HOW MORE THAN ONE PLOT WAS HATCHED
I
And now the die was cast.
Gilles de Crohin stood before Monseigneur the governor of Cambray and
Monsieur le Comte de Lalain in the library of the Archiepiscopal
Palace, and in the name of Monsieur Duc d'Anjou et d'Alençon, asked
for the hand of Madame Jacqueline de Broyart in marriage.
It was a solemn hour wherein the fate of nations rested in the hand
of men, whilst God withheld His final decree. Gilles had kept his
word to the end. Madame la Reyne could be satisfied. He had put
resolutely behind him all thoughts of his dream and of his own
happiness. His exquisite Jacqueline had ceased to be aught but a
vision of loveliness, intangible, and for him--the poor soldier of
fortune--for ever unattainable. For once in his life he was thankful
for the beneficence of the mask. At least he was spared the effort
of concealing the ravages which misery had wrought upon his face.
What the final struggle had cost him, no one would ever know; even
Maître Jehan had been shut out from the narrow room, wherein a man's
imprisoned soul fought out the grim fight 'twixt love and duty.
When, an hour later, Messire called to his faithful henchman to help
him don his richest attire, the battle had been won. The man himself
was left heart-broken and bruised, a mere wreck of his former
light-hearted self; but honour and the sworn word had gained the day.
Love lay fettered, passion vanquished. God's will alone should now
be done.
A great sigh of relief came from d'Inchy when _Monsieur_ had
pronounced the final word which bound him irrevocably to the
destinies of Flanders. He and de Lalain bowed their heads almost to
the ground. Gilles extended his hand to them both and they each
kissed it almost reverently.
Then they both rose, and d'Inchy said solemnly:
'No Prince could wear a more glorious crown than that of the
Sovereignty of the Netherlands.'
And de Lalain added with equal earnestness:
'And no King could wed a worthier mate.'
A worthier mate! Ye gods! Gilles could have laughed aloud at the
abjectness of this tragic farce. A worthier mate? Who knew that
better than the unfortunate man who had held her for one brief,
blissful moment in his arms, just long enough to feel how perfect,
how exquisite she was--just long enough to realize all that he had
lost. Truly hell's worst torture could not be more harrowing than
this.
Wearied to the very top of his bent, Messire did his best to bring
the interview to an end.
'And now, Messeigneurs,' he said at last, 'I will, by your leave, bid
you farewell. My Maître de Camp, Messire de Balagny, has, as you
know, arrived in Cambray. He will represent me here the while I go
to rejoin my armies.'
'Your Highness would leave us?' exclaimed d'Inchy with a frown. 'So
soon?'
'Only to return in triumph, Messire,' replied Gilles, 'at the head of
my armies, after I have brought the Spaniard to his knees.'
'But Madame Jacqueline,' protested de Lalain. 'The betrothal--'
'While Cambray is starving, Messire, and the Duke of Parma is at her
gates, there is no time for public festivities. You will convey to
Madame Jacqueline de Broyart my earnest desire that she should confer
the supreme honour upon me by consenting to be my wife.' Then, as
the two men appeared wrapt in moody silence, he added quickly, with I
know not what faint ray of hope within his heart: 'You are doubtful
of her consent?'
'Doubtful? Oh, no, Monseigneur,' replied d'Inchy. 'Jacqueline de
Broyart is, above all, a daughter of Flanders. She is ready to give
her fortune, herself, all that is asked of her, to the man who will
free her country from its oppressors.'
'Then the sooner I go ... and return to claim my bride,' rejoined
Gilles dryly, 'the better it will be for us all.'
'Yes, Monseigneur--but----'
'But what?'
'The people of Cambray will wish to see Your Highness with Madame
Jacqueline by your side--her hand in yours--in token of an
irrevocable pledge.'
'Starving people care little for such flummery, Messire. They will
prefer to see the sentimental ceremony when mine armies have driven
the foe from their city's gates.'
'But----'
'Ah, ça, Messeigneurs!' suddenly queried Gilles with growing
impatience. 'Do you, perchance, mistrust me?'
