A BRIEF TRUCE
"Turn out these torch-bearers, human candlesticks, and _valets de
chambre_, and I'll get me to bed," commanded the duke, standing in the
center of his room, and the trooper with the fierce red mustaches waved
a swarm of pages, cup-bearers and attendants from the door and closed
it. "How are the men quartered, Johann?"
"With all the creature comforts, my Lord," answered the soldier. "The
king hath dressed them like popinjays; they drink overmuch, dice, and
run after the maids, but otherwise are well-behaved."
"Drink; dice; run after the maids!" said the noble, gazing thoughtfully
downward. "Hold them in check, Johann, as though we were in a
campaign."
"Yes, my Lord," returned the man, staring impassively before him.
"And especially keep them from the kitchen wenches. There's more
danger in these _femmes de chambre_, laundresses and scullery
Cinderellas than in a column of glittering steel. Remember, no Court
of Love in the scullery. Now go! Yet stay, Johann!" he added,
suddenly. "This fool of ours is a bold fellow. Look to him well!"
Saluting respectfully, an expression of quick intelligence on his
florid features, the trooper backed out of the room. With his hands
behind him, his shoulders bent forward, the duke long pondered, his
look, keen and discerning; his perspicacity clear, in spite of Francis'
wine, or the intoxication of the princess' eyes. Although the noble's
glance seemed bent on vacancy, it was himself as well as others he was
studying; weighing the memorable events of the evening; recalling to
mind every word with the princess; reviewing her features, the
softening of her cold disdain; now, mentally distrustful, because she
was a woman; again, confident he already dominated the citadel of her
heart.
But a new element had entered into the field; an element
unforeseen--the jester!--and, although not attaching great importance
to this possible source of hazard in his plans for the future, the duke
was too good a soldier to disregard any risk, however slight. In love
and battle, every peril should be avoided; every vulnerable point made
impregnable. Besides, the fool was audacious, foolhardy; his language
of covert mockery and quick wit proved him an intelligent antagonist,
who might become a desperate one.
"A woman and a fool," muttered the duke, striding with quick step
across his chamber, "are two uncertain quantities. The one should be
subjected; the other removed!"
Museful, he stood before the niche, wherein shone a cross of silver,
set with amethysts and turquoise, his rugged face lighted by the
uncertain flickering of the candles.
"Removed!" he repeated, contemplatively. "And she--"
The clear tinkling of a bell broke in upon his cogitation; a faint,
musical sound that seemed at his very elbow. He wheeled about
abruptly, saw nothing save the mysterious shadows of the curtains, the
flickering lamps, the dark outline of the canopy of the great bed.
Instinctively he knew he was not alone, and yet his gaze, rapidly
sweeping the apartment, failed to perceive an intruder.
Again the tinkling, a low laugh, and, turning sharply toward an alcove
from whence the sounds came, the duke, through the half-light and
trailing, sombrous shadows of its entrance, perceived a figure in a
chair. From a candle set in a spiked, enameled stick, a yellow
glimmering, that came and went with the sputtering flame, rested upon
an ironical face, a graceful figure in motley and a wand with the
jester's head and the bell. Without rising, the _plaisant_ quizzically
regarded the surprised nobleman, who in spite of his self-control had
stepped back involuntarily at the suddenness of the encounter.
"Good evening, my Lord," said the fool. "I am like the genii of the
tale. You think of me, and I appear."
Regaining his composure at once, the king's guest bent his heavy brows
over his deep-set eyes, and deliberately surveyed the fool.
"And now," went on the jester, gaily, "it is in your mind I am like as
suddenly to--disappear! Am I at fault?"
"On the contrary, you are unusually clear-witted," was the answer.
"Oh, my Lord, you over-estimate my poor capacity!" returned the
nobleman's unasked caller with a deprecatory gesture.
The hands of the other worked impatiently; his herculean figure blocked
the doorway. "You are a merry fellow!" he observed. "It is to be
regretted, but--confess you have brought it upon yourself?"
"What? My fate? Oh, yes!" And he indifferently regarded the wand and
the wooden figure upon it, without moving from the chair.
"You have no fear?" questioned the duke, quietly.
"Fear? Why should I?"
