“For three of them, I will, sire,” I answered firmly. “The fourth I do not know.”
“He is Auvergne’s half-brother.”
“M. Louis d’Entragues?” I muttered. “Lately returned, I think, from service in Savoy? I do not know him, sire. To-morrow I may be able to answer for him.”
“And to-day? What am I to do to-day?”
I begged him to act as he had done each day since his arrival at Fontainebleau, to hunt in the morning, to take his midday meal at Malesherbes, to talk to all as if he had no suspicion: only on his return to take any road save that which passed the Rock of the Serpents.
The King turning to rejoin the others, I found that their attention was no longer directed to us, but to a singular figure which had made its appearance on the skirts of the group, and had already thrown three out of the four courtiers into a fit of laughter. The fourth, M. d’Entragues, did not seem to be equally diverted with the stranger’s appearance; nor did I fail to notice, being at the moment quick to perceive the slightest point of his conduct, that while the others were nudging one another, his countenance, darkened by an Italian sun, gloomed on the new-comer with an aspect of menace. On his side M. de Boisrosé — for he it was, the grotesque fashion of his dress more conspicuous than ever — stood eyeing the group with a mixture of awkwardness and resentment; until made aware of his Majesty’s approach and of my presence in intimate converse with the King he stepped joyfully forward, a look of relief displacing all others on his countenance. “Ha! well met!” quoth the King in my ear. “It is your friend of yesterday. Now we shall have sport. And ‘twill cheer us. We need it.” And he pinched my arm.
As the old soldier approached with many low bows, the King spoke to him graciously, and bade him say what he sought. It happened then as I had expected. Boisrosé, after telling the King his name, turned to me and humbly begged that I would explain his complaint; which I consented to do, and did as follows: “This, sire,” I said gravely, “is an old and brave soldier; who formerly served your Majesty to good purpose in Normandy, but has been cheated out of the recompense which he there earned by the trickery and chicanery of one of your Majesty’s counsellors, the Baron de Rosny.”
I could not continue, for the courtiers, on hearing this from my mouth, and on discovering that the stranger’s odd appearance was but a prelude to the real diversion, could not restrain their laughter. The King, concealing his own amusement, turned to them with an angry air and bade them be silent; and the Gascon, encouraged by this and by the bold manner in which I had stated his grievance, scowled at them famously. “He alleges, sire,” I continued, with the same gravity, “that the Baron de Rosny, after promising him the government of Fécamp, bestowed it on another, being bribed to do so, and has been guilty of many base acts which make him unworthy of your Majesty’s confidence. That, I think, is your complaint, M. de Boisrosé?” I concluded, turning to the soldier; whom my deep seriousness so misled that he took up the story, and pouring out his wrongs did not fail to threaten to trounce me, or to add with much fervour that I was a villain!
He might have said more, but the courtiers, perceiving that the King broke at last into a smile, lost all control over themselves, and giving vent to loud peals of laughter, clasped one another by the shoulders and reeled to and fro in an ecstasy of enjoyment. The King gave way also and laughed heartily, clapping me again and again on the back, so that in fine there were only two serious faces to be seen, that of the poor Boisrosé, who took all for lunatics, and my own. For my part I began to think that perhaps the jest had been carried far enough.
My master presently saw this, and collecting himself, turned to the amazed Gascon. “Your complaint is one,” he said, “which should not be lightly made. Do you know the Baron de Rosny?”
Boisrosé, more and more out of countenance, said he did not.
“Then,” said the King, “I will give you an opportunity of becoming acquainted with him. I shall refer your complaint to him, and he will decide upon it. More!” he continued, raising his hand for silence as Boisrosé, starting forward, would have appealed to him, “I will introduce you to him now. This is the Baron de Rosny.”
The old soldier glared at me for a moment with starting eye-balls, and a dreadful despair seemed to settle on his face. He threw himself on his knees before the King. “Then, sire,” said he in a heartrending voice, “am I ruined? My six children must starve, and my young wife die by the roadside!”
“That,” answered the King, gravely, “must be for the Baron de Rosny to decide. I leave you to your audience.”
