The White Plumes of Navarre: A Romance of the Wars of Religion

by S. R. Crockett

  CHAPTER XLVI.

  KING AND KING'S DAUGHTER

  Upon the high, black, slaty ledges of the Sierra of Guadarrama, winterdescends early. Indeed, Penalara, looking down on the Escorial, keepshis snow-cap all the year. From the Dome of Philip the King, one may seein mid-August the snow-swirls greying his flanks and foot-hills almostto the limits of the convent domain.

  It was now October, and along the splendid road which joins the littlevillage of San Ildefonso to the Escorial, a sturdy cavalcade of horsesand mules took its way--a carriers' convoy this, a muleteers' troop, notby any means a raffle of gay cavaliers.

  "Ho, the Maragatos! Out of the way--the Maragatos!" shouted any that metthem, over their shoulders. For that strange race from the flat lands ofAstorga has the right of the highway--or rather, of the high, the low,and the middle way--wherever these exist in Spain. They are the carriersof all of value in the peninsula--assurance agents rather--stout-builtmen, curiously arrayed in leathern jerkins, belted broadly about themiddle, and wearing white linen _bragas_--a sort of cross between"breeks" and "kilt," coming a little above the knee. Even bandits thinktwice before meddling with one of these affiliated Maragatos. For thewhole bees' byke of them would hunt down the robber band. The King'stroops let them alone. The Maragatos have always had the favour ofkings, and as often as not carry the King's own goods from port tocapital far more safely than his own troopers. Only they do not hurry.They do not often ride their horses, which carry--carry--only carry,while their masters stride alongside, with quarter-staff, a two-footspring-knife, and a pair of holster-pistols all ready primed for anyemergency.

  But in the midst of this particular cavalcade were two women riding uponmules. They were dressed, so far as the eye of the passer-by couldobserve, in the costume of all the Maragatas--dresses square-cut in thebodice, with chains and half-moons of silver tinkling on neck andforehead, while a long petticoat, padded in small diamond squares, fellto the points of their red Cordovan shoes. These Maragatas sat sidewayson their mules and were completely silent.

  It was not a warlike party to look at. Nevertheless, gay young cavaliersof the capital on duty at La Granja, who might have sought adventure hadthe ladies been protected only by guards in mail and plume, drew asideand whispered behind their hands as the Maragatas went by.

  Now these women were probably the two fairest in Spain at thatmoment--being by denomination Claire Agnew and Valentine la Nina. In therear a huge, vaguely misshapen giant in shepherd's dress--fleece-coatand cap of wolf-skin, with the ears sticking out quaintly on eitherside, herded the entire party. He seemed to be assuring himself that itwas not followed or spied upon.

  Beneath them, in the grey of the mist, as they turned a corner of theblue-black Sierra, there suddenly loomed up the snow-sprinkled roofs ofa vast building--palace, monastery, tomb--what not. It was the Escorial,built by Philip of Spain to commemorate the famous victory of St.Quentain, and completed just in time to receive, as a cold waterbaptism, the news of the defeat of his Great Armada.

  The pile of the Escorial seemed too huge to be wrought by man--a part ofthe mountain rather, hewn by giant hands into domes and doors andfantastic pinnacles. Indeed, the grey snow-showers, mere scufflings ofsleet and hail, drifting low and ponderous, treated it as part of theSierra, one moment whitening it--then, the sun coming out with Spanishfierceness for a few minutes, lo! vast roofs of blue slate would showthrough, glistening like polished steel.

  And a king dwelt there--not discrowned, but still the mightiest on theearth. In spite of his defeats, in spite of his solitude, his brokenpurposes, his doubtful future, his empty exchequer, his ruined health,and the Valley of the Shadow of Death opening before him, there wasnothing on earth--not pope nor prelate, not unscrupulous queen norvictorious fleet, not even the tempests which had blown his great Armadaupon the inhospitable rocks of Ireland--that could subdue his stubbornwill. He warred for Holy Church against the Pope. He claimed the throneof France from the son of Saint Louis. Once King of England, he held thetitle to the last, and in defence of it broke his power against theoaken bulwarks of that stiff-necked isle.

