Prevented by the guard from quitting the palace, and nothing doubting that his arrest would speedily follow, Bourbon was slowly pacing the corridor, considering what course he should pursue, when an usher approached him, and, bowing reverently, informed him that the queen desired to speak with him.
The Constable willingly obeyed the summons, and was conducted to a magnificent hall, where he found the queen.
Her majesty was seated in a fauteuil, and beside her was an ancient dame of very striking appearance. Several court demoiselles and pages were in attendance, but they were stationed at the farther end of the hall.
The amiable qualities of Queen Claude were written in legible characters in her countenance. She was still young, and her features, though not beautiful, were pleasing. Her person was slightly deformed. It is quite clear she must have suffered deeply in secret, but profound as they were, her sorrows were breathed only to the ear of her confessor, or to Heaven. Her manner was singularly gentle, almost humble, and she rarely, if ever, manifested resentment against those who most deeply injured her. So saintly, indeed, was her conduct, that when she was released from her troubles, an event which occurred within a year from the date of our history, miracles were supposed to have been wrought upon her tomb. Claude, we need scarcely add, was the eldest daughter of Louis XII. and Anne of Brittany. Married to François, then Duke de Valois, when she was barely fifteen, she brought him as a dowry Brittany, and the title to the duchy of Milan. On the present occasion she was attired in cloth of gold tissue, raised with pearls of damask silver, and was coiffed in a diamond-shaped head-dress, ornamented with jewels.
The ancient dame whom we have mentioned as seated near her was Anne of France, Duchess de Bourbon-Beaujeu, eldest daughter of Louis XI. A woman of masculine character and understanding, the Dame de Beaujeu, as she was called, possessed many of her sagacious father's qualities, great shrewdness and tenacity of purpose. She had governed the kingdom with firmness and ability during the youth of her brother, Charles VIII., and long maintained her sway, but her credit declined under. Louis XII., and when François I. mounted the throne the power she had once possessed fell entirely into the hands of the Duchess d'Angoulême.
At no time had Anne de France been handsome, and perhaps her features were more agreeable in old age than in youth. Her countenance was hard, strongly marked, and entirely devoid of feminine expression. Always meagre of person, she became thinner and more rigid as she advanced in life. Her manner was cold and severe, but her deportment did not lack dignity.
At the time when we discover her, the Dame de Beaujeu seemed utterly prostrated by illness. Her features were wasted and haggard, and all her movements evinced extreme debility. She was attired in black velvet, richly trimmed with sable. Around her throat she wore a gorget, and her venerable locks were partially concealed by a black velvet hood. She had been brought in a litter to the palace, and had to be carried up to the salle de Saint Louis. Her physician, Mathieu Bernard, accompanied her, and was now standing at a little distance, describing her precarious condition to Cornelius Agrippa.
“Is it possible her grace can have journeyed hither from Paris, doctor?” inquired Agrippa.
“She heard that the Constable de Bourbon had been summoned to Fontainebleau by the king, and insisted upon coming hither,” replied Mathieu Bernard. “All my efforts to dissuade her grace were vain.”
“She will scarce get back again,” replied Agrippa.
Making a profound obeisance to Claude, Bourbon knelt reverentially to his mother-in-law, and kissed her withered hand. The old duchess immediately raised him, and embraced him tenderly.
“Your looks bespeak trouble, my son,” she said, regarding him anxiously. “Tell me what has happened?”
Bourbon relieved his bursting heart by a full description of his interview with the Duchess d'Angoulême, and the quarrel that had ensued between him and the king. Both Claude and the old duchess listened to his narration with profound interest. At its close, the queen said:
“I sympathise with you deeply, prince, but do not let the injuries you have received make you swerve from your loyalty to the king.”
“Justice must and shall be done you, Charles,” cried the Dame de Beaujeu. “I will go to the Duchess d'Angoulême at once. Your arm, Charles—give me your arm.”
“You are not equal to the effort, madame,” said the Constable.
“If it costs me my life, I will see her,” cried the resolute old duchess. And she took a few steps, but her strength then utterly failed her, and she would have fallen but for the Constable's support.
Her physician and Cornelius Agrippa, who had been anxiously watching her, flew to her assistance.
“Oh! that; I had but one hour left of my former strength! I should die content,” she groaned.
