The Count Amedée, richly dressed and nobly mounted, and preceded by six horsemen on beautiful palfreys, each of whom carried a banner, rode within the gate of the castle, and dismounted at the steps of the imperial throne. The first of the banners was that of St. Maurice; the second, that of his ancestors, a black eagle on a golden field; the third bore the arms of the marquisate of Susa; the fourth, those of the duchy of Chablais; the fifth, those of the duchy of Aosta; the sixth, exhibited the silver cross, adopted by himself as his own arms. Two and two after him followed his barons; each bearing a pennon, on which shone the white cross. The rest of the nobility came in like manner on horseback, filling and surrounding the space. Arrived before the steps, they dismounted, and Amedée ascended alone, and kneeling before his majesty did homage as his vassal. The emperor invested him with all his honours and dignities one by one,—that is to say, that, one after the other, he returned to the count’s hands those banners he presented.
The emperor’s people next took them, and tearing them, cast them to the ground, according to custom; excepting only the banner which bore the silver cross: for the count requested of the emperor that he would not desire the ceremony, as regarded this last, should be accomplished, saying, “it never had sunk to the earth, and never should, with the help of God.”
The homage offered, the count entertained the emperor at a splendid banquet in the great hall of the castle. Amedée and his barons mounted on tall chargers, bearing the viands, served his imperial majesty: the greater part of the meats were gilded, and, among other curiosities, there was a fountain which night and day cast forth red and white wine.
The above account is extracted from the Chronicle of Savoy by Guglielmo Paradino. Pity the old hall is down. A memorial of the tournament long remained: the names, arms, and devices of the champions had been painted on the cathedral walls, but the Carmélites whitewashed them!!
In 1366, when the pope had preached another crusade to succour the Greek empire, and many had promised aid but held back when came the time for performance, the Green Count, still the flower of chivalry, alone kept faith; with his own funds equipped at Venice a considerable number of galleys, and embarked with his army of cavalry and infantry, crossbowmen and archers. An ancient chronicle describes the pomp and ceremonial of this embarkation. By order of Count Amedée, the chiefs of his army and his horsemen were dressed in doublets of green velvet, richly embroidered, and himself attired in like manner, walked from his hostelry to his galley, followed by his barons, two and two, and preceded by music: the sounds of the multitudinous instruments often drowned in the voices of crowds pressing to see him, and shouting “Savoy! Savoy!” while to the flourish of trumpets, the count ascended his vessel, raised anchor, and made all sail for Corinth.
At Gallipoli he planted his banner, notwithstanding an obstinate defence—went thence to Constantinople, where he was received by the Empress Mary of Bourbon, who wrote of him, “the presence of the Green Count alone is worth two thousand lances;”—and departed from her to prosecute his victories, and deliver from captivity the Emperor John Paleologo. He died of plague in 1383.
His son Amedée the Seventh, called the Red Count from the colour he adopted, succeeded his father, aged three-and-twenty. He resembled him in chivalrous disposition, and was looked upon as the model of knights when with seven hundred Savoyard lances he went to aid the king of France, Charles the Sixth, in his war against the English and Flemish, and praised as most “frank in manner and fortunate in arms.”
Returned from the wars, he had gone to hunt in the forest of Lornes, which lies on the shores of the lake of Geneva, below Thonon; he was aged one-and-thirty; and as he followed the wild boar at the full speed of his horse, the animal fell with him, and rolled on his rider. The count received a wound on the left thigh, and was carried to Ripaille, where, some days after, he died. Savoy long wept for him, for he was generous and gentle as just. His death following so quickly on the injury he had received woke a suspicion of poison, but though many were enveloped in the accusation which ensued, all were acquitted except Pierre de Stupinigi, the count’s physician, who on this mere suspicion was beheaded. His innocence was acknowledged years after, and, by order of Amedée the Eighth, the unhappy man’s corpse was disinterred from the criminal’s fosse, and laid in consecrated ground.
Six years had passed since the death of Amedée the Seventh, when the report, which had died away, was revived as the cause of a duel famous in the Pays du Vaud. Gerard of Estavayér was the accuser, and the defendant Otho of Grandson. The former had a beautiful wife, and, on his departure for the wars, Otho, who was sixty years of age, offered her the protection of his own walls till her husband’s return. Gerard gladly accepted, and departed in confidence, unconscious that Otho’s admiration of his fair lady had alone prompted this seeming kindness. While he was away, she attempted several times, but in vain, to escape from the castle where he held her captive and abused the rights of hospitality; and when her husband returned, and she was once more suffered to seek her own roof, she revealed to him, with tears, the treatment she had suffered during his absence.
Burning with rage, whose real cause he would not divulge, Gerard of Estavayér branded Otho (whose dislike to the late count had been well known) as his murderer, and offered to prove the truth of his assertion in single combat.