Before Plantagenet - Chapter 111
July 1101 - Near Melun, France
Foulques was awakened to the sound of commotion.
He had dozed off for a mid-day nap at the king’s hunting lodge in his cramped chambers. As his eyes opened and he slowly came to, he hoped the last day was a dream.
The king was not wounded by an arrow while hunting. The king was not possibly dying. They were just preparing for another attempt to kill that damn stag. The nobles of the council were gathering. And a hunt may well have been in the works.
But it was for no stag.
“Uncle,” Herve said as he banged on the door to his chambers. “You must come quick.”
A small groan escaped Foulques’ lips. He wished he could return to a blissful sleep. Nothing good would come from answering Herve’s call.
But he sat up and did so.
“What is it?” Foulques demanded.
“Uncle,” Herve said. “The Duke of Toulouse has arrested the Duke of Burgundy!”
Foulques shook his head in disbelief. “Arrested Hugues? How? Why?”
“He believes that Burgundy has aided in the attempt on the king’s life!” Herve exclaimed.
The duke struggled to make sense of it.
Burgundy? “Does he have evidence?”
“I do not know,” Herve said. “But Burgundy’s knights are at odds with Toulouse’s. They demand the release of their lord. Orleans stands neutral. What do you wish us to do, should a fight break out?”
Foulques could barely believe his ears.
Perhaps I am still asleep. Perhaps this is all some demented dream - no, nightmare. A nightmare from which I cannot escape.
“Where are they?” Foulques demanded.
“Down below, in the cellar,” Herve said. “They are using it as a small prison.”
“I will go,” Foulques said.
“What of our orders, uncle?” Herve asked. “Do we stand with Toulouse?”
Foulques wanted to say yes - he trusted Toulouse far more than he did Burgundy. But he also did not know enough about this fight to do so.
“Stay out of it,” Foulques said.
The duke moved from his chambers and down the stairway to the main hall. There the commotion was loudest, with knights from all the lords close to coming to blows. Only the men of Orleans seemed to keep the peace, acting as a buffer between the groups of men.
“DUKE FOULQUES!” one of the knights shouted as Foulques entered the hall. “Toulouse is mad! He holds our lord unjustly! Free him!”
“You cannot trust Foulques,” another shouted. “He is a murderer! And we know he plots with Toulouse. They always have!”
Then through the chaos a shining light - Ness. She did not come alone, as behind her, holding on for dear life, was Foulques’ sister-by-law Isabel.
“My lord, what is going on?!” Ness demanded. “We heard the Duke of Burgundy has been arrested by the Duke of Toulouse!”
“Arrested?!” Isabel exclaimed. “He is held unjustly! Without any order from the king!”
There was no way she could know that, Foulques reasoned.
She did not see the king.
But that did not mean she was wrong.
“I am seeing what is going on here,” Foulques told them.
“Please!” Isabel begged. “You must see Hugues free. He has not done anything to warrant this treatment! Toulouse has gone mad!”
You do not know that either, Foulques thought. Then Herve came up beside him.
“Take Ness to our knights,” Foulques instructed.
“What of Isabel?” Ness asked.
“Is she your friend?” Foulques wondered.
“No… but… I do not think she should suffer for what others have done,” Ness replied.
“She can go too,” Foulques said. “It means little to me.”
Herve nodded and moved to escort the two women from the lodge. Meanwhile, Foulques slipped through the crowd and down to the cellar.
There he found Toulouse and a pair of knights, alongside Orleans a pair of his own men. Slumped against the wall, with a bloodied nose, was Burgundy. Upon seeing him, Orleans hurried up to Foulques.
“It is good you have come when you did,” Orleans said. “I fear Toulouse will kill him.”
“Kill him?” Foulques asked.
It all sounded strange. Toulouse did not seem to care all that much about the king anymore - he had even considered abandoning him. Yet he was going to beat Burgundy to death over the possibility of involvement on the attempt on the king’s life?
“Guilhem!” Foulques shouted as he came up beside him. “What is the meaning of this?”
