The White Plumes of Navarre: A Romance of the Wars of Religion
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CHAPTER XXXIV.
BISHOP, ARCHBISHOP, AND ANGELICAL DOCTOR
At sight of his master in the boat Jean-aux-Choux turned sharply to theleft. Obviously they must try elsewhere. The way of the sea was shut tothem in front; the enemy was clearly awake and waiting for them there.The net behind had not had time to be drawn tight, and if the Abbe Johnproved successful in deceiving the familiars of the Holy Office, itwould not close. Still, there was every reason for haste. There was nodisguising that fact.
Passing behind the town walls as swiftly as might be, with the burden ofMadame Amelie in their arms, Jean-aux-Choux halted the brothers for awhile in lee of a sheepfold with walls high enough for a fort. Then,passing within, he appeared presently with two poles and a piece ofsacking, out of which he extemporised a carrying hammock. He and hiscomrades used it for carrying down to their huts and shelters suchwounded sheep or weakly lambs as they found high up among the mountains,that they might be tended back to health again.
The Senora was a little woman--a mere "rickle of bones," in Jean'sScottish phrase, and hardly heavier than a stout six months' lamb.Indeed, so much had the flesh faded under the strain of her constantactivity, that the restless spirit within seemed to pulse and throbunder the frail envelope like a new-taken bird.
Jean-aux-Choux took the head. The brothers relieved each other at thefeet--that is to say, the Miller-Alcalde and Don Jordy. After oneattempt, the Professor acknowledged that the chair of the Sorbonne hadunfitted him for such exercise upon the mountains.
They crossed the Elne road only a few minutes before the familiars, withthe false maid mounted on Don Jordy's white mule, went past peaceably,trekking their way towards Perpignan and the Street of the Money.
It was clearly unsafe to continue. Yet what else to do? They crouchedbehind a pillar-rock (what in Celtic lands of Ker and Pol and Tre wouldhave been a menhir) and listened. There came the sound of hoofs, thejingle of a bridle. A white shape skirted with well-accustomed feet thephosphorescent glimmer of the path, wet with dew, and wimpling upwardstowards the summit of the cape.
"My mule--the bishop's mule," muttered Don Jordy. "Oh, the villains!Food for the _garrotte_!"
Then he comforted himself with thoughts of vengeance.
"Monseigneur will make them deliver," he growled to himself, "for WhiteChiquita's pretty sake if not for that of his poor notary. He does notgreatly love the Inquisition at any time. He believes, and with justice,that it is they and the Jesuits who are striving to take thesee-episcopal from ancient Elne, the Illiberris of the ancients, andgive it to Perpignan--_champignon_ rather, the mushroom growth of anight."
But Don Jordy's very anathema had given him an idea.
"What if it were possible--that Monseigneur would--yes, he has greatpower in what is hidden from the Holy Office. He could keep my mothersafe in his palace till we have the girl in safety. I believe he woulddo it for me, his notary and registrar, who have always served both himand the see with fidelity."
In a low voice he made his proposition to his companions. They shouldall go to Elne. He, Don Jordy, would make his way into the palace of myLord Bishop. He had the key to a door in the base of the rock, givingupon stairs that turned and turned till one was almost giddy.
There they would leave Madame Amelie till happier times. In a _tablier_of white, she might well and naturally bear rule in the episcopalkitchen, of which the waste and expense had long been a byword.
To this Jean-aux-Choux at first objected. It were best to hasten. Allwho were under the ban of the Holy Office must get out of Roussillonaltogether. It was no place for them. For him it was different, ofcourse. None suspected him. He had his sheep to attend to. For thepresent his comrade did what was necessary, believing him employed onhis master's business. Also, if he were to succour and protect theabandoned bestial and poultry-yard, dear to the Senora, he must returnas swiftly as possible.
Finally, however, he also was brought to see reason.
Indeed, the growing weakness of the old lady seriously disquieted everyone. So much so, indeed, that Don Jordy went on ahead as soon as theblack mass of Elne hunched itself up against the faint pearl-grey sheetwhich was hung behind the sand-dunes of Argeles, on the way of the sea.
Grey, pallid day was beginning to break when he returned, having seenand heard great things.
At first the night-watchman of the little palace had hesitated tointrude upon the Bishop, who, he said, had company--no other than thelearned Doctor Ange de Pas, so learned that he scrupled not to enterinto dispute with the Vatican itself, so holy that Sixtus V., at firstangered by his stubbornness, finally made a saint of him before histime, because he was the only man who dared to withstand him face toface. "Also," said the watchman, "there was another, who had come fromthe south with a retinue, now lodged in the cells of the ancientmonastery of the Cordeliers."
"His name?" Don Jordy demanded, fearing lest it should be some greatmissioner of the Inquisition on his rounds, in which case he was lostindeed--and most likely all those who were with him.
"He gave no name," said Leucate the watchman, "and his face was covered.But he knew this place well, and spoke of Fernand Doria, where certainof his chief men could put up, and also of the way to the ancientConvent of the Cordeliers."
