CHAPTER XLIV.
VALENTINE AND HER VENGEANCE
But as he watched, a strange drawn look appeared on the countenance ofFrancis Agnew the Scot. And there came that set look to his mouth, whichhad enabled him to endure so many things.
"The lad also!" he muttered, "and I had begun to love him!"
For it was not given to Francis Agnew, more than to any other son ofAdam, to divine the good when the appearance is evil. And with hiselbows on his knees he thought of Claire, of her hope deferred, and ofthe waiting of the sick heart. She believed this man faithful. And now,would even her father's return (if ever he did return) make up to herfor this most foul treachery?
To John d'Albret he spoke no further word. He asked no question, as theyrested side by side during the night-watches. The stammered explanationwhich the Abbe John began after Valentine's departure was leftunanswered. Francis Agnew had learned a great secret--how to keepsilence. It is an excellent gift.
The ancient, high-piled town loomed up tier above tier, white and greyand purple under the splendours of the moon. The Abbe John took it inbit by bit--the black ledges and capes with the old Moorish castles, andlater corsair watch-towers, the flaring _phare_ at the mouth of theharbour, the huge double swell of the cathedral crowning all, the longlines of the arch-episcopal palace on the slope, the vineyards andoliveyards--all stood up blanched and, as it were, blotched in pen andink under the silver flood of light and the steady milky blue arch ofthe sky. Such was Tarragona upon that night of sleepless silence.
The morning brought a new order, grateful to both.
The armourer of the _Conquistador_ came down, and with file, and rasp,and pince-monseigneur, he speedily undid the iron belt which had not yethad time to eat into the flesh. The Abbe John was commanded to go onshore. During his short time aboard he had made himself a favourite. TheTurk, Ben Hamal, hugged him to his hairy chest and stammered a blessingin the name of the Prophet. Others here and there wished him good speed,and looked wistfully at him, even though after John had departed theyshook their heads, and with quick upward motions of their thumbsimitated the darting flames of the bi-weekly _auto de fe_.
They understood why he was sent for--and envied him.
Only Francis Agnew the Scot said no word, bade no adieu, wished no wish,gazing steadily at a post on the shore, which to his distortedimagination took on the shape of a woman dressed in white waiting forJohn d'Albret.
Had he only thought, he would have known that to be impossible. But hedid not think--except of Claire, his daughter. And--as he had said--hehad begun to love the lad. So much the worse for him and for all.
* * * * *
It was not upon the shore, but high in the city that the Abbe John foundValentine la Nina. She awaited him in that secular annex to the palaceof the Archbishop which the great Teres Doria now occupied as Viceroy ofCatalonia. The Archbishop-Governor had put his private cabinet at herservice. One does not say no to the daughters of reigning sovereigns,when one has served both father and grandfather.
Doria had ordered his valet, a layman with mere servitor's vows to givehim a standing, to assist John d'Albret in his toilet. So before longthe Abbe John found himself in a suit of black velvet, severe andunbroidered, which fitted him better than it could ever have done thestouter Don Jacques Casas, for whom it had been made. A sword hung athis side--a feeble blade and blunt, as John d'Albret ascertained as soonas he was left a moment alone, but sheathed in a scabbard of price. Hesat still and let the good valet perfume and lave, and comb out hislove-locks, without thinking much of what was coming. His mind wasbenumbed and curiously oppressed. Fate planned above his head, shadowybut unseen. And somehow he was afraid--he knew not why.
Finally all was done. Even Jacques Casas was satisfied, and smiled. Thegalley-slave had become a man again.
The cabinet of the Cardinal-Viceroy of Catalonia looked over the citywall, very nearly at its highest seaward angle, in the place where nowthey have pierced a gate, where red-kerchiefed gipsies sit about onsteps, and vagabonds in mauve caps sell snails by measure. But then alittle vice-regal garden fronted the windows, and the ancient walls ofTarragona, older than the Romans or the Greeks, older thanCarthage--older even than the galleys of Tyre--fell away beneath towardsthe sea verges, so solid that to the eye there was little differencebetween them and the living rock on which they were founded. The giantswho were in the times before the flood built them, so the townsmen said.And as no one knows anything about the matter, that opinion is as goodas any other.
The two young people stood regarding each other, silent. The blondemasses of the girl's hair seemed less full of living gold and fire thanof yore. Perhaps there was a thread or two of grey mingling with thegraciousness of those thick coils and curves. But the great eyes,coloured like clover-honey dropped from the comb, were moist andglorious as ever. They had manifestly gained in directness and nobility.
The Abbe John bowed low. Valentine la Nina did not respond. There was,however, a slight colour on her cheeks of clear ivory. Man born of womanhad never seen that before.
"I have sent for you," said Valentine la Nina, in a low and thrillingcontralto, "I would speak with you! Yet this one time more!"
She put her hand rapidly to her throat, as if something there impededher utterance.
"Yes," she continued, swallowing down her emotion with difficulty, "Iwould speak with you--it may be for the last time."
After this she was silent a while, as if making up her mind what to say.Then with a single instinctive mechanical gesture she twitched her longrobe of white and creamy lace behind her. It seemed as if she wanted allspace wide and clear before her for what she had to say and do. Her eyesdevoured those of John d'Albret.
"You--still--love her?" she said, forcing the words slowly from herlips.
