The Justice of the King

by Hamilton Drummond

  CHAPTER XXVII

  THE SUCCESS OF FAILURE

  For once in his career Phillip de Commines, ambassador and diplomatist,was well pleased to have failed, or rather, paradoxically, he toldhimself that failure was his true success. The King--he had come tothe conclusion that Louis had played one of those grim jests which werenot all a jest and at times had tragic consequences--the King, nodoubt, had been deceived, possibly by Saxe, and to have Saxe proved aliar beyond question could not but be a relief. So all was well; theKing's fears could be set at rest, and he himself was freed from anodious duty. Against his expectation he had quitted Amboise with cleanhands.

  Nor even as regards the Dauphin, and the future the Dauphinrepresented, was there much to regret. There was even, he believed,much to hope. Ursula de Vesc controlled the boy, Stephen La Mothewould influence the girl, and Stephen owed him everything. These wereall so many links in a chain, and the chain bound him not only tosafety but to continuance in his present offices, perhaps even toadvancement. Even though the King had died there was no need to remainin Amboise to secure himself; La Mothe would do that for him. But theKing was living, the King would welcome his failure, would be touchedby his prompt return to Valmy, and the world was a very good world forthose who knew how to use its hazards and chances rightly.

  The stern justice of the King had swept the highways clear of violence.According to a grim jest of Villon's, thieves and thievery were alikein suspense from Burgundy to the sea. Except the ruts of the road,deep in places as the axles of a cart, or the turbid waters of theLoire, treacherous in the darkness and swollen by heavy rains in theupper reaches, travelling was as safe by night as by day, and Comminesmet with no delays but those at all times inseparable from such ajourney. Tristan's forethought, as it proved, had provided noaccident. This time there was no halt at the Chateau-Renaud. Throughthe little straggling village they rode at a hand-gallop, and except tobait or breathe the horses on a hill-crest, no rein was drawn until thedawn had slipped from grey to glory and a new day lay broad upon thefields. When that hour broke, they had made such progress that theyhad reached the place whence Commines had shown La Mothe the three goodreasons why his men would keep their counsel.

  "Dismount and ease the saddles," he said, slipping a foot from thestirrup as he spoke, "the gates will not be opened for two or threehours at least. Lead the horses on slowly, I will follow you."

  But he was in no haste. In the small hours of the morning the currentsof enthusiasm, like those of life, run slow. It is then that thespirit of a man is at its weakest. Or perhaps it was the sight ofValmy that cooled his optimism. There it lay, grey and forbidding evenwith the yellow sunlight of dawn full upon it, and there, stark andclear, an offence against the sweetness of the new day, were the threeroyal gibbets. Their sinister hint was emphatic. The justice of theKing was without mercy, and sombrely he asked himself, Was he so surethat in his failure he had no need of forgiveness? Was it not rathertrue that with Louis failure had always need of forgiveness and wasnever forgiven? He was not so certain, now that his blood was sluggishin the vapoury chill of dawn, but that he had been hasty in quittingAmboise at all; and yet, what if Tristan, playing on the jealoussuspicions of the King, had set a trap? And even as he speculated withdull eyes whether there was a trap or no, whether the King lived atall, and what course was the most politic to follow, a stir of lifewoke at Valmy: a small troop passed out from the grey arch facing theriver and took the Tours road. The distance was too great todistinguish who comprised it. But Valmy was awake, and with Valmyawake the sooner he faced his doubts the better--doubts grow bynursing, and given time enough their weight will kill.

  Walking briskly forward he mounted and urged his tired horse to itsbest speed. That it should reach Valmy in its last extremity,foam-flecked and caked with sweat, would appeal to the King's sicksuspicions. It was a petty trick, mean and contemptible, but had theKing not played a still more mean and contemptible trick on him?Commines knew with whom he had to deal; it was the vulgar cunning hismaster had taught him, and any apparent absence of anxious haste wouldbe a point lost in the game: so their spurs were red, and their beastsutterly blown, utterly weary from their last climb up the river's bankwhen they drew rein before the outer guard-house. The Tours troop wasalready out of sight.

  Lessaix himself was on duty, and as he came forward with outstretchedhand Commines required no second glance to tell himself that Ursula deVesc had construed Tristan's letter aright. Not so frankly would hehave been greeted if Valmy's master lay dead in Valmy.

  "The King expects you," he said, "and by your horses' looks you havelost no time on the road." As he spoke he ran his finger-tips up thehot neck, leaving tracks of roughened, sweaty hair behind the pressure.

  "When did you leave Amboise?"

  "The King expects me? How can that be?"

  Then as Lessaix, scenting a mystery, looked up curiously Commines madehaste to cover his slip, "Or rather, how did you know I was coming?"

  "Tristan told me as he rode out half an hour ago. He said you were onthe way and might arrive any moment. You are to go to the King atonce."

  "So Tristan left half an hour ago?"

  Try as he would Commines could not quite control his voice. He owedmore to Mademoiselle de Vesc than he had supposed. The trap had, as itwere, snapped before his face and he had escaped by a hair-breadth.Tristan's cunning was as deep as simplicity. His forethought must haverun somewhat thus. Lessaix knows that Monsieur de Commines is expectedany moment and is to go at once to the King, who waits for him;Monsieur de Commines does not appear, but remains paying his court tothe Dauphin at Amboise. The inference would be clear to all men, andMonsieur de Commines would be ruined outright and utterly discredited.Yes, Ursula de Vesc had saved him from downfall, or worse.

  Lessaix, watchful as every man was who called Louis master, caught thechange of tone and again looked up, but this time with something morethan curiosity--an anxious wariness, a fear lest some current of eventshe failed to discover might catch him in its flood and drag him downwith its undertow unawares.

