What he did was to arrange a meeting between himself and the Duke of Burgundy when they would discuss how to bring about peace between the two rival houses. The meeting was to take place at Montereau. They would both come in peace and unarmed in order to show their confidence in each other.
I think the Duke must have been a little suspicious, for, although he might trust the Dauphin, the young man was in the hands of the treacherous Armagnacs. However, the meeting was arranged.
I heard that several men close to the Duke thought he was taking a great risk by going unarmed among his enemies and warned him not to agree to the meeting; but after a good deal of consideration the Duke decided that he must go.
“It is my duty,” he said. “If we can make peace, the Dauphin and I can stand together against the English.”
It was a never-to-be-forgotten day in September when he set out for the rendezvous.
The Duke arrived as arranged and was met by one of Charles’s men, a certain Duchâtel, who greeted him with great respect and told him how delighted the Dauphin was that he had agreed to come. It was time they settled their differences and stood together against the English, who were the real enemy of France, instead of fighting each other.
This seemed a satisfactory beginning but, as the Duke was preparing to go with Duchâtel to the Dauphin, one of his own men came running to him and, throwing himself on his knees, begged the Duke not to go. “You will be betrayed, my lord,” he said. “I am sure they mean to kill you.”
The Duke turned to Duchâtel and said: “You heard that, my lord. It is what the people around me have in mind.”
“They are wrong,” Duchâtel assured him. “I swear they are wrong. The Dauphin loves you. You are his close kinsman. All he wants is to end this strife, and that all Frenchmen stand together for France.”
The Duke bowed his head and said: “I trust your word. In God’s holy name, do you swear you have not murder in mind?”
“My good and most noble lord,” replied Duchâtel. “I would rather die than commit treason to you or my lord. I give you my word that the Dauphin wishes nothing but reconciliation.”
“Then let us proceed,” said the Duke.
When he came to the Dauphin, the Duke took off his cap and knelt before him. The Dauphin appeared to be seized with emotion and made him rise and cover his head.
Then, changing his mood abruptly, my brother began upbraiding the Duke. He had not cared for the good of France, he said. He had followed his own inclination. He was wanting in his duty.
The Duke must have been surprised at this sudden change. He had come to talk peace, not to listen to a harangue against his actions.
He said haughtily that he had done what he had thought was right and would do it again.
My brother, alas, was no diplomat. I think that secretly he must have been afraid of Burgundy, who had a very powerful and overbearing personality and considered himself equal to—perhaps greater than—the highest in the land.
Duchâtel ran up and shouted: “The time has come!” He lifted his battle-ax and struck the defenseless Duke.
I wondered if Burgundy had time to realize that he had stepped into a trap. Had he forgotten that he himself had brought the Duke of Orléans to an untimely end? That had happened twelve years earlier, but such things are never forgotten.
Vengeance had been brewing for years. It had been decided that the murder of Orléans should not go unpunished.
As the Duke fell to the ground, others came forward, their swords unsheathed.
There were several who were eager for revenge; and there on the ground lay the once-mighty Duke. They fell upon him with their swords.
The murder of Orléans was avenged.
The Duke’s followers waited at some distance, as had been arranged. They did not know what had happened until they were set upon and, weaponless as they were before armed men, they were forced to fly.
There were some among the assassins who wanted to strip the Duke’s body and throw it into the river. But my brother, already regretting the part he had played in the murder of his kinsman, would not allow that. The Duke’s body was prepared for burial, albeit in a pauper’s shell, and taken to the Church of Notre Dame in Montereau to be interred.
And so died Jean the Fearless, the great Duke of Burgundy. The new Duke Philip was the husband of my sister Michelle.
I wondered what Michelle was feeling now, for she was happy with the heir of Burgundy, and I wondered how this would affect their relationship, for her brother would be held responsible for the murder of her husband’s father.
It was small wonder that I felt a desire to escape from the scene of this strife.
It was not to be supposed that the murder of such an important personage as the Duke of Burgundy would not arouse a storm of condemnation.
The next day, when the news was spreading throughout the country, the Parliament and all the leading dignitaries met. They were determined to bring the criminal to justice. People were crowding into the streets, demanding that the murderer be delivered up to them.
My poor brother was thrown into a state of deep depression. All he had wanted to do was to stop the quarreling between Burgundy and the Armagnacs. He had been led into this. Only the death of Jean the Fearless could bring peace, he had been assured, and, young and inexperienced as he was, he had believed them. And now this terrible deed was on his conscience. Never would he be able to forget the look of horrified reproach in the eyes of the Duke as he fell, when, in those fleeting seconds, he realized he had been betrayed. Charles would be haunted by the murder all his life.
There was an attempt to justify the deed.
The conspirators said that the Duke had been greeted in a friendly fashion but he had suddenly started to abuse the Dauphin. He had been ready to draw his sword.
As the Duke’s supporters had made it clear that he had come to the meeting unarmed, this carried little weight. But, said the conspirators, the Duke had attempted to attack the Dauphin, and it was then that they had found it necessary to dispatch him with speed. It was through his own madness that he had died.
This story was quickly proved to be untrue when two of the knights who had accompanied the Dauphin declared that they had known the Duke to be unarmed; they had seen him walk into the trap; they had wanted no part in such treachery; they cursed those men who had planned the murder and so betrayed the honor of their master, the Dauphin. They would rather have died before they had been present on such an occasion, and they had played no part in it.
There was condemnation throughout the country.
As for Henry, he was determined to turn the murder to his advantage.
It was a great loss to France, he said. The Duke of Burgundy was a true and honorable knight. Through his death he, Henry, had reached the summit of his wishes, for one of the greatest Frenchmen was no longer there to oppose him.
The murdered man’s son, now Philip, Duke of Burgundy, was deeply grieved by his father’s death. He was filled with hatred for the Dauphin and the Armagnacs. He was determined to bring them to disaster, and to this end he threw in his lot with the English that he might stand up in arms against the true enemies of France, the Armagnacs.
I could imagine Henry’s glee. At least he had profited from the terrible deed.
The Dauphin and his Armagnacs were doomed. My brother was overcome by remorse and despair. This wicked deed which was to have silenced the Burgundians had succeeded in making them stronger and—an unforeseen development—who would have believed they would have ranged themselves beside the English!
The result of this alliance did not take long to show itself.
There was no alternative for the Dauphin but to make peace with the conqueror of his country.