The protest which came from the two Flemish lords in response to this
suggestion was not perhaps as whole-hearted as it might have been.
Gilles frowned beneath his mask. Here was a complication which he
had not foreseen. He could part from Jacqueline--yes!--he could tear
her sweet image from out his heart, since she could never become his.
He could play his part in the odious comedy to the end--but only on
the condition that he should not see her again or attempt to carry
through the deception which, in her presence, would anyhow be
foredoomed to failure.
A public betrothal! A solemn presentation to the people, with
Jacqueline's hand in his own, her dear eyes having found him out in
the very first minute that they met again, despite every mask, every
disguise and every trickery! Heavens above! but there was a limit to
human endurance! and Gilles had already reached it, when he
envisaged his beloved as the wife of another man--and that man wholly
unworthy of her. Now he had come to the end of his submission.
Honour and loyalty could go no further.
Of a truth, it seemed as if some impish Fate would upset, at this
eleventh hour, Madame la Reyne's perfectly laid schemes. The Flemish
lords looked obstinate. It seemed to Gilles that while he himself
had stood silent for the space of a quick heart-beat, cogitating as
to his next course of action, a secret understanding had quickly
passed between the two men.
This in its turn had the effect of stiffening Gilles' temper. He
felt like a gambler now, whose final stake was in jeopardy.
'For my part, Messeigneurs,' he said with a clever assumption of
haughty insolence, 'I could not lend myself to a public pageant at
this hour. His Majesty my brother would not wish it. When I enter
Cambray as its conqueror I will claim my promised bride--and not
before.'
This final 'either--or' was a bold stroke, no doubt: the losing
gambler's last throw. If the Flemings demurred, all was lost.
Gilles, by an almost superhuman effort, contrived to remain outwardly
calm, keeping up that air of supercilious carelessness which had all
along kept the Flemish lords on tenterhooks. Obviously the tone had
aroused their ire, just as it had done many a time before, and Gilles
could see well enough that a final repudiation of the whole bargain
hovered on M. d'Inchy's lips. But once again the counsels of
prudence prevailed; the implied 'take it or leave it,' so insolently
spoken by _Monsieur_, had the effect of softening the two men's
obstinacy. Perhaps they both felt that matters had anyhow gone too
far, even for a man of Monsieur's vacillating temperament to withdraw
from the bargain with a shred of honour. Be that as it may, when
Gilles rejoined a moment or two later with marked impatience: 'Which
is it to be, Messire? Is a Prince of the House of Valois not to be
trusted to keep his word?' d'Inchy replied quite glibly:
'Oh, absolutely, Monseigneur!'
'Well, then?' queried Gilles blandly.
'There is nothing more to be said,' concluded de Lalain. 'And if
your Highness really desires to leave us----'
'I do desire to rejoin my armies as soon as may be.'
'Then it shall be in accordance with Monseigneur's wishes. I will
see that everything is made ready for the safety and secrecy of your
journey.'
'You are more than gracious, Messire,' said Gilles, who had some
difficulty in disguising the intense relief which he felt. 'As you
know, my Maître de Camp, Messire de Balagny, is in Cambray now. He
will be my representative during my brief absence.'
After that, little more was said. Formal leave-taking took up the
last few minutes of this momentous interview. Gilles had some
difficulty in concealing his eagerness to get away: a dozen times
within those same few minutes he was on the point of betraying
himself, for indeed it seemed ludicrous that the Duc d'Anjou should
be quite so eager to go. However, the two Flemings were in a
distinctly conciliatory mood now. They appeared to desire nothing
save the keeping of His Highness' good graces.
'Monseigneur will remember that Cambray is on the edge of
starvation!' said d'Inchy earnestly at the last.
'Give me three months, Messire,' rejoined Gilles lightly, 'and her
joy-bells will be ringing for her deliverance.'
'For the entry of _Monsieur_ Duc d'Anjou, within her walls?'
'And the betrothal of Madame Jacqueline de Broyart to a Prince of the
House of France.'
'A happy hour for the Netherlands, Monseigneur.'
