THE BLOOD ON THE KERCHIEF
The most familiar servants of my Lord of Guise dared not awake their
master. He had cast himself down on the great bed in his chamber when he
came in late, or rather early--no man cared to ask which--from the
lodging of Monsieur de Noirmoutier. Even his bravest gentlemen feared to
disturb him, though the King's messenger had come twice to summon him to
a council meeting at the Chateau.
"Early--very early? Well, what is that to me?" said the herald. "Bid
your master come to the King!"
"The King! Who is he?" cried insolently the young De Bar. "Brother Henry
the Monk may be your master--he is not ours."
"Hush!" said the aged Raincy, Guise's privileged major-domo and
confidant, the only man from whom the Duke took advice, "it were wiser
to send a message that my Lord of Guise is ill, but that he will be
informed of the King's command and will be at the Chateau as soon as
possible."
Guise finally awoke at eight, and looking out, shivered a little at the
sight of as dismal a dawning as ever broke over green Touraine. It had
been raining all night, and, indeed, when the Duke had come in from his
supper-party he had thrown himself down with but little ceremony of
undressing. This carelessness and his damp clothes had told upon him.
"A villain rheum," he cried, as he opened his eyes, to listen
ill-humouredly enough to Raincy's grave communication of the King's
demand. "And what do you tell me? A villain day? Draw aside the curtains
that I may see the better. What--snow? It was rain when I came in."
He sneezed twice, on which Raincy wished him a long life.
"'Tis more than the King of all the Penitent Monks wishes me," said the
Duke, shovelling notes and letters of all shapes and sizes out of his
pockets. Some had been crumpled in the palm of the hand scornfully, some
refolded meditatively, some twisted between the fingers into nervous
spills, but by far the greater number had never been opened at all.
"See what they say, Raincy," cried the Duke. "I can dress myself--one
does not need to go brave only to see the King of France playing monkey
tricks in a turban and woman's dressing-gown, scented of musk and
flounced in the fashion! Pah! But, Raincy, what a cold I have taken!
'Tis well enough for a man when he is young to go out supping in
December, but for me, at eight-and-thirty--I am raucous as a gallows'
crow! Give me my cloak, Raincy, and order my horse!"
"But, Your Grace," gasped the alarmed Raincy, "you have had no
breakfast! Your Grace would not go thus to the council--you who are more
powerful than the King--nay, whom all France, save a few heretics and
blusterers, wish to be king indeed!"
"Aye--aye--perhaps!" said Guise, not ill-pleased, "that may be very
true. But the Bearnais does not pay these rogues and blusterers of his.
That is his strength. See what an army he has, and never a sou do they
see from year's end to year's end! As for me"--here he took a paper out
of his pocket-book, and made a rapid calculation--"to entertain a war in
France, it were necessary to spend seven hundred thousand livres a
month. For our Leaguers cry 'vivas' with their mouths, but they will not
lift a pike unless we pay them well for it!"
He folded the paper carefully, as if for future reference.
"What money have I, Raincy?" he said, flapping his empty purse on the
table; "not much, I fear. It is time I was leaving Blois, Raincy, if I
wish to go with decent credit!"
Now was the valet's chance, which he had been waiting for.
"Ay, it is indeed time--and high time," said Raincy, "if these letters
speak true. Let us mount and ride to Soissons--only Your Grace and I, if
so it please you. But in an hour it may be too late."
The Duke of Guise laughed, and clapped his major-domo on the shoulder.
"Do not you also become a croaker," he cried; "leave me at least Raincy,
who sees that the League holds the King in a cleft stick. My good man,
he dare not--this Henry of the Fox's Heart. I have the clergy, the
Church, the people, most of the lords. The Parliament itself is filled
with our people. Blois, all except the Chateau, is crammed with our men,
as a bladder is with lard!"
"Ah, except the Chateau," groaned Raincy; "but that is the point. You
are going to the Chateau, and the Fox is cunning--he has teeth as well
as another!"
"But he dares not trap the lion, Raincy," laughed Guise. "Why, you are
as bad as Madame de Noirmoutier, who made me promise to ride off to-day
like a whipped cur--I, the Guise. There, no more, Raincy! I tell you I
will dethrone the King. Then I will beat the Bearnais and take him about
the land as a show in a cage, for he will be the only Huguenot left in
all the realm of France. Then you, Raincy, shall be my grand almoner. Be
my little one now! Quick, give me twelve golden crowns--that my purse,
when I go among my foes, be not like that of my cousin of Navarre!"
As the major-domo went to seek the gold, Guise stretched his feet out to
the blaze and, with a smile on his face, hummed the chorus of the
Leaguers' marching-song.
"I would I were a little less _balafre_ on such a cold morning,"
grumbled the Duke; "scars honourable are all very well, but--give me a
handkerchief, Raincy. That arquebusier at Chateau Thierry fetched me a
villain thwack on the cheek-bone, and on cold days one eye still weeps
in sympathy with my misfortunes!"
"Ah, my good lord," said Raincy, "pray that before sundown this day many
an eye in France may not have cause to weep!"
"Silence there, old croaker," cried the Duke; "my sword--my cloak! What,
have you so forgot your business in prating of France, that you will not
even do your office? Carry these things downstairs! A villain's day!--a
dog's day! The cold the wolf-packs bring when they come down to harry
the villages! Hold the stirrup, Raincy! Steady, lass! Wey there! Thou
lovest not standing in the rain, eh? Wish me luck, Raincy. I carry the
hope of France, you know--King Henry of Guise, and the throats of the
Protestant dogs all cut--sleep on that sentiment, good Raincy."
And Raincy watched the Duke ride away towards the Castle of Blois. The
last echo of his master's voice came back to him on the gusty December
wind:
"_The Guises are good men, good men,
The Cardinal, and Henry, and Mayenne, Mayenne!
For we'll fight till all be grey--
The Valois at our feet to-day--_"
Raincy stood awhile motionless, the tears running down his face. He was
about to shut the door, when, just where the Duke had sprung upon his
horse, he caught the glimpse of something white on the black drip of the
eaves. He stooped and picked it up. It was the handkerchief his master
had bidden him fetch. It was adorned with the arms of Guise, the Lilies
of France being in the centre. But now the _fleurs-de-lys_ were red
lilies. The blood of the Guise had stained them.
And Raincy stood long, long there in the open street, the sleety snow
falling upon his grey head, the kerchief in his hand, marvelling at the
portent.