suggestive of the hot anger that was burning in his breast. "And now
listen to me, M. le Comte de la Seine, as you call yourself. But you
have not deceived me. I know everything, even to the reason why you
have stooped to play the part of a common cutpurse."
Denis raised his hand again with an angry gesture, and Henry continued
more loudly:
"I repeat it, sir," he cried; "a common cutpurse; and please understand
that you are quite at my mercy. No one can save you but I. Now listen.
Men call me merciless and tyrannical. Let them. I am also just, and
can be merciful when I please. Are you ready to accept my mercy?"
Denis raised his hand again quickly.
"Hah! Good! Then it is in your power to act in a way that will command
this mercy, possibly my forgiveness, and the continuance of the feeling
of friendship that you, so brilliant and talented a man, have won."
Denis raised his hand again, as if in deprecation, feeling in spite of
his perilous position something like amusement at the success attending
the playing of his _role_.
"Oh yes," continued the King; "you have proved yourself a man brilliant,
courtly, and in every way fitted for the high position you held before
you stooped to the wretched chicanery and folly which brought you to
this pass. Now, sir, I tell you I am ready to be merciful and spare
your life, but upon conditions; and these stipulations which I shall
make, I tell you, you as my prisoner are bound to accept. You came here
under false pretences to steal a jewel that was England's by the right
of conquest, making to yourself the excuse that originally it belonged
to France. Is not this so?"
Denis raised his hand again.
"You do not speak," said the King. "Well, knowing as I do that you were
badly wounded by my faithful guards, and are now suffering severely for
your crime, I am willing to accept a motion of your hand, a gesture, as
your acceptation, as a reply. You see, sir, that all through this mad
escapade Providence was working a means of compassing its righteous
ends. You have fallen completely into my power, and either you submit
to my terms or die."
Denis raised his hand quickly.
"You mean an appeal for mercy," cried the King. "Wait till you have
heard my terms. They are these. I have here," he continued, unfolding
a paper, "a complete renunciation on the part of France of the city of
Bordeaux with the towns and territories embraced by Guienne, lands that
were won by the good sword of my predecessors, to have and hold for
three hundred years, but which you now occupy on sufferance and by the
magnanimity of the English throne, which has mercifully withheld itself
from seizing them by an act of war."
Denis's hand, now fully in the light, was extended for a moment, but
sharply withdrawn, for the fingers to begin tapping impatiently upon the
coverlet.
"Ah, you hesitate!" cried Henry. "Let me tell you that it is no time
for hesitation, and that I shall brook no argument, accept nothing but a
full and sufficient resignation made now upon this paper, which needs
but your act and deed made fully by the addition of your royal name."
Denis raised his hand slowly, and let it fall heavily upon the bed.
"Hah!" cried the King, in a tone which evinced triumph and intense
satisfaction, as he rose to his feet and walked slowly to a side-table
standing beneath one of the sconces, upon which were writing materials
ready to the visitor's hand. "I am glad," continued Henry, "that you
are acting so wise a part. I might call in my chamberlain and others of
my people to witness your surrender, but I will spare the feelings of a
brother monarch who is completely in my hands. Your signature, Sire,
will suffice." And as he spoke he took up and dipped a pen and seized a
book, to bear them in company with the paper he held to the side of the
bed, where he spread the paper upon the work.
"Now, Sire," he continued, "at this moment we are enemies. Take this
pen and add your royal name where I will place my finger, and I give you
my kingly word that I will wipe out from the tablets of my memory the
whole of your dastardly action, and become henceforth not only your
brother of England, but your willing ally against all enemies who may
rise up in an endeavour to imperil our thrones. There, Sire; I presume
you are not too weak to write. Come: take the pen."
Denis, who was now nearly at his wits' end how to continue the comedy,
and beginning to flinch in his dismay at having gone so far, raised his
hand slowly and closed his fingers upon the pen, while with a sigh of
satisfaction Henry placed his index finger, upon which a large gem was
glittering, upon the blank spot beneath that which he had written upon
the paper.
"Stop!" he cried suddenly. "I had forgotten. It is not written down
there, but for it I will take your kingly word. You promise me to
restore the jewel reft from my cabinet and hidden somewhere you best
know where. Surely you can speak enough for this--the fewest words will
do. You promise by your kingly word and all that is holy to restore
that gem?"