“He’s mad!” Burgundy shouted. “He is spouting nonsense!”
Toulouse kicked Burgundy in the ribs, causing the duke to keel over in pain. “Shut your mouth, snake!”
“Enough!” Foulques exclaimed as he came between them. “This man is our peer. And one of the king’s council. You must answer for this!”
“My answer is that is a murdering snake,” Toulouse said. “And this has been a long time coming.”
“I do not know what you speak of,” Burgundy pleaded through gasps. “I am not my mother.”
“Your mother?” Foulques asked. “Can someone tell me what is going on here?”
Toulouse glared at Burgundy and spit over Foulques’ shoulder at him. Then he took a few paces away before turning back to the elder duke.
“The would-be assassin confessed,” Toulouse said. “He was sent to kill the king under orders from Sibila de Barcelona - our ‘good’ duke’s mother!”
The name sent a chill down Foulques’ spine.
Years before he had met with the woman - she was the wife of the late Duke of Champagne - Philipp’s elder brother. But that was her second husband - her first was Henri of Burgundy, who was the son of Duke Robert, first cousin to Philippe and father to Hugues.
And grandmother to Foulques’ new son-by-law, Henri, as well.
Back then, she had asked Foulques to join a plot against the king’s life. He had declined to take part… but had not said anything to the king either.
“My mother is in Troyes!” Burgundy pleaded. “Under the protection of Philipp of Champagne! As she has been since his brother died!”
“Your mother plots against the king,” Toulouse said. “Your wife is the mother to Philipp of Champagne, who holds the king’s children. And you lay with Isabel de Montfort, wife of a man who thought himself our rightful king. And to say nothing of your own support for Boudewijn! Yet you expect us to believe you had nothing to do with this?”
“I cannot be blamed for others!” Burgundy said. “My wife has had no part in any of this. What my mother does, I cannot control!”
Toulouse tried to get at him again, but Foulques and Orleans both blocked his way. They threw a look to the pair of knights with Toulouse, but the knights knew their place and did nothing.
“Let me at him,” Toulouse said. “He has used the same excuses for years! I am tired of them!”
“For years?” Foulques asked. “The king was struck but yesterday.”
“My father!” Toulouse sneered. “Murdered on the orders of the Count of Charolais! But no count would undertake such an order without approval from his liege lord - our ‘good’ duke over there!”
And suddenly it made sense.
It had been so long - two decades since the murder of Toulouse’s father, that Foulques had all but forgotten the rumors implicating Burgundy to the plot. As he said, the late Count of Charolais had drawn the blame, but that
Burgundy had put him up to it was a popular belief at the time.
And apparently, it was a theory that had long resonated with the current Duke of Toulouse.
“You see!” Toulouse shouted. “It is always someone else who is the one who ordered it. Someone who should not be capable, but is. Someone who is always one close to Burgundy!”
Burgundy just shook his head meekly. “I swear, I had nothing to do with either…”
“You cannot trust a word he says!” Toulouse shouted. “He is a snake. He speaks with a forked tongue, lies come forth while the truth remains separate. It is time for deliverance.”
“GUILHEM!” Foulques bellowed.
It was enough to give the younger duke pause. Foulques realized Toulouse may have never heard him raise his voice that loudly.
“We cannot do this,” Orleans said. “Think about it logically. If he is guilty, as you say, then he is favored by Champagne and Prince Hugues - they will not look upon you kindly if you kill him. If he is innocent, then you murder an innocent man.”
“I care not for Champagne or Hugues,” Toulouse said. “The king still lives.”
“But he may not for much longer,” Orleans said. “And… if he does - will he like you taking justice into your own hands over the matter?”
Toulouse glared at Orleans. “I have waited two decades for this chance.”
“If he is as guilty as you say,” Orleans began, “then God will punish him.”
Toulouse was beet red. His whole body trembled as he held his ground. Foulques prepared himself - this could easily devolve into a fight. A fight he wanted no part of - those knights stayed out of an argument, but an actual physical conflict was a different matter.
