THE CROWNING OF ROGER HERRICK
The people loudly demanded the death of Count Felix, the nobles
strongly advised it. Judgment by his peers would certainly have sealed
the Count's fate. With the assembling of the nobles in Vayenne another
demand had become insistent. There was peace upon the frontier, peace
in the city; it was time that the coronation was completed, that the
Duke should wear the iron crown in the Church of St. Etienne.
From the first Herrick had determined to save Felix if he could. Death
had been busy since his coming to Vayenne, and although without his
presence in the city civil war would undoubtedly have come, he could
not feel that this fact shifted the responsibility from his shoulders.
The death of Father Bertrand seemed to be the direct result of his own
words. He had stood reproved, and he felt justly so, before the
soldier who had repeated them. To cut down a villain who deliberately
stabs a defenceless man was no crime, but this man had some reason to
suppose that he was only fulfilling the Duke's wishes, so that even
this act of ready justice troubled Herrick in some degree. There
should be no more violent deaths if he could help it, and it was an
accident that Jean's murderer, the man possibly who most merited
death, was still alive and should be the one to receive mercy. Herrick
shrank from condemning the Count. He found a hundred excuses for the
man. Besides, he had made a promise to Christine.
Nor was Herrick surprised that his coronation in St. Etienne should be
demanded. He had expected that when the nobles assembled in Vayenne;
they would insist upon it. They had come to offer publicly the
submission they had hitherto withheld, and Herrick's promise to appeal
to the nation, and not to remain Duke unless three-fourths of his
subjects should desire him to do so, was now a mere form. The whole
state was with him, and it was at this moment that he put his hand to,
perhaps, the most difficult task he had yet attempted. He began by
using the approaching coronation as an excuse for putting off Count
Felix's death. It was a ceremony that must not be stained with blood,
he argued, even though that blood be a criminal's, and seeing in this
argument a promise that justice should eventually be done, the people
forgot the Count for a time. Then Herrick chose to be punctilious
concerning the bargain he had made with the nobles. They had come
loyally forward in answer to his appeal; they had fought, and some had
fallen, in defence of their country, right well had they fulfilled
their part; it remained for him to fulfil his. Therefore they should
meet him in the great hall, and the day and hour he fixed coincided
with the day and hour that Christine and Maurice would enter Vayenne.
On the day before, Herrick called into council a dozen of the oldest
and most powerful nobles in Montvilliers, and this private meeting was
of many hours' duration. Herrick believed that he had estimated to the
full the difficulty of his task. He was wrong. For hours the council
refused to support him in his scheme. It was not for the country's
good, they said, it was not the will of the people. Very hardly, and
by making many promises, Herrick persuaded them to uphold him; yet
they did so with shaking of heads and loud words of regret. The grave
faces of the councillors as they left the Duke's room caused
excitement in the castle, and rumor flew about the city.
So it happened that there were few people in the streets at the lower
end of the city when Christine returned with Maurice to Vayenne, but
crowds had gathered in the neighborhood of the castle, and it was with
difficulty that the cavalcade passed through.
In the court-yard Pierre Briant met them, and informed Maurice that he
was to go at once to the Duke with Captain Lemasle, and then turning
to Christine, he went on:
"Mademoiselle, I am to inform you that the Duke gives audience in an
hour in the great hall. He desires your presence. A special place has
been reserved for you. I am to await your pleasure and conduct you
there."
When presently Christine entered the hall it was crowded from end to
end, even as it had been that night when Roger Herrick had claimed the
throne. Now the afternoon light was in it and men's faces showed that
there was suppressed excitement on every side. A seat had been placed
for Christine close to the small door by which she had entered. Pierre
Briant remained beside her, and two or three soldiers stood near, who
kept the crowd from her. She was so placed that she had a clear view
of the dais, but in an angle of the wall, which screened her from most
of the people in the hall. Was she still a prisoner, she wondered. It
almost seemed so, yet this great gathering could hardly concern her
particularly. If it had done, a more prominent place would have been
given her.
What was to happen? There were whisperings about her, but it seemed
evident that most of those near her were as ignorant as she was
herself. Near the dais she noted that some of the oldest and most
powerful nobles were standing together, a little apart from the
others. She had heard some whisper about a council held yesterday;
these men were likely to have formed that council. She saw Lemasle
standing near the door by which the Duke would enter. He must know
something of what was to happen, and it evidently pleased him not at
all, for a set frown was upon his face. He had gone with Maurice to
the Duke, and must have been told something privately.