He ceased speaking, and to one of those present the silence in that room
seemed more than awful, till Henry spoke again.
"You hear me, sir? One word will do, and that word, Yes."
The answer made Henry start back in amaze, for, desperate now, and
nerving himself to meet the crisis which might mean the sacrifice of his
life, Denis with a quick flick of his fingers sent the fully feathered
pen flying from the gloom of the hangings where he lay far out into the
room.
"What!" roared Henry. "You refuse?"
"I refuse," said Denis, in a hoarse whisper.
"But why?" cried Henry, half suffocated by his anger.
"Because," cried the boy defiantly, "I am not the King." And with a
quick movement he threw back the coverlet, sprang from the bed, and tore
off his bandages, to stand there in the full light in white shirt and
trunk hose, scattering the wrappings which had disfigured his face, just
as, startled in his turn and fully expecting an attack, Henry took a
couple of steps backward and drew his sword.
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.
THE ESCAPE.
For a few moments excitement got the better of the grave subtle doctor,
and he was within touch of flinging open the door and hurrying Francis
out into the grounds. But drawing in a deep breath he was cautious the
next moment as some lurking beast of prey.
The key was turned by slow degrees without a sound, and the door drawn
carefully inward till there was a slight crack, through which the night
wind came in pleasantly to his heated brow, and he paused for quite five
minutes, listening; then gradually opening more and more, he satisfied
himself that there were no concealed guards among the bushes, waiting to
spring upon him and make him prisoner when he stepped outside.
His next act was to remove the key to the garden side of the lock. This
done, "Now," he whispered, and Francis, who seemed more than ever under
his control, stepped quietly out, followed by Saint Simon; after which
the door was cautiously locked, and Leoni slipped the key into his
pocket.
There was another pause, which made Saint Simon utter a low deep growl.
"What is it, boy?" said Leoni.
"The boat! The boat!" whispered the young man. "We are losing time."
"Perhaps gaining it, my dear Saint Simon," was the reply. "Youth is
rash; age is cautious. Our progress must be slow and sure."
He took and pressed the young man's hands as he spoke, before leaving
him to take a few strides for observation along the path, and then
returning, musing to himself that all seemed too easy, and that at any
moment there might be some sudden check to their progress.
Back once more, he bade his two companions follow, leading them slowly
and cautiously on, sword in one hand, stiletto in the other, as
advance-guard, Saint Simon, similarly prepared, forming the rear; and
then on and on they went downward through the bushes, which ever and
again brushed against their sleeves, and twice over startled and
arrested by a sudden dash as of an enemy; but it was nothing worse than
a startled bird, blackbird or thrush, roused from its roosting sleep by
the disturbers of its rest.
And so downward along the winding, well-marked paths, with nothing to
hinder their progress, no guards to arrest, and Leoni strong in the
belief that some great check must come, settling in his mind that the
encounter would be down by the landing-place when they tried to set free
the boat.
In this belief when they were nearly there he stopped short, laid his
hand upon the King's shoulder to press him aside, and whispered to Saint
Simon to join him in the front.
"There may be watchers there," he said. "Be well on the alert."
The next minute as they moved forward the head of the stone steps was
reached, lying in the darkness of the clouded night nearly hidden by a
great overhanging willow, whose pensile twigs brushed the roof of the
waterside summer-house supported upon slimy water-worn piles, to one of
which the boat-chain was attached, the rusty iron creaking faintly
against the ring-bolt as the skiff swung softly to and fro, influenced
by the swift stream.
"Hah!" sighed Leoni to himself. "Fate is with us yet. Who says our
mission is unrighteous?" And a feeling of exultation rose within his
breast, only to be crushed-down directly after by what seemed to be a
heavy weight of misery, beyond which he seemed to see the reproachful
eyes of the King's esquire, sacrificed that he might succeed.
"Into it and unloose the chain, boy," whispered Leoni, eager by action
to change the current of his thoughts.
Saint Simon quickly sheathed sword and dagger as he stood on the lowest
step and reached out to draw in the boat, into which he stepped, making
the chain rattle as he drew it through the ring, and his leaden utter an
impatient:
"Hist!"
The next minute the freed boat was grinding against the step, and Leoni
steadied it by planting a foot upon its side.
