WHAT NEWS MAÎTRE JEHAN BROUGHT BACK WITH HIM
I
How Gilles spent the next two or three weeks he could never
afterwards tell you. They were a long-drawn-out agony of body and of
mind: of body, because the enforced inactivity was positive torture
to such a man of action as he was; of mind, because the problem of
life had become so complicated, its riddle so unanswerable, that day
after day and night after night Gilles would pace up and down his
narrow room in the Rue aux Juifs, his heart torn with misery and
shame and remorse. The image of Jacqueline, so young, so womanly, so
unsuspecting, haunted him with its sweet, insistent charm, until he
would stretch out his arms toward that radiant vision in passionate
longing and call to her aloud to go and leave him, alone with his
misery.
He felt that, mayhap under simpler circumstances--she being a great
lady, a rich heiress, and he an humble soldier of fortune--he could
have torn her image from his heart, since obviously she could never
become his, and he could have endured the desolation, the anguish,
which after such a sacrifice would have left him finally, bruised and
wearied, an old and broken man. But what lay before him now was, of
a truth, beyond the power of human sufferance. A great, an
overwhelming love had risen in his heart almost at first sight of an
exquisite woman: and he was pledged by all that he held most sacred
and most dear to play an unworthy part towards her, to deceive her,
to lie to her, and finally to deliver her body and soul to that
degenerate Valois Prince whom he knew to be a liar and a libertine,
who would toy with her affections, sneer at her sensibilities and
leave her, mayhap, one day, broken-hearted and broken-spirited, to
end her days in desolation and misery.
And it was when the prospect of such a future confronted Gilles de
Crohin in his loneliness that he felt ready to dash his head against
the wall, to end all this misery, this incertitude, this struggle
with the unsolvable problem which stood before him. He longed to
flee out of this city, wherein she dwelt, out of the land which gave
her birth, out of life, which had become so immeasurably difficult.
Maître Julien tended him with unwearying care and devotion, but he
too watched with burning impatience for the return of Maître Jehan.
There was little that the worthy soul did not guess just at this
time. It had not been very difficult to put two and two together
with the help of the threads which his Liege Lady had deigned to
place in his hands. But Julien was too discreet to speak; he could
only show his sympathy for a grief which he was well able to
comprehend by showering kindness and attention on Messire, feeling
all the while that he was thereby rendering service to his divinity.
II
Despite his horror of inaction, Gilles seldom went out during that
time save at nightfall, and he had been content to let Monseigneur
the governor know that he was still sick of his wounds. Indeed,
those wounds inflicted upon him that night by a crowd of young
jackanapes had been a blessing in disguise for him. They had proved
a valid excuse for putting off the final day of decision which
Monseigneur d'Inchy and his adherents had originally fixed a
fortnight hence. That fortnight had long since gone by, and Gilles
knew well enough that the Flemish lords were waxing impatient.
They were urging him earnestly for a decision. The pressure of the
Duke of Parma's blockade upon the city was beginning to make itself
felt. All access to the French frontier was now closed and it was
only from the agricultural districts of the province itself that food
supplies could be got into the town; and those districts themselves
were overrun with Spanish soldiery, who pillaged and burned, stole
and requisitioned, everything that they could lay hands on. The city
of Cambray was in open revolt against her Sovereign Lord, the King of
Spain, and the Duke of Parma had demanded an unconditional surrender,
under such pains and penalties as would deliver the whole population
to the tender mercies of a conqueror whose final word was always
bloodshed and destruction.
A stout garrison, enthusiastic and determined, was in defence of the
city, and there was no thought at present of capitulation in the
valiant hearts of these Flemings, the comrades and equals of those
who had perished in their hundreds in other cities and provinces of
the Netherlands, whilst upholding their ancient rights and privileges
against the greatest military organization of the epoch. There had
been no thought of surrender, even though food was getting scarce and
dear. Wheat and fresh meat had already become almost prohibitive for
all save the rich; clothing and leather was unobtainable. The Duke
of Parma was awaiting further troops yet, wherewith he proposed to
invest the city from every side and to cut her population off from
every possible source of supply.
This was the inexorable fact which M. le Baron d'Inchy placed before
Gilles de Crohin when the latter presented himself one day at the
Archiepiscopal Palace in his rôle as equerry to _Monsieur_.
'His Highness must see for himself,' d'Inchy said firmly, 'how
impossible it is for us to wait indefinitely on his good pleasure.