Yawning, the fool stretched his arms, looking not at the nobleman, but
beyond him, and, instinctively, the princess' betrothed peered over his
shoulder in the semi-darkness behind, while his hand quickly sought his
sword.
"Fie, most noble Duke!" exclaimed the jester. "We have no
eavesdroppers or interlopers, believe me! We are entirely alone, you
and I--master and fool. There; come no nearer, I beg!" As the
nobleman menacingly moved toward him.
"Have you any argument to advance, Sir Fool, why I should not?" said
the other, grimly, a gleam of amusement depicted on his broad face as
he paused the while.
"An argument, sharp as a needle, somewhat longer!" replied the jester,
touching his breast and drawing from between the folds of his doublet a
shining hilt.
Harsh and loud laughed the king's guest. "You fool," he said, "you had
your opportunity below there in the hall and missed it. You hesitated,
went blindly another course, and now"--with ominous meaning--"you are
here!"
Upon the stick a candle dripped, sputtered and went out; the jester
bent forward and with the copper snuffer on the table near by deftly
trimmed the remaining light.
"Only fools fight in darkness," he remarked, quietly, "and here is but
one of them."
"You pit yourself and that--plaything!--against me?" asked the burly
soldier, derisively.
"Have you hunted the wild boar, my Lord?" lightly answered the other.
"How mighty it is! How savage! What tusks! You know the pastime? A
quick step, a sure arm, an eye like lightning--presto! your boar lies
on his back, with his feet in the air! You, my Lord, are the boar;
big, clumsy, brutal! Shall we begin the sport? I promise to prick you
with every rush."
The prospective bridegroom paused thoughtfully.
"There is some justice in what you say," he returned, his manner that
of a man who has carefully weighed and considered a matter. "I confess
to partiality for the thick of the fray, the brunt of the fight, where
men press all around you."
"Assuredly, my Lord; for then the boar is in his element; no matter how
he rushes, his tusks strike yielding flesh."
"Why should we fight at all--at present?" cautiously ventured the
noble, with further hesitation. "Not that I doubt I could easily crush
you"--extending his muscular arms--"but you _might_ prick me, and, just
now, discretion may be the better part of valor. I--a duke, engaged to
wed a princess, have much to lose; you, nothing! A fool's stroke might
kill a king."
"Or a knave, my Lord!" added the _plaisant_.
"Or a knave, sirrah!" thundered the duke, the veins starting out on his
forehead.
The jester half drew his dagger; his quiet confidence and glittering
eye impressed even his antagonist, inured to scenes of violence and
strife.
"Is it a truce, most noble Lord?" said the fool, significantly. "A
truce wherein we may call black, black; and white, white! A truce
which may be broken by either of us, with due warning to the other?"
Knitting his brow, the noble stood motionless, deeply pondering, his
headlong passion evidently at combat with his judgment; then his face
cleared, a hard, brusque laugh burst from his lips and he brought his
fist violently down on the massive oak table near the door.
"So be it!" he assented, with a more open look.
"A truce--without any rushes from the boar?"
"Fool! Does not my word suffice?" contemptuously retorted the duke.
"Yes; for although you are--what you are--you have been a soldier, and
would not break a truce."
"Such commendation from--my jester is, indeed, flattering!" satirically
remarked the king's guest, seating himself in a great chair which
brought him face to face with the fool and yet commanded the door, the
intruder's only means of retreat.
"Pardon me, the duke's jester, you mean?"
"Yes; mine!"
"A distinction with a difference!" retorted the fool. "It is quite
true I am the duke's jester; it is equally untrue I am yours.
Therefore, we reach the conclusion that you and the duke are two
different persons. Plainly, not being the duke, you are an impostor.
Have you any fault to find with my reasoning?"
"On the contrary," answered the other, with no sign of anger or
surprise, "your reasoning is all that could be desired. Why should I
deny what you already know? I was aware, of course, that you knew,
when I first learned his jester was in the castle. Frankly, I am not
the duke--to you!"
"But with Francis and the court?" suggested the fool, uplifting his
brows.
"I am the duke--and such remain! You understand?"
"Perfectly, my Lord," replied the jester, shrugging his shoulders.
