CHAPTER XXVIII.
IN THE LITTLE CHAPTER-HOUSE.
The sun was an hour high, and in Angers the shops and booths, afterthe early fashion of the day, were open or opening. Through all thegates country folk were pressing into the gloomy streets of the BlackTown with milk and fruit; and at doors and windows housewivescheapened fish, or chaffered over the fowl for the pot. For men musteat, though there be gibbets in the Place Ste.-Croix: gaunt gibbets,high and black and twofold, each, with its dangling ropes, like adouble note of interrogation.
But gibbets must eat also; and between ground and noose was so small aspace in those days that a man dangled almost before he knew it. Thesooner, then, the paniers were empty, and the clown, who pays for all,was beyond the gates, the better he, for one, would be pleased. In themarket, therefore, was hurrying. Men cried their wares in loweredvoices, and tarried but a little for the oldest customer. The bargainstruck, the more timid among the buyers hastened to shut themselvesinto their houses again; the bolder, who ventured to the Place toconfirm the rumour with their eyes, talked in corners and in lanes,avoided the open, and eyed the sinister preparations from afar. Theshadow of the things which stood before the cathedral affronting thesunlight with their gaunt black shapes lay across the length andbreadth of Angers. Even in the corners where men whispered, even inthe cloisters where men bit their nails in impotent auger, thestillness of fear ruled all. Whatever Count Hannibal had it in hismind to tell the city, it seemed unlikely--and hour by hour it seemedless likely--that any would contradict him.
He knew this as he walked in the sunlight before the inn, his spursringing on the stones as he made each turn, his movements watched by ahundred peering eyes. After all, it was not hard to rule, nor to haveone's way in this world. But then, he went on to remember, noteveryone had his self-control, or that contempt for the weak andunsuccessful which lightly took the form of mercy. He held Angerssafe, curbed by his gibbets. With M. de Montsoreau he might havetrouble; but the trouble would be slight, for he knew Montsoreau, andwhat it was the Lieutenant-Governor valued above profitless bloodshed.
He might have felt less confident had he known what was passing atthat moment in a room off the small cloister of the Abbey of St.Aubin, a room known at Angers as the Little Chapter-House. It was along chamber with a groined roof and stone walls, panelled as high asa tall man might reach with dark chestnut wood. Gloomily lighted bythree grated windows, which looked on a small inner green, the lastresting-place of the Benedictines, the room itself seemed at firstsight no more than the last resting-place of worn-out odds and ends.Piles of thin sheepskin folios, dog's-eared and dirty, the rejected ofthe choir, stood against the walls; here and there among them lay alarge brass-bound tome on which the chains that had fettered it todesk or lectern still rusted. A broken altar cumbered one corner: astand bearing a curious--and rotting--map filled another. In the othertwo corners a medley of faded scutcheons and banners, which had seentheir last Toussaint procession, mouldered slowly into dust--into muchdust. The air of the room was full of it.
In spite of which the long oak table that filled the middle of thechamber shone with use: so did the great metal standish which it bore.And though the seven men who sat about the table seemed, at a firstglance and in that gloomy light, as rusty and faded as the rubbishbehind them, it needed but a second look at their lean jaws and hungryeyes to be sure of their vitality.
He who sat in the great chair at the end of the table was indeedrather plump than thin. His white hands, gay with rings, were wellcared for; his peevish chin rested on a falling-collar of lace worthyof a Cardinal. But though the Bishop's Vicar was heard with deference,it was noticeable that when he had ceased to speak his hearers lookedto the priest on his left, to Father Pezelay, and waited to hear hisopinion before they gave their own. The Father's energy, indeed, haddominated the Angevins, clerks and townsfolk alike, as it haddominated the Parisian _devotes_ who knew him well. The vigour whichhate inspires passes often for solid strength; and he who had seenwith his own eyes the things done in Paris spoke with an authority towhich the more timid quickly and easily succumbed.
Yet gibbets are ugly things; and Thuriot, the printer, whose pride hadbeen tickled by a summons to the conclave, began to wonder if he haddone wisely in coming. Lescot, too, who presently ventured a word."But if M. de Tavannes' order be to do nothing," he began doubtfully,"you would not, reverend Father, have us resist His Majesty's will?"
"God forbid, my friend!" Father Pezelay answered with unction. "ButHis Majesty's will is to do--to do for the glory of God and the saintsand His Holy Church! How? Is that which was lawful at Saumur unlawfulhere? Is that which was lawful at Tours unlawful here? Is that whichthe King did in Paris--to the utter extermination of the unbelievingand the purging of that Sacred City--against his will here? Nay, hiswill is to do--to do as they have done in Paris and in Tours and inSaumur! But his Minister is unfaithful! The woman whom he has taken tohis bosom has bewildered him with her charms and her sorceries, andput it in his mind to deny the mission he bears."