"I love her!" John answered simply. He had nothing to add to that. Ithad been said before. Any apology would be an insult to Claire. Sympathya deeper insult to the woman before him.
The carmine flush deepened on her cheek. But it was not anger. The girlwas singularly mistress of herself--calm, resolved, clear-seeing.
"Ah," said Valentine la Nina softly, "I expected no other answer. Butstill, have you remembered that I once gave you your liberty? How youlost it a second time, I do not know. Now I am putting all my cards onthe table. I play--hearts only. If I and my love are not worthy ofyours, will you tell me why another, who has done nothing for you, ispreferred to me, who has risked, and am willing to risk everything foryou--life, death, the world, position, freedom, honour, all! Tell me!Answer me!"
"I loved her first!" said the Abbe John.
"Ah, that too you said before," she cried, with a kind of sigh, "and youhave nothing more to say--I--nothing more to offer. Yet I cannot tellwhy it should be so. It seems, in all dispassion, that if I were a man,I should choose Valentine la Nina. Men--many men--ah, how many men, havecraved for that which I have begged you to accept--not for your vagueprincedom, not for your vague hopes, not for your soldier's courage,which is no rare virtue. But for you--yourself! Because you are you--andhave drawn me, I know not how--I see not where----"
"I do not ask you to obtain my release," said John d'Albret, somewhatuneasily, "I have no claim to that; but I have on board that ship acomrade"--here he hesitated--"yes, I will tell you his name, for you arenoble. It is Francis Agnew, her father, he who was left for dead on theStreet of the University by the Guisards of Paris on the Day of theBarricades. He is now at the same bench as I, in the _Conquistador_----"
"What!" cried Valentine, "not the old man with the white tangled beard Isaw by your side when--when--I saw you?"
"The same," the Abbe John answered her softly.
Then came a kind of glory over the girl's face, like the first certaintyof forgiveness breaking over a redeemed soul. She drew in her breathsharply. Her hands clasped themselves on her bosom. Then she smiled, butthe bitterness was gone out of the smile now.
"I must see this Cl
aire," she said, speaking shortly and somewhatsternly to herself; "I must know whether she is worthy. For to obtainfrom my father (who will not of his own goodwill call me daughter)--fromPhilip the King, I mean--pardon for two such heretics, one of them thecousin of his chief enemy--I must have a great thing to offer. And suchI have indeed--something that he would almost expend another Armada toobtain. But, before I decide, I must see Claire Agnew. I must look inher eyes, and know if she be worthy. Then I will do it. Or, perhaps, sheand I together."
The last words were murmured only.
The Abbe John, who knew not of what she was speaking, judged it prudentto say nothing.
"Yes--I must know," she went on, still brusquely, "you will tell mewhere she is. I will go there. And afterwards I will return to theEscorial to see my father--Philip the King. Meantime I will speak to theDuke of Err, and to his mother, as well as to the Viceroy Doria. Youshall abide in Pilate's House down there, where is a prison garden----"
"And my friend?" said John d'Albret.
The girl hesitated a little, and then held out her hand. The young mantook it.
"And your friend!" she said. "There in Pilate's House you must wait, youtwo, till I see--till I know that she is worth the sacrifice."
Once again she laughed a little, seeing a wave of joy or perhaps somemore complex emotion sweep over John's face.
"Ah," she cried, with a returning trace of her first bitterness, "youare certain that she is worthy. Doubtless so for you! But as thesacrifice is mine--I also must be certain--ah, very certain. For thereis no back-going. It is the end of all things for Valentine la Nina."
She laughed little and low, like one on the verge of hysterics. A nervetwitched irregularly in her throat under her chin to the right. The pinkcame out brighter to her cheek. It was a terrible laugh to hear in thatstill place. And the mirthlessness of it--it struck the Abbe John cold.
"This shall be my revenge," she said, fixing him, with flame in herhoney-coloured eyes; "long after, long--oh, so--so long after"--shewaved her arm--"you will know! And you will see that, however much shehas loved you, hers was the love which takes. But mine--ah, mine isdifferent. Mine is the love which gives--the only true woman'slove--without scant, without measure, without bounds of good or evil,without thought of recompense, or hope of reward. Love net, unselfish,boundless, encompassing as the sea, and like a fountain sealed withinthe heart of a woman. And then--then you shall remember that when yemight--ye would not--ah, ye would not!"
A sob tore her throat.
"But one day, or it may be through all eternity, you shall know which isthe greater love, and you shall wish--no, you are a man, you will becontent with the lesser, the more comprehensible, the goodwife warmingher feet by the fire over against yours. There is your ideal. WhileI--I--would have carried you beyond the stars!"
The Abbe John took a step nearer her. He had some vague notion ofcomforting--not knowing.
But she thrust her arms out furiously as if to strike him.
"Go--go!" she cried, "you are breaking my heart every instant youremain. Is it not enough, that which you have done? I would be quiet.They are waiting for you to take you to Pilate's House. But tell mefirst where to find this--this Claire Agnew!"
She pronounced the name with difficulty.
"Ah," Valentine continued, when John had told her how she was safe inProvence, "that is no great way. I shall go and soon return. Then toMadrid is farther, but easier. But if I suffer--what I must suffer--youcan well abide here a little season. The hope--the future is with you.For me there is neither--save to do the greatest thing for you that everwoman did for man! That shall be my revenge."
The White Plumes of Navarre: A Romance of the Wars of Religion Page 45