Under the Rose

by Frederic Stewart Isham

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE TALE OF THE SWORD

  The slanting rays of the sinking sun shot athwart the valley, glancedfrom the tile roofs of the homes of the peasantry, and illumined thelofty towers of a great manorial chateau. To the rider, approaching bythe road that crossed the smiling pasture and meadow lands, the edificeset on a mount--another of Francis' transformations from the gloomyfortress home--appeared regal and splendid, compared with the humblerhouses of the people lying prostrate before it. Viewed from afar, thetown seemed to abase itself in the presence of the architecturalpreeminence of that monarch of buildings. Even the sun, when itwithdrew its rays from the miscellaneous rabble of shops and dwellings,yet lingered proudly upon the noble structure above, caressing itsimposing and august outlines and surrounding it with the glamour of theafterglow, when the sun sank to rest.

  Into the little town, at the foot of the big house, rode shortly beforenightfall the jester and his companion. During the day the young girlhad seemed diffident and constrained; she who had been all vivacity andlife, on a sudden kept silence, or when she did speak, her tongue hadlost its sharpness. The weapons of her office, bright sarcasm andirony, or laughing persiflage, were sheathed; her fine features werethoughtful; her dark eyes introspective. In the dazzling sunshine, thememory of their ride through the gorge; the awakening at the shepherd'shut; something in his look then, something in his accents later, whenhe spoke her name while she professed to sleep--seemed, perhaps,unreal, dream-like.

  His first greeting that morning had been a swift, almost questioning,glance, before which she had looked away. In her face was thefreshness of dawn; the grace of spring-tide. Overhead sang a lark; attheir feet a brook whispered; around them solitude, vast, infinite. Hespoke and she answered; her reserve became infectious; they ate theiroaten cakes and drank their wine, each strongly conscious of thepresence of the other. Then he rose, saddled their horses, andassisted her to mount. She appeared over-anxious to leave theshepherd's hut; the jester, on the other hand, cast a backward glanceat the poplar, the hovel, the brook. A crisp, clear caroling of birdsfollowed them as they turned from the lonely spot.

  So they rode, pausing betimes to rest, and even then she had little tosay, save once when they stopped at a rustic bridge which spanned astream. Both were silent, regarding the horses splashing in the waterand clouding its clear depths with the yellow mud from its bed. Fromthe cool shadows beneath the planks where she was standing, tiny fish,disturbed by this unwonted invasion, shot forth like darts and vanishedinto the opaque patches. Half-dreamily watching this exodus offlashing life from covert nook and hole, she said unexpectedly:

  "Who is it that has wedded the princess?"

  For a moment he did not answer; then briefly related the story.

  "And why did you not tell me this before?" she asked when he hadfinished.

  "Would you have credited me--then?" he replied, with a smile.

  Quickly she looked at him. Was there that in her eyes which to himrobbed memory of its sting? At their feet the water leaped andlaughed; curled around the stones, and ran on with dancing bubbles.Perhaps he returned her glance too readily; perhaps the recollection ofthe ride the night before recurred over-vividly to her, for she gazedsuddenly away, and he wondered in what direction her thoughts tended,when she said with some reserve:

  "Shall we go on?"

  They had not long left the brook and the bridge, when from afar theycaught sight of the regal chateau and the clustering progeny ofred-roofed houses at its base. At once they drew rein.

  "Shall we enter the town, or avoid it by riding over the mead?" saidthe _plaisant_.

  "What danger would there be in going on?" she asked. "Whom might wemeet?"

  Thoughtfully he regarded the shining towers of the royal residence."No one, I think," he at length replied, and they went on.

  Around the town ran a great wall, with watch-towers and a deep moat,but no person questioned their right to the freedom of the place; asleepy soldier at the gate merely glancing indifferently at them asthey passed beneath the heavy archway. Gabled houses, with a tendencyto incline from the perpendicular, overlooked the winding street; dull,round panes of glass stared at them, fraught with mystery and thepossibility of spying eyes behind; but the thoroughfare in thatvicinity appeared deserted, save for an old woman seated in a doorway.Before this grandam, whose lack-luster eyes were fastened steadfastlybefore her, the fool paused and asked the direction of the inn.

