the moon began to lift above the low mist that lay upon the river and
adjacent meads, lighting up the King's face, animated now into stern
beauty by the spirit within which spoke, "and think of it with shame.
Listening to your words, I blinded myself into the belief that it was
right, that it was a brave and a gallant act to wrest that Crown jewel
from King Henry's hand; but I see more clearly now that my mad
enterprise has met with its merited fate, and go back I will as a
chivalrous knight, ask my brother King's forgiveness, and save that
brave boy from his cruel fate."
"But, Sire, remember! Remember Fontainebleau and France."
"I do; and I remember too that your plot has failed."
"But it has not failed, Sire," cried Leoni, rising now; and as he stood
erect there was a look of triumph in his face which gave him, as it
were, a reflection of the kingly majesty before which he stood. "It has
not failed, but ended in triumph and success."
"What!" cried the King fiercely. "You speak in riddles. Tell me what
you mean."
He seemed to tower over his follower, who, apparently humbled, crouched
before him with lowered head and outstretched deprecating hands, with
which he covered his face as if asking mercy. But the next moment he
sprang up once more, just as the King angrily repeated himself:
"Not failed!" he cried. "Tell me what you mean?"
For answer Leoni threw back his head and held one hand on high full in
the light of the moon, which flashed and scintillated from the many
facets of a brilliant gem.
"Hah!" cried the King excitedly. "What have you there?"
"That which we came to seek, Sire. The Balas ruby--the fateful gem of
France!"
CHAPTER FORTY SIX.
IN BORROWED PLUMES.
Denis stood for a few moments panting heavily, not daring to take his
eyes from those of the King, who stood there speechless with
astonishment. Then by an effort the boy wrenched his gaze from where it
was held, as he thought of his own sword; but the weapon was on the
other side of the bed, and as he realised it the thought came that this
was a King--one who had but to utter a word to bring in his guards.
"Tricked again," said the King at last; "and by you, boy! Francis's
esquire! Where is your King?"
"Beyond your reach, Sire, by this time," said the boy boldly, nerved as
he was by the feeling that he had gained much time, and that his words
were true.
"Escaped?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Ah!" ejaculated the King. "And I see now this was another ruse. How
like a Frenchman! He was not wounded after all."
"He was, Sire," cried the boy indignantly, "and dangerously too."
"But that jewel--where is it now? On its way to France?"
"No, Sire; I can answer for that."
"Then you have it."
"No, Sire, I have it not; and I am sure--my life on it--it never passed
into his Majesty's hands."
"You lie, boy!" cried the King fiercely.
"I am a gentleman of France, Sire," said the boy haughtily.
"A gentleman of France!" cried the King scornfully. "A member of a gang
of thieves!"
"I am your prisoner, Sire," said the boy boldly, "and I know what is
bound to be my fate. I am no member of a gang of thieves, but one of my
King's esquires, bound to do his duty as his Majesty's servant; and I
have done mine--no more."
"Ah!" cried the King, making a quick advance towards the boy, who made
an involuntary movement towards his rear, but checked it on the instant,
drew himself up proudly, and folded his arms across his breast.
"Pish!" said Henry impatiently. "I was not going to slay you, boy."
And he thrust his sword back into its sheath and caught the lad by the
shoulder. "Then that was the King of France!"
"Yes, Sire."
"I knew it," cried the King, "and Hurst was right. And you have been
deceiving us all here, lying bandaged in that bed, while he has been
placing himself beyond our reach, bearing away that fateful gem?"
"Yes, Sire; but my word for it, his Majesty the King has never laid
hands upon the jewel, and is not bearing it away."
"Well!" exclaimed the King, with his eyes rolling and his cheeks puffed
out; and then, loosening his fierce grip upon the boy's shoulder, he
staggered back to the nearest chair, dropped into it, and laughed.
The next minute the mirth died out of his half closed eyes, and a scowl
appeared upon his brow, as he fiercely gazed in the eyes that did not
for a moment blench. But the frown died out in a look of admiration, as
he said sharply:
"You springald, to play a part like this, with the executioner's axe
hanging above your neck and waiting to fall. Why did you do this?"
"To save my master, Sire."
"Hah! To the risk of your own life."