Suddenly Lemasle drew himself up to attention, and, saluting, cried in
stentorian voice:
"The Duke!"
It was thrilling to hear the great shout that spontaneously rang to
the rafters as Roger Herrick entered. Maurice was beside him, and
seemed to shrink back a little at that shout. Herrick leaned toward
him, and whispered a few words in his ear. They had the effect of
steadying Maurice, who took his place at the foot of the dais,
standing near the council, who all looked at him furtively, as Herrick
mounted to the chair. Herrick did not seat himself in it, he stood
beside it, his hand resting upon the arm, and Christine noticed that
he was pale, and could almost fancy that he trembled a little.
"My lords, and men of Vayenne, you are here in order that I may fulfil
the promise made to the nobles of Montvilliers when I appealed to them
to drop for a while their quarrel with me, and stand with me in
defence of our country."
"Now wear the iron crown--our chosen Duke," a voice cried, and
immediately the hall was filled with shouting again.
"But you are here also for another purpose," said Herrick slowly when
silence was restored, "a purpose that it is difficult for me to speak
of, so I pray you listen to me without interruption and with patience.
Yesterday I called together a council, and told them what was in my
mind. It is now for you to hear it, and through you the whole of this
land of Montvilliers. It is within your memory how I claimed this
throne; many of you since then have traced my descent, some of you
have admitted the right of it, some of you in your hearts still doubt
it. But even with those who doubt, two things have weighed in my
favor: the fact that I have been of service to the state, and that
Count Felix was disliked by most of you."
Again there was shouting, but it ended quickly lest a word of the
Duke's should be lost.
"Had Count Felix been a just and honorable man, had he been loved by
you, I should never have claimed this throne as I did, and if I had, I
should never have succeeded in mounting it. I should have been cut
down on the steps of it as a traitor."
A voice said "No," but there was silence, a hanging upon the Duke's
words.
"My claim was not so strong that it could have stood against Count
Felix's had he been a just man. Much less would it have stood had
young Count Maurice, Duke Robert's son, son of the man you, or your
fathers, had claimed as Duke, been alive."
"Maurice is dead," some one shouted.
"I knew more about Count Felix than you did. I told you something of
what I knew that night. I loved this country, and I took the throne
to save it from such a Duke as Felix."
"Now wear the iron crown in St. Etienne," came the cry, and once more
the shouts rang to the rafters.
"But I did not tell you all I knew of Count Felix," Herrick continued.
"He plotted to have his cousin assassinated on his way from Passey; he
brought a disfigured body, and buried it here in St. Etienne, but it
was not his cousin's, and he knew it. As you know, I fought in the
young Count's defence. He and I struck good blows side by side. He was
wounded, his horse shot from under him, and I caught him up onto my
own. Thus I rode through the forest, escaping those who pursued us.
Then, as I kneeled to dress his wounds by a stream, a band of real
robbers fell upon us. Me they bound to a tree, where I was afterward
found by Mademoiselle de Liancourt and Captain Lemasle; him they
recognized, and sold to his enemies--your enemies--those we have
fought with on the frontier. I knew not then whether he was dead or
alive. I did not know then where he was. I only knew that the body
Felix had buried was not his. I only knew that nothing stood in the
way of Felix mounting this throne, so I took it. Dare I at that time
cast a single doubt upon my right by saying that after all the young
Count might be alive?"
Herrick paused, but none answered him.
"But one of my first cares was to find out his fate for certain," he
went on, "and from a hag in the forest I heard what had happened to
him, learned that he was in a tower by Larne. Some of you know how we
attacked that tower and released a prisoner. Few knew that it was the
young Count Maurice. He is alive. He is here."
Herrick beckoned to Maurice, and taking his hand, drew him up beside
him.
"My lords, and men of Vayenne," Herrick said, raising his voice a
little, "you have heard of the pale scholar of Passey, and in your
hearts despised him, perhaps because he was not such a man as his
father was. Truly he is a scholar, and that shall make him wise in
counsel and in judgment, but he is something more. He has fought side
by side with me, and I know him for a brave soldier, a man worthy to
be your Duke."
