Sometimes, however, when the wretched prisoner was an aristocrat and a
wealthy man, and he near death, and one was tired of him, and his tears
had acted upon the hatred of his master like refreshing bleedings, there
was talk of releasing him. The captive promised everything; he would
return the fortified towns, hand over the keys to his best cities, give
his daughter in marriage, endow churches and journey on foot to the Holy
Sepulchre. And money! Money! Why, he would have more of it coined by the
Jews! Then the treaty would be signed and dated and counter-signed; the
relics would be brought forth to be sworn on, and the prisoner would be
a free man once more. He would jump on his horse, gallop away, and when
he reached home he would order the drawbridge hoisted, call his vassals
together, and take down his sword from the wall. His hatred would find
an outlet in terrific explosions of wrath. It was the time of frightful
passions and victorious rages. The oath? The Pope would free him from
it, and the ransom he simply ignored.
When Clisson was imprisoned in the Chateau de l'Hermine, he promised for
his freedom a hundred thousand francs' worth of gold, the restitution of
the towns belonging to the duke of Penthievre, and the cancelling of his
daughter Marguerite's betrothal to the Duke of Penthievre.
Pages:
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31