The Justice of the King Part 30

"Let it wait. The messenger of two days ago, has he come back?"

"Not yet. I asked Lessaix."

"Why?"

"Idle curiosity, Sire."

"Only fools are curious for nothing, and you are no fool, or were not when you left to go to Amboise." He paused, and in the silence Commines searched his wit for some plausible reason for the question he had put to Lessaix. But Louis probed no further. To hear the truth would have suited his purpose no better than it would have suited Commines to tell it.

CHAPTER XXVIII

PHILIP DE COMMINES, DIPLOMATIST

Commines broke the silence with a bold stroke. "He carried more letters than yours, Sire. A man named Saxe----"

"Saxe?" said Louis, drawling the word. "Who is Saxe?"

"An innkeeper in Amboise. Yesterday, an hour or two after I had received Your Majesty's letter, he came to me with a lying tale."

"What sort of reputation has this Saxe?"

"He is an innkeeper."

"An innkeeper? Innkeepers are decent folk. Travellers trust them nightly with their property, with their lives even. There is no discredit in innkeeping. You know, Monsieur d'Argenton, I do not hold that honesty and honour are the prerogatives of the n.o.bility. This Saxe, now, what was his tale?"

"One, Sire, that if true would have plunged all France into sorrow, and you into the deepest grief of all. He accused the Dauphin, a girl named Ursula de Vesc, and one Hugues, the Dauphin's valet, of plotting against Your Majesty."

"Philip, Philip, did I not say so? I thought you understood when you left Valmy. Did I not tell you to sift, and search, and find? Now comes this Saxe, a decent, reputable man----"

"Sire, Saxe lied."

"Lied?" Loosing the curtain Louis slipped back upon his pillows, huddled in a shapeless heap, his hands clenched upon his breast, his chin sunk upon their clasp so that the mouth was hidden. Only the eyes, dull but with a sombre glow in the dullness, seemed alive. "Who says Saxe lies?"

"All who heard him, Sire."

"What? There were witnesses?"

"There was need of witnesses for the sake of the publicity afterwards."

"Um! I do not say you were wrong, but it has turned out badly. Well?"

"Saxe proved too much. He swore the Dauphin quoted Molembrais' death as a reason why all France was----" Commines paused, fearing to offend by an unpalatable truth, but Louis ended the sentence for him.

"Why France was afraid. Well, that was probable. I see no lie in that."

"No, Sire; but Saxe fixed the day definitely, and Molembrais was alive at the time."

The King's hands slipped to his lap and he sank yet further into the pillows. He was breathing heavily, and from old experience Commines knew that he controlled his fury of anger only by an effort and because Coictier, his physician, had warned him that any outbreak of violent emotion might be fatal.

"Oh, the fool! the--the--the--I must be calm. May all the devils--no, I must be calm, I must control myself; my miserable, wretched heart--but to be cursed with such a fool, such a fool!"

"A scoundrel, Sire, rather than a fool; a villainous, lying scoundrel, who would traduce the Dauphin himself. Let us thank G.o.d he overreached himself and his lie is found out. Let us rejoice that the Prince your son is innocent of all blame, is loving and loyal. Let us publicly, promptly stamp Saxe for the liar he has proved himself to be, lest he malign the King himself. Sire, if I may speak freely, it is now the one course possible."

"Eh, Philip? What was that? Accuse the King himself? Accuse me--me?

Of what, Philip, of what? Where is this Saxe? In whose keeping?

Monsieur d'Argenton, have you been imprudent--careless? By G.o.d! you shall answer for it if this liar of a Saxe spits his poison at me--at me. No, Philip, I do not mean just that. Yes, we rejoice that he has lied, rejoice that the Dauphin is the loving and loyal son of his loving father. We owe you much, France owes you much for this news.

Yes, we rejoice--we rejoice--G.o.d knows how we rejoice! Philip, the cordial--there, on the table--that crystal flask. This joyful emotion is killing me."

Half filling a cup from the flask Louis had pointed at with a hand which faltered and fluttered in the air a moment, then fell lifeless on the bedclothing, Commines stooped over the King, holding it to his mouth. At first the lips sucked a few drops slowly, then more rapidly.

As the strength of the liquor reached the heart the labouring of the chest quieted, the leaden dullness of the cheeks took on some semblance of life, and the eyes brightened. The spasm had pa.s.sed, but for a moment it had seemed to Commines that Tristan's letter had, at worst, been prophetic. Motioning that he had drunk sufficient, Louis closed his eyes, laying his head back upon the pillows that he might rest the easier. But there was no rest for the busy brain. His eyes still closed he beckoned to Commines to stoop lower.

"Saxe--where is Saxe?"

"In safe keeping, Sire."

"Safe? He cannot talk?"

"Quite safe. Only La Mothe and Villon visit him.

"La Mothe? Faugh! another fool. There is no end to the breed. I think G.o.d made them as He made flies, to be the fret and plague of life. You vouched for the fool, Philip, remember that."

"And I still vouch for La Mothe," answered Commines. He felt that he was now safe, so safe that he might even venture to plead for Stephen.

"Consider, Sire, you who are so just, is it the boy's fault that we failed to discover what does not exist? Remember, Saxe lied, lied throughout, and has always lied." He paused, but if he expected to draw some further comment from the King, he failed. Louis lay silent, his face void of expression, and Commines went on: "That cruel jest the Provost-Marshal played upon us all cut me to the heart. Sire, Sire, how could you permit it? All night long I have ridden from Amboise in despair and bitter grief, despair for France hopelessly bereaved of so good and true a friend, so great a King. The awful shock----"

"There, there, no more of that," said Louis harshly. The reminder of the grim, inevitable certainty which had lately been so significantly near was more than he could bear. With an effort he struggled on his elbow, pus.h.i.+ng himself upright. "See! it was all a jest. I am strong--stronger than for years. Coictier says so; but he says, too, that I should rest, so I will lie back again. Yes, yes, a jest--and yet not all a jest." From under his drooped lids he looked up at Commines, watching him narrowly in the grey light. "Charles, what did Charles say? Charles, who is so loving and loyal. Laughed and thanked G.o.d--eh, Philip?"

"No, Sire, no. For the moment he seemed struck dumb, as we all were.

True grief is silent. When sorrow is at its sorest, words do not come easily, and never have I seen so bitter a sorrow as the Dauphin's last night." Which was true, for Hugues, who had loved him, lay dead. And Hugues' death gave Commines another inspiration, which, because of the end in view, he seized upon without a scruple. "But when at last words came they were worthy of him, worthy of his loyalty both as son and subject. 'I would be Dauphin again,' said he, 'if I could but bring him back.'"

Twisting himself round upon his pillows Louis caught Commines by the arm with a greater strength than had seemed possible in one so frail, caught him and held him, and if the hand shook, it was not from weakness.

"He said that? Charles said that? Who prompted him?"

"No one, Sire. He spoke his own thought frankly, and every word he said came from his heart."

"Philip, as G.o.d lives, is that true?"

"As G.o.d lives," said Commines deliberately, "these were the Dauphin's very words, and he spoke them from his heart. No one prompted him, no one led him; they were his own thoughts, his only."

With a deep breath which might have been a sigh or a moan Louis lay back. His eyes were closed, but his whole air had changed: the lips were firm-pressed in a thin line, the fingers no longer plucked at this or that in a nervous attempt to hide their nervousness by a pretence at animation, and from long experience Commines knew that he had forced himself to some unusual effort at concentrated thought. But the outcome of the thought surprised and disappointed the watcher.

"La Mothe?"

"Sire, I vouch for La Mothe."