This news somewhat reassured Don Jordy, and he bade Leucate carry up hismessage. He was immediately bidden to enter into the Bishop's privateapartments. The good Onuphre de Reart, last Bishop of Elne, was a littlesmiling man, with a sweet obstinacy in his expression which was notbelied by the good fight he had fought with the Inquisition for theprivileges of the Church in Roussillon and in the diocese of Elne.
Doctor Ange de Pas was, of course, known to Don Jordy, and rose to givehim greeting. But even the holy monk, his hand crisped, as about thequill with which he wrote his many books, showed certain signs ofnervousness. The Bishop of Elne held up his hand as if to halt Don Jordyin what he was about to say. Then, going to the purple velvet curtainwhich divided his audience-chamber from the bedrooms, he announced in aclear, unmistakable voice, "My Lord Cardinal Archbishop!"
Upon which, with smiling dignity, there entered the famous Jean TeresDoria, now Archbishop of Tarragona and Viceroy of all Catalonia, whomthe Infanta of Spain had caused to be thus advanced only four years ago,because of his treatment of her as Bishop of Elne when her ship waswrecked on the rocks of Collioure.
"Ah, Don Jorge!" said the great prelate, holding out his hand for thenotary to kiss, "you serve early and late, as of yore. Though I think Inever saw you in my house quite so belated as this."
Then all suddenly, finding himself in the company of three such good andholy men, all looking so kindly upon him, Don Jordy burst into tears.
The Archbishop Doria stepped quickly up to him, saying, "Don Jordy,friend of mine, you knew me and I knew you, when I was only yourneighbour and fellow-student, Jean Teres Doria of Elne. Tell me yoursorrow as you would have done, when we fought with burrs and pine-conesin the groves--I for Elne, and you for the honour of Collioure."
"My mother," said Don Jordy, controlling himself with an effort--"she ischased from her house by the familiars of the Holy Office. She and allof us! Only she is old, feeble, pushed beyond her strength. She cannotgo farther, and must lie down and die, if the Bishop will not consent toreceive her into his palace."
And he went on to tell all the story of the Professor's coming, DonRaphael's suit, and Claire's refusal--lastly, of the warning that hadbeen given concerning the action of the Inquisition.
It could easily be observed how, at that dread name, even the Archbishopgrew grave. There was no power comparable to that of the Holy Office inSpain--because the Holy Office was only the King working secretly, doinglawless things under cover of the ample robe of Mother Church.
But the quiet little Cordelier, the Doctor Ange, with his white skin andtremulous bird-like hands, only smiled the sweeter as he listened.
"I fear me," he said, "that the Bishop's palace is too public a placefor your m
other. Now, what think you? You have with her also yourbrother, that learned professor of the Sorbonne, with whom it wouldplease me much to ravel out many a tangled web of high doctrine,according to the last interpretation of Paris--why, there is in our newHouse of the Cordeliers ample room and space for your mother--as well asfor your brother, who can don our robe for once in a way. My friendshere will doubtless make the matter easier for those of your partycontinuing their way to the north. Nay, do not thank me. I shall expectmuch joy from the acquaintance of so learned a man as your brother,though (as I have heard) he mingles too much earthly learning with thepure doctrine of Saint Thomas Aquinas!"
The Archbishop Doria and his successor in the see of Elne, BishopOnuphre, looked at each other, one taking the other's mind.
"It is perhaps as good a solution as any," said the former meditatively;"however, I judge that you, Don Jorge, had better remain at your post. Isee not wherein even the Holy Office can find matter against you. It isa pity that I have no control over its working. The King thinks littleof the regular clergy" (at this the little Cordelier laughed). "So thatMy Lord Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo, Primate of all Spain, is in thepower of the meanest familiar of the Inquisition who may choose tolodge an information against him. Nevertheless, I possess something ofthe Secular Arm in this province, being for the moment Viceroy of theKing. So that, I judge it will be as well--nay, more, it will lookwell--that you should go about your ordinary business, sending on yourparty with all speed to the frontier. I will give them a protectionunder my own hand and seal."
So by this fortunate intervention of the great Doria, Viceroy andArchbishop, our Claire's path was smoothed France-wards, and MadameAmelie rested securely in the newly-built annex of the Convent of theCordeliers. As to the Professor, her son, he battled daily with DoctorAnge concerning the opinions of the Angelical Doctor--grace free andgrace conditional, Arianism and Supra-lapsarianism, till Ange de Pas,who had friends all over the world, produced as a peace-offering theleaves of a certain curious plant, newly brought from the WesternIndies, the smoke of which, being drunk through a tube and slowlyexpelled with the breath, proved a famous composer of quarrels. Theplant was called, he said, nicotiana, but was so rare and expensivethat, had he not had a friend Commander-in-chief of the forces in NewSpain, their philosophic differences might have gone on for ever.
As for the Abbe John, no one knew what had become of him--except, thatis, the Miller-Alcalde Jean-Marie, and he answered nothing to Claire'squestion. Because him also the devil tempted.