"Now, boy," he whispered, "seat yourself, and be ready with the oars--
good! Now rest one on the step here and keep the boat steady.--Quick,
sir! Step in, and sit down at once."
The King obeyed without a word, and no sooner was he seated than Leoni
followed, and took his own place between Francis and Saint Simon, whom
he relieved of one of the oars.
"Push off!" whispered Saint Simon, who held the oar that rested on the
steps.
"One moment's thought," whispered back Leoni, speaking over his left
shoulder, as he glared around for danger, his ears twitching the while
like those of some wild animal which felt that there was peril in the
air.
"Now," he said, in a whisper just loud enough for the young man to hear,
"if we go upward it is farther into the country, but harder work, for we
are against the stream. If we go downward it is towards the capital,
and the work will be light, for the stream will bear us on.
"Yes," he said, after a pause, "if we are pursued and the boat is missed
they will think that we have taken the easier way. No, boy, ours is no
time for ease; hard work and safety must be our motto now. Push off and
row with me slowly and steadily onward against the stream."
Saint Simon bore heavily upon his oar and with a thrust sent the boat's
head outward; and directly after, dipping as lightly as they could, they
pulled together with a wonderful regularity for such unpractised hands
out towards the middle, till a scattered light or two appeared from
beyond the trees, showing where the castle lay.
And then onward in silence for a few hundred yards along between the
dimly seen silent banks of the black river, for the clouds seemed to
have lowered and there was not a star.
All at once a movement on the part of the King took Leoni's attention,
and he drew in his oar, to bend forward and then rise in the boat, for
Francis had sunk slowly sideways, fast asleep; while, with the action of
a careful mother bending over her child, the strange subtle doctor
carefully readjusted his cloak to guard him from the night air, before
resuming his seat with a sigh, and taking up his oar.
"A trifle, Saint Simon," he said playfully. "There are times when we
have to protect our master with our swords, but we must not forget such
little things as this."
"Ah!" ejaculated Saint Simon, with a groan.
"Why, what's the matter, boy? You don't resent having to row the night
through like some poor slave?"
"No, no. I was thinking about poor Denis. Doctor, don't think me weak.
I loved that boy."
"Say love," cried Leoni warmly. "Bah, man! Henry may be a tyrant, but
he could not be so base as to hurt a boy like that. Row for our lives
while I prophesy what I believe in spite of bitter despairing thoughts.
We shall live to see our brave young companion safe again."
"Bravo, doctor! Your medicine has given me heart. Row? Yes. I can do
it now till my arms refuse to stir." And on the boat glided, kept
closer to the shore where the eddies played and the full force of the
stream was missed.
And then on and on hour after hour, with a few intervals of rest where
the waters whispered and they made fast to some overhanging bough and
spent the minutes thinking that horsemen might be near, scouring the
country where they could approach the banks on either side to cut off
the fugitives, though not a sound was heard.
And so on till day broke and they made fast amongst the trees in the
most secluded place they came to, not daring to expose themselves where
they might be seen.
They had no trouble with the King, for, weak with his wound and half
stupefied by the drug Leoni had administered, he slept on hour after
hour through the pleasant morning and through the heat of noon, his
resting-place quite cool beneath the shadowing trees and with his brow
fanned by the soft summer breeze. He did not even stir when, kneeling
in the boat, Leoni moistened and drew off the bandages to dress his
wound, washing them in the stream and drying them in a patch where the
hot sun heated the bows of the boat, but still slept on as if restful
and comforted by the chirurgeon's skilful hands.
"Better or worse?" whispered Saint Simon, while the task was in
progress.
"Better, boy, and healing fast. He will sleep for hours yet, and waken
quite himself towards evening; but then," added the doctor, with a sigh,
"we have another difficulty to face, if we are not taken."
"Ah! What's that?" cried Saint Simon quickly, and Leoni smiled
sardonically, making his companion wince at the peculiar look in his
eyes.
"I was thinking, boy," he said, "of how you are going to spread the
white napkins and the silver cups for our master's banquet, for he will
be hungry, ravenous, after his long fast. You see, he may be displeased
to find the banquet cold."
Saint Simon stared at him with open eyes and mouth.
"Why, you are laughing at me," he said.
"Well, why not?" replied Leoni. "Surely, after all my slavery of brain,
when success shines down upon me I have a right to smile."
"Success!" cried Saint Simon bitterly. "Why, you have failed."
