Henry of Guise Volume Iii Part 11

"Are you there?" said the voice of Charles of Montsoreau from below.

"Yes," she said. "How shall I descend?"

But, even as she spoke, a figure glided out from the shrubs beside her, and, uttering a low cry, Marie de Clairvaut perceived the girl who had given admittance to the supposed friar on the preceding evening. The sound which she had uttered had instantly caught the attention of Charles of Montsoreau; and, springing up the bank, he found the girl with her hand clasped round the Lady's wrist, but holding up the other hand as if enjoining silence.

"You are unkind," said the girl, in a low tone, "when I was kind to you. I have already been bitterly reproached for letting in the monk; and now, if you fly, what will become of me? They will say that I did it."

"Fear not, fear not!" answered Charles of Montsoreau, "and attempt not to detain the Lady, my good girl; for go she must and will; and, as there is no other boat here, any attempt to pursue us will be vain.

All you can do by endeavouring to detain her will be useless, and but injure yourself. Here is money for you," he continued.

The girl put it away with her hand, replying, "I want no money, sir; but if she goes, I will go with her. I will not stay here in the power of that dark Abbe. I will come with her if she will let me."

"Willingly, willingly," replied Charles of Montsoreau; "but say not a word, and come quick; and remember, till the Lady is safe under the protection of the Duke of Guise, we pause for no one, so there must be no pretences of fatigue."

"Fear not," replied the girl; "I can bear more than she can. But how can we get down the bank?"

"There is a short ladder," said the young Count. "Come quick!" And in a moment after he aided Marie de Clairvaut to descend. It was all done in a moment. The girl followed the Lady, the ladder was taken into the boat, and, with joy and satisfaction beyond all conception, the fair girl, whose days had lately pa.s.sed so sorrowfully, felt the little vessel fluctuating beneath her feet as she seated herself in it; while Charles of Montsoreau, with a man who had been waiting therein, pushed the boat away from the bank, and a boy seated at the stern guided it into the deeper parts of the water. There were but a few words spoken by any one.

"You are sure, Ignati," said the young Count, "that you marked every rock and shoal as you came up?"

"Quite sure," replied the boy; and, leaving the current, which was rapid and powerful, to bear them on, without disturbing its smooth surface by the splash of oars, they glided along quickly down the stream: now in moonlight, now in shade, with the high rocky banks and promontories filled with holes and caverns, which border the valley of the Charente, now seen in bright clear light--now rising up against the silvery sky wrapped in deep shadows and obscurity.

The hand of Marie de Clairvaut lay clasped in that of her lover as they sat side by side. Their hearts were full, though their lips were silent; and the eyes of both were raised towards the sky, filled with thankfulness, and hope, and trust. Thus they went on for about two hours, saying but little, and that little in low and murmured tones; but as they went, Charles of Montsoreau found occasion to tell her that he had luckily effected a new arrangement, and that he had procured means of landing and proceeding on their journey before they reached Jarnac.

At length, after a voyage of about two hours and a half, as the moon was beginning to decline, a rus.h.i.+ng sound was heard over the bow of the boat, and the waters of the river were seen fretting against a d.y.k.e, which had been built to confine it in its proper course. A couple of houses, sheltered by two sloping hills which swept down to the very bank of the river, appeared upon the left hand, with what seemed a number of living objects gathered about them.

Marie de Clairvaut turned her eyes to Charles of Montsoreau with some apprehension, but he pressed her hand tenderly, saying, "Fear not, fear not. They are my own people, waiting for our arrival."

The boy guided the boat safely up to the landing place, and the question, "Who comes here?" was demanded, as if at a regular warlike post.

"A friend," replied Charles of Montsoreau, and gave the word Chateau Thierry. The man grounded his arms, and Charles of Montsoreau, springing to the sh.o.r.e, led Marie de Clairvaut and the girl who had followed her, to one of the houses, where every thing seemed prepared for their reception.

He paused for a moment to gaze upon the face of the girl who had accompanied them, and to ask her name, which he found to be Louise.

The countenance was good, and frank, and gentle, and the natural spirit of physiognomy, which is in every one's brain, gave a pleasant reading of that face.

"Listen to me," he said, speaking to her. "As you have preferred the service of this lady to remaining behind where I found you, depend upon it every attention and devotion that you show to her by the way will be taken note of and well rewarded; and do not forget, that, if possible, you are never to leave her, but to do every thing in your power, under all circ.u.mstances, to enable her to reach the Duke of Guise, who is her near relation, and whom we expect to find at Blois or Chartres."