And there was no way Foulques would risk his life over Burgundy.
But Toulouse turned away and quickly stormed out of the cellar. The knights followed.
“Thank you, thank you,” Burgundy said as he crawled forward. “He would have killed me.”
Foulques rolled his eyes. “Don’t you forget it.”
Orleans motioned for Foulques to walk with him away from Hugues.
“I will stand guard here,” Orleans said. “In case Toulouse gets any ideas.”
“Burgundy may be as guilty as Toulouse suspects,” Foulques said. “What then?”
“It is as I said,” Orleans replied, “his fate lay in the hands of those who come next.”
“Is the king in that dire straits?” Foulques asked.
“There has been no update on his condition,” Orleans said. “It seems to me they would tell us if he improved, to alleviate fears. Instead, silence. Take that for what you will.”
Foulques could not argue with that. The business here attended to, he ascended the stairs once more. He gave a brief look for Toulouse, who was nowhere to be found. One of the knights told him he was outside, by the stables, so Foulques went out to track him down.
Toulouse stood by a horse, examining the beast. The stablehands had given him a wide berth, remaining on the opposite end of wooden structure.
Foulques immediately was hit by the pungent odor as he entered - a good reason why he rarely made it a habit to spend any length of time in a stable. He must be that distraught...
“You do not believe him, do you?” Toulouse asked as he saw Foulques. “That he is innocent of this.”
“I do not know,” Foulques said. “I have never trusted him. But that alone does not prove guilt.”
Toulouse sighed and looked back at his horse, giving it a gentle stroke. “I have played nice around him for years. But I can no longer.”
“Do you have any proof he is to blame over your father’s death?” Foulques asked.
“The circumstances are all there,” Toulouse said. “The Count of Charolais did not have the means…”
“
Your father and the count did not get along,” Foulques said. “I saw with my own eyes…”
“Pretense!” Toulouse shouted as he pointed at Foulques. “He needed someone to have reason and take the fall. But it was to destroy us in Toulouse. I still remember the nights on the run… sleeping in stables like these because of assassins that sought my life.”
That Toulouse had spent much of his formative years on the run was something that was often a point discussed at the time - but now that he had grown to know the man, Foulques had all but forgotten it. However, it was clear the younger duke had not.
“He deserves death,” Toulouse said. “And it should be my hand. My hand or the hands of the princes. But they are not here. I am.”
“Orleans will not let you,” Foulques said.
“He cannot stop us, if we choose to fight, our knights outnumber his - and they are better to a man,” Toulouse said. “Will you aid me, my friend?”
“Guilhem… I cannot act independently,” Foulques said. “If the king wishes it, then it will be so. But he has not.”
“The king is going to die,” Toulouse replied. “There is about to be no law. No order.”
“Even if the king dies… and Champagne and Hugues seize control….” Foulques began.
“There will be nothing,” Toulouse said. “Philippe for all his failures, was very much a force. Hugues… it will weaken the realm. It will be every man for himself. Even more than it is now. They could not stop us if we ended Burgundy’s life here. Orleans too.”
Foulques shook his head. “Your vengeance will have to wait. But know that it will come in time.”
Toulouse sighed. “I would not expect you to speak of God, Foulques.”
“I do not,” Foulques said. “I see Burgundy as a weak man of whom the carrion birds already circle. And the one who shall likely drive the sword through him is none other than the granddaughter of the Count of Charolais. Ironic, no?”
Toulouse looked down toward the ground. He was about to respond when a man ran into the stables.
The sight of him and his hurry made Foulques feel a chill. Was this the news they were dreading?
“Duke Foulques!” the man exclaimed. “The king wishes to see you!”
And like that, a sense of relief came over him. If Philippe wished to see him, he was doing well enough to receive visitors.
“You see Toulouse,” Foulques began, “the king improves. This plot has not ended him yet.”
Toulouse looked him square. “Tell him of what we know.”
Foulques nodded and then he was off, back to the lodge. The commotion had died down somewhat as the king’s knights had now gotten involved, separating both parties and forcing the majority outside.