"But since I am not the king, nor one of the courtiers, whom, for the
time being, have I the honor of addressing? But, perhaps, I am
over-inquisitive."
"Not at all," said the other, with mocking ceremony. "You are a
whimsical fellow; besides, I am taken with a man who stands near death
without flinching. To tell you the truth, our truce is somewhat to my
liking. There are few men who would have dared what you have to-night.
And although you're only a fool--will you drink with me from this
bottle on the table here? I'm tired of ceremonies of rank and would
clink a glass in private with a merry fellow. What say you?"
And leaning over, he filled two large goblets with the rich beverage
from a great flask placed on the stand for his convenience. His face
lighted with gross conviviality, but behind his jovial, free manner,
that of a trooper in his cups, gleamed a furtive, guarded look, as
though he were studying and testing his man.
"I'm for a free life; some fighting; but snug walls around for
companionship," he continued. "Look at my soldiers now; roistering,
love-making! Charles? Francis? Not one of the troop would leave me
for emperor or king! Not one but would follow me--where ambition
leads!" Holding up the glass, he looked into the depths of the thick
burgundy. "Why, a likely fellow like you should carry a gleaming
blade, not a wooden sword. I know your duke--a man of lineage--a
string of titles long as my arm--an underling of the emperor, while
I"--closing his great jaw firmly--"owe allegiance to no man, or
monarch, which is the same thing. Drink, lad; I'm pleased I did not
kill you."
"And I," laughed the _plaisant_, "congratulate myself you are still
alive--for the wine is excellent!"
"Still alive!" exclaimed the king's guest, boisterously, although a
dark shadow crossed his glance.
"I'm scarred from head to foot, and my hide is as tough as--"
"A boar's?" tapping his chin with the fool's head on his wand.
"Ah, you will have your jest," retorted the host of the occasion,
good-naturedly. "It's bred in the bone. A quality for a soldier.
Next to courage is that fine sense of humor which makes a man a _bon
camarade_. Put down your graven image, lad; you were made to carry
arms, not baubles. Put it down, I say, and touch glasses with Louis,
of Pfalz-Urfeld."
"The bastard of Hochfels!" exclaimed the jester, fixedly regarding the
man whose name was known throughout Europe for his reckless bravery,
his personal resources and his indomitable pride or love of freedom and
independence, which held him aloof from emperor or monarch, and made
him peer and leader among the many intractable spirits of the Austrian
country who had not yet bowed their necks to conquest; a soldier of
many battles, whose thick-walled fortress, perched picturesquely in
mid-air on a steep mountain top, established his security on all sides.
"The same, my friend of the motley," continued the other, not without
complacency, observing the effect of his announcement on the jester.
"He who calls himself the free baron of Hochfels?" observed the fool,
setting down the glass from which he had moderately partaken.
"Aye; a man of royal and peasant blood," harshly answered the
free-booter. "Ambition, arrogance, are the kingly inheritance;
strength, a constitution of iron, the low-born legacy. What think you
of such an endowment?"
"You are far from your castle, my Lord of Hochfels," commented the
jester, absently, unmindful of a question he felt not called upon to
answer.
"And yet as safe as in my own mountain nest," retorted the free baron,
or free-booter, indifferently. "Who would betray me? There is not a
trooper of mine but would die for his master. You would not denounce
me, because--but why enumerate the reasons? I hold you in the palm of
my hand, and, when I close my fingers, there's the end of you."
"But where--allow me; the wine has a rare flavor," and he reached for
the flask.
"Drink freely," returned the pretender; "it is the king's own, and you
are my guest. You were about to ask--"
"Whence came the idea for this mad adventure?" said the jester, his
eyes seemingly bent in admiration on the goblet he held; a half globe
of crystal sustained by a golden Bacchus.
"Idea!" repeated the self-called baron, with a gesture of satisfaction.