"Is she so great a lady?" said the girl.

"She is the niece and ward of the great Duke of Guise," replied Charles of Montsoreau; "and the time is rapidly coming when those who have injured and offended her will be severely punished, and those who have a.s.sisted and befriended her rewarded far beyond their expectations."

Having said this, he left them to see that all was properly prepared; and in a few minutes more Marie de Clairvaut, with the girl who accompanied her, were placed in one of the rude but roomy chaises of the country, and with six horses to drag it through the heavy roads, was rolling away in the direction of Limoges, followed by Charles of Montsoreau, and a party of five or six servants on horseback.

CHAP. VIII.

The autumn was far spent, an early winter had set intensely in, frost once more covered the ground, the last leaves had fallen from the trees, and looking round upon the thick tapestry that covered the walls, and the immense logs of wood which blazed in the deep arched fire-place, the tenant of a splendid room in the old chateau of Blois smiled when he thought of where he had last pa.s.sed a similar frosty day: in arms in the open field against the enemies of the land.

Now, however, the appearance of Henry Duke of Guise was in some degree different from that which it had ever been before. Loaded with honours by the King, adored by the people, gratified in every demand, ruling almost despotically the state, the height to which he had risen had impressed itself upon his countenance, and added to that expression of conscious power, which his face had ever borne, the expression also of conscious success. His dress, too, was more splendid than it had ever been--not that he had adopted the silken refinements of Epernon or Joyeuse; not that his person was loaded with jewels, or that his ear hung with rubies: but every thing that he wore was of the richest and most costly kind; and as he now stood ready dressed to go down to hold the table of grand master of the King's household and generalissimo of the armies of France, at which Henry himself, and all the great n.o.bles of the Court were that day to be present, it would have been difficult, throughout all Europe--nay, it would have been impossible, to match his princely look, or to excel in taste his rich apparel. One single star gleamed upon his bosom, the collars of manifold orders hung around his neck, the hilt of his sword was of ma.s.sy gold, and thin lines of gold embroidery marked the slas.h.i.+ngs of his green velvet doublet, where, slightly opening as he moved with easy dignity, the pure white lining below appeared from time to time. There were no jewels on his hands, but one large signet ring. He wore no hat, and the brown hair curling round his forehead was the only ornament that decked his head. There was a jewel in his belt, indeed, a single jewel of high price, and the pommel of the dagger, which lay across his loins, was a single emerald.

From time to time, while he had been dressing;--indeed we might say almost every minute, some messenger, or page, or courier appeared, bearing him news or letters from the various provinces of the realm.

His secretary stood beside him, but every line was read first by the Duke's own eye; and then he handed them to Pericard, either with some brief comment or some direction in regard to the answer to be returned.

"Ha!" he said, smiling, after reading one epistle. "There is a curious letter from good Hubert de Vins. Hubert loves me as his own brother, and yet to read that letter one would think he respected me but little. There is no bad name he does not give me down to Maheutre and Huguenot, because I trust in King Henry, who, he says, is as treacherous as a Picardy cat."

"I think with Monsieur de Vins, your Highness," said Pericard, who had been reading the letter while the Duke spoke, "'that trusting in the semblances of the King's love, you expose your life every hour as if it were neither a value to yourself or your friends or your country.'"

"You mistake, Pericard," replied the Duke; "I trust not in Henry's love at all. Whether it be feigned or whether it be real for the time, matters not a straw. If it be feigned, it does me no harm, but, on the contrary, daily gives me greater power; if it be true, I receive the benefits thereof for the time, well knowing that to-morrow or the next day it will change completely into hate. I'll tell you what it is I trust to, Pericard: not to the King's love, but to his good sense; for were I dead to-morrow he could be ten times worse than he is to day. I am he who stands between him and destruction!--Ah! who have we hear?"

he continued, as the door again opened. "From Provence;"--and taking the letter from the hand of a dusty courier, he read it over attentively and threw it to Pericard, saying, "That is good news surely, Pericard! In the room of the two deputies who were so difficult to manage that we were obliged to stuff them with carp and truffles till they both fell sick and fled, we have got two steady Leaguers not to be shaken by threats or moved by choice meats. If we could dislodge that viper, Epernon, from Angoumois, all would be clear before us till we reached the confines of Henry of Navarre. But Epernon is raising troops, I hear----" he added, although he saw that some one had entered the room and was approaching him.

"Which he will soon disband. Monsieur de Guise," said the stranger, "as I am charged by the King to set out to-morrow morning to give the Duke his commands to that effect."

