Under the Rose

by Frederic Stewart Isham

  CHAPTER XIII

  A CHAPLET FOR THE DUKE

  Loud rang encomium and blessing on the king, as the people that nightcrowded in the rear courtyard around the great tables set in the openair, and groaning beneath viands, nutritious and succulent. What swainor yokel had not a meed of praise for the monarch when he beheld thisburden of good cheer, and, at the end of each board, elevated a littleand garlanded with roses, a rotund and portly cask of wine, with aspigot projecting hospitably tablewards?

  Forgotten were the tax-lists under which the commonalty labored; it was"Hosanna" for Francis, and not a plowman nor tiller of the soilbethought himself that he had fully paid for the snack and sup thatnight. How could he, having had no one to think for him; for thenRousseau had not lived, Voltaire was unborn, and the most daringapproach to lese-majesty had been Rabelais' jocose: "The wearers of thecrown and scepter are born under the same constellation as those of capand bells."

  Upon the green, smoking torches illumined the people and thesurroundings; beneath a great oven, the bright coals cast a vivid glowfar and near. Close to the broad face of a cask--round and large likethat of a full-fed host presiding at the head of the board--sat theFranciscan monk, whose gluttonous eye wandered from quail to partridge,thence onward to pastry or pie, with the spigot at the end of the orbitof observation. Nor as it made this comprehensive survey did hisglance omit a casual inventory of the robust charms of a bouncing maidon the opposite side of the table. Scattered amid the honest,good-natured visages of the trusting peasants were the pinchedadventurers from Paris, the dwellers of that quarter sacred tothemselves. Yonder plump, frisky dame seemed like the lamb; the gauntknave by her side, the wolf.

  At length the company could eat no more, although there yet remained avoid for drinking, and as the cups went circling and circling, theirlaughter mingled with the distant strains of music from the great,gorgeously lighted pavilion, where the king and his guests wereassembled to close the tourney fittingly with the celebration of thefinal event--the awarding of the prize for the day.

  "Can you tell me, good sir, to whom the umpires of the field have giventheir judgment?" said a townsman to his country neighbor.

  "Did you not hear the king of arms decide the Duke of Friedwald was thevictor?" answered the other.

  "A decision of courtesy, perhaps?" insinuated the Parisian.

  "Nay; two spears he broke, and overcame three adversaries during theday. Fairly he won the award."

  "I wish we might see the presentation," interrupted a maid, pertly, herlonging eyes straying to the bright lights afar.

  "Presentation!" repeated the countryman. "Did we not witness thesport? A fig for the presentation! Give me the cask and a juicyhaunch, with a lass like yourself to dance with after, and the noblesare welcome to the sight of the prize and all the ceremony that goeswith it."

  Within the king's pavilion, the spectacle alluded to, regretfully bythe girl and indifferently by the man, was at that moment beingenacted. Upon a throne of honor, the lady of the tournament, attendedby two maids, looked down on a brilliant assemblage, through which nowapproached the king and the princess' betrothed. The latter seemedsomewhat thoughtful; his eye had but encountered that of the duke'sfool, whose gaze expressed a disdainful confidence the other fain wouldhave fathomed. But for that unfortunate meeting in the lists which hadsealed the lips of the only person who had divined the hidden danger,the free baron would now have been master of the _plaisant's_ designs.Above, in the palace, the trooper with the red mustaches lay on hiscouch unconscious.

  For how long? The court physician could not say. The soldier mightremain insensible for hours. Thus had the jester served himself withthat stroke better than he knew, and he of Hochfels bit his lip andfumed inwardly, but to no purpose. Not that he believed the peril tobe great, but the fact he could not grasp it goaded him, and he cursedthe trooper for a dolt and a poltroon that a mere fool should havevanquished him. And so he had left him, with a last look of disgust atthe silent lips that could not do his bidding, and had proceeded to theroyal pavilion, where the final act of the day's drama--more momentousthan the king or other spectators realized--was to be performed; an actin which he would have appeared with much complacency, but that hischagrin preyed somewhat on his vanity.