"You are sure, beyond chance of error, that he bears letters to thateffect, good Father?" the printer ventured.
"Ask my lord's Vicar! He knows the letters and the import of them!"
"They are to that effect," the Archdeacon answered, drumming on thetable with his fingers and speaking somewhat sullenly. "I was in theChancellery and I saw them. They are duplicates of those sent toBordeaux."
"Then the preparations he has made must be against the Huguenots,"Lescot, the ex-Provost, said with a sigh of relief. And Thuriot's facelightened also. "He must intend to hang one or two of the ringleaders,before he deals with the herd."
"Think it not!" Father Pezelay cried in his high shrill voice. "I tellyou the woman has bewitched him, and he will deny his letters!"
For a moment there was silence. Then, "But dare he do that, reverendFather?" Lescot asked slowly and incredulously. "What? Suppress theKing's letters?"
"There is nothing he will not dare! There is nothing he has notdared!" the priest answered vehemently; the recollection of the scenein the great guard-room of the Louvre, when Tavannes had so skilfullyturned the tables on him, instilling venom into his tone. "She wholives with him is the devil's. She has bewitched him with her spellsand her Sabbaths! She bears the mark of the Beast on her bosom, andfor her the fire is even now kindling!"
The laymen who were present shuddered. The two canons who faced themcrossed themselves, muttering "Avaunt, Satan!"
"It is for you to decide," the priest continued, gazing on thempassionately, "whether you will side with him or with the Angel ofGod! For I tell you it was none other executed the divine judgments atParis! It was none other but the Angel of God held the sword at Tours!It is none other holds the sword here! Are you for him or against him?Are you for him, or for the woman with the mark of the Beast? Are youfor God or against God? For the hour draws near! The time is at hand!You must choose! You must choose!" And, striking the table with hishand, he leaned forward, and with glittering eyes fixed each of themin turn, as he cried, "You must choose! You must choose!" He came tothe Archdeacon last.
The Bishop's Vicar fidgeted in his chair, his face a shade moresallow, his cheeks hanging a trifle more loosely, than ordinary. "Ifmy brother were here!" he muttered. "If M. de Montsoreau had arrived!"
But Father Pezelay knew whose will would prevail if Montsoreau metTavannes at his leisure. To force Montsoreau's hand, to surround himon his first entrance with a howling mob already committed toviolence, to set him at their head and pledge him before he knew withwhom he had to do--this had been, this still was, the priest's design.
But how was he to pursue it while those gibbets stood? While theirshadows lay even on the chapter table, and darkened the faces of hismost forward associates? That for a moment staggered the priest; andhad not private hatred, ever renewed by the touch of the scar on hisbrow, fed the fire of bigotry he had yielded, as the rabble of Angerswer
e yielding, reluctant and scowling, to the hand which held the cityin its grip. But to have come so far on the wings of hate, and to donothing! To have come avowedly to preach a crusade, and to sneak awaycowed! To have dragged the Bishop's Vicar hither, and fawned andcajoled and threatened by turns--and for nothing! These things werepassing bitter--passing bitter, when the morsel of vengeance he hadforeseen smacked so sweet on the tongue.
For it was no common vengeance, no layman's vengeance, coarse andclumsy, which the priest had imagined in the dark hours of the night,when his feverish brain kept him wakeful. To see Count Hannibal rollin the dust had gone but a little way towards satisfying him. No! Butto drag from his arms the woman for whom he had sinned, to subject herto shame and torture in the depths of some convent, and finally toburn her as a witch--it was that which had seemed to the priest in thenight hours a vengeance sweet in the mouth.
But the thing seemed unattainable in the circumstances. The city wascowed; the priest knew that no dependence was to be placed onMontsoreau, whose vice was avarice and whose object was plunder. Tothe Archdeacon's feeble words, therefore, "We must look," the priestretorted sternly, "not to M. de Montsoreau, reverend Father, but tothe pious of Angers! We must cry in the streets, 'They do violence toGod! They wound God and His Mother!' And so, and so only, shall theunholy thing be rooted out!"
"Amen!" the Cure of St.-Benoist muttered, lifting his head; and hisdull eyes glowed awhile. "Amen! Amen!" Then his chin sank again uponhis breast.
But the canons of Angers looked doubtfully at one another, and timidlyat the speakers; the meat was too strong for them. And Lescot andThuriot shuffled in their seats. At length, "I do not know," Lescotmuttered timidly.
"You do not know?"
"What can be done!"
"The people will know!" Father Pezelay retorted. "Trust them!"
