The Warlord Earl by J. R. Tomlin

Author:J. R. Tomlin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: J. R. Tomlin

Fifteen

June 1371

Paris reeked of a putrid mix of wet mud, rotten fish, and animal dung. The crowds were so close that our men-at-arms had to shout and curse to force their horses through. Overhead, the gables of the wooden houses cut off all but thin bars of the summer sun.

The noise was deafening. Bells at the churches and the cathedrals rang out a cacophony, hawkers shouted they had fresh fish or the finest bread, a woman screeched curses at a fleeing cutpurse. We passed pillories where a score of men pushed a huge wheel, groaning as they were beaten with whips. A gang of ragged urchins threw stones at the prisoners, jumping and whooping with glee. On a corner, a beggar, his face horribly scarred, missing one arm from the elbow, held out a begging bowl and whined for alms. Crowds of servants with baskets scurried to the markets, wagons pulled loads of every good imaginable, and laborers everywhere were banging on repairs. None of that kept a great many from stopping to point and stare.

It took an hour to force our way from the gates and across a bridge over the reeking water of the Seine to the Palais de la Cité. Ahead, the white towers of the palace and its high white walls, topped with striking blue tile, shimmered in the bright summer sunlight.

I dismounted in the huge cobblestone courtyard and waited as the bishop stiffly dismounted, groaning that he was getting too old for this. In fact, he was only in his early fifties, and having a slight belly did not keep him from being a vigorous man who rode well. I did not know him well but suspected I could leave most of the negotiations in his capable hands. Unless he proposed something that would get my men killed and then I would step in.

A majordomo hurried to us bowing so deeply I thought he might fall on his face. “Votre Excellence,” he gushed to Bishop Wardlaw, “welcome to France.”

A serjeant-at-arms assured me that my men would be fed and lodged in the Salle des Gardes.

“Mon Seigneur—” The majordomo bowed again in my direction with a sweeping motion towards the wide, marble grand staircase, “—allow me to show you the way.”

I inclined my head courteously and followed Bishop Wardlaw and the short, slightly pudgy Frenchman. We passed through several galleries lined with columns where streams of servants and officials of the court scurried, too busy to even give us a glance. We entered a private apartment where a man greeted us with a genial smile. He looked to be in his fifties, burly and broad-shouldered, his curly hair trimmed very short, but he had a bit of plumpness in his cheeks. His black doublet and hose were so simply cut they could have passed for armor instead of the glossy silk that they were.

The steward made the deepest bow possible to the man and said, “My Lord Constable, may I introduce to you to His Excellency Walter Wardlaw, Bishop of Glasgow, and Sir Archibald de Douglas, Lord of Galloway.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.