"Hah!" said Leoni, with a peculiar smile; and then after a short pause,
"Well, boy, what are we to do for food? This water is beautifully
limpid and clear to quench our thirst, but it will not appease hunger."
"I'll go ashore at the first hostelry we see, and buy what we want,"
replied Saint Simon.
"And expose us to fresh capture? No, boy; we have had enough of
hostelries. Every one within reach of the river will be searched. We
shall have to fast till we are far enough to venture ashore."
"And the King?" said Saint Simon.
Leoni looked at him curiously, and slowly placed his hand within his
breast to draw out the little golden flask, which he tapped with his
finger-nails.
"Three parts gone," he said; "but enough left for the Comte's use. A
few drops will quell his hunger; double the quantity will make him sleep
in peace. When you can bear your fast no longer, you shall have a few
drops in water if you are a good boy."
"Bah!" growled Saint Simon. "I can bear hunger like a man."
The day glided by in perfect peace, the two rowers resting from the past
night's labours, and the King sleeping as quietly as a child; while from
time to time as Saint Simon glanced at him sadly, thinking of how he and
Leoni had been the cause of all the trouble to his friend, he could not
help a growing feeling of admiration within his breast as he saw how
able the doctor's ministrations were, as shown by the way in which he
had treated his master's serious wound.
It was during one of these musing fits, when he was wondering, to use
the homely phrase, how Denis was getting on, that Leoni, after a long
silence, spoke out decisively.
"We will wait till it is dark," he said. "It will not be long now--and
then row on through the night. It looks so clear that I expect we shall
have the moon to help us on our way. To-morrow morning we shall be
obliged to risk landing somewhere on the left bank, and then make our
way due south, walking till the King is weary--of course after one of us
has bought food of some kind, for he will never walk without. Hah!" he
continued, as he bent over the sleeping King and carefully examined his
face. "He is dreaming a good deal now."
"How do you know?" asked Saint Simon.
"By the motion of his eyes."
"Why, they are shut, sir."
"Yes, but look how they are turning about beneath his lids. He is going
through some imaginary scene--hunting perhaps."
Singularly enough, as the doctor spoke in a whisper, Francis proved the
correctness of Leoni's surmise, for he exclaimed:
"Yon bosky piece--quick! Lay on the hounds!"
Leoni drew back with a smile, and met Saint Simon's wondering eyes.
"Yes," he said; "he is getting to the end of his deep sleep. It will
not be long before he wakes, and I should say just at dark. Ah, good!
It is lightening in the east. Yonder comes the moon. We will start at
once; but I must cover him again. The mist is rising in the meadows,
and it promises a damp night."
As he spoke he bent over the King to draw his cloak about shoulder and
throat; but at the first touch of his hands the King started up and
caught them fast.
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.
THE BALAS RUBY.
"Who's this?" cried Francis sharply, and in a much firmer voice. "Hah!
You, Leoni?"
"I, M. le Comte."
"Bah! The Comte! But what is it? Have I been asleep and dreaming?
Where are we? What are we doing here?"
"Making for Fontainebleau, sir."
"Yes, Fontainebleau!" cried the King eagerly. "But like this--in a
boat?"
"Yes, sir--" began Leoni.
"Say Sire, man! I have done with this masquerading folly. Speak out
plainly. That mummery is at an end. Why are we in this boat?"
"Escaping from King Henry's vengeance, Sire."
"Hah!" cried the King. "I do not understand. Yes, I remember now. It
all comes back. There was some question of that--oh yes, I remember--
the fit of madness. But was I not wounded?"
"Yes, Sire; but your injury is healing fast."
"To be sure. I feel better, after long weeks of horrid dreams. Well,
that is all over. It was while escaping. But tell me--I am growing
confused again--what mean you? That we are escaping now?"
"Yes, Sire; soon to be in safety and on your way to your own great
land."
"Ah!" cried the King, in a tone full of satisfaction. "That is good. I
would that I had never left it upon this quest. But how dark it is
getting!"
"Yes, Sire; but it will soon be lighter," said Leoni quietly.
"Make it lighter in my dark brain, man, if you have it in your power,"
cried the King impetuously; "for one moment I see clearly; the next, I
am confused again. Yes--that is what I wanted to think of. Is Saint
Simon there? But where is my young esquire? On your life, man, don't
tell me he is dead!--Hah! Is that the truth?"