Immediately there was tumult in the hall.
"Long live Duke Roger! We will have no Duke but Duke Roger!"
"You have failed," Maurice whispered. "Let me go down, and shout your
name with them, lest they hate me."
"Hear me!" Herrick cried. "Do you imagine I would vacate this throne
for any man who was unworthy? I love this land too well for that. But
this man is worthy. His claim is a prior claim to mine. He is your
lawful Duke. Would you make a dishonorable man of me?"
"Roger is Duke!" they shouted.
"Let me go down," whispered Maurice.
"Yet hear me," cried Herrick. "I was an alien to you, born in another
land, bred in another land, yet in the truest sense is Montvilliers my
country. To the council I called together, to the young Count, I have
made promises. In this state I have made my home, I will accept any
honor this state shall choose to give me. I will walk a prince among
you. I will stand by the throne. I will lend my counsel to your Duke.
And if enemies thunder at our gates I will be in the midst of you to
fight in their defence. All this have I promised, all this will I do
for Montvilliers, my country--our country. My lords, men of Vayenne,
give me leave to be an honorable man."
The shouting and the tumult had sunk to silence.
"You give me leave," said Herrick, and at a sign from him a priest
mounted the dais, and stood by the chair. Almost before the crowd
realized what he was doing, he had put to Maurice the three questions
of the civil coronation.
Then Maurice turned toward that sea of faces.
"My lords, and men of Vayenne," he said, and his voice was firm and
clear, "before you question me, hear me for a moment. If you accept me
as Duke, and I have claimed the right by my birth, you call me to a
position that I, of all the Dukes who have ever reigned in
Montvilliers, shall find most difficult to fill. I cannot hope to fill
the place of Roger Herrick. I would most willingly have stood among
you and shouted his name with you; but as that may not be, I promise
you that I will endeavor to rule by the example he has set. Help me,
friends, to make this land worthy of the Duke it loses to-day."
The simple and boyish appeal had its effect, and if the shouting was
not so spontaneous, so enthusiastic as it had been, it was genuine.
"Now question me as you will," he said.
No voice broke the silence, and after a long pause Maurice went slowly
to the chair, and seated himself, and the priest placed the golden
circle upon his head, commanding that he should presently wear the
iron crown in St. Etienne.
Christine had sat leaning eagerly forward in her chair, her hands
tightly clasped in her lap. So this was the Duke's purpose. He was
voluntarily giving up everything to her cousin Maurice. She had, in
fact, brought Maurice to Vayenne to be crowned, even as she had set
out to do when she made that other journey to Passey. Yet now,
although her lips uttered no sound, in her heart she shouted with that
great crowd that Montvilliers could have no other ruler but Duke
Roger. Everything about her seemed vague and unreal, only that one
commanding figure stood clearly before her. Not once, so far as she
could tell, had he glanced in her direction; yet a special place had
been prepared for her, he must know that she was there.
As the golden circle was placed on Maurice's head Herrick descended
the dais, but paused on the lower steps, and once more turned to the
crowd.
"Comrades, before I come among you, and with you swear submission to
the Duke, grant me one favor."
"It is yours," they shouted.
"I ask it as your recognition that I have, to the best of my power,
served this country," Herrick continued. "If you will, it shall be
instead of all the other honors your Duke may presently wish to give
me."
"Speak. It is yours. It is granted already."
"Give me then the life of Count Felix," said Herrick.
There was a moment's pause, and then sudden anger.
"The Count must die!" they shouted. "Death to Felix!"
"It was my life he sought," Herrick shouted above the tumult.
"Therefore he dies," they cried.
"And you refuse to grant the favor you were so ready to promise?" said
Herrick.
Silence fell again.
"Not every man has known such humiliation as Count Felix," said
Herrick. "As I would not have this coronation stained with blood, so
would I have an act of mercy mark my resignation of power. Let me here
and now pronounce judgment. Banish the Count from this realm for ever.
Will you give me the life of Felix?"
Still there was silence.
"There is small generosity in granting an easy favor," Herrick
continued; "I know I ask a great one, but his death would mean a
shadow over my life in the years that are to come. Comrades, for the
love you bear me, grant me the Count's life."
"Take it! Banish him! Let him go quickly!"
