In Kings' Byways Part 21

This charmed my neighbours, who were now well a.s.sured that I had not promised them a novel entertainment without good grounds; for the grimaces of the two knaves thus bidden to jest if they would save their skins were so diverting they would have made a nun laugh. The two looked at me with their eyes as wide as plates, and for the whole of the time of grace never a word could they utter save howls for mercy. "Simon," I said gravely, when the time was up, "have you a joke? No. Andrew, my friend, have you a joke? No. Then----"

I was about to order the sentence to be carried out when the innkeeper flung himself again upon his knees and cried out loudly--as much to my astonishment as to the regret of the bystanders, who were bent on seeing so strange a shoeing feat--"One word, my lord! One word! I can give you no joke! But I can do a service, a service to the King! I can disclose a plot, a wicked conspiracy against him!"

I need not say how greatly I was taken aback by this public announcement. But I had been too long in the King's employment not to have remarked how strangely things are brought to light; and on hearing the man's words, which were followed by a stricken silence, I did not fail to look sharply at the faces of such of those present as it was possible to suspect. I failed, however, to observe any sign of confusion or dismay, or anything more particular than such a statement was calculated to produce. Doubting much whether the man was not playing with me, I then addressed him sternly, warning him to beware lest in his anxiety to save his heels by falsely accusing others, he lose his head.

For that, if his conspiracy should prove to be an invention of his own, I should certainly consider it my duty to hang him.

He still persisted, however, in his story, and even added desperately, "It is a plot, my lord, to a.s.sa.s.sinate you and the King on the same day."

This statement went home; for I had good reason to know that at that time the king had alienated many by his infatuation for Madame de Verneuil; while I had to reckon with all whom my pursuit of his interests injured in reality or appearance. Forthwith I directed that the prisoners should be led in to the chamber adjoining my private closet, and taking the precaution to call my guards about me, since I knew not what attempt despair might not breed, I withdrew myself, making such apologies to the company as the nature of the case permitted.

I ordered Simon the smith to be first brought before me, and in the presence of Maignan I severely examined him as to his knowledge of any conspiracy. He denied, however, that he had heard of the matters referred to by his brother, and persisted so firmly in the denial that I was inclined to believe him. In the end he was removed and Andrew was brought in. The innkeeper's demeanour was such as I have often observed in intriguers brought suddenly to book. He averred the existence of the conspiracy and that its objects were those which he had stated, and he offered to give up his a.s.sociates; but he conditioned that he should do this in his own way, undertaking to conduct me and one other person--but no more, lest the alarm should be given--to a place in Paris on the following night, where we could hear the plotters state their plans and designs. In this way only, he urged, could proof positive be obtained.

I was naturally startled by this proposal, and inclined to think it a trap. But more leisurely consideration dispelled my fears. The innkeeper had held no parley with any one save his guards, since his arrest, and could neither have warned his accomplices, nor acquainted them with a design the execution of which depended on his confession to me. In the end, therefore, I accepted his terms--with a private reservation that I would have help at hand; and before daybreak next morning I left Rosny, which I had only seen by torchlight, with my prisoner and a select body of Swiss. We entered Paris in the afternoon in three parties, with as little parade as possible, and resorted to the a.r.s.enal, whence, as soon as evening fell, I made my way to the King.

A return so sudden and unexpected, was as great a surprise to the Court as to Henry, and I was not slow to mark the discomposure which appeared on more than one face as the crowd in the chamber fell back for me to approach my master. Still, I was careful to remember that this might arise from other causes than guilt. The King received me with his wonted affection; and divining that I must have something important to communicate, he withdrew with me to the farther end of the chamber, where we were out of earshot of the Court. I related the story to his Majesty, keeping back nothing.

He shook his head, saying merely, "The fish, to escape the frying-pan, grandmaster, will jump into the fire. And human nature, save in our case, who can trust one another, is akin to the fishy."

I was touched by the compliment, but not convinced. "You have not seen the man, sire," I said. "And I have had that advantage."

"You believe him?"

"In part," I answered, with caution. "So far as to be a.s.sured that he thinks to save his skin, which he can only save if he be telling the truth. May I beg you, sire," I added, seeing the direction of his glance, "not to look so fixedly at the Duke of Epernon? He grows uneasy."

