CHAPTER LIV
THE CROSS UNDER THE APRON
The face of Gilles de Laval, Lord of Retz, had shone all day with anunholy lustre like that of iron in which the red heat yet struggleswith the black. In the Castle of Machecoul his familiars went about,wearing expressions upon their countenances in which disgust andexpectation were mingled with an overwhelming fear of the terriblebaron.
The usual signs of approaching high saturnalia at Machecoul had notbeen wanting.
Early in the morning La Meffraye had been seen hovering like anunclean bird of prey about the playing grounds of the village childrenat Saint Benoit on the edges of the forest. At nine the frightenedvillagers heard the howl of a day-hunting wolf, and one Louis Verger,a woodman who was cutting bark for the tanneries in the valley, saw ahuge grey wolf rush out and seize his little son, Jean, a boy of fiveyears old, who came bringing his father's breakfast. With a great cryhe hurried back to alarm the village, but when men gathered withscythes and rude weapons of the chase, the beast's track was lost inthe depth of the forest.
Little Jean Verger of Saint Benoit was never seen again, unless itwere he who, half hidden under the long black cloak of La Meffraye,was brought at noon by the private postern of the baron into theCastle of Machecoul.
So the men of Saint Benoit went not back to their work, but abodetogether all that day, sullen anger burning in their hearts. And onecalling himself the servant of the Bishop of Nantes went about amongthem, and his words were as knives, sharp and bitter beyond belief.And ever as he spoke the men turned them about till they facedMachecoul. Their lips moved like those of a Moslemite who says hisprayers towards Mecca. And the words they uttered were indeed prayersof solemnest import.
With his usual devotion at such seasons, Gilles de Retz had attendedservice thrice that day in his Chapel of the Holy Innocents. Hisbehaviour had been marked by intense devoutness. An excessivetenderness of conscience had characterised his confessions to PereBlouyn, his spiritual director-in-ordinary. He confessed as his mostflagrant sin that his thoughts were overmuch set on the vanities ofthe world, and that he had even sometimes been tempted of the devil toquestion the right of Holy Church herself to settle all questionsaccording to the will of her priests and prelates.
Whereupon Pere Blouyn, with suave correctness of judgment, had pointedout wherein his master erred; but also cautioned him against thatundue tenderness of conscience natural to one with his exaltedposition and high views of duty and life. Finally the marshal hadreceived absolution.
In the late afternoon the Lord of Retz commanded the fire to be laidready for lighting in his chamber aloft in the keep of Machecoul, andset himself down to listen to the singing of the choir, which, underthe guidance of Precentor Renouf, rehearsed for him the sweetest hymnsrecently written for the choir of the Holy Father at Rome. For therethe marshal's choir-master had been trained, and with its leader hestill kept up a correspondence upon kindred interests.
Gilles de Retz, as he sat under the late blooming roses in theafternoon sunshine of the autumn of western France, appeared to thecasual eye one of the most noble seigneurs and the most enlightened inthe world. He affected a costume already semiecclesiastic as a tokenof his ultimate intention to enter holy orders. It seemed indeed as ifthe great soldier who had ridden into Orleans with Dunois and the Maidhad begun to lay aside his earthly glories and seek the heavenly.
There, upon a chair set within the cloisters, in a place which thesunshine touched most lovingly and where it lingered longest, he sat,nodding his head to the sound of the sweet singing, and bowing low ateach mention of the name of Jesus (as the custom is)--a still,meditative, almost saintly man. Upon the lap of his furred robe (for,after all, it was a sunshine with a certain shrewd wintriness in it)lay an illuminated copy of the Holy Gospels; and sometimes as helistened to the choir-boys singing, he glanced therein, and read ofthe little children to whom belongs the kingdom. Upon occasion helifted the book also, and looked with pleasure at the pictured cherubswho cheered the way of the Master Jerusalemwards with strewn palmleaves and shouted hosannas.