  In his youth a man of as many marriages, secret and open, as Henry VIII.himself, he had been compelled to imprison and perhaps to suppress hisson Don Carlos. The English ambassadors found him a man of domesticvirtues. Yet the sole daughter who cherished him he sacrificed in amoment to his dynastic projects. And the other? Well, there is somethingto be said concerning that other.

  Philip II. dwelt in the Escorial as in a fenced city. But Valentine laNina had a master-key to unlock all doors. The next morning veryearly--for the King rose and donned his monk's robe in the twilight,stealing to his place in the stalls like any of his Jeronomitefellows--the two found their way along the vast corridors to the tinyroyal chambers, bare of comfort as monastic cells, but loaded withpetitions, reports, and letters from the four corners of the earth.

  "Tell the King that Valentine la Nina, Countess of Astorga, would seehim!"

  And at that word the royal confessor, who had come to interview them,grew suddenly ashen pale in the scant light of a covered morning, as ifthe granite of the court in which they stood had been reflected in hisface.

  He made a low reverence and withdrew without a word.

  At last the two girls were at the door of the King's chamber--a closetrather than a room. Philip was seated at his desk, his gouty foot on theeternal leg-rest, a ghastly picture of St. Lawrence over his head, and agreat crucifix in ivory and silver nailed upon the wall, just where theKing's eyes would rest upon it each time he lifted his head.

  Claire took in the outward appearance of the mighty monarch who had beenbut a name to her up to this moment. He looked not at all like the"Demon of the South" of her imagination.

  A little fair man, in appearance all a Flamand of the very race hedespised, a Flamand of the Flamands His blue eyes were already rheumyand filmed with age, and when he wished to see anything very clearly hehad a trick of covering the right eye with his hand, thrusting his headforward, and peering short-sightedly with the other. His hair, thoughwhite, retained some of the saffron bloom which once had marked him in acrowd as the white _panache_ served the Bearnais. His beard, dirty whitealso, was straggling and tufted, as if in secret hours of sorrow it hadbeen plucked out, Oriental fashion, by the roots.

  "My father," said Valentine la Nina, looking at him straight andfearlessly, "I have come to bid you a good morning. My uncle of Astorgawould have come too, but he prays in his canon's stall in the cathedralof Leon for his near and dear 'parent,' your Majesty."

  The King rose slowly from his chair. His glabrous face showed noemotion.

  "Aid me, my daughter," he said, "I would look in your face."

  As he rose, his short-sighted eyes caught the dim silhouette of Clairestanding behind. All a-tremble from head to foot, he stopped short inwhat he was about to say.

  "And who may that be?" he demanded, in the thick, half-articulate mumblewhich so many ambassadors found a difficulty in understanding.

  "A maid of Scotland, for whom I have come to ask a favour," answeredValentine la Nina.

  "Ah," said the King, as one who all his life had had knowledge of suchrequests. But without further question he took Valentine la Nina by thehand and led her to the window, so that the grey light, half-reflectedfrom the clay-muddy sky, and half from the snowy courtyard, might strikedirectly upon her face.

  "Isabel Osorio's daughter--yes!" he said very low, "herself indeed!"

  "The lawful daughter of your lawful wife," said the girl, "also anobedient daughter. For I have done ever what you wished me--save only inone thing. And that--that--I am now ready to do, on one condition."

  "Ah," said the King again, pulling at his beard, "now aid me to sit downagain, my daughter. We will talk."