"'Conscience makes'--you know the rest."

"Nay, sire, with submission," I replied, "I will answer for him; if he be not driven by apprehension to do something reckless."

"I am taking your warranty every day!" my master said, with the grace which came so natural to him. "But now in this matter what would you have me do?"

"Double your guards, sire, for to-night. That is all. I will answer for the Bastille and the a.r.s.enal; and holding these, we hold Paris."

But thereupon the king declared a decision, which I felt it to be my duty to combat with all my influence. He had conceived the idea of being the one to accompany me to the rendezvous. "I am tired of the dice," he complained, "and sick of tennis, at which I know everybody's strength.

Madame de Verneuil is at Fontainebleau; the Queen is unwell. Oh, Sully, I would the old days were back when we had Nerac for our Paris, and knew the saddle better than the armchair."

"The King belongs to his people."

"The fowl in the pot?" he replied. "To be sure. But time enough to think of that to-morrow." And do what I would I could not turn him. In the end, therefore, I took my leave of him as if for the night, and retired leaving him at play with the Duke of Epernon. But an hour later, towards eight o'clock, he made an excuse to withdraw to his closet, and met me outside the eastern gate of the Louvre. He was masked, and had with him only Coquet, the master of the household. I too had taken a mask and was esquired by Maignan, under whose orders were four Swiss--whom I had chosen because they spoke no French--and who had Andrew in charge. I bade Maignan follow the innkeeper's directions, and we proceeded in two parties through the streets in the direction of the a.r.s.enal, until we reached the mouth of an obscure lane near the gardens of St. Pol, so narrow that the decrepit wooden houses shut out well-nigh all view of the sky. Here the prisoner halted and called upon me to fulfil the terms of my agreement. With misgiving I complied. I bade Maignan remain with the Swiss at a distance of fifty paces--directing him to come up only if I should whistle or give the alarm; then I myself, with the King and Andrew, proceeded onward in the deep shadow of the houses. I kept my hand on my pistol, which I had previously showed to the prisoner, intimating that on the first sign of treachery I should blow his brains out. However, in spite of this precaution, I felt uncomfortable to the last degree. I blamed myself for allowing the King to expose himself to this unnecessary danger; while the meanness of the quarter, the fetid air, the darkness of the night which was cold and stormy, and the uncertainty of the event lowered my spirits, and made every splash in the kennel, or stumble on the reeking slippery pavements--matters over which the King grew merry--seem no light troubles to me. We came at length to a house which, as far as we could judge in the darkness, seemed to be of rather greater pretensions than its fellows. Here, our guide stopped, and whispered to us to mount some steps to a raised wooden gallery, which intervened between the lane and the doorway. On this, beside the door, a couple of unglazed windows looked forth. The wooden lattice which covered one was sufficiently open to allow us to see a large bare crazy room, lighted by a couple of rushlights.

Directing us to place ourselves close to this window, the innkeeper knocked at the door in a peculiar fashion, entered, and appeared at once in the lighted room, of which we had a view. Gazing through the window we were surprised to find that the only person within save Andrew, was a young woman, who, crouching over a smouldering fire, was crooning a lullaby while she attended to a large black pot.

"Good evening, mistress!" the innkeeper said, advancing to the fire. He masked well his nervousness: nevertheless, it was patent to us.

"Good evening, Master Andrew," she replied, looking up and nodding, but showing no sign of surprise at his appearance. "Martin is away, but he may return at any moment."

"To-night?"

"Yes."

"Is he still of the same mind?"

"Quite."

"Ah! That is so, is it. And what of Sully?" he continued, somewhat hoa.r.s.ely. "Is he to die also?"

"They have decided that he must," the girl answered gloomily.

On that, it may be believed that I listened; while the King by a nudge in my side, seemed to rally me on the destiny so coolly arranged for me.

"Martin," the girl continued, before the chill sensation had ceased to run down my back, "Martin says it is no good killing the other, unless he goes too--they have worked so long together. But it vexes me sadly, Master Andrew," she added, with a certain break in her voice. "Sadly it vexes me. I could not sleep last night for thinking of it, and the risk Martin runs. And I shall sleep less--when it is done."

