CHAPTER XXV
IN THE TENT OF THE EMPEROR
On an eminence commanding the surrounding country an unwonted spectaclethat same day had presented itself to the astonished gaze of theworkers in a neighboring vineyard. Gleaming with crimson and gold, anumber of tents had appeared as by magic on the mount, the temporaryencampment of a rich and numerous cavalcade. But it was not thesplendent aspect of this unexpected bivouac itself so much as thecolors and designs of the flags and banners floating above whicharoused the wonderment of the tillers of the soil. Here gleamed nosalamander, with its legend, "In fire am I nourished; in fire I die,"but the less magniloquent and more dreaded coat of arms of the emperor,the royal rival and one-time jailer of the proud French monarch.
The sunlight, reflected from the golden tassels and ornamentation ofthe tents, threw a flaming menace over the valley, and the peasants insubdued tones talked of the sudden coming of the dreaded foeman. _Merede Dieu_! what did it portend! _Ventre Saint Gris_! were they going tostorm the fortresses of the king? Was an army following thisformidable retinue of nobles, soldiers and servants?
Above, on the mount, as the sun climbed toward the meridian, was seatedin one of the largest of the tents a man of resolute and stern mien whogazed reflectively toward the fertile plain outstretching in thedistance. His grizzled hair told of the after-prime of life; he wassimply, even plainly, dressed, although his garments were of finematerial, and from his neck hung a heavy chain of gold. His doubletlacked the prolonged and grotesque peak, and was less puffed, slashedand banded than the coat worn by those gallants of the day who lookedto Italy for the latest extravagances of fashion. His hat, lyingcarelessly on the table at his elbow, was devoid of aigrette, jewels orplume; a head-covering for the campaign rather than the court. Withinreach of his hand stood a heavy golden goblet of massive Germanworkmanship, the solid character of which contrasted with the drinkingvessels after Cellini's patterns affected by Francis. This he raisedto his lips, drank deeply, replaced the goblet on the table, and saidas much to himself as to those around him:
"A fair land, this of our brother! Small wonder he likes to play thehost, even to his enemies. We may conquer him on the ensanguinedfield, but he conquers us--or Henry of England!--on a field of cloth ofgold!"
"But for your Majesty to put yourself in the king's power?" ventured acourtier, who wore a begemmed torsade and a cloak of Genoa velvet.
The monarch leaned back in his great chair and his face grew harsh. Ashe sat there musing, his virility and iron figure gave him rather theappearance of the soldier than the emperor. This impression hissurroundings further emphasized, for the walls of the tent werecovered, not with the gorgeous-colored Gobelins of the pleasure-lovingFrench, but with severe and stately tapestries from his nativeFlanders, depicting in somber shades various scenes of martial triumph.When he raised his head he cast a look of ominous displeasure upon thelast speaker.
"Had he not once the English king beneath his roof?" answered themonarch. "At Amboise, where we visited Francis some years ago, wasthere any restraint put upon us?"
A grim smile crossed his features at the recollection of the gorgeous_fetes_ in his honor on that other occasion. Perhaps, too, he thoughtof the excitements held out by those servitors of the king, the frailand fair ladies of the court, for he added:
"_Saints et saintes_! 'twas a palace of pleasure, not a dungeon, heprepared for us. But enough of this! It is time we rode on. Let thecavalcade, with the tents, follow behind."
"Think you, your Majesty, if the princess be not yet married to thebastard, she is like to espouse the true duke?" asked the courtier, asa soldier left the tent to carry out the orders of the emperor.
Charles arose abruptly. "Of a surety! He must have loved her greatly,else--"
The clattering of hoofs, drawing nearer, interrupted the emperor'sruminations, and, wheeling sharply, he gazed without. A band ofhorsemen appeared on the mount.
"The outriders!" he said in surprise. "Why have they returned?"
"They are bearing some one on a litter," answered the attendant noble,"and--_cap de Dieu_--there is a woman with them!"
As the troops approached, the emperor strode forward. Out in thesunlight his face appeared older, more careworn, but although it costhim an effort to walk, his step was unfaltering. A moment he surveyedthe men with peremptory glance, and then, casting one look at theirburden, uttered an exclamation. His surprise, however, was of shortduration. At once his features resumed their customary rigor.
