Chapter 23

Priory of Saint-Martin-des-Champs

Paris, France

December 29, 1386

Sir Jean de Carrouges stood inside his tent as his squires bolted his armored breastplate in place, securing it to the matching backplate. He had risen before dawn when the constables had taken Marguerite to prepare her to stand trial. He first went to the chapel to pray, then stripped and bathed ritually, purging his flesh and his soul. He first donned an undergarment of white linen; then, his squires began the time-consuming process of preparation.

They dressed him in layers. First came a thick, heavy, padded cloth, covered with layers of leather and leather shoes. Over this, he put on a hauberk of chainmail that covered his upper body. They also wrapped his legs in chainmail. Over this, came the heavy, articulated plate mail, beginning with his feet, then his lower legs and thighs, with thicker caps covering his knees. A steel codpiece protected his groin.

Then they moved to his upper body, with the back and breastplates. Armor was locked in place, not with buckles and straps, but bolted together so that his opponent could not easily breach the protective shell.

Then, he covered his head with a cloth cap, which served as padding, but also kept the chainmail coif from entangling his hair. The coif left his face uncovered and hung down to overlap the top of the body armor. Then, to protect his throat, a heavy steel gorget was bolted in place.

He slid soft leather gloves on each hand, followed by steel, lobster-tail styled gauntlets. Finally, they lowered his bascinet helmet, with a conical top, made to deflect blows onto his head and bolted it to his armor. The second to last piece to be attached was his perforated visor which allowed him to breathe but had no opening large enough to allow a blade to penetrate. Once bolted closed, just before combat, the only vulnerable point was the narrow eye slits.

Over everything, his squire lastly placed a long, flowing surcoat of crimson, covered in a sea of silver fleur-de-lys. Around his hips, squire Robert fastened his knight’s belt, with his sheathed longsword and dagger.

The squires then escorted their commander out to climb up onto the saddle of his waiting warhorse. While Sir Jean had been armored, attendants and done a similar thing with his horse covering it in plate armor and covering it with a crimson cloth, covered in the same silver flowers as Sir Jean’s surcoat.

Hanging from harnesses attached to the horse’s saddle were two more vicious weapons: a long, two-handed sword and a large-bladed horseman’s ax. As Sir Jean settled into the seat, Robert attached his curved jousting shield, which also bore his red and silver family crest.

Thus far, Sir Jean had remained silent, keeping his mind focused on what was about to happen, mentally preparing himself to kill or be killed. Robert handled his master a long war lance, from which a red and silver pennant fluttered. Jean rose the tip high in the air and spurred his horse forward. He waited for his entourage to mount up, then lead the procession forward and out onto the streets of Paris.

They made the short walk to the Abbey of Saint Martin des Champs solemnly, riding past the crowd of people that filled the streets, all looking on in somber silence. They passed through the gates into the courtyard. Sir Jean was surprised by the number of people filling the stands and lining the walled area of the list. No one was cheering or making cat-calls. They were as silent as a funeral, having been warned by the Marshal that anyone who yelled out would be killed. This was not a celebration.

The first thing he noticed was his wife, Marguerite. She was seated, alone, dressed in a long black gown. Her beautiful hair had been shorn to stubble, and she was shackled and chained, by hand and foot. He had already known the severity of the situation, but seeing his wife prepared for execution caused it to hit home. If he lost today, his wife would die with him, but her death would be much worse. He could think of no more horrendous way to die than to be burned alive at the stake. Their eyes met briefly, but he forced himself to look away. He could not afford to be distracted.

He rode to the center of the sand-filled square and turned to face the King and Queen, bowing low with respect. Just then, his opponent entered the courtyard through a gate on the opposite side. Jacques le Gris rode in at the front of his own entourage. He too was fully armored and on a barded warhorse. The two men were nearly identical save for the colors and patterns of their family crests, which ironically were opposites. Where Jean’s was a red field with silver-white flowers, Jacques was a blood-red line that cut across a field of pure white.