"Pooh! pooh!" said that rascally innkeeper, and stirred the fire. "Think less about it. Things will grow worse and worse, if they are let live.

The King has done harm enough already. And he grows old besides. And to put off a step of this kind is dangerous. If a word got about--'tis ruin."

"That is true!" the girl answered, gazing drearily at the pot. "And no doubt the sooner the King is put out of the way the better. I do not say a word for him. He must go. But 'tis Sully troubles me. He has done nought, and though he may become as bad as the others--he may not. It is that, and the risk Martin runs trouble me. 'Twould be death for him."

"Ay," said Andrew, cutting her short; "that's so." And they both looked at the fire.

At this I took the liberty of gently touching the King; but, by a motion of his finger, he enjoined silence. We stooped still farther forward so as to better command the room. The girl was rocking herself to and fro in evident anxiety, "If We killed the King," she said, "Martin declares we should be no better off, as long as Sully lives. Both or neither, he Says. Both or neither. He grew mad about it. Both or neither! But I do not know. I cannot bear to think of it. It was a sad day When he brought the Duke here, Master Andrew, and one I fear we shall rue as long as we live!"

It was now the King's turn to be moved. He grasped my wrist so forcibly that I restrained a cry with difficulty. "The Duke!" he whispered harshly in my ear. "Then they are Epernon's tools! Where is your warranty now, Rosny?"

I confess that I trembled. I knew well that the King, particular in courtesies, never forgot to call his servants by their t.i.tles save in two cases: when he indicated by the error, as once in Marshal Biron's affair, his intention to promote or degrade; or when he was moved to the depths of his nature and fell into an old habit. I did not dare to reply, but I listened greedily for more information.

"When is it to be done?" the innkeeper asked, sinking his voice, and glancing round as if he would call especial attention to this.

"That depends upon Master La Riviere," the girl answered. "To-morrow night, I understand, if the physician can have the stuff ready."

I met the King's eyes, shining in the faint light, which, issuing from the window, fell upon him. Of all things he hated treachery, and La Riviere was his first physician. At this very time, as I well knew, he was treating his Majesty for a slight derangement, which the King had brought upon himself by his imprudence. This doctor had formerly been in the employment of the Bouillon family, who had surrendered his services to the King. Neither I nor his Majesty had trusted the Duke of Bouillon for the last year past, so that we were not surprised by this hint that he also was privy to the design.

Despite our anxiety not to miss a word, an approaching step warned us to leave the window for a moment. More than once before we had done so to escape the notice of a wayfarer pa.s.sing up or down. But this time I had a difficulty in inducing the King to adopt the precaution. Yet it was well that I succeeded, for the person who came towards us did not pa.s.s, but, mounting the steps, almost within touch of me, entered the house.

"The plot thickens," the King muttered. "Who is this?"

At the moment he asked I was racking my brain to remember. I have a good eye and a trained memory for faces; and this was one I had seen several times. The features were so familiar that I suspected the man of being a courtier in disguise, for he was shabbily dressed; and I ran over the names of several persons whom I knew to be Epernon's friends or agents.

But he was none of these, and, obeying the King's gesture, I bent myself anew to the task of listening.

The girl looked up at the man's entrance, but did not rise. "You are late, Martin," she said.

"A little," the new-comer answered. "How do you do, Master Andrew? What news of Aubergenville?" And then, not without a trace of affection in his tone, "What, still vexing, my girl?" he added, laying a hand on the girl's shoulder. "You have too soft a heart for this business. I always said so."

She sighed, but made no answer.

"You have made up your mind to it, I hear," said the innkeeper.

"That is it. Needs must when the devil drives!" the man replied jauntily. He had a bold, reckless, determined air; yet in his face I thought I saw still surviving some traces of a better spirit.

"The devil in this case was the Duke," quoth Andrew.

"Ay, curse him! I would I had cut the dog's liver out before he crossed my threshold," cried the man, with pa.s.sion. "But there, 'tis done! It is too late to say that now. What has to be done, has to be done."