MTW / VI / XL The French Campaign.

There was a knock on the door of my hovel. Outside a wind raged, damp and miserable. It was yet seven,still gray. At matins, God forgive me, I had drowsed asleep.

"Who is it?" I called.

I feared brigands and the everthreat of the English...George de Cluny had recently been executed for treason, and he was Grand Chamberlain. Our kingdom had teetered on Civil War.His successor was rumoured to be Braderique de Pitte, a heartless and cruel man.

A muffled voice replied:

"Misery for the king!"

I dropped to my knees in prayer. They had come-the executioners,rebels, no doubt! It was Gods will.

"Enter," I said, having nowhere to go.

The door swung open. There stood a fair young man, neatly robed. No sword .

"I am an emissary from the King."

I rose, praising God.

He handed me a rolled parchment. I offered tea, but he stood, impassive-waiting. I opened the scroll carefully, my heart racing.

"In the year of Our Lord 1087 King Philippe I of the Franks ascended the throne. He ruled over a loose collection of disunited fiefdoms: Britanny, Flanders, Champagne, Ile de France and Toulouse.

At the request of His Majesty, King Philippe the First, a Fair and Complete Historie of the French Dominions is hereby commisioned from friar Jean Louis d ' Escalier of Toulouse, using such materials as is required of him.

All expenses for such a Glorious task shall be provided therewith

signed : Grand Chamberlain George Curthouse."



I stared at the emissary in disbelief. Me- a humble monk, being requested by the king!

With the message was a brief.

"What can I say?"

The emissary (whom I discovered later to be none other than the legendary Pierre de Brienne) smiled faintly.

"It is a commission from the highest source," he said, "You are a lucky man, my friend."

From the smooth silkiness of his tone , I could see why he was an emissary.

"I bid you fare well, my friend."

And he was gone, like a hobgoblin from a dream-or maybe a nightmare.

I examined the Royal Commission again. The Lord Chamberlain! But was not Curthouse (it was a rumour) one of the English? From Anjou our neighbour to the west?

"Clovello!" I called.

Clovello is my assistant. He s no more than a boy, wayward, mischievous yet bright and quick and as loyal as a puppy.

"Clovello!"

He shuffled in, his cloak drawn up to his chin against the cold wind that blew from the Gulf of Lions. Being in Penitence, I had no such comforts. I wore the lightest of our summer habits, for did not Christ, our Saviour, suffer worse on the Holy Hill?

Clovello stood before me, his round face red with the effort of carrying water from the well below.

"Our task , Clovello, is to be immense,and of....immense..."

Clovello was fiddling with the Kings Commission.

"Clovello!"

"Yes, Friar."

"Pay attention. Our task is a glorious one, full of..."

Thus we began. Clovello fetched the materials for writing and illustration.

"It is with great trepidation that I, Jean Louis D'Escalier, begin a Historie of the Glories and Heroic achievements of the French Dominion. I am no historian rather a humble friar, and mere Chronicler of events. I hail from the village of Cretienne, Toulouse..."