Chapter Forty Four.The escape.For a few moments excitement got the better of the grave subtle doctor, and he was within touch of flinging open the door and hurrying Francis out into the grounds. But drawing in a deep breath he was cautious the next moment as some lurking beast of prey.The key was turned by slow degrees without a sound, and the door drawn carefully inward till there was a slight crack, through which the night wind came in pleasantly to his heated brow, and he paused for quite five minutes, listening; then gradually opening more and more, he satisfied himself that there were no concealed guards among the bushes, waiting to spring upon him and make him prisoner when he stepped outside.His next act was to remove the key to the garden side of the lock. This done, “Now,” he whispered, and Francis, who seemed more than ever under his control, stepped quietly out, followed by Saint Simon; after which the door was cautiously locked, and Leoni slipped the key into his pocket.There was another pause, which made Saint Simon utter a low deep growl.“What is it, boy?” said Leoni.“The boat! The boat!” whispered the young man. “We are losing time.”“Perhaps gaining it, my dear Saint Simon,” was the reply. “Youth is rash; age is cautious. Our progress must be slow and sure.”He took and pressed the young man’s hands as he spoke, before leaving him to take a few strides for observation along the path, and then returning, musing to himself that all seemed too easy, and that at any moment there might be some sudden check to their progress.Back once more, he bade his two companions follow, leading them slowly and cautiously on, sword in one hand, stiletto in the other, as advance-guard, Saint Simon, similarly prepared, forming the rear; and then on and on they went downward through the bushes, which ever and again brushed against their sleeves, and twice over startled and arrested by a sudden dash as of an enemy; but it was nothing worse than a startled bird, blackbird or thrush, roused from its roosting sleep by the disturbers of its rest.And so downward along the winding, well-marked paths, with nothing to hinder their progress, no guards to arrest, and Leoni strong in the belief that some great check must come, settling in his mind that the encounter would be down by the landing-place when they tried to set free the boat.In this belief when they were nearly there he stopped short, laid his hand upon the King’s shoulder to press him aside, and whispered to Saint Simon to join him in the front.“There may be watchers there,” he said. “Be well on the alert.”The next minute as they moved forward the head of the stone steps was reached, lying in the darkness of the clouded night nearly hidden by a great overhanging willow, whose pensile twigs brushed the roof of the waterside summer-house supported upon slimy water-worn piles, to one of which the boat-chain was attached, the rusty iron creaking faintly against the ring-bolt as the skiff swung softly to and fro, influenced by the swift stream.“Hah!” sighed Leoni to himself. “Fate is with us yet. Who says our mission is unrighteous?” And a feeling of exultation rose within his breast, only to be crushed-down directly after by what seemed to be a heavy weight of misery, beyond which he seemed to see the reproachful eyes of the King’s esquire, sacrificed that he might succeed.“Into it and unloose the chain, boy,” whispered Leoni, eager by action to change the current of his thoughts.Saint Simon quickly sheathed sword and dagger as he stood on the lowest step and reached out to draw in the boat, into which he stepped, making the chain rattle as he drew it through the ring, and his leaden utter an impatient:“Hist!”The next minute the freed boat was grinding against the step, and Leoni steadied it by planting a foot upon its side.“Now, boy,” he whispered, “seat yourself, and be ready with the oars—good! Now rest one on the step here and keep the boat steady.—Quick, sir! Step in, and sit down at once.”The King obeyed without a word, and no sooner was he seated than Leoni followed, and took his own place between Francis and Saint Simon, whom he relieved of one of the oars.“Push off!” whispered Saint Simon, who held the oar that rested on the steps.“One moment’s thought,” whispered back Leoni, speaking over his left shoulder, as he glared around for danger, his ears twitching the while like those of some wild animal which felt that there was peril in the air.“Now,” he said, in a whisper just loud enough for the young man to hear, “if we go upward it is farther into the country, but harder work, for we are against the stream. If we go downward it is towards the capital, and the work will be light, for the stream will bear us on.“Yes,” he said, after a pause, “if we are pursued and the boat is missed they will think that we have taken the easier way. No, boy, ours is no time for ease; hard work and safety must be our motto now. Push off and row with me slowly and steadily onward against the stream.”Saint Simon bore heavily upon his oar and with a thrust sent the boat’s head outward; and directly after, dipping as lightly as they could, they pulled together with a wonderful regularity for such unpractised hands out towards the middle, till a scattered light or two appeared from beyond the trees, showing where the castle lay.And then onward in silence for a few hundred yards along between the dimly seen silent banks of the black river, for the clouds seemed to have lowered and there was not a star.All at once a movement on the part of the King took Leoni’s attention, and he drew in his oar, to bend forward and then rise in the boat, for Francis had sunk slowly sideways, fast asleep; while, with the action of a careful mother bending over her child, the strange subtle doctor carefully readjusted his cloak to guard him from the night air, before resuming his seat with a sigh, and taking up his oar.“A trifle, Saint Simon,” he said playfully. “There are times when we have to protect our master with our swords, but we must not forget such little things as this.”“Ah!” ejaculated Saint Simon, with a groan.“Why, what’s the matter, boy? You don’t resent having to row the night through like some poor slave?”“No, no. I was thinking about poor Denis. Doctor, don’t think me weak. I loved that boy.”“Say love,” cried Leoni warmly. “Bah, man! Henry may be a tyrant, but he could not be so base as to hurt a boy like that. Row for our lives while I prophesy what I believe in spite of bitter despairing thoughts. We shall live to see our brave young companion safe again.”“Bravo, doctor! Your medicine has given me heart. Row? Yes. I can do it now till my arms refuse to stir.” And on the boat glided, kept closer to the shore where the eddies played and the full force of the stream was missed.And then on and on hour after hour, with a few intervals of rest where the waters whispered and they made fast to some overhanging bough and spent the minutes thinking that horsemen might be near, scouring the country where they could approach the banks on either side to cut off the fugitives, though not a sound was heard.And so on till day broke and they made fast amongst the trees in the most secluded place they came to, not daring to expose themselves where they might be seen.They had no trouble with the King, for, weak with his wound and half stupefied by the drug Leoni had administered, he slept on hour after hour through the pleasant morning and through the heat of noon, his resting-place quite cool beneath the shadowing trees and with his brow fanned by the soft summer breeze. He did not even stir when, kneeling in the boat, Leoni moistened and drew off the bandages to dress his wound, washing them in the stream and drying them in a patch where the hot sun heated the bows of the boat, but still slept on as if restful and comforted by the chirurgeon’s skilful hands.“Better or worse?” whispered Saint Simon, while the task was in progress.“Better, boy, and healing fast. He will sleep for hours yet, and waken quite himself towards evening; but then,” added the doctor, with a sigh, “we have another difficulty to face, if we are not taken.”“Ah! What’s that?” cried Saint Simon quickly, and Leoni smiled sardonically, making his companion wince at the peculiar look in his eyes.“I was thinking, boy,” he said, “of how you are going to spread the white napkins and the silver cups for our master’s banquet, for he will be hungry, ravenous, after his long fast. You see, he may be displeased to find the banquet cold.”Saint Simon stared at him with open eyes and mouth.“Why, you are laughing at me,” he said.“Well, why not?” replied Leoni. “Surely, after all my slavery of brain, when success shines down upon me I have a right to smile.”“Success!” cried Saint Simon bitterly. “Why, you have failed.”“Hah!” said Leoni, with a peculiar smile; and then after a short pause, “Well, boy, what are we to do for food? This water is beautifully limpid and clear to quench our thirst, but it will not appease hunger.”“I’ll go ashore at the first hostelry we see, and buy what we want,” replied Saint Simon.“And expose us to fresh capture? No, boy; we have had enough of hostelries. Every one within reach of the river will be searched. We shall have to fast till we are far enough to venture ashore.”“And the King?” said Saint Simon.Leoni looked at him curiously, and slowly placed his hand within his breast to draw out the little golden flask, which he tapped with his finger-nails.“Three parts gone,” he said; “but enough left for the Comte’s use. A few drops will quell his hunger; double the quantity will make him sleep in peace. When you can bear your fast no longer, you shall have a few drops in water if you are a good boy.”“Bah!” growled Saint Simon. “I can bear hunger like a man.”The day glided by in perfect peace, the two rowers resting from the past night’s labours, and the King sleeping as quietly as a child; while from time to time as Saint Simon glanced at him sadly, thinking of how he and Leoni had been the cause of all the trouble to his friend, he could not help a growing feeling of admiration within his breast as he saw how able the doctor’s ministrations were, as shown by the way in which he had treated his master’s serious wound.It was during one of these musing fits, when he was wondering, to use the homely phrase, how Denis was getting on, that Leoni, after a long silence, spoke out decisively.“We will wait till it is dark,” he said. “It will not be long now—and then row on through the night. It looks so clear that I expect we shall have the moon to help us on our way. To-morrow morning we shall be obliged to risk landing somewhere on the left bank, and then make our way due south, walking till the King is weary—of course after one of us has bought food of some kind, for he will never walk without. Hah!” he continued, as he bent over the sleeping King and carefully examined his face. “He is dreaming a good deal now.”“How do you know?” asked Saint Simon.“By the motion of his eyes.”“Why, they are shut, sir.”“Yes, but look how they are turning about beneath his lids. He is going through some imaginary scene—hunting perhaps.”Singularly enough, as the doctor spoke in a whisper, Francis proved the correctness of Leoni’s surmise, for he exclaimed:“Yon bosky piece—quick! Lay on the hounds!”Leoni drew back with a smile, and met Saint Simon’s wondering eyes.“Yes,” he said; “he is getting to the end of his deep sleep. It will not be long before he wakes, and I should say just at dark. Ah, good! It is lightening in the east. Yonder comes the moon. We will start at once; but I must cover him again. The mist is rising in the meadows, and it promises a damp night.”As he spoke he bent over the King to draw his cloak about shoulder and throat; but at the first touch of his hands the King started up and caught them fast.
