An Audiobook Blog Tour and Excerpt for the Henry VI Series by Mercedes Rochelle

BOOK EXCERPT

EXCERPT FROM THE ACCURSED KING:

MURDER OF THE DUKE OF ORLÉANS

It was St. Clement’s day, 23 November. Isabeau of Bavaria, the Queen of France was ill and in mourning for her twelfth child, who died at birth ten days before. Louis hoped to cheer her up by arranging a supper at her Hôtel Barbette in the Rue du Temple. A merry party gathered, with all the most fashionable cavaliers and dames, who diverted the queen with pleasantries and songs of love. Despite herself, Isabeau smiled and engaged in a little wordplay, trying to forget her unhappiness for a few hours.

Around nine o’clock, a messenger was admitted. Louis recognized him; his name was Courteheuse, one of the king’s valets. He bowed to the queen and then turned to the duke who was sitting beside her.

“Monsieur le Duc d’Orléans, I come from his Majesty. He requests your presence at once at St. Pol to discuss most urgent business.”

“Ah, Madame la Reine, I must go.” Kissing the queen’s hand, Louis rose immediately.

Outside the room, two of his squires waited for him. “The king commands,” the duke said, reaching for his black furred cloak. “We must go quickly.” Not pausing for an answer, Louis made his way outside and waited while his squires brought up one horse for the both of them and his own palfrey. He looked up, noticing the sky was overcast. It was very dark and the streets were already deserted.

“There you are. Good. Let us go.” He mounted and started off at a fast walk, his squires behind him. Three valets carrying torches followed, but they were on foot and had trouble keeping up. The buildings were shuttered for the night and only an occasional sliver of light from barred windows lit the street. Louis didn’t mind. As they rode down the Rue Vielle du Temple, he was fiddling with his gloves and humming to himself.

They came to a place where the road widened around a well in the centre. Without warning eight muffled men sprung out from the shadows and ran at him. Thinking they were thieves, Louis shouted, “I am the Duke of Orléans!”

“That’s who we are looking for,” yelled one of them, and struck with an axe, severing Louis’s bridle hand. The duke shrieked, and another man slammed an axe into the back of his head. They pulled Louis from his horse and a third axe cleft his skull to the teeth, spilling his brains over the frozen paving stones.

The squires’ horse sidestepped, shied and bolted. The valets carrying the torches stopped when they reached the opening and two of them turned away and ran. The third dashed forward, pushing aside one of the attackers and threw himself onto the duke, not realizing he was too late. He vainly tried to protect his master but found himself in dire trouble, for by now the murderers were stabbing again and again with their daggers.

“Murder! Murder!” shrieked a witness from a window overhead.

“Shut up, you damned woman!” yelled one of the murderers. “Shut up!”

Frightened for a moment, the woman withdrew. The attackers heaved the valet aside and dragged the mangled duke over to the well, propping him up against the stones. His head lolled to one side. They picked up the still-burning torch and brought it closer to make sure he was truly dead.

At that moment, a burly man in a red hood came out of the house across the street, known as the Hôtel de l’Image de Notre Dame. He raised an axe one more time and brought it down on the duke’s head. “Give me that torch,” he growled. “Let’s go! He’s dead.”

The murderers were interrupted by a clatter at the end of the street; the squires, having gained control of their horse returned with the duke's palfrey. They assumed he had fallen off.

The man in the red hood stepped forward. "Be gone! Or you shall share his fate." He pointed to the dead man.

Terrified, they turned and fled, crying out, "Murder! Murder!"

Their task finished, the red-hooded man threw his torch into the Hôtel, setting it on fire. They all fled down the Rue des Blancs Manteaux, scattering caltrops on the ground to deter anyone from giving chase. At the same time, the woman started screaming “Murder” again, and the poor valet lay on the ground, crying, “My master! My Lord!” Soon his voice failed and he, too, was gone.

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