  "Follow your nose, if nature gave you a straight one," cried a jeeringvoice from the other side of the thoroughfare. "If it be crooked, ablind man and a dog were a better guide."

  The speaker, a squat, misshapen figure, had emerged from a passageturning into the street, and now stood, twirling a fool's head on astick and gazing impudently at the new-comers. The crone whom the_plaisant_ had addressed remained motionless as a statue.

  "Ha! ha!" laughed the oddity who had volunteered this malapert responseto the jester's inquiry, "yonder sign-post"--pointing to the ageddame--"has lost its fingers--or rather its ears. Better trust to yournose."

  "Triboulet!" exclaimed Jacqueline.

  "Is it you, lady-bird?" said the surprised dwarf, recognizing in turnthe maid. "And with the _plaisant_," staring hard at the fool. Then acunning look gradually replaced the wonder depicted on his features."You are fleeing from the court; I, toward it," he remarked, jocosely.

  "What mean you, fool?" demanded the horseman, sternly.

  "That I have run away from the duke, fool," answered the hunchback."The foreign lord dared to beat me--Triboulet--who has only been beatenby the king. Sooner or later must I have fled, in any event, for whatis Triboulet without the court; or the court, without Triboulet?" hisindignation merging into arrogant vainglory.

  "When did you leave the--duke?" asked the other, slowly.

  "Several days ago," replied the dwarf, gazing narrowly at hisquestioner. "Down the road. He should be far away by this time."

  Suspiciously the duke's jester regarded the hunchback and then glanceddubiously toward the gate through which they had entered the town. Hehad experienced Triboulet's duplicity and malice, yet in this instancewas disposed to give credence to his story, because he doubted not thatLouis of Hochfels would make all haste out of Francis' kingdom. Nordid it appear unreasonable that Triboulet should pine for theexcitement of his former life; the pleasures and gaiety which prevailedat Fools' hall. If the hunchback's information were true, they neednow have little fear of overtaking the free baron and his following, asnot far beyond the chateau-town the main road broke into two parts, theone continuing southward and the other branching off to the east.

  While the horseman was thus reflecting, Triboulet, like an imp, beganto dance before them, slapping his crooked knees with his enormoushands.

  "A good joke, my master and mistress in motley," he cried. "The kingwas weak enough to exchange his dwarf for a demoiselle; the latter hasfled; the monarch has neither one nor the other; therefore is he,himself, the fool. And thou, mistress, art also worthy of the madcapbells," he added, his distorted face upturned to the jestress.

  "How so?" she asked, not concealing the repugnance he inspired.

  "Because you prefer a fool's cap to a king's crown," he answered,looking significantly at her companion. "Wherein you but followed theroyal preference for head-coverings. Ho! ho! I saw which way the windblew; how the monarch's eyes kindled when they rested on you; how thewings of Madame d'Etampes's coif fluttered like an angry butterfly.Know you what was whispered at court? The reason the countess pleadedfor an earlier marriage for the duke? That the princess might leavethe sooner--and take the jestress, her maid, with her. But the kingmet her manoeuver with another. He granted the favorite's request--butkept the jestress."

  "Silence, rogue!" commanded the duke's fool, wheeling his horse towardthe dwarf.

  "And then for her to turn from a throne-room to a dungeon," went onTriboulet, satirically, as he retreated. "As B
rusquet wrote; 'twas:

  "'_Morbleu_! A merry monarch and a jestress fair; A jestress fair, I ween!'--"

  But ere the hunchback could finish this scurrilous doggerel of thecourt, over which, doubtless, many loose witlings had laughed, thegirl's companion placed his hand on his sword and started toward thedwarf. The words died on Triboulet's lips; hastily he dodged into anarrow space between two houses, where he was safe from pursuit.Jacqueline's face had become flushed; her lips were compressed; thecountenance of the duke's _plaisant_ seemed paler than its wont.

  "Little monster!" he muttered.

  But the hunchback, in his retreat, was now regarding neither thehorseman nor the young girl. His glittering eyes, as if fascinated,rested on the weapon of the _plaisant_.

