the grounds--but how?"
"The secret passage, sir," whispered Denis. "It availed once, why not
again?"
"The passage!" cried Leoni. "No; once used, they will guard it safely
now. But stop; they do not know that we escaped that way, and it might
prove as sure an exit as it did before. I have seen no guard in that
corridor since our return."
"Nor I," said Denis eagerly.
"But how to pass the gates?" said Leoni thoughtfully.
"There is no need," cried Denis. "Follow the narrow alley leading
downward to the river, and take the boat of which young Carrbroke spoke.
The river! Surely you could escape that way."
"Boy," whispered Leoni ecstatically, "you are the deliverer of France!
Hah!" he added, in tones full of regret. "And you will not be with us!
The river--yes. They would never dream that we escaped that way.
Quick, then. There is not a moment to be lost. You will not flinch?"
"I? No!" whispered Denis proudly.
"Quick, then! The darkness is the best disguise." And leading the way
into the sleeping chamber, he busied himself with torn-up linen and
scarf, preparing the semblance of bandages, while Denis unbuckled his
sword-belt and hurriedly threw off his doublet.
A few minutes sufficed for the skilful hands of Leoni to strap and
bandage the gallant lad's features, leaving him standing on one side of
the bed while he went to the other to draw back the coverlet.
In obedience to the thought that flashed through his brain the lad bent
quickly forward, caught at the King's hand and raised it eagerly to his
lips, half rousing him, to mutter in his sleep, while Leoni took out and
unscrewed his little flask and applied it to the King's lips.
"Drink this, sir," he said, and in strict obedience to his medical
attendant, the sick man drank till the vessel was withdrawn.
"Ah!" exclaimed Francis wearily. "I am not well, Leoni. We pay dearly
for our adventure. But we will hunt to-morrow at Fontainebleau. Is it
not so? Call the Master of the Chase."
"You may do so, sir. But you feel stronger now?"
"Yes, yes."
"Then come, sir." And Leoni snatched the cloak which Denis had thrown
on a chair and wrapped it round the King. "We will start at once, sir."
"Yes," said Francis, "we will start at once--at once." And he leaned
heavily on Leoni's arm, while the latter drew the heavily plumed hat
which the boy handed him lower over the King's features.
Denis accompanied them to the door.
"Farewell," he said.
Leoni turned and gazed at him, and for a second the saturnine expression
faded and a look of tenderness came over his features.
"Until we meet again," he whispered.
Then the door closed and the lad stood wondering whether the plan would
succeed, whether the King would on the morrow be far on his way to the
sea.
The next minute he was in the inner chamber by a mirror, smiling at
himself, before plunging into the King's place, turning on his side, and
drawing the coverlet right up to his ears.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE.
A VISITOR FOR A PATIENT.
The time up to the closing of the chamber door had been one of wild
excitement. There was the disguise, and then the scene of preparing
Francis for another flight, his helplessness, and the calm, unresisting
way in which he had yielded himself to Leoni's hands.
Then came the departure, the farewell of Leoni, whom at times he seemed
to shrink from with dislike, almost with dread, but only to feel himself
won back again, attracted by the doctor's manner and his manifest liking
for his young companion.
Then there was the closing of the door, which seemed to cut the lad off
from his friends and leave him, as he threw himself wearily into the bed
to lie there alone in the darkness, face to face with a horror which
chilled him through and through.
For in his chivalrous excitement which thrilled him with a feeling that
he was about to do a most gallant thing in the service of his King, he
seemed to have no time to think; but now in the silence and gloom of
that solitary inner room, there was time for thought, time for his
feelings to be harrowed by the knowledge of what was to come, and as he
lay there he began to picture to himself how it would all be.
How soon he knew not, but before long some one would come, miss the
King's attendants, inquiry would be made, and possibly the supposed
Comte, lying wounded in the bed, would be sharply questioned as to the
whereabouts of his doctor and gentlemen.
"What shall I do?" thought Denis. "I must keep up the semblance of
being the King. I am supposed to be very ill, and I can pretend to be
insensible. That will all gain time if I refuse to speak; and those who
come will never for a moment think that the King's attendants have left
him helpless here--far less fancy that they have escaped.
