Under the Rose

by Frederic Stewart Isham

  CHAPTER XVI

  TIDINGS FROM THE COURT

  When Brusquet, the jester, fled from the camp at Avignon, where he hadpresumed to practise medicine, to the detriment of the army, some onesaid: "Fools and cats have nine lives," and the revised proverb hadbeen accepted at court. It was this saying the turnkey muttered whenhe bent over the prostrate figure of the duke's _plaisant_ after thefree baron had departed. Thus one of the fabled sources of existencewas left the fool, and again it seemed the proverb would be realized.

  Day after day passed, and still the vital spark burned; perhaps itwavered, but in this extremity the jester had not been entirelyneglected; but who had befriended him, assisting the spirit and theflesh to maintain their unification, he did not learn until some timelater. Youth and a strong constitution were also a shield against thefinal change, and when he began to mend, and his heart-beats grewstronger, even the jailer, his erstwhile assailant, the most callous ofhis several keepers, exhibited a stony interest in this unusualconvalescence.

  The touch of a hand was the _plaisant's_ first impression of returningconsciousness, and then into his throbbing brain crept the outlines ofthe prison walls and the small window that grudgingly admitted thelight. To his confused thoughts these surroundings recalled thestruggle with the free baron and the jailer. As across a dark chasm,he saw the face of the false duke, whereon wonder and conviction hadgiven way to brutal rage, and, with the memory of that treacherousblow, the fool half-started from his couch.

  A low voice carried him back from the past to a vague cognizance of awoman's form, standing at the head of the bed, and two grave, dark eyeslooking down upon him which he strove in vain to interrogate with hisown. He would have spoken, but the soothing pressure of the hand uponhis forehead restrained him, and, turning to the wall, sleep overcamehim; a slumber long, sound and restorative. Motionless the figureremained, listening for some time to his deep breathing and then stoleaway as silently as she had come.

  Amid a solitude like that of a catacomb the hours ran their course; theday grew old, and eventide replaced the waning flush in the west. Theshadows deepened into night, and the first kisses of morn again mergedinto the brighter prime. Near the cell the only sound had been thefootstep of the warder, or the scampering of a rat, but now from afarseemed to come a faint whispering, like the murmur of the ocean. Itwas the voice of awakened nature; the wind and the trees; the whir ofbirds' wings, or the sound of other living creatures in the forest hardby. A song of life and buoyancy, it breathed just audibly its cheeringintonation about the prison bars, when the captive once more stirredand gazed around him. As he did so, the figure of the woman, who hadagain noiselessly entered the cell, stepped forward and stood near thecouch.

  "Are you better?" she asked.

  He raised himself on his elbow, surprised at the unexpected appearanceof his visitor.

  "Jacqueline!" he said, wonderingly, recognizing the features of thejoculatrix. "I must have been unconscious all night." And he staredfrom her toward the window.

  "Yes," she returned with a peculiar smile; "all night." And bendingover him, she held a receptacle to his lips from which he mechanicallydrank a broth, warm and refreshing, the while he endeavored to accountfor the strangeness of her presence in the cell. She placed the bowlon the floor and then, straightening her slim figure, again regardedhim.

  "You are improving fast," she commented, reflectively.

  "Thanks to your sovereign mixture," he answered, lifting a hand to hisbandaged head, and striving to collect his scattered ideas whichalready seemed to flow more consecutively. The pain which had rackedhis brow had grown perceptibly less since his last deep slumber, and agrateful warmth diffused itself in his veins with a growing assuranceof physical relief. "But may I ask how you came here?" he continued,perplexity mingling with the sense of temporary languor that stole overhim.

  "I heard the duke tell the king you had attacked him and he had struckyou down," she replied, after a pause.

  His face darkened; his head throbbed once more; with his fingers heidly picked at the straw.

  "And the king, of course, believed," he said. "Oh, credulous king!" headded scornfully. "Was ever a monarch so easily befooled? A judge ofmen? No; a ruler who trusts rather to fortune and blind destiny.Unlike Charles, he looks not through men, but at them."