"Yes, Sire."
"Speak out, boy--the naked truth. Are you not afraid?"
"Horribly, Sire," replied the boy slowly. "The duty is harder than I
thought."
"Hark ye," cried the King; "are all French boys like you?"
"I hope so, Sire."
"Do you? Well, boy, I don't believe they are. But speak, and don't
turn white like that--a gentleman of France, as you call yourself--a
king's esquire, should not be afraid to die."
Denis was silent perforce, for no words would come.
"A daring young dog!" muttered the King, in a tone so low that it hardly
reached the listener's ears. "Look here, sir," continued Henry, "you
have forfeited your life and stayed me from showing mercy to your
master. Now, sir, would you like to win it back?"
"Gladly, Sire," cried the boy, "but--"
"But what?" said Henry sharply.
"I will not do anything to betray my King."
"Wait till you are asked, boy," said Henry roughly, as he kept his eyes
fixed admiringly upon the lad, who faced him still with a wondrous
command of nerve. "You know that I have the power of life or death?"
Denis bowed his head slowly.
"Well, then, a king cannot stoop to slay even an enemy if he is brave.
I will give you your life on one condition."
The boy started, and the King smiled.
"Not to sign a paper which gives me Bordeaux and Guienne, but to be my
faithful servant and serve me as you have served your master to the end.
I want followers like you. Be English, even if you have French blood
flowing in your veins. Well, why do you not speak? Is not mine a
kingly act?"
"Yes, Sire, and I am grateful."
"Well, why do you hesitate? Enter my service. The star of the Valois
must be setting fast when its representative can stoop to such a deed as
this."
The lad shook his head.
"What! Do you not understand? I will find work for your sword. Serve
me faithfully, and rank shall in time be yours. Do you forget that your
life is still at stake?"
"I cannot buy it, Sire, by betraying my master. Francis is my King."
"And fortunate in having followers like this," said the King to himself,
as he rose, turned sharply from where the boy still stood with his arms
crossed upon his breast, fighting hard for the resignation that refused
to come, while his heart now beat slowly and heavily, as if in the march
that ended in the scaffold and the axe.
The next minute the King had flung open the outer chamber door, as if to
show to the boy his fate, for there stood the captain with the guards
drawn up on either side, their armour gleaming and the lights they bore
flashing from their halberds' heads.
But the boy stood firm, seeing as it were through the glittering
pageantry of the English Court the gleaming fields of far-off France, a
sparkling river, and the grey steeple turrets of an ancient French
_chateau_. It was home, with all he loved therein.
It was momentary, and the vision was dissolved by the King's loud voice,
as he cried sharply:
"Who's with you there? Hah! Hurst! Look here, man."
"Your Majesty!" cried the chamberlain, looking at the boy in
astonishment.
"Behold my royal visitor!" cried Henry mockingly. "This is the way my
courts are kept."
"I do not understand, your Majesty," cried the chamberlain, trembling
for what was next to come.
"But I do, man!" cried Henry. "Here is our sick and wounded prisoner."
"A ruse--a trick!" said the chamberlain excitedly.
"Yes--French," cried Henry, with a mocking laugh. "The bird has flown,
and left another in his nest. There, young popinjay, young daw--look at
him, Hurst! He has cast his borrowed plumes." Then turning to Denis:
"Put on your own feathers, boy. You will come with me. Bring him to my
apartments, Hurst."
"As a prisoner, Sire?"
"No," said the King, still fixing Denis with his eyes, and speaking to
him as much as to the chamberlain. "He is my guest still, though his
master is gone. See that you use him well."
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.
FRANCIS IS A KING.
To have seen King Henry seated at his supper in that eventful year, and
on one particular night, it would have been impossible to suppose that
not many hours before he had been indulging in so fierce a storm of
passion, such kingly rage, that not one of his most trusted courtiers
and counsellors had dared approach for fear of consequences that might
ensue.
It was the lion's feeding time, and the food had evidently been good and
satisfying. The music too in the minstrels' gallery had been sweet and
pleasant to the ear. The Court jester had for a wonder excelled himself
in his strong endeavours to put the King in a good humour, and uttered
no less than three samples of his wit which had made the King roar,
inasmuch as in the tail of each joke there was a slightly poisoned sting
which had gone home to the three noblemen for whom they were intended,
my Lord Hurst, the King's chamberlain, getting the worst dose.
