CHAPTER XIV
AN EARLY-MORNING VISIT
In a mood of contending thought, the free baron left his apartments thenext morning and traversed the tapestry-hung corridor leading towardthe servants' and soldiers' quarters. He congratulated himself thatthe incident of the past night had precipitated a favorable climax inone source of possible instability, and that the fool who had opposedhim had been summarily removed from the field of action. Confinedwithin the four walls of the castle dungeon, there was scant likelihoodhe would cause further trouble and annoyance. Francis' strong prisonhouse would effectively curb any more interference with, or dabblingin, the affairs of the master of the Vulture's Nest.
Following the exposure of the jester's weakness, his passion for hismistress, Francis, as Villot told Jacqueline, had immediately orderedthe fool into strictest confinement, the donjon of the ancientstructure. In that darkened cell he had rested over night and there hewould no doubt remain indefinitely. The king's guest had not beengreatly concerned with the jester's quixotic love for the princess,being little disposed to jealousy. He was no sighing solicitant forwoman's favor; higher allurements than woman's eyes, or admiration forhis inamorata, moved him--that edge of appetite for power, conquesthunger, an itching palm for a kingdom. His were the unscrupuloussoldier's rather than the eager true-love's dreams.
But to offset his satisfaction that the jester lay under restraint hetook in bad part the trooper's continued insensibility which deprivedhim of the much-desired information. When he had repaired to thebedside of the soldier the night before he had only his trip for hispains, as the man had again sunk into unconsciousness shortly beforehis coming. Thus the free baron was still in ignorance of the personto whom the fool had betrayed him. The fact that there still roamed anunfettered some one who possessed the knowledge of his identity causedhim to knit his brows and look glum.
These jesters were daring fellows; several of them had borne arms, as,for example, Clement Marot, who had been taken prisoner with Francis atthe battle of Pavia. Brusquet had been a hanger-on of the camp atAvignon; Villot, a Paris student; Caillette had received the spiritededucation of a soldier in the household of his benefactor, Diane'sfather. And as for the others--how varied had been theircareers!--lives of hazard and vicissitude; scapegraces andadventurers--existing literally by their wits.
To what careless or wanton head had his secret been confined? What usewould the rashling make of it? Daringly attempt to approach the thronewith this startling budget of information; impulsively seek theprincess; or whisper it over his cups among the _femmes de chambre_,laundresses or scullery maids?
"If the soldier should never speak?" thought the free baron out ofhumor, as he drew near the trooper's door. "What a nest of suspicionmay be growing! The wasps may be breeding. A whisper may become anominous threat. Is not the danger even greater than it was before,when I could place my hand on my foeman? The man must speak!--must!"
With a firm step the king's guest entered the chamber of the injuredsoldier. Upon a narrow bed lay the trooper, his mustachios appearingunusually red and fierce against his now yellow, washed-out complexion.As the free baron drew near the couch a tall figure arose from the sideof the bed.
"How is your patient, doctor?" said the visitor, shortly.
"Low," returned the other, laconically. This person wore a black gown;a pair of huge, broad-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of a thin,long nose, and in his claw-like fingers he held a vial, the contents ofwhich he stirred slowly. His aspect was that of living sorrow andmelancholy.
"Has he been conscious again?" asked the caller.
"He has e'en lain as you see him," replied the wearer of the black robe.
"Humph!" commented the free baron, attentively regarding the motionlessand silent figure.
"I urged upon him the impropriety of sending for you at thefestivities," resumed the man, sniffing at the vial, "but he becameexcited, swore he would leave the bed and brain me with mine own pestleif I ventured to hinder him. So I consented to convey his request."
"And when I arrived he was still as a log," supplemented the visitor,gloomily.
"Alas, yes; although I tried to keep him up, giving him specifics andcarminatives and bleeding him once."
"Bleeding him!" cried the false duke, angrily, glowering upon theimpassive and woebegone countenance of the medical attendant. "As ifhe had not bled enough from his hurts! Quack of an imposter! You havekilled him!"
"As for that," retorted the man in a sing-song voice, "no one can tellwhether a medicine be antidote or poison, unless as leechcraft andchirurgery point out--"
"His days are numbered," quoth the free baron to himself, staringdownward. But as he spoke he imagined he saw the red mustachios move,while one eye certainly glared with intelligent hatred upon the doctorand turned with anxious solicitude upon his master. The latterimmediately knelt by the bedside and laid his hand upon the alreadycold one of the soldier.
"Speak!" he said.
It was the command of an officer to a trooper, an authoritativebidding, and seemed to summon a last rallying energy from the failingheart. The man's gaze showed that he understood. From the freebaron's eye flashed a glance of savage power and force.
"Speak!" he repeated, cruelly, imperatively.
The mustachios quivered; the leader bent his head low, so low his facealmost touched the soldier's. A voice--was it a voice, so faint itsounded?--breathed a few words:
"The emperor--Spain--Caillette gone!"