  But his splendid self-control and audacity revealed to the courtlyassemblage no trace of what was passing in his mind. He walked by theking's side as one not unaccustomed to such exalted company, noroverwhelmed by sudden honors. His courage was superb; his demeanorthat of one born to command; in him seemed exemplified a type of brutestrength and force denoting a leader--whether of an army or a band ofswashbucklers. As the monarch and the free baron drew near, theprincess slowly, gracefully arose, while now grouped around the thronestood the heralds and pursuivants of the lists. In her hand Louiseheld the gift, covered with a silver veil, an end of which was carriedby each of the maids.

  "Fair Lady of the Tournament," said the king, "this gallant knight is_Bon Vouloir_, whom you have even heard proclaimed the victor of theday."

  "Approach, _Bon Vouloir_!" commanded the Queen of Love.

  The maids uncovered the gift, the customary chaplet of beaten gold,and, as the free baron bowed his head, the princess with a firm handfulfilled the functions of her office. Rising, _Bon Vouloir_, amid theexclamations of the court, claimed the privilege that went with thebauble. A moment he looked at the princess; she seemed to bend beneathhis regard; then leaning forward, deliberately rather than ardently, hetouched her cheek with his lips. Those who watched the Queen of Loveclosely observed her face become paler and her form tremble; but in amoment she was again mistress of herself, her features prouder andcolder than before.

  "Did you notice how he melted the ice of her nature?" whispered Diane,with a malicious little laugh, to the countess.

  "And yet 'twas not his--warmth that did it," wisely answered thefavorite of the king.

  "His coldness, then," laughed the other, as the musicians began toplay, and the winner of the chaplet led the princess to the dance. "Isit not so, Sire?" she added, turning to the king, who at that momentapproached.

  "He, indeed, forgot a part of the ceremony," graciously assentedFrancis.

  "A part of the ceremony, your Majesty?" questioned Diane.

  "To kiss the two damsels of the princess; and one of them was worthy ofcasual courtesy," he added, musingly.

  "Which, Sire?" asked the countess, quickly.

  "The dark-browed maid," returned the monarch, thoughtfully. "Where didI notice her last?"

  And then he remembered. It was she who, he suspected, had laughed thatnight in Fools' hall. Recalling the circumstance, the king lookedaround for her, but she had drawn back.

  "Is it your pleasure to open the festivities, Sire?" murmured thefavorite, and, without further words, Francis acquiesced, profferinghis arm to his companion.

  Masque, costume ball, ballet, it was all one to the king and the court,who never wearied of the diverting vagaries of the dance. Now studyingthat pantomimic group of merrymakers, in the rhythmical expression ofaction and movement could almost be read the influence and relativepositions of the fair revelers. The countess, airy and vivacious,perched, as it were, lightly yet securely on the arm of the throne;Diane, fearless, confident of the future through the dauphin;Catharine, proud of her rank, undisturbed in her own exalted place aswife of the dauphin; Marguerite, mixture of saint and sinner, a softheart that would oft-times turn the king from a hard purpose.

  "There! I've danced enough," said a panting voice, and Jacqueline,breathless, paused before the duke's fool, who stood a motionlessspectator of the revelry. In his rich costume of blue and white, thefigure of the foreign jester presented a fair and striking appearance,but his face, proud and composed, was wanting in that spirit whichanimated the features of his fellows in motley.

  "One more turn, fair Jacqueline?" suggested Marot, her partner in thedance.

  "Not one!" she answered.

 
; "Is that a dismissal?" he asked, lightly.

  "'Tis for you to determine," retorted the maid.

  "Modesty forbids I should interpret it to my desires," he returned,laughing, as he disappeared.

  Tall, seeming straighter than usual, upon each cheek a festal rose, shestood before the duke's _plaisant_, inscrutable, as was her fashion,the scarf about her shoulders just stirring from the effects of thedance, and her lips parted to her hurried breathing.

  "How did you like the ceremony?" she asked, quietly. "And did youknow," she went on, without noticing the dark look in his eyes orawaiting his response, "the lance turned upon you to-day was not a'weapon of courtesy'?"