For a few moments excitement got the better of the grave subtle doctor, and he was within touch of flinging open the door and hurrying Francis out into the grounds. But drawing in a deep breath he was cautious the next moment as some lurking beast of prey.
The key was turned by slow degrees without a sound, and the door drawn carefully inward till there was a slight crack, through which the night wind came in pleasantly to his heated brow, and he paused for quite five minutes, listening; then gradually opening more and more, he satisfied himself that there were no concealed guards among the bushes, waiting to spring upon him and make him prisoner when he stepped outside.
His next act was to remove the key to the garden side of the lock. This done, “Now,” he whispered, and Francis, who seemed more than ever under his control, stepped quietly out, followed by Saint Simon; after which the door was cautiously locked, and Leoni slipped the key into his pocket.
There was another pause, which made Saint Simon utter a low deep growl.
“What is it, boy?” said Leoni.
“The boat! The boat!” whispered the young man. “We are losing time.”
“Perhaps gaining it, my dear Saint Simon,” was the reply. “Youth is rash; age is cautious. Our progress must be slow and sure.”
He took and pressed the young man’s hands as he spoke, before leaving him to take a few strides for observation along the path, and then returning, musing to himself that all seemed too easy, and that at any moment there might be some sudden check to their progress.
Back once more, he bade his two companions follow, leading them slowly and cautiously on, sword in one hand, stiletto in the other, as advance-guard, Saint Simon, similarly prepared, forming the rear; and then on and on they went downward through the bushes, which ever and again brushed against their sleeves, and twice over startled and arrested by a sudden dash as of an enemy; but it was nothing worse than a startled bird, blackbird or thrush, roused from its roosting sleep by the disturbers of its rest.
And so downward along the winding, well-marked paths, with nothing to hinder their progress, no guards to arrest, and Leoni strong in the belief that some great check must come, settling in his mind that the encounter would be down by the landing-place when they tried to set free the boat.
In this belief when they were nearly there he stopped short, laid his hand upon the King’s shoulder to press him aside, and whispered to Saint Simon to join him in the front.
“There may be watchers there,” he said. “Be well on the alert.”
The next minute as they moved forward the head of the stone steps was reached, lying in the darkness of the clouded night nearly hidden by a great overhanging willow, whose pensile twigs brushed the roof of the waterside summer-house supported upon slimy water-worn piles, to one of which the boat-chain was attached, the rusty iron creaking faintly against the ring-bolt as the skiff swung softly to and fro, influenced by the swift stream.
“Hah!” sighed Leoni to himself. “Fate is with us yet. Who says our mission is unrighteous?” And a feeling of exultation rose within his breast, only to be crushed-down directly after by what seemed to be a heavy weight of misery, beyond which he seemed to see the reproachful eyes of the King’s esquire, sacrificed that he might succeed.
“Into it and unloose the chain, boy,” whispered Leoni, eager by action to change the current of his thoughts.
Saint Simon quickly sheathed sword and dagger as he stood on the lowest step and reached out to draw in the boat, into which he stepped, making the chain rattle as he drew it through the ring, and his leaden utter an impatient:
“Hist!”
The next minute the freed boat was grinding against the step, and Leoni steadied it by planting a foot upon its side.
“Now, boy,” he whispered, “seat yourself, and be ready with the oars—good! Now rest one on the step here and keep the boat steady.—Quick, sir! Step in, and sit down at once.”
The King obeyed without a word, and no sooner was he seated than Leoni followed, and took his own place between Francis and Saint Simon, whom he relieved of one of the oars.
“Push off!” whispered Saint Simon, who held the oar that rested on the steps.
“One moment’s thought,” whispered back Leoni, speaking over his left shoulder, as he glared around for danger, his ears twitching the while like those of some wild animal which felt that there was peril in the air.
“Now,” he said, in a whisper just loud enough for the young man to hear, “if we go upward it is farther into the country, but harder work, for we are against the stream. If we go downward it is towards the capital, and the work will be light, for the stream will bear us on.
“Yes,” he said, after a pause, “if we are pursued and the boat is missed they will think that we have taken the easier way. No, boy, ours is no time for ease; hard work and safety must be our motto now. Push off and row with me slowly and steadily onward against the stream.”
Saint Simon bore heavily upon his oar and with a thrust sent the boat’s head outward; and directly after, dipping as lightly as they could, they pulled together with a wonderful regularity for such unpractised hands out towards the middle, till a scattered light or two appeared from beyond the trees, showing where the castle lay.
And then onward in silence for a few hundred yards along between the dimly seen silent banks of the black river, for the clouds seemed to have lowered and there was not a star.
All at once a movement on the part of the King took Leoni’s attention, and he drew in his oar, to bend forward and then rise in the boat, for Francis had sunk slowly sideways, fast asleep; while, with the action of a careful mother bending over her child, the strange subtle doctor carefully readjusted his cloak to guard him from the night air, before resuming his seat with a sigh, and taking up his oar.
“A trifle, Saint Simon,” he said playfully. “There are times when we have to protect our master with our swords, but we must not forget such little things as this.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Saint Simon, with a groan.
“Why, what’s the matter, boy? You don’t resent having to row the night through like some poor slave?”
“No, no. I was thinking about poor Denis. Doctor, don’t think me weak. I loved that boy.”
“Say love,” cried Leoni warmly. “Bah, man! Henry may be a tyrant, but he could not be so base as to hurt a boy like that. Row for our lives while I prophesy what I believe in spite of bitter despairing thoughts. We shall live to see our brave young companion safe again.”
“Bravo, doctor! Your medicine has given me heart. Row? Yes. I can do it now till my arms refuse to stir.” And on the boat glided, kept closer to the shore where the eddies played and the full force of the stream was missed.
And then on and on hour after hour, with a few intervals of rest where the waters whispered and they made fast to some overhanging bough and spent the minutes thinking that horsemen might be near, scouring the country where they could approach the banks on either side to cut off the fugitives, though not a sound was heard.
And so on till day broke and they made fast amongst the trees in the most secluded place they came to, not daring to expose themselves where they might be seen.
They had no trouble with the King, for, weak with his wound and half stupefied by the drug Leoni had administered, he slept on hour after hour through the pleasant morning and through the heat of noon, his resting-place quite cool beneath the shadowing trees and with his brow fanned by the soft summer breeze. He did not even stir when, kneeling in the boat, Leoni moistened and drew off the bandages to dress his wound, washing them in the stream and drying them in a patch where the hot sun heated the bows of the boat, but still slept on as if restful and comforted by the chirurgeon’s skilful hands.
“Better or worse?” whispered Saint Simon, while the task was in progress.
“Better, boy, and healing fast. He will sleep for hours yet, and waken quite himself towards evening; but then,” added the doctor, with a sigh, “we have another difficulty to face, if we are not taken.”
“Ah! What’s that?” cried Saint Simon quickly, and Leoni smiled sardonically, making his companion wince at the peculiar look in his eyes.
“I was thinking, boy,” he said, “of how you are going to spread the white napkins and the silver cups for our master’s banquet, for he will be hungry, ravenous, after his long fast. You see, he may be displeased to find the banquet cold.”
Saint Simon stared at him with open eyes and mouth.
“Why, you are laughing at me,” he said.
“Well, why not?” replied Leoni. “Surely, after all my slavery of brain, when success shines down upon me I have a right to smile.”
“Success!” cried Saint Simon bitterly. “Why, you have failed.”
“Hah!” said Leoni, with a peculiar smile; and then after a short pause, “Well, boy, what are we to do for food? This water is beautifully limpid and clear to quench our thirst, but it will not appease hunger.”
“I’ll go ashore at the first hostelry we see, and buy what we want,” replied Saint Simon.
“And expose us to fresh capture? No, boy; we have had enough of hostelries. Every one within reach of the river will be searched. We shall have to fast till we are far enough to venture ashore.”
“And the King?” said Saint Simon.
Leoni looked at him curiously, and slowly placed his hand within his breast to draw out the little golden flask, which he tapped with his finger-nails.
“Three parts gone,” he said; “but enough left for the Comte’s use. A few drops will quell his hunger; double the quantity will make him sleep in peace. When you can bear your fast no longer, you shall have a few drops in water if you are a good boy.”