  "Aye," the girl answered, "we will talk--you and I. You and I have nottalked much in my life. I have always obeyed--you--my uncle ofAstorga--Mariana of the Gesu. For that reason I am alive--I amfree--there is still a
place for me in the world. But I know--you havetold me--Isabel Osorio's brother himself has told me, that I too mustsacrifice myself for your other and younger children, the sons anddaughters of princesses. You have often asked me--indeed bidden me toenter a nunnery. The Jesuits have made me great promises. For what? ThatI might leave the way clear for others--I, the King's eldest-born--I,whom you dare not deny of blood as good as your own, a daughter of theOsorio who fought at Clavijo shoulder to shoulder with Santiagohimself."

  "I do not deny," said the King softly, "you have done a good work. Butthe Faith hath need of you. To it you consecrate your mother's beauty asI have consecrated my life----"

  "Yes," said the girl, "but first you lived your life--you did not yieldit up on the threshold--unlived."

  Silently Philip crossed himself, raising his thick swollen fingers fromthe rosary which hung about his neck as low as his waist.

  "Then why have you come," he said, again resuming the steady fingeringof his beads, "when you have not thought it fitting to obey, save uponcondition? One does not play the merchant with one's father."

  "I have been too young--yes," she broke out, her voice hurrying in fearof interruption--"too like my mother--ah, even you cannot reproach mewith that!--to bury myself under a veil, with eternal walls shutting mein on every side. I have served you well. I have served the Society--Ihave done your will, my father--save only in this."

  "And now," said the King drily, "you have returned to a better mind?"

  "I have," said Valentine, "on conditions!"

  "Again I warn you I do not bargain," said the King, "my will is my will.Refuse or submit. I make no terms."

  The girl flashed into fire at the word.

  "Ah, but you must," she cried. "I am no daughter of Flanders--noCaterina de Lainez to be shut up with the Ursulines of Brussels againstmy will. I am an Osorio of the Osorios. The brother of my mother willprotect me. And behind him all Astorga and Leon would rise to march uponMadrid if any harm befell me. I bargain because it is my right--becauseI can stand between your children and their princely thrones--because Ican prove your marriage no marriage--because, without my consent andthat of my brothers Pedro and Bernardino, you had never either been Kingof England nor left children to sit in the seat of Charles your father.But neither they nor I have asked for aught save life from your hands.We have effaced ourselves for the kingdom's good and yours. A king ofSpain may not marry a subject, but you married my mother--your friend'ssister. Now will you bargain or no?"

  "I will listen," said Philip grimly; "place my foot-rest a little nearerme, my daughter."

  The calmness of the King immediately reacted on Valentine la Nina.

  "Listen, my father," she said, "there are in your galleys at Tarragonatwo men--one of them the father of this young Scottish girl--the other,her--her betrothed. Pardon them. Let them depart from the kingdom----"

  "Their crime?" interrupted the King.

  "They were delivered over by the fathers of the Inquisition," saidValentine, less certainly.

  "Then it is heresy," said the King. "I can forgive anything but that!"

  "For one and the other," said the girl, "their heresy consists in goodhonest fighting, outside of your Majesty's kingdom--against the GuisardLeague. They are not your subjects, and were found in your province ofRoussillon only by chance."

  "Ah, in Roussillon?" said Philip thoughtfully. And picking up a longpole like the butt of a fishing-rod furnished with a pair of steelnippers like a finger-and-thumb at the top, he turned half round to anopen cabinet of many pigeon-holes, where were bundles innumerable ofpapers all arranged and neatly tied. The pincers clicked, and the King,with a smile of triumph at his little piece of dexterity, withdrewhalf-a-dozen folded sheets.

  "Yes, I have heard," he said, "the men you commanded my Viceroy toremove from the galleys and to place in Pilate's House at Tarragona--ayoung Sorbonnist whom once before you allowed to escape at Perpignan,and the Scottish spy Francis Agnew."

  "My father," began Claire, catching the name, but only imperfectlyunderstanding the Castilian which they were speaking--"my fatheris----"

  But Valentine la Nina stopped her with an imperious gesture of the hand.It was her affair, the movement said.