  "You mean it was directed by intention?" he asked indifferently.

  "Not only that," she answered. "I mean that the disk had been removedand the point left bare."

  "A mistake, of course," he said, with a peculiar smile.

  A look of impatience crossed her face, but she gazed at him intentlyand her eyes held his from the floor where they would have strayed.

  "Are you stupid, or do you but profess to be?" she demanded. "Beforethe tilt I noticed the duke and his trooper talking together. Whenthey separated the latter, unobserved as he thought, struck the pointof his weapon against his stirrup. The disk fell to the ground."

  "Your glance is sharp, Jacqueline," he retorted, slowly. "Thank youfor the information."

  Her eyes kindled; an angry retort seemed about to spring from her lips.It was with difficulty she controlled herself to answer calmly a momentlater.

  "You mean it can serve you nothing? Perhaps you are right. To-day youwere lucky. To-morrow you may be--what? To-day you defended yourselfwell and it was a good lance you bore. Had it been any other jester,the king would have praised him. Because it was you, no word has beenspoken. If anything, your success has annoyed him. Several of thecourt spoke of it; he answered not; 'tis the signal to ignore it,and--you!"

  "Then are you courageous to brave public opinion and hold converse withme," he replied, with a smile.

  "Public opinion!" she exclaimed with flashing eyes. "What would theysay of a jestress? Who is she? What is she?"

  She ended abruptly; bit her lips, showing her gleaming white teeth.Then some emotion, more profound, swept over her expressive face; shelooked at him silently, and when she spoke her voice was more gentle.

  "I can not believe," she continued thoughtfully, "that the duke toldhis trooper to do that. 'Tis too infamous. The man must have acted onhis own responsibility. The duke could not, would not, countenancesuch baseness."

  "You have a good opinion of him, gentle mistress," he said in a tonethat exasperated her.

  "Who has not?" she retorted, sharply. "He is as brave as he isdistinguished. Farewell. If you served him better, and yourself less,you--"

  "Would serve myself better in the end?" he interrupted, satirically."Thanks, good Jacqueline. A woman makes an excellent counselor."

  Disdainfully she smiled; her face grew cold; her figure looked nevermore erect and inflexible.

  "Why," she remarked, "here am I wasting time talking when the music isplaying and every one is dancing. Even now I see a courtierapproaching who has thrice importuned me." And the jestress vanishedin the throng as abruptly as she had appeared.

  Thoughtfully the duke's fool looked, not after her, but toward a farend of the pavilion, where he last had seen the princess and herbetrothed.

  "Caillette should now be well on his way," he told himself. "No onehas yet missed him, or if they do notice his absence they willattribute it to his injuries."

  This thought lent him confidence; the implied warnings of the maidpassed unheeded from his mind; indeed, he had scarcely listened tothem. Amid stronger passions, he felt the excitement of the subtilegame he and the free baron were playing; the blind conviction of agambler that he should yet win seized him, dissipating in a measuremore violent thoughts.

  He began to calculate other means to make assurance doubly sure; anintricate realm of speculation, considering the safeguards the boar ofHochfels had placed about himself. To offset the triumphs of theking's guest there occurred to the jester the comforting afterthoughtthat the greater the other's successes now the more ignominious wouldbe his downfall. The free baron had not hesitated to use any means toobliterate his one foeman from the scene; and he repeated to himselfthat he would meet force with cunning, and duplicity with stealth,spinning such a web as lay within his own capacity and resources. Butin estimating the moves before him, perhaps in his new-found trust, heoverlooked the strongest menace to his success--a hazard couched withinhimself.

  Outspreading from the pavilion's walls were floral bowers with myriadlights that shone through the leaves and foliage, where tiny fragrantfountains tinkled, or diminutive, fairy-like waterfalls fell amidsweet-smelling plants. Green, purple, orange, red, had been the colorschosen in these dainty retreats for such of the votaries of the Courtof Love as should, from time to time, care to exchange the merry-makingwithin for the languorous rest without. It was yet too early, however,for the sprightly devotees to abandon the lively pleasures of thedance, so that when the duke's fool abstractedly entered the balmy,crimson nook, at first he thought himself alone.

