The Justice of the King Part 29

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SUCCESS OF FAILURE

For once in his career Phillip de Commines, amba.s.sador and diplomatist, was well pleased to have failed, or rather, paradoxically, he told himself that failure was his true success. The King--he had come to the conclusion that Louis had played one of those grim jests which were not all a jest and at times had tragic consequences--the King, no doubt, had been deceived, possibly by Saxe, and to have Saxe proved a liar beyond question could not but be a relief. So all was well; the King's fears could be set at rest, and he himself was freed from an odious duty. Against his expectation he had quitted Amboise with clean hands.

Nor even as regards the Dauphin, and the future the Dauphin represented, was there much to regret. There was even, he believed, much to hope. Ursula de Vesc controlled the boy, Stephen La Mothe would influence the girl, and Stephen owed him everything. These were all so many links in a chain, and the chain bound him not only to safety but to continuance in his present offices, perhaps even to advancement. Even though the King had died there was no need to remain in Amboise to secure himself; La Mothe would do that for him. But the King was living, the King would welcome his failure, would be touched by his prompt return to Valmy, and the world was a very good world for those who knew how to use its hazards and chances rightly.

The stern justice of the King had swept the highways clear of violence.

According to a grim jest of Villon's, thieves and thievery were alike in suspense from Burgundy to the sea. Except the ruts of the road, deep in places as the axles of a cart, or the turbid waters of the Loire, treacherous in the darkness and swollen by heavy rains in the upper reaches, travelling was as safe by night as by day, and Commines met with no delays but those at all times inseparable from such a journey. Tristan's forethought, as it proved, had provided no accident. This time there was no halt at the Chateau-Renaud. Through the little straggling village they rode at a hand-gallop, and except to bait or breathe the horses on a hill-crest, no rein was drawn until the dawn had slipped from grey to glory and a new day lay broad upon the fields. When that hour broke, they had made such progress that they had reached the place whence Commines had shown La Mothe the three good reasons why his men would keep their counsel.

"Dismount and ease the saddles," he said, slipping a foot from the stirrup as he spoke, "the gates will not be opened for two or three hours at least. Lead the horses on slowly, I will follow you."

But he was in no haste. In the small hours of the morning the currents of enthusiasm, like those of life, run slow. It is then that the spirit of a man is at its weakest. Or perhaps it was the sight of Valmy that cooled his optimism. There it lay, grey and forbidding even with the yellow sunlight of dawn full upon it, and there, stark and clear, an offence against the sweetness of the new day, were the three royal gibbets. Their sinister hint was emphatic. The justice of the King was without mercy, and sombrely he asked himself, Was he so sure that in his failure he had no need of forgiveness? Was it not rather true that with Louis failure had always need of forgiveness and was never forgiven? He was not so certain, now that his blood was sluggish in the vapoury chill of dawn, but that he had been hasty in quitting Amboise at all; and yet, what if Tristan, playing on the jealous suspicions of the King, had set a trap? And even as he speculated with dull eyes whether there was a trap or no, whether the King lived at all, and what course was the most politic to follow, a stir of life woke at Valmy: a small troop pa.s.sed out from the grey arch facing the river and took the Tours road. The distance was too great to distinguish who comprised it. But Valmy was awake, and with Valmy awake the sooner he faced his doubts the better--doubts grow by nursing, and given time enough their weight will kill.

Walking briskly forward he mounted and urged his tired horse to its best speed. That it should reach Valmy in its last extremity, foam-flecked and caked with sweat, would appeal to the King's sick suspicions. It was a petty trick, mean and contemptible, but had the King not played a still more mean and contemptible trick on him?

Commines knew with whom he had to deal; it was the vulgar cunning his master had taught him, and any apparent absence of anxious haste would be a point lost in the game: so their spurs were red, and their beasts utterly blown, utterly weary from their last climb up the river's bank when they drew rein before the outer guard-house. The Tours troop was already out of sight.

Lessaix himself was on duty, and as he came forward with outstretched hand Commines required no second glance to tell himself that Ursula de Vesc had construed Tristan's letter aright. Not so frankly would he have been greeted if Valmy's master lay dead in Valmy.

"The King expects you," he said, "and by your horses' looks you have lost no time on the road." As he spoke he ran his finger-tips up the hot neck, leaving tracks of roughened, sweaty hair behind the pressure.

"When did you leave Amboise?"

"The King expects me? How can that be?"

Then as Lessaix, scenting a mystery, looked up curiously Commines made haste to cover his slip, "Or rather, how did you know I was coming?"

"Tristan told me as he rode out half an hour ago. He said you were on the way and might arrive any moment. You are to go to the King at once."

"So Tristan left half an hour ago?"

Try as he would Commines could not quite control his voice. He owed more to Mademoiselle de Vesc than he had supposed. The trap had, as it were, snapped before his face and he had escaped by a hair-breadth.

Tristan's cunning was as deep as simplicity. His forethought must have run somewhat thus. Lessaix knows that Monsieur de Commines is expected any moment and is to go at once to the King, who waits for him; Monsieur de Commines does not appear, but remains paying his court to the Dauphin at Amboise. The inference would be clear to all men, and Monsieur de Commines would be ruined outright and utterly discredited.

Yes, Ursula de Vesc had saved him from downfall, or worse.