Another good sign, Foulques thought.
If the king can give orders…
He saw the dwarf Jaspert outside the king’s quarters on the second story of the lodge. The ugly little man looked up at Foulques as he approached.
“How does he fare?” Foulques asked.
“Poorly,” Jaspert said. “The wound is serious. I have done what I can. But I fear I have merely delayed the inevitable by hours at most.”
“It was not in the most serious of places,” Foulques said.
“Not the most serious is still quite serious,” Jaspert replied. “It did much damage. He bleeds from within. We will see if I have done enough.”
“What more can be done?” Foulques asked.
“Pray, if you are one for that type of thing,” Jaspert said. “He awaits.”
Foulques felt it odd the dwarf was practically pushing him into the chamber given their prior relationship. But if this was some sort of trap, Foulques did not know what it could be. So he entered.
The chamber was smaller than he would have expected. Larger than his own tiny room, but perhaps just three times the size. He would have thought it to be bigger.
It was not very well lit, despite it being during the day. The small window provided a bit of illumination in the form of sunlight, but few candles were lit. A warm breeze seeped into the room.
And yet the king was under many blankets. His complexion was pale, his face sweaty as he slept. He had attendants by the bed, but they vacated the room as Foulques approached. When he did, the king, whose eye had been closed, suddenly opened.
“Foulques,” Philippe said, his voice hoarse. “You finally come.”
“Has it been long since you summoned me?” Foulques asked. “I was just told.”
“I do not know how long I have left,” Philippe said. “And I have a request for you. I was fearful I would not get to tell you of it.”
Foulques nodded. He supposed talk of Hugues and Sibila could wait… though he had never told the king of the plot before. Was… he at fault for this?
“My king, there is a matter quickly,” Foulques said. “The would-be assassin confessed to being in the employ of Sibila de Barcelona.”
“Jaspert has informed me,” Philippe said. “She is in the court of Champagne. There is nothing I can do.”
“Toulouse believes she worked alongside your cousin the Duke of Burgundy,” Foulques said.
“Has he evidence?” Philippe asked.
“No,” Foulques said. “He notes it was similar to how his father died.”
“That someone paid an assassin to strike?” Philippe replied. “Yes, that is usually how they work.”
“You think Burgundy innocent then?” Foulques asked.
“I do not know,” Philippe replied. “And I do not care. The assassin has done the work. I will be dead soon enough. And I wish to make my request of you.”
“You may well pull through this,” Foulques said. “You have been near death’s door before. You overcame consumption. You survived a serious wound that cost you your eye.”
“It is done, my friend,” Philippe said. “Which is why I do not wish to discuss any of this any longer. Please, hear my requests.”
Foulques wished to continue. But he did not. “What do you wish of me, my king?”
“My son,” Philippe said. “When I am dead, the war will end and my brother will be king. My sons will all be a threat to him, but especially my oldest, Alphonse. I need you to protect him.”
“Protect him?” Foulques asked. “I… may never even see him!”
“You will,” Philippe said. “They will need to parade him and his brothers out to have them make a show of submission in front of the most powerful men of the realm. Otherwise my brother invites pretenders. When they are in Melun, get them, and move them to Normandy. There they will be safe.”
“How am I to do that?” Foulques asked.
“There are escape routes in the keep in Melun,” Philippe said. “And those who know of them. Speak to Jaspert. He will assist you.”
Foulques shook his head. “I do not know if it is possible…”
“Do this, please,” Philippe begged. “I have failed my son in every way. I thought my father had failed me in giving me a weak crown and yet I will give Alphonse nothing at all. I beg you to help me at least allow him to keep his life.”
Foulques was uncertain he could do as Philippe pleased. But he nodded.
“I will do what I can,” Foulques said.
“Thank you my friend,” Philippe said. “Protect him the best you can. Marry your daughter to him. Seal the union between our families that I could not make happen while I lived.”
“Agnes is already married, my king,” Foulques said.
“You have other daughters,” Philippe said. “Your child by Alearde. What is her name?”
