The White Plumes of Navarre: A Romance of the Wars of Religion
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CHAPTER VII.
THE GREAT NAME OF GUISE
Claire had indeed seen little of her father. All her life she had beenaccustomed to be left in the charge of strangers while Francis Agnewwent about his business of hole-and-corner diplomacy. Claire wastherefore no whit astonished to find herself with two men, almoststrangers to her, alone upon the crowded road to Orleans.
She mourned sincerely for her father, but after all she was hardly morethan a child, and for years she had seen little of Francis Agnew. Hehad, it is true, always managed to take care of her, always in his wayloved her. But it was most often from a distance, and as yet she did notrealise the difference.
She might therefore be thought more cheerful than most maids of aquieter day in the expression of her grief. Then, indeed, was a man'slife on his lip, and girls of twenty had often seen more killing thanmodern generals of three-score and ten. It was not that Claire feltless, but that an adventurous present so filled her life with things todo, that she had no time for thought.
Also, was there not Jean-aux-Choux, otherwise Cabbage Jock, but with anexcellent right to the name of John Stirling, armiger, jester to threekings, and licentiate in theology in the Reformed (and only true) Churchof Geneva? Jean-aux-Choux was a fatalist and a Calvinist. Things whichwere ordained to happen would happen, and if any insulted his master'sdaughter, it was obviously ordained that he, Jean-aux-Choux, should seta dagger between the shoulder-blades of the insulter. This in itself wasno slight protection. For the fool's sinews were reputed so strong thathe could take two vigorous men of the King's Guard, pin them with hisarms like trussed fowls, and, if so it pleased him, knock their headstogether.
So through the press the four made their way into Orleans, where theyfound the bearing of the people again changed, and that for the worse.
"It behoves your learned and professional shoulders to be decorated oncemore with the green cloth and fur trimmings of the Sorbonne," saidJean-aux-Choux. "I can smell a Leaguer a mile off, and this city isfull of them. Our Scots Guards have turned off on the road to Blois.There are too many bishops and clergy here for honest men. Besideswhich, the King has a chateau at Blois. We had better change mysaddle-cloth--though 'twill be to my disadvantage--inasmuch as anarcher's tabard, all gold embroidering, makes noways so easy sitting asfox fur and Angouleme green."
So it chanced that when they rode up to the low door of the Hostelry ofthe Golden Lark, in the market-place of Orleans, the Professor ofEloquence was again clad in his official attire, and led the way asbecame a Doctor of the Sorbonne in a Leaguer town.
It was a pretty pink-and-white woman who welcomed them with manycourtesies and smiles to the Golden Lark--that is, so far as the menwere concerned, while preserving a severe and doubtful demeanour towardsthe niece of the learned Professor of the Sorbonne. Madame Gillifleurloved single men, unaccompanied men, at her hostelry. She found thatthus there was much less careful examination of accounts when it came tothe hour of departure.
Still, all the same, it was a great thing to have in her house solearned a man, and in an hour, as was the custom of the town, she hadsent his name and style to the Bishop's palace. Within two hours theBishop's secretary, a smart young cleric dressed in the Italian fashion,with many frills to his soutane, was bearing the invitation of hismaster to the gentlemen to visit him in his study. This, of course,involved leaving Claire behind, for Anatole Long ordered the Abbe Johnto accompany him, while the girl declared that, with Jean-aux-Choux tokeep her company, she had fear of nothing and nobody.
She had not, however, taken her account with the curiosity of MadameCeleste Gillifleur, who, as soon as the men were gone to the episcopalpalace, entered the room where Claire was seated at her knitting, whileJean-aux-Choux read aloud the French Genevan Bible.
Cabbage Jock deftly covered the small quarto volume with a collection ofsongs published (as usual) at the Hague.
"The fairer the hostess the fouler the soup!" muttered Jean, as heretired into a corner, humming the refrain of a Leaguer song.
Madame Gillifleur saluted her enemy with the duck of a hen which hasfinished drinking. To her Claire bowed the slightest of acknowledgments.
"To what do I owe this honour?" she inquired, with dryness.
"I thought my lady, the Professor's niece, might be in need of someservice--a tiring-maid perhaps?" began the landlady. "My own you wouldbe heartily welcome to, but she is a fresh, foolish wench from theSologne, and would sooner groom a nag of Beauce than pin aright alady's stomacher! But I can obtain one from the town--not toorespectable, I fear. But for my lady, and for one night, I suppose thatdoes not matter."
"Ha, from the town!" grumbled Jean-aux-Choux out of his window-seat.Then he hummed, nodding his head and wagging his finger as if he hadjust found the words in his song-book:
"Eyes and ears, ears and eyes-- Who hires maids, lacks never spies!"
The landlady darted a furious look at the interrupter.
"Who may this rude fellow be, that is not afraid to give his tongue suchliberty in my house?"
Jean-aux-Choux answered for himself, as indeed he was well able to do.
"I am philosopher-in-chief to the League; and as for that, when I am athome with his Grace of Guise, he and I wear motley day about!"
The face of the landlady changed. Remembering the learned Professor ofthe Sorbonne, who had gone to visit the bishop, she turned quickly toClaire and asked, "Does the fellow speak truth? Is he really the jesterto the great Duke, the good Prince, the glory of the League?"
"I have reason to believe it," said Claire calmly; "but, for yourcomplete satisfaction, you can ask my uncle the Professor upon hisreturn."
"I trust they will not be long gone," grumbled Jean-aux-Choux. "I havean infallible clock here under the third button of my tunic, which tellsme it is long past dinner-time. And if it be not a good worthy meal, Ishall by no means advise His Grace to dismount at the Golden Lark whennext he passes through Orleans!"
"Holy Saint Marthe!" cried the landlady; "I will go this minute, andsee what they are doing in the kitchen. I will warm their scullionbacks----"
"I think I smell burned meat!" continued Jean-aux-Choux.
"Faith, but is it true that the Duke of Guise is indeed coming thisway?" Madame Celeste Gillifleur asked anxiously.
"True, indeed," affirmed Jean, with his nose in the air, "and before theyear is out, too. But, Madame, my good hostess, there is nothing hedislikes so much as the smell of good meat spoiled in the basting."
"I will attend to the basting myself, and that forthwith!" cried thelady of the Golden Lark, darting kitchen-wards at full speed, andforgetting all the questions she had come up to ask of Claire in theabsence of her legitimate protectors.
Jean-aux-Choux laughed as she went out, and inclined his ear. Soundswhich indicated the basting of not yet inanimate flesh, arrived from thekitchen.
"Mistress, mistress," cried a voice, "I am dead, bruised, scalded--havepity on me!"
"Pity is it, you rascal?"--the sharp tones of Madame Celeste rosehigh--"have you not wasted my good dripping, burnt my meat, offendedthese gentlemen, spoiled their dinner, so that they will report illthings of the Golden Lark to his most noble Grace of Guise?"
"Pity--oh, pity!"
Followed a rapid rushing of feet to and fro in the kitchen. Furniturewas overturned. Something of the nature of a basting-ladle strucksonorously on tables and scattered patty-pans on the floor. A doorslammed, shaking the house, and a blue-clad kitchen boy fled down thenarrow street, while Madame Celeste, basting-ladle in hand, fumed andgesticulated in his wake.