“Bah!” growled Saint Simon. “I can bear hunger like a man.”
The day glided by in perfect peace, the two rowers resting from the past night’s labours, and the King sleeping as quietly as a child; while from time to time as Saint Simon glanced at him sadly, thinking of how he and Leoni had been the cause of all the trouble to his friend, he could not help a growing feeling of admiration within his breast as he saw how able the doctor’s ministrations were, as shown by the way in which he had treated his master’s serious wound.
It was during one of these musing fits, when he was wondering, to use the homely phrase, how Denis was getting on, that Leoni, after a long silence, spoke out decisively.
“We will wait till it is dark,” he said. “It will not be long now—and then row on through the night. It looks so clear that I expect we shall have the moon to help us on our way. To-morrow morning we shall be obliged to risk landing somewhere on the left bank, and then make our way due south, walking till the King is weary—of course after one of us has bought food of some kind, for he will never walk without. Hah!” he continued, as he bent over the sleeping King and carefully examined his face. “He is dreaming a good deal now.”
“How do you know?” asked Saint Simon.
“By the motion of his eyes.”
“Why, they are shut, sir.”
“Yes, but look how they are turning about beneath his lids. He is going through some imaginary scene—hunting perhaps.”
Singularly enough, as the doctor spoke in a whisper, Francis proved the correctness of Leoni’s surmise, for he exclaimed:
“Yon bosky piece—quick! Lay on the hounds!”
Leoni drew back with a smile, and met Saint Simon’s wondering eyes.
“Yes,” he said; “he is getting to the end of his deep sleep. It will not be long before he wakes, and I should say just at dark. Ah, good! It is lightening in the east. Yonder comes the moon. We will start at once; but I must cover him again. The mist is rising in the meadows, and it promises a damp night.”
As he spoke he bent over the King to draw his cloak about shoulder and throat; but at the first touch of his hands the King started up and caught them fast.
Chapter Forty Five.The Balas Ruby.“Who’s this?” cried Francis sharply, and in a much firmer voice. “Hah! You, Leoni?”“I, M. le Comte.”“Bah! The Comte! But what is it? Have I been asleep and dreaming? Where are we? What are we doing here?”“Making for Fontainebleau, sir.”“Yes, Fontainebleau!” cried the King eagerly. “But like this—in a boat?”“Yes, sir—” began Leoni.“Say Sire, man! I have done with this masquerading folly. Speak out plainly. That mummery is at an end. Why are we in this boat?”“Escaping from King Henry’s vengeance, Sire.”“Hah!” cried the King. “I do not understand. Yes, I remember now. It all comes back. There was some question of that—oh yes, I remember—the fit of madness. But was I not wounded?”“Yes, Sire; but your injury is healing fast.”“To be sure. I feel better, after long weeks of horrid dreams. Well, that is all over. It was while escaping. But tell me—I am growing confused again—what mean you? That we are escaping now?”“Yes, Sire; soon to be in safety and on your way to your own great land.”“Ah!” cried the King, in a tone full of satisfaction. “That is good. I would that I had never left it upon this quest. But how dark it is getting!”“Yes, Sire; but it will soon be lighter,” said Leoni quietly.“Make it lighter in my dark brain, man, if you have it in your power,” cried the King impetuously; “for one moment I see clearly; the next, I am confused again. Yes—that is what I wanted to think of. Is Saint Simon there? But where is my young esquire? On your life, man, don’t tell me he is dead!—Hah! Is that the truth?”“No, Sire,” said Leoni sadly. “I pray that he may be alive and well.”“May be alive! What do you mean, man?”“That it was his and our duty, Sire, to save you from King Henry’s anger. You were his prisoner, and at all costs had to be saved.”“Yes, yes; I had to escape. I have a dream-like memory of something of the kind, though it is all confused.”“Yes, Sire; from your wound.”“Hah!” cried the King. “But what is that to do with young Denis? Was he cut down too?”“No, Sire; quite uninjured when we saw him last.”“When you saw him last? Then where is he now?”“A prisoner at the castle, Sire. The brave lad volunteered to take your place while we endeavoured to save our King.”“To take my place! Do you mean to say, then, that he personated me?”“Yes, Sire; to lie as if wounded on your bed.”“He did that?” cried the King; and Leoni slowly bent his head.“Then he has the making of a king within his breast. Brave boy!” cried Francis; and he was silent for a few moments, while bending over the side of the boat he scooped up the clear cold water in his hand and drank again and again.“Hah!” he cried. “That gives me power to think. Did I understand you aright that I am escaping and have left that boy to bear the brunt of my folly, to suffer for my madness imprisonment and maybe death?”The doctor bent his head.“Leoni,” cried the King passionately, “is this acting like a king?”“Sire, it is not for you to ask, nor yet for you to judge of this. Your brave young esquire felt it to be his task, and he volunteered to play his part, as either of us would have done. It was to save your life, your servant’s duty at a time like that.”“And you tell me that it is my duty as a king to sacrifice that boy just entering the dawn of his young manhood so that I might live?”“Yes, Sire; for your subjects’ sake.”“I am the King, and judge of this. A thousand times no! It shall not be.”“Sire, it must. What is one young life compared with yours?”“Everything,” cried the King, “if I am to live in peace.”“But, your Majesty, it is too late to think of that.”“Never too late while there is life,” cried the King. “Loose the boat and take those oars.”“What would your Majesty do?” cried Leoni.“Go back to Henry and meet him face to face. Let him work his will on me if he dares. But he shall not injure a hair of that brave boy’s head. Bah! He would not have dared.”“You are mistaken, Sire.”“In what?”“In King Henry’s intentions. He meant your death.”“What! In cold blood to slay a brother king?”“Not a brother king, Sire, but the Comte de la Seine, who had entered his Court in disguise.”“Impossible, Leoni! I repeat, he would not dare.”“Sire, your death warrant was made out.”“What!”“I saw it, Sire, in Lord Hurst’s hands; and he told me indirectly what was to take place.”“Leoni!” cried the King.“Those are the simple words of truth, Sire. That death warrant, signed by the King’s own hand, was the mainspring of my action. Was I not justified in doing anything to save your life?”The King was silent.“Leoni!” he exclaimed at length. “I am faint with hunger. Is there no place near where we can get food?”“There is a farm we passed a little lower down, Sire,” replied Leoni; “but we dared not stay for fear the pursuers might be searching either bank.”“Let them search and find if they will,” cried the King. “I must have refreshment before I do more.”“Your Majesty wishes us to row there and take our chance of being discovered?”“Yes,” said the King, “and at once. But stay. You are certain that the Count’s death warrant was signed?”“Yes, Sire; sure.”“Bah! If I declared myself there would be an end to that?”“No, Sire.”“What!” cried the King.“Henry doubtless has his ends and would gladly have you dead. If you declared yourself now he would laugh you to scorn and call you impostor, cheat.”“Hah!” cried the King, grinding his teeth. “Let him if he dare! But I will not believe it of him, going as I shall now, for nothing shall stay me from hurrying back to save that poor lad’s life.”“But, your Majesty, let me implore you!” cried Leoni.“Implore, then, but you will find me deaf.”“For your own sake, Sire!”“It is for my sake I go—mine honour as a king.”“For the sake of your servants, then, who have risked so much!”“I cannot! I will not,” he cried. “I will go.”“For the sake of France, the country you so dearly love!”“It is for the sake of France I go, to prove myself worthy the name of her King. You urge me to perform a dastardly act in fleeing at a time like this.”“Remember, Sire, the reason why you came.”“I do,” said the King, standing up proudly in the boat, as the edge of the moon began to lift above the low mist that lay upon the river and adjacent meads, lighting up the King’s face, animated now into stern beauty by the spirit within which spoke, “and think of it with shame. Listening to your words, I blinded myself into the belief that it was right, that it was a brave and a gallant act to wrest that Crown jewel from King Henry’s hand; but I see more clearly now that my mad enterprise has met with its merited fate, and go back I will as a chivalrous knight, ask my brother King’s forgiveness, and save that brave boy from his cruel fate.”“But, Sire, remember! Remember Fontainebleau and France.”“I do; and I remember too that your plot has failed.”“But it has not failed, Sire,” cried Leoni, rising now; and as he stood erect there was a look of triumph in his face which gave him, as it were, a reflection of the kingly majesty before which he stood. “It has not failed, but ended in triumph and success.”“What!” cried the King fiercely. “You speak in riddles. Tell me what you mean.”He seemed to tower over his follower, who, apparently humbled, crouched before him with lowered head and outstretched deprecating hands, with which he covered his face as if asking mercy. But the next moment he sprang up once more, just as the King angrily repeated himself:“Not failed!” he cried. “Tell me what you mean?”For answer Leoni threw back his head and held one hand on high full in the light of the moon, which flashed and scintillated from the many facets of a brilliant gem.“Hah!” cried the King excitedly. “What have you there?”“That which we came to seek, Sire. The Balas ruby—the fateful gem of France!”
“Who’s this?” cried Francis sharply, and in a much firmer voice. “Hah! You, Leoni?”