“Bella?” Foulques asked. “She is a bastard.”
“She is a comely girl,” Philippe said. “I saw her when I visited Anjou. And the right age for Alphonse. They could be wed within the year. Your bastard daughter the wife of the Duke of Normandy. And my son with the protection of the House of Anjou… I think it works well for both parties.”
“It does,” Foulques said as he thought on it.
Alearde will be overjoyed - he would no doubt see her smile upon telling her of such a union.
“Now, enough of that,” Philippe said. “There is the other matter. Geoffrey.”
Foulques grunted. “You wish me to curtail his actions.”
Philippe’s one good eye widened. “No, my friend. I do not want that at all. I wish for you to aid him.”
“Aid him?” Foulques asked. “In Poitou?”
“In Poitou, or wherever he needs it,” Philippe said. “He is your son. Your relationship with him is poisoned. But it can be mended. And I believe it should be.”
“You do not understand,” Foulques said.
“I do not understand your obstinance,” Philippe said. “But I think it is because you have been so blessed you do not know what it means to lose. I have lost everything, but what stings the most is what I have cost my son… and what he shall think of me. I think of what I thought of my father… I know it will be much worse with him. Why would you wish that upon yourself?”
“If my son cannot see the forest for the trees, then what can I do?” Foulques asked.
“Your son and you may never see eye to eye,” Philippe said. “But the boy respects you. All he wishes is some respect of his own. Give that to him, and you will see much change.”
“I think you indulge in wishful thinking,” Foulques said.
“Perhaps,” Philippe said. “What else am I to do now but hope and pray for the best?”
“Why do you wish this of me?” Foulques demanded. “I have not meddled in your personal affairs, though you have given me much reason to over the years.”
Philippe closed his eye for a moment. Then he looked straight at Foulques. “Because you are my friend. Perhaps my only friend. And I wish you to be happy, without regrets, as I have.”
“You have had other friends, I’m sure,” Foulques said.
“No,” Philippe said. “They have all abandoned me.”
“Toulouse did not,” Foulques noted.
“He thought of it… until your daughter and nephew gave him reason to stay,” Philippe said. “No, you have been the lone man to remain by my side, through thick and thin, though you could have easily left me during thin. And I have given you cause, denying your dreams of more land. Playing the political game with you. But you remained. And that is why I trust these things to you.”
“Aiding your son,” Foulques said. “Aiding Geoffrey. You seek to make your brother’s reign as difficult as possible.”
Philippe lips formed a sly grin. “I wish for my son to be safe. I wish for you to mend your relationship with your son. If that harms my brother’s reign… he should have known what he inherits with the crown.”
Foulques chuckled at that.
“I must trouble you for another request,” Philippe said. “If it is not a bother.”
“What is that?” Foulques asked.
“My wife is on her way from Melun,” Philippe said. “Can you remain with me, until she arrives?”
“Do you have no one else you must meet?” Foulques asked.
“They are not my friends,” Philippe said.
Foulques looked down, shifting his eyes away from the king.
A sad pitiable man at the end. But sincere… perhaps the most sincere he had ever heard him.
“I will remain,” Foulques said.
“Good,” Philippe said. “Because I have a question. What do you think awaits me?”
Foulques shrugged. “I do not know, my king.”
Philippe stared at him. “I have yet another request, if you can humor the fancies of a dying man.”
“What is this request?”
“That you call me by my name,” Philippe said.
“You are… still my king,” Foulques said.
“I am not,” Philippe said. “I am man dying, spending my final moments with one of the few people I could trust, even if for much of my life, I was blind to it.”
Foulques frowned but nodded. He again considered the question he had been posed. A sadness came over him as he did so.
“Philippe, I cannot say what awaits you,” Foulques replied. “I just know that whatever you face will be little compared to what I will.”
“Surely not,” Philippe said. “They call me the Son of Satan! They will likely celebrate my death as a day when tyrants fell.”