  "Think no more of it," she broke in, hastily, seeing the effect of herwords.

  "Nay, good Jacqueline," quickly retorted the jester; "the truth, I prayyou. Believe me, I shall mend the sooner for it. What said theduke--as he calls himself?"

  "Why, he shook his head ruefully," answered the girl, not noticing hisreservation. "'Your Majesty,' he said, 'for the memory of bygonequibbles I sought him, but found him not--alack!--on the stool ofrepentance.'"

  About the fool's mouth quivered the grim suggestion of a half-smile.

  "He is the best jester of us all," he muttered. "And then?" fasteninghis eyes upon hers.

  "'No sooner, Sire,' went on the duke, 'had I entered the cell than herushed upon me, and, it grieves me, I used the wit-snapper roughly.'So"--folding her hands before her and gazing at the _plaisant_--"I e'encame to see if you were killed."

  "You came," he said. "Yes; but how?"

  "What matters it?" she answered. "Perhaps it was magic, and thecell-doors flew open at my touch."

  "I can almost believe it," he returned.

  And his glance fell thoughtfully from her to the couch. Before theassault he had lain at night upon the straw on the floor, and thisunhoped-for immunity from the dampness of the stones or the scamperingof occasional rats suggested another starting point for mental inquiry.She smiled, reading the interrogation on his face.

  "One of the turnkeys furnished the bed," she remarked, shrewdly. "Doyou like it?"

  "It is a better couch than I have been accustomed to," he replied, inno wise misled by her response, and surmising that her solicitation hadprocured him this luxury. "Nevertheless, the night has seemedstrangely long."

  "It has been long," she returned, moving toward the window. "A weekand more."

  Surprise, incredulity, were now written upon his features. That suchan interval should have elapsed since the evening of the free baron'svisit appeared incredible. He could not see her countenance as shespoke; only her figure; the upper portion bright, the lower fading intothe deep shadows beneath the aperture in the wall.

  "You tell me I have lain here a week?" he asked finally, recallingobscure memories of faintly-seen faces and voices heard as from afar.

  "And more," she repeated.

  For some moments he remained silent, passing from introspection to acurrent of thought of which she could know nothing; the means he hadtaken to thwart the ambitious projects of the king's guest.

  "Has Caillette returned?" he continued, with ill-disguised eagerness.

  "Caillette?" she answered, lifting her brows at the abruptness of theinquiry. "Has he been away? I had not noticed. I do not know."

  "Then is he still absent," said the jester, decisively. "Had he comeback, you would have heard."

  Quickly she looked at him. Caillette!--Spain!--these were the words hehad often uttered in his delirium. Although he seemed much better andthe hot flush had left his cheeks, his fantasy evidently remained.

  "A week and over!" resumed the fool, more to himself than to hiscompanion. "But he still may return before the duke is wedded."

  "And if he did return?" she asked, wishing to humor him.

  "Then the duke is not like to marry the princess," he burst out.

  "Not like--to marry!" she replied, suddenly, and moved toward him. Herclear eyes were full upon him; closely she studied his worn features."Not like--but he has married her!"

  The jester strove to spring to his feet, but his legs seemed as relaxedas his brain was dazed.

  "Has married!--impossible!" he exclaimed fiercely.

  "They were wedded two days since," she went on quietly, possiblyregretting that s
urprise, or she knew not what, had made her speak.

  "Wedded two days since!"

  He repeated it to himself, striving to realize what it meant. Did itmean anything? He remembered how mockingly the jestress' face hadshone before him in the past; how derisive was her irony. From Fools'hall to the pavilion of the tournament had she flouted him.

  "Wedded two days since!"

  "You must have your drollery," he said, unsteadily, at length.

  She did not reply, and he continued to question her with his eyes.Quite still she remained, save for an almost imperceptible movement ofbreathing. Against the dull beams from the aperture above, her hairdarkly framed her face, pale, dim with half-lights, illusory. When heagain spoke his voice sounded new to his own ears.

  "How could the princess have been married? Even if I have lain here aslong as you say, the day for the wedding was set for at least a weekfrom now."

