Chapter 11: Baron Kleib
Inside the provisional palace in Calais, Jean Cléeb strode briskly through the grand halls. His figure flickered between light and shadow as he moved. He had just been made a baron by King Edward III.
Clad in sumptuous noble attire, the exquisite silk fabric shimmered under the sunlight, the golden threads embroidered with intricate patterns marking his new status. His steps were light and confident, his heart brimming with joy. He believed it was his own wise counsel that had earned Edward’s favor, leading to his elevation as baron and the entrustment of such a critical diplomatic mission.
He allowed himself to dream further—perhaps, with more achievements, he might rise to viscount, no, even earl! Recalling his clever proposal, a faint smile tugged at his lips, and inwardly he marveled at his own genius.
Before Edward laid siege to Tournai, at the meeting in Ghent he had presided over, the scene still played vividly in Jean’s mind. It had been a solemn and grand occasion, countless eyes fixed upon Edward. The king wore a surcoat emblazoned with the French royal arms—a quartered shield gleaming in the sun. The azure fields adorned with golden fleur-de-lis in the upper left and lower right contrasted with the red fields bearing golden lions in the upper right and lower left, as if heralding a new era.
Edward had styled himself as King of France. In that moment, his majesty and dominance stunned all present. And all of this stemmed from Jean Cléeb’s brilliant idea: Edward would no longer be merely an ally of the Flemish infantry but would transform into their French king.
English documents boldly proclaimed Edward’s title as “Edward, by Divine Providence King of England and France.” Furthermore, Edward issued a carefully worded declaration, addressed not only to French nobility but also to the common people. He pledged to “restore the laws and customs of our ancestor Saint Louis’ time,” to reduce taxes, halt debasement of currency, and govern the realm “with the counsel of nobles, high clergy, great merchants, and loyal vassals.”
What did this mean? Edward was positioning himself as the representative of the Angevin dynasty against the centralizing Valois monarchy, offering France a second choice beyond Valois rule. Yet news of Edward’s self-proclamation as King of France sent shockwaves throughout Europe.
Even Pope Benedict XII declared the announcement so astonishing that it left him stunned and speechless.
Snapping back to the present, Jean Cléeb addressed Philip VI: “Radiant as the sun, King Philip, I am Jean Cléeb, bearing greetings and a letter from my liege, King Edward.”
The king on the throne regarded him with regal pride, lifting his chin slightly and letting out a cold snort: “Enough, Jean Cléeb. Save the pleasantries. My armies are soon to encircle you. Speak plainly—what terms of surrender does my poor nephew Edward propose?”
Jean unfolded the letter with trembling hands. Reading its contents, his throat constricted, his face pale with terror as his voice quavered: “Merciful King of France, I dare not read it aloud!”
Philip waved him off impatiently, erupting into a boisterous laugh: “Ha! What terms of truce could frighten you so? Read it boldly, show some noble spirit! Fear not!”
Beads of sweat formed on Jean’s brow as he cursed his fate silently. He had no idea what he had done to offend Edward to be tasked with delivering this cursed message. Nor did he know that Edward’s leg wound remained unhealed. Edward was vengeful; though he could not catch the “Segovia” that had wounded him, he could vent his wrath by sending Jean to deliver this perilous letter.
Gritting his teeth, Jean steeled himself, dropping heavily to one knee, urgency in his tone: “Merciful King of France, it is you who commanded me to read this letter. I myself was unaware of its contents beforehand. Please, hold me blameless!”
Those nearby exchanged puzzled glances, whispering among themselves. Jean drew a deep breath, then read aloud the provocatively worded challenge in one breath:
“Philip of Valois, vile and shameless, have you no courage for battle? Do you lack the nerve to challenge me, the true King of France? You, who call yourself king, but hide cowardly within your dull palace, spouting empty boasts—what real deeds have you dared? You rely only on your pitiful armies, soon to march to their doom, to pretend you bear any true majesty. But in truth, what boldness or accomplishment do you possess?”
“Hmph, do not waste the lives of your innocent soldiers needlessly. If you truly consider yourself a knightly king, then face me bravely in single combat at Tournai! This battle shall be a sacred duel befitting the chivalric spirit. Or, we may each select one hundred of our finest knights to fight. Do you dare?”
“Cousin of France, do you really presume to command my loyalty? Such folly! Know this: the crown you usurp rightfully belongs to me. What I covet and seek is not some petty duchy, but all of my vast, boundless French kingdom—every honor and power that should be mine!”
“Listen well, Philip of Valois! You should kneel upon the soil you stand on, swear fealty to me, and I might consider leaving you a few fiefs. But if you dare refuse to yield, I will pluck the borrowed feathers from your cap and cast you naked into the wilderness!”
Philip VI’s fury flared instantly. He sprang to his feet, flinging out his hand with force, bellowing: “Seize that Flemish servant of Edward! Arrest him! Did you think I did not know this self-kingdom scheme was your idea?”
“You treacherous villain! A Flemishman conspiring with our enemies against your own lord!”
“Do you think donning fine clothes makes you a noble? How dare you spout such insolence here!”
“Drag him away and teach him the duties owed to a subject!”
Two guards rushed forward, pinning Jean Cléeb to the ground. Terror-stricken, he pleaded: “Merciful King of France, I am but an envoy. Spare me, I beg you, spare me!”