“Do not oppose Burgundy too strongly,” Isabeau’s brother wrote to her. “His situation merits your careful attention. He is Bavaria’s ally in the question of Liege. He watches over all our commercial interests with England. Turn toward him, beloved sister, it is to your advantage. Try to hush up this murder business, it won’t be much trouble for you because, if I am well informed, Burgundy is the hero of Paris. The opposition is extremely weak; you can handle those old scarecrows, Berry and Bourbon. What constitutes the House of Orléans now? A woman and a few underage, powerless children.”
Isabeau took this advice to heart. She could not openly champion Burgundy. Therefore she took the middle way; Berry and Bourbon, who were perplexed by the affair — how could they accuse and punish a kinsman before the whole world? — lent her a willing ear. Bourbon was old and suffered from rheumatism; he wanted nothing so much as to be left in peace. Berry was concerned about his collection; he was heartily tired of all the meetings, discussions and consideration of consequences.
“Speak to Monseigneur of Burgundy,” Isabeau said during a serious conversation; she sat, broad and heavy beside the hearth fire, in a dress glittering with gold. “Ask him to surrender the villains. Judge them as they should be judged and after that leave our nephew in peace. The murderers will be punished then, isn’t that right?”
The Dukes agreed; partly from a desire to be rid of all responsibility and partly too from a secret fear of this woman who fixed her sly, unwavering eyes on them. Berry could not help thinking of a strange, revolting creature which someone had once given him for his collection: it had constantly increased in girth, swelling up to a monstrous thickness; it lay unstirring in its nest, devouring greedily whatever was thrown to it — rats, fish, refuse. It was interested only in food and more food. Bemused by memories of that peculiar beast, Berry offered to open negotiations with Jean of Burgundy.
So it was that Berry, accompanied by young Anjou, left for Amiens in the last days of February. Since the roads were in extremely bad condition, it was a slow and arduous journey, but at last Berry, with a great following, reached Amiens where Burgundy waited with his two brothers. The reception left nothing to be desired.
Burgundy appeared at the meeting as it had been arranged that he would, but he refused to acknowledge his guilt in any respect or to ask forgiveness, or even to surrender his hirelings. He pointed to the emblem that he carried with him: two crossed spears, one dull and the other sharp and pointed.
“It’s war or peace as you choose,” he said indifferently. “It’s all the same to me. I’m ready.”
At the last, Berry had to be content with the promise that Burgundy would come to Saint-Pol very soon and plead his case before the King.
The citizens of Paris heard this news with great joy; the court and Council, however, received it with mixed feelings. Many thought that the world seemed turned on its head: was Burgundy coming as the accused or the accuser? Bourbon found it all too much for him; he left Paris. Valentine, deeply offended, made one final effort to approach the King. She received a refusal in Isabeau’s name: the King was indisposed.
The Duchess’s crepe-hung coaches were once again made ready for a long journey. With her children, friends, vassals and servants, Valentine traveled to the castle of Blois. One carriage contained Orléans’ archives; the Duchess intended to seek herself the justice denied her in Paris.
In the first week of March, Jean of Burgundy arrived in the city as he had agreed that he would. He rode at the head of eight hundred horsemen and knights, all armed to the teeth but with uncovered heads as a sign of penance. The streets were crowded with jubilant people; here and there could even be heard shouts of “Noel, noel!” to the great displeasure of members of the King’s court and household.
Burgundy took up residence in the donjon of the Hotel d’Artois; there he consulted with his advisors and advocates about the best way to present his defense. After due deliberation the spokesman was chosen: Maitre Jean Petit, professor of theology, member of the University, famous for his fierce eloquence. Day and night, for one whole week, he labored in the Hotel d’Artois on the text of his speech: a sharply focused indictment of Orléans under the rubric, “Radix omnium malorum cupiditas—cupidity is the root of all evil.” Placed at the professor’s disposal was the person of the astrologer Salvia, the indefatigable collaborator who had, in disguise, accompanied Burgundy to Paris, and who was in a position to add a number of details to the known facts; he was, he asserted, better able than anyone else to furnish evidence for one of the most significant points in Maitre Petit’s accusation: that Orléans had endeavored, through sorcery, to kill the King and his children so that he himself could ascend the throne.
On the eighth of March, Jean of Burgundy set out for the palace of Saint-Pol. The ceremony would take place in the great halclass="underline" two platforms had been set up — one to the right and one to the left of the seats occupied by the royal family. The hall was completely filled with spectators; they stood packed together around the platforms, to the annoyance of the scribes and clerks of the court, who could barely ply their pens in the crush. Jean of Burgundy pushed his way with difficulty to the royal tribunal; the steely glint of armor could be seen under his ample scarlet overgarments. His lower lip protruded; his eyes were hard and scornful; the expression of contempt on his face belied his courtly salutations. The royal personages, dressed in gold and brocade, sat motionless, coldly attentive, under the canopy.
Maitre Petit rose, coughed several times and looked reassuringly at Jean of Burgundy who sat on a low chair in front of the royal benches. His scarlet garment had fallen open; the mail at his knees and elbows glittered in the light.
“May I,” began Maitre Petit in a calm, level tone, “may I, my lords, remind you how in antiquity Judith took vengeance upon Holofernes for the sake of Judea? How the archangel Michael expelled Lucifer from Heaven as we have been taught? Did Judith and Saint-Michael commit any crimes? No! Holofernes was a tyrant; Lucifer a rebel against God. Monseigneur of Burgundy is a loyal servant of the King; the welfare of France lies closer to his heart than to the heart of anyone else.
“You know, my lords, that Orléans was killed on orders from Monseigneur of Burgundy — what conclusions may we draw from that? That Orléans betrayed the King and did harm to France. I shall prove to you over and over that Orléans fully deserved to be labeled a criminal, and criminals deserve to be done away with. I shall now tell you everything the criminal Orléans did to destroy the King’s life in so subtle and perverse a manner that no breath of suspicion would ever touch him.”
Petit then gave a long summary of the methods used by Louis d’Orléans to achieve his purpose; Salvia had supplied complete descriptions of strange incantations, dreadful magic formulae.
“The criminal Orléans,” continued Petit, “wore on his naked body a ring that had lain in the mouth of a hanged man. He did this so that he could impose his will on a woman who refused to let herself be seduced by his promises and sweet words. He wore that charm continuously, even on holy days — during Lent, Easter and Christmas. Ask me not, my lords, how Orléans came to commit these and similar crimes. Remember that he was related by marriage to a nobleman of Lombardy, whom the people there called the foster brother of Satan himself. Do not forget that Orléans’ wife was greatly skilled in the black arts.”
Petit paused, waiting until the murmur in the room abated somewhat. Then he resumed, raising his voice: