e recovered from a sharp attack, possibly the result
of his indulgence in the pleasures of the table during the prolonged
festivities at Paris, he did not regain his previous vigour. This was
the time, by the way, when opportunity was afforded his courtiers to
prove that devotion to their seigneur outweighed personal vanity. When
his head was shaved by order of the court physician, more than five
hundred nobles sacrificed their own locks so that their becoming curls
might not remind their chief of his own bald head. The sacrifice was
not always voluntary, adds an informant.[1] Philip forced compliance
with this new fashion upon all who seemed reluctant to be
unnecessarily shorn of what beauty was theirs by nature's gift. This
servility may have consoled Philip for the deprivation of his hair. In
his depressed condition any solace was acceptable.

It was just when the duke was in this enfeebled state that Louis,
through the mediation of the Croys, pushed forward his proposition to
redeem the towns and Philip agreed, possibly relying upon the chance
that it would be no easy matter for the French king to wring the
required sum from his impoverished land. Philip's assent was, however,
promptly clinched by a cash payment of half the amount[2]; the
remainder followed.

Amiens, Abbeville, and the other towns, valuable bulwarks for the
Netherland provinces, fine nurseries for the human material requisite
for Burgundian armies, rich tax payers as they were, all tumbled into
the outstretched hands of the duke's wily rival.

The transaction was hurried through and completed before a rumour of
its progress came to the ear of the interested heir. Charles was in
Holland sulking and indignant. He had expected good results from his
tender devotion during his father's acute illness, a devotion shared
by Isabella of Portugal who hastened to her husband's bedside from her
convent seclusion when Philip was in need of her ministrations. But,
in his convalescence, Philip renewed his friendship for the Croys
whom Charles continued to distrust with bitterness that varied in its
intensity, but which never vanished from his consciousness. The young
man felt misjudged, misused, and ever suspicious that personal danger
to himself lurked in the air of his father's court.

The various rumours of plots against his life may not all have been
baseless. At last, one of own cousins, the Count of Nevers, was
accused of having recourse to diabolic mean