Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XIII.

  DIPLOMACY.

  Where the old wall of Paris, of which no vestige remains, ran down onthe east to the north bank of the river, the space in the anglebetween the Seine and the ramparts beyond the Rue St. Pol wore at thisdate an aspect typical of the troubles of the time. Along thewaterside the gloomy old Palace of St. Pol, once the residence of themad King Charles the Sixth--and his wife, the abandoned Isabeau deBaviere--sprawled its maze of mouldering courts and ruined galleries,a dreary monument of the Gothic days which were passing from France.Its spacious curtilage and dark pleasaunces covered all the groundbetween the river and the Rue St. Antoine; and north of this, underthe shadow of the eight great towers of the Bastille, which looked,four outward to check the stranger, four inward to bridle the town, asecond palace, beginning where St. Pol ended, carried the realm ofdecay to the city wall.

  This second palace was the Hotel des Tournelles, a fantastic medley ofturrets, spires, and gables, that equally with its neighbour recalledthe days of the English domination; it had been the abode of theRegent Bedford. From his time it had remained for a hundred years thetown residence of the kings of France; but the death of Henry II.,slain in its lists by the lance of the same Montgomery who was thisday fleeing for his life before Guise, had given his widow a distastefor it. Catherine de Medicis, her sons, and the Court had abandonedit; already its gardens lay a tangled wilderness, its roofs let in therain, rats played where kings had slept; and in "our palace of theTournelles" reigned only silence and decay. Unless, indeed, as waswhispered abroad, the grim shade of the eleventh Louis sometimeswalked in its desolate precincts.

  In the innermost angle between the ramparts and the river, shut offfrom the rest of Paris by the decaying courts and enceintes of theseforsaken palaces, stood the Arsenal. Destroyed in great part by theexplosion of a powder-mill a few years earlier, it was in the mainnew; and by reason of its river frontage, which terminated at theruined tower of Billy, and its proximity to the Bastille, it wasesteemed one of the keys of Paris. It was the appanage of the Masterof the Ordnance, and within its walls M. de Biron, a Huguenot inpolitics, if not in creed, who held the office at this time, hadsecured himself on the first alarm. During the day he had admitted anumber of refugees, whose courage or good luck had led them to hisgate; and as night fell--on such a carnage as the hapless city had notbeheld since the great slaughter of the Armagnacs, one hundred andfifty-four years earlier--the glow of his matches through the dusk,and the sullen tramp of his watchmen as they paced the walls,indicated that there was still one place in Paris where the King'swill did not run.

  In comparison of the disorder which prevailed in the city, a deadlyquiet reigned here; a stillness so chill that a timid man must havestood and hesitated to approach. But a stranger who about nightfallrode down the street towards the entrance, a single footman running athis stirrup, only nodded a stern approval of the preparations. As hedrew nearer he cast an attentive eye this way and that; nor stayeduntil a hoarse challenge brought him up when he had come within sixhorses' lengths of the Arsenal gate. He reined up then, and raisinghis voice, asked in clear tones for M. de Biron.

  "Go," he continued boldly, "tell the Grand Master that one from theKing is here, and would speak with him."

  "From the King of France?" the officer on the gate asked.

  "Surely! Is there more than one King in France?"

  A curse and a bitter cry of "King? King Herod!" were followed by amuttered discussion that, in the ears of one of the two who waited inthe gloom below, boded little good. The two could descry figuresmoving to and fro before the faint red light of the smoulderingmatches; and presently a man on the gate kindled a torch, and held itso as to fling its light downward. The stranger's attendant coweredbehind the horse. "Have a care, my lord!" he whispered. "They areaiming at us!"

  If so the rider's bold front and unmoved demeanour gave them pause.Presently, "I will send for the Grand Master" the man who had spokenbefore announced. "In whose name, monsieur?"

  "No matter," the stranger answered. "Say, one from the King."

  "You are alone?"

  "I shall enter alone."

  The assurance seemed to be satisfactory, for the man answered "Good!"and after a brief delay a wicket in the gate was opened, theportcullis creaked upward, and a plank was thrust across the ditch.The horseman waited until the preparations were complete; then he slidto the ground, threw his rein to the servant, and boldly walkedacross. In an instant he left behind him the dark street, the river,and the sounds of outrage, which the night breeze bore from thefarther bank, and found himself within the vaulted gateway, in abright glare of light, the centre of a ring of gleaming eyes and angryfaces.