And ever sweeter and sweeter fell the music upon his ear, tillsuddenly, like the silence after a thunderclap, the organ ceased toroll, the choir was silent, and out of the quiet rose a singlevoice--that of Laurence the Scot singing in a tenor of infinitesweetness the words of blessing:
"_Suffer the little children to come unto Me, And forbid them not; For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven._"
And as the boy's voice welled out, clear and thrilling as the song ofan upward pulsing lark, the tears ran down the face of Gilles de Retz.
God knows why. Perhaps it was some glint of his own innocentchildhood--some half-dimmed memory of his happily dead mother.Perhaps--but enough. Gilles de Laval de Retz went up the turret stairto find Poitou and Gilles de Sille on guard on either side the portalswhich closed his chamber.
"Is all ready?" he asked, though the tears were scarcely dry on hischeeks.
They bowed before him to the ground.
"All is ready, lord and master," they said as with one voice.
"And Prelati?"
"He is in waiting."
"And La Meffraye," he went on, "has she arrived?"
"La Meffraye has arrived," they said; "all goes fortunately."
"Good!" said Gilles de Retz, and shedding his furred monkish cloakcarelessly from off his shoulders, he went within.
Poitou and Gilles de Sille both reached to catch the mantle ere itfell. As they did so their hands met and touched. And at the meetingof each other's flesh they started and drew apart. Their eyesencountered furtively and were instantly withdrawn. Then, having hungup the cloak, with pallid countenances and lips white and tremulous,they slowly followed the marshal within.
* * * * *
"Sybilla de Thouars, as you are in my power, so I bid you work mywill!"
It was the deep, stern voice of the Marshal de Retz which spoke. TheLady Sybilla lay back in a great chair with her eyes closed, breathingslowly and gently through her parted lips. Messire Gilles stood beforeher with his hands joined palm to palm and his white fingertips almosttouching the girl's brow.
"Work my will and tell me what you see!"
Her hands were clasped under a light silken apron which she woredescending from her neck and caught in a loose loop behind her gown.The fingers were firmly netted one over the other and clutched betweenthem was a golden crucifix.
The girl was praying, as one prays who dares not speak.
"O God, who didst hang on this cross--keep now my soul. Condemn itafterwards, but help me to keep it this night. Deliver me--oh, deliverfrom the power of this man. Help me to lie. By Thy Son's blood, helpme to lie well this night."
"Where are the three men from the land of the Scots? Tell me what yousee. Tell me all," the marshal commanded, still standing before her inthe same posture.
Then the voice of the Lady Sybilla began to speak, low and even, andwith that strange halt at the end of the sentences. The Lord of Retznodded, well pleased when he heard the sound. It was the voice of theseeress. Oftentimes he had heard it before, and it had never deceivedhim.
"I see a boat on a stormy sea," she said; "there are three men in it.One is great of stature and very strong. The others are young men.They are trying to furl the sail. A gust strikes them. The boat heelsand goes over. I see them struggling in the pit of waters. There arecliffs white and crumbling above them. They are calling for help asthey cling to the boat. Now there is but one of them left. I see himtrying to climb up the slippery rocks. He falls back each time. He isweary with much buffeting. The waves break about him and suck himunder. Now I do not see the men any more, but I can hear the brokenmast of the boat knocking hollow and dull against the rocks. Some fewshreds of the sail are wrapped about it. But the three men are gone."
She ceased suddenly. Her lips stopped their curiously detachedutterance.
But under her breath and deep in her soul Sybilla de Thouar
s was stillpraying as before. And this which follows was her prayer:
"O God, his devil is surely departed from him. I thank thee, God oftruth, for helping me to lie."
"It is well," said Gilles de Retz, standing erect witha satisfied air. "All is well. The three Scots who sought my life aregone to their destruction. Now, Sybilla de Thouars, I bid you lookupon John, Duke of Brittany. Tell me what he does and says."