'And a proud one for me, Messire,' concluded Gilles solemnly. 'For
the Prince of the House of France will not lead his bride to the
altar empty-handed. The freedom of the Netherlands will be her
marriage-portion.'
'Amen to that,' said the Flemish lords fervently.
II
They kissed the gracious hand which was extended to them; they bent
the knee and took leave of their exalted guest with all the
ceremonial due to his rank.
But the moment that Gilles had finally succeeded in effecting his
escape, and even before his firm footstep had ceased to echo along
the corridors of the Palace, a complete change took place in the
demeanour of these two noble lords.
Monseigneur the governor drew inkhorn, pen and paper close to him,
with almost feverish haste; then he began to write, letter after
letter, while his friend watched him in silence. For over half an
hour no sound was heard in tie room save the ceaseless scratching of
d'Inchy's pen upon the paper. Only when half a dozen letters were
written and each had been duly signed and sealed did de Lalain make a
remark.
'You are sending out orders for a holiday to-morrow?' he asked.
'Yes,' replied d'Inchy.
'And orders to de Landas not to allow any one to leave the city?'
'Yes.'
'I thought so. You do not trust our wily Prince?'
'No,' retorted the other curtly. 'Do you?'
Then, as de Lalain made no reply, since indeed that reply was
obvious, d'Inchy went on, in a quick, sharp tone of command:
'Will you see the Chief Magistrate yourself, my good de Lalain?
Explain to him just what we have in contemplation. A reception in
the Town Hall, the presence of the Provosts of the city and of the
Mayors of the several guilds; the announcement of the betrothal to be
read to the people from the balcony. The Provosts must see to it
that there is a large concourse of people upon the Grand' Place and
that the whole city is beflagged by ten o'clock in the morning, and
wears an air of general festivity.'
'It shall be done at once,' said de Lalain simply.
D'Inchy then rang the bell and summoned one of his special messengers
to his presence. As soon as the man appeared, he gave him one of the
letters which he had just written.
'This to Messire de Landas,' he commanded. 'And see that he has it
without delay.'
The man retired, and when d'Inchy was once more alone with his
friend, he added complacently:
'This will close the trap, methinks, on our wily fox.'
'So long as he doth tumble into it,' remarked de Lalain dryly.
'He will! He will! You may be sure of that! Imagine him a few
hours hence, ready for his journey and finding every gate closed
against him and the town garrison afoot. I have warned de Landas of
what was in the wind, and given him an outline of my plans for
to-morrow. I can safely trust him to see that no one leaves the city
within the next four and twenty hours, for I have made him personally
accountable to me if any suspected person should effect an escape.
So our fine _Monsieur_ will fume and rage, and demand to see
Monseigneur the governor. The latter, weary and sick, will have long
ago retired to bed. In the morning he will still be sick and unable
to attend to business, until past ten o'clock, when quite
unexpectedly he will have given his exalted guest the slip and
already be engaged on important matters at the Town Hall. Thither
_Monsieur_ will repair at once--you may take your oath on
that--fretting to receive his safe-conduct and be out of the city ere
another twenty-four hours go by. In the meanwhile----'
'You will have spoken with Madame Jacqueline,' broke in de Lalain
eagerly. 'The Magistrate and the Provosts will have issued their
proclamations, the city will be beflagged and the people assembled on
the Grand' Place, eager to see Madame and her royal betrothed. What
a programme, my good d'Inchy!' he concluded with unstinted
enthusiasm. 'And how wisely conceived! Of a truth, you have
enchained our fox. He cannot now slip out of our sight.'
When the two old cronies finally took leave of one another, they had
prepared everything for their next day's box of surprise. A surprise
it would be for everybody, and Monseigneur d'Inchy could indeed
congratulate himself on the happy cannon-shot which he would fire off
on the morrow, and which would wake this sad and dormant city from
its weary somnolence. The alliance with the Royal House of France
would prove a splendid stimulus for the waning courage of the people,
whilst a fickle Valois Prince would at the same time learn that it is
not easy to play fast and loose with a nation that was ruled by such
diplomatic and determined men as were M. le Comte de Lalain and
Monseigneur d'Inchy, governor of Cambray.
