PFC Chapter 19 Stalemate
Chapter 19 Stalemate
Chinon’s winter was particularly bleak; even as Christmas approached, the entire castle was left undecorated.
"Your Majesty, although the reason is still unknown, the British have not launched a general offensive even after Talbot was replaced as their commander. Count Dinois has informed Marshal Attil that morale in the city remains high."
Renault reported the situation at the front to Charlie, who was in the main seat, and then sat down. However, there were only a handful of participants in the royal meeting, far fewer than the usual dozens of people.
Charlie flipped through the booklet in his hand and asked curiously, "Attil, why haven't the British launched a general offensive yet? They've just been sitting on the city walls for two months without doing anything. They can't possibly be expecting Dinoire to surrender outright, can they?"
Atil shook his head and said, "I don't understand either. The British suffered no losses during the siege of Orléans, and Count Dinois explicitly refused several attempts to persuade us to surrender. Your Majesty, the problem now is that we are unable to lift the siege and need more reinforcements."
Charlie closed the booklet, frowned, rubbed his eyes, and replied, "How many people do we need to get this out of this?"
Atil whispered, "The troops conscripted from all over the country were hoping to fight one battle and then go home to harvest the autumn crops, but now they're sitting idly outside the city, and the harvest is ruined. If the royal cavalry is like this, the garrison is in even worse shape; they haven't even received their pay for this month. The British have stationed nearly 10,000 men near Orléans, and without a few thousand reinforcements and their pay, I dare not attempt to lift the siege."
"Reinforcements? Latre has already led men south to gather them, they should arrive next month." Charlie turned to Renault and asked, "What about those merchants who used to lend us money? Let's ask them to lend us some more."
Renault shook his head: "I've asked. They all say they're short on cash and can't come up with any. Madame Yolande also needs to maintain Anjou's safety, and her merchants have all said they can't provide any more cash this year."
Charlie suddenly turned to Juvenal, who had remained silent until now: "Lord Keeper of the Seals, do you have any objections? Can we raise the tax again?"
Juvenal stood up and bowed slightly.
"Your Majesty, please do not consider raising taxes." He answered decisively, "This year's autumn tax is already in arrears due to the large number of young men conscripted. If we raise taxes again like last year, not only will it not be able to solve the immediate problem, but the church and nobles probably will not agree. I have also asked the merchants in Bourges, and they will not be able to raise 10,000 or 20,000 until spring."
Charlie paused for a moment, then continued tapping.
"What should we do then?" he asked, as if addressing everyone else, but also as if asking himself.
Renault was silent for a moment, then spoke: "Your Majesty, I have a suggestion, though it may be premature."
"Please feel free to speak."
"We can borrow from some reliable businessmen, such as Jacques Cole."
Juvenal's brows furrowed immediately: "The one who counterfeited the money?"
"Lord of the Seals, he did not counterfeit coins; the Estates-General meeting before the new year already reached a conclusion," Renault corrected. "He melted down old coins to mint new ones, which is a crime but not treason. In fact, he is still the largest moneylender in Bourges, but previously his business was mostly in Italy, and he had little involvement with the court."
"How much money could he borrow by himself? I remember he pulled out ten thousand liveries right away." Charlie repeated the number softly.
“Yes, that’s not even a large sum for him,” Renault replied. “As far as I know, he has many partners in Italy, and in this situation, perhaps only he can come up with a solution. Please forgive me, Your Majesty, but I have already invited him here; he’s waiting outside.”
Charlie glanced at Juvenal. Juvenal pursed his lips, but his expression clearly said, "I don't approve."
"What's wrong with caring about national affairs? Let him in," Charlie said.
When Jacques Cole walked in with his head down, he was led to the edge of the council table by the guards. He knelt on one knee, but was stopped by Charles raising his hand.
"Speak while standing."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Before Charlie could speak, Giovanni demanded of Jacques, "Jacques Cole, do you know your crime?"
Jacques bowed slightly: "Your Excellency the Seal Keeper, I do not know what crime I have committed."
"You were imprisoned for counterfeiting, and as a criminal, you participated in the Imperial Council. Shouldn't you remember His Majesty's grace? Shouldn't you repent for your greed?"
Jacques raised his head: "My lord, when I melted down old coins to make new ones, I used a mold that wasn't made of francs or écuies, but rather Italian florins. The coins I melted down were all miscellaneous coins I had acquired through my own transactions; they didn't violate any laws. How can this be considered counterfeiting?"
Before Juvenal could say anything more, Charlie raised his hand to stop him.
"Jacques, tell me," Charlie's tone was less like interrogation and more like a request for advice, "you melt down the old coins to make new ones, which involves considerable losses. What profit do you make?"