  Around him, carmine, blood-warm flowers exhaled a comminglingredolence; near him a toy-like fountain whispered very softly andconfidentially. Through the foliage the figures moved and moved; onthe air the music fell and rose, thin in orchestration, yet brightlypenetrating in sparkling detail. Buoyant were the violins; sportivethe flutes; all alive the gitterns; blithesome the tripping arpeggiosthat crisply fell from the strings of the joyous harps.

  The rustling of a gown admonished him he was not alone, and, lookingaround, amid the crimson flowers, to his startled gaze, appeared theface of her of whom he was thinking; above the broad, white brow shonethe radiance of hair, a gold that was almost bronze in that dim light;through the green tangle of shrubbery, a silver slipper.

  "Ah, it is you, fool?" she said languidly. It may be, he contrastedthe indifference of her tones now with the unconscious softness of hervoice when she had addressed him on another occasion--in anothergarden; for his face flushed, and he would have turned abruptly, when--

  "Oh, you may remain," she added, carelessly. "The duke has but leftme. He received a message that the man hurt in the lists was mostanxious to see him."

  Into the whirl of his reflections her words insinuated themselves. Whyhad the free baron gone to the trooper? What made his presence soimperative at the bedside of the soldier that he had abruptly abandonedthe festivities? Surely, more than mere anxiety for the man's welfare.The jester looked at the princess for the answer to these questions;but her face was cold, smiling, unresponsive. In the basin of thefountain tiny fish played and darted, and as his eyes turned from herto them they appeared as swift and illusive as his own surging fancies.

  "The--duke, Madam, is most solicitous about his men," he said, in avoice which sounded strangely calm.

  "A good leader has always in mind the welfare of his soldiers," shereplied, briefly.

  Her hand played among the blossoms. Over the flowers she looked athim. Her features and arms were of the sculptured roundness of marble,but the reflection of the roses bathed her in the warm hue of life. Ashe met her gaze the illumined pages of a book seemed turning before hiseyes. Did she remember?

  She could not but perceive his emotion; the tribute of a glance beyondcontrol, despite the proud immobility of his features.

  "Sit here, fool," she said, not unkindly, "and you may tell me moreabout the duke. His exploits--of that battle when he saved the life ofthe emperor."

  The jester made no move to obey, but, looking down, answered coldly:"The duke, Madam, likes not to have his poor deeds exploited."

  "Poor deeds!" she returned, and seemed about to reply more sharply whensomething in his face held her silent.

  Leaning her head on her hand, she appeared to forget his presence;motionless save
for a foot that waved to and fro, betraying herrestless mood. The sound of her dress, the swaying of the foot, heldhis attention. In that little bower the air was almost stifling, ladenwith the perfume of many flowers. Even the song of the birds grewfainter. Only the tiny fountain, more assertive than ever, becamelouder and louder. The princess breathed deeply; half-arose; a vinecaught in her hair; she stooped to disentangle it; then held herselferect.

  "How close it is in here!" she murmured, arranging the tress the planthad disturbed. "Go to the door, fool, and see if you can find yourmaster."

  Involuntarily he had stepped toward her, as though to assist her, butnow stopped. His face changed; he even laughed. That last word, fromher lips, seemed to break the spell of self-control that held him.

  "My master!" he said in a hard, scoffing tone. "Whom mean you? Theman who left you to go to the soldier? That blusterer, my master!That swaggering trooper!"

  Her inertness vanished; the sudden anger and wonderment in her eyes metthe passion in his.

  "How dare you--dare you--" she began.

  "He is neither my master, nor the duke; but a mere free-booter, amountain terrorist!"

  Pride and contempt replaced her surprise, but indignation stillremained. His audacity in coming to her with this falsehood; hishardihood in maintaining it, admitted of but one explanation. By hercomplaisance in the past she had fanned the embers of a passion whichnow burst beyond control. She realized how more than fair she lookedthat evening--had she not heard it from many?--had not the eyes of theking's guest told her?--and she believed that this lie must have sprungto the jester's lips while he was regarding her.