III
As for de Landas, he probably spent that evening some of the happiest
hours which he had experienced for some time. It seemed indeed as if
Fate, having buffeted him about so unmercifully these past few weeks,
was determined to compensate him for everything that he had suffered.
When he received Monseigneur's letter, he was still fresh from his
stormy interview with Jacqueline, still fresh from the discovery
which he had made of at any rate a part of his rival's secret. As to
what use he would make of this discovery, he had not yet made up his
mind: his dark, vengeful soul was for the nonce consumed with rage at
thought of seeing Jacqueline happy in the love of the man whom he so
cordially hated. In the ordinary course of events, he would have
been perfectly content to see her married--for political reasons,
lovelessly or even unhappily--to any man who was influential enough
to win her at the hands of her ambitious guardian. But to think of
her bestowing her love and her kisses on another was wont to drive de
Landas to the verge of mania. He did not love Jacqueline de Broyart.
He had told her so, and he knew that her fortune would never be his.
But he had always desired her, and did so still; and such are the
tortuous ways of a depraved heart, that he would have been content to
lose her only if he knew that she would be unhappy.
Now, suddenly, Fate had changed everything. Instead of impotent rage
and futile scheming, Monseigneur's orders had placed in his hands the
very weapon which he needed to consummate that revenge of which he
dreamed.
'See to it, My dear de Landas,' Monseigneur had written, 'that
for the next four and twenty Hours a full Company of the Town
garrison is afoot, and that no one leave this City on any pretext
whatsoever. I have prepared a special pageant for the People--a
day of Festivity, wherein I will make a joyful Announcement to
them from the Balcony of the Town Hall. This announcement has a
direct bearing not only on the Future of our sorely-stricken
Province, but also on that of her fairest Daughter. Both these
great Issues are inextricably bound together, and to-morrow will
see them ratified before our assembled people. So, see to it, My
dear de Landas, that the Garrison under your Command do keep
Order in the Town, so that there should be no disturbance likely
to mar the solemnity of the occasion. There are always
Malcontents in every Community and dissentients to every measure
of public good. But I know that You at least have always been at
one with Me in earnest desire to see our beloved country placed
under the protection of our mighty neighbour, and that You will
therefore rejoice with Me that that desire will at last be
fulfilled. Because of Your unswerving loyalty to me and to Our
cause, You shall be the first to know that the mysterious
stranger whom We have so long harboured within Our gates and who
chose to be known to Us all as the Prince de Froidmont, is none
other than Monsieur duc d'Anjou et d'Alençon, Brother of His
Majesty the King of France, who came to Cambray for the express
purpose of wooing Madame Jacqueline de Broyart, Our Ward, to be
his Wife. That he has succeeded in winning her promise is the
announcement which I desire to make to our People to-morrow. I
also will give them the assurance that, in consequence of this
alliance with the royal House of Valois, We may reckon on the
full might and support of France to deliver Us from Our enemies.'
De Landas crushed the welcome letter in his hand in the excess of his
joy. He could have screamed aloud with unholy rapture.
'There is a fraud here, of course. Monseigneur has been hoodwinked.
The Prince de Froidmont is not Duc d'Anjou!' he cried exultantly.
'This much I know. And now, friend Beelzebub and all your myrmidons,
grant me aid, so that I may unmask that miscreant in a truly dramatic
manner! Something must and shall be done, to turn that fateful hour
to-morrow into one of triumph for me, and of humiliation for the
woman who has dared to scorn my love. As for the man who has filched
her from me, this same hour will be one which shall cover him with
such boundless infamy, that for Jacqueline the very memory of his
kisses will for ever remain an agony of shame.'
He sent a hasty summons to his intimates--to Maarege, de Borel, du
Prêt and the whole of the gang of hot-headed malcontents, and just
like in the Archiepiscopal Palace, so in the lodgings occupied by
Messire de Landas, a Council of War was held which lasted late into
the night.