Jacques turned to face Charles, his tone brimming with confidence: "Your Majesty is wise. The currencies of today—francs, écuies, florins, ducats, and the small coins privately minted by local lords—are of varying purity, making it difficult to distinguish genuine from counterfeit. Merchants spend more time examining the coins than negotiating the price. The florins I mint are of high purity and accurate weight, even better than those circulating in the market. Merchants are willing to pay a premium for them, using them for large transactions. My trading firm operates between Italy and France, and gold coins are the hard currency of cross-border trade. Using them for settlement saves merchants trouble, and I also profit."
Charles listened, then remained silent for a moment. "Jacques," he said, "I'll be frank with you. My court is currently short a large sum of money, probably tens of thousands of livres. Can you provide it?"
Jacques answered without hesitation: "Yes."
Giovanni turned his head sharply and stared at Jacques.
"Before winter," Jacques said, "I can be halfway there first."
"Half?" Giuvenal finally couldn't hold back any longer. "Jacques Cole, your trading company only has a few hundred employees. Where did you get such a large sum of money? I asked the entire Bourges Chamber of Commerce the other day, and they all said that raising this amount would be a huge struggle. You can come up with it all by yourself? What is this if not fraud?"
Jacques remained calm and composed, turning to Juvenal and bowing slightly: "The Lord Keeper of the Seals is right. I alone truly cannot produce it."
He then turned to Charles: "But Your Majesty, my loans are not provided by myself. Italian merchants are very willing to serve Your Majesty: Venice, Milan, Florence—they specialize in war loans. Nobles all over Europe borrow from them, even the English have borrowed from them. To those people, Your Majesty is an excellent client. You possess the taxes of all France, a fixed income, and as long as you repay on time, they will grant your every request."
He paused, then continued, "Of course, even ordinary merchants would be powerless to raise such a huge sum of money in just one month, but there are still behemoths like the Hanseatic League, it's just—"
"Just what?" Charlie asked.
"They might require some guarantees. For example, tax exemption on trade in Bourges or other regions next spring. Or, some revenue from the saltworks controlled by His Majesty as collateral."
Before Juvenal could say anything more, Charlie had already nodded.
"I understand." Charlie looked at Jacques, his tone unusually decisive. "Go and make the contact now. Stay in Chinon for now, and ask Renault for anything you need. Also—" He paused, "I need someone who understands money. Would you be willing to sit in on the Imperial Council?"
Jacques bowed deeply: "I am deeply honored."
"That's settled then." Charlie waved his hand. "You may all leave."
As he walked out the door, Juvenal muttered a curse under his breath.
Time flew by, and although the battle remained deadlocked with little change, Atil shuttled between the front lines and the court. The entire court was preparing for a new relief army, and no one cared that another Christmas had passed.
With the arrival of the first gold coins from Florence in Bourges, Jacques successfully secured a seat at the Imperial Council.
A royal council was convened over the money and the accompanying caravan. Charlie sat in the main seat, holding the manifest in his hand, his brow slightly furrowed.
"Jacques, why do these merchants only accept salt tax as collateral?"
Jacques Cole sat awkwardly in a narrow chair at the back, but he was clearly excited.
"That's normal, Your Majesty." Jacques adjusted his posture, trying to face Charlie directly. "Salt tax is the most stable: First, everyone needs salt, so whether there's war or not, rich or poor, their income is stable all year round. Second, the salt fields belong to Your Majesty, so they only need Your Majesty's guarantee and don't need to deal with local merchants."
"But the Normandy saltworks are in British hands, and the income from the saltworks directly under the Crown is not even a fraction of what they owe," Charlie said.
Jacques nodded. "Your Majesty, merchants don't want to recoup their investment all at once; they want salt, or even franchises." He paused, glanced at Renault, and added, "Lord Renault knows more about this than I do."
Renault opened the booklet he carried with him: "They do want the franchise; several families are willing to exchange the interest of 60,000 livres for a year's franchise."
Charlie gave a soft "hmm," then asked, "Then why don't they ask for an exemption from commercial taxes?"
Jacques's lips twitched slightly, but he quickly regained his composure.
"Your Majesty, commercial taxes... are actually unavoidable."
"You mean they think I'll go back on my word?"
"Your Majesty, please don't think that way. Merchants don't want to pay taxes anyway," Jacques said. "Their first thought is to take detours. By avoiding main roads and towns, they might encounter bandits, but they'll avoid checkpoints."
Charlie looked at him: "You did that too?"
Jacques simply lowered his head slightly, his tone softening: "I used to... try to find ways to save the merchants money on customs clearance. But now that I am His Majesty's financial advisor, I naturally will not do such a thing again."