“I, M. le Comte.”
“Bah! The Comte! But what is it? Have I been asleep and dreaming? Where are we? What are we doing here?”
“Making for Fontainebleau, sir.”
“Yes, Fontainebleau!” cried the King eagerly. “But like this—in a boat?”
“Yes, sir—” began Leoni.
“Say Sire, man! I have done with this masquerading folly. Speak out plainly. That mummery is at an end. Why are we in this boat?”
“Escaping from King Henry’s vengeance, Sire.”
“Hah!” cried the King. “I do not understand. Yes, I remember now. It all comes back. There was some question of that—oh yes, I remember—the fit of madness. But was I not wounded?”
“Yes, Sire; but your injury is healing fast.”
“To be sure. I feel better, after long weeks of horrid dreams. Well, that is all over. It was while escaping. But tell me—I am growing confused again—what mean you? That we are escaping now?”
“Yes, Sire; soon to be in safety and on your way to your own great land.”
“Ah!” cried the King, in a tone full of satisfaction. “That is good. I would that I had never left it upon this quest. But how dark it is getting!”
“Yes, Sire; but it will soon be lighter,” said Leoni quietly.
“Make it lighter in my dark brain, man, if you have it in your power,” cried the King impetuously; “for one moment I see clearly; the next, I am confused again. Yes—that is what I wanted to think of. Is Saint Simon there? But where is my young esquire? On your life, man, don’t tell me he is dead!—Hah! Is that the truth?”
“No, Sire,” said Leoni sadly. “I pray that he may be alive and well.”
“May be alive! What do you mean, man?”
“That it was his and our duty, Sire, to save you from King Henry’s anger. You were his prisoner, and at all costs had to be saved.”
“Yes, yes; I had to escape. I have a dream-like memory of something of the kind, though it is all confused.”
“Yes, Sire; from your wound.”
“Hah!” cried the King. “But what is that to do with young Denis? Was he cut down too?”
“No, Sire; quite uninjured when we saw him last.”
“When you saw him last? Then where is he now?”
“A prisoner at the castle, Sire. The brave lad volunteered to take your place while we endeavoured to save our King.”
“To take my place! Do you mean to say, then, that he personated me?”
“Yes, Sire; to lie as if wounded on your bed.”
“He did that?” cried the King; and Leoni slowly bent his head.
“Then he has the making of a king within his breast. Brave boy!” cried Francis; and he was silent for a few moments, while bending over the side of the boat he scooped up the clear cold water in his hand and drank again and again.
“Hah!” he cried. “That gives me power to think. Did I understand you aright that I am escaping and have left that boy to bear the brunt of my folly, to suffer for my madness imprisonment and maybe death?”
The doctor bent his head.
“Leoni,” cried the King passionately, “is this acting like a king?”
“Sire, it is not for you to ask, nor yet for you to judge of this. Your brave young esquire felt it to be his task, and he volunteered to play his part, as either of us would have done. It was to save your life, your servant’s duty at a time like that.”
“And you tell me that it is my duty as a king to sacrifice that boy just entering the dawn of his young manhood so that I might live?”
“Yes, Sire; for your subjects’ sake.”
“I am the King, and judge of this. A thousand times no! It shall not be.”
“Sire, it must. What is one young life compared with yours?”
“Everything,” cried the King, “if I am to live in peace.”
“But, your Majesty, it is too late to think of that.”
“Never too late while there is life,” cried the King. “Loose the boat and take those oars.”
“What would your Majesty do?” cried Leoni.
“Go back to Henry and meet him face to face. Let him work his will on me if he dares. But he shall not injure a hair of that brave boy’s head. Bah! He would not have dared.”
“You are mistaken, Sire.”
“In what?”
“In King Henry’s intentions. He meant your death.”
“What! In cold blood to slay a brother king?”
“Not a brother king, Sire, but the Comte de la Seine, who had entered his Court in disguise.”
“Impossible, Leoni! I repeat, he would not dare.”
“Sire, your death warrant was made out.”
“What!”
“I saw it, Sire, in Lord Hurst’s hands; and he told me indirectly what was to take place.”
“Leoni!” cried the King.
“Those are the simple words of truth, Sire. That death warrant, signed by the King’s own hand, was the mainspring of my action. Was I not justified in doing anything to save your life?”
The King was silent.
“Leoni!” he exclaimed at length. “I am faint with hunger. Is there no place near where we can get food?”
“There is a farm we passed a little lower down, Sire,” replied Leoni; “but we dared not stay for fear the pursuers might be searching either bank.”
“Let them search and find if they will,” cried the King. “I must have refreshment before I do more.”
“Your Majesty wishes us to row there and take our chance of being discovered?”
“Yes,” said the King, “and at once. But stay. You are certain that the Count’s death warrant was signed?”
“Yes, Sire; sure.”
“Bah! If I declared myself there would be an end to that?”
“No, Sire.”
“What!” cried the King.
“Henry doubtless has his ends and would gladly have you dead. If you declared yourself now he would laugh you to scorn and call you impostor, cheat.”
“Hah!” cried the King, grinding his teeth. “Let him if he dare! But I will not believe it of him, going as I shall now, for nothing shall stay me from hurrying back to save that poor lad’s life.”
“But, your Majesty, let me implore you!” cried Leoni.
“Implore, then, but you will find me deaf.”
“For your own sake, Sire!”
“It is for my sake I go—mine honour as a king.”
“For the sake of your servants, then, who have risked so much!”
“I cannot! I will not,” he cried. “I will go.”
“For the sake of France, the country you so dearly love!”
“It is for the sake of France I go, to prove myself worthy the name of her King. You urge me to perform a dastardly act in fleeing at a time like this.”
“Remember, Sire, the reason why you came.”
“I do,” said the King, standing up proudly in the boat, as the edge of the moon began to lift above the low mist that lay upon the river and adjacent meads, lighting up the King’s face, animated now into stern beauty by the spirit within which spoke, “and think of it with shame. Listening to your words, I blinded myself into the belief that it was right, that it was a brave and a gallant act to wrest that Crown jewel from King Henry’s hand; but I see more clearly now that my mad enterprise has met with its merited fate, and go back I will as a chivalrous knight, ask my brother King’s forgiveness, and save that brave boy from his cruel fate.”
“But, Sire, remember! Remember Fontainebleau and France.”
“I do; and I remember too that your plot has failed.”
“But it has not failed, Sire,” cried Leoni, rising now; and as he stood erect there was a look of triumph in his face which gave him, as it were, a reflection of the kingly majesty before which he stood. “It has not failed, but ended in triumph and success.”
“What!” cried the King fiercely. “You speak in riddles. Tell me what you mean.”
He seemed to tower over his follower, who, apparently humbled, crouched before him with lowered head and outstretched deprecating hands, with which he covered his face as if asking mercy. But the next moment he sprang up once more, just as the King angrily repeated himself:
“Not failed!” he cried. “Tell me what you mean?”
For answer Leoni threw back his head and held one hand on high full in the light of the moon, which flashed and scintillated from the many facets of a brilliant gem.
“Hah!” cried the King excitedly. “What have you there?”
“That which we came to seek, Sire. The Balas ruby—the fateful gem of France!”
