Yolanda: Maid of Burgundy Part 30

"That, I hope, will be of no moment now, since the duke is arranging for the immediate celebration of this marriage with the Dauphin. I am given to understand that His Grace, the Bishop of Cambrai, secretary to the duke, has received orders to draught a letter to King Louis expressing our lord's pleasure. King Louis is so eager for the marriage, which will once more bring Burgundy to the French kingship, that Duke Charles deems it sufficiently courteous to express his intentions to Louis, rather than to request the king's compliance. The duke's contempt for the king of France is so great that he causes the letter to be written in English, a language which Charles loves because of the English blood in his veins, and which Louis, with good reason, hates."

"Has this letter been despatched?" I asked, concealing as well as I could my deep concern.

Max heard Hymbercourt's statement without even a show of interest. Had he suspected that Hymbercourt was speaking of Yolanda's marriage, there surely would have been a demonstration.

"No," answered Hymbercourt, "the letter has not been sent, but the duke will despatch it at once. It will probably be the chief business of this morning's audience. The duke wants the marriage celebrated before he leaves for Switzerland. That will be within three or four weeks. I am not informed as to the details of the ceremony, but I suppose the princess will be taken to St. Denis, and will there be married. The unfortunate princess, doubtless, has not yet been told of her impending fate, though she may have heard of it by rumor. There will be tears and trouble when she learns of it, for she has a strong dash of her father's temper. But--" He shrugged his shoulders as if to say that her tears would count for nothing.

Hymbercourt's words took the heart out of me; and when he left us for a moment, I urged Max to leave Burgundy at once.

"I must see Yolanda and ask her to release me from my promise before I go," he said.

"You are surely not so weak as to allow a burgher girl to hold you?" I asked.

"The girl does not hold me," he answered. "I was so weak as to give my promise, and that holds me."

"She will give you your release if you demand it," I suggested.

"If she does, I will go with you to-morrow. It is time that we were out of Burgundy. I will forego even my combat with Calli to get away. I should not have given Yolanda my promise; but she is so persuasive, and I pity her, and--and, oh! Karl, I--the trouble is, I love her, and it is like death to part from her forever. That is my weakness."

The poor, suffering boy leaned forward on the table and buried his face in his arms.

"That isn't your weakness, Max, it's your strength," I responded. "Few men are so unfortunate as to escape it. G.o.d must pity those who do. It may be well to tell the duke who you are. If he is displeased, we may leave Burgundy at once. If he receives you graciously, we may remain and you may fight this Calli. That is the one duty that holds you in Peronne."

My heart was hardened with years, and its love of just vengeance was stronger than young Max could feel. Besides, he was possessed by a softer pa.s.sion; and though he felt it his pleasant duty to fight Calli, vengeance held second place in his breast.

Hymbercourt returned, and we started for the castle accompanied by our squires; all riding in fine state.

We arrived at the great hall before the duke had arisen from the morning audience, and waited un.o.bserved in the back part of the chamber. Our Irish squire, Michael, carried Caesar, hooded and belled. He was held by a golden chain that we had bought from a goldsmith, notwithstanding our purse was growing dangerously light.

There was a great stir in the hall as we entered. The courtiers were buzzing like a swarm of bees discussing a new queen. Evidently matters of importance had been under consideration. Campo-Ba.s.so, my Lord de Vergy, seneschal of Burgundy, and the Bishop of Cambrai, clerk to the duke, were standing on the second step of the dais, each with hand resting on knee, and leaning eagerly toward the duke. Charles and these councillors were speaking in low tones, and the courtiers of less degree were taking advantage of the intermission in public business to settle the great question among themselves. Each petty courtier felt that he could offer a suggestion that would be of great value, could he but gain the duke's ear.

After a little time, Charles saw Hymbercourt with us, and sent a page to fetch him. Hymbercourt left us, and soon we saw him in whispered conversation with the duke. Soon after Hymbercourt had gone to the ducal throne, Calli, with two Italians, stopped four paces from where we were standing. He gazed insolently at Max, and said in Italian to his companions:--

"There is the loutish outlander, who boasted before the duke that he would fight me. He is a big callow fellow, and it would be a shame to stick the swine."