Charlie didn't press further, his gaze fixed on the invoice: "Then why are they ordering so few goods, and are they even reluctant to offer a batch of goods as payment upfront?"
“Your Majesty, most of our goods come from land rent. They are basically grain, cloth, wool, and fodder. These things are important for the war, but merchants actually prefer handicrafts,” Jacques said. “For such large caravans, and with such long distances, worthless goods are a loss, except for wool—” He paused, “Wool is a scarce commodity, but unless it is transported by sea, merchants prefer to transport finished cloth.”
Charlie nodded, then looked down at the invoice again.
"Then why do you need so much herring?"
Jacques leaned closer for a look: "Your Majesty, February is Lent, and Italians fast and eat fish. Herring keeps well and isn't expensive; it sells well every year at this time."
"But the entire Bourges Chamber of Commerce can't even produce herring," Charlie said. "The Italian caravans only need a few dozen barrels, but how come all the Bourges Chambers of Commerce have only managed to scrape together this little bit? Why has all the herring been being sold north, especially to Paris, for the past month?"
Jacques was also taken aback for a moment, and then looked at the order form again.
"Your Majesty means—"
"When did Parisians become so fond of herring?" Charlie looked up, his gaze shifting from the shipping manifest to Jacques. "I grew up in Paris. Parisians prefer cod and cheese. Herring tastes terrible; it's usually food for the poor or something to stockpile during wartime."
Jacques frowned slightly, thought for a moment, and said, "Perhaps it's because the British are now in charge of the city. The British love to eat herring."
Charlie didn't reply. He was silent for a moment, then turned to Reno.
"Renault, go and get the Bourges Chamber of Commerce's invoices from the past few years, and see if Paris's herring purchases are consistently this large every year."
Renault went as instructed and returned less than fifteen minutes later with a stack of parchment scrolls in his hands.
"Your Majesty, we've found it. The year before last, the year before that, and the two years before that, while the herring purchases were all substantial, they were mainly from the south, and the amount shipped to Paris was far less than this year. This year—" He flipped through the top roll, "the orders shipped to Paris this year are several times more than last year."
Charlie stood up, walked to the fireplace, turned his back to the two men, and stared at the fire.
"Jacques," he said without turning around, "when is the best time to set off to transport the herring?"
Jacques thought for a moment: "Herring is durable and can be pickled in large barrels for months without spoiling. But when you really want to eat it, you have to take it out of the barrel in advance and let it sit to remove some of the saltiness. If you want to sell or distribute it before the start of Lent in late February, it has to be shipped to Paris by at least the first half of February."
Jacques remained where he was, his gaze shifting from Charlie to the doorway and then back again.
Charlie didn't look at him. He picked up the bill of lading, looked at it again, then put it down and waved to Jacques.
"Let's adjourn the meeting here. Renault, leave the invoice; I'll take another look."
Everyone stood up, bowed, and left. Only Atil was stopped by Charlie as soon as he stood up, who gestured for him to sit down next to him.
Only the two of them remained in the room.
Charlie sat in the main seat, staring at the invoice for a long time. Atil didn't ask any questions, but waited patiently for him.
Then he stood up, grabbed Atil's hand, and said excitedly, "I know what the British want! Maybe this month we can drive them out of Orleans!"
Atil looked at Charlie with some confusion, but did not pull her hand away.
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I am indeed very dissatisfied with Jacques Cole, and I don't hide that.
In 1424, shortly after gaining His Majesty's trust and becoming his legal advisor, and presiding over the Bourges court, I witnessed firsthand the capabilities of this "Italian." In just three years, he evaded taxes, bribed guards and officials, sold contraband salt, and even counterfeited coins, yet each time he managed to find scapegoats to escape punishment. It wasn't until 1427, with the help of the Church, that I apprehended him directly at the counterfeit coin factory, finally bringing him to prison. I thought this was the end of my relationship with this cunning merchant. Unexpectedly, he regained his freedom through a large donation and even became my colleague the following year; this ill-fated relationship would continue to haunt me for decades to come.
Yes, Jacques is a typical businessman: profit-driven, prone to bluffing, and lawless. But working with him, I also discovered that his understanding of the flow of money and the various merchant guilds far surpasses mine. For the sake of Your Majesty's great cause, I ultimately suggested at a royal council that he be given a seat—that is, become a formal royal advisor. This was not because I understood him, but because his talents truly would be of great benefit to Your Majesty's cause.
This is also what I hope you will think about: in the face of a great cause, should we put aside our personal likes and dislikes?
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Meditations by Jean-Jacques de Uyssen