"It was more than an idea. It was an inspiration, born of that chance
which points the way to greatness. The feat accomplished, all Europe
will wonder at the wanton exploit. At first Francis will rage; then
seeing me impregnably intrenched, will make the best of the marriage,
especially as the groom is of royal blood. Next, an alliance with the
French king against the emperor. Why not; was not Francis once ready
to treat even with Solyman to defeat Charles, an overture which shocked
Christendom? And while Charles' energies are bent to the task of
protecting his country from the Turks, a new leader appears; a
devil-may-care fellow--and then--and then--"
He broke off abruptly; stared before him, as though the fumes of wine
were at last beginning to rise to his head; toyed with his glass and
drank it quickly at a draft. "What an alluring will-o'-the-wisp
is--to-morrow!" he muttered.
"An illusive hope that reconciles us with to-day," answered the
_plaisant_.
"Illusive!" cried the other. "Only for poets, dreamers, fools!"
"And you, Sir Baron, are neither one nor the other," remarked the
jester. "No philosopher, but a plain soldier, who chops heads--not
logic. But the inspiration that caused you to embark upon this
hot-brained, pretty enterprise?"
"Upon a spur of rock that overlooks the road through the mountain is
set the Vulture's Nest, Sir Fool," began the adventurer in a voice at
once confident and arrogant. "At least, so the time-honored fortress
of Hochfels is disparagingly designated by the people. As the road is
the only pass through the mountains, naturally we come more or less in
contact with the people who go by our doors. Being thus forced,
through the situation of our fortress, into the proximity of the
traveling public, we have, from time to time, made such sorties as are
practised by a beleaguered garrison, and have, in consequence, taken
prisoners many traffickers and traders, whose goods and chattels were
worthy of our attention as spoils of war. Generally, we have confined
our operations to migratory merchants, who carry more of value and
cause less trouble than the emperor's soldiers or the king's troopers,
but occasionally we brush against one of the latter bands so that we
may keep in practice in laying our blades to the grindstone, and also
to show we are soldiers, not robbers."
"Which remains to be proved," murmured the attentive jester. "Your
pardon, noble Lord"--as the other half-started from his chair--"let me
fill your glass. 'Tis a pity to neglect such royal wine. Proceed with
your story. Come we presently to the inspiration?"
"At once," answered the apparently appeased master of the fortress,
wiping his lips. "One day our western outpost brought in a messenger,
and, when we had stripped the knave, upon him we found a miniature and
a letter from the princess to the duke. The latter was prettily writ,
with here and there a rhyme, and moved me mightily. The eagle hath its
mate, I thought, but the vulture of Hochfels is single, and this
reflection, with the sight of the picture and that right, fair script,
saddened me.
"And then, on a sudden, came the inspiration. Why not play a hand in
this international marriage Charles and Francis were bringing about? I
commanded the only road across the mountain; therefore, did command the
situation. The emperor and the king should be but the wooden figures,
and I would pull the strings to make them dance. The duke, your
master, why should he be more than a name? The princess' letter told
me she had never seen her betrothed. What easier than to redouble the
sentries in the valley, make prisoners of the messengers, clap them in
the fortress dungeons, read the missives, and then despatch them to
their respective destinations by men of my own?"
"Then that was the reason why on my way through the mountains your
knaves attacked me?" said the listener quickly.
"Exactly; to search you. How you slipped through their hands I know
not." And he glanced at the other curiously.
"They were but poor rogues," answered the jester quickly.
"Certainly are you not one!" exclaimed the free baron, with a glance of
approval at the slender figure of his antagonist. "Two of them paid
for their carelessness. The others were so shamed, they told me some
great knight had attacked them. A fool in motley!" he laughed. "No
wonder the rogues hung their heads! But in deceiving me," he added
thoughtfully, "they permitted their master to run into an unknown
peril--his ignorance that a fool of the duke, or a fool wearing the
emblem of the emperor, had gone to Francis' court."
"You were saying, Sir Free Baron, you intended to read the messages
between the princess and the duke, and afterward to despatch them by
messengers of your own?" interrupted the _plaisant_.
"Such were my plans. Moreover, I possessed a clerk--a knave who had
killed an abbot and fled from the monastery--a man of poetry, wit and
sentiment. Whenever the letters lacked for ardor, and the lovers had
grown too timid, him I set to forge a postscript, or indite new
missives, which the rogue did most prettily, having studied love-making
under the monks. And thus, Sir Fool, I courted and won the
princess--by proxy!"
