-Pol, or perhaps a pilgrimage to cloisters and chapels. She left state affairs alone; even letters and messages from Bavaria went unanswered for the moment. For the first time in her life she scarcely thought about her children — the court noticed this with great astonishment.
The King heard of it when he was feeling slightly better again. He summoned the Dauphin to him and asked the child how long it had been since he had last seen his mother. The boy was frightened by the manner and appearance of the sick man: the King sat filthy and neglected in a darkened room. The Dauphin hesitated, but at last he said haltingly that his mother had not been near him for three months; his nurse took care of him and treated him with affection. When he heard that, the King burst into tears; he thanked the nurse for her devotion and presented her with the only valuable possession he could lay his hands on at that moment — his silver goblet. From that time he was seized by a melancholy apathy; he did not bathe nor change his clothes for months at a time; he slept and ate whenever he felt like it. Covered with sores and vermin, he squatted in a corner of his bedchamber. His physicians and servants, no longer under the Queen’s watchful eye, troubled themselves about him as little as possible. They gave him his food and left him alone.
Louis d’Orléans could have put an end to this shocking state of affairs — but now he seldom visited his brother. Since he had allowed himself to be named Lieutenant-Governor of the realm once more, he was completely absorbed in his official duties. He spent months fortifying his castles, providing whatever supplies were needed for fortifications in the environs of Paris and Normandy. With regard to Jean of Burgundy, Louis followed the policy symbolized by his device of the thisde and stinging nettle: to prickle, to sting, to scratch severely the foot which tried to trample upon him. Toward Isabeau he was gallant; he wished in this way to influence her to declare null and void the marriage agreements between her children and Burgundy’s children.
As soon as he got wind of this, Jean hurried back from Flanders. The King was not in a condition to receive him; the Queen and the Duke of Orléans had left Paris — they had set off with a great retinue to pay an official visit to the cities of Melun and Chartres. The Dauphin had been instructed to join them; he had ridden out of Paris with his own entourage only a few hours before Burgundy’s arrival, accompanied by Ludwig of Bavaria who, alarmed by Isabeau’s prolonged silence, had come to see how things stood. This fact settled the matter for Burgundy. With a company of armed horsemen, he rode at full gallop through the city, to the dismay of the people, who could not imagine what was going on.
Jean of Burgundy overtook the royal travelling party near Juvisy; horsemen and carriages came to a standstill and the Dauphin thrust his head out of the window of the palanquin to see what the cause of the delay might be. Burgundy asked the royal child to return with him to Paris, at first on his knees, and in the most respectful language; but before long, when the boy hesitated and appeared reluctant, in a less courteous manner. Finally he gave his followers the command to encircle the palanquin. So Jean of Burgundy conducted the Dauphin as well as the Dauphin’s uncle of Bavaria back to the city, with a show of weapons and a flourish of trumpets, as though he had saved the heir to the throne from mortal danger.