The King's Promise
Life flowed very smoothly in La Rochelle during that autumn of 1570. Amongst us at least the peace was not broken, though we heard rumours of dark threats from the Guises, and Coligny received numerous warnings not to trust himself, without an armed force, outside the city walls.
The first break came about with the departure of Roger Braund. An English ship put into the harbour one morning at the end of November, and her master brought a letter which compelled my comrade to return home.
"No," he said in reply to my question, "there is no bad news; it is simply a matter of business. I shall not wish you good-bye; I have still my promised visit to Paris to make. Perhaps we shall all be able to go there together."
What he said to Jeanne I do not know, but she did not seem so much cast down at his departure as I expected, for they two had become very close friends. Indeed, I sometimes thought their friendship was even warmer than that between Jeanne and Felix.
However, we went down to the harbour, Felix and I, and aboard his ship, an uncomfortable-looking craft, with but scanty accommodation for a passenger. But Roger did not mind this. He had sailed in a much worse vessel, he said, and a far longer distance than the passage across the Channel.
Felix shrugged his shoulders. "On land," he remarked, "danger does not alarm me, but I should not care to put to sea in such a boat as that!" in which I was at one with him.
"I will choose a better craft next time," laughed Roger, as, after bidding him farewell, we walked across the gangway to the wharf, where we stood waving our hands until he disappeared from sight.
"Does he really mean to return?" my comrade asked.
"I think so. He has evidently made up his mind to visit Paris."
"I fancy," said Felix rather bitterly, it struck me, "that he will be satisfied with Rochelle, as long as Queen Joan holds her Court there!"
My friend was not in the best of humour, but he recovered his spirits in a day or two, and before a week had passed was as lively and merry as usual. Black Care and Felix were not congenial companions.
Nothing happened after Roger's departure until the spring of 1571, when we heard of the king's marriage with Elizabeth of Germany. None of our leaders attended the ceremony, which seemed to have been a very brilliant affair, the new queen riding into Paris in an open litter hung with cloth of silver, drawn by the very finest mules shod with the same gleaming metal.
A courier who waited upon the Admiral declared that the decorations were a triumph of art, and that the bridge of Notre Dame was like a scene taken bodily from fairy land. A triumphal arch was erected at each end of the bridge; the roadway was covered with an awning smothered in flowers and evergreens, while between every window on the first floor of the houses were figures of nymphs bearing fruits and flowers, and crowned with laurel.
But, although debarred from attending the marriage of the king, we were not without our rejoicings. Our noble leader was married to Jacqueline of Montbel, Countess of Entremont, who came to la Rochelle attended by fifty gentlemen of her kindred. Headed by Coligny, we rode out to meet her, and the cannon thundered forth a joyous salute. The citizens lined the streets, and if our decorations were not as gay as those of Paris, there was, perhaps, a more genuine heartiness in our welcome.
These public rejoicings, however, could not make me forget that my position was still very awkward. My stock of money was dwindling, and I could not expect to live in the Admiral's house for ever; while, as long as we remained at Rochelle, Henry of Beam's generous promise was not likely to bear fruit.
Jacques, who paid one or two visits to Le Blanc, reported that the castle remained closed, and that the tenants on the property had received orders to pay their rents to the crown. This was bad enough, but his second piece of Information made my blood hot with anger.
I asked if he had learned anything of Etienne Cordel, and he replied angrily, "More than enough, monsieur. I shall certainly spit that insolent upstart one of these days. He is giving himself all the airs of a grand personage, and boasts openly that before long he will be the Sieur Le Blanc. He is a serpent, monsieur—a crawling, loathsome, deadly serpent; his breath pollutes the very air."
"He is no worse than his kind," I replied somewhat bitterly. "He is but trying to raise himself on the misfortunes of others."
"Worse than that, monsieur. In my opinion it was he who caused the downfall of your house, for his own wicked ends. Your father's property was to be his reward for doing Monseigneur's dirty work."