“Drink of this, madame,” said Cornelius Agrippa, offering her a phial. “It is a sovereign elixir, and will restore you.”
But she had not strength to take the phial, and was evidently sinking.
Bourbon, however, placed the elixir to her lips, and made her swallow a few drops. The effect was instantaneous and almost magical. New strength seemed imparted to her limbs, the hue of health returned to her cadaverous cheeks, and she was able to stand without support.
“You have given me new life,” she said to Agrippa.
“Waste not a moment of it, madame,” he replied. “It may not be of long duration.”
Just then, the great folding-doors at the end of the hall were thrown open, and the king, accompanied by the Duchess d'Angoulême and Bonnivet, entered the salon. Behind them came a crowd of courtiers, amongst whom were Montmorency, Saint-Vallier, and René de Bretagne.
“I have my wish. She is here!” cried the old duchess.
On the entrance of the king, Claude advanced to meet him, and the Dame de Beaujeu followed closely behind her, marching with the firmness and majesty of former years. As he beheld her move along in this way, Mathieu Bernard observed to Agrippa:
“You have performed a miracle.”
“I have but restored the vital energies for a moment,” replied the other. “It is the last flash of the expiring taper.”
The royal party met in the centre of the salon. Bourbon had followed his mother-in-law, and Saint-Vallier and René came over and stationed themselves beside him.
“I am sorry to learn, sire,” said Claude, “that our cousin, the Constable de Bourbon, has incurred your displeasure. Let me intercede for him with your majesty.”
“It is true that the Duke dc Bourbon has deeply offended me,” said the king. “But it is not too late for his restoration to favour.”
“You hear that, prince,” said Claude to the Constable. “All may yet be well.”
“Sire,” interposed the Dame de Beaujeu, “I ask for justice to my son-in-law, the Duke de Bourbon. Has he not served you faithfully? Has he not brought you men and treasure? Has he not bled for you in the field? And how has he been rewarded? By slights, by the withdrawal of his pensions, by the spoliation of his property, by disgrace, by dishonour. Sire, wrongs like these are enough to make a traitor of the noblest and most loyal heart in France.”
“No wrong, madame, has been done to the Constable de Bourbon,” rejoined the king. “But, if I am not misinformed, he has already played the traitor.”
Bourbon looked sternly at the king, but took no other notice of the insinuation.
“Believe it not, sire,” said the Dame de Beaujeu. “Whoso has told you that has spoken falsely,” she added, glancing at the Duchess d'Angoulême. “Charles de Bourbon is no traitor. But goad him not to desperation by wrongs greater than any man can tamely endure.”
“Peace, madame. You trouble the king,” said the Duchess d'Angoulême.
“What!” exclaimed the Dame de Beaujeu, regarding her with unutterable scorn. “Is Anne of France, daughter of Louis XI., the wisest and the greatest monarch that ever sat on the throne, to hold her peace at the bidding of Louise de Savoie? But I willnotbe silent. I will tell the king, your son, that he has done a flagrant act of injustice in aiding you to avenge yourself upon the Duke de Bourbon. All shall know the cause of your animosity.”
“I will hear no more,” cried François, impatiently.
“Listen to me, sire, I beseech you,” said Queen Claude. “You have done Bourbon grievous wrong. Make him some amends. You know I rarely interfere with your proceedings, but in this case I cannot refrain. I would not have you commit injustice.”
“Do you also tax me with injustice?” said the king, frowning.
“I have said it, sire,” she replied.
“I should be wanting in duty to your majesty if I remained silent,” said Montmorency. “In my opinion, Bourbon has been unjustly treated.”
“You, too, against me, marshal?” cried the king.
“I will answer for Bourbon's loyalty with my head, sire,” said Saint-Vallier.
“And so will I,” added René de Bretagne.
“I take you at your word, messieurs,” replied François. “Charles de Bourbon, you are free to depart.”
“Sire, you do wrong in granting this permission,” sad the Duchess d'Angoulême.
“Beware, madame,” said the Dame de Beaujeu, stepping towards her. And clutching her hand, she whispered, “Interfere, and I will proclaim your infamy to all around.”
Bourbon tarried not a moment. With a haughty obeisance, and with a look of ill-disguised menace at the king, he quitted the salon, followed by Saint-Vallier and René.
