THE REBELLION OF HERODIAS' DAUGHTER
"And I suppose I am to bait the trap, as usual?"
"You forget, Valentine, that I am your uncle and a grandee of Spain."
It was the usual beginning of their quarrels, of which they had had many
as they posted along the Bordeaux road Pariswards. The Marquis Osorio
was travelling on a secret mission to Paris, a mission which had nothing
to do with the crowned and anointed King of France, now in uncertain
refuge at Blois.
King Philip had sent for him, and the Demon of the South had been in
good humour when he gave the stout Leonese gentleman his instructions.
He had just heard of the Day of the Barricades, and the success of the
Duke of Guise.
The Marquis had stood up before the master of two worlds, bronzed, hale
and bearded: not too clever, but just shrewd enough to please the King,
and certainly indomitable in doing what he was told. He had very much
the air of a free man and good subject, with his flat travelling cap in
one hand and the fingers of the other gripped staunchly about his
sword-hilt.
"The iron is hot on the anvil," said the King, "strike, Osorio! It is a
good job that the Duke of Err is out of the way. The pressure of the
times was too much for him. His poor old brain rocked. His Duchess has
taken him off somewhere to feed with spoon-meat. Olivarez, whom I have
sent to follow him, will give you no trouble. He will occupy himself
with King Henri and the Medici woman. The League and Guise--these are
your game--especially Guise. I suspect him to be a wind-bag, but put him
under your arm, and the wind in him will bravely play our music, like a
pair of Savoyard bagpipes. And hark ye, Osorio, listen to the Jesuit
fathers, especially Mariana--a very subtle man, Mariana, after mine own
heart. And also (here he sank his voice to something mysterious), above
all take with you your--your niece--Valentine?"
"Valentine la Nina!" ejaculated the King's representative, with a quick,
startled look at his master.
"Even so," said Philip, casting his eyes through the slit behind the
high altar of the Escorial to see what the priests were doing; "even so;
our Holy Mother Church is in danger, and if any love father or mother,
son or daughter more than her, he is not worthy of her!"
So by royal command Valentine la Nina rode northward with her uncle, and
though these two loved one another, they wrangled much by the way.
Claire and her cavalcade were reaching Blois, when the uncle and niece
entered Angers by the Long Bridges of Ce.
The cause of the girl's outbreak of petulance had been a harangue of the
envoy, in which he had explained, amongst other things, the reasons for
keeping their mission a secret. The King of France must not hear of it,
because their Philip did not want to show his hand. Henry of Navarre
must not hear of it, or he might send men to harry the Cerdagne and
Aran. Besides, what was the use of making a show in Paris, when the
very shop-tenders and scullions there played King Philip's game? Was
not the Sorbonne packed with wise doctors all arguing for Spain? Wild
monks and fanatic priests proclaimed her as the only possible saviour of
the Faith. At the back of Guise stood King Philip. Remained therefore
(according to the envoy) to push Guise forward, to use him, to empty
him, and then--let the Valois and the Medici have their will of him.
There was no reason for Spain to appear in the matter at all. Guise must
be induced to go to Blois, and--his enemies would do the rest.
It was then that Valentine la Nina burst forth in indignation.
She would not be the lure, she said, even for a king--a bait dangled
before an honest man's eyes--no, not even for her uncle!
"I am an Osorio," the envoy answered her sternly, "the head of the
family, you can surely trust me that nothing shall be asked of you which
might cast a stain on the name----"
"Not more than was asked of my mother!" she retorted scornfully, "only
to sacrifice herself and her children--a little thing for so good a
king--his people's father!"
"And for the Faith!" said the Marquis, hastily, as if to escape
discussion. "Listen, Valentine! The famous Father of the Gesu, Mariana,
will be in Paris before us. He has been reporting to the King, and he it
is who has asked for your presence. None can serve the Church so well as
you."
"I know--I know," cried the girl, "fear not, I have been well drilled.
My mother taught me that the whims of men were to be called either high
policy or holy necessity. It little matters which; women have to be
sacrificed in either case. Let us ride on to Paris, Uncle Osorio, and
say no more about it!"
They lighted down in the empty courtyard of the Spanish ambassador's
house, which was next to the hotel of the Duke of Guise. A shouting
crowd had pursued them to their lodging. For the Spaniards were popular
in the city, and the arrival of so fine a cavalcade had rightly enough
been interpreted to mean the adherence of Philip of Spain to the new
order of things.