There had been a good deal of whispered wonder running through the great
dining chamber, especially below the salt, where the King's gentlemen
were seated who had for long been disappointed at the absence of royal
favour and promotion they had been hoping for since they came to offer
their services at Court; and though all who were well within the scan of
his Majesty's eyes spoke softly and with a stereotyped Court smile upon
their countenances, they said more bitter things by far than any that
had been uttered by the King's jester, their remarks being dipped in
envy, as they asked one another whether this French boy to whom the King
was showing such favour--this French _champignon_, "impudent young
upstart"--was to be the new favourite now, and one and all said to
themselves that which was too dangerous to confide to another, that the
King must have gone a little mad over the fit he had on discovering the
loss of his favourite jewel, which had been carried off--so rumour
said--by the so-called French Ambassador. This, joined to the second
escape, must have turned the royal brain; otherwise he would never have
displayed such sudden favour to one who had played so daring a prank as
the impersonation of the wounded man.
But all the same this great favour had been shown, and there was the
young upstart of an esquire seated on the King's left, where all through
the evening he had been the recipient of the greater part of the royal
conversation, responding in French, with a little English which made the
King roar, and encouraged him to continue his rather lame efforts at
English conversation with an accent that could be called nothing better
than vile.
The evening had passed away, and, wearied out at last, the King himself
had relieved his feelings with more than one unroyal yawn--signals these
of the time approaching when the gentlemen of the bedchamber would have
to be in attendance, and another of the Court days be at an end.
Henry was about to rise, when the chamberlain came quickly behind his
chair and whispered something close to his ear, looking hard at Denis as
he spoke.
So meaning was his glance that the boy, who in spite of the royal favour
had been on pins all the time, took fright at once, ready as he was to
associate everything informal as being in some way connected with those
who had escaped. The next moment the lad's hands had turned cold and
damp, while a giddy sensation attacked his brain, for the King had
suddenly exclaimed:
"Hah! The Captain of the Guard with his reports?"
"Yes, Sire. I have told him to wait at the door of your private
cabinet. Will you receive him there?"
"No," cried the King bluffly. "Bring him in here, and see that he has a
cup of wine.--Now, my young masquerader," he cried banteringly to Denis,
"there's news for you. Scores of my guards have been scouring the
riverside, and they have come to announce that the prisoners have been
secured, for our sick friend the Comte was certain to break down before
he had gone far. Well, why do you look like that?" he continued, as he
noticed the change in the young esquire's face. "There, there: I am not
so savage as they say, and whatever happens it is nothing to you, boy,
for somehow--there, never mind. Here comes my friend the captain."
For there was the heavy tramp of feet, and the stalwart Captain of the
Guard, in half armour, huge buff boots, and pointed morion set well back
upon his head, strode up to the King's table, dusty and travel-stained,
to sink upon one knee, the plates of his armour grinding together with a
strange sound as he went down--a sound repeated as the King signed to
him to rise.
"Well, captain," cried the King bluffly, "what have you to report? You
have captured the French pigeons which escaped their cage, and brought
them back with all that they took away?"
"No, Sire," said the captain shortly.
"What!" roared the King, in a voice of thunder; and there was utter
stillness in the great chamber as, in no wise abashed, the captain went
on:
"Six companies of horse, Sire, have searched every road and every
village on the way towards London, and six more companies have harried
every place on both sides the river from here to--"
"Bah!" roared the King. "Out of my sight! Go!"
The captain saluted, and began to walk backwards, the rowels of his
spurs clinking, while his armour crackled loudly as he made his way; but
before he was half the distance towards the door he was brought up short
by the royal thunder which exploded with one sharp crack about his ears.
"Stop! At eight to-morrow let the outer court be filled with my archers
of the guard and my horses ready. I will take up this quest myself."
He rose to go, as the captain again saluted, and there was a sharp
rustling of garments throughout the great chamber as the courtiers who
had been present at the supper rose, when to the surprise of all the
great door was once more thrown open, and one of the Court functionaries
stepped quickly forward and in a loud clear voice announced:
"His Majesty the King of France."