“You did not murder a man because you coveted his wife,” Foulques said. “Leaving her to curse you for damning her soul as she lay dying, a disfigured, bloated mess. You did not take land from children - leaving one to see nothing but a dungeon cell until he died a tortured soul before reaching his 20th summer. You did not consider forcing yourself on your son’s wife so that if she birthed a child it would be of your blood. And you were the victim of an ambitious brother, not the one who stole his brother’s inheritance.”
“Regrets,” Philippe said. “I did not expect to hear such things of you.”
“I do not know that I regret them,” Foulques said. “But… if what the church says is true, I shall see punishment for them in the hereafter.”
“If?”
“They say wicked men suffer for their sins in life,” Foulques said. “But I do not consider myself to have suffered much.”
“Besides your face, or lack thereof,” Philippe said.
“A face, an eye,” Foulques said. “Who is to say either is divine punishment?”
Philippe chuckled. “A fine reply.”
The king took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I do find it comforting to know I shall not be without you long, to once again take up my charge wherever we go in the hereafter. I will be surrounded by the usual serpents once more - my uncle Robert, Duke Guilhem, William of Normandy! And you know I would not count on my father for such things… nor myself. No, only the man who won me my finest moment, at Rouen, is fit for that task.”
“It would be an honor, Philippe,” Foulques replied with a slight smile.
“I would call you my brother,” Philippe said. “But neither of us have had the best of luck with brothers.”
Foulques looked down again. He could feel the bit of guilt. Was it, in some way his fault that this plot may have succeeded? Sibila had once come to him. If he had said something then….
After all this kindness and affection Philippe had shown him… did he not have a right to know the truth?
Perhaps I am more his brother than he realizes...
“Philippe… there---”
The door suddenly flew open. Standing there was the queen, her dress muddied at the bottom, her hair disheveled. As she rushed forward, Foulques could also see her eyes bloodshot and tears streaming down her cheeks.
“My husband!” she cried. “They tell me you have been wounded! Tell me it is not serious! Tell me you will not die! Our children need you! Without…”
“Our… children,” Philippe said. “I think our children will be safe. Won’t they be, Duke Foulques?”
Foulques looked at the queen, who was starting to sob. He could say nothing but: “I will see to their safety, Philippe.”
The king smiled. “Thank you Duke Foulques. You have done your duty. Your friend thanks you.”
Foulques dropped to a knee. “It has been my honor.”
Philippe extended his hand. Foulques rose to meet it.
“Until we meet again.”
….
The knocking on the door was heavy and constant.
At first Foulques thought it just part of another dream. But Ness picking her head up and moaning: “What do they wish for at this hour?” made him reconsider.
Because he knew it would be only one thing.
He pushed away Ness’ arms and moved from the bed, not even throwing on a night shirt. When he looked out the door, he saw no one, though he heard what sounded like wailing not far off.
“No matter how many times we do this dance, you never look down first,” Jaspert said.
Foulques frowned, but said nothing. He was too on edge to.
“The king is dead.” Jaspert said. “He passed a few moments ago.”
Though he expected it, it still struck him like a punch to the gut.
“What are we to do?” Foulques asked.
“Prepare ourselves for a new era,” Jaspert said.
The dwarf then slowly walked off down the hall. Foulques turned looked toward the king’s chamber, where the sounds he heard were no doubt the queen’s.
The duke returned to the dark chamber and closed the door behind. When he sat down on the bed, he practically sat on Ness, having forgotten she was there. The young woman nimbly avoided him and then pulled herself up beside him.
“The king is dead,” he said.
“Oh my…” Ness replied. “What can we do?”
He looked to her. “You can go to your lady. The queen… she sounds as if she needs you.”
Ness’ mouth hung open. She seemed surprised by that response. But moments later she closed it and nodded, quickly throwing on a dress and then shuffling out the chamber and into the hallway.
The door slammed behind her.
Foulques sat on the bed. Part of him did wonder if this was a dream.
The king dead? It cannot be.
As he sat in the darkness, the muffled wails of the queen coming through the door, the realization that it was left him unable to do anything but cover the remains of his face with his hands.