The Justice of the King
Page 35
CHAPTER XXXV
THE DAWN BROADENS
While they were still a bow-shot from the walls a hoarse voice shouteda command to halt, but Molembrais, holding the signet above his head,called back "In the King's name," and rode on. Every moment of gloomwas precious, and a bold assertion of privilege was his surest hope.If he appeared to doubt his own credentials, who would believe? Thereis always a certain willingness to take a man at his own valuation,especially if the valuation be a low one. Waiting for no challenge,and faithful to his policy, he flung himself from his horse at theouter gate with every appearance of haste.
"In the King's name," he cried, scarcely giving himself time to lightupon his feet and holding fast by Paul Beaufoy's formula. "To HisMajesty, Monsieur La Mothe and I--quickly now."
As he more than half expected, the very importunity staggeredopposition.
"His Majesty is asleep; you cannot pass----"
"His orders are imperative--sleeping or waking--any hour by day or bynight. Who is on guard?"
"Monsieur de Saint-Pierre."
"Send for him, then. Stir yourself, my man, and don't stand theregaping like a fish."
But Saint-Pierre had already heard the altercation, and at the rasp ofhis spurs on the flags Molembrais turned sharply. Quick to note thericher dress he drew his own conclusion. Waiting for neither questionnor explanation he again held out the signet.
"Monsieur de Saint-Pierre, we must see the King at once--at once, youunderstand. Here is my authority."
"But I do not know you? No stranger can----"
"But you know this!" Molembrais cut him short. "Do you think I haverisked my neck galloping these accursed roads all night to be delayednow just because you do not know me? Is it the King's signet or is itnot?"
"Pass, then," said Saint-Pierre reluctantly. "Does Monsieur La Mothego with you?"
For an instant Molembrais hesitated. Dared he say no? He would havegiven much to have shaken off La Mothe now that the gates were passed,and have forced his way to the King alone; but the attempt might wakenthat suspicion which slept so lightly in Valmy. While he paused, LaMothe answered, deciding the question.
"Unfortunately, yes, Monsieur de Saint-Pierre. Will you please tellMonsieur de Commines that I have arrived?"
"Is it arrest? My dear lad----" he began as La Mothe nodded, butMolembrais again interrupted him.
"We have no time now. Where is the King?"
"In his usual lodgings."
"Mort-dieu! monsieur, how should I know his usual lodgings? Am I ofValmy?"
"Monsieur, a little civility would do you no harm."
"Monsieur, once I have seen the King I will be as civil or as uncivilas you please."
Turning on his heel Saint-Pierre beckoned to an under officer. "Passthese gentlemen to Captain Leslie: he is on duty in the King'sante-room. Don't fear, La Mothe, I will send word to Monsieur deCommines without delay. He is anxious about you, for he has beenenquiring at the gates once this morning already."
"Monsieur de Saint-Pierre, there is a lady behind us; she has riddenall night----"
"A lady?" Saint-Pierre's hand fell on his shoulder in a kindly touch."Not old enough to be your mother, I'll wager! Don't fret, mon gars, Ihave been young myself," and with that La Mothe had to be content.
Motioning to La Mothe to precede him, Molembrais took up his positionlast of the three. Now that he was within its walls the indefinableterror of Valmy possessed him in spite of his recklessness. It was notthat he repented, not that his purpose was less bitterly determined,not that he had grown coward or would have turned back had return beenpossible, but the chill of the shadows through which the path lay creptdeeper and deeper. In part it was a dread of failure, in part theinexpressible revolt of nature against an inevitable sacrifice, in partthe sinister suggestions inseparable from Valmy itself.