Chapter Forty Six.In borrowed plumes.Denis stood for a few moments panting heavily, not daring to take his eyes from those of the King, who stood there speechless with astonishment. Then by an effort the boy wrenched his gaze from where it was held, as he thought of his own sword; but the weapon was on the other side of the bed, and as he realised it the thought came that this was a King—one who had but to utter a word to bring in his guards.“Tricked again,” said the King at last; “and by you, boy! Francis’s esquire! Where is your King?”“Beyond your reach, Sire, by this time,” said the boy boldly, nerved as he was by the feeling that he had gained much time, and that his words were true.“Escaped?”“Yes, Sire.”“Ah!” ejaculated the King. “And I see now this was another ruse. How like a Frenchman! He was not wounded after all.”“He was, Sire,” cried the boy indignantly, “and dangerously too.”“But that jewel—where is it now? On its way to France?”“No, Sire; I can answer for that.”“Then you have it.”“No, Sire, I have it not; and I am sure—my life on it—it never passed into his Majesty’s hands.”“You lie, boy!” cried the King fiercely.“I am a gentleman of France, Sire,” said the boy haughtily.“A gentleman of France!” cried the King scornfully. “A member of a gang of thieves!”“I am your prisoner, Sire,” said the boy boldly, “and I know what is bound to be my fate. I am no member of a gang of thieves, but one of my King’s esquires, bound to do his duty as his Majesty’s servant; and I have done mine—no more.”“Ah!” cried the King, making a quick advance towards the boy, who made an involuntary movement towards his rear, but checked it on the instant, drew himself up proudly, and folded his arms across his breast.“Pish!” said Henry impatiently. “I was not going to slay you, boy.” And he thrust his sword back into its sheath and caught the lad by the shoulder. “Then that was the King of France!”“Yes, Sire.”“I knew it,” cried the King, “and Hurst was right. And you have been deceiving us all here, lying bandaged in that bed, while he has been placing himself beyond our reach, bearing away that fateful gem?”“Yes, Sire; but my word for it, his Majesty the King has never laid hands upon the jewel, and is not bearing it away.”“Well!” exclaimed the King, with his eyes rolling and his cheeks puffed out; and then, loosening his fierce grip upon the boy’s shoulder, he staggered back to the nearest chair, dropped into it, and laughed.The next minute the mirth died out of his half closed eyes, and a scowl appeared upon his brow, as he fiercely gazed in the eyes that did not for a moment blench. But the frown died out in a look of admiration, as he said sharply:“You springald, to play a part like this, with the executioner’s axe hanging above your neck and waiting to fall. Why did you do this?”“To save my master, Sire.”“Hah! To the risk of your own life.”“Yes, Sire.”“Speak out, boy—the naked truth. Are you not afraid?”“Horribly, Sire,” replied the boy slowly. “The duty is harder than I thought.”“Hark ye,” cried the King; “are all French boys like you?”“I hope so, Sire.”“Do you? Well, boy, I don’t believe they are. But speak, and don’t turn white like that—a gentleman of France, as you call yourself—a king’s esquire, should not be afraid to die.”Denis was silent perforce, for no words would come.“A daring young dog!” muttered the King, in a tone so low that it hardly reached the listener’s ears. “Look here, sir,” continued Henry, “you have forfeited your life and stayed me from showing mercy to your master. Now, sir, would you like to win it back?”“Gladly, Sire,” cried the boy, “but—”“But what?” said Henry sharply.“I will not do anything to betray my King.”“Wait till you are asked, boy,” said Henry roughly, as he kept his eyes fixed admiringly upon the lad, who faced him still with a wondrous command of nerve. “You know that I have the power of life or death?”Denis bowed his head slowly.“Well, then, a king cannot stoop to slay even an enemy if he is brave. I will give you your life on one condition.”The boy started, and the King smiled.“Not to sign a paper which gives me Bordeaux and Guienne, but to be my faithful servant and serve me as you have served your master to the end. I want followers like you. Be English, even if you have French blood flowing in your veins. Well, why do you not speak? Is not mine a kingly act?”“Yes, Sire, and I am grateful.”“Well, why do you hesitate? Enter my service. The star of the Valois must be setting fast when its representative can stoop to such a deed as this.”The lad shook his head.“What! Do you not understand? I will find work for your sword. Serve me faithfully, and rank shall in time be yours. Do you forget that your life is still at stake?”“I cannot buy it, Sire, by betraying my master. Francis is my King.”“And fortunate in having followers like this,” said the King to himself, as he rose, turned sharply from where the boy still stood with his arms crossed upon his breast, fighting hard for the resignation that refused to come, while his heart now beat slowly and heavily, as if in the march that ended in the scaffold and the axe.The next minute the King had flung open the outer chamber door, as if to show to the boy his fate, for there stood the captain with the guards drawn up on either side, their armour gleaming and the lights they bore flashing from their halberds’ heads.But the boy stood firm, seeing as it were through the glittering pageantry of the English Court the gleaming fields of far-off France, a sparkling river, and the grey steeple turrets of an ancient Frenchchâteau. It was home, with all he loved therein.It was momentary, and the vision was dissolved by the King’s loud voice, as he cried sharply:“Who’s with you there? Hah! Hurst! Look here, man.”“Your Majesty!” cried the chamberlain, looking at the boy in astonishment.“Behold my royal visitor!” cried Henry mockingly. “This is the way my courts are kept.”“I do not understand, your Majesty,” cried the chamberlain, trembling for what was next to come.“But I do, man!” cried Henry. “Here is our sick and wounded prisoner.”“A ruse—a trick!” said the chamberlain excitedly.“Yes—French,” cried Henry, with a mocking laugh. “The bird has flown, and left another in his nest. There, young popinjay, young daw—look at him, Hurst! He has cast his borrowed plumes.” Then turning to Denis: “Put on your own feathers, boy. You will come with me. Bring him to my apartments, Hurst.”“As a prisoner, Sire?”“No,” said the King, still fixing Denis with his eyes, and speaking to him as much as to the chamberlain. “He is my guest still, though his master is gone. See that you use him well.”
Denis stood for a few moments panting heavily, not daring to take his eyes from those of the King, who stood there speechless with astonishment. Then by an effort the boy wrenched his gaze from where it was held, as he thought of his own sword; but the weapon was on the other side of the bed, and as he realised it the thought came that this was a King—one who had but to utter a word to bring in his guards.
“Tricked again,” said the King at last; “and by you, boy! Francis’s esquire! Where is your King?”
“Beyond your reach, Sire, by this time,” said the boy boldly, nerved as he was by the feeling that he had gained much time, and that his words were true.
“Escaped?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Ah!” ejaculated the King. “And I see now this was another ruse. How like a Frenchman! He was not wounded after all.”
“He was, Sire,” cried the boy indignantly, “and dangerously too.”
“But that jewel—where is it now? On its way to France?”
“No, Sire; I can answer for that.”
“Then you have it.”
“No, Sire, I have it not; and I am sure—my life on it—it never passed into his Majesty’s hands.”
“You lie, boy!” cried the King fiercely.
“I am a gentleman of France, Sire,” said the boy haughtily.
“A gentleman of France!” cried the King scornfully. “A member of a gang of thieves!”
“I am your prisoner, Sire,” said the boy boldly, “and I know what is bound to be my fate. I am no member of a gang of thieves, but one of my King’s esquires, bound to do his duty as his Majesty’s servant; and I have done mine—no more.”
“Ah!” cried the King, making a quick advance towards the boy, who made an involuntary movement towards his rear, but checked it on the instant, drew himself up proudly, and folded his arms across his breast.
“Pish!” said Henry impatiently. “I was not going to slay you, boy.” And he thrust his sword back into its sheath and caught the lad by the shoulder. “Then that was the King of France!”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I knew it,” cried the King, “and Hurst was right. And you have been deceiving us all here, lying bandaged in that bed, while he has been placing himself beyond our reach, bearing away that fateful gem?”
“Yes, Sire; but my word for it, his Majesty the King has never laid hands upon the jewel, and is not bearing it away.”
“Well!” exclaimed the King, with his eyes rolling and his cheeks puffed out; and then, loosening his fierce grip upon the boy’s shoulder, he staggered back to the nearest chair, dropped into it, and laughed.
The next minute the mirth died out of his half closed eyes, and a scowl appeared upon his brow, as he fiercely gazed in the eyes that did not for a moment blench. But the frown died out in a look of admiration, as he said sharply:
“You springald, to play a part like this, with the executioner’s axe hanging above your neck and waiting to fall. Why did you do this?”
“To save my master, Sire.”
“Hah! To the risk of your own life.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Speak out, boy—the naked truth. Are you not afraid?”
“Horribly, Sire,” replied the boy slowly. “The duty is harder than I thought.”
“Hark ye,” cried the King; “are all French boys like you?”
“I hope so, Sire.”
“Do you? Well, boy, I don’t believe they are. But speak, and don’t turn white like that—a gentleman of France, as you call yourself—a king’s esquire, should not be afraid to die.”
Denis was silent perforce, for no words would come.
“A daring young dog!” muttered the King, in a tone so low that it hardly reached the listener’s ears. “Look here, sir,” continued Henry, “you have forfeited your life and stayed me from showing mercy to your master. Now, sir, would you like to win it back?”
“Gladly, Sire,” cried the boy, “but—”
“But what?” said Henry sharply.
“I will not do anything to betray my King.”
“Wait till you are asked, boy,” said Henry roughly, as he kept his eyes fixed admiringly upon the lad, who faced him still with a wondrous command of nerve. “You know that I have the power of life or death?”
Denis bowed his head slowly.
“Well, then, a king cannot stoop to slay even an enemy if he is brave. I will give you your life on one condition.”
The boy started, and the King smiled.
“Not to sign a paper which gives me Bordeaux and Guienne, but to be my faithful servant and serve me as you have served your master to the end. I want followers like you. Be English, even if you have French blood flowing in your veins. Well, why do you not speak? Is not mine a kingly act?”
“Yes, Sire, and I am grateful.”
“Well, why do you hesitate? Enter my service. The star of the Valois must be setting fast when its representative can stoop to such a deed as this.”
The lad shook his head.
“What! Do you not understand? I will find work for your sword. Serve me faithfully, and rank shall in time be yours. Do you forget that your life is still at stake?”
“I cannot buy it, Sire, by betraying my master. Francis is my King.”
“And fortunate in having followers like this,” said the King to himself, as he rose, turned sharply from where the boy still stood with his arms crossed upon his breast, fighting hard for the resignation that refused to come, while his heart now beat slowly and heavily, as if in the march that ended in the scaffold and the axe.
The next minute the King had flung open the outer chamber door, as if to show to the boy his fate, for there stood the captain with the guards drawn up on either side, their armour gleaming and the lights they bore flashing from their halberds’ heads.
But the boy stood firm, seeing as it were through the glittering pageantry of the English Court the gleaming fields of far-off France, a sparkling river, and the grey steeple turrets of an ancient Frenchchâteau. It was home, with all he loved therein.