Max, who understood the Italian language sufficiently to grasp Calli's meaning, flushed angrily, but I touched his arm and he turned his back upon the fellow. Then I spoke in tones that Calli could not fail to hear:--

"Never turn your face from a cowardly foe, Max. He will, if he can, stab you in the back. Your revenge will come when you send his soul to h.e.l.l."

Calli grasped his dagger hilt and muttered something about the duke's presence. The incident determined us in the course Max should take. He should tell the duke who he was, remain in Burgundy to kill this fellow Calli, and to meet such other fortune as the Fates might have in store for him.

Hymbercourt and the duke spoke together for the s.p.a.ce of five minutes, evidently discussing a parchment that Charles held in his hand. Then the duke resumed his seat, and handed the parchment to the Bishop of Cambrai, when all save His Reverence stepped from the dais to the floor. A herald commanded silence, and the bishop spoke:--

"It is the will of our most gracious lord that I announce to the court the impending marriage of Her Grace, the Princess, Mademoiselle de Burgundy, to the princely Dauphin of France, son to our lord's royal ally, King Louis. His Grace of Burgundy hopes within three weeks to open his campaign against the Swiss, and it is his intention to cause the marriage ceremony to take place before his departure. When the details have been arranged, they will be announced to the court."

The bishop had barely stopped speaking when the shutter in the chancel of the ladies' gallery above the throne opened, and a voice rang through the vast audience hall, like the tones of an alarm bell:--

"Make one more announcement, please, my Lord Bishop. Say that if this wondrous ceremony is to come off within three weeks, the Dauphin of France must be content with a dead bride."

No one saw the face of the speaker. The shutter closed, and a deep silence fell upon the room. The duke sprang angrily to his feet; his face was like a thunder-cloud. He looked toward the ladies' gallery, and stood for a moment like the incarnation of wrath. A puzzled expression followed the glare of anger; and within a moment he laughed, and waved his hands to the heralds, directing them to cry the rising. The audience was dismissed, and the courtiers left the hall, laughing in imitation of their lord and master.

Nothing could be more indicative of cruelty than the laughter that followed the pa.s.sionate protest of the unhappy princess. To the duke, and of course to his courtiers, the girl's suffering and the fate that was in store for her were mere matters of mirth. They laughed at her pain as savages laugh at the agonies of a tortured victim.

I was so startled by the cry of the princess that for a time I could not think coherently. My first clear thought was of Yolanda. If she were the princess, this sacrifice that is practised without a protest throughout the world had come home to me, for Yolanda had nestled in my heart. That she, the gentle, the tender, the pa.s.sionate, the sensitive, should be the victim of this legalized crime; that she, innocent of all fault, save that she had been born a girl, should be condemned to misery because the laws of chivalry and the laws of G.o.d, distorted by men to suit their purposes, declared her to be the chattel of her father, moved me as I was never moved before. My sympathy for this rare, sweet girl, so capable of joy, so susceptible to pain, almost brought tears to my eyes; for I could not help thinking that she was the suffering princess.

When the courtiers had left the great hall Hymbercourt, Max, and I approached the duke. Hymbercourt and I made obeisance on bended knee, but Max saluted the duke with a low bow. After the duke had spoken, Max said:--

"I hope Your Grace has not forgotten your promise to honor me by accepting the falcon you admired yesterday."

"I have not, my unknown friend," answered the duke.

Max took the bird from Michael and offered it to Charles, who accepted the gift graciously. I looked toward Hymbercourt and he, understanding my unspoken word, again bent his knee before the duke:--

"My gracious lord, it is the desire of this young knight that he be presented to you in due form under his own name and t.i.tle, though he would humbly ask that he be permitted to retain the name by which he is known in Burgundy. His reasons for so doing are good, though they would not interest Your Grace. Have I my lord's permission to present him?"

"In G.o.d's name, yes!" exclaimed the duke, stirred by some irritation, but spurred by curiosity.

"My lord," said Hymbercourt, speaking to the duke and extending his hand toward Max, "it is my great honor to present to Your Grace his highness, Maximilian, Count of Hapsburg."

"By the just G.o.d, my lord, you certainly have given us a surprise," said the duke, stepping back and making no offer of his hand to Max. He pa.s.sed the falcon to a page, and continued, "What business have these men at my court?"