  The King shook his head gravely and a little indulgently.

  "My daughter," he said, "you have taken too much on yourself already.And my Viceroy in Catalonia is also to blame----"

  "Pardon me," cried Valentine la Nina, "and listen. This is what I cameto say. There is in your city of Madrid a convent of the Carmelites, thesame which Theresa reformed. It is strictly cloistered, the rule serene,austere. Those who enter there have done with life. Give these two mentheir liberty, escort them to France, and I promise you I will enter itof my own free will. I will take the Black Veil, and trouble neither younor your heirs more in this world."

  The King did not answer immediately, but continued to turn over thesheaf of papers in his hand.

  "And why," he said at last, "will you do for this maid--for the lives ofthese two men, what no persuasion of family or Church could previouslypersuade you to do?"

  Valentine went hastily up to the King's side who, dwelling in perpetualfear of assassination, moved a little uneasily, watching her hand. Butwhen she bent and whispered softly, none heard her words but himself.Yet they moved him.

  "Yes, I loved her--the wife of my youth!" he answered aloud (and as ifspeaking involuntarily) the whispered question.

  "And she loved you?" said Valentine la Nina.

  "She loved me--yes--God be her judge!" said the King. "She died forme!"

  "Then," continued Valentine la Nina slowly, "you understand why for thisyoung man's sake I am willing to accept death in life! I desire that heshall wed the woman he loves--whom he has chosen--who loves him!"

  But under her breath she added, "Though not as I!"

  And Valentine la Nina took the King's hand in hers, and motioned toClaire to come near and kiss it.

  But Claire, kneeling, kissed that of Valentine la Nina instead.

  Then, for the first time in many years, a tear lay upon the cheek of theKing of Spain, wondering mightily at itself.

  CHAPTER XLVII.

  GREAT LOVE--AND GREATER

  Now this is the explanation of these things.

  In his hot youth, Philip, son of the great Emperor, had wedded in secrethis comrade's sister, that comrade being one of the richest and mostancient nobles of his kingdom, Osorio, Marquis of Astorga. But by amiracle of abnegation, Isabel Osorio had stood aside, her brother andthe full family council approving her act, in order that her husband,and the father of her three children, should add Portugal, andafterwards England, to his Spanish domains.

  Therefore, from the point of view of dynasty, the Osorios of Astorgaheld the succession of the kingdom of Spain in their hands. At the leastthey could have produced a bloody war, which would have rent Spain fromone end to the other, on behalf of the succession of Isabel Osorio'schildren. Therefore it had been the main purpose of Philip to keep themall unmarried. The sons, Pierre and Bernardino, he had severally madepriors of great Flemish and Italian monasteries. Only Valentine la Ninahe had never been able to dispose of according to his will. Now he hadher word. No wonder that the King slept more soundly that night.

  After all, what did it matter to him if a couple of heretics escaped--ifonly Valentine la Nina were once safely cloistered within the house ofthe Carmelites of El Parral. It cannot be denied, however, that athought of treachery passed across the royal--oh, so little royal--mind.

  "Afterwards?" he murmured "But no--that would not do. I must keep myword--a painful necessity, but a necessity. The Osorios of Astorga aretoo powerful. To spite me, Valentine might return to the world. And thePope would be glad enough to embroil the succession of Spain, in theinterests of the Milanais and his own Italian provinces."

  After all, better to keep his word! So, satiated with well-doing andwell-intending, the King said a prayer, clicked his beads, and as heturned towards
the slit in his bedroom through which he could see thehigh altar, he thanked God that he was not as other men. He couldforgive. He could fulfil. Nay, he would go himself and witness theceremony of the Black Veil--to make sure that his daughter really becamethe bride of Holy Church. And to this end he sent certain orders toTarragona.