"But have they escaped?" thought the lad; and in his excitement the
perspiration broke out upon his brow, as he lay wondering whether they
had found the private passage unfastened and won their way through to
the gardens, so as to pass unnoticed along the alleys and down to the
river steps and boat.
"No," he thought. "Impossible. The people here would surely have
securely fastened up that way, and the King has been captured; and with
such an enemy as Henry what will be his fate?"
For some time he gave these thoughts firm harbour, but at last his
common sense prevailed. The idea was absurd, he told himself. If the
little party had been seized while making their escape the whole castle
would have been in an uproar, full of wild excitement, with the hurrying
to and fro of steps, especially the heavy tramp and clash of the guards,
instead of which all was horribly still, while the candles burning in a
couple of sconces were hidden from his sight by the heavy hangings of
the bed, so that he lay there alone in the deep gloom.
There were moments when the shadows cast by the lights seemed to take
form and move, making him feel that he could lie there no longer, that
he must spring out of bed to face bravely these weird and shadowy forms,
and convince himself that he really was alone, and merely a prey to a
childish superstitious dread brought about by the horror of his
position.
It was hard to bear, and required a heavy call upon his manliness to
force back these fancies and prepare himself to play his part when the
crucial time came of some one visiting the room and finding that the
Comte's attendants were no longer there.
"It is for the King of France!" he muttered, when at last the dread and
horror of his position had culminated in a feverish fit that seemed as
if it would end by his springing out of bed, tearing off the mockery of
his disguise, and hurrying through the outer chamber into the corridor
to seek the company of the nearest guards.
"It means hastening the discovery," he muttered, "but I can bear this no
longer. It is too much."
He lay panting heavily for some few moments before a reaction came,
following quickly upon the one question he asked himself, contained in
that one little word:
"Why?"
He began breathing more easily the next moment, for the weak boy had
mastered, and manliness was coming to his aid.
"Oh," he muttered to himself, "am I to be as cowardly as a girl? It is
too childish. Afraid of shadows, shrinking from lying alone in the
dark! Why, I shall fancy next that I shall be afraid to lie here with
the sun shining brightly, through the panes. What difference is there
between the light and darkness? I can make it black darkness even at
noonday if I close my eyes. I know why it is. I am tired and faint.
There is no danger--for me. The danger is to the King. This is only a
trick, a masquerade. Sooner or later I shall be found out. But what
then? I am only a lad, and this King Harry would be a bloodthirsty
monster if he had me slain for what is after all only a boyish prank. I
have nothing to do but lie here quite still, as if a sick man, and very
bad. They will find out at last. Well, let them. I am utterly tired
out with all I have gone through. My head is as weary as my bones, and
now all this weak cowardice has gone I am going to do what I should do
here in bed, and go to sleep.
"Oh, impossible! Impossible!" muttered the lad wearily. "Who could
sleep at such a time as this?"
He rose upon his elbow and said those words in a hoarse whisper, as if
he were questioning the shadows that surrounded the great curtained bed.
There was no reply from the weird and shadowy forms, uncouth, strange,
and distorted; but he answered his piteous, despairing question himself.
"I can," he said, "and--"
There was a pause of a few moments, and then he muttered between his set
teeth:
"--and I will."
With a quick movement he drove his clenched fist two or three times into
the great down pillow, making it purl up into a hillock, upon which he
laid his cheek, and into which it softly sank, while, closing his eyes,
he strove to force himself into a heavy sleep, till his strong effort
joined with his bodily weariness, and he sank into a deep dreamless
trance.
How long this lasted he never knew, but all at once he lay wide awake
and wondering, striving to realise where he was, and what the meaning of
that heavy distant tramp, tramp, as of soldiery coming nearer and
nearer, till it ceased outside the farther door in obedience to a hoarse
command.
There was another order, followed by a close fusillade-like sound of the
butts of halberds planted upon the floor. Then a few moments' silence,
and as the lad strained his eyes in the direction of the doors, that
farthest was suddenly flung open and the outer chamber was filled with
light which emphasised the gloom of the inner, where, fully alive to his
position, Denis lay still, closing his eyes and pressing his face
farther into the pillow, as a stern voice shouted as if in warning, for
all to hear: "His Majesty the King!"