  The light blinded him for a few seconds; but the guards, on theirside, were in no better case. For the stranger was masked; and intheir ignorance who it was looked at them through the slits in theblack velvet they stared, disconcerted, and at a loss. There were somethere with naked weapons in their hands who would have struck himthrough had they known who he was; and more who would have stood asidewhile the deed was done. But the uncertainty--that and the maskedman's tone paralysed them. For they reflected that he might be anyone. Conde, indeed, stood too small, but Navarre, if he lived, mightfill that cloak; or Guise, or Anjou, or the King himself. And whilesome would not have scrupled to strike the blood royal, more wouldhave been quick to protect and avenge it. And so before the darkuncertainty of the mask, before the riddle of the smiling eyes whichglittered through the slits, they stared irresolute; until a hand, thehand of one bolder than his fellows, was raised to pluck away thescreen.

  The unknown dealt the fellow a buffet with his fist. "Down, rascal!"he said hoarsely. "And you"--to the officer--"show me instantly to M.de Biron!"

  But the lieutenant, who stood in fear of his men, looked at himdoubtfully. "Nay," he said, "not so fast!" And one of the others,taking the lead, cried, "No! We may have no need of M. de Biron. Yourname, monsieur, first."

  With a quick movement the stranger gripped the officer's wrist. "Tellyour master," he said, "that he who clasped his wrist _thus_ on thenight of Pentecost is here, and would speak with him! And say, markyou, that I will come to him, not he to me!"

  The sign and the tone imposed upon the boldest. Two-thirds of thewatch were Huguenots, who burned to avenge the blood of their fellows;and these, overriding their officer, had agreed to deal with theintruder, if a Papegot, without recourse to the Grand Master, whosemoderation they dreaded. A knife-thrust in the ribs, and another bodyin the ditch--why not, when such things were done outside? But eventhese doubted now; and M. Peridol, the lieutenant, reading in the eyesof his men the suspicions which he had himself conceived, was onlyanxious to obey, if they would let him. So gravely was he impressed,indeed, by the bearing of the unknown that he turned when he hadwithdrawn, and came back to assure himself that the men meditated noharm in his absence; nor until he had exchanged a whisper with one ofthem would he leave them and go.

  While he was gone on his errand the envoy leaned against the wall ofthe gateway, and, with his chin sunk on his breast and his mind falleninto reverie, seemed unconscious of the dark glances of which he wasthe target. He remained in this position until the officer came back,followed by a man with a lantern. Their coming roused the unknown,who, invited to follow Peridol, traversed two courts without remark,and in the same silence entered a building in the extreme easterncorner of the enceinte abutting on the ruined Tour de Billy. Here, inan upper floor, the Governor of the Arsenal had established histemporary lodging.

  The chamber into which the stranger was introduced betrayed the hastein which it had been prepared for its occupant. Two silver lamps whichhung from the beams of the unceiled roof shed light on a medley ofarms and inlaid armour, of parchments, books, and steel caskets, whichencumbered not the tables only, but the stools and chests that, afterthe fashion of that day, stood formally along the arras. In the midstof the disorder, on t
he bare floor, walked the man who, more than anyother, had been instrumental in drawing the Huguenots to Paris--and totheir doom. It was not wonderful that the events of the day, thesurprise and horror still rode his mind; nor that even he who passedfor a model of stiffness and reticence betrayed for once theindignation which filled his breast. Until the officer had withdrawnand closed the door he did, indeed, keep silence; standing beside thetable and eyeing his visitor with a lofty port and a stern glance. Butthe moment he was assured that they were alone he spoke.

  "Your Highness may unmask now," he said, making no effort to hide hiscontempt. "Yet were you well advised to take the precaution, since youhad hardly come at me in safety without it. Had those who keep thegate seen you, I would not have answered for your Highness's life! Themore shame," he continued vehemently, "on the deeds of this day whichhave compelled the brother of a King of France to hide his face in hisown capital and in his own fortress. For I dare to say, Monsieur, whatno other will say, now the Admiral is dead. You have brought back thedays of the Armagnacs. You have brought bloody days and an evil nameon France, and I pray God that you may not pay in your turn what youhave exacted. But if you continue to be advised by M. de Guise, this Iwill say, Monsieur"--and his voice fell low and stern. "Burgundy slewOrleans, indeed; but he came in his turn to the Bridge of Montereau."

  "You take me for Monsieur?" the unknown asked. And it was plain thathe smiled under his mask.

  Biron's face altered. "I take you," he answered sharply, "for himwhose sign you sent me."

  "The wisest are sometimes astray," the other answered with a lowlaugh. And he took off his mask.

  The Grand Master started back, his eyes sparkling with anger. "M. deTavannes?" he cried, and for a moment he was silent in sheerastonishment. Then, striking his hand on the table, "What means thistrickery!" he asked.

  "It is of the simplest," Tavannes answered coolly. "And yet, as youjust now said, I had hardly come at you without it. And I had to comeat you. No, M. de Biron," he added quickly, as Biron in a rage laidhis hand on a bell which stood beside him on the table, "you cannotthat way undo what is done."