It was momentary, and the vision was dissolved by the King’s loud voice, as he cried sharply:
“Who’s with you there? Hah! Hurst! Look here, man.”
“Your Majesty!” cried the chamberlain, looking at the boy in astonishment.
“Behold my royal visitor!” cried Henry mockingly. “This is the way my courts are kept.”
“I do not understand, your Majesty,” cried the chamberlain, trembling for what was next to come.
“But I do, man!” cried Henry. “Here is our sick and wounded prisoner.”
“A ruse—a trick!” said the chamberlain excitedly.
“Yes—French,” cried Henry, with a mocking laugh. “The bird has flown, and left another in his nest. There, young popinjay, young daw—look at him, Hurst! He has cast his borrowed plumes.” Then turning to Denis: “Put on your own feathers, boy. You will come with me. Bring him to my apartments, Hurst.”
“As a prisoner, Sire?”
“No,” said the King, still fixing Denis with his eyes, and speaking to him as much as to the chamberlain. “He is my guest still, though his master is gone. See that you use him well.”
Chapter Forty Seven.Francis is a King.To have seen King Henry seated at his supper in that eventful year, and on one particular night, it would have been impossible to suppose that not many hours before he had been indulging in so fierce a storm of passion, such kingly rage, that not one of his most trusted courtiers and counsellors had dared approach for fear of consequences that might ensue.It was the lion’s feeding time, and the food had evidently been good and satisfying. The music too in the minstrels’ gallery had been sweet and pleasant to the ear. The Court jester had for a wonder excelled himself in his strong endeavours to put the King in a good humour, and uttered no less than three samples of his wit which had made the King roar, inasmuch as in the tail of each joke there was a slightly poisoned sting which had gone home to the three noblemen for whom they were intended, my Lord Hurst, the King’s chamberlain, getting the worst dose.There had been a good deal of whispered wonder running through the great dining chamber, especially below the salt, where the King’s gentlemen were seated who had for long been disappointed at the absence of royal favour and promotion they had been hoping for since they came to offer their services at Court; and though all who were well within the scan of his Majesty’s eyes spoke softly and with a stereotyped Court smile upon their countenances, they said more bitter things by far than any that had been uttered by the King’s jester, their remarks being dipped in envy, as they asked one another whether this French boy to whom the King was showing such favour—this Frenchchampignon, “impudent young upstart”—was to be the new favourite now, and one and all said to themselves that which was too dangerous to confide to another, that the King must have gone a little mad over the fit he had on discovering the loss of his favourite jewel, which had been carried off—so rumour said—by the so-called French Ambassador. This, joined to the second escape, must have turned the royal brain; otherwise he would never have displayed such sudden favour to one who had played so daring a prank as the impersonation of the wounded man.But all the same this great favour had been shown, and there was the young upstart of an esquire seated on the King’s left, where all through the evening he had been the recipient of the greater part of the royal conversation, responding in French, with a little English which made the King roar, and encouraged him to continue his rather lame efforts at English conversation with an accent that could be called nothing better than vile.The evening had passed away, and, wearied out at last, the King himself had relieved his feelings with more than one unroyal yawn—signals these of the time approaching when the gentlemen of the bedchamber would have to be in attendance, and another of the Court days be at an end.Henry was about to rise, when the chamberlain came quickly behind his chair and whispered something close to his ear, looking hard at Denis as he spoke.So meaning was his glance that the boy, who in spite of the royal favour had been on pins all the time, took fright at once, ready as he was to associate everything informal as being in some way connected with those who had escaped. The next moment the lad’s hands had turned cold and damp, while a giddy sensation attacked his brain, for the King had suddenly exclaimed:“Hah! The Captain of the Guard with his reports?”“Yes, Sire. I have told him to wait at the door of your private cabinet. Will you receive him there?”“No,” cried the King bluffly. “Bring him in here, and see that he has a cup of wine.—Now, my young masquerader,” he cried banteringly to Denis, “there’s news for you. Scores of my guards have been scouring the riverside, and they have come to announce that the prisoners have been secured, for our sick friend the Comte was certain to break down before he had gone far. Well, why do you look like that?” he continued, as he noticed the change in the young esquire’s face. “There, there: I am not so savage as they say, and whatever happens it is nothing to you, boy, for somehow—there, never mind. Here comes my friend the captain.”For there was the heavy tramp of feet, and the stalwart Captain of the Guard, in half armour, huge buff boots, and pointed morion set well back upon his head, strode up to the King’s table, dusty and travel-stained, to sink upon one knee, the plates of his armour grinding together with a strange sound as he went down—a sound repeated as the King signed to him to rise.“Well, captain,” cried the King bluffly, “what have you to report? You have captured the French pigeons which escaped their cage, and brought them back with all that they took away?”“No, Sire,” said the captain shortly.“What!” roared the King, in a voice of thunder; and there was utter stillness in the great chamber as, in no wise abashed, the captain went on:“Six companies of horse, Sire, have searched every road and every village on the way towards London, and six more companies have harried every place on both sides the river from here to—”“Bah!” roared the King. “Out of my sight! Go!”The captain saluted, and began to walk backwards, the rowels of his spurs clinking, while his armour crackled loudly as he made his way; but before he was half the distance towards the door he was brought up short by the royal thunder which exploded with one sharp crack about his ears.“Stop! At eight to-morrow let the outer court be filled with my archers of the guard and my horses ready. I will take up this quest myself.”He rose to go, as the captain again saluted, and there was a sharp rustling of garments throughout the great chamber as the courtiers who had been present at the supper rose, when to the surprise of all the great door was once more thrown open, and one of the Court functionaries stepped quickly forward and in a loud clear voice announced:“His Majesty the King of France.”There was a peculiar thrill running through the great chamber, and then a heavy bang as Henry in his astonishment gave vent to his feelings in a truly English way, for he brought down his clenched fist upon the table with a thud which made the silver flagons leap, and one, the tallest on the table, thin and weak with age, missed its footing and came down upon its side, seeming to bleed the rich red wine in a little pool.The next moment, with bandaged head erect and flashing eyes, Francis appeared in the doorway, resting upon Leoni’s arm, Saint Simon slightly behind on the other side ready to support his master should he want his help.But none was needed. Francis stood for a few moments gazing towards the upper table where the King was standing, and his quick clear glance took in the position in a moment, for he had seen Denis standing a little to Henry’s left.Then with a quick movement Francis thrust back Leoni’s arm and walked proudly up towards Henry’s chair bowing slightly once to right and left as he swept with disdainful eye the now silent throng.Then, to use the good old grandmotherly term, a pin might have been heard to drop, as Francis pressed forward till close up to where Henry stood, and before the English monarch could recover from his surprise his visitor had laid his hands lightly upon his shoulders and kissed his cheeks.It was all done in the most courtly way, and only as one of the grandest gentlemen in Europe could at such a time have given the salute, while its reception was as marked and English as it was the reverse of friendly. For the King was so utterly taken aback by this change in the state of affairs that for a few moments he could not speak. When he did find words they were of the gruffest and most matter-of-fact that an Englishman could vent.“So then,” he cried, “you have come back?”“Yes, my brother,” replied Francis, and his voice sounded musical and soft, as the gesture he made was graceful and easy. “I, the King of France, have come back to you, my brother of England, to ask your pardon for my mad folly and grave mistake. See here,” he continued, after a slight pause, and he once more looked round the tables at the glittering courtiers, while he held out fully in the light the scintillating ruby that had attracted him to the English shores. “I am no believer in magic or the dark art, but there must be something strange and fateful in this stone, magnetic perhaps, but he what it will, it led me here, knowing as I did the history of its loss; and now I have brought it back to its rightful owner, to its proper resting-place. It is yours, my brother of England, won in the far back past on the battlefield. I for the moment have held it once again in this right hand. Sire, I return it now, asking once more your forgiveness of the past, your renewed hospitality to a sick man for the night.”He ceased speaking, as Henry made a snatch and caught the jewel from his hand, when, light as the action was, it was sufficient to make his now exhausted visitor stagger. He would have fallen but for the King’s strong arm, which saved him, and helped him to the seat Henry had just vacated.“Quick, here!” he shouted. “Wine for my brother of France!”There was a quick movement, but Henry’s hand was the first to snatch one of the silver flagons from the table and hold it to the fainting King’s lips, as he drank with avidity, uttered a sigh, and then rose with a smile.“Am I a prisoner?” he said.“No,” cried Henry in his deepest tones—“my brother and my guest.”As he spoke he caught Francis by the hand and half supported him on his right, as he turned now to the excited lookers-on.“My lords and gentlemen,” he thundered out, “are we to be out-distanced in chivalry and generosity by the King of France? No!” he almost roared, as he turned to Francis. “Sire,” he cried, “it was to win back that stone to the Crown of France that you risked your life and liberty, coming almost unarmed to my Court and bearing it away. I, Sire, can but admire your daring and the gallantry with which you carried out your quest to its successful end. And, Sire, I honour far more the gallant act of chivalry, that bravery which forced you back to my Court to make this honourable amend. Francis, my brother, I cannot take the gem. It is the jewel of France, and you shall bear it there. Keep it, Sire. It is yours.”