The level, impassive, detached voice began again. The hands claspedthe cross of gold more closely under the silk apron.
"I see a room done about with silver scallop shells and white-paintedermines. I see a fair, cunning-faced, soft man. Behind him stands onetall, spare, haggard--"
"Pierre de l'Hopital, President of Brittany--one that hates me," saidde Retz, grimly between his teeth. "I will meet my fingers about hisdog's throat yet. What of him?"
The Lady Sybilla, without a quiver of her shut eyelids took up thecue.
"He hath his finger on a parchment. He strives to point out somethingto the fair-haired man, but that other shakes his head and will notagree--"
The marshal suddenly grew intent, and even excited.
"Look closer, Sybilla--look closer. Can you not read that which iswritten on the parchment? I bid you, by all my power, to read it."
Then the countenance of the Lady Sybilla was altered. Striving andblank failure were alternately expressed upon it.
"I cannot! Oh, I cannot!" she cried.
"By my power, I bid you. By that which I will make you suffer if youfail me, I command you!" cried Gilles de Retz, bending himself towardsher and pressing his fingers against her brow so that the pointsdented her skin.
The tears sprang from underneath the dark lashes which lay sotremulously upon her white cheek.
"You make me do it! It hurts! I cannot!" she said in the pitiful voiceof a child.
"Read--or suffer the shame!" cried Gilles de Retz.
"I will--oh, I will! Be not angry," she answered pleadingly.
And underneath the silk the hands were grasped with a grip like thatof a vice upon the golden cross she had borrowed from the little Maidof Galloway.
"Read me that which is written on the paper," said the marshal.
The Lady Sybilla began to speak in a voice so low that Gilles de Retzhad to incline his ear very close to her lips to listen.
"Accusation against the great lord and most noble seigneur, Gilles deLaval de Retz, Sire de--"
"That is it--go on after the titles," said the eager voice of themarshal.
"Accused of having molested the messengers of his suzerain, thesupreme Duke John of Brittany, accused of ill intent against theState; accused of quartering the arms-royal upon his shield; called toanswer for these offences in the city of Nantes--and that is all."
She ended abruptly, like one who is tired and desires no more than tosleep.
Gilles de Retz drew a long sigh of relief.
"All is hid," he said; "these things are less than nothing. What doesthe Duke?"
"I cannot look again, I am weary," she said.
"Look again!" thundered her taskmaster.
"I see the fair-haired man take the parchment from the hand of thedark, stern man--"
"With whom I will reckon!"
"He tries to tear it in two, but cannot. He throws it angrily in thefire."
"My enemies are destroyed," said Gilles de Retz, "I thank thee, greatBarran-Sathanas. Thou hast indeed done that which thou didst promise.Henceforth I am thy servant and thy slave."
So saying, he took a glass of water from the table and dashed it onthe face of the Lady Sybilla.
"Awake," he said, "you have done well. Go now and repose that you mayagain be ready when I have need of you."
A flicker of conscious life appeared under the purple-veined eyelidsof the Lady Sybilla. Her long, dark lashes quivered, tried to rise,and again lay still.
The marshal took the illuminated copy of the Evangelists from thetable and fanned her with the thin parchment leaves.
"Awake!" he cried harshly and sternly.
The eyes of the girl slowly opened their pupils dark and dilated. Shecarried her hand to her head, but wearily, as if even that slightmovement pained her. The golden cross swung unseen under the silkenfolds of her apron.
"I am so tired--so tired," the girl murmured to herself as Gilles deRetz assisted her to rise. Then hastily handing her over to Poitou, hebade him conduct her to her own chamber.
But as she went through the door of the marshal's laboratory shelooked upon the floor and smiled almost joyously.
"His devil has indeed departed from him," she murmured to herself. "Ithank the God of Righteousness who this night hath enabled me tobaffle him with a woman's poor wit, and to lie to him that he may beled quick to destruction, and fall himself into the pit which he hathprepared for the feet of the innocent."