  * * * * *

  Philip II. had a natural eye for artistic effect. He would, indeed, havepreferred to send the inconvenient Valentine willy-nilly to a convent.He would have delighted to arrange the details of the funeral pyre ofthese two dangerous heretics, John d'Albret and Francis the Scot. Itwould have cost him nothing, even, to permit the piquant young beauty ofClaire Agnew to perish with the rest.

  But Valentine la Nina had posed her conditions most carefully. TheMarquis, her near kinsman, had come specially from Leon, with manygentlemen of the province in his train. For, though never insisted on,the nativity of Valentine was no secret for the grandees of her ownprovince.

  The chapel of the Convent of the Carmelites on the Parral of Madrid hadbeen arranged by Philip's orders for a great ceremonial. He attended tothe matter in person, for nothing was too great or too little for him.

  A sweet sound of chanting was heard, and from behind the tall iron barsof the _coro_ the spectators, as they assembled, could dimly see theforms of the cloistered nuns--of that Carmelite Order, the most austerein Spain, no one of whom would ever again look upon the face of man.

  There before an altar, dressed for the occasion, and in presence of theKing, Claire and John d'Albret stood hand in hand. There they exchangedtheir vows, with many onlookers, but with one sole maid of honour. Andwhen it was demanded, as is customary, "Who giveth this woman?" the tallfigure of Francis Agnew, bent and bearded, took his daughter's hand andplaced it in that of Valentine, who, herself arrayed like another bride,all in white, with lace and veil, stood by Claire's side. Valentine laNina looked once, a long, holding look, into the eyes of John d'Albret.Then she took the hand of the bride and placed it in his. Theofficiating priest said no word.

  For, indeed, it was she who had given this woman to this man--more, too,she had given him her own life.

  King Philip looked on, sternly smiling, from the stall which, as a canonof Leon, was his right. Now, however, he had laid aside his monk'sdress, and was arrayed royally, as became the first cavalier of Spain.What the King was really waiting for came later.

  Valentine la Nina retired to a tiring-room where, the first ceremoniesaccomplished, her splendid hair was cut close, and she was attired inthe white and brown of the Order of the Carmelites. Then the final blackveil was thrown over her head. She came forth with her sponsors--twocardinal-archbishops in the splendid array of their rank as princes ofthe Church. The chant from the choir rose high and clear. Behind theblack bars the cloistered nuns, their veils about their faces, clusteredcloser. The wedding-party had drawn back, John d'Albret standing in themidst, with Claire on his arm, clinging close and sobbing--for the debtwhich another had paid. The procession of priests passed slowly backdown the aisle. Valentine was left kneeling before the altar with onlyher sponsors on either side.

  "_Sister Maria of the Renunciation!_"

  The Archbishop of Toledo proclaimed the new name of this latest bride ofHoly Church. Claire whispered, "What is it? Oh, what does it mean? I donot understand!"

  For the Protestant and foreigner can never understand the awfulness ofthat sacrifice. Even now it did not seem real to Claire. Surely, oh,surely she was walking in a vain show. Soon she must awake from thisdream and find Valentine by her side, as she had been for weeks past.

  But, in the midst of the solemn chant, the black gratings of ironopened. The nuns could be seen kneeling on either side, their headsbowed almost to the ground. Only the abbess came forward, a tall oldwoman, groping and tottering, her bony hand scarce able to find its waythrough the dense folds of her veil.

  She stretched out her hand, feeling this way and that, like a creatureof the dark blinded by the light. The two cardinals delivered the newsister of the Order into her charge. This was done silently. The soundof Claire's sobs could be heard distinctly.

  But ere the tall iron gratings shut together, ere the interrupted chantlifted itself leisurely out of the silence, ere the groping hands of theold blind abbess could grasp hers, Valentine la Nina had turned oncemore to look her last on the world she was leaving.

  Her eyes searched for and met those of John d'Albret. And if soul everspoke to soul these were the words they said to him, "This I have donefor you!"