"None, Your Grace, absolutely none," answered Max, standing proudly before the duke and steadfastly meeting his gaze. "It was my desire to see the world and to learn something of its people before I undertook to govern my own. My country is not rich and fat like this great land of Burgundy. I have neither the means nor the inclination to travel in state; so my dear friend and instructor, Sir Karl de Pitti, undertook to guide me and teach me in this journey to the outer world. I would rather have missed seeing all other countries than Burgundy, and of all the princes of the world Your Grace was and is to me the most interesting.

Your hand is the strongest, your courage the bravest, and your land the richest in Europe. We heard at Metz that you were here in Peronne; and now, my lord, you understand what business I have in Burgundy."

I had never given the boy credit for so much adroitness. What the duke's intentions were, immediately after Hymbercourt presented Max, I could not have told, but his words sounded ominous, and the expression of his face was anything but pleasant. Max, though not quarrelsome, was not given to the soft answer that turneth away wrath; but on this occasion discretion came to his rescue, and he made the soft answer with a dignity and boldness that won Charles's respect. The duke's face softened into a half-smile,--if anything so hard as his face can be said to soften,--and he offered his hand to Max. He withdrew it almost instantly from Max's grasp, and said:--

"Are you sure my armament against Switzerland is no part of the reason for your presence in Burgundy?" Like all highly pugnacious men, he was suspicious. "I have been told your father is a friend to the Swiss."

"Does Your Grace mean to ask if I am here in the capacity of a spy, as Calli has charged?" asked Max, lifting his head and looking boldly into the duke's face.

"I do not know," said the duke, hesitatingly. "I do not say you are. I do not think you are, but--"

"I am glad Your Grace does not think we are spies, and am pleased to believe that you would not put so great an insult upon us," answered Max, "else we should ask permission to leave Burgundy at once. I am sure my lord knows we are not spies. If Your Lordship had a son, would you send him forth as a spy for the sake of Burgundy? Much less would you do it for another land. Your Grace is misinformed. My father is not a friend to the Swiss; neither does he hate them, though perhaps he has better cause to do so than has Your Grace. Your quarrel with the Swiss is over a few cart-loads of sheepskins. These same Swiss took from my father our ancient homestead, the old Castle of Hapsburg, and the surrounding territory of Aargau."

"I have heard of the spoliation, and have often wondered at your father's meek submission," said the duke, with an almost imperceptible sneer. Like Richard the Lion-hearted, of England, butchery was this duke's trade, and he despised a man who did not practise it on all possible occasions. A pretext for a quarrel is balm to the soul of a hero.

"The mountains of Switzerland, my lord, are the graveyard of foreign soldiers," Max replied. "Old Hapsburg Castle is a mere hawks' crag, as its name implies, and the half-score of mountain peaks my father lost with it are not worth the life of his humblest subject. He loves his people, and would not shed their blood to soothe his wounded pride. The man who makes war should fight in the front rank."

"There is where I fight, young sir," returned Charles.

"The world knows that fact, my lord," responded Max. "My father cannot fight at the head of his army, therefore, he makes war only in defence of his people's hearths. It is possible that after consulting with my friend, Sir Karl, I may ask the honor of serving with Your Grace against these Swiss who despoiled my house. Is Your Grace now satisfied that we are not Swiss spies? And are we welcome to sojourn for a time in Peronne? Or shall we leave Burgundy and return to my father in Styria, to tell him that you turned a guest and a friend from your door?"

"You are very welcome, Sir Count, and you, Sir Karl," answered the duke, giving his right hand to Max and familiarly offering me his left. This hard duke had been beaten into a gracious mood by Max's adroit mixture of flattery and boldness.

A soft answer may turn away wrath, but it may also involve the disagreeable necessity of turning the other cheek. If it be not tempered by spirit, it is apt to arouse contempt. The duke remained silent for the s.p.a.ce of a minute or two. He was evidently struggling to suppress a good impulse. Then he turned to me and said, laughingly:--

"By my soul, Sir Karl, you have brought us a Roland and a Demosthenes in one. Where learned you your oratory, Sir Count?"