CHAPTER IX
COUNT FELIX
For the great of the earth who die there is often less real mourningthan for him who is of small account. To a throne there is always anheir ready, perhaps eager, to rule; but who shall step into the voidof a sorrowing heart? The Duke lay dead in a darkened chamber in theCastle of Vayenne. Yesterday his word was law, to-day it was nothing.The very frown which had caused men to tremble, Death's fingers hadsmoothed out; and since love had played small part in the Duke'sscheme of life, where should one find hearts that ached for him now?They would bury him presently with great pomp and ceremony in theChurch of St. Etienne, where lay the dust of other Dukes, but to-daythere was other business in hand. Outside the closed door two sentriesstood, and there was silence in the corridor; but in every other partof the castle there was busy hurrying to and fro. To-day the new Dukemust be welcomed. Count Felix had been issuing orders all the morning.From an early hour soldiers had been busy in the court-yards, and atintervals troops of horsemen and footmen had passed out of the greatgate to take their appointed places in the city, there to wait longhours, and to grumble as men will who wait. In the great hall of thecastle, where generations of fighters and feasters had quarrelled ormade merry, a crowd of servants were making ready a great banquet;while courtiers, officers, and messengers passed to and from thesuite of rooms which lay to one side of the hall. There was an air ofexpectancy about them all, anxiety and uncertainty in most faces. Inone room sat Count Felix, at present the centre of this busy hive. Tomany it seemed only natural that he should sit in the place of thedead Duke, and they were careful that their manner should show whatwas in their minds. But there were others who made it clear that theylooked on his commands as temporary, carrying authority only until theDuke came. Felix noted the attitude of every man, but to all hismanner was the same. He was courteous, smooth-tongued, a littledepreciatory of himself, and laid some stress upon the temporarynature of his position. He was a tall, dark man, dark eyes, dark hair,dark complexion; a strong and purposeful man with confidence inhimself. The affairs of the state were at his fingers' ends; long agohe had gauged the character of every man, ay, and woman too, at thecourt; he knew both his friends and his enemies, and flattered themboth, knowing well that such friends become slavish, while flatterymay disarm the bitterest of foes. Very few had succeeded in readingthe Count's character; he had been careful to conceal it from bothfriends and foes.
So he had done all that could be done to prepare a fitting welcome forthe young Duke. If among the citizens there was no great enthusiasmfor Duke Maurice, as some of his friends were careful to inform him,that was no fault of his; and neither by look nor gesture did he showwhether he were pleased or not at this apathy on the people's part.His face was a mask, and only when he was alone for a moment did theanxiety and the excitement that were in him show themselves. His handssuddenly clenched, he took two or three rapid strides across theroom, then sat down again, his eyes fixed on vacancy, deep in thought.
"Well! well!" he said as an officer came into the room.
"The sentry who was wounded last night is conscious, sir."
"I had forgotten. For the moment I thought you had come about anothermatter. Yes; I will come and see him. And the jailer, has he saidanything?"
"Maintains that wings or a rope was necessary to reach the window, andtherefore the prisoner must have had help from without. He declaresthere was no rope in the cell, and says he didn't notice wings on thespy. Those are his own words."
"It pleases him to be humorous over a serious matter," said the Count.
He had forgotten all about the escaped spy; now he remembered him, andbegan to speculate. Last night he had heard nothing of the arrestuntil they had come to tell him of the escape. Then he had beenchiefly interested in the fact that a man had broken out of the SouthTower. Examination had shown that one of the window bars was loose,but until the sentry could tell his tale, there was no certainty thatthe prisoner had escaped that way. Then the Count regretted theescape, because it robbed him of an opportunity of pleasing the peopleof Vayenne, whose hatred of spies was hereditary. It would havepleased him to gratify them by hanging this man high above the greatgate. That would certainly have been his fate before ever he hadchance to speak a word in his own defence. In the pressure of otherthoughts the matter had slipped from his mind until the officer'sentrance, and as is ever the case with an anxious schemer, he soughtto fit this spy into the intricate design of his thoughts.
As the Count crossed the small court-yard toward the quarters wherethe sentry lay, he saw Father Bertrand, and ambling by his side wasthe dwarf of St. Etienne.
"Are we on the same errand, father?" said the Count.
"I am going to see the wounded sentry."
"Who is now conscious. We may learn something of this spy."
"Conscious!" exclaimed Jean. "Heaven be praised for that!"
"Why, what is it to you, fool?"