The answer came slowly. The favor was granted unwillingly, so much did
they hate the Count. That it was granted at all showed their love for
the man who asked it.
"I thank you, comrades," said Herrick, stepping down from the dais.
"Long live Duke Maurice! My lord, let me be the first to kneel and
swear my loyalty and service."
As the crowd had granted Herrick's request for the Count's life,
Christine rose quickly from her chair.
"Am I allowed to go?" she said to Briant.
"Yes, Mademoiselle. I was ordered to await your pleasure."
She went hastily to her rooms, still a prisoner it seemed, for Pierre
Briant followed her to the entrance, and a sentry stood at the door.
Had Herrick's eyes met hers? She thought so once just as she had risen
from her seat, just as he stepped from the dais, his favor granted. It
was a relief to be alone, to think, to try and remember and realize
all that had happened. Twilight was gathering fast in the room, but
she would have no lights. She could think more easily in the dark,
and presently moonlight would be streaming through the window. So this
was Herrick's purpose. From the first movement of his power he had
been working to this end. Why had he not told her? Would she have
believed him if he had? Perhaps not. He had asked her to trust him,
and she had not done so. He had asked her to listen to an explanation,
and she had refused to do so willingly. Ambition was his god, she had
believed, and this was the end of it. Only with difficulty, by
strenuous effort, had he persuaded the people to accept Maurice. He
had won power, respect, love, everything, for what? to hold them in
safe keeping for Maurice. Would he come to her now, now that she
understood him? And then the color rushed into her cheeks at the
remembrance of how she had knelt to him, and offered, yes, offered
herself, and he would not bargain with her. Did he despise her? Yes,
surely he must, and he had used her to bring Maurice to Vayenne to
prove to her to the full how mean she had been, how really great he
was. He might not come to her at all; indeed, why should he? He had
humbled her, he had kept his promise and saved Felix's life, but he
was not a man to gloat over her discomfiture nor to look for thanks.
No, he would not come. Why should he? Maurice would tell her presently
that she was no longer a prisoner, that she was free to come and go as
she would; and that would be all.
The faint light of the moon was in the room now, and touched her as
she leaned back in her chair, her hands lying idly in her lap. She was
alone in the midst of excitement. The city was alive to-night, the
news was running fast from end to end of it, and Christine could hear
faintly the shouting and the tumult in the streets. There was
excitement in the castle, quick footsteps constantly in the corridors,
the murmur of earnest voices, and the heavy closing and opening of
doors. There was noise in the court-yard, the flashing of many lights,
and whenever there was a lull for a moment Christine could hear the
regular pacing of the sentry along the terrace below her window.
Suddenly there came the sound of quick steps in the corridor, without,
and Christine rose hurriedly to her feet. He had come. There was the
rattle of a salute, the door opened, and a soldier announced:
"The Duke!"
"How's this, comrade? I know you for a good soldier, but your wits are
out of gear to-night. Even in the dark you should recognize Roger
Herrick from the Duke."
The door closed again. Then Herrick went toward the woman standing in
the moonlight, and knelt before her.
"Mademoiselle, you accepted my service. Is it well done?"
"I have no words," she began, and in her agitation she stretched out
her hand, which touched his shoulder. Perhaps it was because she had
need of support that it remained pressing gently there.
"Maurice is Duke; Felix will go in safety," he said quietly; "yet my
ambition remains unsatisfied. I crave your thanks. Is it well done?"
"You shall not kneel to me," she whispered.
"In St. Etienne I must needs have knelt to receive the iron crown. My
ambition mounts higher than that. I think you hated the Duke; I
thought once it was not hate you gave to Roger Herrick."
She bent over him, a hand on each of his shoulders now.
"And to-day," she whispered, "to-day my heart cried louder than all:
Roger is Duke. Long life to Duke Roger."
"Crown me, Christine."
"You shall not kneel to me," she said. "I too am proud. I will not
bargain with you in this fashion."
"Crown me."
Her hands clasped about his neck.
"Oh, my dearest, if my poor love is the crown you covet, take it, wear
it, be my king."
Then Herrick rose. His strong arms were about her; his kiss was on her
lips.
"You have crowned me king," he whispered. "You are fettered in these
arms. You are still my prisoner, and I will not let you go."
[Illustration: _His strong arms were about her._]