This time he experienced no hindrance from the guard, but passing through the vestibule, and descending the great horse-shoe staircase, he mounted his steed, and rode off with his escort.
As Cornelius Agrippa had predicted, the Dame do Beaujeu expired on her litter on the way back to Paris.
At the ancient Château of Moulins, the abode of his illustrious ancestors, the Constable de Bourbon dwelt in princely state, maintaining a vast number of retainers, holding a court little inferior in splendour to that of the king, and exercising all the privileges of a powerful feudal suzerain. A grand and picturesque-looking structure was the château, and from its proud position dominated the town, and the rich vine-covered district around it. Not two leagues from Moulins was the abbey of Souvigny, a venerable Gothic pile, which was to the Dukes of Bourbon what Saint Denis was to the Kings of France—a mausoleum.
On his return from Fontainebleau to Moulins, Bourbon allowed no indication to appear from his manner that he was disturbed by the quarrel that had taken place between him and the king, though those in his confidence knew that he meditated revenge, and was making preparations for revolt.
Ere a week had elapsed, he received information through a trusty messenger that the Comte de Beaurain, the ambassador of the Emperor, and Sir John Russell, the envoy of Henry VIII., had arrived at Bourg, in Bresse, where they proposed to await a communication from the Constable. The moment had now arrived when it became necessary for Bourbon to decide whether he would remain faithful to his sovereign, and bear tamely all the injuries he had received, or cast off his allegiance to François, and enter into a league with that monarch's enemies. The Constable was not long in arriving at a determination to adopt the latter course.
As it might excite the king's suspicions if he went to Bourg, and as it would be equally dangerous if the ambassadors attempted to come to Moulins, Bourbon appointed a meeting with them at Montbrison, the capital of the Haut-Forez, the most mountainous and inaccessible portion of his domains.
Under the pretext of a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame du Buy, he forthwith set out for the Chateau de Montbrison, accompanied by a great number of adherents on whose zeal and attachment he could rely, and who were prepared to second his projects, and take up arms in his cause. Chief among these were Saint-Vallier and René de Bretagne. Bourbon was also attended by his confidant, Philibert de Saint-Romain, Seigneur de Lurcy, the Seigneur de Pomperant, his two chamberlains, his two maîtres d'hôtel, Antoine d'Espinat, lieutenant of his company of men-at-arms, the Bishops of Puy and Autun, both of whom had warmly embraced his cause, and a crowd of young seigneurs from the Bourbonnais, Auvergne, Forez, and Beaujolais.
On the third night after his arrival at Montbrison, while he was seated at supper with his retainers in the great banqueting-hall of the château, two strangers, who described themselves as merchants of Lyons, who were travelling to Clermont, claimed his hospitality.
The Constable at once gave them welcome, and assigned them seats at the lower table. Their attire accorded with the account they gave of themselves, but their bearing proclaimed them persons of rank, and Bourbon easily detected in one of them, a handsome, dark-complexioned man, with fine eyes and a very intelligent countenance, the Seigneur de Beaurain; while, though he was wholly unacquainted with the other—a well-made, but somewhat robust personage, with a bright fresh colour and light-brown locks—he judged him to be Sir John Russell, and he was right in the conjecture.
At the close of the meal, the Constable expressed a desire to converse with his new guests, and requested them to follow him to his private cabinet.
As soon as the door was closed, all disguise was thrown aside, and Bourbon cordially welcomed Beaurain, and expressed the highest satisfaction at beholding the English envoy.
“I regret that I could not receive you in a manner befitting your rank, messeigneurs,” he said. “I do not think I have any spies amid my household, but it is necessary to be cautious. And now be seated, I pray you, and let us address ourselves to the matter in hand.”
“First, let me express the indignation which my royal master the Emperor feels at the infamous treatment experienced by your highness from the King of France,” said Beaurain—“treatment as injudicious as unworthy, and which fully justifies any reprisals you may make.”
“I have also to convey to your highness the expression of similar sentiments from my sovereign, King Henry VIII.,” added Sir John Russell. “His majesty is highly indignant.”
