The Moneyman

Thomas B. Costain

Description

A vivid and dramatic story of a great conspiracy and a great love, set in 15th century France. King Charles VII, Agnes Sorel, his mistress, and Jaques Coeur, the king’s moneyman, and history’s first great merchant prince.

Sujets

• Renaissance
• Fiction
• Historical

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 19 septembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781773236483
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

The Moneyman
by Thomas B. Costain

Firstpublished in 1947
Thisedition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria,BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
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All rightsreserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted inany form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, includingphotocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrievalsystem, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quotebrief passages in a review.

The Moneyman





by THOMAS B. COSTAIN

To
NELSON DOUBLEDAY
INTRODUCTION
STORIES speak for themselves and so an author’s preface is, in mostcases, superfluous. When the setting is historical, however, there are certainexplanations which become necessary. It must be made clear to thereader where history ends and the work of the romancer begins and alsowhich of the characters are real and which fictitious. With this as myexcuse, I wish to point out that the story of Jacques Coeur, the Moneyman(L’Argentier) of Charles the Seventh of France; as set down inthe pages which follow, adheres to the record as closely as possible.Some liberties have been taken in the matter of time sequences and, becausethe chronicles of the day are both scanty and full of gaps, it hasbeen necessary to draw on the imagination for some of the details withwhich the bare skeleton of known facts has been fleshed and clothed.
It is surprising how little has been written about some phases of thecareer of the great Moneyman. Monstrelet and his fellow scribes of theday went to great pains to set down the activities of unimportant knightsand to tell of the daily lives of dull kings and stupid princes but theyseem to have been lightly concerned with the spectacular career ofJacques Coeur. There would be little known about his trial were it notfor the happy discoveries of C. Joseph Jacques, as given in his UnScandale judiciaire au moyen âge . Even with the explanation M.Jacques supplies of the parts played by Robert de Poitevin and Ferrandde Cordule, it has been necessary to reconstruct the scene and to inventmore tangible and believable evidence.
Those who approach the past with reverence for the traditions ofchivalry will perhaps object to the part I have given that great paladin,Jacques de Lalain. He devoted himself exclusively to challenge encounterswith other knights (like the barnstorming prizefighters of the presentday) but he did not fight the Sire d’Arlay, for the very good reason thatthe Sire d’Arlay had no existence in fact. I conceived the duel as necessaryto point up the absurdity and the unfairness of the chivalrous practicesof the day. As Jacques de Lalain was the recognized champion and,as a close study of his career had convinced me he would have behavedin exactly this way in the given circumstances, I cast him in the role ofthe bully who refused to fight for France but was ready to fight on anyother pretext.
I have striven to give a faithful picture of Agnes Sorel, that lovely andunfortunate lady, and of Charles the Well Served. Robert de Poitevinlived and played his courageous part as described in the drama of thetrial, as did Jeanne de Vendôme and Guillaume Gouffier, the villainsof the piece. As Valerie Maret and D’Arlay and the Comte and Comtessede Burey are fictitious characters, it follows that the train of events inwhich they are depicted as playing parts has been invented to supply anote of lightness and romance in what might otherwise be a grim story.
Thomas B. Costain
BOOK 1
Chapter I
1
The royal standard of France waved above the towers of theLouvre. It was an unusual sight, for the King bore Paris no love andseldom came there. The citizens, as might be expected, were making acarnival of it and the streets were filled with banners and pennons, andthere were peep shows and Mysteries, and trading booths at every corner.They were having a good time and a profitable one (being shrewd enoughto charge well for supplying the needs of the court) and yet they wereviewing the proceedings with tongue in cheek. They knew, these burghersof the wise and worldly old town, that the gallants who rode or struttedthrough the streets, their noses high in the air and their cold eyes unconsciousof the rabble, had lost to the English all the great battles of theHundred Years’ War and would lose more if allowed their own way; andso sometimes above the creaking of leather and the stomping of horsesand the shrillness of the silver trumpets could be heard jeers and catcallsand the bitter invective in which the Parisian excels.