Jean looked at the Count with blinking eyes for a moment, and thensaid slowly:
"Much, truly. I am troubled this morning when I hear that a spy hashalf killed a sentry. I say to myself, 'That is one man less in thecastle to defend it against its enemies.'"
The Count laughed at the dwarf's attitude and his air of wisdom.
"Ah, you say, 'What is one man?'" he went on. "The whole world is madeup of one man after another. They all count. Why, to-day I'm worthmore than the dead Duke yonder."
"There's truth in that," said the priest.
"And then when I come to the castle to see the poor soldiers, I---"
"Poor! Why poor?"
"Because they have to do what they're told and go where they're led,and God made men for better things than that. This wounded sentry, Ifind, is a particular friend of mine. He doesn't know it, but he is.That's the way of the world; we seldom do know our best friends. I'venever spoken to him nor he to me, but I always look out for him,because his coat fits so badly. He's a poor figure of a man, yourGrace, and an ill-fitting coat suits him. I will go with you and seehow he does."
"Better run away, Jean, before I have you whipped."
"Whipped? For what, Lord Duke?"
"Silence, fool!"
"It may be, Count, that clearer insight is given to those the worldcalls fools," whispered Father Bertrand.
"That's a poor excuse for treason," said the Count; and then, turningto the dwarf, he went on: "The Duke comes to Vayenne to-day, Jean.Have you not seen the soldiers in the streets ready to welcome him?"
"Ah! what a fool am I!" laughed the dwarf. "I thought they were thereto keep out any one else who might fancy himself Duke. I'll go andawait his coming. But first, I pray you, let me see my ill-madefriend. Nature has made such a mess of him, I doubt whether even thespy can have made him much worse."
"The fellow is an amusing fool, father. I've heard wise men talk morefolly. Come if you will, Jean."
The sentry was conscious, but for all the Count's questions there waslittle to be got from him. He was standing with his back toward thewall when something fell on him and crushed him. He had no breath tocry out, and remembered nothing after the first thrust of the steel.
"Poor soldier!" muttered Jean.
"You saw no one run along the terrace?"
"No one," the man answered.
"And you heard nothing when you stopped beneath the South Tower?"asked the Count.
"No, sir," said the man faintly. He was weak, and the Count turnedaway, followed by Father Bertrand and Jean.
"He is not such an ill-made fellow," the Count said, turning to Jean.
"Ah! but you and I see with different eyes," was the dwarf's quickanswer. "You would call me ill-made."
"Strangely made," said the Count.
"Just so. Now I like twisted limbs, they're less common. Mark you, ina crowd there will be more turn to look at me than at you."
"And more will laugh at you," said the Count.
"Well, laughter's a good tonic," said the dwarf, and then sidlingclose to th
e Count, he went on: "Men such as I am see more than mensuch as you. I see ghosts in St. Etienne. I warrant you never sawthem."
"Nor want to," Felix answered.
"See and hear them, eh, Father Bertrand?" Jean chuckled. "All the deaddukes who lie there, straight or with their feet crossed, have secretsto tell, and I listen. In the night St. Etienne is peopled withghosts, and the great organ sings low to them, brave music, telling ofgreat deeds done long ago, and of love that flowers and ripens intofruit beyond this world's time. Some day you'll hear it, only you'llhave to lie under a stone effigy first, and maybe you'll tell me allyour secrets then. I'll go and watch for the Duke, who is strangelylate in coming."
The dwarf waddled across the court-yard, and presently passed out ofthe little postern beside the great gates. The soldiers laughed at himoften, but none questioned his goings and comings. There was an oldwife's tale among them that the presence of an innocent was lucky, andJean had wit enough to be of service sometimes. He had carried a lovemessage before now, and sometimes demanded that payment should takethe form of a kiss from the maid. It amused him to see how reluctantlythe debt was liquidated.
Outside the castle he went at a slower pace.
"One," he said, holding up a finger--"one, the poor sentry sawnothing, therefore I am still free to come and go. Two, the Count isclever making all this show for a Duke he never expects to arrive.Three," and he held up another finger for each number--"three, he's afool because he thinks I'm a fool. Four, my uncanny talk of ghostsmakes him shiver, so there's something of the coward in him somewhere.Five, the Duke is long in coming; has friend Roger failed, I wonder?I'll go and see what the crowd thinks of the new Duke. Truly he iscoming to no rosebed, if the Count is to have a hand in the making ofit."
The Count watched him as he went across the court-yard.
"Think you he is as great a fool as he seems, father?" he asked,turning to the priest.
