December 4th, Year of Our Lord 1339
Ye gods what a miserable few hours. As I rest here on an uncomfortable bunk in a dingy ship cabin I can only wonder as to where everything went wrong. Yesterday I was savouring the prospect of victory over de Valois and yet today I find myself forcibly installed on a decrepit merchant ship destined for the Holy Land. In truth this is not a difficult question to answer - events can be said to have escaped my control at the moment I was despatched into unconsciousness by unseen figures. Clearly I was incorrect previously, the most opportune moment in which to strike down a foe is not when he is already defeated but when he is blinded by victory. Alternatively, when he is huddled over a candle committing his thoughts to parchment and too engrossed to hear the assassins creep through the room behind him. Apparently this is a novel way for one to take the cross and I now find myself comprising, in its entirety, the Breton contingent on the Aragonese crusade to the Holy Land
All the more bewildering is just why I have been subjected to such treatment. Not once did I receive an inkling that Jeanne de Dreux was planning such a fate for me. Indeed in all probability it would not have occurred to me to accuse her fairness if not for the brief note that she despatched me into my second exile with. In hindsight it would have been fitting to record its contents on these pages... but I threw her missive to the waves in disgust after reading it. It gave no insight into her reasoning but simply thanked me for my service to the duchy and informed me of the 'honour' of representing Brittany in Peter I's crusade. I know of few honours that are granted by sending assassins to knock one unconscious and passing them to a merchant caravan/ship destined for some remote corner of the world. To my mind this more resembles exile... and I know well!
My original exile from the royal court for that (alleged) crime against de Valois was understandable, if the punishment grossly disproportionate to the offence, but I am puzzled as to the cause for this second exile. There was little clue of motive in de Dreux's note, she merely stated that my 'agenda' was detrimental to the duchy and her position. Or some similar nonsense. I can only summarise that either Jean de Valois or de Pontchâteau, more likely the former, has bent her female mind and poisoned her against me. No doubt de Pontchâteau will make a much more supine Chancellor as he leads Brittany to disaster. Most worryingly of all, many pages of this very journal are newly creased and wrinkled; I suspect that eyes other than mine have perused its pages during my recent unconscious hours. Now there is a thought that disturbs. What if Jeanne has read my thoughts of the past three years? If so I am lucky to be alive at all
Regardless, it is a difficult thing to look back and witness how far the mighty have fallen. Mere days (hours!) ago I was eagerly anticipating a triumphant return to the Pays de France yet now my expectations extend no further than avoiding choking to death on sand while being run through by a filthy Saracen. This assumes naturally that I survive the journey on this miserable vessel... the waves do rise and fall most alarmingly. Again, the cruel Fates toy with my destiny and I can do naught but struggle against their intrigues and plays. Triumph was within my grasp and yet it has been suddenly pulled from these very fingers - this vessel carries me further and further from a collapsing France and a surely defeated Jean de Valois. Who would argue that my deserved victory has been stolen from me? And by a woman no less!
Bah, to the hells with such thoughts. My cabin is dark enough without such wallowing in self-pity. I was cast into the despair of Brittany and yet I came close, so very close, to glorious escape. My actions may well have brought a kingdom to its knees and cost the mightiest king in all of Christendom his crown. Ultimate failure cannot disguise how events danced to
my tune until I was brung low by a woman. Granted, I no longer possess a position of influence in one of the largest duchies of the kingdom but I still have confidence in my own god-given abilities. Perhaps I can convince the captain to put me ashore in some civilised land before we reach the Levant? Or can his men be persuaded to mutiny? Is there some way to contact de Ufford in England? No doubt I can slip away when we dock to take on supplies during the voyage? In any event I think it best to abstain from recording my thoughts on these pages. Aside from trouble already caused by this journal falling into the wrong hands, I shall let it be record of my misery in Brittany and not influence my undoubtedly bright future
I am struck by a sudden final thought... if all else does fail then at least I can be guaranteed much pleasant sun and warmth in the Holy Land.
Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam
Adieu
Jacques d'Artois