There was a peculiar thrill running through the great chamber, and then
a heavy bang as Henry in his astonishment gave vent to his feelings in a
truly English way, for he brought down his clenched fist upon the table
with a thud which made the silver flagons leap, and one, the tallest on
the table, thin and weak with age, missed its footing and came down upon
its side, seeming to bleed the rich red wine in a little pool.
The next moment, with bandaged head erect and flashing eyes, Francis
appeared in the doorway, resting upon Leoni's arm, Saint Simon slightly
behind on the other side ready to support his master should he want his
help.
But none was needed. Francis stood for a few moments gazing towards the
upper table where the King was standing, and his quick clear glance took
in the position in a moment, for he had seen Denis standing a little to
Henry's left.
Then with a quick movement Francis thrust back Leoni's arm and walked
proudly up towards Henry's chair bowing slightly once to right and left
as he swept with disdainful eye the now silent throng.
Then, to use the good old grandmotherly term, a pin might have been
heard to drop, as Francis pressed forward till close up to where Henry
stood, and before the English monarch could recover from his surprise
his visitor had laid his hands lightly upon his shoulders and kissed his
cheeks.
It was all done in the most courtly way, and only as one of the grandest
gentlemen in Europe could at such a time have given the salute, while
its reception was as marked and English as it was the reverse of
friendly. For the King was so utterly taken aback by this change in the
state of affairs that for a few moments he could not speak. When he did
find words they were of the gruffest and most matter-of-fact that an
Englishman could vent.
"So then," he cried, "you have come back?"
"Yes, my brother," replied Francis, and his voice sounded musical and
soft, as the gesture he made was graceful and easy. "I, the King of
France, have come back to you, my brother of England, to ask your pardon
for my mad folly and grave mistake. See here," he continued, after a
slight pause, and he once more looked round the tables at the glittering
courtiers, while he held out fully in the light the scintillating ruby
that had attracted him to the English shores. "I am no believer in
magic or the dark art, but there must be something strange and fateful
in this stone, magnetic perhaps, but he what it will, it led me here,
knowing as I did the history of its loss; and now I have brought it back
to its rightful owner, to its proper resting-place. It is yours, my
brother of England, won in the far back past on the battlefield. I for
the moment have held it once again in this right hand. Sire, I return
it now, asking once more your forgiveness of the past, your renewed
hospitality to a sick man for the night."
He ceased speaking, as Henry made a snatch and caught the jewel from his
hand, when, light as the action was, it was sufficient to make his now
exhausted visitor stagger. He would have fallen but for the King's
strong arm, which saved him, and helped him to the seat Henry had just
vacated.
"Quick, here!" he shouted. "Wine for my brother of France!"
There was a quick movement, but Henry's hand was the first to snatch one
of the silver flagons from the table and hold it to the fainting King's
lips, as he drank with avidity, uttered a sigh, and then rose with a
smile.
"Am I a prisoner?" he said.
"No," cried Henry in his deepest tones--"my brother and my guest."
As he spoke he caught Francis by the hand and half supported him on his
right, as he turned now to the excited lookers-on.
"My lords and gentlemen," he thundered out, "are we to be out-distanced
in chivalry and generosity by the King of France? No!" he almost
roared, as he turned to Francis. "Sire," he cried, "it was to win back
that stone to the Crown of France that you risked your life and liberty,
coming almost unarmed to my Court and bearing it away. I, Sire, can but
admire your daring and the gallantry with which you carried out your
quest to its successful end. And, Sire, I honour far more the gallant
act of chivalry, that bravery which forced you back to my Court to make
this honourable amend. Francis, my brother, I cannot take the gem. It
is the jewel of France, and you shall bear it there. Keep it, Sire. It
is yours."
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.
LEONI'S SECRET.
The festive days were few before Francis, now the honoured guest of
Henry, left Windsor on his return to Fontainebleau, for he was still
weak and suffering from his wound; but it was a pleasant time,
especially to the King's esquires, after a little cloud had cleared away
and the sun of two young lives once more was shining bright and clear.