“I have not merely my own private wrongs to redress, messeigneurs,” replied Bourbon, “but those of my country, which is suffering from bad government and oppression, and half ruined by a luxurious monarch, who ravages the people to enrich his mistresses and favourites. François de Valois is unworthy to occupy the throne of France.”
“He shall not occupy it long,” replied Beaurain, with a significant smile. “But before proceeding further, let me offer my credentials to your highness. Here is a letter from the Emperor,” he added, delivering a despatch to the Constable.
Bourbon took it, broke the seal, and read as follows:
“Cousin,—I send you the Sieur de Beaurain, my second chamberlain. Believe him as you would believe me, and doing so you will find me always your good cousin and friend,
“Charles.”
“I am furnished by my august sovereign, King Henry VIII., with full powers to treat with your highness, as this letter will prove,” said Sir John Russell, likewise delivering a despatch to the Constable.
“Enough, messires,” observed Bourbon, after he had perused the second despatch, which was couched in nearly similar terms to the first. “These letters, though brief, are all I could desire.”
“It is scarcely necessary for me to observe to your highness,” said Beaurain, “that the Emperor my master, and his Majesty the King of England, are acting conjointly in this matter. As you are aware, they have entered into a league offensive and defensive against France, and in this league they propose to include your highness.”
“I am ready to engage in war against François I.,” remarked Bourbon; “but, whatever may be the issue of the contest, I cannot consent to recognise Henry VIII. as King of France.”
“Such recognition will not be required of your highness,” observed Sir John Russell. “France will exist no longer. The realm will be divided between the three allies. The north will fall to the share of my royal master. The centre of the kingdom will be yours. The south will appertain to the Emperor.”
“The partition can be discussed hereafter,” rejoined Beaurain. “The kingdom must be conquered ere it can be divided. It is proposed that the invasion shall take place in this manner. The Emperor will penetrate France from Narbonne with eighteen thousand Spaniards, ten thousand German lanz-knechts, two thousand men of arms, and four thousand lances. Simultaneously with this attack, Henry VIII. will place fifteen thousand archers and five hundred horsemen in Picardy, and this force will be further augmented by six thousand men from the Low Countries. The invasion will take place when François is occupied with the expedition to Italy. Not till ten days after the kingdom has been attacked at either extremity by Spain and England shall your highness raise the standard of rebellion, for fear of misadventure. At the expiration of that time you shall declare yourself. You will be aided by ten thousand lanz-knechts, enrolled for you in Germany, who will enter France through Bresse.”
“I approve the plan,” said Bourbon. “But by whom are the lanz-knechts to be paid?”
“The Emperor and his Majesty King Henry VIII. engage to furnish your highness with two hundred thousand crowns for their payment,” returned Beaurain. “And the two monarchs further engage to sustain your highness against all your enemies, and to conclude no truce or treaty in which you are not comprehended.”
“I am content,” observed Bourbon.
“I trust your highness will be well satisfied with what I have further to propose,” pursued Beaurain. “In order to prove the high esteem in which he holds you, the Emperor has commissioned me to offer you in marriage his sister, the widowed Queen of Portugal, with a dower of two hundred thousand crowns, without counting her own rental of twenty thousand crowns, besides jewels for five or six hundred thousand more. Or, if your highness prefer the Emperor's younger sister, the Infanta Catalina, you may have her, with a like dower. All his Imperial Majesty requires in return is, that you shall unite yourself with him against all other persons, without exception.”
“I choose the fair Queen of Portugal,” replied Bourbon; “and I will give her as a dowry the Beaujolais, which produces twenty thousand crowns of revenue. I take you both to witness,” he added, “that I now renounce my fealty to François I. I cast off my allegiance to that false and perfidious king, and transfer it to the Emperor Charles V.”
“We attest your highness's renunciation,” said both envoys, solemnly.
“And I accept your allegiance in the name of the Emperor,” added Beaurain, with a look of satisfaction.
“Nothing now remains but to prepare the treaty,” said Bourbon to the Imperial envoy.
Beaurain did not require a second order. Writing materials were on the table beside him, and he rapidly performed his task. The document having been approved by Bourbon and Sir John Russell, two copies were made of it, and when all had been duly signed, as well by the Constable as by the envoys, each retaining a copy, Beaurain observed, with a smile, “Your highness is now pledged to us.”
