All summer long Charles continued to recruit and arm the soldiers; he ordered his castles and the city of Orléans to be fortified. A proclamation was issued in the King’s name, banning the taking of service under the Duke of Orléans or his allies; despite this, at least 11,000 men were encamped around Chartres in the autumn. It seemed obvious that Burgundy had suggested this proclamation to the Council since he had raised a large army himself; these Bra-banters, Flemings, Bavarians and Burgundians were thrown, for food and shelter, upon the populations of the Ile de France and the countryside north of Paris. Burgundy saw the moment approaching for which he had waited so long: to be in a position to chop up his enemies to his heart’s content. He hoped and believed that it would be a massacre without equal, although there were moments when he had doubts: Orléans’ inexperienced milksops had sought advice and assistance at the right time. Brittany had not accepted the bribe, which seemed to be proof that Orléans’ party — despite all appearances to the contrary — could still come up with funds. All the more reason, thought Burgundy, to nip the growing danger in the bud quickly and for good.
In Paris he carried on a campaign with good results. He succeeded in filling the people with terror over the approach of Orléans’ troops; tales were told of the horrible cruelty of the Gascons and Bretons, street orators and agents reminded everyone once again of the sins of the late Orléans. The Provost des Essars, one of Burgundy’s most passionate partisans, rode by day and by night through the city, armed and with a great following of horsemen and soldiers — thus the atmosphere of disquiet was heightened. The burghers addressed a humble petition to des Essars: they knew of course that the Provost and Monseigneur of Burgundy would leave no stone unturned to protect Paris, but could the populace not set watches and patrols in each district for greater security? This was precisely what des Essars had wanted — and so it came to pass.
In September when Charles d’Orléans and his allies appeared before Paris — they had arrived with all their troops to hand the manifesto personally to the King — they found the gates closed, the city fortified. In the villages and the outskirts lay the armies of Burgundy.
“Now surely everything has been said and done!” said Bernard d’Armagnac impatiently; he strode up and down, stamping on the plank floors so hard that the dust rose up in clouds. The allies, their commanders, advisors, clerks and chancellors, were in a house at Montlhery, about seven miles from Paris. The troops had pitched their tents in the fields outside the village where they awaited the decisions of the great lords. In the meantime the troops were not impatient: in the vineyards and orchards ripe fruit hung for the taking; the country people, having learned prudence through bitter experience, seldom ventured into the fields.
“The King has sent letters, the University has sent a delegation, and Her Majesty the Queen was so kind as to come to meet us at Marcoussis,” Armagnac went on. “They beseech us tearfully to send our troops home before we visit the King. We have said no three times. Now what do we do, my lords?”
“We have made demands too,” remarked Charles; he straddled a bench. Since he had begun to wear leather and mail, his movements had lost that deliberate formality which had always been characteristic of him. He walked and sat like a soldier; not bothering to be courtly in speech and demeanor. These changes were observed with approval by Charles’ entourage — finally Monseigneur d’Orléans was becoming a warrior.
“You might as well ask for the moon, son-in-law,” said Armagnac contemptuously, “as ask that Burgundy be gone from Paris and the Provost des Essars be dismissed from his post! I do not see your demands being granted, although a hundred times those fellows from the University have declared themselves ready to mediate. In the first place Burgundy pays no attention to the University, when it comes to that, and in the second place those in purple cassocks have their heads set on other things. Believe me, son-in-law, the Council of Pisa is more important to them than a row between you and Burgundy. They take the new Pope more to heart than the King. Don’t count on their intercession! But seriously now: what do you intend to do? Paris sits sealed shut — a company of my men rode by the ramparts this morning hoping to break a lance, but no one ventured outside. Not even when my fellows fired a dozen arrows!”
“That was surprisingly stupid and reckless,” Charles said coldly; he tapped angrily on the edge of the table. He had noticed repeatedly that Armagnac, in spite of decisions made in joint council, gave arbitrary orders, allowed his troops to behave defiantly and tolerated licentious and coarse behavior.
The journey from Chartres to Paris had not passed off without trouble: the closer they came to the city, the more hostile were the people. The fear which the populace exhibited toward Armagnac’s men set Charles to thinking. In addition, he could see, every day, how the Gascons and Provencals accepted discipline. Ignoring the express command to preserve order and refrain from acts of violence when they passed through towns and villages, Armagnac’s men had plundered right and left as they chose; they flogged those who resisted them and violated the maidens and women who fell into their hands. Sometimes stones and abuse rained down when the soldiers passed through; usually the townspeople hid behind bolted shutters and doors. Charles had been sorely provoked by the brutal, obstinate behavior of his new father-in-law; how could he strive honorably for what he considered his just due when his men behaved like a pack of devils? Neither pleas nor rebukes had any effect upon Armagnac; he listened to everything, but he refused to change his ways. What Charles, his captains and the Dukes of Bourbon and Alencon feared, came to pass: the Gascons’ actions stigmatized the entire enterprise. Henceforth the Orléans party, both inside and outside France, were called nothing but Armagnacs. “Armagnac” was the worst term of abuse one could find for an enemy; the accusation “He is an Armagnac” was like a sentence of death.
“I do not understand, father-in-law, why you do not hold your men in check,” continued Charles evenly, doing his best to control himself. But passion drove the blood to his head. “Do you want them to call us bad-tempered disturbers of the peace because of our violence? Do you want them to think that we are trying to force war upon the King and Burgundy? We are here to demand justice; we can take up arms only if they refuse us that justice.”
Armagnac laughed loudly and spread his arms in an eloquent gesture of scorn and impatience. “By Christ’s wounds!” he swore. “Do you seriously believe that there is something behind all those words and formalities? Frankly, I call that blather on both sides. Burgundy is trying to gain time, he hopes to make us uncertain by delay. He thinks our vigilance will slacken after weeks and months of waiting. I am eager to know now, Orléans, what you intend to achieve by dawdling and diplomatic talk. I take it you are pursuing a definite course of action. Don’t tell me you are in earnest about your requests for justice and your demands for satisfaction? That would be the greatest farce I ever…”
He tossed his ever-present riding whip on the table and approached Charles.
“Even senile old Bourbon still had ambitions,” he said in an undertone. “Are you still wet behind the ears then, son-in-law?”
“Will you be quiet now?” cried Charles passionately, glancing at the gentlemen seated at the foot of the table: Alencon and d’Albret with their army captains, officials and priests who belonged to the council of the Orléans party — Brittany had had business to settle elsewhere, and Berry, who did not feel well, lay in bed. “Do not forget that we all wear mourning for Monseigneur de Bourbon.”