It was towards the evening of the day succeeding the events of the last
chapter, when Denis caught sight from one of the windows of the King's
gallery of Carrbroke walking in the gardens below, looking moody and
strange, while all at once, as if conscious that he was being watched,
he glanced up at the window and caught sight of Denis looking out ready
to wave his hand.
The English lad frowned, turned his back, and began walking away, while,
stung to the heart by his reception, the blood flushed in the French
lad's face, and drawing back from the window he ran along the gallery,
to descend into the court, reach the garden, and make his way to that
portion of the pleasaunce where he had seen his English friend. It was
some time before he could find him, but at last he came suddenly upon
him in a secluded portion nearly surrounded by a grey stone wall covered
with growing plants.
"Ah, there you are at last!" cried Denis.
Carrbroke turned upon him angrily and clapped his hand to his sword.
"You have come to fight?" he cried. "Well, it is death here to draw.
Come out into the park, and I'll show you how I act towards a thief."
"A thief!" flashed out Denis, imitating his companion's action. "This
is cowardly from you. But no, I will not quarrel. You do not know."
"Not know! Do I not know that in my confidence and belief in our French
guest, whom my father had honoured, I foolishly trusted you with the
secret of the King's private way--and for what? To help you and your
friends to steal."
"No," said Denis gravely; "you don't know that, for it is not true. I
did tell Leoni--"
"Ugh!" ejaculated Carrbroke. "That man's horrid eyes!"
"Yes," said Denis, with a peculiar smile; "that man's horrid eyes--
thoughtlessly, I suppose, of the secret way, when I believed my duty
called; perhaps you would have done the same. But I had nothing to do
with the taking of the gem. Pah! I hated it all through, but as the
King's esquire I had to fulfil my duty to my master. Believe me, I did
not help to take the jewel. I felt that I would rather have died. Will
you not believe me, Carrbroke?" And he held out his hand.
"I feel I cannot," cried Carrbroke.
"Does it take a king to forgive?" said Denis, with a smile. "To say
those words, I forgive you, when there is nothing to forgive?"
"Oh," cried Carrbroke hoarsely, and he looked sharply round to see if
they were observed, before snatching and tightly grasping Denis's
extended hands.
A few minutes later the two lads were walking together arms on
shoulders, in full sunshine of their young nature, that light seeming to
be at the zenith, while the ruddy orange sun itself finishing its daily
rounds was slowly sinking in the west.
"Hah!" cried Denis. "I am glad we are friends again. I know it looked
black against me, and--"
"Oh, don't!" said Carrbroke. "I thought we'd agreed that all that was
buried, never to be dug up again. But look here, we must have it now;
there is one thing I want to know."
"What?" said Denis, with a peculiar mirthful look in his eyes.
"It is very horrible," continued Carrbroke. "I did not mean to ask you,
but I feel I must. Of course your Leoni believed he was doing right for
the sake of France, and to serve his master, but I never understood
where he managed to hide the ruby. Do you know?"
"I did not know till yesterday."
"Ah, did he tell you then?--But no, I will not ask you to break his
confidence."
"It is not to break his confidence, for he did not tell me," replied
Denis. "I learned it from Saint Simon, for he saw it on the boat."
"Saw the ruby in the boat?" cried Carrbroke. "Why, how did it get
there?"
Denis was silent for a moment or two, and then whispered something, with
a peculiar smile upon his lips as he placed them near his companion's
ear.
"What!" cried Carrbroke, starting back and staring in wonderment at his
companion. "He hid it there? Then that accounts for his peculiar fixed
look."
"Yes. He was fencing when a young man, and his adversary's rapier point
completely destroyed his left eye."
"Ah!" whispered Carrbroke, beneath his breath. "I see. Then the eye is
false--made, you say, of gold, enamelled to look exactly like the other,
a little hollow globe."
"Yes; an _etui_, we may call it now, but never meant to conceal that
gem."
"Horrid!" cried Carrbroke.
"Yes," said Denis quietly; "but believe it if you can."
"Oh," cried Carrbroke, "I believe; but if he had liked it could never
have been found."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A week later the parting of the two lads was like that of brothers, and
it was full of promises of what they would do when they met again.
Perhaps they encountered later on at the Field of the Cloth of Gold; but
history only says--
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The King's Esquires, by George Manville Fenn