IV
It was a dark and stormy evening after a brilliant day; and some time
after the cathedral bell had struck the hour of ten, Messire de
Landas, commanding the town garrison, was making the round of the
city gates.
He had his man, Pierre, with him--a fellow well known to the guard.
At the gate of Cantimpré, Messire desired that the bridge be lowered,
for he wished to assure himself that everything was as it should be,
over on the right bank of the river. Far away to the right and left,
the lights of the Duke of Parma's encampment could be distinctly
seen. The archers at the gate begged Messire not to venture too far
out into the darkness, for the Spanish patrols were very wide-awake,
and they were like cats for sighting a man in the dark. But Messire
thought it his duty to cross the bridge, and to see if all was well
on the other side. He refused to take a bodyguard with him in case
the Spanish patrols were on the alert. Messire de Landas was known
to be very brave; he preferred to take such risks alone.
Only his man Pierre accompanied him.
The archers kept a sharp look-out. But the night was very dark, a
veritable gale was blowing from the south-west, and the driven rain
was blinding. Messire crossed the bridge with Pierre, after which
the darkness swallowed them both up.
Ten minutes later, the guard at the gate, the archers and gunners,
heard the sharp report of two musket shots, following closely upon
one another, and coming from over the right bank of the river.
Trembling with anxiety, they marvelled if Messire were safe. The
sheriff, who had no special orders from the commandant to meet the
present eventuality, did not know what to do. He was ready to tear
out his hair in an agony of apprehension. Had it not been quite so
dark he would have sent out a search-party, for Messire still
tarried. But, as it was, his men might fall straight into a
_guet-apens_ and be massacred in the gloom, without doing any good to
any one. Skilled and able-bodied men were becoming precious assets
in Cambray: their lives could not be carelessly jeopardized.
A quarter of an hour of heartrending suspense went by, after which
Messire's footstep was suddenly heard upon the bridge. He returned
alone. The archers and gunners crowded round him, with the anxious
query upon their lips: 'Pierre?'
No one really cared about Pierre. Messire de Landas and his gang
were not popular in Cambray. But the incident had been rendered
weird and awesome by the darkness and the bad weather, and Messire's
obstinacy in venturing out so far.
M. de Landas appeared moody and silent. No doubt he felt responsible
for his servant's fate. But he answered the men's questions quite
straightforwardly, more fully too and with less brusqueness than was
his wont when speaking with subordinates.
'I had my suspicions aroused to-day,' he said, 'by something which
our spies reported to me, that the Spaniards contemplated one of
their famous surprise attacks under cover of this murky darkness. So
I was determined to venture on the Bapaume Road and see if I could
discover anything. Pierre insisted on coming with me. We kept our
eyes and ears open and crawled along in the ditch on hands and knees.
Suddenly we were fired on without any warning. I lay low under cover
of the ditch, not moving, hardly breathing, and thought that Pierre
was doing likewise. I heard the Spanish patrols move noiselessly
away. Then I crept out of my hiding-place, almost surprised at
finding myself alive. I called softly to Pierre, but received no
answer; then I groped about for him. Presently I found him. He had
been shot twice--through the back--and must have died on the instant.'
The story was plausible enough, nor did any one doubt it. The men
cared so little about Pierre, who was overbearing and surly. But
what had actually happened was vastly different.
It was this--Messire le Marquis de Landas, accompanied by Pierre, had
in truth crossed the bridge, and as soon as the darkness had
swallowed them up, the two men had walked rapidly along the Bapaume
Road, until they were challenged by a Spanish patrol on duty.
Messire gave the password, and the patrol not only halted but also
stood at attention, for the password which had been given was one
used only by Spanish gentlemen of high rank in the King's armies.
'You will conduct my servant at once before His Highness the Duke of
Parma,' Messire de Landas said to the man in command of the patrol.
And to Pierre he added in a whisper: 'All that you have to do when
you see His Highness is to give him this letter from me and tell him
that we are quite prepared for to-morrow.'
He gave Pierre a letter, then ordered the patrol to fire a couple of
musket-shots. After which, he waited for a few minutes, and finally
returned alone to the city gate.