"Of a certainty, your wooing was at least novel, Sir Knight of the
Vulture's Nest," dryly observed the jester. "Although, had my master
known the deception, you would, perhaps, have paid dearly for it."
"Your master, forsooth!" laughed the outlaw lord. "A puny scion of a
worn-out ancestry! Such a woman as the princess wants a man of brawn
and muscle; no weakling of the nursery."
"Well," said the fool, slowly, "you became intermediary between the
princess and the duke, and the king and the emperor. But to come into
the heart of France; to the king's very palace--did you not fear
detection?"
"How?" retorted the other, raising his head and resting his eyes,
bloodshot and heavy, on the fool's impassive features. "The road
between the two monarchs is mine; no message can now pass. The emperor
and the duke may wonder, but the way here is long, and"--with a
smile--"I have ample time for the enterprise ere the alarm can be
given."
"And you paved the way for your coming by altering the letters of the
duke, or forging new ones?" suggested the listener.
"How else? A word added here and there; a post-script, or even a page!
As for their highnesses' seals, any fool can break and mend a seal. In
a week the duke will wonder at the princess' silence; in a fortnight he
will become uneasy; in a month he will learn the cage has been left
open and the bird hath flown. Then, too, shall the gates of the
dungeon be set ajar, and the true, but tardy, messengers permitted to
go their respective ways. Is it not a nice adventure? Am I not a
fitter leader than your duke?"
"Undoubtedly," returned the jester. "He sits at home, while you are
here in his stead. But what will the princess say when she learns?"
"Nothing. She loves me already."
The fool turned pale; the hand that held his glass, however, was firm,
and he set the goblet down without a tremor.
"She may weep a little, but it will pass like a summer shower. Women
are weak; women are yielding. Have I not reason to know?" he burst
out. "I, a--"
Brusquely he arose from his chair, leaving the sentence uncompleted.
Sternly he surveyed the jester.
"Why not take service with me?" he continued, abruptly. "Austria is
ripe to revolt against the tyranny of the emperor. With the discontent
in the Netherlands, the dissensions in Spain, Europe is like a field,
cut up, awaiting new-comers."
He paused to allow the force of his words to appeal to the other's
imagination. "What say you?" he continued. "Will you serve me?"
"The matter's worth thinking over," answered the fool, evasively.
"Well, take your time," said the king's guest, regarding him more
sharply. "And now, as the candles are low and the flask is empty, you
had better take your leave."
At this intimation that the other considered the interview ended, the
fool started to his feet and deliberately made his way to the door
opening into the corridor.
"Good-night!" he said, and was about to depart when the free baron held
him with a word.
"Hold! Why have you not attempted to unmask me--before?"
Steadily the two looked at each other; the eyes of the elder man,
cruel, deep, all-observing; those of the younger, steady, fearless,
undismayed. Few of his troopers could withstand the sinister
penetration of Louis of Hochfels' gaze, but on the jester it seemed to
have no more effect than the casual glance of one of Francis' courtiers.
"You knew--and yet you made no sign?" continued the master of the
fortress.
"Because I like a strong play and did not wish to spoil it--too soon!"
The questioner's brow fell; the lids half-veiled the dark, savage eyes,
but the mouth relaxed. "Ah, you always have your answer," he returned
with apparent cordiality. "Good-night--and, by the by, our truce is at
an end."
"The truce--and the wine," said the jester, as with a ceremonious bow,
he vanished amid the shadows in the hall.
Slowly the free baron closed the door and locked it; looked at the
cross and at the bed, but made no motion toward either.
"He has already rejected my proposal," thought the self-styled duke.
"Does he seek for higher rewards by betraying me? Or is it, then,
Triboulet told the truth? Is he an aspiring lover of the princess? Or
is he only faithful to his master? Why have I failed to read him? As
though a film lay across his eyes, that index to a man's soul!"
Motionless the free baron stood, long pondering deeply, until upon the
mantel the richly-chased clock began to strike musically, yet
admonishingly. Whereupon he glanced at the cross; hesitated; then,
noting the lateness of the hour, and with, perhaps, a mental
reservation to retrieve his negligence on the morrow, he turned from
the silver, bejeweled symbol and immediately sought the sensuous bodily
enjoyment of a couch fit for a king or the pope himself.