Quickly the free baron sprang to his feet. The soldier seemed to fallasleep; his face calm and tranquil as a campaigner's before the bivouacfire at the hour of rest; the ugliness of his features glossed by anew-found dignity; only his mustachios strangely fierce, vivid,formidable, against the peace and pallor of his countenance. The leechlooked at him; stopped stirring the drug; leaned over him; straightenedhimself; took the vial once more from the table and threw the medicineout of the window. Then he methodically began gathering up bottles andother receptacles, which he placed neatly in a handbag. The free baronpassed through the door, leaving the cheerless practitioner stillgravely engaged in getting together his small belongings.
Soberly the king's guest walked down the echoing stairway out into theopen air of the court. The emperor in Spain? It seemed not unlikely.Charles spent much of his time in that country, nor was it improbablehe had gone there quietly, without flourish of trumpet, for somepurpose of his own. His ways were not always manifest; his personalityand mind-workings were characterized by concealment. If the emperorhad gone to Spain, a messenger, riding post-haste, could reach Charlesin time to enable that monarch to interpose in the nuptials andoverride the confidence the free baron had established for himself inthe court of Francis. An impediment offered by Charles would beequivalent to the abandonment of the entire marital enterprise.
Pausing before a massive arched doorway that led into a wing of thecastle where the free baron knew the jesters and certain of thegentlemen of the chamber lodged, the master of Hochfels, in answer tohis inquiries from a servant, learned that Caillette had not been inhis apartments since the day before; that he had ridden from thetournament, ostensibly to return to his rooms, but nothing had beenheard of him since. And the oddest part of it was, as the old womanvolubly explained when the free baron had pushed his way into thetastefully furnished chambers of the absent fool, the jester had beendesperately wounded; had groaned much when the duke's _plaisant_ hadassisted him from the field, and had been barely able to mount hishorse with the assistance of a squire.
Meditatively, while absorbing this prattle, the visitor gazed abouthim. The bed had been unslept in, and here and there were evidences ofa hasty and unpremeditated leave-taking. Upon an open desk lay ahalf-finished poem, obviously intended for no eyes save the writer's.Several dainty missives and a lace handkerchief, with a monogram,invited the unscrupulous and prying glance of the inquisitivenewsmonger.
But as these details offered n
othing additional to the one great germof information embodied in the loquacity of the narrator, the freebaron turned silently away, breaking the thread of her volubility byunceremoniously disappearing. No further doubt remained in his mindthat the duke's _plaisant_ had sent a comrade in motley to the emperor,and, as he would not have inspired a mere fool's errand, Charleswithout question was in Spain, several days nearer to the court of theFrench monarch than the princess' betrothed had presumed. Caillettehad now been four-and-twenty hours on his journey; it would be uselessto attempt pursuit, as the jester was a gallant horseman, trained tothe hunt. Such a man would be indefatigable in the saddle, and theother realized that, strive as he might, he could never overcome thehandicap.
Then of what avail was one fool in the dungeon, with a second--on theroad? Should he abandon his quest, be driven from his purpose by anest of motley meddlers? The idea never seriously entered his mind; hewould fight it out doggedly upon the field of deception. But how? Assurely as the sun rose and set, before many days had come and gone thehand of Charles would be thrust between him and his projects.Circumspect, suspicious, was the emperor; he would investigate, andinvestigation meant the downfall of the structure of falsehood that hadbeen erected with such skill and painstaking by the subtile architect.The maker had pride in his work, and, to see it totter and tumble, wasa misfortune he would avert with his life--or fall with it.
As he had no intention, however, of being buried beneath the wreckageof his endeavors, he sought to prop the weakening fabric of inventionand mendacity by new shuffling or pretense. Should a disgraced fool behis undoing? From that living entombment should his foeman in cap andbells yet indirectly summon the force to bend him to the dust, or sendhim to the hangman's knot?
Step by step the king's guest had left the palace behind him, until thesurrounding shrubbery shut it from view, but the path, sweeping onwardwith graceful curve, brought him suddenly to a beautiful chateau. Lostin thought, he gazed within the flowering ground, at the ornatearchitecture, the marble statues and the little lake, in whose pelluciddepths were mirrored a thousand beauties of that chosen spot--animproved Eden of the landscape gardener wherein resided the Countessd'Etampes.
"Why," thought the free baron, brightening abruptly, "that chance whichserved me last night, which forced the trooper to speak to-day, now hasled my stupid feet to the soothsayer."
Within a much begilt and gorgeous bower, he soon found himself awaitingpatiently the coming of the favorite. Upon a tiny chair of gold, toofragile for his bulk, the caller meanwhile inspected the ceilings andwalls of this dainty domicile, mechanically striving to decipher apainted allegory of Venus and Mars, or Helen and Paris, or the countessand Francis--he could not decide precisely its purport--when she whohad succeeded Chateaubriant floated into the room, dressed in somediaphanous stuff, a natural accompaniment to the other decorations; herdishabille a positive note of modesty amid the vivid colorings andgraceful poses of those tributes to love with which Primaticcio andother Italian artists had adorned this bower.