"What does this mean?" he asked, shortly, addressing the leader of thesoldiers. "Is he badly hurt?"
"That I can not say, your Majesty," replied the man. "A horse fellupon his leg, which is badly bruised, and there may be other injuries."
"Where did you find him?" continued the emperor, still regarding thepale face of the _plaisant_.
"Not far from here, your Majesty. The woman was sitting in the road,holding his head."
Charles' glance swiftly sought the jestress and then returned.
"They were being pursued, for shortly after we came a squad of menappeared from the opposite direction. When they saw us they fled. Thewoman insisted upon being brought here, when she learned of yourMajesty's presence."
"Take the injured man into the next tent and see he has every care. Asfor the woman, I will speak with her alone."
"Your Majesty's orders to break camp--" began the courtier.
"We have changed our mind and will remain here for the present." Andthe emperor, without further words, turned and reentered his pavilion.
With his hands behind him, he stood thoughtfully leaning against atable; his countenance had become somber, morose. The twinges of painfrom a disease which afterward caused him to abdicate the throne andrelinquish all power and worldly vanities for a life of religiousmeditation began to make themselves felt. Love--ambition--what werethey? The perishable flesh--was it the all-in-all? Those sudden pangsof the body seemed like over-forward confessors abruptly admonishinghim.
The jester and the woman--Francis and the princess--what had theybecome to him now? Figures in an intangible, illusory dream. Deeplyreligious, repentant, perhaps, for past misdeeds at such a moment asthis, the soldier-emperor stood before a silver crucifix.
"_Credo in sanctum_," he murmured, with contrite glance. "Howrepugnant is human glory! to conquer the earth; to barter what isimmortal! _Carnis resurrectionem--_"
A shadow fell across the tapestry, and glancing from the blessedsymbol, he saw before him, kneeling on the rug, the figure of a woman.For her it was an inauspicious interruption. With almost a frown,Charles, recalled from an absorbing period of oblation andself-examination, surveyed the young girl. The reflection of darkcolors from the hangings and tapestries softened the pallor of herface; her hair hung about her in disorder; her figure, though meanlygarbed, was replete with youth and grace. Silent she continued in theposture of a suppliant.
"Well?" said the monarch finally, in a harsh voice.
Slowly she lifted her head; her dark eyes rested on the rulersteadfastly, fearlessly. "Your Majesty commanded my presence," sheanswered.
"Who are you?" he asked coldly.
"I am called Jacqueline; my father was the Constable of Dubrois."
Incredulity replaced every other emotion on the emperor's features,and, approaching her, he gazed attentively into the countenance she sofrankly uplifted. With calmness she bore that piercing scrutiny; hisdark, troubled soul, looking out of his keen gray eyes, met an equallylofty spirit.
"The Constable of Dubrois! You, his daughter!" he repeated.
His thoughts swiftly pierced the shadows of the past; that umbrageouspast, darkened with war and carnage; the memory of triumphs; thebitterness of defeats! And studying her eyes, her face, as in a visionhe recalled the features, the bearing, of him who had held himself anequal to his old rival, Francis. A red spot rose to his cheek as hereviewed the martial, combative days; the game of arms he had playe
d sooften with Francis--and won! Not always by daring, or courage--ratherby sagacity, clear-headedness, more potent than any other force!
But a pang of bodily suffering reminded him of the present and itsills, and the vainglory of brief exultation faded as quickly as it hadassailed him; involuntarily his glance sought the sacred emblem ofintercession. When he regarded her once more his face had resumed itssevere, uncompromising aspect.
"The constable was a proud, haughty man," he said, brusquely. "Yea,over-proud, in fact. You know why he fled to me?"
"Yes, Sire," she answered, flushing resentfully.
"To persuade me to espouse his cause against the king. Many times havemy good brother, Francis, and myself gone to war," he added,reflectively and not without a certain complacency, "but then were weengaged in troubles in the east; to keep the Mohammedans fromoverrunning our Christian land. How could I oblige the constable byfighting the heathen and the believers in the gospel in one breath?Your father--for I am ready to believe him such, by the evidence ofyour face, and, especially, your eyes--accused me of little faith. ButI had either to desert him, or Europe. His cause was lost; 'twas thefortune of war; the fate of great families becomes subservient to thatof nations."