  "I can at least deliver you," the Grand Master answered, in heat, "tothose who will deal with you as you have dealt with us and ours."

  "It will avail you nothing," Count Hannibal replied soberly. "For seehere, Grand Master, I come from the King. If you are at war with him,and hold his fortress in his teeth, I am his ambassador andsacrosanct. If you are at peace with him and hold it at his will, Iam his servant, and safe also."

  "At peace and safe?" Biron cried, his voice trembling withindignation. "And are those safe or at peace who came here trusting to_his_ word, who lay in his palace and slept in his beds? Where arethey, and how have they fared, that you dare appeal to the law ofnations, or he to the loyalty of Biron? And for you to beard me, whosebrother to-day hounded the dogs of this vile city on the noblest inFrance, who have leagued yourself with a crew of foreigners to do adeed which will make our country stink in the nostrils of the worldwhen we are dust! You, to come here and talk of peace and safety! M.de Tavannes"--and he struck his hand on the table--"you are a boldman. I know why the King had a will to send you, but I know not whyyou had the will to come."

  "That I will tell you later," Count Hannibal answered coolly. "For theKing, first. My message is brief, M. de Biron. Have you a mind to holdthe scales in France?"

  "Between?" Biron asked contemptuously.

  "Between the Lorrainers and the Huguenots."

  The Grand Master scowled fiercely. "I have played the go-between oncetoo often," he growled.

  "It is no question of going between, it is a question of holdingbetween," Tavannes answered coolly. "It is a question--but, in a word,have you a mind, M. de Biron, to be Governor of Rochelle? The King,having dealt the blow that has been struck to-day, looks to follow upseverity, as a wise ruler should, with indulgence. And to quiet theminds of the Rochellois he would set over them a ruler at onceacceptable to them--or war must come of it--and faithful to hisMajesty. Such a man, M. de Biron, will in such a post be Master of theKingdom; for he will hold the doors of Janus, and as he bridles hissea-dogs, or unchains them, there will be peace or war in France."

  "Is all that from the King's mouth?" Biron asked with sarcasm. But hispassion had died down. He was grown thoughtful, suspicious; he eyedthe other intently as if he would read his heart.

  "The offer is his, and the reflections are mine," Tavannes answereddrily. "Let me add one more. The Admiral is dead. The King of Navarreand the Prince of Conde are prisoners. Who is now to balance theItalians and the Guises? The Grand Master--if he be wise and contentto give the law to France from the citadel of Rochelle."

  Biron stared at the speaker in astonishment at his frankness. "You area bold man," he cried at last. "But _timeo Danaos et dona ferentes_,"he continued bitterly. "You offer, sir, too much."

  "The offer is the King's."

  "And the conditions? The price?"

  "That you remain quiet, M. de Biron."

  "In the Arsenal?"

  "In the Arsenal. And do not too openly counteract the King's will.That is all."

  The Grand Master looked puzzled. "I will give up no one," he said. "Noone! Let that be understood."

  "The King requires no one."

  A pause. Then, "Does M. de Guise know of the offer?" Biron inquired;and his eye grew bright. He hated the Guises and was hated by them. Itwas _there_ he was a Huguenot.

  "He has gone far to-day," Count Hannibal answered drily. "And if noworse come of it should be content. Madame Catherine knows of it."

  The Grand Master was aware that Marshal Tavannes depended on theQueen-mother; and he shrugged his shoulders. "Ay, 'tis like herpolicy," he muttered. "'Tis like her!" And pointing his guest to acushioned chest which stood against the wall, he sat down in a chairbeside the table and thought awhile, his brow wrinkled, his eyesdreaming. By-and-by he laughed sourly. "You have lighted the fire," hesaid, "and would fain I put it out."

  "We would have you hinder it spreading."

  "You have done the deed and are loth to pay the blood-money. That isit, is it?"

  "We prefer to pay it to M. de Biron," Count Hannibal answered civilly.

  Again the Grand Master was silent awhile. At length he looked up andfixed Tavannes with eyes keen as steel. "What is behind?" he growled."Say, man, what is it? What is behind?"

  "If there be aught behind, I do not know it," Tavannes answeredsteadfastly.

  M. de Biron relaxed the fixity of his gaze. "But you said that you hadan object?" he returned.

  "I had--in being the bearer of the message."

  "What was it?"

  "My object? To learn two things."

  "The first, if it please you?" The Grand Master's chin stuck out alittle, as he spoke.

  "Have you in the Arsenal a M. de Tignonville, a gentleman of Poitou?"

  "I have not," Biron answered curtly. "The second?"

  "Have you here a Huguenot minister?"

  "I have not. And if I had I should not give him up," he added firmly.

  Tavannes shrugged his shoulders. "I have a use for one," he saidcarelessly. "But it need not harm him."