"How charming of you!" vaguely murmured the lady, sinking lightly upona settee. "What an early riser you must be, Duke."
Although it was then but two hours from noon, the visitor confessedhimself open to criticism in this regard. "And you, as well, Madam,"he added, "must plead guilty of the same fault. One can easily see youhave been out in the garden, and," he blundered on, "stolen the tintsfrom the roses."
Sharply the countess looked at him, but read only an honest attempt ata compliment.
"Why," she said, "you are becoming as great a flatterer as the rest ofthem. But confess now, you did not call to tell me that?"
The free baron looked from her through the folding doors into aretiring apartment, set with arabesque designs, and adorned with inlaidtables bearing statues of alabaster and enamel. Purposely he waitedbefore he replied, and was gratified to see how curiously she regardedhim when again his glance returned to her.
"No, Madam," he answered, taking credit to himself for his diplomacy,"it is not necessary that truth should be premeditated. I had aserious purpose in seeking you. Of all the court you alone can assistme; it is to you, only, I can look for aid. Knowing you generous, Ihave ventured to come."
"What a serious preamble," smiled the lady. "How grave must be thematter behind it!"
"The service I ask must be from the king," he went on, with seemingembarrassment.
"Then why not go to his Majesty?" she interrupted, with the suggestionof a frown.
"Because I should fail," he retorted, frankly. "The case is onewherein a messenger--like yourself--a friend--may I so call you?--wouldwin, while I, a rough soldier, should but make myself ridiculous, thelaughing stock of the court."
"You interest me," she laughed. "It must be a pressing emergency whenyou honor me--so early in the day."
"It is, Madam," he replied. "Very pressing to me. I want the weddingday changed."
"Changed!" she exclaimed, staring at him. "Deferred?"
"No; hastened, Madam. It is too long to wait. Go to the king; ask himto shorten the interval; to set the day sooner. I beg of you, Madam!"
His voice was hard and harsh. It seemed almost a demand he laid uponher. Had he been less blunt or coercive, had he employed a morehoneyed appeal, she would not have felt so moved in his behalf. In theatmosphere of adulation and blandishment to which she was accustomed,the free baron offered a marked contrast to the fine-spoken courtiers,and she leaned back and surveyed him as though he were a type of thelords of creation she had not yet investigated.
"Oh, this is delicious!" purred the countess. "Samson in the toils!His locks shorn by our fair Delilah!"
The thick-set soldier arose; muscular, well-knit, virile. "I fear I amdetaining you, Madam," he said, coldly.
"No; you're not," she answered, merrily. "Won't you be seated--please!I should have known," she could not resist adding, "that love is assensitive as impatient."
"I see, Madam, that you have your mind made up to refuse me, andtherefore--"
"Refuse," repeated the favorite, surveying this unique petitioner withrising amusement. "How do you read my mind so well?"
"Then you haven't determined to refuse me?" And he stepped toward herquickly.
"No, I haven't," she answered, throwing back her head, like a spoiledchild. "On the contrary, I will be your messenger, your advocate, andwill plead your cause, and will win your case, and the king shall say'yes,' and you shall have your princess whene'er you list. All this Ipromise faithfully to do and perform. And now, if you want to leave meso sullenly, go!"
But the free baron dropped awkwardly to his knee, took her little handin his massive one and raised it to his lips. "Madam, you overwhelmme," he murmured.
"That is all very well," she commented, reflectively, "but what aboutthe princess? What will she say when--"
"It shall be my task to persuade her. I am sure she will consent,"returned the suitor.
"Oh, you're sure of that?" observed the lady. "You have some faith inyour own powers of persuasion--in certain quarters!"
"Not in my powers, Madam, but in the princess' amiability."
"Perhaps you have spoken to her already?" asked the countess.
"No, Madam; without your assistance, of what use would be herwillingness?"
"What a responsibility you place on my weak shoulders!" cried theother. "However, I will not shift the burden. I will go to hisMajesty at once. And do you"--gaily--"go to the princess."
"At your command!" he replied, and took his departure.
Without the inclosure of the chateau gardens, the free baron began toreview the events of the morning with complacency and satisfaction,but, as he took up the threads of his case and examined them morenarrowly, his peace of mind was darkened with the shadow of a newdisquietude. What if Francis, less easily cozened than the countess,should find his suspicions aroused? What if the princess, who hadimmediately dismissed the fool's denouncement of the free baron
as anebullition of blind jealousy--after informing her betrothed of the madaccusation--should see in his request equivocal circumstances? Or, wasthe countess--like many of her sisters--given to second thoughts, andwould this after-reverie dampen the ardor of her impetuous promise?
"But," thought the king's guest, banishing these assailing doubts,"there never yet was victory assured before the battle had been fought,and, with renewed precautions, defeat is most unlikely."
By the time he had reached this conclusion he had arrived at theprincess' door.