In a Dark Wood Wandering by Hella S. Haasse

Author:Hella S. Haasse
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chicago Review Press
Published: 2002-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

“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?”

“Of course you may.” Charles frowned, displeased. The Abbot had already broached this subject several times during the discussion. “It is my intention to hear mass with my allies on the eighth day of the feast of Saint-Denis,” he concluded, rising. His colleagues followed his example. “At that time I will be glad to view the holy relics and the tombs of the kings.”

“Yes, Monseigneur.” The Abbot approached, sighing, to lead the young man out. At that moment there came from the inner court the loud, confused hubbub of galloping horses, shouts, the clash of arms and the creaking of doors being thrown violently open. Charles and his knights stood stunned; a few fumbled for their swords.

“To the doors!” shouted Archambault de Villars. “Guard the entrances! This may be a trap, my lord. The people of Saint-Denis have admitted Burgundy.”

The Abbot attempted to refute these accusations, but there was no need for explanations. At the end of the long passageway which led from the refectory to the first buildings, Armagnac appeared, closely followed by a thick crowd of men from his retinue. With jingling spurs they invaded the refectory. Armagnac was holding his whip; he slammed it against the corridor walls so that the statues trembled in their niches. The Abbot and the brothers retreated to the table. Charles put up his sword and waited until his father-in-law had entered the refectory.

“I came to lend you a hand, Orléans,” Armagnac called. He was laughing boisterously, but his eyes were keenly fixed upon Charles. His followers had entered the room behind him; they stood ranged around their commander in a half-circle and smirked at Orléans’ men.

“I thought it was clearly understood that I was to come here alone today.” Charles made an effort to speak calmly, although the pounding of his heart almost took his breath away. “Messeigneurs de Bourbon and Alençon both understood that.”

“Certainly.” Armagnac’s bright

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