"But the people will not rise without a leader."
"Then will I lead them!"
"Even so, reverend Father--I doubt," Lescot faltered. And Thuriotnodded assent. Gibbets were erected in those days rather for laymenthan for the Church.
"You doubt!" the priest cried. "You doubt!" His baleful eyes passedfrom one to the other; from them to the rest of the company. He sawthat with the exception of the Cure of St.-Benoist all were of a mind."You doubt! Nay, but I see what it is! It is this," he continuedslowly and in a different tone, "the King's will goes for nothing inAngers! His writ runs not here. And Holy Church cries in vain for helpagainst the oppressor. I tell you, the sorceress who has bewitched himhas bewitched you also. Beware! beware, therefore, lest it be with youas with him! And the fire that shall consume her, spare not yourhouses!"
The two citizens crossed themselves, grew pale and shuddered. The fearof witchcraft was great in Angers, the peril, if accused of it,enormous. Even the canons looked startled. "If--if my brother werehere," the Archdeacon repeated feebly, "something might be done!"
"Vain is the help of man!" the priest retorted sternly, and with agesture of sublime dismissal. "I turn from you to a mightier thanyou!" And, leaning his head on his hands, he covered his face.
The Archdeacon and the churchmen looked at him, and from him theirscared eyes passed to one another. Their one desire now was to be quitof the matter, to have done with it, to escape; and one by one withthe air of whipped curs they rose to their feet, and in a hurry to begone muttered a word of excuse shamefacedly and got themselves out ofthe room. Lescot and the printer were not slow to follow, and in lessthan a minute the two strange preachers, the men from Paris, remainedthe only occupants of the chamber; save, to be precise, a leanofficial in rusty black, who throughout the conference had sat by thedoor.
Until the last shuffling footstep had ceased to sound in the stillcloister no one spoke. Then Father Pezelay looked up, and the eyes ofthe two priests met in a long gaze. "What think you?" Pezelay mutteredat last.
"Wet hay," the other answered dreamily, "is slow to kindle, yet burnsif the fire be big enough. At what hour does he state his will?"
"At noon."
"In the Council Chamber!"
"It is so given out."
"It is three hundred yards from the Place Ste.-Croix and he must goguarded," the Cure of St.-Benoist continued in the same dull fashion."He cannot leave many in the house with the woman. If it were attackedin his absence----"
"He would return, and----" Father Pezelay shook his head, his cheekturned a shade paler. Clearly, he saw with his mind's eye more than heexpressed.
"_Hoc est corpus_," the other muttered, his dreamy gaze on the table."If he met us then, on his way to the house, and we had bell, book,and candle, would he stop?"
"He would not stop!" Father Pezelay rejoined.
"He would not?"
"I know the man!"
"Then----" but the rest St.-Beuoist whispered, his head droopingforward; whispered so low that even the lean man behind him, listeningwith greedy ears, failed to follow the meaning of his superior'swords. But that he spoke plainly enough for his hearer FatherPezelay's face was witness. Astonishment, fear, hope, triumph, thelean pale face reflected all in turn; and, underlying all, a subtlemalignant mischief, as if a devil's eyes peeped through the holes inan opera mask.
When the other was at last silent Pezelay drew a deep breath. "'Tisbold! Bold! Bold!" he muttered. "But have you thought? He who bearsthe----"
"Brunt?" the other whispered with a chuckle. "He may suffer? Yes, butit will not be you or I! No, he who was last here shall be firstthere! The Archdeacon-Vicar--if we can persuade him--who knows butthat even for him the crown of martyrdom is reserved?" The dull eyesflickered with unholy amusement.
"And the alarm that brings him from the Council Chamber?"
"Need not of necessity be real. The pinch will be to make use of it.Make use of it--and the hay will burn!"
"You think it will?"
"What can one man do against a thousand? His own people dare notsupport him."
Father Pezelay turned to the lean man who kept the door, and,beckoning to him, conferred a while with him in a low voice.
"A score or so I might get," the man answered presently after somedebate. "And well posted, something might be done. But we are notin Paris, good father, where the Quarter of the Butchers is to becounted on, and men know that to kill Huguenots is to do God service!Here"--he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously--"they are sheep."
"It is the King's will," the priest answered, frowning on him darkly.
"Ay, but it is not Tavannes," the man in black answered with agrimace. "And he rules here today."
"Fool!" Pezelay retorted. "He has not twenty with him. Do you do as Isay, and leave the rest to heaven!"
"And to you, good master?" the other answered. "For it is not all youare going to do," he continued with a grin, "that you have told me.Well, so be it! I'll do my part, but I wish we were in Paris. Ste.Genevieve is ever kind to her servants."
Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France Page 43