To have seen King Henry seated at his supper in that eventful year, and on one particular night, it would have been impossible to suppose that not many hours before he had been indulging in so fierce a storm of passion, such kingly rage, that not one of his most trusted courtiers and counsellors had dared approach for fear of consequences that might ensue.
It was the lion’s feeding time, and the food had evidently been good and satisfying. The music too in the minstrels’ gallery had been sweet and pleasant to the ear. The Court jester had for a wonder excelled himself in his strong endeavours to put the King in a good humour, and uttered no less than three samples of his wit which had made the King roar, inasmuch as in the tail of each joke there was a slightly poisoned sting which had gone home to the three noblemen for whom they were intended, my Lord Hurst, the King’s chamberlain, getting the worst dose.
There had been a good deal of whispered wonder running through the great dining chamber, especially below the salt, where the King’s gentlemen were seated who had for long been disappointed at the absence of royal favour and promotion they had been hoping for since they came to offer their services at Court; and though all who were well within the scan of his Majesty’s eyes spoke softly and with a stereotyped Court smile upon their countenances, they said more bitter things by far than any that had been uttered by the King’s jester, their remarks being dipped in envy, as they asked one another whether this French boy to whom the King was showing such favour—this Frenchchampignon, “impudent young upstart”—was to be the new favourite now, and one and all said to themselves that which was too dangerous to confide to another, that the King must have gone a little mad over the fit he had on discovering the loss of his favourite jewel, which had been carried off—so rumour said—by the so-called French Ambassador. This, joined to the second escape, must have turned the royal brain; otherwise he would never have displayed such sudden favour to one who had played so daring a prank as the impersonation of the wounded man.
But all the same this great favour had been shown, and there was the young upstart of an esquire seated on the King’s left, where all through the evening he had been the recipient of the greater part of the royal conversation, responding in French, with a little English which made the King roar, and encouraged him to continue his rather lame efforts at English conversation with an accent that could be called nothing better than vile.
The evening had passed away, and, wearied out at last, the King himself had relieved his feelings with more than one unroyal yawn—signals these of the time approaching when the gentlemen of the bedchamber would have to be in attendance, and another of the Court days be at an end.
Henry was about to rise, when the chamberlain came quickly behind his chair and whispered something close to his ear, looking hard at Denis as he spoke.
So meaning was his glance that the boy, who in spite of the royal favour had been on pins all the time, took fright at once, ready as he was to associate everything informal as being in some way connected with those who had escaped. The next moment the lad’s hands had turned cold and damp, while a giddy sensation attacked his brain, for the King had suddenly exclaimed:
“Hah! The Captain of the Guard with his reports?”
“Yes, Sire. I have told him to wait at the door of your private cabinet. Will you receive him there?”
“No,” cried the King bluffly. “Bring him in here, and see that he has a cup of wine.—Now, my young masquerader,” he cried banteringly to Denis, “there’s news for you. Scores of my guards have been scouring the riverside, and they have come to announce that the prisoners have been secured, for our sick friend the Comte was certain to break down before he had gone far. Well, why do you look like that?” he continued, as he noticed the change in the young esquire’s face. “There, there: I am not so savage as they say, and whatever happens it is nothing to you, boy, for somehow—there, never mind. Here comes my friend the captain.”
For there was the heavy tramp of feet, and the stalwart Captain of the Guard, in half armour, huge buff boots, and pointed morion set well back upon his head, strode up to the King’s table, dusty and travel-stained, to sink upon one knee, the plates of his armour grinding together with a strange sound as he went down—a sound repeated as the King signed to him to rise.
“Well, captain,” cried the King bluffly, “what have you to report? You have captured the French pigeons which escaped their cage, and brought them back with all that they took away?”
“No, Sire,” said the captain shortly.
“What!” roared the King, in a voice of thunder; and there was utter stillness in the great chamber as, in no wise abashed, the captain went on:
“Six companies of horse, Sire, have searched every road and every village on the way towards London, and six more companies have harried every place on both sides the river from here to—”
“Bah!” roared the King. “Out of my sight! Go!”
The captain saluted, and began to walk backwards, the rowels of his spurs clinking, while his armour crackled loudly as he made his way; but before he was half the distance towards the door he was brought up short by the royal thunder which exploded with one sharp crack about his ears.
“Stop! At eight to-morrow let the outer court be filled with my archers of the guard and my horses ready. I will take up this quest myself.”
He rose to go, as the captain again saluted, and there was a sharp rustling of garments throughout the great chamber as the courtiers who had been present at the supper rose, when to the surprise of all the great door was once more thrown open, and one of the Court functionaries stepped quickly forward and in a loud clear voice announced:
“His Majesty the King of France.”
There was a peculiar thrill running through the great chamber, and then a heavy bang as Henry in his astonishment gave vent to his feelings in a truly English way, for he brought down his clenched fist upon the table with a thud which made the silver flagons leap, and one, the tallest on the table, thin and weak with age, missed its footing and came down upon its side, seeming to bleed the rich red wine in a little pool.
The next moment, with bandaged head erect and flashing eyes, Francis appeared in the doorway, resting upon Leoni’s arm, Saint Simon slightly behind on the other side ready to support his master should he want his help.
But none was needed. Francis stood for a few moments gazing towards the upper table where the King was standing, and his quick clear glance took in the position in a moment, for he had seen Denis standing a little to Henry’s left.
Then with a quick movement Francis thrust back Leoni’s arm and walked proudly up towards Henry’s chair bowing slightly once to right and left as he swept with disdainful eye the now silent throng.
Then, to use the good old grandmotherly term, a pin might have been heard to drop, as Francis pressed forward till close up to where Henry stood, and before the English monarch could recover from his surprise his visitor had laid his hands lightly upon his shoulders and kissed his cheeks.
It was all done in the most courtly way, and only as one of the grandest gentlemen in Europe could at such a time have given the salute, while its reception was as marked and English as it was the reverse of friendly. For the King was so utterly taken aback by this change in the state of affairs that for a few moments he could not speak. When he did find words they were of the gruffest and most matter-of-fact that an Englishman could vent.
“So then,” he cried, “you have come back?”
“Yes, my brother,” replied Francis, and his voice sounded musical and soft, as the gesture he made was graceful and easy. “I, the King of France, have come back to you, my brother of England, to ask your pardon for my mad folly and grave mistake. See here,” he continued, after a slight pause, and he once more looked round the tables at the glittering courtiers, while he held out fully in the light the scintillating ruby that had attracted him to the English shores. “I am no believer in magic or the dark art, but there must be something strange and fateful in this stone, magnetic perhaps, but he what it will, it led me here, knowing as I did the history of its loss; and now I have brought it back to its rightful owner, to its proper resting-place. It is yours, my brother of England, won in the far back past on the battlefield. I for the moment have held it once again in this right hand. Sire, I return it now, asking once more your forgiveness of the past, your renewed hospitality to a sick man for the night.”
He ceased speaking, as Henry made a snatch and caught the jewel from his hand, when, light as the action was, it was sufficient to make his now exhausted visitor stagger. He would have fallen but for the King’s strong arm, which saved him, and helped him to the seat Henry had just vacated.
“Quick, here!” he shouted. “Wine for my brother of France!”
There was a quick movement, but Henry’s hand was the first to snatch one of the silver flagons from the table and hold it to the fainting King’s lips, as he drank with avidity, uttered a sigh, and then rose with a smile.
“Am I a prisoner?” he said.
“No,” cried Henry in his deepest tones—“my brother and my guest.”
As he spoke he caught Francis by the hand and half supported him on his right, as he turned now to the excited lookers-on.
“My lords and gentlemen,” he thundered out, “are we to be out-distanced in chivalry and generosity by the King of France? No!” he almost roared, as he turned to Francis. “Sire,” he cried, “it was to win back that stone to the Crown of France that you risked your life and liberty, coming almost unarmed to my Court and bearing it away. I, Sire, can but admire your daring and the gallantry with which you carried out your quest to its successful end. And, Sire, I honour far more the gallant act of chivalry, that bravery which forced you back to my Court to make this honourable amend. Francis, my brother, I cannot take the gem. It is the jewel of France, and you shall bear it there. Keep it, Sire. It is yours.”