"Had Spain been for the King, this envoy would have hied him to Blois,"
said De Launay, the old provost of the merchants. "But since Philip
sends his ambassador direct to the good city of Paris, why, then, it
follows that he is of the mind to put down Valois, to set aside Navarre,
and to help us to crown our only true king, the King of Paris and of
France, the King of the Faith, and of his people's hearts--Guise, the
good Guise!"
Because, even thus early, the habit of municipal eloquence had been
formed and its pattern set for all the ages. De Launay was considered a
good practitioner.
The windows of Valentine Osorio's chambers looked on the garden of the
Hotel of Guise--a shady orchard close where in the evening the Duke
often walked with his gentlemen, and specially with his handsome young
brother, the Duke of Bar.
On an evening of mackerel cloud, pearl-grey and flaky gold vaulting so
high overhead that the sky above the small smokeless Paris of 1588
seemed infinite, Valentine sat gossiping with her maid Salome.
To them, with the slightest preface of knocking, light as a bird,
entered a priestly figure in the sombre robes of the Society of Jesus--a
little rosy-cheeked man, plump and dimpled with good living, and, as it
seemed, good nature.
But at the sight of him a nervous shudder passed through the body of the
young girl. So in a school, when the master returns before his time,
playing scholars draw unwillingly with downcast, discontented eyes to
sterner tasks. Yet the Jesuit was kindly and tolerant in manner,
prodigal of smile and compliment. There was nothing of the Inquisitor
about the famous father Mariana, historian and secret politician.
"Fairer than ever, Mistress Valentine," he murmured, after he had
exchanged a glance with the maid Salome, "ah, the blessed thing which is
beauty when used for sanctified ends! Seldom is it thus used in this
world of foolish women! But you are wise. The Gesu are under deep
obligations, and the King--the King--ah, he will not forget. He has sent
you hither, and has commissioned me to speak with you. Your good, your
excellent uncle, Osorio, knows some part of King Philip's plans, but not
all--no, not all. He is too blunt an instrument for such fine work. But
_you_ can understand, and shall!"
The girl struck her hands together angrily and turned upon him.
"Again--again!" she said, "is it to be treachery again?"
"Not treachery, dear lady," cooed the father; "but when you go to tickle
trout, you do not stand on the bank and throw in great stones. You work
softly underneath, and so guide the fish to a place from which they
cannot escape."
"Is it Guise?" demanded the girl, breaking fiercely through these dulcet
explanations.
"As you say," smiled the Jesuit; "himself and no other."
"And what is to be my particular infamy?"
"Child, beware of your speech," said the Jesuit; "there is no infamy in
the service of Holy Church, of the Society, and of your King."
"To a well-known air!" said the girl, sneeringly; "well, I will sing the
song. I know the music."
And she went and placed herself by the window which overlooked the
pleasaunce of the Duke of Guise.
"Salome," she said, "come hither and comb out my tresses!"
And with the graceful ease of strong young arms, she pulled out a
tortoise-shell pin here and a mother-of-pearl fastening there till a
flood of hair escaped, falling down her back, with dark, coppery lights
striking out of the duskier coils, and the lingering sunset illuminating
the ripples of fine-spun gold.
"Thus goes the exercise," she said with a cold anger, "the Holy Society
trains us well. But for this, and all else, God will enter into judgment
with you and your like!"
But, heedless of her words, the priest was already stooping and peering
behind the curtain.
"There they go," he whispered eagerly, "Guise and Mayenne together, Bar
and the Cardinal behind--ah, there, it takes! Gripped--netted--what did
I tell the King? He has his kerchief out. Quick, Valentine, yours! What,
you have left it behind? Here is mine. Twice--I tell you, twice--and
your hand upon your heart. Ah, he salutes! He will soon call upon the
envoy of the King of Spain now. I wager we shall have him here in the
morning before breakfast! Ah, what news this will be to send by the
courier to-night to your--to King Philip! He will sleep sound, I
warrant. And remember, to-morrow, speak him fair when he comes. All
depends on that. I shall not be far away. I shall know and report to the
King. It shall not be well with you otherwise. Guise must go to
Blois--to the King of France. He must take his gentlemen with him. No
sulking in his own territories. To Blois, and face it out--like a man."
The girl rose from the window and came back into the chamber. She opened
the door, and with a gesture of proud weariness indicated the dark
corridor without.
