For The Admiral Part 30

That evening we all met at the reception given by the Queen of Navarre, a reception brilliant by reason of the number of brave men and beautiful women a.s.sembled. I had spent an hour alone with Jeanne during the afternoon, and she had told me of our mother's illness, and of her last loving message to myself.

I asked how she came to be in the Queen of Navarre's household, and her eyes kindled and her face flushed as she answered, "Oh, Edmond, the queen has been the kindest of friends! She sought me out in my sorrow, saying it was not right that the daughter of so brave a soldier as my father should be left to bear her grief alone. She insisted on my becoming one of her ladies-in-waiting, and ever since has done her best to make me happy."

My sister was certainly very beautiful, and I could not wonder to see the numbers of handsome and highborn cavaliers who cl.u.s.tered around her that evening. But Jeanne was staunch and leal, and, though courteous to all, it was in the company of her old friends Felix and Roger she found her chief pleasure.

We four were chatting together, and Felix was describing in his lively way some of our adventures, when Henry of Bearn drew near.

"Le Blanc," he exclaimed, looking at me, "surely it is Le Blanc!" and taking my arm he added jovially, "come with me, I must present you specially to my mother. She ought to know to whom she is indebted for her son's life."

Jeanne looked at me in surprise, and as we moved away I heard Felix saying, "I warrant he never told you a word of that. By my faith, one could hardly blame him had he cried it from the housetops!"

Meanwhile the prince marched up the room, his arm placed affectionately on my shoulder, and presented me to the gracious lady who was such a tower of strength to the Cause.

"Madame," he said in his hearty way, "this is the cavalier of whom I spoke. But for his courage Henry of Bearn would have been left lying on the field at Arnay-le-Duc."

She gave me her hand to kiss, and thanked me graciously, saying that while she or her son lived I should not want a true friend.

"Madame," I replied, "in taking my sister under your gracious protection you have already shown your kindness."

"Your sister!" she said in surprise; "who is your sister?"

"Jeanne Le Blanc, whom your Majesty has honoured by making one of your ladies-in-waiting."

"Then you must be the Sieur Le Blanc!"

"Edmond Le Blanc, your Majesty. My father sacrificed his t.i.tle and his lands, as well as his life, for the Cause!"

"How is this?" asked her son, and when I had related the story, he declared roundly that, with the Admiral's support, he would force the king to restore my rights.

Presently I withdrew, and Jeanne, to whom Felix had related the adventure, kissed me and made much of me, to the envy of my two comrades, who, poor fellows, had no pretty sister of their own. It was a proud night for me, but the shadow of my parents' death lay on my happiness, and I would gladly have sacrificed all my honours for their presence.

"If life at Roch.e.l.le is to be as agreeable as this," remarked Roger, with a glance at my sister, "I shall be loth to return to England."

"Then you can be no true Englishman!" laughed Jeanne, as she wished us good-night before going to attend upon her royal mistress.

CHAPTER XVII

The King's Promise

Life flowed very smoothly in La Roch.e.l.le during that autumn of 1570.

Amongst us at least the peace was not broken, though we heard rumours of dark threats from the Guises, and Coligny received numerous warnings not to trust himself, without an armed force, outside the city walls.

The first break came about with the departure of Roger Braund. An English ship put into the harbour one morning at the end of November, and her master brought a letter which compelled my comrade to return home.

"No," he said in reply to my question, "there is no bad news; it is simply a matter of business. I shall not wish you good-bye; I have still my promised visit to Paris to make. Perhaps we shall all be able to go there together."

What he said to Jeanne I do not know, but she did not seem so much cast down at his departure as I expected, for they two had become very close friends. Indeed, I sometimes thought their friendship was even warmer than that between Jeanne and Felix.

However, we went down to the harbour, Felix and I, and aboard his ship, an uncomfortable-looking craft, with but scanty accommodation for a pa.s.senger. But Roger did not mind this. He had sailed in a much worse vessel, he said, and a far longer distance than the pa.s.sage across the Channel.

Felix shrugged his shoulders. "On land," he remarked, "danger does not alarm me, but I should not care to put to sea in such a boat as that!"

in which I was at one with him.

"I will choose a better craft next time," laughed Roger, as, after bidding him farewell, we walked across the gangway to the wharf, where we stood waving our hands until he disappeared from sight.

"Does he really mean to return?" my comrade asked.

"I think so. He has evidently made up his mind to visit Paris."

"I fancy," said Felix rather bitterly, it struck me, "that he will be satisfied with Roch.e.l.le, as long as Queen Joan holds her Court there!"

My friend was not in the best of humour, but he recovered his spirits in a day or two, and before a week had pa.s.sed was as lively and merry as usual. Black Care and Felix were not congenial companions.

Nothing happened after Roger's departure until the spring of 1571, when we heard of the king's marriage with Elizabeth of Germany. None of our leaders attended the ceremony, which seemed to have been a very brilliant affair, the new queen riding into Paris in an open litter hung with cloth of silver, drawn by the very finest mules shod with the same gleaming metal.

A courier who waited upon the Admiral declared that the decorations were a triumph of art, and that the bridge of Notre Dame was like a scene taken bodily from fairy land. A triumphal arch was erected at each end of the bridge; the roadway was covered with an awning smothered in flowers and evergreens, while between every window on the first floor of the houses were figures of nymphs bearing fruits and flowers, and crowned with laurel.

But, although debarred from attending the marriage of the king, we were not without our rejoicings. Our n.o.ble leader was married to Jacqueline of Montbel, Countess of Entremont, who came to la Roch.e.l.le attended by fifty gentlemen of her kindred. Headed by Coligny, we rode out to meet her, and the cannon thundered forth a joyous salute. The citizens lined the streets, and if our decorations were not as gay as those of Paris, there was, perhaps, a more genuine heartiness in our welcome.

These public rejoicings, however, could not make me forget that my position was still very awkward. My stock of money was dwindling, and I could not expect to live in the Admiral's house for ever; while, as long as we remained at Roch.e.l.le, Henry of Beam's generous promise was not likely to bear fruit.

Jacques, who paid one or two visits to Le Blanc, reported that the castle remained closed, and that the tenants on the property had received orders to pay their rents to the crown. This was bad enough, but his second piece of Information made my blood hot with anger.

I asked if he had learned anything of Etienne Cordel, and he replied angrily, "More than enough, monsieur. I shall certainly spit that insolent upstart one of these days. He is giving himself all the airs of a grand personage, and boasts openly that before long he will be the Sieur Le Blanc. He is a serpent, monsieur--a crawling, loathsome, deadly serpent; his breath pollutes the very air."

"He is no worse than his kind," I replied somewhat bitterly. "He is but trying to raise himself on the misfortunes of others."

"Worse than that, monsieur. In my opinion it was he who caused the downfall of your house, for his own wicked ends. Your father's property was to be his reward for doing Monseigneur's dirty work."

"It is likely enough," I replied, "but we can do nothing without the Admiral."

A day or two after this conversation--it was as far as I can remember about the middle of July--Felix came to me in a state of great excitement.

"Have you heard the news?" he asked. "The king has sent for our chief!"

"For what purpose?"

"He has written a most kindly letter and has promised to follow his counsel."

"Faith," said I, "it smacks to me of the invitation of the hungry fox to the plump pullet! I think Coligny will be well advised to remain within the walls of La Roch.e.l.le."

The king's letter was the subject of eager discussion, and almost every one declared that our beloved chief would run the greatest risk in accepting the invitation.

"The king may be honest enough, though I doubt it," said one, "but the Guises are murderers; while as for Monseigneur and his mother, I would as soon trust to a pack of wolves!"