"By my life, Monsieur Miron," said the Duke, "you will have soon to lay aside altogether the exercise of your esculapean powers, at least upon his Majesty's person. You show yourself so skilful in healing the wounds of the state, and curing the sickness of the body politic."

"Your Highness is good unto me," replied the King's physician, looking humble; "but I came to pay my respects to your Highness now, not having seen you since the exile of Villeroy, Pinar and the rest. I hope your Highness does not think that their disgrace is likely to affect your interests at court."

"Not in the least, Monsieur Miron," replied the Duke: "far from it. I seek to exercise no influence amongst the King's ministers. Those who are good for the state are good to me. On the King's good feeling and good sense I firmly rely."

"Some body," said the physician, "informed his Majesty that you were grieved at the dismissal of Villeroy. I may tell him, then, that such is not the case, for he was pained to hear it."

"Tell him so, I beseech you," replied the Duke. "I know the King would not wish without some good reason to dismiss any one that I especially esteemed."

"Most a.s.suredly," replied Miron; "but might I give your Highness one slight warning as a friend, and a most sincere one?"

"Most gratefully will it be received," replied the Duke. "Speak freely, my learned sir," he continued, seeing that the physician had fixed his eyes upon Pericard. "Our good Pericard is as silent as your friend death, Monsieur Miron, who tells no tales you know to those on this side the grave, whatever he may do to those on the other. What is it you have to say?"

"It is this, my Lord," replied Miron. "I should tell you first, that I do believe the King sincerely loves you, and that if you deal but politicly with his humours, there is none in whom he will place such confidence. But my good lord the King's temperament is a strange one.--I speak as a physician. It is indeed injured by some excesses, but though by nature full of the mercurial character, there was always much of the saturnine in it. The balance between these has been overthrown by many circ.u.mstances, and in certain conjunctions of the planets he is strangely and variably affected. Such also is the case in the time of these hard frosts. In soft and genial weather he may be easily dealt with: you will then find him but as a thing of wax in your hands. But I beseech you, my Lord, remember that, when the pores of the earth are shut up and filled with this black and acrid frost, 'tis then that all the humours of the body are likewise congealed, and Henry is at that time filled with black and terrible vapours, which are dangerous not alone to himself, but to every one who approaches him unprepared. I say it advisedly, my good Lord. Any one who urges the King far, at such moments, is in peril of his life.[6] But I must say no more, for here comes a messenger."

[Footnote 6: Such, and in such terms, strange and fantastic as they may seem, was undoubtedly the warning given by the physician Miron to the Duke of Guise not many days before the catastrophe of Blois.]

"I thank you most sincerely," replied the Duke. "Who is this packet from? I must speedily descend to supper."

"From his Highness of Mayenne," replied the messenger. "He said it was matter of life and death, and commanded me to ride post haste."

"Ha!" said Guise, as he opened the packets and saw the contents. "Our cousin of Savoy in arms in France. This shows the need of unanimity amongst ourselves. He shall find himself mistaken, however, if he thinks Guise will forget his duty to his country. Write Charles of Mayenne word, Pericard, to bring his troops into such a position that they can act against Savoy at a moment's notice, and tell him that he shall have orders to do so ere three days be over. Send, too, to Rouen, thanking them for their attachment; and see that our agent at the court of Rome have full instructions regarding the Count de Soissons. Ha! here comes our brother of the church. My good Lord Cardinal, we will descend together. We shall scarcely reach the hall before the King arrives."

The person who entered bore a strong family likeness to the Duke, but was neither so tall nor so powerful in person. He was dressed in the crimson robes of a prince of the church of Rome; and his countenance, which had much shrewdness and some dignity, accorded well with his station, Miron had retired quietly while the Duke spoke; a sign had dismissed the messenger from the Duke of Mayenne, and none but Pericard remained in the room. But yet the Cardinal spoke in a whisper to his brother, who merely smiled, replying, "Come, come; we have no time now to jest." And thus saying, he led the way down to a hall, where supper was prepared at the table of the Grand Master for all the most distinguished guests then resident at Blois.

The table was covered, as was then much the custom, with jewelled plate of many kinds, and various fanciful devices. The room was in a blaze of light, and all the guests, but the King and his particular train, had already arrived. They were standing back from the table, and gathered together in the magnificent dresses of that period, formed splendid groups in different parts of the chamber, while sewers and other attendants, hurrying backwards and forwards, brought in the various dishes, and set them in their regular order.