Chapter Forty Eight.Leoni’s secret.The festive days were few before Francis, now the honoured guest of Henry, left Windsor on his return to Fontainebleau, for he was still weak and suffering from his wound; but it was a pleasant time, especially to the King’s esquires, after a little cloud had cleared away and the sun of two young lives once more was shining bright and clear.It was towards the evening of the day succeeding the events of the last chapter, when Denis caught sight from one of the windows of the King’s gallery of Carrbroke walking in the gardens below, looking moody and strange, while all at once, as if conscious that he was being watched, he glanced up at the window and caught sight of Denis looking out ready to wave his hand.The English lad frowned, turned his back, and began walking away, while, stung to the heart by his reception, the blood flushed in the French lad’s face, and drawing back from the window he ran along the gallery, to descend into the court, reach the garden, and make his way to that portion of the pleasaunce where he had seen his English friend. It was some time before he could find him, but at last he came suddenly upon him in a secluded portion nearly surrounded by a grey stone wall covered with growing plants.“Ah, there you are at last!” cried Denis.Carrbroke turned upon him angrily and clapped his hand to his sword.“You have come to fight?” he cried. “Well, it is death here to draw. Come out into the park, and I’ll show you how I act towards a thief.”“A thief!” flashed out Denis, imitating his companion’s action. “This is cowardly from you. But no, I will not quarrel. You do not know.”“Not know! Do I not know that in my confidence and belief in our French guest, whom my father had honoured, I foolishly trusted you with the secret of the King’s private way—and for what? To help you and your friends to steal.”“No,” said Denis gravely; “you don’t know that, for it is not true. I did tell Leoni—”“Ugh!” ejaculated Carrbroke. “That man’s horrid eyes!”“Yes,” said Denis, with a peculiar smile; “that man’s horrid eyes—thoughtlessly, I suppose, of the secret way, when I believed my duty called; perhaps you would have done the same. But I had nothing to do with the taking of the gem. Pah! I hated it all through, but as the King’s esquire I had to fulfil my duty to my master. Believe me, I did not help to take the jewel. I felt that I would rather have died. Will you not believe me, Carrbroke?” And he held out his hand.“I feel I cannot,” cried Carrbroke.“Does it take a king to forgive?” said Denis, with a smile. “To say those words, I forgive you, when there is nothing to forgive?”“Oh,” cried Carrbroke hoarsely, and he looked sharply round to see if they were observed, before snatching and tightly grasping Denis’s extended hands.A few minutes later the two lads were walking together arms on shoulders, in full sunshine of their young nature, that light seeming to be at the zenith, while the ruddy orange sun itself finishing its daily rounds was slowly sinking in the west.“Hah!” cried Denis. “I am glad we are friends again. I know it looked black against me, and—”“Oh, don’t!” said Carrbroke. “I thought we’d agreed that all that was buried, never to be dug up again. But look here, we must have it now; there is one thing I want to know.”“What?” said Denis, with a peculiar mirthful look in his eyes.“It is very horrible,” continued Carrbroke. “I did not mean to ask you, but I feel I must. Of course your Leoni believed he was doing right for the sake of France, and to serve his master, but I never understood where he managed to hide the ruby. Do you know?”“I did not know till yesterday.”“Ah, did he tell you then?—But no, I will not ask you to break his confidence.”“It is not to break his confidence, for he did not tell me,” replied Denis. “I learned it from Saint Simon, for he saw it on the boat.”“Saw the ruby in the boat?” cried Carrbroke. “Why, how did it get there?”Denis was silent for a moment or two, and then whispered something, with a peculiar smile upon his lips as he placed them near his companion’s ear.“What!” cried Carrbroke, starting back and staring in wonderment at his companion. “He hid it there? Then that accounts for his peculiar fixed look.”“Yes. He was fencing when a young man, and his adversary’s rapier point completely destroyed his left eye.”“Ah!” whispered Carrbroke, beneath his breath. “I see. Then the eye is false—made, you say, of gold, enamelled to look exactly like the other, a little hollow globe.”“Yes; anétui, we may call it now, but never meant to conceal that gem.”“Horrid!” cried Carrbroke.“Yes,” said Denis quietly; “but believe it if you can.”“Oh,” cried Carrbroke, “I believe; but if he had liked it could never have been found.”A week later the parting of the two lads was like that of brothers, and it was full of promises of what they would do when they met again.Perhaps they encountered later on at the Field of the Cloth of Gold; but history only says—The End.
The festive days were few before Francis, now the honoured guest of Henry, left Windsor on his return to Fontainebleau, for he was still weak and suffering from his wound; but it was a pleasant time, especially to the King’s esquires, after a little cloud had cleared away and the sun of two young lives once more was shining bright and clear.
It was towards the evening of the day succeeding the events of the last chapter, when Denis caught sight from one of the windows of the King’s gallery of Carrbroke walking in the gardens below, looking moody and strange, while all at once, as if conscious that he was being watched, he glanced up at the window and caught sight of Denis looking out ready to wave his hand.
The English lad frowned, turned his back, and began walking away, while, stung to the heart by his reception, the blood flushed in the French lad’s face, and drawing back from the window he ran along the gallery, to descend into the court, reach the garden, and make his way to that portion of the pleasaunce where he had seen his English friend. It was some time before he could find him, but at last he came suddenly upon him in a secluded portion nearly surrounded by a grey stone wall covered with growing plants.
“Ah, there you are at last!” cried Denis.
Carrbroke turned upon him angrily and clapped his hand to his sword.
“You have come to fight?” he cried. “Well, it is death here to draw. Come out into the park, and I’ll show you how I act towards a thief.”
“A thief!” flashed out Denis, imitating his companion’s action. “This is cowardly from you. But no, I will not quarrel. You do not know.”
“Not know! Do I not know that in my confidence and belief in our French guest, whom my father had honoured, I foolishly trusted you with the secret of the King’s private way—and for what? To help you and your friends to steal.”
“No,” said Denis gravely; “you don’t know that, for it is not true. I did tell Leoni—”
“Ugh!” ejaculated Carrbroke. “That man’s horrid eyes!”
“Yes,” said Denis, with a peculiar smile; “that man’s horrid eyes—thoughtlessly, I suppose, of the secret way, when I believed my duty called; perhaps you would have done the same. But I had nothing to do with the taking of the gem. Pah! I hated it all through, but as the King’s esquire I had to fulfil my duty to my master. Believe me, I did not help to take the jewel. I felt that I would rather have died. Will you not believe me, Carrbroke?” And he held out his hand.
“I feel I cannot,” cried Carrbroke.
“Does it take a king to forgive?” said Denis, with a smile. “To say those words, I forgive you, when there is nothing to forgive?”
“Oh,” cried Carrbroke hoarsely, and he looked sharply round to see if they were observed, before snatching and tightly grasping Denis’s extended hands.
A few minutes later the two lads were walking together arms on shoulders, in full sunshine of their young nature, that light seeming to be at the zenith, while the ruddy orange sun itself finishing its daily rounds was slowly sinking in the west.
“Hah!” cried Denis. “I am glad we are friends again. I know it looked black against me, and—”
“Oh, don’t!” said Carrbroke. “I thought we’d agreed that all that was buried, never to be dug up again. But look here, we must have it now; there is one thing I want to know.”
“What?” said Denis, with a peculiar mirthful look in his eyes.
“It is very horrible,” continued Carrbroke. “I did not mean to ask you, but I feel I must. Of course your Leoni believed he was doing right for the sake of France, and to serve his master, but I never understood where he managed to hide the ruby. Do you know?”
“I did not know till yesterday.”
“Ah, did he tell you then?—But no, I will not ask you to break his confidence.”
“It is not to break his confidence, for he did not tell me,” replied Denis. “I learned it from Saint Simon, for he saw it on the boat.”
“Saw the ruby in the boat?” cried Carrbroke. “Why, how did it get there?”
Denis was silent for a moment or two, and then whispered something, with a peculiar smile upon his lips as he placed them near his companion’s ear.
“What!” cried Carrbroke, starting back and staring in wonderment at his companion. “He hid it there? Then that accounts for his peculiar fixed look.”
“Yes. He was fencing when a young man, and his adversary’s rapier point completely destroyed his left eye.”
“Ah!” whispered Carrbroke, beneath his breath. “I see. Then the eye is false—made, you say, of gold, enamelled to look exactly like the other, a little hollow globe.”
“Yes; anétui, we may call it now, but never meant to conceal that gem.”
“Horrid!” cried Carrbroke.
“Yes,” said Denis quietly; “but believe it if you can.”
“Oh,” cried Carrbroke, “I believe; but if he had liked it could never have been found.”
A week later the parting of the two lads was like that of brothers, and it was full of promises of what they would do when they met again.
Perhaps they encountered later on at the Field of the Cloth of Gold; but history only says—
|Chapter 1| |Chapter 2| |Chapter 3| |Chapter 4| |Chapter 5| |Chapter 6| |Chapter 7| |Chapter 8| |Chapter 9| |Chapter 10| |Chapter 11| |Chapter 12| |Chapter 13| |Chapter 14| |Chapter 15| |Chapter 16| |Chapter 17| |Chapter 18| |Chapter 19| |Chapter 20| |Chapter 21| |Chapter 22| |Chapter 23| |Chapter 24| |Chapter 25| |Chapter 26| |Chapter 27| |Chapter 28| |Chapter 29| |Chapter 30| |Chapter 31| |Chapter 32| |Chapter 33| |Chapter 34| |Chapter 35| |Chapter 36| |Chapter 37| |Chapter 38| |Chapter 39| |Chapter 40| |Chapter 41| |Chapter 42| |Chapter 43| |Chapter 44| |Chapter 45| |Chapter 46| |Chapter 47| |Chapter 48|