CHAPTER FORTY TWO.
IN THE GLOOMY GALLERY.
Leoni was the moving spirit of the adventure of what he felt to be
another daring attempt to escape; for Francis, under the influence of
the medicament that he had administered, was like a puppet in his hands;
while Saint Simon, big, manly, and strong, ready to draw and attack any
who should bar their way, spoke no word, but followed his leader's every
gesture watchfully, suggesting nothing, doing nothing save that exactly
which he was told.
As they stood outside the door and began to move along the corridor, the
place looked so lonely and the task so ridiculously easy, that the
scheming, subtle doctor's heart smote him with a feeling of remorse.
It seemed to be so cruel, so cowardly, to escape and leave that brave
lad, who was ready to sacrifice his life in his master's service, alone
there with his despair, waiting for the discovery that would probably
end with his death.
"Pish!" said Leoni to himself. "What is the boy to me? Nothing more
than a pawn upon the chessboard of life, one of the pieces I am using
for the sake of France--France, my country, for which I have ventured
this. For what is this gay butterfly? King? Yes, the King upon the
chessboard, whom it is my fate to move; and where I place him, there he
stays. It is I, I in my calm, grave, unobtrusive way, who am the real
King of France--now nearly at the pinnacle of my ambition, or shall be
when I have achieved these last moves. And yet I am not happy. It jars
upon me cruelly that I should have to leave this boy. Pooh! Absurd! I
will not think about him," he muttered; and then with a silent mocking
laugh, "And yet what is he? Only, as I say, a pawn, which the
necessities of the position force me to sacrifice."
These thoughts flashed like lightning through his brain, as, grasping
the King's arm with one hand, he waved the other in the air as if in the
act of casting all these thoughts behind him. But he winced the more,
for the thought of Denis alone there in the King's chamber clung to him
and seemed to press him down.
But there was stern work awaiting him, for he would not, he could not
believe that their escape could be as easy as it seemed. The corridor
leading to the great gallery near the King's apartment appeared
perfectly deserted; neither guard nor gentleman in attendance seemed at
hand to hinder their approach to the arras which hid the secret door.
But he did not believe and he would not trust so impossible a state of
things.
Stopping suddenly close up to the panelled wall, he signed to Saint
Simon to close up.
"Take the King's arm," he said; "he needs support. I am going forward.
If you can make me out and the signal I give, follow quickly on. But
wait till I raise my hand."
He walked swiftly on, almost gliding like a shadow over the wall, for
his footsteps made no sound, while as he passed one candle which gave
out a feeble light a curious gleam flashed from one of his eyes.
The next moment he was past, and right in the King's gallery, still
without seeing anything to hinder his signalling to Saint Simon, and
reaching safely the spot opposite to the secret door.
"If I were alone," he thought, "I have but to cross here, pass behind
the arras, make my way to the riverside, and then somehow I could, I
would, reach France, with my country the richer for this night's work.
But there is the King," he muttered softly; "there is the King." And he
pressed himself back against the tapestry, looking in his sombre garb,
in the faint light of the great place, like one of the needlework
figures in the hangings.
But his heart was beating fast, for all at once and quite unexpected
there was the sound of footsteps, so slow and measured that he knew they
must be those of a sentry; and the next minute a tall figure, dimly
seen, came in his measured way along the gallery, as if to pass him,
while Leoni's hand slowly glided towards the hilt of his sword and
clutched it fast.
He held his breath and nerved himself for the cat-like leap he was
prepared to make as the sentinel came abreast, for he felt that it was
impossible that the man could pass him without his being seen.
But to the watcher's intense astonishment the sentry stopped short in
the centre of the gallery, when he was about a dozen yards away, turned
upon his heel, and began to retrace his steps. Leoni on the instant
judged that the man had come to the end of his beat, and if this were so
the task seemed easy, for by seizing the minute when his back was turned
and he was at the full extent of his monotonous tramp in the other
direction, it seemed to the doctor that it would be easy to step across
the gallery, raise the arras, and pass into the secret way.
"One at a time," muttered Leoni; "one at a time. Easy for us; but can I
make my chief piece obey me and move alone?"
