And yet this exuberant friendship between the king and his son-in-law was soon to be soured and the two set at odds. Who caused this falling out? The other Charles, Monsieur of Spain, the handsome La Cerda, inevitably jealous of the favour surrounding Navarre, and worried to see the new star rising so high in the court’s firmament. Charles of Navarre has a failing that many young men share … and I strongly entreat you to guard against it, Archambaud … which consists in talking too much when fortune smiles on them; a demon seems to make them say wicked words that reveal far too much. La Cerda made sure he told King John of his son-in-law’s dubious character traits, spicing them up with his very own sauce. ‘He taunts you, my good sire; he thinks he can say exactly what he likes. You can no longer tolerate such offences to your majesty; and if you do put up with them, it is I who will not bear them, for your sake.’ He would drip poison into the king’s ear day after day. Navarre had said this, Navarre had done that; Navarre was drawing too close to the dauphin; Navarre was scheming with such and such an officer of the Great Council. No man is quicker than King John to fall for a bad idea about somebody else; nor more begrudging to abandon it. He is both gullible and stubborn, all at the same time. Nothing is easier than inventing enemies for him.
Soon he had the role of Lieutenant General of Languedoc, one of his gifts to Charles of Navarre, withdrawn. To whose benefit? To that of Charles of Spain. Then the high office of constable, left vacant since the beheading of Raoul of Brienne, was at long last to be filled: it was handed not to Charles of Navarre, but to Charles of Spain. Of the one hundred thousand écus that he should have been paid back, Navarre saw not a single one, while the king’s avowed friend was showered with presents and benefits. Lastly, lastly, the County of Angoulême, in spite of all the arrangements, was given to Monsieur of Spain, Navarre once more having to make do with a vague promise of a future trade-off.
Thus, where at first there was but coolness between Charles the Bad and Charles of Spain, there grew up abhorrence, and, soon after, open hatred. It was all too easy for Monsieur of Spain to point to Navarre’s behaviour and say to the king: ‘You see how true were my words, my good sire! Your son-in-law, whose evil plans I have unravelled, is taking a stand against your wishes. He takes it out on me, as he can see that I serve you only too well.’
Other times, when he was at the height of favour, he feigned a desire to go into exile from the court should the Navarrese brothers continue to speak ill of him. He spoke like a mistress: ‘I will leave for a deserted region, far from your kingdom, to live on the memory of the love that you have shown me. Or to die there! Because far from you, my soul will leave my body.’ They saw the king shed tears for his constable’s most strange devotion.
And as King John’s head was in a whirl with the Spaniard, and as he could only see the world through his eyes, he was most persistent in making an implacable enemy of the cousin that he had chosen as son-in-law in order to secure himself an ally.
I have already said this: a greater fool than this king is not to be found, nor one more injurious to himself … this would be of little harm if at the same time it had not been so damaging for his kingdom.
The court buzzed with nothing other than this quarrel. The queen, a deserted wife, huddled up to Madame of Spain … for the constable was married, a marriage of appearances, to the king’s cousin, Madame of Blois.
The conseillers du roi, who were the king’s advisors, all acted as if they adored their lord and master, although they were very much divided by the feud, some thinking it best to tie their fate to the constable’s star, others to gamble on the ability of the son-in-law to strike back. And the muffled struggles that divided them were all the more intense in that the king, despite wanting to appear to be the only one to make decisions, had always left the most important decisions to his entourage.
You see, my dear nephew, scheming takes place around all kings. But conspiracies and plots only happen around the weak kings, or around those whom a vice or the effects of illness have weakened. I would have liked to see them conspiring around Philip the Fair! Nobody dreamed of doing such a thing, nobody would have dared. This does not mean that strong kings are safe from conspiracies; but in that case, there have to be real traitors. Whereas around weak princes, it becomes natural even for honest people to become conspirators themselves.
The day before Christmas, 1354, in a Parisian town house, such strong words and insults were being bandied about between Charles of Spain and Philip of Navarre, brother of the king’s son-in-law, that the latter drew his dagger and came this close, if he hadn’t been surrounded, to stabbing the constable! The constable feigned laughter, and shouted at the young Navarre that he would have shown himself rather less threatening if there hadn’t been so many others around to hold him back. Philip is nowhere near as astute as his elder brother, but he is more impassioned in combat. No sooner had he been pulled from the room than he proffered the threat that he would exact prompt vengeance on this enemy of his family, and would make him take back his insult. And this threat he would carry out just two weeks later during the night of the feast of the Magi.
Monsieur of Spain was to visit his cousin, the Countess of Alençon. He stopped for the night at Laigle, at an inn whose name is difficult to forget, the Spinning Sow.14 Overly confident of the respect that was inspired, or so he thought, by his title and the king’s friendship, he thought he had nothing to fear when travelling around the kingdom, and had taken with him but a small escort. Now the market town of Laigle is located in the County of Évreux, just a few leagues away from where the Évreux-Navarre brothers were staying in their vast castle. Forewarned of the constable’s impending visit, the brothers readied themselves and prepared an ambush.
Around midnight, twenty Norman soldiers, all tough noblemen, the Sire of Graville, the Sire of Clères, the Sire of Mainemares, the Sire of Morbecque, the Knight of Aunay … yes! the descendant of one of the suitors of the Tower of Nesle; it wasn’t at all surprising that he would be found on the side of Navarre … In short, I’m telling you, a good twenty armed knights, whose names are well known since the king had later to sign, against his better judgement, their letters of remission … sprang up in the town from nowhere, led by Philip of Navarre, broke down the doors of the Spinning Sow and stormed the stairs up to the constable’s accommodations.
The King of Navarre was not with them. In case things went awry he had chosen to wait on the outskirts of the town, beside a barn, in the company of his horse guards. Oh! I can see him now, my Charles the Bad, wound up in his coat, bounding backwards and forwards like a wisp of hell’s smoke the length and breadth of the frozen ground, like the devil who never touches the earth. He waits. He looks at the winter sky. The cold nips his fingers. His soul is twisted with both fear and hatred. He listens intently. He resumes his worried pacing up and down.
First to appear from the direction of the town is John of Fricamps, known as Friquet, the Governor of Caen, his advisor and most zealous machine15 builder, who tells him, gasping for breath: ‘The deed is done, monseigneur!’
Then Graville, Mainemares, Morbecque arrive, and Philip of Navarre himself, and all the conspirators with him. At the inn, they pulled the handsome Charles of Spain out from under his bed where he had taken refuge, and now he was indeed dead, still dressed in his nightgown. They had wickedly run him through, stabbed him eighty times over; eighty body wounds would later be found on him. Each of Navarre’s men had wanted to stick his sword in four times … That is how, messire my nephew, King John was to lose his good friend, and how Monseigneur of Navarre would fall into rebellion …
Now would you please give up your seat for Dom Francesco Calvo, my papal secretary, with whom I wish to converse before we reach our next stop.