“I am bound to revolt and vengeance,” replied Bourbon, “and my kingly allies will aid me in my work. Hitherto, my device has been—Spes. Henceforth,” he added, unsheathing his sword, and kissing the blade, “it shall be—'Omnis spes in ferro est.'”
Perfectly satisfied, the envoys were about to withdraw, when Bourbon detained them.
“Stay a moment, messeigneurs,” he said. “I must send a messenger to the Emperor.”
With this he sat down and wrote a letter, and, having sealed it, he summoned the Sieur de Bruzon, a gentleman entirely in his confidence, and said to him:
“The Seigneur de Beaurain, whom I here present to you, comes as an ambassador from the Emperor, to offer me the Queen of Portugal in marriage. You will accompany him on his return, and will deliver this letter into the hands of his Imperial Majesty, saying that I recommend myself very humbly to his good grace, and thank him heartily for the signal honour he has shown me in offering me his sister. Add, that he will ever find me his good brother and friend. Say this to him.”
“I shall not fail,” replied Bruzon.
“Since our errand is completed, we will take leave of your highness,” said Beaurain. “We shall start two hours before daybreak, and make the best of our way back to Bourg. Immediately on my arrival there I will despatch a courier to the Arch-Duke Ferdinand, enjoining him, in the Emperor's name, to enrol the ten thousand lanz-knechts who are to be placed under your highness's command. This done, I shall set out for Genoa, and embark thence for Spain.”
“And I shall make my way as speedily as may be for England,” said Sir John Russell.
“Commend me heartily to your royal master,” said the Constable, “and remind him of what passed between us at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Farewell, messeigneurs! Heaven speed you on your journey! A guard shall attend you over the mountains of Forez. See that men are in readiness, Bruzon.”
“We thank your highness,” said Beaurain. “Heaven prosper the cause in which you have embarked!”
The two envoys then quitted the cabinet, attended by Bruzon.
“Can I hope that Heaven will prosper the cause of treason and rebellion?” exclaimed Bourbon, as soon as he was left alone. “But reflection comes too late. The step is taken. I must on.”
At this moment the door opened, and the Comte de Saint-Vallier entered the cabinet.
Do I disturb you?” said Saint-Vallier. “I would fain have a few words with you in reference to those two merchants from Lyons, who have been so long closeted with you. They are not what they pretend to be.”
“You are right, cousin,” replied the Constable. “I am glad you are come. I desire to unbosom myself to you of a secret that weighs upon my soul. You know that the affection I bear for you is as great as that which I formerly entertained for my brother, François de Bourbon, Duke de Châtelleraut, who fell by my side at Marignan. I can entirely confide in you. But the secret I am about to disclose is of vast importance, and concerns others besides myself. Swear, therefore, on this fragment of the true cross,” he added, holding towards him a reliquary whieh hung by a gold chain from his neek—“swear upon this, know that the affection I bear for you is as great as that which I formerly entertained for my brother, François de Bourbon, Duke de Châtelleraut, who fell by my side at Marignan. I can entirely confide in you. But the secret I am about to disclose is of vast importance, and concerns others besides myself. Swear, therefore, on this fragment of the true cross,” he added, holding towards him a reliquary whieh hung by a gold ehain from his neek—“swear upon this that you will never reveal what I am about to impart.”
Saint-Vallier having taken the oath, the Constable proceeded to disclose all that had taken place between him and the two envoys. Saint-Vallier listened in silence, but his countenance showed he was deeply distressed by the recital.
When Bourbon had ended, he said:
“Monseigneur, you have declared that you love me as the brother you bewail. As that brother would have spoken, had he been living, I will now speak to you. The Duke de Châtelleraut followed you in your glorious career, but he would not have followed you in the career in which you are about to embark. He would never have been a traitor and a rebel.”
“By Saint Paul! he would not have endured the wrongs I have endured, and which have made me what I am,” rejoined the Constable.
