Chapter 29

Jean was preparing to go to the chapel for a final mass and to pray for victory on the morrow. His wife, Lady Marguerite, was fretting at needlepoint, trying to take her mind off things and failing. The order from Parlement had come the day before. She had been charged with perjury, her judgment to be determined by the outcome of the judicial duel between her husband and Jacques le Gris. If her husband lost, then that meant Le Gris was innocent. If Le Gris was innocent, it meant Lady Marguerite had lied and perjured herself to the King and Parlement, which was punishable by death.

She knew her death would neither come easily nor quickly. She would be burned alive, like a witch or a heretic; taken to a place of execution, tied to a stake, surrounded by oil-soaked logs and set ablaze. Marguerite shuddered involuntarily and stuck herself with the needle.

Just then, someone knocked on the door to their chamber. Penny opened it, and Sir Robert de Thibouville came in.

“Father!” Marguerite exclaimed and leaped to her feet, throwing her arms around the man.

“Marguerite,” he said as his tears fell freely. “My child.”

Sir Jean stood and bowed to his friend. “I will leave you two to talk,” he said, “I must be going to the church.”

“No,” Sir Robert said, “Sir Jean, I’ve come to talk to both of you. Please.”

Sir Jean stopped and poured a cup of wine for the three of them. “Speak freely, my friend.”

“As you know, I have extensive estates in France, but also abroad. I have a large estate in Tuscania, in northern Italy, outside the reach of King Charles. I have a boat waiting for us now, on the Seine. I’ve also bribed the guards to make certain that they are gone for the next hour. Come with me, both of you. Let us leave this place, and you can live the rest of your lives in Italy. There is nothing here for you, but death.”

Marguerite perked up excitedly and turned to her husband. “Jean! This is our chance! We can leave and forget all about Jacque le Gris, Count Pierre and all of them! We can be happy!”

“And how would we live? I would lose all of my ancestral lands, my home, my fortune. We would have nothing!”

“We would have each other and our son! We would be alive!”

“And what of my honor?” Jean asked.

“Fuck your honor, Jean,” Sir Robert declared, “and your pride! Look at you! You’re sick! You’re weak. Jacque le Gris is healthy, and he outsizes you greatly.”

“I’ve fought sick before,” Jean said, “I’m not so easy to kill, Robert. I don’t fear Jacques le Gris.

“You are doomed if you step into that list tomorrow! With your doom comes the doom of my daughter! I would see her live! Your pride forces you to do this, not your honor.”

“Is it pride to see the man who raped your daughter punished for his crime?” Jean asked.

“Of course not,” Sir Robert replied, trying to soften his approach. “Jean, you’ve done enough. Everyone in Paris, Hell, in all of France, knows about this duel and why it is being fought. You have destroyed his name and his reputation! You don’t need to kill him!”

“If I abandon the duel and flee,” Jean replied, “Jacques will be acquitted. What’s more, Marguerite and I will be convicted of making false accusations. His public image will be resurrected. To make it even worse, my lands and estates will be taken and given to him.”

“Is that what this is about? You’ve more concerned about your land than your life or the life of my daughter?”

“It is about the truth! It is about doing what is right! It is about justice!”

“Jean, please, I beg you,” Marguerite pleaded, kneeling in front of her husband. “Let them call me a whore! Let them call me a liar! I don’t care, but let us flee here now. Please!”

Jean wrenched his hands from his wife and stepped aside. “I will not betray my oath and destroy my honor. I have nothing more to say. We will not run away. Say your goodbyes. I must be to Church.” He looked down at his wife with an odd mix of love and hate on his face. “I suggest you make peace with God.”

Jean turned and strode out of the room.

“Oh, father!” Marguerite cried out, “What have I done?”