  "But changed!" she responded, unexpectedly.

  "Changed!" he cried, sitting on the edge of the couch, and regardingher as though he doubted he had heard aright. "Why should it have beenchanged?"

  "Because the duke became a most impatient suitor," she answered."Daily he grew more eager. Finally, to attain his end, he importunedthe countess. She laughed, but good-naturedly acceded to his request,and, in turn importuned the king--who generously yielded. It has beena rare laughing matter at court--that the duke, who appeared the leastpassionate adorer, should really have been such a restless one."

  "Dolt that I have been!" exclaimed the jester, with more anger, itseemed to the girl, than jealousy. "He knew about Caillette, butprofessed to be ignorant that the emperor was in Spain. And I believedhis words; thought I was holding something from him; let myself imaginehe could not penetrate my designs. While all the time he wasintriguing with the king's favorite and felt the sense of his ownsecurity. What a cat's paw he made of me! And so he--they are gone,Jacqueline?"

  "Yes," she returned, surprised at his language, and, for the firsttime, wondering if the duke's wooing admitted of other complicationsthan she had suspected. "They are on their way to the duke's kingdom."

  "His kingdom!" said the fool, with derision. "But go on. Tell meabout it, Jacqueline. Their parting with the court? How they set outon their journey. All, Jacqueline; all!"

  "They were married in the Chapelle de la Trinite," responded the girl,hesitating. Then with an odd side look, she went on rapidly: "Thebridal party made an imposing cavalcade: the princess in her litter,behind a number of maids on horseback. At the castle gates severalpages, dressed as Cupids, sent silver arrows after the bridal train.'Hymen; Io Hymen!' cried the throng. 'Godspeed!' exclaimed QueenMarguerite, and threw a parchment, tied with a golden ribbon, into theprincess' litter; an epithalamium, in verse, written in her own fairhand. '_Esto perpetua_!' murmured the red cardinal. Besides thegroom's own men, the king sent a strong escort to the border, and thusit was a numerous company that rode from the castle, with colors flyingand the princess' handkerchief fluttering from her litter a lastfarewell."

  "A last farewell!" repeated the fool. "A splendent picture,Jacqueline. They all shouted _Te Deum_, and none stood there to warnher."

  "To warn!" retorted the jestress. "Not a maid but envied her thatspectacle; the magnificence and splendor!"

  "But not what will follow," he said, and, lying back on his couch,closed his eyes.

  Rapidly the scene passed before him; the false duke at the head of thecavalcade, elate, triumphant; the princess in her litter, brilliant,dazzling; the laughter, the hurried adieus; tears and smiles; the smartsayings of the jesters, a bride their legitimate prey, her blushes thedelight of the facetious nobles; the complacency of the pleasure-lovingking--all floated before his eyes like the figment of a dream. Howmocking the pomp and glitter! For the princess, what an awakening wasto ensue! The free baron must have known the emperor was in Spain, andhad met the fool's stratagem with a final masterly manoeuver. The boutwas over; the first great bout; but in the next--would there be a next?Jacqueline's words now implied a doubt.

  "You are soon to leave here," she said. "For Paris."

  Seated on the stool, her hands crossed over her knees, Jacquelineseemed no longer a creature of indefinite or ambiguous purpose. On thecontrary, her profile was rimmed in light, and very matter-of-fact andserious it seemed.

  "Why am I to leave for Paris?" he remarked, absently.

  "Because they are going to take you there," she returned, "to be triedas a heretic." He started and again sat up. "In your room was found abook by Calvin. Of course," she went on, "you will deny it belonged toyou?"

  "What would that avail?" he said, indifferently. "But have thefollowers of Luther, or Calvin, no friends in Francis' court?"

  "Have they in Charles' domains?" she asked quickly.

  "The Protestants in Germany are a powerful body; the emperor is forcedto bear with them."

  "Here they have no friends--openly," she went on."Secretly--Marguerite, Marot; others perhaps. But these will not serveyou; could not, if they would. Besides, this heresy of which you areaccused is but a pretext to get rid of you."