Lessaix, watchful as every man was who called Louis master, caught the change of tone and again looked up, but this time with something more than curiosity--an anxious wariness, a fear lest some current of events he failed to discover might catch him in its flood and drag him down with its undertow unawares.

"Monsieur de Commines," he said earnestly, laying a hand on Commines'

bridle-rein as they pa.s.sed at a foot's pace under the archway, "we have always been friends, always good comrades, is there--" he hesitated, uncertain how far he dared commit himself with his good friend and comrade, "is there anything wrong--astray--here, or at Amboise?"

"The Dauphin is well, and it is you who should have the news of Valmy.

I know nothing but that the King sent for me in haste. Some question of new taxation, perhaps; or it may be that England threatens to break the peace. What did Tristan say?"

"Nothing but what I tell you, but he laughed as he said it. If I were you, I would not delay, but would go to the King booted and spurred and dusty as you are."

Commines nodded. The advice was welcome, not only because it was meant kindly but for what it inferred. If disgrace threatened, Lessaix at least had no knowledge of it.

"The messenger who left two days ago, has he returned?"

"Not yet; there was another yesterday."

"I know. Who is on guard?"

"Beaufoy, and the pa.s.sword is Amboise."

Again Commines nodded. Beaufoy? That, too, was all in his favour.

Beaufoy was one of the younger men and not at all in the King's confidence. If Louis had any sinister coup in his mind, Leslie, or Saint-Pierre, or Lessaix himself would have been on duty.

With an alert, quick step, that had in it none of the stiffness or fatigue of a long night's ride, Commines mounted the stairs, answering friendly salutes at every turn. As at all times with the King in residence, the halls, corridors, and ante-rooms were like those of a barrack rather than of a royal chateau. Here and there he was challenged and his way barred by a lowered halbert, but it was more or less perfunctory, and at the pa.s.sword the way was cleared. That Beaufoy was unfeignedly glad to see him was another satisfaction. Ever since he had come in sight of Valmy an uncomfortable sense of friendlessness had haunted him with the unreasoning horror of a nightmare, and Beaufoy's welcoming smile was like the wakening into suns.h.i.+ne.

"_Dieu merci_! but I am thankful you have come," he said, but speaking softly so that no sounds pa.s.sed through the curtained door at his back.

"Four times within the hour the King has sent asking for you. It is like the cry of one of his own parrots, 'Commines! Where is Commines?'"

"Who have seen him this morning?"

"His two janitors of the eternal, if it be no sin to say so--the priest and Tristan. Fortune keep their last ministrations far from me!"

"Then the King is awake?" said Commines, unbuckling his sword-belt and handing it to Beaufoy.

"Awake, but in bed as a good Christian ought to be at this time of day.

Faith! Monsieur d'Argenton, you are in fortune's pocket; four times within the hour he has asked for you--four times, as I'm a starving sinner without a hope of breakfast."

"The better appet.i.te later!" Letting the curtains fall behind him Commines pushed the door open softly, closed it softly at his back, and advanced a step. But in spite of the caution of his quiet Louis heard him.

"What's that? Who's there? Beaufoy--Beaufoy----"

"Sire, it is I--Commines."

"Commines!" he repeated, the sharpness of his frightened voice dwindling breathlessly. "Commines, Philip, what--what news from Amboise?"

"The very best, Sire."

"The very best! Ah, G.o.d, my son! my son! The very best? Oh, France!

France! Philip, tell me--tell me your news. But is the door shut--shut fast?"

Through a prolonged life Commines never forgot that scene and never answered, never dared to answer, even in the secret of his own mind, the question, What news from Amboise was the very best?

A single shutter had been drawn half aside, and in the semi-obscurity the chalk-grey face of the King showed ghost-like against the vaulted darkness of the curtained bed. The fret of spirit through these ten or twelve days had sapped him, worn him like so many days of consuming fever. With one hand, the elbow propped upon the coverlid, he pushed the draperies aside, the other was fumbling with its finger-tips at his convulsed mouth. In impatience, or that he might breathe the freer, the ribbons which knotted his woollen nightrobe at the throat had been unfastened, leaving the lean, parchment-coloured chest and throat, corded with starting sinews, nakedly open. As he leant aslant, the curtains arching overhead, his eyes roundly open in the shadows of their sockets, he was like a corpse new risen from its tomb and full of horror from the dreams which had dogged its sleep.

"The very best! Tell me everything, Philip. Or, no!" The shaking hand ceased plucking at the lip, and the shrunken arm, bare to the elbow where the gown had slipped, was thrust out, beating the air as if to push aside some terror. "Tell me the one--the essential----G.o.d's name, man! can you not understand?"

"The best news possible, Sire." Commines' eyes were growing accustomed to the gloom and no detail escaped him. "The Dauphin is innocent, is loving--loyal."

The King shrank as if he had been struck and the cadaverous face grew yet more ghastly. s.h.i.+fting uneasily on his elbow he pushed the curtains wide apart, rasping the rings sharply on the rod, and drawing back his hand fumbled anew at his mouth.

"Loving, loyal--living." There was a perceptible pause, and the third word was harsher, drier than the others, and spoken with a jerk as if forced from the throat under compulsion. "You received my letter written two days ago?"

"Yes, Sire, and a second last night. Thank G.o.d, with all my heart, it----"