The Lily and the Lion. Морис Дрюон

Pierre Tesson, Notary to the King, have come to take the evidence of …”’

      ‘Master Tesson,’ said Bouville, ‘are you the same Tesson who was formerly attached to the household of Monseigneur of Artois?’

      ‘The same, Messire …’

      ‘And you are now Notary to the King? Splendid, splendid, I congratulate you …’

      Bouville sat up a little straighter and clasped his hands across his round paunch. He was wearing a worn velvet robe, old-fashioned and rather too long, which dated from the days of Philip the Fair. He now used it in his garden.

      He was twiddling his thumbs, three times one way, three times the other. It was going to be a warm, fine day, but there was still a trace of the cool of the night about the morning.

      ‘“… have come to take the evidence of the high and mighty Lord, Count Hugues de Bouville, and have heard it in the garden of his town house, situated not far from the Pré-aux-Clercs …”’

      ‘The neighbourhood has changed a great deal since my father built this house,’ said Bouville. ‘At that time, there were barely three houses between the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des Prés and Saint-André-des-Arts: the Hôtel de Nesle, on the river-bank, the Hôtel de Navarre, which stood back a little, and the house of the Counts of Artois, which they used as a country residence, since there were only fields and water-meadows round it. Look how it’s all been built up! All the new rich have come to set themselves up in the district; and now the roads have become streets. In the old days I could see nothing but trees beyond my wall; today, with such sight as is still left in me, I see nothing but roofs. And the noise! Really, the noise in this district these days! You might think you were in the heart of the Cité. Had I even a few more years to live, I’d sell this house and build another elsewhere. But in the circumstances there’s no question of that …’

      And his hand reached out to the little green pear again. The time that must elapse till it grew ripe was all he could hope for now. He had been losing his sight for many months past. Trees, people, the world were visible to him only through a sort of wall of water. He had been active and important, had travelled, had sat on the Royal Council, and had taken part in great events; and now he was drawing to his end in his garden, his mind slow and his sight confused. He was lonely and almost forgotten, except when younger men needed to refer to his memories.

      Master Pierre Tesson and the Chevalier de Villebresme exchanged a glance. They were bored. The old Count de Bouville was not an easy witness, for his mind wandered constantly off the point. Yet he was far too old and far too distinguished for one to be sharp with him. Tesson went on:

      ‘“… and he declared to us in person that which is recorded below, in particular: that when he was Chamberlain to our Sire Philip IV, before the latter became King, he had knowledge of the marriage contract between the late Monseigneur Philippe of Artois and Madame Blanche of Brittany, and that he had the said contract in his hands, and that the said contract declared in precise terms that the County of Artois would devolve by right of inheritance to the said Monseigneur Philippe of Artois and, after him, to his heirs male, the issue of the said marriage …”’

      Bouville waved a hand.

      ‘I did not assert that. I had the contract in my hands, as I have told you, and as I told Monseigneur Robert of Artois himself, when he came to visit me the other day, but in all conscience I have no memory of having read it.’

      ‘But why, Monseigneur, would you have had the contract in your hands if it was not to read it?’ asked the Chevalier de Villebresme.

      ‘To take it to my master’s chancellor for sealing; and I very well remember that the contract was sealed by all the peers, of which my master Philip the Fair was one, in his capacity as heir to the throne.’

      ‘This must be recorded, Tesson,’ said Villebresme: ‘all the peers applied their seals. Though you did not actually read the document, Monseigneur, you were nevertheless aware that the inheritance of Artois was assured to Count Philippe and his heirs male?’

      ‘I have heard it said,’ replied Bouville, ‘but I cannot go further than that.’

      The way young Villebresme was trying to make him say more than he knew rather irritated him. Why, the fellow hadn’t even been born, nor, if it came to that, had his father even thought of begetting him, when the facts he was inquiring into had occurred. These junior Crown officials were all over-zealous in their new duties. But one of these days they too would be old and lonely, and sitting by an espalier in their garden. Yes, Bouville remembered the terms of Philippe of Artois’ marriage contract. But when had he first heard them spoken about? Was it at the time of the marriage itself, in ’82, or when Count Philippe died, in ’98, from wounds received in the Battle of Furnes? Or, again, was it after old Count Robert II had been killed at the Battle of Courtrai, in 1302, having survived his son by four years, which fact had given rise to the lawsuit between his daughter Mahaut and his grandson the present Robert III?

      Bouville was being asked to give a precise date to a memory which might well relate to almost any time in a period of over twenty years. And it was not only Tesson and this Chevalier de Villebresme who had come to pick his brains, but Monseigneur Robert of Artois himself, courteously and respectfully, it must be admitted, but nevertheless talking loud and walking restlessly up and down the garden, crushing the flowers beneath his boots!

      ‘Very well, we will make the necessary correction,’ said the notary, turning to his manuscript: ‘“… and that he had the said contract in his hands, but only for a short while, and remembers also that it was sealed with the seals of all the peers; and the Count de Bouville has also declared to us that he heard tell at that time that the said contract stated in precise terms that the County of Artois …”’

      Bouville nodded agreement. He would have preferred that ‘at that time’ be suppressed; the phrase ‘heard tell at that time …’ had been introduced by the notary into his evidence. But he was tired of struggling. And did one little phrase matter all that much?

      ‘“… would devolve to his heirs male of the said marriage; and he has also certified that the contract was placed in the archives of the Court, and also believes it certain that it was later subtracted from the said archives by wicked contrivance on the orders of Madame Mahaut of Artois …”’

      ‘I didn’t say that either,’ Bouville remarked.

      ‘You didn’t say it in that form, Monseigneur,’ replied Villebresme, ‘but it emerges from your deposition. Let us go back to what you do certify. In the first place, the marriage contract existed. Secondly, you saw it. Thirdly, it was placed in the archives …’

      ‘Sealed with the seals of the twelve peers …’

      Villebresme exchanged a weary glance with the notary.

      ‘Sealed with the seals of the peers,’ he repeated to conciliate the witness. ‘You also certify that the contract excluded the Countess Mahaut from the inheritance, and that it disappeared from the archives, so that it cannot be produced at the lawsuit Monseigneur Robert of Artois is bringing against his aunt. Who do you think subtracted it? Do you think King Philip the Fair gave the order?’

      It was a cunning question; for it had often been whispered that Philip the Fair had given a partial judgement in favour of the mother-in-law of his two youngest sons. People would be pretending next that it was Bouville himself who had been ordered to see that the documents disappeared!

      ‘Messire, do not associate the memory of my master King Philip the Fair with so villainous a deed,’ he replied with dignity.

      The bells of Saint-Germain-des-Prés rang out above the roofs and the trees. It occurred to Bouville that it was the hour at which he was brought a bowl of curds; his doctor had advised him to take them three times a day.

      ‘In that case,’ went on Villebresme, ‘it is clear that the contract was subtracted without the King’s knowledge. And who could have any interest in doing that except the Countess Mahaut?’

      The