By Paul Carrier
When a new king assumes the throne upon a ruler’s death, his subjects proclaim: “The king is dead, long live the king.” This underscores the smooth transfer of power and the continued stability of the realm. But what if there is no successor, no new king to herald? What happens then? If ambitious and malevolent schemers are part of the mix, as they are in The Royal Succession, the results aren’t pretty.
The setting: France. The year: 1316. King Louis X is dead, poisoned by the Countess Mahout of Artois, an ambitious noblewoman who has “a truly criminal nature.” With no male heir, the kingdom is in turmoil.
The crown could go to Louis’ supposed daughter Jeanne, but the young girl’s paternity is in dispute, making her eligibility suspect. In any case, some of the powers that be insist France cannot be ruled by a woman. Perhaps Louis’ pregnant widow Clémence will give birth to a son. But what if the distraught queen has a miscarriage? Or the baby is stillborn? Or female?
Whichever child inherits the throne, someone will have to serve as regent until the new monarch is old enough to rule. Louis’ brother Philippe muscles his way into that role as he and his mother-in-law — the woman behind Louis’ murder — scheme to secure the crown. Talented but flawed, Philippe sees himself for what he is: a bad man with the makings of “a very great king.”
Before all is said and done, two infants will be switched only days after their birth. One of them will be murdered. And France will have a new king.
As the title of The Royal Succession suggests, filling the throne left vacant by Louis X is the main storyline in this, the fourth entry in Maurice Druon’s series of seven medieval novels known collectively as The Accursed Kings. The novels chronicle the gradual decline of the long-ruling and all-too-real Capetian dynasty, whose fall in the 14th century helped pave the way for the Hundred Years War between England, France, and their respective allies.
There are intriguing subplots here as well, including the ongoing saga of a star-crossed romance between an Italian banker and a French noblewoman, as well as the drawn-out election in 1316 of a French cardinal, Jacques Duèze, as Pope John XXII.
Noting that The Accursed Kings have sometimes been described as the French I Claudius, no less an expert on Machiavellian shenanigans than George R. R. Martin has dubbed Druon France’s best historical novelist since Alexandre Dumas, père.
In fact, Druon’s novels have been likened to the works of Dumas, at least in tone. The first three entries feature the curse of the Templars; assorted politically motivated killings by burning, hanging and other means; a high-stakes game of adultery in which the wives of two princes cheat on their husbands, with tragic consequences; a regional revolt; an aborted war; the weakening of royal authority; the murder of a queen; and the poisoning of a king.
Druon has won praise for the depth of his research (there are 17 pages of notes affixed to The Royal Succession alone); his general adherence to the historical record; and the compelling way in which he breathes robust life into what is, at least for Americans, an obscure period in French history. Like its predecessors, The Royal Succession overflows with unlikable but fascinating scoundrels who will stop at nothing to feed their ambition.
The large cast, with its plethora of archaic titles, can become a bit dizzying at times, but Druon helps the reader sort out all of those kings and queens and cousins and dukes and countesses and dauphins by including a who's who, as well as a genealogical chart.
“Whether you're a history buff or a fantasy fan, Druon's epic will keep you turning pages" because this is the original Game of Thrones, Martin wrote a few years back in the British newspaper The Guardian.
Sure enough, there’s skulduggery and chicanery aplenty here. But this is fictionalized history, not a fanciful world created from whole cloth. Lest you be disappointed, let me make one thing clear: there are no dragons.