  "What a fine blade you've got there!" he said curiously. "Much betterthan a wooden sword. Jeweled, too, by the holy bagpipe! And a coat ofarms!"--more excitedly--"yes, the coat of arms of the great Constableof Dubrois. As proud a sword as that of the king. Where did you getit?" And in his sudden interest, the dwarf half-ventured from hisplace of refuge.

  "Answer him not!" said the girl, hastily.

  "Was it you, mistress, gave it him?" he asked, with a sudden, sharplook.

  Her contemptuous gaze was her only reply.

  "By the dust of kings, when last I saw it, the haughty constablehimself it was who wore it," continued Triboulet. "Aye, when he defiedFrancis to his face. I can see him now, a rich surcoat over his gildedarmor; the queen-mother, an amorous Dulcinea, gazing at him, with allher soul in her eyes; the brilliant company startled; even the kingoverawed. 'Twas I broke the spell, while the monarch and the courtwere silent, not daring to speak."

  "You!" From the young woman's eyes flashed a flame of deepest hatred.

  The hunchback shrank back; then laughed. "I, Triboulet!" he boasted."'Ha!' said I, 'he's greater than the king!' whereupon Francis frowned,started, and answered the constable, refusing his claim. Not longthereafter the constable died in Spain, and I completed the jest.'So,' said I, 'he is less than a man.' And the king, who remembered,laughed."

  "Let us go," said the jestress, very white.

  Silently the _plaisant_ obeyed, and Triboulet once more ventured forth."Momus go with you!" he called out after them. And then:

  "'_Morbleu_! A merry monarch and a jestress fair;'"

  More quickly they rode on. Furtively, with suppressed rage in hisheart, the duke's fool regarded his companion. Her face was cold andset, and as his glance rested on its pale, pure outline, beneath hisbreath he cursed Brusquet, Triboulet and all their kind. He understoodnow--too well--the secret of her flight. What he had heretofore beenfairly assured of was unmistakably confirmed. The sight of the tavernwhich they came suddenly upon and the appearance of the innkeeperinterrupted this dark trend of thought, and, springing from his horse,the jester helped the girl to dismount.

  The house, being situated in the immediate proximity of the grandchateau, received a certain patronage from noble lords and ladies.This trade had given the proprietor such an opinion of his hostelrythat common folk were not wont to be overwhelmed with welcome. In thepresent instance the man showed a disposition to scrutinize too closelythe modest attire of the new-comers and the plain housings of theirchargers, when the curt voice of the jester recalled him sharply fromthis forward occupation.

  With a shade less of disrespect, the proprietor bade them follow him;rooms were given them, and, in the larger of the two chambers, the_plaisant_, desiring to avoid the publicity of the dining and tap-room,ordered their supper to be served.

  During the repast the girl scarcely spoke; the capon she hardlytouched; the claret she merely sipped. Once when she held the glass toher lips, he noticed her hand trembled just a little, and then, whenshe set down the goblet, how it closed, almost fiercely. Beneath hereyes shadows seemed to gather; above them her glance shone ominously.

  "Oh," she said at length, as though giving utterance to some thought,which, pent-up, she could no longer control; "the irony; the tragedy ofit!"

  "What, Jacqueline?" he asked, gently, although he felt the bloodsurging in his head.

  "'_Morbleu_! A merry monarch'--"

  she began, and broke off abruptly, rising to her feet, with a gestureof aversion, and moving restlessly across the room. "After all theseyears! After all that had gone before!"

  "What has gone before, Jacqueline?"

  "Nothing," she answered; "nothing."

  For some time he sat with his sword across his knees, thinking deeply.She went to the window and looked out. When she spoke again her voicehad regained its self-command.

  "A dark night," she said, mechanically.

  "Jacqueline," he asked, glancing up from the blade, "why in the cryptthat day we escaped did you pause at that monument?"

  Quickly she turned, gazing at him from the half-darkness in which shestood.

  "Did you see to whom the monument was erected?" she asked in a lowvoice.