No one can regret more than I do the unfortunate circumstances which
have brought His Highness down to a bed of sickness; and because of
those circumstances--in which, alas! I, as Monseigneur's host, had an
innocent share--I have been both considerate and long-suffering in
not trying to brusque His Highness in his decision. But Parma is
almost at our gates, and Orange is leading his own army from victory
to victory. We gave in to Monseigneur's caprice when matters did not
appear so urgent as they are now; time has come when further
indecision becomes a rebuff.'
To these very just reproaches Gilles had no other answer save
silence. Ill-versed as he was in the art of diplomacy, he did not
know how to fence with words, how to parry this direct attack and to
slip out of the impasse in which he was being cornered.
Jehan had been gone a fortnight, and still there was no answer from
the Queen of Navarre!
'Monseigneur hath a delicate constitution,' he said somewhat lamely
after awhile. 'He suffers grievously from his wounds and hath been
delirious. It were unwarrantable cruelty to force a decision on him
now.'
'So do our people suffer grievously,' retorted d'Inchy roughly.
'They suffer already from lack of food and the terror of Parma's
armies. And,' he added with a touch of grim irony, 'as to His
Highness' delicate constitution, meseems that if a man can hold six
young gallants for half an hour at the sword's point, he hath little
cause to quarrel with the constitution wherewith Nature hath endowed
him.'
'Even the strongest man can be prostrated by fever.'
'Possibly. But there is no longer any time for procrastination, and
unless I have His Highness' final answer at the end of the week, my
messenger starts for Utrecht to meet the Prince of Orange.'
III
When Gilles had taken his leave of Monseigneur the Governor that
afternoon, he felt indeed more perplexed than he had been before.
Until Madame la Reyne's letter came, he felt that he could not pledge
_Monsieur's_ word irrevocably. When he thought over all the events
which had finally landed him in face of so stupendous a problem his
mind hung with dark foreboding on the Duc d'Anjou's cynical
pronouncement: 'If any engagement is entered into in my name to which
I have not willingly subscribed, I herewith do swear most solemnly
that I would repudiate the wench at the eleventh hour--aye! at the
very foot of the altar steps!' And Gilles, as he hurried along the
interminable corridors of the Palace, was haunted by the image of
Jacqueline--his flower o' the lily--tossed about from one ambitious
scheme to another, subject to indifference, to aversion, to insults;
unwanted and uncared for save for the sake of her fortune and the
influence which she brought. It was monstrous! abominable! Gilles
felt a wild desire to strangle some one for this deed of infamy,
since he could not physically come to grips with Fate.
At the top of the stairs he saw Jacqueline coming towards him, and,
whether it was the effect of his imagination or of his guilty
conscience, certain it was that she seemed moody and pale. He stood
aside while she walked past him; but though his whole being cried out
for a word from her and his every sense yearned for the sound of her
voice and a glance from her eyes, she did not stop to speak to him,
only gave him a kind and gracious nod as she went by.
And after he had watched her dainty figure till it disappeared from
his view, he took to his heels and ran out of the Palace and along
the streets, like one who is haunted by torturing ghosts. It seemed
to him that malevolent voices were hooting in his ear, that behind
walls or sheltering doorways, there lurked hidden enemies or avenging
ghosts, who pointed fingers of scorn at him as he ran past.
'There goes the man,' those accusing voices seemed to say, 'who would
deliver an exquisite lily-flower to be crushed in the rough and
thoughtless hands of an avowed profligate! There goes the man who,
in order to attain that end, is even now living a double life,
playing the part of a liar and a cheat!'
Self-accusation tortured him. He hurried home, conscious only of a
desire to hide himself, to keep clear of _her_ path, whom he was
helping to wrong. He paid no heed to the real hooting that followed
him, to the menacing fists that were levelled at him from more than
one street-corner, wherever a few idlers had congregated or some
poor, wretched churls, on the fringe of want, had put their heads
together in order to discuss their troubles and their miseries. He
did not notice that men spat in his trail, that women gathered their
children to their skirts when he hurried past, and murmured under
their breath: 'God punish the Spanish spy!'
IV
Twenty days went by ere Jehan returned--twenty days that were like a
cycle of years to the unfortunate watcher within the city. Maître
Jehan arrived during the small hours of the morning, drenched to the
skin, having swum the river for a matter of a league or more to avoid
the Spanish sentries, and finally, after having skirted the city
walls, had climbed them at a convenient spot under cover of darkness,
being in as great danger from the guard at the gates as he had been
from the enemy outside. He had then lain for an hour or two, hidden
in the Fosse-au-Pouilleul, the most notorious and most comprehensive
abode of thieves and cut-throats known in any city of Flanders. But
the letter which Madame la Reyne de Navarre had given him for
Messire, with the recommendation not to part with it to any one else
save with his life, was still safe in its leather sheath inside the
pocket of his doublet.