  As the solution crossed her mind, revealing the _plaisant_, a desperateand despicable, as well as lowly wooer, her face relaxed. In thedesire to test her conclusion, she laughed quietly, musically. Cruellykind, smiled the princess.

  "You are mad," she breathed softly. "You are mad--because--becauseyou--"

  He started, studying her eagerly. He fancied he read relentingsoftness in her gaze; a flash of memory into a past, where glamour andromance, and the heart-history of the rose made up life's desideratum.Wherein existence was but an allegory of love's quest, and the goal,its consummation. Had she not bent sedulously over the rose of thepoet? Had not her breath come quickly, eagerly? Could he not feel ityet, sweet and warm on his cheek? Into the past, having gone so far,he stepped now boldly, as though to grasp again those illusive colorsand seize anew the intangible substance. He was but young, whenshadows seem solid, when dreams are corporeal stuff, and fantasies,rock-like strata of reality.

  So he knelt before her. "Yes," he said, "I love you!"

  And thus remained, pale, motionless, all resentment or jealousysucceeded by a stronger emotion, a feeling chivalric that bent itselfto a glad thraldom, the desire but to serve her--to save her. Hisheart beat faster; he raised his head proudly.

  "Listen, Princess," he began. "Though I meant it not, I fear I havegreatly wronged you. I have much to ask your pardon for; much to tellyou. It is I--I--"

  The words died on his lips. From the princess' face all softness hadsuddenly vanished. Her gaze passed him, cold, haughty. Across theillusory positiveness of his world--immaterial, psychological,ghostly--an intermediate orb--a tangible shadow was thrown. Behind himstood the free baron and the king. Quickly the fool sprang to his feet.

  "Princess!" exclaimed the hoarse voice of the master of Hochfels.

  "My Lord?"

  For a moment neither spoke, and then the clear, cold voice of theprincess broke the silence.

  "Are all the fools in your country so presumptuous, my Lord?" she said.

  The king's countenance lightened; he turned his accusing glance uponthe fool. As in a dream stood the latter; the words he would haveuttered remained unspoken. But briefly the monarch surveyed him,satirically, darkly; then turning, with a gesture, summoned anattendant. Not until the hands of two soldiers fell upon him did thefool betray any emotion. Then his face changed, and the stunned lookin his eyes gave way to an expression of such unbridled feeling thatinvoluntarily the king stepped back and the free baron drew his sword.But neither had the monarch need for apprehension, nor the princess'betrothed use for his weapon. Some emotion, deeper than anger,replaced the savage turmoil of the jester's thoughts, as with a lastfixed look at the princess he mechanically suffered himself to be ledaway. Louise's gaze perforce followed him, and when the canvas felland he had disappeared she passed a hand across her brow.

  "Are you satisfied, my Lord?" said the king to the free baron.

  "The knave has received his just deserts, Sire," replied the other,and, stepping to the princess' side, raised her hand to his lips.

  "_Mere de Dieu!_" cried the monarch, passing his arm in a friendlymanner over the free baron's shoulder and addressing Louise. "You willfind Robert of Friedwald worthy of your high trust, cousin."

  Without, they were soon whispering it. The attendant, who was theCount of Cross, breathed what he knew to the Duke of Montmorency, whotold Du Bellays, who related the story to Diane de Poitiers, whoembellished it for Villot, who carried it to Jacqueline.

  "Triboulet has his wish," said the poet-fool, half-regretfully. "Thereis one jester the less."

  "Where have they taken him?" asked the girl, steadily.

  "Where--but to the keep!"

  "That dungeon of the old castle?"

  "Well," he returned significantly, "a fool and his jests--alas!--aresoon parted. Let us make merry, therefore, while we may. For whatwould you? Come, mistress--the dance--"

  "No! no! no!" she exclaimed, so passionately he gazed at her insurprise.