He spoke as if rather presenting the case to himself than to her; asthough he sought to analyze his own action through the medium of timeand the trend of larger events. Attentively she watched him with deep,serious eyes, and, catching her almost accusing look and knowing how,perhaps, he shuffled with history, his brow grew darker; he was visiblyannoyed at her--his own conscience--he knew not what!
"I did not complain, your Majesty," she said proudly.
Her answer surprised him. Again he observed her attire; the pallor ofher face; the dark circles beneath her eyes. Grimly he marked thesesigns of poverty; those marks of the weariness and privations she hadundergone.
"Was it not your intention to seek me? To beg an asylum, perhaps?" hewent on, less sternly.
"Not to beg, your Majesty! To ask, yes! But now--not that!"
"_Vrai Dieu_!" muttered Charles. "There is the father over again! Itis strange this maiden clothed almost in rags should claim suchillustrious parentage," he continued to himself, as he walkedrestlessly to and fro. "It is more strange I ask no other proofs thanherself--the evidence of my eyes! Where did you come from?" he added,aloud, pausing before her. "The court of Francis?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Why did you leave the king?"
"Why--because--" Her hands clenched. The gray eyes continued to probeher. "Because I hate him!"
The emperor's face relaxed; a gleam of humor shone in his glance."Hate him whom so many of your sex love?" he replied.
Through her tresses he saw her face turn red; passionately she arose."With your Majesty's permission, I will go."
"Go?" he said abruptly. "Where can you go? You are somewhat quick oftemper, like--. Have I refused you aught? I could not serve yourfather," he continued, taking her hand, and, not ungently, detainingher, "but I may welcome his daughter--though necessity, the ruler ofkings, made me helpless in his behalf!"
As in a flash her resentment faded. Half-paternally, half-severely, hesurveyed her.
"Sit down here," he went on, indicating a low stool. "You are wearyand need refreshment."
Silent she obeyed, and the emperor, touching a bell, gave a low commandto the servitor who appeared. In a few moments meat, fruits and winewere set before her, and Charles, from his point of vantage--no throneof gold, but a chair lined with Cordovan leather, watched her partake.The pains had again left him; the monk gave way to the ruler; hethought of no more phrases of the Credo, but with impassive facelistened to her story, or as much as she cared to relate. When she hadfinished, for some time he offered no comment.
"A strange tale," he said finally. "But what will our nobles do whenladies take mere fools for knight-errants?"
"He is no mere fool!" she spoke up, impulsively.
The emperor shot a quick look at her from beneath his lowering brows.
"I mean--he is brave--and has protected me many times," she explainedin some confusion.
"And so you, knowing what you were, remained--with a poor jester--aclown--rather than leave him to his fate?" continued Charles,inexorably, recalling the words of the outriders.
Her face became paler, but she held her head more proudly; the spiritof the jestress sprang to her lips, "It is only kings, Sire, who fearto cling to a forlorn cause!"
His eyes grew dark and gloomy; morosely he bent his gaze upon her. Noone had ever before dared to speak to him like that, for Charles had nolove for jesters, and kept none in his court. Unsparing, iron-handed,he had gone his way. But, perhaps, in her very fearlessness herecognized a touch of his own inflexible nature. At any rate, hissternness soon gave way to an expression of melancholy.
"God alone knows the hearts of monarchs!" he said, somberly, anddirected his glance toward the crucifix.
Moved by his unexpected leniency and the aspect of his cheerlessness,she immediately repented of her response. He looked so old, andmelancholy, this great monarch. When he again turned to her his faceand manner expressed no further cognizance of her reply.
"You need rest," he said, "and shall have a tent to yourself. Now go!"he continued, placing his hand for a moment, not unkindly, on her head."I shall give orders for your entertainment. It will be roughhospitality, but--you are used to that. I am not sorry, child, youhate our brother Francis, if it has driven you to our court."