And how could he escape from that suggestiveness? There, where thedenser gloom sloped from the roof across a paved courtyard, Guy'sscaffold might have stood; through that doorway, dimly outlined againstthe greyness, Guy might have looked upon the light for the last time;these obscure, uncertain windows, blind eyes in the slowly waningnight, might have seen the axe fall; down these cellar stairs mighthave been carried--but they had swung to the left into a narrow court,and before them were the King's lodgings. No! it was not that herepented, not that he had turned coward, but would fate andcircumstances trick him of his revenge at the last?
There are some men whom the dread of failure chills to the heart whenthe crisis calls them, and Marc de Molembrais was one of them. He hadno definite plan of either attack or escape. How could he have, whenevery angle of the stairs, every corridor, every room through whichthey passed was strange to him? But if he had no plan, he had apurpose firmly set in his determination, which neither gloom nor chillcould check; from that purpose, that stern, stubborn justice ofrevenge, he never shrank, beyond it he never looked. Somehow he wouldget Louis of France into his grip, and somehow he would break toliberty. At the door of the King's ante-room Leslie met them, andtheir guide stepped aside: his work was done.
In silence Molembrais held up the signet. Instinctively he felt thatneither bluster nor importunity would serve him now. Then he glancedaside at La Mothe. "We must see the King and at once," he almostwhispered. His heart was beating to suffocation, and in his dread offailure he feared the excitement in his voice would betray him at thelast.
"Where from?"
"Amboise."
Leslie nodded comprehendingly. That Paul Beaufoy should go and astranger return was quite in keeping with the King's devious methods."Give me your sword and then I will waken him. I think he expects you."
"My sword?" The request staggered him. He had relied upon his swordfor the one thrust necessary, then to aid him in his escape, or atleast that he might die fighting.
"Don't you know that no one approaches the King armed? not even I, noteven Lessaix. There is nothing personal in it."
"No, I never heard that." He stood a minute, gnawing his lip, thenwrenched the buckle open. What matter, he had his dagger hidden!
Laying the weapon aside, Leslie softly lifted the portiere, holding itlooped with one hand while with the other he opened the door verygently.
"Sire!"
"Is that Leslie? I am awake."
"There are messengers from Amboise. Your Majesty's signet----"
"Thank God! Oh, thank God! Lord God! Mother of God! Christ of God!grant he was in time." The voice was thin and tremulous, the endalmost a sob. "Turn up the lamp, Leslie, and leave them with me alone.Mercy of God! strengthen me for what is to come."
Dropping the portiere behind him, Leslie crossed the room with aquietness rare in one so roughly natured and so strongly built. ButLouis had the power of winning men's affections when it so pleased him,and it was politic to win the man who held his life in care. Looseningthe wick in its socket with the silver pin hanging from the lamp forthat purpose, Leslie returned to the door.
"Are you ready, Sire?"
An affirmative wave of the hand was the answer, as, high upon hispillows and pushed to the very outer edge of the bed, the King leanedforward. Was he ready? He dared not say so. Words do not come easilywhen life or death waits uncertain behind the door.
"Have you slept, Sire?"
"No." The voice was firmer as the hard will regained the upper hand,but it was harsh, dry, curt. "Perhaps I'll sleep--later. Please GodI'll sleep later. Send them in."
But in the ante-room Leslie paused a moment.
"Take off those riding gloves," he said sharply. "You must know littleof kings' courts. Leave them on the table. You can pick them up asyou go out."
"I know my duty," answered Molembrais, "and that is enough for me." Tospeak sharply steadied his nerve. But at the door he stood aside andmotioned to La Mothe. "Do you go in first." Again it was not that hiscourage failed him, but La Mothe would be so much covert, La Mothewould draw the King's attenti
on. It would ruin everything if, while hewas on the very threshold, the King should cry out, Where is Beaufoy?
But Louis never gave him a glance. As the light fell upon La Mothe'sface he drew a shivering sigh and clenched his teeth with a snap. Lifeor death had passed the door--which was it?
"Come nearer," he said, beckoning. "Nearer yet. You, Beaufoy, staythere by the door. The Dauphin?--Charles?"