“I grant you have had great wrongs,” rejoined Saint-Vallier; “but this is not the way to avenge them. You are about to destroy yourself or your country. Weigh well what I say. If the plot is discovered, your doom is certain, and you will die with infamy. If the design succeeds, you will aid the enemies of your country, to whom your name has been hitherto redoubtable, and who seek you, not because they sympathise with your wrongs, but because they believe you can serve them. But pause, I implore you, before the fatal step be irrevocably taken. Pause before you declare yourself a rebel. The king may deprive you of your possessions, but he cannot deprive you of your renown, which ought to be dearer to you than wealth and power. No one can rob you of your glory but yourself. Would you incur the scorn and reproach of the haughty nobles who have made you their model? Would you desert that youthful chivalry who have striven to emulate your valour, and whom you have led on to conquest? Would you turn your arms against those soldiers of whom you have so long been the hero and the idol? Will not your breast be torn with anguish and remorse as you listen to the cries of desolated France, while she shrieks in your ears, 'Bourbon was the defender of his country, and has become its scourge'?”
Bourbon was much moved at this appeal, and Saint-Vallier believed he had made the desired impression upon him, as the Constable remained for some time absorbed in thought. But he was mistaken, for Bourbon suddenly exclaimed, “I cannot renounce my project. It is too late.”
“No, it is not too late,” rejoined Saint-Vallier. “The envoys have not departed. Send for them. Reclaim the treaty.”
At this moment Bruzon entered the cabinet.
“Highness, a messenger has just arrived from the king,” he said. “It is the Seigneur Perot de Warthy, and from what I gather he brings good tidings.”
“He can scarce bring good tidings from the king; but I will see him,” replied the Constable.
Following Bruzon to the door, Saint-Vallier said to him, in a low tone,
“Bid those two merchants from Lyons come hither. His highness desires further speech with them.”
A few moments afterwards, the Seigneur Perot de Warthy, a gallant-looking young cavalier, clad in a rich riding-dress, though somewhat travel-stained, was ushered into the cabinet by Bruzon. Close behind them followed the two envoys, whose reappearance excited Bourbon's surprise, though he made no remark.
“What is your errand, Seigneur de Warthy?” demanded the Constable of the messenger.
“I bring this despatch for your highness,” replied Warthy. “The king is about to set out on the expedition to Italy——”
“And he has summoned me to attend him—ha?” interrupted Bourbon.
“No, prince,” replied Warthy. “His majesty has been pleased to appoint you lieutenant-general of the kingdom, to regulate, in conjunction with the Duchess d'Angoulême, all affairs of state during his absence.”
“Lieutenant-general of the kingdom!” exclaimed Bourbon, astonished. “Has his majesty bestowed that appointment upon me? I expected a far different message.”
“It is as I have stated to your highness,” said Warthy. “There you will find the brevet.”
“The king relents towards you, cousin,” whispered Saint-Vallier. “He is about to restore you to favour. All that has been done has been merely to try you.”
“He has not abandoned the hope of reconciling me to the duchess,” rejoined Bourbon, in the same tone. “This is her handiwork. Seigneur Perot de Warthy,” he added, turning to him, “I must pray you accept this ring,” taking one from his finger and presenting it to him. “I will charge you with my thanks to the king to-morrow. Let all hospitality be shown him,” he added to Bruzon, who bowed and withdrew with the messenger.
“Now is the moment,” whispered Saint-Vallier. “The envoys are here. Reclaim the treaty.”
“Has your highness anything further to say to us?” demanded Beaurain, uneasily.
“No,” replied Bourbon, approaching him. “The king has tried to lure me back in vain. I adhere to my resolution. Good night, messeigneurs.”
The two envoys bowed and retired.
“He is lost!” exclaimed Saint-Vallier.
Long before daylight, the two envoys, accompanied by Bruzon and a guard, quitted the Château de Montbrison. On the same day, at a later hour, Perot de Warthy set out on his return to the Palais des Tournelles.
As soon as the king's messenger had departed, Bourbon held a private council in his cabinet, at which were present the Bishops of Puy and Autun, Aymard de Prie, Seigneur de Montpoupon, La Clayette, and Saint-Sa-phorin, two brave and experienced captains, who had served under him in the Milanese, and the Seigneur de Lurcy. Having bound them to secresy, he acquainted them with the treaty he had entered into with the Emperor and the King of England. None of his auditors attempted to dissuade him from the design, but, on the contrary, all approved of it, and agreed to lend their aid in its furtherance.
“It behoves your highness to exercise the utmost caution in making your preparations,” said Saint-Saphorin.