  "To the wife of the constable. But what was Anne, Duchess of Dubrois,to you?"

  "She was the last lady of the castle," said the girl softly.

  Again he surveyed the jeweled emblem on the sword, mocking reminder ofa glory gone beyond recall.

  "And how was it, mistress, the castle was confiscated by the king?" hecontinued, after a pause.

  "Shall I tell you the story?" she asked, her voice hardening.

  "If you will," he answered.

  "Triboulet's description of the scene where the constable braved theking, insisting on his rights, was true," she observed, proudly.

  "But why had the noble wearer of this sword been deprived of hisfeudality and tenure?"

  "Because he was strong and great, and the king feared him; because hewas noble and handsome, and the queen-regent loved him. It was not herhand only, Louise of Savoy, Francis' mother, offered, but--the throne."

  "The throne!" said the wondering fool.

  Quickly she crossed the room and leaned upon the table. In the glimmerof the candles her face was soft and tender. He thought he had neverseen a sweeter or more womanly expression.

  "But he refused it," she continued, "for he loved only the memory ofhis wife, Lady Anne. She, a perfect being. The other--what?"

  On her features shone a fine contempt.

  "Then followed the endless persecution and spite of a woman scorned,"she continued, rapidly. "One by one, his honors were wrested from him.He who had borne the flag triumphantly through Italy was deprived ofthe government of Milan and replaced by a brother of Madame deChateaubriant, then favorite of the king. His castle, lands, wereconfiscated, until, driven to despair, he fled and allied himself withthe emperor. 'Traitor,' they called him. He, a Bayard."

  A moment she stood, an exalted look on her features; tall, erect; thenstepped toward him and took the sword. With a bright and radiantglance she surveyed it; pressed the hilt to her lips, and with bothhands held it to her bosom. As if fascinated, the fool watched her.Her countenance was upturned; a moment, and it fell; a dark shadowcrossed it; beneath her lashes her eyes were like night.

  "But he failed because Charles, the emperor, failed him," she said,almost mechanically, "and broken in spirit, met his death miserably inexile. Yet his cause was just; his memory is dearer than that of aconqueror. She, the queen-mother, is dead; God alone may deal withher."

  More composed, she resumed her place in the chair on the other side ofthe table, the sword across her arm.

  "And how came you, mistress," he asked, regarding her closely, "in thepleasure palace built by Francis?"

  "When the castle was taken, all who had not fled were a gamekeeper andhis little girl--myself. The latter"--ironically--"pleased some of thecourt ladies. They commended her wit, and gradually was she advancedto the high position she occupied when you arrived," with a strangeglance across the board at her listener.

  "And the gamekeeper--your father--is dead?"

  "Long since."

  "The con
stable had no children?"

  "Yes; a girl who, it is believed, died with him in Spain."

  The entrance of the servant to remove the dishes interrupted theirfurther conversation. As the door opened, from below came the voicesof new-comers, the impatient call of tipplers for ale, the rattle ofdishes in the kitchen. Wrapped in the recollections the conversationhad evoked, to Jacqueline the din passed unnoticed, and when therosy-cheeked lass had gone--it was the jester who first spoke.

  "What a commentary on the mockery of fate that the sword of such a man,so illustrious, so unfortunate, should be intrusted to a fool!"

  "Why," she said, looking at him, her arms on the table, "you drew itbravely, and--once--more bravely--kept it sheathed."

  His face flushed. She half smiled; then placed the blade on the boardbefore him.

  "There it is."

  Above the sword he reached over, as if to place his hand on hers, butshe quickly rose. Absently he returned the weapon to his girdle. Shetook a step or two from him, nervously; lifted her hand to her brow andbreathed deeply.

  "How tired I feel!" she said.

  Immediately he got up. "You are worn out from the journey," heobserved, quickly.

  But he knew it was not the journey that had most affected her.

  "I will leave you," he went on. "Have you everything you need?"

  "Everything," she answered carelessly.

  He walked to the door. The light was on his face; hers remained shaded.

  "Good-night," she said.

  "Good-night, Jacqueline, Duchess of Dubrois," he answered, and,turning, disappeared down the corridor.