Charles had reacted to Isabelle’s death more with bitter amazement than with grief. Gloomily he asked himself if this were to be his life then: a long journey with no resting places except those of mourning and catastrophe. He had found some verses among the papers which had belonged to his father; he remembered when Herbelin the minstrel had set these words to music: “En la forest de Longue Attente, Chevauchant par divers senders… In the forest of Long Awaiting, Biding along its many paths…” When he was a child, Charles had not understood the imagery; now he was struck by the metaphor and he found the verses harmonious; they awoke a feeling in him which he could not name: they gave him comfort but also profound pain and uneasiness. He often repeated the beginning of the song in his thoughts, or in an undertone. He did not know why he did this; it gave him a feeling of peculiar gratification.
However, he had little time to indulge himself in these kinds of thoughts. He worked together with his captains to raise the army which had been called together after his father’s death. And he had many letters to write to the Lords of Coucy and Luxembourg to remind them of their vows of fealty and immediate support in case of need. In January he received assistance from an unexpected source: the Dukes of Berry and Bourbon wrote to him in detail, informing him that they had severed all ties with Burgundy and were disposed to help Orléans’ cause. Now that they had publicly proclaimed their withdrawal from the Council and affairs of state, they felt they could justifiably offer Charles their counsel. Burgundy’s indifference and insults had driven both old Dukes to frenzy; however, they had had to give way to him. Berry especially was stimulated to renewed activity by the jeers leveled at him. He had initiated the idea of approaching young Charles, who could not oppose Burgundy without experienced assistance.
“He is too young and we are too old to raise and lead armies,” said Berry to Bourbon during one of the numerous discussions they held after their resignation. Wrapped in furs and velvet, they sat, two gouty, corpulent old men, facing each other by the hearthfire in one of the halls of the Hotel de Nesle. Bourbon, who was a trifle dazed and lax, said little; Berry talked a great deal. His small, piercing eyes sparkled; his hands, loaded with jewels, did not rest for a second.
“We have the experience and the ability to open negotiations with the people whom we will need most. He has the name of Orléans and full reason to go to war. What we need now are a few fellows who can fight and a list of ringing names to give substance to the whole undertaking.”
Berry was not satisfied with words alone; thanks to his efforts, Bourbon’s son, the Count de Clermont, and the Constable d’Albret declared themselves ready to support Orléans in the struggle against Burgundy. Berry’s son-in-law, Bernard d’Armagnac, seemed an even more valuable acquisition. Berry congratulated himself on his cleverness in winning over the Gascon to his nephew’s side. The counts of Armagnac and their troops were known, and for good reason, far and wide: for more than half a century they had served as mercenaries, both at home and abroad, to anyone who paid them well and did not look too closely at their methods. The Gascons had fought for Florence twenty years before; without scruple they had afterward deserted to the troops of Gian Galeazzo and Louis d’Orléans. Under the leadership of their captain, de Chassenage, they had finally forced Savona and a number of other cities to surrender to France.
Bernard d’Armagnac lent a willing ear to Berry’s summons; he was attracted for a number of reasons by the offer to become a pivotal force in Orléans’ army. Although he belonged to the oldest and once most powerful family in the Kingdom, the Count d’Ar-magnac enjoyed little respect; the princes and members of the royal family looked upon him as a brigand, an adventurer, the leader of a pack of plundering brutes. He had never appeared at court; his peers avoided him. When he was not fighting abroad, he was to be found in one of his fortresses in Armagnac, everywhere and always surrounded by troops of soldiers. Although he frequently and loudly proclaimed that a good understanding with his peers did not interest him, Armagnac secretly felt himself to be an outcast. Berry’s proposal gave him the chance to get his foot firmly into circles which until that moment had been closed to him. He wanted to nestle perma-nendy into the world of powerful men.
When, therefore, young Orléans, in a personal letter, requested that he come to Gien-sur-Loire, he did not hesitate for a moment. At the head of a constantly expanding army, he rode to the meeting place. In the ranks which followed him there were well-equipped horsemen, many heavily armed, pugnacious battlers who for the most part had been in the service of Armagnac for twenty years or more — but there were also bands of adventurers eager for plunder and murder; vagrants, escaped criminals and half-grown young fellows who would do anything rather than run behind a plow. Like one of the plagues of Egypt they moved through the land, leaving a trail behind them of demolished farms, barns stripped bare and carcasses of slaughtered cattle. So Bernard d’Armagnac came to Gien, where he found the Dukes of Berry, Bourbon, Brittany and Alençon and the Count of Clermont. They awaited only Charles d’Orléans. On the morning of the twenty-seventh of February, a messenger rode into Gien with the news that Monseigneur was approaching; he would reach the castle before the midday meal.
“I say, fight!” Bernard d’Armagnac placed both palms flat on the table and looked at his confederates. His yellow-brown eyes glinted in his weather-beaten face, which was full of lines and scars, a face that looked as though it were carved from wood, with high cheekbones and a heavy lower jaw. Among his companions he looked like a giant, taller than they, with a broader, coarser frame. He did not care about his appearance or his behavior: his thick grey hair hung to his shoulders; he wore a stained leather jacket, worn-out boots, a coat of mail on which the lions rampant of Armagnac were already faded. Around him hovered an acrid odor of hay, dogs and horses, of smoke and sweat. He reminded Berry of a beast of prey: the blazing yellow eyes, the hairy wrists and sharp eyeteeth could scarcely be termed human.
The lords sat in one of the empty chambers of the castle of Gien. The castle was seldom occupied and was neglected: the furniture and tapestries which Charles had sent from Blois could not make the cheerless shabby rooms more comfortable — moreover, it was very cold and draughty. The allies had been meeting together since the midday meal. The misty day had passed unperceived into night; for a long time candles had been burning on the table. Leaning forward, Bernard d’Armagnac inspected the other members of the company, one by one: the almost toothless, white-haired Berry, despite his old age keen and ready for fierce repartee, dressed up like a strutting peacock; the young Orléans who spoke little but listened all the more attentively; the Constable d’Albret; Bourbon’s son Clermont; the Dukes of Alencon and Brittany. Methods of bringing about Burgundy’s downfall had been discussed in great detail; Bourbon, his son and Brittany advocated indirect action: a letter signed by all of them and directed to the King demanding compensation and rehabilitation of Orléans’ honor as well as Burgundy’s punishment and exile. Berry and the Constable d’Albret held that dispatching such a petition was a waste of time; it would never reach the King’s eyes. The Queen and her Council would dismiss it or, in the most favorable circumstances, table the matter indefinitely with vague promises and evasive answers. Bernard d’Ar-magnac loudly supported Berry.