A MIDNIGHT COUNCIL
The Bearnais met D'Epernon in the inner dining-room of Master Anthony's
house. His servants had hastily lighted a few wax candles. In the
waggon-littered courtyard without, a torch or two flamed murkily. With a
quick burst of anger, Henry leaned from a window and bade them be
extinguished. So, with a jetting of sparks on the hard-beaten earth of
the courtyard, the darkness suddenly re-established itself.
There was, on the side of the Duke, some attempt at a battle of eyes.
But, after all, he had only been the little scion of a Languedocean
squire when the Bearnais was already--the Bearnais.
The Duke bowed himself as if to set knee to the ground, but Henry caught
him up.
"Caumont," he said, using the old boyish name by which they had known
each other in their wild Paris youth, "you have never liked me. You have
never been truly my friend. Why do you come to seek me now?"
The busy scheming brain behind the Valois favourite's brow was working.
He had a bluff subject to deal with, therefore he would be bluff.
"Your Majesty," he said, "there is no one in all France who wishes
better to your cause, or more ill to the League than I. When you are
King, you shall have no more faithful or obedient subject. But
friendship, like love, is born of friendship; it comes not by command.
When the King of Navarre makes me his friend, I shall be his!"
"Spoken like a man, and no courtier," cried the Bearnais, slapping his
strong hand into the white palm of D'Epernon with a report like a
pistol; "I swear I shall be your friend till the day I die!"
And the Bearnais kept his word, and gave his friendship all his life to
the dark, scheming, handsome man, who had served many masters in his
time, but had never loved any man save himself, any woman except his
wife, and any interest outside of his own pocket.
The soldiers of the Guard Royal made a rhyme which went not ill in the
patois of the camp, but which goes lamely enough translated into
English. Somewhat thus it ran:
"Duke Epernon and his wife,
Jean Caumont and his wife,
Cadet Valette and his Cadette,
Louis Nogaret and _his_ wife--
If ever I wagered I would bet
My pipe, my lass, and eke my life,
That this brave world was made and set
_For Duke Epernon and his wife--
Jean Caumont and his wife,
Louis Nogaret and his wife,
Cadet Valette and his Cadette!_"
And so _Da Capo_--to any tune which happened to occur to them in their
semi-regal license of King's free guardsmen.
Which was only the barrack and guard-room way of saying that Jean Louis
de Nogaret, Cadet de la Valette, Duc d'Epernon and royal favourite,
looked after the interests of a certain important numeral with some
care.
"Caumont," said the King of Navarre, "how came you to know I was in this
town? I arrived but an hour ago, and in disguise."
"Our spies are better than Your Majesty's," smiled the Duke. "Your true
Calvinist is something too stiff in the backbone to make a capable
informer. You ought to employ a few supple Politiques, accustomed to
palace backstairs. But, on this occasion, I acknowledge I was favoured
by circumstances. For I have with me the daughter of Francis the Scot,
called Francis d'Agneau, born, I believe, of a Norman house long
established in Scotland near to the Gulf of Solway. Among the
saddle-bags of the damsel's pony, hastily concealed by other hands than
her own (I suspect a certain red-haired fool), there was found a series
of letters written by Your Majesty, which, in case they might fall into
worse hands, I have the honour of returning to you. Also we found an
appointment for this very night, to meet with Francis the Scot at the
town of Blois in the house of Anthony Arpajon! Your Majesty has, as the
Leaguers know, a habit of uncomfortable punctuality in the keeping of
your trysts. So I have availed me of that to confide the letters and the
maid to you, together with a good Doctor of the Sorbonne, one who has
done you no mean service to the honest cause in that wasps' nest--so
good, indeed, that if he went back, the Leaguers of his own hive would
sting him to death. Therefore I commit them all to you! Only the young
man I would gladly keep by me. But that shall be as Your Majesty
judges."
"No, no," cried the King. "I must have my cousin, if only to look after.
If the Leaguers get hold of him, he might gain a throne, indeed, but
assuredly he would lose his head. He is a fine lad, and will do very
well in the fighting line when Rosny has licked him a little into
shape! But I am truly grateful to you, D'Epernon. And in the good times
to come, I shall have better ways of proving my gratitude than here, in
the house of Anthony Arpajon and in the guise of a carter."
This was all that D'Epernon had been waiting for, and he promptly bowed
himself out. The instant the Duke was through the door, the Bearnais
turned to the little circle of his immediate followers.
"Who of you knows the town and Chateau of Blois? It might be worth while
following the fellow, just to see if any treachery be in the wind. It
may be I do him wrong. If so, I shall do him the greater right
hereafter. No, not you, D'Aubigne. I could not risk you. You are my
father-confessor, and task me soundly with my faults. Indeed, I might as
well be a Leaguer--they say the Cardinal sets more easy penances.
Brother Guise is the true Churchman--he and the King of Spain!"
The King looked about from one to another doubtfully, seeking a fit
envoy.
"No, nor you, Rosny; you can fight all day, and figure all night. But
for spying we want a lad of another build. Let me see--let me see!"
As the King was speaking, Jean-aux-Choux put on his brown Capuchin robe,
and covered his red furze brush with the hood.
"I tracked my Lord of Epernon this night once before," he said, "and by
the grace of God I can do as much again. I know his trail, and will be
at the orchard gate of the Chateau before he has time to blow the dust
out of his key!"
"How do you come to know so much?" demanded the Bearnais.
"By this token," said Jean carelessly; "that I saw my lady here and the
three men come out of the Chateau, I followed them hither, and had your
men roused and ready, so that if there had been any treachery, his
Dukeship, at least, would have been the first to fall!"
The King looked about him inquiringly.
"Rosny and D'Aubigne," he said, "what do you know of this--does the man
speak true?"
"A pupil of John Calvin speaks no lie," said Jean bravely. The King
laughed, whereupon Jean added, "If I do act a lie, it is to save Your
Majesty--the hope of the Faith!"
"That is rather like the old heresy of doing evil that good may come,"
said Henry; "but off with you! If I can accommodate my conscience to a
waggoner's blouse, I do not see why you should not reconcile yours to a
monk's hood!"
Jean-aux-Choux departed, muttering to himself that the Bearnais was
becoming as learned as a pupil of Beza or a Sorbonne Doctor, but
consoling himself for his dialectical defeat by the thought that, at
least, in the Capuchin's robe he was fairly safe. For even if caught,
after all, it was only another trick of the Fool of the Three Henries.
It was, indeed, the only thing concerning which Leaguers, Royalists, and
Huguenots were agreed--that Jean-aux-Choux was a good, simple fool!