Jacques Coeur could see the standard from the window of the white-plasteredroom which he used, when in Paris, for the direction of his manyactivities. He had been at work since five in the morning. Visitors hadpassed in and out in a seemingly endless procession and he had talkedwith them all, briefly and decisively, dismissing each one with a peremptorywave of the hand when convinced the purpose of the call had beenaccomplished. He had read mountainous piles of letters and documents,he had scrutinized lists, and had issued so many orders that all over thebusy establishment his people were in the throes of carrying them out.He had exhausted completely the patience of his servant Nicolas.
He got to his feet and went to the window where he gazed through abreak in the clustered rooftops at the turreted splendor of the Louvre.“Charles the Well-Served,” he said in a half-audible tone. “You are wellnamed, I think, my amiable but irresolute liege lord! I wonder whatnames they will have for you when the history of these days is written?. . . I wonder what will be written about Jacques Coeur?”
Seen from the rear he could not have been mistaken for anything savewhat he was, a prosperous and middle-aged man. When he turned aboutit was a different story, for then his eyes captured the attention and madeeverything else about him seem trivial and misleading. They were extraordinaryeyes, large and gray and very much alive. They smiled,laughed, lighted up, sparkled, burned, smoldered, suffered, exploded intovivid dramatization of every mood. They never lacked animation for amoment. His voice, which was of an eager timbre, had something of thesame quality. It could not be denied that he inclined to the theatricalin his gestures, but the lift and play of his fine white hands did no morethan keep pace with his constant and quick change of expression.
A closer view made it clear that he dressed with rather particular care.His tunic was laced tight with cords of silver thread and there were pearlsin the tufting of his sleeves. His hose fitted him well and his shoes wereof the finest leather; although, being intended for active use, they lackedthe extravagant upward curl at the toe.
“I think, Nicolas,” he said to his servant, “we may assume that wehave given this place a thorough shaking, like medicine in a bottle. Theother half of our day begins. I shall now wait on the King. A cloak, myever-smiling Nicolas.”
Nicolas, as a matter of fact, had rarely been known to smile. If his outwardappearance could be accepted as an indication of what went oninside him, he lived in a state of bilious discontent. His eyes moved withpainful slowness in yellow sockets and the corners of his mouth drooped.He was a Norman, with a head shaped like a pear and a jowl the colorof a ripe plum.
This gloomy apparition produced a heavy cloak which was richly linedwith miniver, and held it out for his master.
“Must you go to court today?” he asked. “You’ve done a full day’s workalready, my lord. My head buzzes with all the orders I’ve had.”
“I am expected, Nicolas. And when the King expects, the subjectobeys; particularly if he happens to be the Moneyman.”
“Truly I have a fool for a master,” muttered Nicolas. “He will workhimself to death. And then I will have no master and I will starve.”
Jacques Coeur looked at the bottle-bellied figure beside him and smiledcheerfully. “You could live for a long time on what you’ve stored underyour belt,” he said. Then he felt the weight of the proffered cloak andfrowned doubtfully. “Is it cold enough out to wear this?”
“Would I bring it to you, master, if I didn’t think you needed it?”
“That is true,” admitted the merchant. “I should know by this timethat in such matters your judgment is better than mine.”
“In matters of your comfort and well-being I am always right,” admittedthe servant. “And you, master, are always wrong.”
“I wouldn’t have said my record was quite as blank as that,” demurredCoeur. “You will allow, perhaps, that in concerns of a rather more generalnature I display somewhat better judgment. Well, Nicolas the Omnipotent,lead the way. We shall walk today.”
They descended by a stone staircase and emerged on the street throughwide bronze gates. The air was brisk and Coeur realized at once that hisservant’s selection of a cloak had been a wise one. He wrapped it moreclosely about him and stepped out at such a swift gait that Nicolas hadto go at a jog trot to keep on his heels.
“Master, master!” protested the servant. “Won’t the King’s affairs waita few minutes longer? Do you want to wear yourself out? After all, you’renot a young man any more.”
The merchant’s good nature was not proof against this suggestion. “Imay not be young,” he said, with a sharp glance back over his shoulder,“but I’m still as strong as I was in my twenties. You needn’t shake yourhead, Nicolas. You are ten years behind me in age and yet compared withme you’re doddering into senility. I can still outwork, outthink, and outwalkany man I know.”
“You can outclaim anyone, master,” puffed the servant.
It was at once clear that the people of Paris did not include the King’sMoneyman in the veiled hostility they felt for the rest of the court. Coeurand his servant were followed by a company of admiring men and boyslike the tail of a comet. Cordial greetings reached them from the doorsof taverns and the windows of houses, “It’s the