By the time that the first grey streak of dawn had touched the tall
spires of the ancient city with its wand of silver, the letter was in
Gilles de Crohin's hands, and the two friends were sitting side by
side in the narrow room of the dreary hostelry, whilst Gilles felt as
if a load of care had been lifted from his shoulders.
'Your news, my good Jehan? Your news?' he reiterated eagerly; 'ere I
read this letter.'
But Jehan, by dint of broken words and gestures, indicated that the
letter must be read first.
So, while he partook of the solid breakfast which Maître Julien had
placed before him, Gilles read the letter which the gracious Queen
had sent to him. It ran thus:
'Highly Honoured Seigneur,
'My Faithful and Loyal Friend!
'The present is to tell You that all is well with our schemes. I
have seen Monsieur, who already is wearied of Madame de
Marquette, and like a School boy who has been whipped for
disobedience, is at this moment fawning round my Skirts, ready to
do anything that I may command. Was I not right? I prophesied
that this would be so. Thus Your labours on My behalf have not
been in fain. And now I pray you to carry through the matter to
a triumphant conclusion. In less than three months Monsieur will
be Sovereign Lord of the Netherlands, with the hand of the
Flemish Heiress as a priceless additional guerdon. In the
meanwhile, as no doubt You know already, the Armies of the Duke
of Parma lie between Us and Cambray. Monsieur is busy collecting
together the necessary Forces to do battle against the Spaniards.
He is prepared to enter Cambray in triumph, to marry the Lady
blindfolded, since _You_ say that She is adorable; in fact He is
in the best of moods and consents to everything which I desire.
Meanwhile, Messire de Balagny, who is Chief of Monsieur's camp,
is on his way with full details of our projects for the final
defeat of the Spaniards. He has a small troop with him, whom he
will leave at La Fère until after he hath spoken with You. I
urge You, Messire, in the meanwhile to entreat M. le Baron
d'Inchy not to surrender the City to the Duke of Parma. I pray
You to assure Him--in Your name as Duc d'Anjou et d'Alençon--that
the whole Might of France, of which Messire de Balagny's small
troop is but the forerunner, is at Your beck and call; that You
will use it in order to free the Netherlands from the Spanish
yoke. Tell him that the next few months will see the final
overthrow of King Philip's domination in the Netherlands and a
prince of the house of France as their Sovereign Lord. Say
anything, promise anything, Messire! I swear to You that
Monsieur is prepared to redeem _any_ pledge You may enter into in
his Name. Then, when Messire de Balagny arrives in Cambray, You
can make this Your excuse for quitting the City, nominally in
order to place Yourself at the head of Your armies. Messire de
Balagny, who is in My confidence, will then remain, not only to
take command of the Garrison and help with his small troop to
defend the City from within, but also as a guarantee for
Monsieur's good faith. See how splendidly I have thought
everything out, how perfectly events are shaping themselves for
the success of Our schemes! Patience a brief while longer,
Messire! Your time of trial is drawing to an end! Confess that
it hath not been a very severe ordeal and that You have derived
much enjoyment from mystifying some of those over obtuse
Flemings. I count with pleasure and impatience upon Your arrival
in La Fère very shortly, where the gratitude of a sorely tried
Queen will be awaiting You. If You now help me to carry the
affair through to a triumphant close, I vow that on the day that
Monsieur makes his state entry into Cambray there will be naught
that You can ask of Me and which if in My power to give that I
would not bestow with a joyful heart upon you.
'Until then, I remain, Messire,
'Your earnest Well-Wisher,
'Marguerite de Navarre.
'Given in Paris, under My hand and seal this 27th day of March
1581.'
V
The letter fell from Messire Gilles' hand unheeded on to the floor.
He was staring straight out before him, a world of perplexity in his
eyes. Maître Jehan tried in vain to fathom what went on behind his
master's lowering brow. Surely the news which he had brought was of
the most cheering and of the best. The present humiliating position
could not now last very long. Messire de Balagny was on his way, and
within a few days--hours, perhaps--he and Messire could once more
resume those happy, adventurous times of the past. And yet it seemed
as if Messire was not altogether happy. There was something in his
attitude, in the droop of his listless hands, as if something bright
and hopeful had just slipped out of his grasp--which to Jehan's mind
was manifestly absurd.
So he shrugged his wide shoulders and solemnly picked up the fallen
letter and pressed it back into Messire's hand. The action roused
Gilles from his gloomy meditations.