  "Monsieur de Commines," he said earnestly, laying a hand on Commines'bridle-rein as they passed at a foot's pace under the archway, "we havealways been friends, always good comrades, is there--" he hesitated,uncertain how far he dared commit himself with his good friend andcomrade, "is there anything wrong--astray--here, or at Amboise?"

  "The Dauphin is well, and it is you who should have the news of Valmy.I know nothing but that the King sent for me in haste. Some questionof new taxation, perhaps; or it may be that England threatens to breakthe peace. What did Tristan say?"

  "Nothing but what I tell you, but he laughed as he said it. If I wereyou, I would not delay, but would go to the King booted and spurred anddusty as you are."

  Commines nodded. The advice was welcome, not only because it was meantkindly but for what it inferred. If disgrace threatened, Lessaix atleast had no knowledge of it.

  "The messenger who left two days ago, has he returned?"

  "Not yet; there was another yesterday."

  "I know. Who is on guard?"

  "Beaufoy, and the password is Amboise."

  Again Commines nodded. Beaufoy? That, too, was all in his favour.Beaufoy was one of the younger men and not at all in the King'sconfidence. If Louis had any sinister coup in his mind, Leslie, orSaint-Pierre, or Lessaix himself would have been on duty.

  With an alert, quick step, that had in it none of the stiffness orfatigue of a long night's ride, Commines mounted the stairs, answeringfriendly salutes at every turn. As at all times with the King inresidence, the halls, corridors, and ante-rooms were like those of abarrack rather than of a royal chateau. Here and there he waschallenged and his way barred by a lowered halbert, but it was more orless perfunctory, and at the password the way was cleared. ThatBeaufoy was unfeignedly glad to see him was another satisfaction. Eversince he had come in sight of Valmy an uncomfortable sense offriendlessness h
ad haunted him with the unreasoning horror of anightmare, and Beaufoy's welcoming smile was like the wakening intosunshine.

  "_Dieu merci_! but I am thankful you have come," he said, but speakingsoftly so that no sounds passed through the curtained door at his back."Four times within the hour the King has sent asking for you. It islike the cry of one of his own parrots, 'Commines! Where is Commines?'"

  "Who have seen him this morning?"

  "His two janitors of the eternal, if it be no sin to say so--the priestand Tristan. Fortune keep their last ministrations far from me!"

  "Then the King is awake?" said Commines, unbuckling his sword-belt andhanding it to Beaufoy.

  "Awake, but in bed as a good Christian ought to be at this time of day.Faith! Monsieur d'Argenton, you are in fortune's pocket; four timeswithin the hour he has asked for you--four times, as I'm a starvingsinner without a hope of breakfast."

  "The better appetite later!" Letting the curtains fall behind himCommines pushed the door open softly, closed it softly at his back, andadvanced a step. But in spite of the caution of his quiet Louis heardhim.

  "What's that? Who's there? Beaufoy--Beaufoy----"

  "Sire, it is I--Commines."

  "Commines!" he repeated, the sharpness of his frightened voicedwindling breathlessly. "Commines, Philip, what--what news fromAmboise?"

  "The very best, Sire."

  "The very best! Ah, God, my son! my son! The very best? Oh, France!France! Philip, tell me--tell me your news. But is the doorshut--shut fast?"

  Through a prolonged life Commines never forgot that scene and neveranswered, never dared to answer, even in the secret of his own mind,the question, What news from Amboise was the very best?

  A single shutter had been drawn half aside, and in the semi-obscuritythe chalk-grey face of the King showed ghost-like against the vaulteddarkness of the curtained bed. The fret of spirit through these ten ortwelve days had sapped him, worn him like so many days of consumingfever. With one hand, the elbow propped upon the coverlid, he pushedthe draperies aside, the other was fumbling with its finger-tips at hisconvulsed mouth. In impatience, or that he might breathe the freer,the ribbons which knotted his woollen nightrobe at the throat had beenunfastened, leaving the lean, parchment-coloured chest and throat,corded with starting sinews, nakedly open. As he leant aslant, thecurtains arching overhead, his eyes roundly open in the shadows oftheir sockets, he was like a corpse new risen from its tomb and full ofhorror from the dreams which had dogged its sleep.

  "The very best! Tell me everything, Philip. Or, no!" The shakinghand ceased plucking at the lip, and the shrunken arm, bare to theelbow where the gown had slipped, was thrust out, beating the air as ifto push aside some terror. "Tell me the one--the essential----God'sname, man! can you not understand?"

  "The best news possible, Sire." Commines' eyes were growing accustomedto the gloom and no detail escaped him. "The Dauphin is innocent, isloving--loyal."

  The King shrank as if he had been struck and the cadaverous face grewyet more ghastly. Shifting uneasily on his elbow he pushed thecurtains wide apart, rasping the rings sharply on the rod, and drawingback his hand fumbled anew at his mouth.

  "Loving, loyal--living." There was a perceptible pause, and the thirdword was harsher, drier than the others, and spoken with a jerk as ifforced from the throat under compulsion. "You received my letterwritten two days ago?"

  "Yes, Sire, and a second last night. Thank God, with all my heart,it----"

  "Let it wait. The messenger of two days ago, has he come back?"

  "Not yet. I asked Lessaix."

  "Why?"

  "Idle curiosity, Sire."

  "Only fools are curious for nothing, and you are no fool, or were notwhen you left to go to Amboise." He paused, and in the silenceCommines searched his wit for some plausible reason for the question hehad put to Lessaix. But Louis probed no further. To hear the truthwould have suited his purpose no better than it would have suitedCommines to tell it.