“Perot de Warthy, who has just left, has been asking many questions concerning your movements, and he appeared to have some suspicion of the real character of the two pretended Lyons merchants.”
“Be assured I will act with all due caution,” said the Constable. “I was on my guard with Warthy, as I believe him to be a spy. But it is absolutely necessary to ascertain how many partisans I can count upon, and how many men I can raise.”
“When so many have to be trusted, some rumours of the plot are sure to reach the ears of the king,” observed the Bishop de Puy, “I would advise your highness to wait till his majesty has set out for Italy. It will be time enough to levy your troops when he has crossed the Alps, and cannot return.”
“No, no; at all hazards I must prepare,” replied Bourbon, impatiently. “You, my lord bishop, have professed your readiness to serve me. I shall now put your zeal to the test, by charging you with a mission to my uncle, the Duke de Savoie, urging him to declare himself in my favour as soon as the rebellion shall occur, and to prepare for that event.”
“I will undertake the mission,” replied the bishop. “But it is not devoid of danger. If I am taken, my sacred character will not protect me from the king's vengeance.”
“You have nothing to fear,” said Bourbon. “No letters shall betray your purpose. Tell the Duke de Savoie that I can count upon two thousand gentlemen who have pledged themselves to stand by me in any event, and to bring retainers with them. Tell him also that I can make sure of four thousand fantassins in the Pays de Vaud and Faucigny. Am I not right, captain?” he added, turning to Saint-Saphorin.
“I will answer for the men,” replied the other.
“And I will undertake to raise as many more in the Beaujolais and the principality of Dombes,” said La “Clayette.
“I will undertake to hold Dijon,” said Aymard de Prie. “I am in command of the garrison, and will introduce a thousand men into the city.”
“Your highness will have men enough, I doubt not,” said the Bishop of Autun. “Half France will flock to your standard when it is once displayed. But do not neglect precautionary measures in the interim. If you should be betrayed, and fall into the king's hands, he will show you no mercy.”
“I am fully aware of the risk I run, my lord bishop,” replied Bourbon; “and, for fear of mishap, I will fortify my two strongholds of Chantelle and Carlat, and furnish them with men and provisions, so as to secure a safe retreat.”
“Has your highness any commission for me?” inquired the Seigneur de Lurcy.
“Yes, an important one, which I know you will execute to my satisfaction,” replied the Constable. “You shall despatch a messenger to Jacques de Matignon and Jacques d'Argouges, two young Norman seigneurs, who are attached to me, appointing a meeting with them at Vendôme. They will attend the rendezvous, I doubt not, and you will then reveal the plot to them, and engage them to facilitate the disembarkation of the English, and the occupation of the province by the Duke of Suffolk.”
“Think you they can be trusted?” said Lurcy.
“Most assuredly,” replied Bourbon. “Tempt them with the offer of the government of Normandy. With that inducement they will not hesitate.”
“Your highness's instructions shall be carefully fulfilled,” replied Lurcy.
“Do you propose to remain here till the outbreak, prince?” inquired the Bishop of Autun.
“No,” replied Bourbon. “I shall return forthwith to Moulins, and, in order to avoid a summons to join the king, I shall feign illness, and remain secluded till his majesty has set out for Italy.”
“You will do well,” observed the bishop. “Such a course will disarm suspicion.”
Next morning it was reported throughout the château that the Constable had been seized with fever. His physicians declared that the air of Montbrison disagreed with him, and advised his return to Moulins, as soon as he was able to bear the journey. Before complying with the recommendation, Bourbon despatched a messenger to François, who was then staying at the palace of the Tournelles, excusing himself on the plea of severe indisposition from repairing to Paris.
Meantime, the Bishop de Puy set out on his mission to the Duke de Savoie, Aymard de Prie proceeded with his troops to Dijon, and Lurcy was on his way to keep the rendezvous he had appointed with Matignon and D'Argouges at Vendôme.
Thus it will be seen that some little progress had been made in the plot.
By the time the Constable had returned to the Château de Moulins, François had completed his preparations for the war in Italy. Bonnivet, at the head of a large force, had already crossed the Alps, and Lautrec and Lescun had been sent to defend the frontiers from the Spaniards.