He made a sign to the others, and, followed by them, walked slowly along the terrace, the while Boisrosé, who had risen to his feet, stood looking after him like one demented, muttering in a voice that went to my heart that it was a cruel jest, and that he had bled for the King, and the King made sport of him.
Presently I touched him on the arm. “Come, have you nothing to say to me, M. de Boisrosé?” I asked quietly. “You are a brave soldier and have done France service: why then need you fear? The Baron de Rosny is one man, the King’s minister is another. It is the latter who speaks to you now. The office of Lieutenant Governor of Angoulême is vacant. It is worth twelve thousand livres by the year. I appoint you to it.”
He murmured with a white face that I mocked him and that he was going mad; so that it was long before I could persuade him that I was in earnest. When I at last succeeded, his gratitude knew no bounds, and he thanked me again and again with the tears running down his face. “What I have done for you,” I said modestly, “is the reward of your bravery. I ask only that you will not another time think that they who rule kingdoms are as those gay popinjays yonder. Whom the King, believe me, holds at their due value.”
In a transport of delight he reiterated his offers of service, and feeling sure that I had gained him completely I asked him on a sudden where he had seen Louis d’Entragues before. In two words the truth came out. He had seen him once only, on the previous day at the forest inn; the courtier had halted at the door and spoken with the three bullies, whom I had remarked there. I was not surprised, nay I had expected this, D’Entragues’ near kinship to the Count of Auvergne and the mingled feelings with which I knew that the family regarded Henry preparing me to imagine treachery. Moreover, the nature of the ambush was proof that its author resided in the neighbourhood and was intimately acquainted with the forest paths. I should have carried this information at once to my master; but I learned that he had already started, and thus baffled and believing that his affection for Mademoiselle d’Entragues, if not for her sister, would lead him to act with undue leniency, I conceived a plan of my own.
Two hours after noon, therefore, I set out, as if for a ride, attended by La Trape only; but at some distance from the palace we were joined by Boisrosé, whom I had bidden to be at that point well armed and mounted. Thus reinforced — for the Gascon was still strong, and in courage a very Crillon, I proceeded to Malesherbes by a circuitous route which brought me within sight of the gates about the middle of the afternoon. I then halted under cover of a little wood of chestnuts, and waited until I saw the King, attended by several ladies and gentlemen, and followed by eight troopers, issue from the chateau. His Majesty was walking, his horse being led behind him; and seeing this I rode out and approached the party as if I had that moment arrived to meet the King.
It would very ill become me to make idle reflections on the hollowness of Court life: withal, seldom have I known it better exemplified than in the scene then displayed before me. The sun was low, but its warm beams falling aslant on the gay group at the gates and on the flowered terraces and grey walls behind them seemed to present a picture at once peaceful and joyous. Yet I knew that treachery and death were lurking in the midst — even as between the parterres and the walls lay the dark sluggish moat; and it was only by an effort that, as I rode up, I could make answer to the thousand obliging things with which I was greeted and of which not the least polite were said by M. d’Entragu
es and his son. I took pains to observe Mademoiselle Susette, a beautiful girl still in her teens, but noways comparable as it seemed to me, in expression and vivacity to her famous sister. She was walking beside the King, her hands full of flowers, and her face flushed with shy excitement. I came, with little thought, to the conclusion that she, at least, knew nothing of what was intended by her family; who, having made the one sister the means of gratifying their avarice, were now baiting the trap of their vengeance with the other. Having obtained what they needed, they were ashamed of the means by which they had obtained it: and would fain avenge their honour, while holding to that they had got by the sale of it.