"Well, Sire."
"Well!" The beckoning hand dropped, then he leaned forward, coveringhis face. "Oh, God--God--God--God be thanked!" he sobbed, hisshoulders shaking in convulsions as he fought for breath. "God bethanked!" La Mothe heard him whisper a second time, and in the silenceMolembrais crept forward and aside, edging by the wall where theshadows were thickest. The lamp was his danger. He must quench thelamp and strike in the dark. Forward and aside he stole towards thetable.
Suddenly Louis reared himself upright, again shaking a hand before him,but this time in a threat.
"I cancelled my orders: where--where----"
"The mask is destroyed, Sire."
"Destroyed? Safely?"
"Safely, Sire."
"And the Dauphin--Charles--does he know----"
Again he paused, and again La Mothe filled the blank, reading into thecompleted words the uncompleted question.
"The Dauphin knows nothing but that the gifts were mine."
"Yours! Yes, yours, yours only, and you dared--who is that at thetable?" His voice rose shrilly into a cry. "That is not Paul Beaufoy."
The shift of eyes, the change of voice, rather than the wordsthemselves warned La Mothe. Round he spun, irresolute in surprise.Nor was it the figure stooping at the table-edge with a hand reachedfor the light that caught his gaze, it was the gleam of that lightclear upon a signet ring, and Villon's phrase rang in his ears--"Amartlet with three mullets in chief." Then the lamp flickered out.
"Molembrais!" he cried, and sprang on Molembrais; and from behind, asthey twisted in each other's arms, he heard the King whisper in anindrawn, frightened breath, "Molembrais! Molembrais!" as if the deadhad risen.
Molembrais! It was the third cast of the net. Straining his grip yettighter, La Mothe fought for his life. Molembrais was the stronger,Molembrais was the more desperate, and desperation is a strength initself. Twisting, their limbs interlocked, they spun, tripped andfell; and with the blood drumming in his ears La Mothe heard nothing,knew nothing, felt nothing but Molembrais' hot breath in his face,Molembrais' tense muscles closing, stiffening, crushing as they rolledupon the floor, wrestling as they rolled. Then of a sudden the roomwas ablaze, a racking violence wrenched. Molembrais from his clasp,and he was pressed back downward on the floor, a sword at his throat.It was Commines; Leslie and a guard held Molembrais; beyond, at thedoorway, stood Ursula de Vesc; by the bedside Father John stooped abovethe King, his arm thrown round him.
"Stephen, Stephen, what madness is this?"
Propped on his arm La Mothe pointed to Molembrais.
"Molembrais!" he panted. "Twice--the Dauphin--now the King. Thank GodI knew him at the last."
By the bedside the Franciscan stooped lower, whispering in the King'sear--whispering urgently, insistently, pleadingly. What he said noneheard, but the hard face slowly softened.
"Philip, let him rise; you did well to vouch for Monsieur La Mothe.And you, young sir, who have learned when to speak and when to keepsilence, was I not right? Amboise was dull, and queen and waiting-maidare all of the one flesh? Mademoiselle, take him back to Amboise withyou and watch together over my son, the Dauphin, and the God of Mercybe gracious to you both as He has been to me this day."
He paused a moment. Shifting on his elbow he laid an arm round theFranciscan's neck, drawing him closer, and as he whispered to thepriest a laugh wrinkled his worn face. Father John nodded, smiling.The King's arm slipped from him and he straightened himself.
"You are right, Sire, it is their due. Mademoiselle, come nearer. Whogiveth this woman to this man?"
"I do," answered Louis.
Seven years after the boy Charles succeeded to the throne a certainStephen de Vesc, chamberlain to the King, was appointed, first,Seneschal of Beaucaire, then Governor of Gaeta, and finally Constableof France. Could it be that Stephen La Mothe adopted his wife's nameto please the Dauphin? Such changes are not unknown in our day, andfor less cause.