None but the immediate escorts were to be armed; it was forbidden to throw stones, pick quarrels, or play any game that could lead to them, and the conferences went on amicably for several days, being disturbed only by a violent storm which tore up many tents in the French camp, tearing the silk lining of them to shreds, while only four of the English tents suffered. Torrents of rain fell, and superstitious fears were entertained that some calamity was about to happen. “But,” says the worthy chronicler of St. Denis, “on learning the result of the conference, they rather thought the enemy of the repose of mankind who dwells among the shades of darkness had thus given vent to his fury because he had not been able to throw any obstacle in the way of peace.”[163]
The young Queen, who had been married by proxy to Richard in Paris, set off for St. Denis with great pomp, where she performed her devotions according to the ancient custom, and then continued her journey.
NEVERS.
The King of England had been dining with the King of France, waited upon by the Dukes of Burgundy, Berry, and Bourbon, both monarchs having been much entertained by the amusing conversation of the last-mentioned prince, when the sound of trumpets and other music announced the approach of the young Queen of England, who entered the camp with a procession of surpassing magnificence, wearing royal robes covered with fleurs-de-lis, a gentleman of her train carrying a crown of gold before her carriage. The Duchesses of Lancaster and Gloucester came forward to pay their homage, and the Dukes of Burgundy, Berry, and Orléans advanced, and one of them taking her in his arms carried her to her father, who led her by the hand to the King of England, saying, “Mon fils, voici ma fille que je vous avais promise, je vous la laisse, en vous priant de l’aimer désormais comme votre femme.” Richard II. was a most imposing personage. To the stately bearing of the Plantagenets he united the far-famed beauty of his mother, the Fair Maid of Kent. As the little Queen bent before him he raised her up and kissed her, after which he took his leave.[164] She was placed in a splendid litter in which she was to proceed to her husband’s town of Calais, accompanied by the Duchesses of Lancaster, York, Gloucester, and other great English ladies, with the Dame de Coucy, who was to go with her to England. She began to cry and sob at parting from her father and uncles; Charles VI., who was extremely fond of her, cried too, and the Dukes also shed tears.[165] The King and Queen were married again at the Church of St. Nicolas at Calais, and the day after that embarked for England. Before going on board ship, finding that her French attendants were to be dismissed, the poor little thing began to cry again, and begged King Richard to let them go with her, to which he at once consented, so they accompanied her to England.[166]
An expedition had been for some time in preparation to assist Sigismond, King of Hungary, against the Turks under Bajazet, who had invaded Europe and threatened to push on to Rome and feed his horse upon the high altar of St. Peter. The troop consisted of a thousand men, amongst whom were many young cavaliers of the noblest houses in France, led by Jean, Comte de Nevers, eldest son of the Duke of Burgundy, then about twenty-two years old. The troop was splendidly equipped, Philippe of Burgundy having by means of heavy taxes on his vassals collected a great sum of money with which, had he spent it rationally, he could have put an army into the field. The troop had set forth in March, and the luxury and extravagance of the French nobles astonished their Hungarian and German allies. Their tents were of green satin, their banners and the trappings of their horses were covered with gold and silver, their armour, dresses, and plate were magnificent. They marched across Germany and joined their allies at Buda-Pesth. The army then marched along the banks of the Danube, upon which great barges accompanied them loaded with choice wines and delicacies for the French.[167]
But evil rumours began to be afloat after some time regarding the expedition, and the chroniclers of the time relate various supernatural occurrences which filled with terror the superstitious minds of the people. The garrisons of various fortresses in Guyenne were awakened in the night by the clash of arms. Fearing a surprise, they seized their weapons, and beheld a battle fought in the air by phantoms in the forms of cavaliers in armour, which filled them with dread. They sent messengers to inform the King, the court, and the university of these prodigies, which seemed to portend divers calamities. “For my part,” remarks the monk of St. Denis, “I leave the secret of all these supernatural events to Him who knows all and who commands the heavens, the earth, and the sea.”[168]
But on Christmas night, 1396, when the King and all the court were assembled in the hôtel St. Paul,[169] one Jacques de Helly entered the hall in boots, spurs, and all the disorder of a hasty journey, and throwing himself on his knees before the King, told him of the disastrous defeat of the French by Bajazet and the massacre or captivity of the whole troop. It appeared that the French, furious at being obliged to raise the siege of Nicopolis, had murdered in cold blood and in violation of their plighted word all their prisoners who had surrendered on parole, and that Bajazet, enraged at their treachery, had naturally retaliated, and having by overwhelming numbers defeated them and killed four hundred, had taken prisoners the Comte de Nevers and about three hundred others. He had ordered them all to be beheaded except twenty-eight of the highest rank, for whom he could exact enormous ransoms, and among whom of course was the Comte de Nevers. It was to obtain these ransoms, that Jacques de Helly had been sent. It then appeared that some unfortunate fugitives had already come with the tidings, but had been shut up in the Châtelet to prevent the news being disclosed, with threats of being drowned if they told it. History certainly repeats itself.
However, no amount of lies would now avail to make the Parisians think a defeat was a victory, besides which it was necessary again to wring money from the people to pay the ransoms.
This misfortune had such an effect upon the King, that instead of his being all right until the summer as before, an attack of madness came on early in the spring, to cure which Marshal de Sancerre sent from Languedoc two Augustine monks, who had the reputation of being magicians. This was, of course, in direct opposition to the rules of the Church, but the clergy did not exactly like to prevent their endeavours; they contented themselves with murmuring that it would be much better to burn them as wizards than to offer them rewards. In July the King recovered his reason, for which the monks imprudently took the credit, forgetting what would be likely to befall them should he have a relapse.