"Your turn is served," she said, "now go!"
But Mariana, a cunning smile on his face, held out his hand.
"Give me first my kerchief!" he said.
The girl crushed the embroidered linen into a ball in her hand, holding
it at her side and slightly behind. Then she threw it out of the window
with a gesture of contempt. The next moment the door slammed
unceremoniously in Father Mariana's face. But the church historian was
not in the least put out. He laid his finger slowly to the side of his
nose and smiled stilly.
He descended the stairs to the entresol, and there from a window which
overhung the court he looked forth in time to see the Duke of Guise
stooping to pick up something white from the ground.
He saw him kiss it and thrust it into the breast of his black velvet
doublet.
And the worthy Jesuit chuckled softly, saying to himself, "There are
things in this world which are cheap even at the loss of my best
broidered kerchief!"
* * * * *
As Mariana had foretold, the Duke of Guise and his brother the young De
Bar called upon the Marquis Osorio the following day. That morning the
Duke had made the life of his valet a burden to him while dressing, and
he now appeared gorgeous in a suit of dark blue velvet trimmed with gold
lace. A cape of silk was over one arm, and he carried Mariana's
embroidered kerchief carefully in his hand.
In his most stately fashion the Marquis Osorio received the head of the
League. He presented his credentials as to a reigning monarch, and began
to talk of revolutions of Holy Church, concerning the culpable laxness
of the Pope in his own interests, and the fidelity of the King of Spain
to his ideals and to his allies. It was evident, however, that Guise
paid but scant heed. His ears were elsewhere. As for De Bar, he stared
insolently about him, now at the ambassador, now at the tapestry on the
walls, and again and most often out at the window. But his brother
listened, almost without disguise, to a slight noise, which came
occasionally into the room from without. There was, for instance, the
rustling of a woman's silken robe in the passage. Voices also, that
sounded faint, pleading, expostulatory, cut into the even rise and fall
of Castilian diplomacy.
"For these reasons my royal master judged it expedient to send me as his
representative, charged with----"
Guise twisted impatiently this way and that in his black oaken chair, in
vain efforts to catch what was going on outside. De Bar observed his
brother's uneasiness, and as the Lorraine princes went at that time in
constant fear of assassination, it did not cost him two thoughts, even
in the house of the Spanish ambassador, to rise and throw the door wide
open.
Then through the wide Romanesque arch of the audience chamber Valentine
Osorio entered, as a queen comes into a throne room.
At sight of her the envoy stayed his speech to make the presentation in
form. Guise instantly dropped all interest in the goodwill of King
Philip and his views upon state policy. He crossed over to the
window-seat, where Valentine had seated herself.
Mariana had followed, and the next moment the Marquis resumed his
interrupted speech, addressing himself to the Jesuit and De Bar, whose
ears were rigid with listening to what was going on in the window, but
who feared his brother so much that he dared not follow his movements
with a single lift of his eyelids.
"My lady," said Guise, as he stood before Valentine, "I judge that I
have the privilege of restoring to you a kerchief which you dropped by
accident last night into my garden--we are neighbours, you know."
Valentine la Nina did not flush in the least. She said only, "It is none
of mine. If you will throw it behind the curtain there, my maid Salome
will see that it goes to the wash."
Guise stood staring at her, internally fuming at his own stupidity in
thus attempting to force the situation.
Valentine la Nina was dressed in a vaporous greenish lawn, which added
value to the clearness of her skin, the coiled wealth of her fair hair,
and the honey-coloured eyes which looked past the great Duke as if he
were no more than a pillar between her and the landscape.
Manifestly Guise was piqued. He was a man of good fortunes, and of late
the Parisians had spoiled him. He was quite unaccustomed to be treated
in this fashion.
"Countess," he said at last, after long searching for a topic, "I am
from the north and you from the south. Yet to look at us, it is I who am
the Spaniard and you the Frank!"
"My father was a Flamand!" said Valentine la Nina calmly.
"And, may I ask, of what degree?"
"Of a degree higher than your own!" said Valentine, turning her great
eyes indolently upon him.
Guise looked staggered. He had not supposed that the world held any
such.
"Then he must have been a reigning prince!" he stammered.
"Well?" said Valentine, looking at him with direct inquiry.
"I had not understood that even so ancient a house as the Osorios----"
"I never said that my father was an Osorio!"