"The crooked body may hold some wisdom which is beyond us. He may havevisions."
"Even straight-limbed men have," was the answer. "Tell me, why did youcome to visit the prisoner last night?"
"To make certain he was a spy. I know the breed, Count," said thepriest.
"I would he were swinging over the gate yonder," said Felix.
"Ay; spy or no spy, it would have pleased the populace," saidBertrand.
"And served as a warning," returned the Count. "We shall have allsorts of wastrels begging favors of the new Duke."
"That depends."
"On what?" asked Felix.
"On the new Duke."
"True. He may be made of sterner stuff than we imagine." And the Countre-entered the castle.
"I trust not," muttered Father Bertrand as he went back to the lodgingof the wounded sentry. "Pliability will suit us best just now, and acharacter which lacks resolution. Then----" His lips moved, but nouttered words came. He walked slowly, with eyes on the ground.Perchance he prayed silently.
Count Felix went back to his room, and sat there waiting. His attitudewas expectant, and he listened for the shouting that might come in thecity streets, for footsteps at the door which would surely come soon.He looked for a long time at a paper on his table--a list of names. Heread each name carefully, calling to memory the man as he read it.
"Cut-throats all," he muttered, and then he laughed a little. "Why,the making carrion of them will bring me thanks. Gaspard Lemasle--heis different. He is ambitious. I must find a place for Gaspard Lemaslewhere he will easily make enemies. They shall destroy him."
Time passed slowly. The Duke was certainly late.
"Perhaps he refused to come," Felix murmured. "No; Christine would seeto that. They cannot have failed; it was so easy a task."
The hours wore on toward dusk--long hours for those in the streets,for those in the castle, for Count Felix. The courtiers wondered andspeculated. The Count's face was imperturbable. He had a dozen reasonsto give for the delay. He gave them to friend and foe alike. No onehurried along the corridors, there was no need; all that could be donehad been done. They could only wait and listen.
Lights were in the castle, and the Count was alone when hurried stepswhich he expected came to the door. A man entered, a swaggering giantat most times, but now travel-stained, with torn coat, and a streak ofdried blood upon his forehead.
"Well, Barbier!" Felix cried, starting from his chair.
"Escaped."
"What!"
"They were ready," said the man. "We must have been betrayed. All fellout as we had planned, but Lemasle, and the Duke, and a priest----"
"Priest! What priest?"
"Some one Mademoiselle would bring to Vayenne," answered Barbier. "SoLemasle told us; but I warrant he lied, for this same priest was afearless horseman, and wielded a sword that took its full toll ofblood. We had surrounded them when Lemasle and Mademoiselle dashedthrough us, and we let them go, closing upon the Duke and this priest.In a moment they had turned, and were fleeing along the forest road. Ashot wounded the Duke, another stopped his horse, but as it fell thispriest lifted the wounded man before him on to his animal. Wefollowed, but he outwitted us. He was no priest, I'll swear to that."
"A thousand curses on your blundering," said Felix. "He was wounded,you say?"
"Yes."
"To the death?"
"That I cannot tell," Barbier answered.
"I will tell you," said Felix. "He was. Do you understand? He was. Hedied in the forest."
"We searched. I have left them searching. We found nothing."
"Fool, you must find something. Is a man killed in conflict alwaysrecognizable? Mar the face of some dead comrade, mar it effectually,and then come with your story to Vayenne. Trust me, it shall find easycredence. I will prepare Vayenne for it. Do you understand?"
"But this priest?"
"Curse him," said Felix. "Whatever may chance, I shall know thatBarbier was one of the bravest in this forest fight. Having gone thusfar, think you I shall turn back now? Here's to show you what a manmay expect who is prompt in my service." And he placed a bag of coinsin his hand. "Ride back. Answer no questions. Say 'The Count knows,ask him.' Do you understand, Barbier?"
"We shall find the body and bring it ere morning," the man answered.
"To horse, Barbier, Captain of the Duke's Guard. There is no time tolose."
The man saluted, and went quickly from the room.
For a moment the Count stood with clenched hands, and underlip tightlyheld between his teeth. Then he went out to meet the eager questionsof those that waited.
That night there were again running feet through the streets ofVayenne, and men shouted as they ran: "The Duke is dead! The youngDuke is dead!" And some were sad, while others rejoiced and spake nomore of Count Felix, but openly called him Duke, and thought of thehonors and rewards that should speedily fall to them. There were manywho found no sleep that night in Vayenne.
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