Henry parted from the maid at length, and mounted his horse amid a ripple of laughter and compliments, D’Entragues holding the stirrup, and his son the cloak. I observed that the latter, as I had expected, was prepared to accompany us, which rendered my plan more feasible. Our road lay for a league in the direction of the Rock of the Serpents, the track which passed the latter — and was a trifle shorter — presently diverging from it. For some distance we rode along in easy talk, but on approaching the point of separation, the King looked at me with a whimsical air, as though he would lay on me the burden of finding an excuse for avoiding the shorter way. I had foreseen this and looked round to ascertain the positions of our company. I found that La Varenne and D’Entragues were close behind us, while the troopers with La Trape and Boisrosé were a hundred paces farther to the rear, and Vitry and Coquet had dropped out of sight. This being so, I suddenly reined in my horse so as to back it into that of D’Entragues, and then wheeled round on the latter, taking care to be between him and the King. “M. Louis d’Entragues,” I said, dropping the mask and addressing him in a low voice but with the scorn which I felt and which he deserved. “Your plot is known! If you would save your life confess to his Majesty here and now all you know, and throw yourself on his mercy!”
I confess that I had failed to take into account the pitch to which his nerves would be strung at such a time, and had expected to produce a greater effect than followed my words. His hand went indeed to his breast, but it was hard to say which seemed the more astounded, La Varenne or he. And the manner in which he flung back my accusation, lacked neither vigour nor the semblance of innocence. While Henry stood puzzled, and not a little put out, La Varenne was appalled. I saw this, that I had gone too far, or not far enough, and at once calling up unto my face and form all the sternness in my power I bade the traitor remain where he was. Then turning to his Majesty I craved leave to speak to him apart.
He hesitated, looking from me to D’Entragues with an air of displeasure which embraced us both, but in the end without permitting M. Louis to speak he complied, and going aside with me bade me with coldness speak out. As soon as I had repeated to him Boisrosé’s words, his face underwent a change — for he too had remarked the discomfiture which the latter’s appearance had caused D’Entragues in the morning. “The villain!” he said. “I do not now think you precipitate! Arrest him, but do him no harm!”
“If he resist, sire?” I asked.
“He will not,” the King answered. “And in no case harm him! You understand me?”
I bowed, having my own thoughts on the subject, and the King without looking again at D’Entragues rode quickly away. M. Louis tried to follow and cried after him, but I thrust my horse in the way, and bade him consider himself a prisoner. At the same time I requested La Varenne, with Vitry and Coquet, who had come up and were looking on like men thunderstruck, to take four of the guards and follow the King.
“Then, sir, what do you intend to do with me?” D’Entragues asked. The defiant air with which he looked from me to the men who remained barely disguised his apprehensions.
“That depends, M. Louis,” I replied, recurring to my usual tone of politeness, “on your answers to three questions.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Ask them,” he said.
“Do you deny that you have laid an ambush for the King in the road which passes the Rock of the Serpents?”
“Absolutely.”
“Or that you were yesterday at an inn near here in converse with three men?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you deny that there is such an ambush laid?”
“At least I know naught of it!” he repeated with scorn. “’Tis an old wife’s story. I would stake my life on it.”
“Enough,” I answered slowly. “You have said you would stake your life on it. You shall. The evening grows cold, and, as you are my prisoner, I must have a care of you. Kindly put on this cloak, and precede me, M. d’Entragues. We return to Fontainebleau by the Rock of the Serpents.”
His eyes met mine; he read my thoughts, and for a second held his breath. A cold shadow fell upon his sallow face, and then for an instant I thought that he would resist. But the stern countenances of La Trape and Boisrosé, who had ridden up to his rein and stood awaiting his answer with their swords drawn, determined him. With a forced and mirthless laugh he took the cloak. “It is new, I hope,” he said, as he threw it over his shoulders.
It was not, and I apologized, adding, however, that no one but the King had worn it. On this he settled it about him; and having heard me strictly charge the two guards, who followed with their arquebuses ready, to fire on him if he tried to escape, he turned his horse’s head into the path and rode slowly along it, while we, in double file, followed a few paces behind him.
The sun had set, and such light as remained fell cold between the trees. The green of the sward had that pale look it puts on with the last rays, or with the dawning. The crackling of a stick under a horse’s hoof, or the ring of a spur against a scabbard, were the only sounds which broke the stillness of the wood as we proceeded. We had gone some way when M. Louis halted, and, turning in his saddle, called to me. “M. de Rosny,” he said — the light had so far failed that I could scarcely see his face, “I have a meeting with the Vicomte de Matigny on Saturday about a little matter of a lady’s glove. Should anything prevent my appearance — —”
“I will see that a proper explanation is given,” I answered.