  "For what, then, do you need him?"

  "To marry me."

  The other stared. "But you are a Catholic," he said.

  "But she is a Huguenot," Tavannes answered.

  The Grand Master did not attempt to hide his astonishment. "And shesticks on that?" he exclaimed. "To-day?"

  "She sticks on that. To-day."

  "To-day? _Nom de Dieu!_ To-day! Well," brushing the matter aside aftera pause of bewilderment, "any way, I cannot help her. I have nominister here. If there be aught else I can do for her----"

  "Nothing, I thank you," Tavannes answered. "Then it only remains forme to take your answer to the King?" And he rose politely, and takinghis mask from the table prepared to assume it.

  M. de Biron gazed at him a moment without speaking, as if he ponderedon the answer he should
give. At length he nodded, and rang the bellwhich stood beside him.

  "The mask!" he muttered in a low voice as footsteps sounded without.And, obedient to the hint, Tavannes disguised himself. A second laterthe officer who had introduced him opened the door and entered.

  "Peridol," M. de Biron said--he had risen to his feet--"I havereceived a message which needs confirmation; and to obtain this I mustleave the Arsenal. I am going to the house--you will remember this--ofMarshal Tavannes, who will be responsible for my person; in themeantime this gentleman will remain under strict guard in the southchamber upstairs. You will treat him as a hostage, with all respect,and will allow him to preserve his _incognito_. But if I do not returnby noon to-morrow, you will deliver him to the men below, who willknow how to deal with him."

  Count Hannibal made no attempt to interrupt him, nor did he betray thediscomfiture which he undoubtedly felt. But as the Grand Masterpaused, "M. de Biron," he said, in a voice harsh and low, "you willanswer to me for this!" And his eyes glittered through the slits inthe mask.

  "Possibly, but not to-day or to-morrow!" Biron replied, shrugging hisshoulders contemptuously. "Peridol! see the gentleman bestowed as Ihave ordered, and then return to me. Monsieur," with a bow, halfcourteous, half ironical, "let me commend to you the advantages ofsilence and your mask." And he waved his hand in the direction of thedoor.

  A moment Count Hannibal hesitated. He was in the heart of a hostilefortress where the resistance of a single man armed to the teeth musthave been futile; and he was unarmed, save for a poniard.Nevertheless, for a moment the impulse to spring on Biron, and withthe dagger at his throat to make his life the price of a safe passage,was strong. Then--for with the warp of a harsh and passionatecharacter were interwrought an odd shrewdness and some things littlesuspected--he resigned himself. Bowing gravely, he turned withdignity, and in silence followed the officer from the room.

  Peridol had two men with lanterns in waiting at the door. From one ofthese the lieutenant took the light, and, with an air at once sullenand deferential, led the way up the stone staircase to the floor overthat in which M. de Biron had his lodging. Tavannes followed; the twoguards came last, carrying the second lantern. At the head of thestaircase, whence a bare passage ran north and south, the processionturned right-handed, and, passing two doors, halted before the thirdand last, which faced them at the end of the passage. The lieutenantunlocked it with a key which he took from a hook beside the doorpost.Then, holding up his light, he invited his charge to enter.

  The room was not small, but it was low in the roof, and prison-like,it had bare walls and smoke-marks on the ceiling. The window, set in adeep recess, the floor of which rose a foot above that of the room,was unglazed; and through the gloomy orifice the night wind blew in,laden even on that August evening with the dank mist of the riverflats. A table, two stools, and a truckle bed without straw orcovering made up the furniture; but Peridol, after glancing round,ordered one of the men to fetch a truss of straw and the other tobring up a pitcher of wine. While they were gone Tavannes and he stoodsilently waiting, until, observing that the captive's eyes sought thewindow, the lieutenant laughed.

  "No bars?" he said. "No, monsieur, and no need of them. You will notgo by that road, bars or no bars."

  "What is below?" Count Hannibal asked carelessly. "The river?"

  "Yes, monsieur," with a grin, "but not water. Mud, and six feet of it,soft as Christmas porridge, but not so sweet. I've known two puppiesthrown in under this window that did not weigh more than a fat pulletapiece. One was gone before you could count fifty, and the other didnot live thrice as long--nor would have lasted that time, but that itfell on the first and clung to it."

  Tavannes dismissed the matter with a shrug, and, drawing his cloakabout him, set a stool against the wall and sat down. The men whobrought in the wine and the bundle of straw were inquisitive, andwould have loitered, scanning him stealthily; but Peridol hurried themaway. The lieutenant himself stayed only to cast a glance round theroom and to mutter that he would return when his lord returned; then,with a "Good night" which said more for his manners than his goodwill, he followed them out. A moment later the grating of the key inthe lock and the sound of the bolts as they sped home told Tavannesthat he was a prisoner.