  "And how, good Jacqueline, has the king treated the new sect?"

  She held her hand suddenly to her throat; her face went paler, as fromsome tragic recollection.

  "Oh," she answered, "do not speak of it!"

  "They burned them?" he persisted.

  "Before Notre Dame!"

  Her voice was low; her eyes shone deep and gleaming.

  "You are sorry, then, for those vile heretics?" asked the fool,curiously.

  She raised her head, half-resentfully. "Their souls need no one'spity," she retorted, proudly.

  "And you think mine is soon like to be beyond earthly caring?"

  Her glance became impatient. "Most like," she returned, curtly.

  "But what excuse does the king give for his cruelty?" he continued,musingly.

  "They threw down the sacred images in one of the churches. Now aheretic need expect no mercy. They are placed in cages--hung frombeams--over the fire. The court was commanded to witness thespectacle--the king jested--the countess laughed, but her features werewhite--" Here the girl buried her face in her hands. Soon, however,she looked up, brushing back the hair from her brow. "Marguerite hasinterposed, but she is only a feather in the balance." Abruptly shearose. "Would you escape such a fate?" she said.

  He remained silent, thinking that if the mission to the emperormiscarried, his own position might, indeed, be past mending. If theexposure of the free baron were long delayed, the fool's assurance inhis own ultimate release might prove but vain expectation. In Paristhe trial would doubtless not be protracted. From the swift tribunalto the slow fire constituted no complicated legal process, and appealthere was none, save to the king, from whom might be expected littlemercy, less justice.

  "Escape!" the jester answered, dwelling on these matters. "But how?"

  "By leaving this prison," she answered, lowering her voice.

  He glanced significantly at the walls, the windows and the door, beyondwhich could be heard the tread of the jailer and the clanking of thekeys hanging from his girdle.

  "I would have done that long since, Jacqueline, if I had had my will,"he replied.

  "Are you strong enough to attempt it?" she remarked, doubtfully,scanning the thin face before her.

  "Your words shall make me so," he retorted, and looking into hisglittering eyes, she almost believed him.

  "Not to-day, but to-morrow," the girl added, thoughtfully. "Perhapsthen--"

  "I shall be ready," he broke in impatiently. "What must I do?"

  "Not drink this wine I have brought, but give it to the turnkey in themorning. Invite him to share it, but take none yourself, feigningsudden illness. He will not refuse, being always sharp-set for a cup.Nothing can be done with the other jailers, but this one is a thirstysoul, ever ready to bargain for a dram. Your couch cost I know not howmany flagons. Although
he drinks many tankards and pitchers every day,yet will this small bottle make him drowsy. You will leave while he issleeping."

  "In the daylight, mistress?" he asked, eagerly. "Why not wait--"

  "No," she said, decisively; "there is no other way. This turnkey isonly a day watchman. It is dangerous, but the best plan that suggesteditself. I know many unfrequented corridors and passages through theold part of the castle the king has not rebuilt, and a road at theback, now little used, that runs through the wood and thicket down thehill. It is a desperate chance, but--"

  "The danger of remaining is more desperate," he interrupted, quickly."Besides, we shall not fail. It is in the book of fate." Hisexpression changed; became fierce, eager. "Are you, indeed, thearbiter of that fate; the sorceress Triboulet feared?"

  "You are thinking of the duke," she answered, with a frown, "and thatif you escape--"

  "Truly, you are a sorceress," he replied, with a smile. "I confesslife has grown sweet."

  She moved abruptly toward the door. "Nay, I meant not to offend you,"he spoke up, more gently.

  "It is your own fortunes you ever injure," she retorted, gazing coldlyback at him.

  "One moment, sweet Jacqueline. Why did you not go with the princess?"

  Her face changed; grew dark; from eyes, deep and gloomy, she shot aquick glance upon him.

  "Perhaps--because I like the court too well to leave it," she answeredmockingly, and, vouchsafing no further word, quickly vanished. It wasonly when she had gone the jester suddenly remembered he had forgottento thank her for what she had done in the past or what she proposeddoing on the morrow.