Bourbon made a wry face, but before he could voice his objections, Armagnac and d’Albret entered the tent with their following of armed nobles. Armagnac was in rare good humor. He had already drunk copiously before daybreak; the prospect of combat which would unquestionably result in victory made him jovial and boisterous.
“Well, son-in-law, what do you have to say about the beautiful weather?” he asked, throwing his armored arm over Charles’ shoulders. “We could not have hit it better. By starting in early we will have the sun at our back as long as possible. In fact, I venture to predict that you will eat your mid-day meal in Saint-Denis. The village will fall apart like a house of cards, mark my words. They can’t do much with the weapons they’ve put on the ramparts. My men are fresh and pugnacious — they have had an eye on the abbey for a long time now. Well, what is it?” He turned impatiently to one of the knights of his retinue. Near the entrance stood a few armed men belonging to a watch patrol; they requested admittance.
Charles stepped forward and told the men to enter. They reported that a number of citizens carrying white flags had just left the Saint-Denis gate. Armagnac snorted contemptuously and hurried out. Standing with his hands on his hips, his legs spread, he watched the delegation approach the camp of tents through the dank grass; there were magistrates in dark tabards and surely a half dozen clergy — all older men who held up their mantles while they warily sought a path around pits and pools.
“Well, well,” remarked Armagnac. “White flags. They come to request an armistice, Orléans, while they go to fetch Burgundy. Don’t let them pull the wool over your eyes!”
Charles’ lips were tightly compressed, his eyes dark with anger. He ordered the guards to bring the delegates from Saint-Denis into his tent. Soon the men entered; they knelt and delivered their message.
“Monseigneur, in order to avoid senseless bloodshed, the city of Saint-Denis surrenders to you. Monseigneur, we place ourselves under your protection. We entreat you to spare us the indignity of robbery and mistreatment.”
Armagnac moved quickly forward, to stand between Charles and the delegation.
“Son-in-law, they have no right to ask that of us! For a whole week they kept their gates closed and threw stones at our reconnaissance posts. They tried to offer resistance. Surrender cannot mean the same thing for them as for those who open their gates at once. I repeat — they have no right to protection.”
The men who knelt before Charles looked up. The Gascon stood in front of them; he blocked their view of Charles. They were afraid that Armagnac would convince his son-in-law. The princely allies and their nobles, however, ranged in a close circle about the group, saw what was hidden from the suppliants: Charles’ eyes flashed with fury.
“Be quiet, Armagnac,” he said, calmly and coldly. Those who had known his father listened expectantly. “And please be good enough to stand either beside me or behind me, so that I can at least look at these gentlemen while I speak with them. The petition is addressed to me personally — and I grant it. No son of France will plunder Saint-Denis. Even if we had taken the city by storm, I would have forbidden pillage and robbery. It is my express will that there should be no disorder.”
He looked searchingly past the row of horsemen; his eyes became fixed upon a robust, erect man in black armor who stood watching the scene. He carried a helmet and battle-axe under his arm.
“Monseigneur.” Charles bowed slightly; the warrior stepped toward him and doffed his leather cap, revealing his tonsure.
“My lords, this is the Archbishop of Sens,” Charles said, turning back to the envoys. “I confide the custody of the church and abbey of Saint-Denis to him and his troops. I will visit the Abbot myself today with my kinsmen and allies to inform him of my intentions.”
“The devil take it, son-in-law, have you lost your mind?” screamed Armagnac, his face purple with rage. “I have promised my men this day’s spoils. They have not been paid for a long time, Orléans. I have been so generous with you that I cannot fulfil my obligations to my soldiers. After the reverses of the past few months, my men have a right to compensation. Saint-Denis is rich; the storehouses in the great marketplace are crammed with grain and the merchants’ money chests are overflowing. Those people will start earning money again when the war is over; let them help us now, freely or otherwise — what difference does it make to you, son-in-law? The cathedral holds enough gold to keep all the armies of Christendom under arms for as long as they live.”
“I repeat,” Charles said slowly, “I repeat that I will not tolerate pillage in Saint-Denis. I give you my word of honor, Messires. My troops will occupy the city, but we shall buy our provisions from you.”
Armagnac burst into loud, malicious laughter, shoved the listening nobles to one side and hurried to the entrance of the tent, his spurs jingling and his sword striking against his thigh.
“With your leave, son-in-law,” he remarked, “you will not go far as a captain if you wage war continually in this way. Buy! Pay! Come, d’Albret. Don’t they say that insanity is hereditary in the House of Valois?”
Armagnac and his companions went off through the tents to the soldiers’ camp. Charles remained standing silently until the sound of heavy footsteps had died away. He waited until he had completely regained his self-control. The citizens of Saint-Denis still knelt before him. They did not feel as certain as they would have liked. They believed that young Orléans had acted in good faith, but they were not pleased by the Gascon’s attitude: he who behaved so brashly toward his superiors in rank would probably pay little attention to a direct command.
“Return to the city and tell them that during the course of the day I shall enter the gates with an army of occupation,” said Charles in a more severe tone. “Prepare the Abbot of Saint-Denis for my arrival. You may go now.”
The leader of the delegation humbly thanked the Duke of Orléans for his kindness; however, the men left the camp with heavy hearts.
After their departure there was a momentary silence in the tent; Charles stood motionless, staring with knit brows at the ground. Alençon approached him.
“For a moment I thought I heard your father speak, Monseigneur,” he said. “He would not have spoken differently to Monseigneur d’Armagnac.”
Charles looked up. “Please leave now, my lords. I request all those who belong to my troops to call their men together. Keep yourselves ready. We are going to enter Saint-Denis within the hour.”
“We grant your demands, Monseigneur,” said the Abbot of Saint-Denis. He stood with bowed head before the table in the abbey refectory, surrounded by a group of clergy. The Duke of Orléans and his brother, their counselors and captains and the Archbishop of Sens occupied the high benches along the wall. “We shall provide shelter for Monseigneur de Sens and his followers in the abbey,” the Abbot went on. “Have I understood you correctly that you, Monseigneur, and the princes who have arrived here with you, will not take residence in Saint-Denis?”
“We shall spend the night in our tents,” replied Charles, “and station our troops in the local villages and hamlets. Only the army of occupation will remain outside your gates. Now send me some men so that I can arrange to buy provisions.”
The Abbot bowed again. He moved his hands uneasily inside the wide sleeves of his cassock and glanced at his priests as though seeking support. “Monseigneur,” he began hesitantly, “may we then rely completely on your promise, your assurance, that the valuables in the abbey and in our treasury will be safe?”