“Or, if M. d’Entragues will permit me,” exclaimed the Gascon, who was riding by my side, “I, M. de Boisrosé of St. Palais, will appear in his place and make the Viscount de Caylus swallow the glove.”
“Sir,” said M. Louis, with politeness, and in a steady tone, “you are a gentleman. I am obliged to you.”
He waved his hand to me with a gesture which I long remembered, and, giving his horse the rein, he went forward along the path at a brisk walk. We followed, and I had just remarked that a plant of box was beginning here and there to take the place of the usual undergrowth when a sheet of flame leapt out through the dusk to meet us, and our horses reared wildly. For an instant we were in confusion; then I saw that our leader, M. Louis, had fallen headlong from his saddle, and lay on the sward without word or cry. My men would have sprung forward before the noise of the report had died away, and, having good horses, might possibly have overtaken one of the assassins; but I restrained them. Enough had been done. When La Trape dismounted and raised the fallen man the latter was dead, his breast riddled by a dozen slugs.
Such were the circumstances, now for the first time made public, which attended the discovery of this, the least known, yet one of the most dangerous of the many plots which were directed against the life of my master. The course which I adopted may be blamed by some, but it is enough for me that, after the lapse of years, it is approved by my conscience and by the course of events. For it was ever the misfortune of that great king to treat those with leniency whom no indulgence could win; and I bear with me to this day the bitter assurance that, had the fate which overtook Louis d’Entragues in the wood between Malesherbes and Fontainebleau embraced the whole of that family, the blow which, ten years later, went to the heart of France would not have been struck.
The slight indisposition from which the Queen suffered in the spring of 1602, and which w
as occasioned by a cold caught during her lying-in, by diverting the King’s attention from state matters, had the effect of doubling the burden cast on me. Though the main threads of M. de Biron’s conspiracy were in our hands as early as the month of November of the preceding year, and steps had been taken to sound the chief associates by summoning them to court, an interval necessarily followed during which we had all to fear; and this not only from the despair of the guilty, but from the timidity of the innocent, who in a court filled with cabals and rumours of intrigues might see no way to clear themselves. Even the shows and interludes which followed the Dauphin’s birth, and made that Christmas remarkable, served only to amuse the idle; they could not disperse the cloud which hung over the Louvre nor divert those who on the one side or the other had aught to fear.
In connection with this period of suspense I recall an episode worthy, I think, by reason of its oddity, to be set down here; where it may serve for a preface to those more serious events attending the trial and execution of M. de Biron, which I shall have to relate.
I had occasion, about the end of the month of January, to see M. du Hallot. The weather was cold, and partly for that reason, partly out of a desire to keep my visit, which had to do with the Biron disclosures, from the general eye, I chose to go on foot. For the same reason I took with me only two servants and a confidential page, the son of my friend Arnaud. M. du Hallot, who lived at this time in a house in the Faubourg St. Germain, not far from the College of France, detained me long, and when I rose to leave insisted that I should take his coach, as snow had begun to fall, and lay an inch deep in the streets. At first I was unwilling to do this, but reflecting that such small services are highly valued by those who render them, and attach men more surely than the greatest bribes, I yielded, and, taking my place with some becoming expressions, bade young Arnaud find his way home on foot.
The coach had nearly reached the south end of the Pont au Change, when a number of youths ran past me, pelting one another with snowballs, and shouting so lustily that I was at a loss which to admire more, the silence of their feet or the loudness of their voices. Aware that lads of that age are no respecters of persons, I was not surprised to see two or three of them rush on to the bridge before us, and even continue their Parthian warfare under the feet of the horses. The result, however, was that the latter took fright at that part of the bridge where the houses encroach most on the roadway; and but for the care of the running footman, who hastened to their heads, might have done some harm either to the coach or the passers-by.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 808