Having paid a visit to the cathedral of Saint Denis, for the purpose of solemnly invoking the aid of the patron saint of France, and offered up his devotions in the Sainte Chapelle; having also publicly appointed his mother Regent of the kingdom during his absence, he set out with a large attendance, comprising the flower of the French chivalry.
His march rather resembled a journey of pleasure than a warlike expedition, inasmuch as he was accompanied by the Comtesse de Chateaubriand and several other beautiful dames. The royal cortège was preceded by the Grand-Master of France at the head of two thousand lansquenets, and followed by the Duke de Longueville, with a large troop of horse.
Proceeding by easy stages, François had reached Saint-Pierre-le-Moutier, which was within half a day's journey of the Château de Moulins, and was passing the evening festively, as was his wont, when he was disturbed by the sudden arrival of Louis de Brézé, Comte de Maulévrier, grand senesçhal and lieutenant-general of Normandy, whom we have already mentioned as the husband of the beautiful Diane de Poitiers, daughter of the Comte de Saint-Vallier.
François at once granted him the private interview he desired, and, as soon as they were alone, Maulévrier said, “Sire, prepare yourself for bad tidings. What I have to tell you I fear will arrest your expedition to Italy. I come to warn your majesty of a most formidable conspiracy, the object of which is to deprive you of your kingdom, and perhaps of your life. Fortunately, the discovery has been made before the mine could be sprung. Fortunately, also, for the purposes of justice, the chief contriver of the plot is in your majesty's power.”
“There is only one person in the kingdom who could contrive such a plot,” replied the king. “But I do not think the Constable de Bourbon capable of a crime so heinous.”
“The Constable de Bourbon is guilty of the blackest treason, sire,” replied Maulévrier. “He has allied himself to the Emperor and to the King of England, and while an invasion is made upon your kingdom by those two sovereigns, he designs to break out into revolt. This is no idle accusation, sire. I will give proofs of the truth of what I assert. Two young Norman seigneurs of high honour and distinction, Matignon and D'Argouges, with whose names your majesty must be familiar, met Bourbon's confidential agent, Lurcy, by appointment at Vendôme. At this meeting Lurcy disclosed to them the whole conspiracy, and offered them the government of Normandy and other high posts, on the condition that they should assist the disembarkation of the English on our coasts. The treasonable offer filled the two loyal gentlemen with horror, and they indignantly rejected it, but, as they had been sworn to secresy, they could not reveal it. However, they confessed the conspiracy to the Bishop of Lisieux, who, appalled at its enormity, at once made it known to me, and I have not lost a moment in warning your majesty of the danger with which you and your loyal subjects are threatened. Heaven be praised, you have hitherto escaped!”
Astounded by this terrible communication, to which he would willingly have refused credit, the king remained for some time buried in reflection. At length he said:
“Comte de Maulévrier, I charge you not to let fall a word in regard to this conspiracy. I will give Bourbon a last chance. I will see him to-morrow at the Chateau de Moulins.”
Maulévrier would have remonstrated, but perceiving that the king was resolved, he said no more.
François, however, did not neglect needful precautions. Without assigning any reason for the step, he immediately despatched an order to the grand-master, who was a day in advance of the royal cavalcade, enjoining him to return at once, and he directed the Duke de Longueville to scour the country round with his cavalry.
Next day the king rode on to Moulins, where he found the grand-master awaiting him with the two thousand lansquenets. With this force, and with the troop of the Duke de Longueville, François felt no apprehension of outbreak.
After ordering the town to be invested at all points, he entered the château with a numerous guard, and demanded the keys, which were at once delivered to him by Philippe des Escures, Bourbon's chamberlain. François then dismounted, and said, in an angry tone, “Why is not the Lord Constable here to welcome me? Bid him come to me at once.”
“Sire,” replied the chamberlain, “the Constable is full of grief that he cannot receive your majesty in person. He is confined to his chamber by severe illness, and cannot stir forth without imperilling his life.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the king, with an incredulous look. “I may be able to find a more efficacious remedy for his illness than his physicians have employed. Take me to his chamber.”
“Let me go with you, I pray you, sire?” said Maulévrier, who was standing near the king.
François, however, declined, and entered the château. Conducted by the chamberlain, whose looks proclaimed his alarm, he then proceeded to the duke's chamber.