The disposition was upon the watcher of the sentry to glide back at once
to where he had left Saint Simon and the King; but he felt that he must
make sure in this crisis of the adventure before he took his next step,
and he waited, closely pressed up against the tapestry, looking more
than ever like an embroidered figure, as the sentry halted far down the
gallery, softened by distance into a mere shadow, turned, and resumed
his pacing.
The task seemed harder than ever to stand pressed there against the
panelling, watching the coming of the stalwart guard, and it took all
the doctor's nerve and self-command to stand there so absolutely still
of body, while his nerves and thoughts were moving with an intensity
that literally thrilled.
"Coming towards his death," said Leoni mentally, as the man came on and
on, gradually ceasing to be so shadow-like and dim as he advanced. "His
life or mine. His life or mine. His life or mine," something within
him seemed to keep on saying, till the end of the sentry's beat appeared
to be quite over-passed and he was coming nearer, so near that Leoni
felt he saw him at last and the crisis was there, when the man stopped,
hesitated for a moment, then began pacing back just as before--but not
quite, for almost as soon as his back was turned Leoni's command over
his nerves and muscles ceased, and he began to glide silently along by
the tapestried panels to reach Saint Simon and the King at last.
No word was spoken now but the single one "Follow," as Leoni softly took
the King's hand and led him over the ground he so lately had traversed,
pausing after a time as the trio came within sight of the sentry, and
standing close up against the wall, to wait till the man reached his
nearest point to the secret door to turn in his automaton-like fashion
and begin marching back.
Leoni waited till the sentry half covered the distance he had to
traverse, and then led the King swiftly and silently till they were
nearly opposite the panel door, to pause once more--three shadowy
figures now--to wait there during the most crucial time, for the great
test was now at hand.
Could he trust the King to remain silent till the man turned back--if he
did turn back without distinguishing that he was not alone in the gloomy
gallery?
But Leoni was a man of resource, and to meet this difficulty he bade
Saint Simon lie down at full-length close to the wall, while he pressed
the King behind the pedestal of a statue standing in a niche a few yards
away.
It was a great risk, but the King seemed plunged in a deep sleep, and at
a time like that something had to be risked. It was the daring of the
plan that carried it through, and the fact that the sentry's perceptions
were dulled by habit. Hence it was that he came on, gazing
introspectively and seeing nothing but his own thoughts, which were of
the near approaching time when he would be relieved, and return to the
guard chamber, supper, and sleep.
Leoni hardly breathed as once more he watched the man come on nearer and
nearer, apparently to his death, for this time Leoni softly drew the
keen stiletto that he wore, and crouched ready to ensure silence and
save the King if he were driven to the last extremity. But that was not
to be.
The man came to the full extent of his paced-out beat, turned, and
marched back, while before he was half the distance to the other end the
doctor had glided across the gallery, raised the arras, and pressed the
boss, fully expecting to find that the door was fast; but it yielded
silently, and the doctor's heart leaped as he drew in a long deep breath
of cool moist air.
Dropping the arras, he stood for a moment gazing after the shadowy
sentry, feeling startled to see how far he was still from the end of his
beat; and, acting contrary to the mode he had planned in his
determination to seize this opportunity if it could be done, he glided
swiftly across to where the King was standing, and caught him by the
arm.
"Come," he whispered, with his lips to Francis's ear, when the King
yielded as if he were a portion of the speaker's self, walking with him
silently till they were half across the gallery, when all at once a
bright light threw up into bold relief the figure of the sentry at the
far limit of his tramp, and the two fugitives stood out plainly before
Saint Simon like two black silhouettes upon the distant glow.
"Lost!" sighed Leoni, as, utterly unnerved, he stood tightly pressing
the King's wrist, unable even to stir, but listening to the sounds of
voices which came weirdly and whispering along the gallery--challenge,
reply, and order of the changing guard.
Before recalling the fact that the bearers of the light were hardly
likely to discern them at so great a distance, he recovered himself and
pressed on towards the door and raised the tapestry, when without word
of direction Francis passed through, followed by Leoni, and the arras
was dropped.