"No, Sire," said Leoni sadly. "I pray that he may be alive and well."
"May be alive! What do you mean, man?"
"That it was his and our duty, Sire, to save you from King Henry's
anger. You were his prisoner, and at all costs had to be saved."
"Yes, yes; I had to escape. I have a dream-like memory of something of
the kind, though it is all confused."
"Yes, Sire; from your wound."
"Hah!" cried the King. "But what is that to do with young Denis? Was
he cut down too?"
"No, Sire; quite uninjured when we saw him last."
"When you saw him last? Then where is he now?"
"A prisoner at the castle, Sire. The brave lad volunteered to take your
place while we endeavoured to save our King."
"To take my place! Do you mean to say, then, that he personated me?"
"Yes, Sire; to lie as if wounded on your bed."
"He did that?" cried the King; and Leoni slowly bent his head.
"Then he has the making of a king within his breast. Brave boy!" cried
Francis; and he was silent for a few moments, while bending over the
side of the boat he scooped up the clear cold water in his hand and
drank again and again.
"Hah!" he cried. "That gives me power to think. Did I understand you
aright that I am escaping and have left that boy to bear the brunt of my
folly, to suffer for my madness imprisonment and maybe death?"
The doctor bent his head.
"Leoni," cried the King passionately, "is this acting like a king?"
"Sire, it is not for you to ask, nor yet for you to judge of this. Your
brave young esquire felt it to be his task, and he volunteered to play
his part, as either of us would have done. It was to save your life,
your servant's duty at a time like that."
"And you tell me that it is my duty as a king to sacrifice that boy just
entering the dawn of his young manhood so that I might live?"
"Yes, Sire; for your subjects' sake."
"I am the King, and judge of this. A thousand times no! It shall not
be."
"Sire, it must. What is one young life compared with yours?"
"Everything," cried the King, "if I am to live in peace."
"But, your Majesty, it is too late to think of that."
"Never too late while there is life," cried the King. "Loose the boat
and take those oars."
"What would your Majesty do?" cried Leoni.
"Go back to Henry and meet him face to face. Let him work his will on
me if he dares. But he shall not injure a hair of that brave boy's
head. Bah! He would not have dared."
"You are mistaken, Sire."
"In what?"
"In King Henry's intentions. He meant your death."
"What! In cold blood to slay a brother king?"
"Not a brother king, Sire, but the Comte de la Seine, who had entered
his Court in disguise."
"Impossible, Leoni! I repeat, he would not dare."
"Sire, your death warrant was made out."
"What!"
"I saw it, Sire, in Lord Hurst's hands; and he told me indirectly what
was to take place."
"Leoni!" cried the King.
"Those are the simple words of truth, Sire. That death warrant, signed
by the King's own hand, was the mainspring of my action. Was I not
justified in doing anything to save your life?"
The King was silent.
"Leoni!" he exclaimed at length. "I am faint with hunger. Is there no
place near where we can get food?"
"There is a farm we passed a little lower down, Sire," replied Leoni;
"but we dared not stay for fear the pursuers might be searching either
bank."
"Let them search and find if they will," cried the King. "I must have
refreshment before I do more."
"Your Majesty wishes us to row there and take our chance of being
discovered?"
"Yes," said the King, "and at once. But stay. You are certain that the
Count's death warrant was signed?"
"Yes, Sire; sure."
"Bah! If I declared myself there would be an end to that?"
"No, Sire."
"What!" cried the King.
"Henry doubtless has his ends and would gladly have you dead. If you
declared yourself now he would laugh you to scorn and call you impostor,
cheat."
"Hah!" cried the King, grinding his teeth. "Let him if he dare! But I
will not believe it of him, going as I shall now, for nothing shall stay
me from hurrying back to save that poor lad's life."
"But, your Majesty, let me implore you!" cried Leoni.
"Implore, then, but you will find me deaf."
"For your own sake, Sire!"
"It is for my sake I go--mine honour as a king."
"For the sake of your servants, then, who have risked so much!"
"I cannot! I will not," he cried. "I will go."
"For the sake of France, the country you so dearly love!"
"It is for the sake of France I go, to prove myself worthy the name of
her King. You urge me to perform a dastardly act in fleeing at a time
like this."
"Remember, Sire, the reason why you came."