'Well, my good Jehan!' he said with a grim laugh, which grated very
unpleasantly on faithful Jehan's ears. 'If the rest of your news is
as good as that contained in Madame la Reyne's letter, you and I will
presently find ourselves the two luckiest devils in Flanders.'
Jehan nodded. 'I have n-n-n-no f-f-f-further news,' he blurted out.
'Messire de B-b-b-b-balagny was at La F-f-f-fère when I was
th-th-there.'
'With a strong troop?'
Jehan nodded dubiously.
'A couple of hundred men?'
'Or s-s-s-s-so,' retorted Jehan.
'But he himself will be within sight of Cambray to-day?'
'A-a-a-at this hour.'
'And inside the city to-morrow?'
Jehan nodded again.
'And Monseigneur le Duc d'Anjou?'
'In P-p-p-p-aris: ready to st-st-st-start.'
'He does not mean to play a double game this time?'
'No-n-n-n-no-no!' came in rapid and vigorous protest from Maître
Jehan.
'Then the sooner I secure his bride for him, the better it will be
for Madame la Reyne's schemes,' concluded Gilles dryly. Then
suddenly he jumped to his feet, gave a deep sigh, and stretching out
his arms with a gesture of impatience and of longing, he said: 'If we
could only vacate the field without further ado, honest Jehan! and
let Fate do the rest of the dirty work for us!'
His hand as it fell back came in contact with his sword, which was
lying across the table; not the exquisite Toledo rapier, the gift of
a confiding Queen, but his own stout, useful one, which he had picked
up some three years ago now, after his own had been broken in his
hand on the field of Gembloux. There it lay, the length of its
sheath in shadow; but the slanting rays of the early morning sun fell
full upon the hilt, which was shaped like a cross. With it in his
hand, with that cross-hilt before his eyes, Gilles de Crohin had
sworn by all that he held most sacred and most dear that he would see
this business through and would not give it up, until Marguerite of
Navarre herself gave him the word. And these were days when the
sworn word was a thing that was sacred above all things on this
earth; and as Gilles himself had said it on that same memorable
occasion, he was not a prince and he could not afford to toy with his
word--it was the only thing he possessed. Therefore, though more
than one historian, notably Enguerrand de Manuchet, has chosen to
cast a slur upon Gilles de Crohin for his actions, I for one do not
see how he could have acted otherwise and kept his honour intact. He
was pledged to Marguerite de Navarre, had pledged himself to her with
eyes open and full knowledge of the Duc d'Anjou's character. To have
turned back on his promise, to have broken his word to the Queen,
would have been the act of a perjurer and of a coward. He could at
this precise moment have walked out of Cambray, that we know. The
Duke of Parma's armies at the time that Balagny succeeded in reaching
Cambray only occupied that portion of the Cambrésis which adjoined
the French frontier. On the West the way lay open, and the whole
world on that side was free to the soldier of fortune, even though he
would have been forced, after such a course of action, to shake the
dust of France for ever from his feet.
But he chose to remain. He chose to continue the deception which had
been imposed upon him, even though it involved the happiness of the
woman he loved, even though it meant not only to relinquish her to
another man, but to a man who was wholly unworthy of her.
Far be it from the writer of this veracious chronicle to excuse
Gilles de Crohin in what he did. I do not wish to palliate, only to
explain. Far be it from me, I say, to run counter to Messire de
Manuchet's learned opinion. But the history of individuals as well
as that of nations has a trick of seeming more clear and more
proportionate when it is viewed through the glasses of centuries, and
it is just possible--I say it in all humility--that Messire de
Manuchet, who in addition to being a very capable historian was also
a firm adherent of the policy of a French alliance for the sorely
stricken Netherlands, felt aggrieved that Madame Jacqueline de
Broyart, the fairest heiress in Flanders, did not after all wed
_Monsieur_ Duc d'Alençon et d'Anjou, own brother to the King of
France, and did not thereby consolidate that volatile Prince's hold
upon the United Provinces, and that the learned historian hath vented
his disappointment in consequence on the man who ultimately failed to
bring that alliance about.
That, of course, is only a surmise. Messire de Manuchet's history of
that stirring episode was writ three hundred years ago: he may have
been personally acquainted with the chief actors in the palpitating
drama--with d'Inchy and Jacqueline de Broyart, with Gilles de Crohin
and the Marquis de Landas; even with the Queen of Navarre and
_Monsieur_ Duc d'Anjou. He may also have had his own peculiar code
of honour, which was not the one laid down by Du Guesclin and Bayard,
by Bussy d'Amboise and Gilles de Crohin, and all the protagonists of
chivalry.