"Ah!" said the Duke, "then I ask your pardon. I was indeed ignorant."
He scented mystery, and being a plain, hard-hearted, cruel man of the
time, thrust into a commanding position by circumstances, he resented
being puzzled, like a very justice of the peace.
"If you do not believe me----" Valentine began.
"Most noble princess," he protested, bending nearer to her as she sat on
the low seat looking straight up at him; "not once have I dreamed----"
"Go to my native country of Leon and ask the first gentleman you meet
whether Valentine la Nina be not the honest daughter of a king. Only do
not, if you value your life, express such disbelief as you did just now,
or the chances are that you will never again see fair Lorraine!"
She looked about her. What she had expected all along had happened. They
were alone. By some art of the Jesuit father, subtly piloting the course
of events, Osorio had gone to the private parlour to find certain
papers. Mariana and De Bar had followed him.
Instantly the girl's demeanour changed. Half rising, she reached out her
hand and clutched the astonished Guise by the cuff of his black velvet
sleeve.
"Do not trust the King of France," she whispered, "do not put yourself
in the power of the King of Spain. Do not listen to my uncle, Osorio,
who does his bidding. Keep away from Blois. Make yourself strong in your
own territories--I, who speak, warn you. There is but a hair's breadth
between you and death. Above all, do not listen to Mariana the Jesuit.
Do not believe him on his sworn oath. His Order seeks your death now
that you have served their turn, and--I do not wish harm to come to a
brave man."
Had Valentine's eyes been upon the door she would have seen it open
slightly as if a breeze were pushing it.
"And pray, princess," said Guise, smiling, well content, "would it be
the act of a brave man thus to shun danger?"
"The lion is not the braver for leaping into the prepared pit with his
eyes open. He is only foolish!"
Guise laughed easily.
"If I were to take you at your word, princess," he said, "I should hear
no more of you in my dull Lorraine. I could not carry you off to cheer
me at Soissons. But here in Paris I may at least see you daily--hear
your voice, or if no better, see you at the window as I walk in my
garden----"
"Ah," cried Valentine, thrusting out her hand hastily, palm outward, "do
not think of me. I am but the snare set, the trap baited. I am not my
own. I can love no man--choose no man. I belong to Those Unseen----"
She cast her hand backward towards Spain, as if to indicate infinite
malign forces at work there. "But I warn you--get hence quickly, avoid
Blois. Do not trust the King, nor any king. Do not listen to my uncle
Osorio, and, above all, do not listen to Mariana the Jesuit."
And with a rapid rustle of light garments she was gone. Guise attempted
to take her hand in passing, but it easily evaded him. Valentine
vanished behind the arras, where was a door which led directly to the
women's apartments.
A moment Guise stood pulling at his moustache sourly enough, ruminating
on the warning he had received and, in the sudden disappointment, half
inclined to profit by it. To him entered the Jesuit, smiling and dimpled
as ever.
"My Lord Duke, I find you alone," he began courteously, "this is ill
treatment for an honoured guest. Permit me----"
"That lady," demanded Guise, brusquely, "who is she?"
"The niece of the Marquis Osorio," murmured the Jesuit, "my old scholar,
dear to me as the apple of mine eye, almost a daughter."
"Is she of royal blood?" said Guise, who, though he had to be upon his
manners with Valentine herself, saw no reason for mincing matters with a
mere Jesuit scribbler.
"As to that it were well to consult her uncle," said Mariana, very
softly, "we of the Society do not concern ourselves with matters purely
secular. In any case, be assured that the family honour is quite safe in
the Marquis's hands!"
"I did not doubt it," said Guise, tossing his silken cape over his arm
and evidently about to take flight. Mariana accompanied him to the foot
of the stairs, murmuring commonplaces, how that there would likely be a
thunderstorm which would clear the air, and that he would take it upon
him to make the adieux of his Grace of Guise to the Marquis Osorio, his
good friend and kinsman.
But just at the last he glided in his dart.
"And by the way, we may not see you again, unless you too are going
south. We start to-morrow for the Blois, where the Queen Mother holds
her court. She has written most graciously to the Countess Valentine
offering her hospitality, and the gaiety which young folk love, among
her maids of honour!"
And as he tucked up his soutane in order to remount the stairs, the
Jesuit chuckled to himself. "And that, I think, will do--if so be I know
the blood of the breed of Guise!"