  The huge barred doors creaked and rasped their way back, shutting with aclank of jarring iron, not to be again opened till another sisterentered that living tomb.

  Dimly the files of phantom Carmelites could be seen receding farther andfarther towards the high altar. The chant sank to a whisper. Valentinela Nina was no more for this world.

  With a choking sob Claire fell into her husband's arms.

  "God make me worthy!" she whispered, holding very close.

  * * * * *

  AFTER THE CURTAIN

  In the Mas of the Mountain the olive logs were piled high. The mistralof November made rage outside. But those who gathered round were wellcontent. Claire sat by Dame Amelie's knee, her hand in her father's, herhusband watching her proudly.

  There were the three brothers, to all appearance not a day older--theProfessor with a huge Pliny on his knee, the miller with the lines offarina-dust back again in the crow's feet about his eyes, and Don Jordy,who had taken up the succession of a notary's office in Avignon, whichis a great city for matters and quarrels ecclesiastical, being Papalterritory of the strictest: he also throve.

  The three were telling each other for the thousandth time how glad theywere to be free and bachelors. Thus they had none to consider butthemselves. The world was open and easy before them. Nothing was morelight than the heart of a woman--nothing heavier than that of a mansaddled with a wife. In short, the vine having been swept clean, thegrapes had become very, very sour.

  All this in natural pleasantry, while Dame Amelie interrupted them withher ever-new rejoinder.

  "They are slow--slow, my sons," she murmured, patting the head of Clairewhich touched her side--"slow, but good lads. Only--they will be deadbefore they are married!"

  Into the quietly merry circle came Jean-aux-Choux. He brought greatnews.

  "The Bearnais has beaten Mayenne and bought the others!" he cried;"France will be a quiet land for many days--no place for Jean-aux-Choux.So I will hie me to the Prince of Orange, and there seek some goodfighting for the Religion! Will you come with me, Francis Agnew, as inthe days before the Bartholomew?"

  But the worn man shook his head.

  "I have been too long at the oar, Jean-aux-Choux!" he said. "Moreover, Iam too old. When I see these young folk settled in that which theBearnais hath promised them, I have a thought to win back and lay thistired tickle of bones in good Wigtonshire mould--somewhere within soughof the Back Shore of the Solway, where the waves will sing me to sleepat nights! Come back with me, John Stirling, and we will eat oaten cakesand tell old tales!"

  "Not I," cried Jean-aux-Choux, "I go where the fighting is--where theweapon-work is to be done. I shall die on a battle-field--or on thescaffold. But on the shore of mine own land will I not set a foot,unless"--he paused a moment as if the more surely to launch his phraseof denunciation--"unless the Woman-clad-in-Scarlet, Mother ofAbominations, returns thither in her power! Then and then alone willJohn Stirling (called Jean-aux-Choux) tread Scottish earth."

  So, without a good-bye, Jean-aux-Choux went out into the night and thestorm, his great piked staff thrust before him, and the firelight fromthe sparkling olive-roots gleaming red on the brass-bound sheath of thedagger which had been wet with the blood of Guise.

  Then the Professor, looking across at the lovers, who had drawn togetherin the semi-obscurity, murmured to himself, "Which is better--to love orto go lonely? Which is happier--John d'Albr
et--or I? Who hath betterserved the Lord--Valentine the cloistered Carmelite, or Jean-aux-Chouxthe Calvinist, gone forth into the world to fight after his fashion thefight of faith?"

  Then aloud he said, speaking so suddenly that every one in thecomfortable kitchen started, "Who art thou that judgest another man'sservant? To his own master he standeth or falleth!"

  Without, Jean-aux-Choux faced the storm and was happy. Within, thelovers sat hand in hand in a great peace, and were happy also. And inher narrow cell, who shall say that Valentine la Nina had not also somehappiness? She had given her life for another.

  THE END