The Poisoned Crown. Морис Дрюон

was experiencing at one and the same time joy and exaltation, fear of the unknown and that peculiar disquiet which comes upon the spirit at an irrevocable change of destiny, even when it surpasses every dream.

      ‘Your people are showing how much they love you, Madam,’ said a fat man standing beside her. ‘But I wager that the people of France will soon love you as much, and merely upon seeing you will welcome you as demonstratively as these are bidding you farewell.’

      ‘Oh, you will always be my friend, Messire de Bouville,’ Clémence replied warmly.

      She felt the need of spreading her happiness around her and of thanking everyone.

      The Comte de Bouville, once chamberlain to Philip the Fair and King Louis X’s envoy, had come to Naples on a first visit during the winter to ask for her hand; he had returned two weeks ago to fetch the Princess and conduct her to Paris now that the marriage could be celebrated.

      ‘And you too, Signor Baglioni, you are also my friend,’ she added, turning towards the young Tuscan who acted as secretary to Bouville and controlled the expedition’s finances, which had been lent by the Italian banks in Paris. The young man acknowledged the compliment with a bow.

      Indeed, everyone was happy that morning. Fat Bouville, sweating a little in the June heat and throwing his black-and-white locks back behind his ears, felt confident and proud at having succeeded so well in his mission and at conducting so splendid a wife to his king.

      Guccio Baglioni was dreaming of the fair Marie de Cressay, his secret fiancée, for whom he was taking home a whole chest of silks and embroideries. He was uncertain whether he had been right to ask for the Neauphle-le-Vieux branch of the bank from his uncle. Should he content himself with so small an establishment?

      ‘But it’s only a start; I shall easily be able to change it for another post, and besides I shall spend most of my time in Paris.’ Assured of the protection of his new sovereign, he set no limits to his ambition; he already saw Marie as lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and himself becoming Grand Pantler or Grand Treasurer within a few months. Enguerrand de Marigny had started with no greater advantages. Of course he had come to a pretty bad end. But then he was no Lombard.

      His hand on his dagger, his chin held high, Guccio looked at Naples deployed before him, as if he were about to buy it.

      Ten galleys escorted the ship to the open sea; then the Neapolitans watched this white sea-fortress fade into the distance.

       2

       The Storm

      A FEW DAYS LATER THE San Giovanni was no more than a half-dismasted, tortured hulk, running before the squalls, tossed in huge seas, while the captain endeavoured to keep her afloat and make what he conceived to be the coast of France, though doubtful whether he would ever succeed in bringing his passengers safely into port.

      The ship had been caught on the latitude of Corsica by one of those brief but devastating storms which, on occasion, ravage the Mediterranean. Six anchors had been lost in an endeavour to hold the ship to the wind off the coast of Elba, and she had barely escaped being wrecked upon the island’s rocky shore. They had managed to sail upon their course, but in a tremendous sea. A day, a night, and another day had been spent amid the hell of waters. Several sailors had been injured in taking in what remained of the sails. The crow’s nest had gone overboard with all the weight of stones destined for Barbary pirates. The saloon hatch had had to be forced open with axes in order to free the Neapolitan gentlemen imprisoned by the fall of the mainmast. The Princess’s chests of dresses, jewels, and plate, all her wedding presents, had been washed away. The surgeon-barber’s sick bay in the forecastle was crowded. The chaplain was even unable to celebrate the aride² Mass because ciborium, chalice, books, and ornaments had been swept overboard by a wave. Clutching the rigging, crucifix in hand, he listened to the confessions of those who thought they were soon to die.

      The magnetized needle was now utterly useless, since it bobbed wildly upon the residue of water left in the container in which it floated. The captain, an excitable Latin, had torn his robe open to the waist as a sign of despair and was heard to cry, between a couple of orders: ‘Lord, come to my help!’ Nevertheless, he seemed to know his business well enough and to be doing his best to extricate them from their difficulties; he had had the oars shipped. They were so long and heavy that seven men were needed to work each one of them. And he had summoned a dozen sailors to control the helm, six on each side.

      Nevertheless, Bouville had been furious with him at the beginning of the storm.

      ‘Well, Master Mariner, is this the kind of shaking you give a Princess engaged to the King my master?’ the ex-Grand Chamberlain had cried. ‘Your ship must be badly loaded to roll like this. You know nothing of navigation or how to make use of favourable currents. If you do not quickly do better, I shall upon arrival have you haled before the justices of the King of France and you’ll learn seamanship on a galley’s bench.’

      But his anger had quickly evaporated, since for the next eight hours he had been sick upon the oriental carpets, in company, moreover, with the majority of the suite. His head rolling upon his shoulders, his face pale, his hair, coat, and hose drenched, the unhappy man prepared to give up the ghost every time a wave lifted the ship, groaning between a couple of hiccups that he would never see his family again and that, during the whole of his life, he had not committed sufficient sins to deserve this intensity of suffering.

      Guccio, on the other hand, showed remarkable courage. Clear of head and light of foot, he had taken the precaution of carefully lashing his money-chest and, during moments of relative calm, ran through the spray in search of drinking-water for the Princess, or sprayed scent about her in order to overcome the stench of her seasick companions.

      There are certain sorts of men, particularly very young ones, who instinctively behave in the manner expected of them. If they are looked upon with contempt, there is every likelihood of their behaving in a contemptible way. On the other hand, if they feel that people esteem them and have confidence in them, they can surpass themselves and, though as frightened as the next man, can conduct themselves like heroes. Guccio Baglioni was to some extent of this breed. Because Princess Clémence had a way of behaving towards people, whether rich or poor, nobleman or commoner, which maintained their self-respect, because she also used the young man with particular courtesy, since he had been to some extent the harbinger of her good fortune, Guccio, in her company, felt himself to be a knight and behaved with more spirit than any of her gentlemen.

      He was a Tuscan and therefore capable of daring all in order to shine in female eyes. And yet, at the same time, he remained body and soul a banker and gambled with fate as one gambles on the exchange.

      ‘Danger presents the best opportunity of becoming intimate with the great,’ he said to himself. ‘If we’ve got to founder and perish our fate will certainly not be changed by lapsing into lamentation like poor Bouville. But, if we escape I shall have acquired the esteem of the Queen of France.’ To be able to think thus at such a moment was in itself evidence of considerable courage.

      But Guccio, that summer, believed himself invincible; he was in love and assured of being loved in return. His head stuffed with heroic tales – for dreams, plans, and ambitions were still chaotically mingled in the boy’s mind – Guccio knew that those engaged in adventure always came out safely in the end if a beautiful damsel is awaiting them in a castle! His was at the Manor of Cressay.

      He therefore assured the Princess Clémence, against all the evidence, that the weather was improving, asserted that the ship was sound when it was in fact being strained to the limit, and drew comparisons with the much more terrifying storm, or so he pretended it had been, that he had experienced the previous year when crossing the Channel and from which he had issued safely.

      ‘I was on my way to Queen Isabella