"Saint Simon," muttered the doctor, as without closing the door he led
the King onward for about a dozen yards, before returning to the open
door with the intention of kneeling down to raise the hangings slightly
and watch.
"Must I leave him behind--another?" he muttered; and then he started, to
clap his hand to his dagger again and prepare to strike, for there was a
faint rustling sound from the open door and then the faintest of faint
clicks, followed by the expiration of a heavy breath as from one who
could contain it no longer.
Leoni stood with his arm raised on high and his stiletto pointing
downwards. The next moment it had dropped to his side, for from out of
the darkness in front there came the whispered words:
"Are you there?"
"Saint Simon!" cried the doctor, not beneath his breath, for he was too
much excited by his surprise to control his emotion, as he stretched out
his left hand to grip his follower by the arm. "I did not expect this,"
he muttered.
"Too dangerous to stay," said Saint Simon.
"Yes, and you were right; it was bravely done."
"But what about the garden door? It will be fast."
"The saints forbid!" muttered Leoni. "Follow and attend the Comte. I
will go on first and see."
He glided on with extended hands, expecting momentarily to touch the
King, but did not overtake him till the little landing was reached,
where Francis was standing at the head of the flight of steps.
Leoni pressed past him and began to descend, holding his master once
more by the hand, which he dropped as soon as they were at the foot, and
then passed on rapidly with his pulses throbbing and in a state of
ungovernable excitement such as he had not felt since the commencement
of the adventure.
But this was of short duration. Schooled now by previous experience,
Leoni ran his hand along close to the angle at the top of the wall upon
his left, expecting moment by moment that it would come in contact with
the ledge. He was quite right. It did, and glided into the niche, when
a chill seized upon his heart and made it cease its heavy beat.
The niche was empty!
By the King's orders the outer door must have been locked, and they were
prisoners as fast as ever, unless some other scheme could be devised.
For a few brief moments Leoni gave way to despair. Then with an angry
ejaculation he pressed on with extended hands, covered the few yards
more that had to be passed before the door was reached, touched it, and
swept his hands towards the lock, and once more no longer in full
command of his faculties, he uttered a faint cry of joy.
The key was in the lock.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE.
KING DENIS REFUSES.
Denis's heart beat wildly for a few moments, as he asked himself should
he be asleep or waking; but the heavy beating calmed down at once as he
heard the King's slow footsteps in the outer room, and then the question
in the now well-known voice:
"No attendants?"
"No, Sire. I presume he is asleep."
"Then I must awake him," said the King sternly; "but my business is with
him alone. Go, and retire the guards. I will summon you when I have
done."
"But, your Majesty--"
"Silence! Can I not defend myself were it necessary against a wounded
man? Go, and at once!"
The chamberlain, whose voice Denis had recognised at once, retired in
silence.
There was the trampling of the guards, the closing of the outer door,
and then as Denis lay listening all was still, while he began counting
the slow heavy beating of his heart.
"What will follow now?" he asked himself.
He knew at once, for there was a slight cough, a heavy step, and the
King strode through the dividing door into the chamber, stopped as if
looking round for a moment, and then stepped round to the side of the
great canopied bed, drew forward a chair, and seated himself between the
recumbent prisoner and the window. Then he coughed again, but sharply
and angrily this time.
"You hear me, Comte de la Seine?" he said haughtily.
It seemed to come naturally to the young esquire how to play his part--
to gain all the time he could; and he slowly raised one hand and let it
fall heavily back upon the coverlet.
Henry was satisfied, and his tones bespoke it, as he said:
"It is well, sir. I have stooped to pay you this visit--here this
night, to remind you that by the way in which you have repaid my
hospitality you have forfeited your life."
Denis raised his hand again, so that it came out of the shadow thrown by
the curtains into the light cast by the candles right across the bed;
and as the King sat there as if watching the effect of his words, the
hand was waved carelessly in the air before it was allowed to descend.
"Hah!" cried the King. "You are a Frenchman, sir, and you behave with
all the flippancy of your race. I understand your gesture. It means
recklessness. You, so to speak, tell me that you do not value your
life. You defy me. But you will alter your tone when you are called
upon to march in the middle of my guards to the headsman's block, and
suffer there for your crime."
There was a quick impatient gesture of the hand again.