"It is likely enough," I replied, "but we can do nothing without the Admiral."
A day or two after this conversation—it was as far as I can remember about the middle of July—Felix came to me in a state of great excitement.
"Have you heard the news?" he asked. "The king has sent for our chief!"
"For what purpose?"
"He has written a most kindly letter and has promised to follow his counsel."
"Faith," said I, "it smacks to me of the invitation of the hungry fox to the plump pullet! I think Coligny will be well advised to remain within the walls of La Rochelle."
The king's letter was the subject of eager discussion, and almost every one declared that our beloved chief would run the greatest risk in accepting the invitation.
"The king may be honest enough, though I doubt it," said one, "but the Guises are murderers; while as for Monseigneur and his mother, I would as soon trust to a pack of wolves!"
Queen Joan, Henry of Bearn, young Condé, and all our leaders, though making use of less blunt speech, were of the same opinion, but the Admiral cared little for his own safety, when there was a chance of benefiting his country.
"The king is surrounded by evil counsellors," he said; "there is all the greater need for one who will tender him honest advice. I have ventured my life freely for France; you would not have me turn coward in my old age?"
"To die on the field of battle, my lord," exclaimed one of his oldest comrades in arms, "and to be stabbed in the back by a cowardly assassin are two very different things."
"You love me over-much," replied the Admiral, placing a hand affectionately on his shoulder; "you are too tender of my welfare. What is one man's life compared with the good of France?"
"Very little, my lord, except when the man is yourself, and then it becomes everything!"
"Well," replied Coligny, "at the least we can ponder his majesty's request."
"He will go," declared Felix that evening; "his mind is made up. With him France is first, second, and third; Coligny is nowhere."
"The king may really mean well," I suggested.
"If he doesn't," said Felix, "and any harm happens to our chief, the House of Valois will rue it! We will clear them out, root and branch."
My comrade foretold the Admiral's decision correctly. With his eyes wide open to the terrible risk, he elected to place himself in the king's power, in the hope of healing the wounds from which France was still bleeding.
Jeanne was so happy with her royal mistress that I felt no misgiving in leaving her, and for myself I was not sorry to exchange the confinement of Rochelle for a more active life. Besides, I could not help reflecting that it was to the Admiral's influence I looked for the recovery of my father's estates.
The evening before leaving La Rochelle I went to take farewell of my sister. "If Roger Braund should return during our absence," I said, "you can tell him we have gone to Blois and perhaps to Paris. What is it, sweetheart?" for at this, a wave of colour spread over her fair face.
"'Tis nothing, brother," said she, gazing earnestly at the ground, "only this very morning the master of an English ship brought me a note from him."
"A note for you! 'Tis strange he did not write to me!"
"He speaks of you in his letter, and hopes you are well. There is some trouble at Court" he says, "and he cannot obtain his queen's permission to leave the country."
"Then we have seen the last of him. I am sorry."
"He thinks he may be able to come in a few months," she continued, but, strangely enough, she did not show me his letter, nor did she mention the subject to Felix, who presently joined us.
The next morning, to the visible anxiety of our friends, we rode out from the city, fifty strong, with the Admiral at our head. We journeyed pleasantly and at our leisure to Blois, where the king accorded our chief a most gracious and kindly reception. If he really meditated treachery, he was a most accomplished actor.
His gentlemen entertained us with lavish hospitality, and, though there were occasionally sharp differences of opinion, we got on very well together. When the king treated our leader so affectionately, calling him "Father," and placing his arm round his neck, the members of the royal household could not afford to be churlish.
One morning I chanced to be in attendance on the Admiral when he and the king were taking a turn in the grounds. Felix and two or three of the king's gentlemen were with me, and we were all chatting pleasantly together when my patron, turning round, beckoned me to approach.
"This is the young man, sire," he said; "he comes from a good family, and I have proved him to be a trusty servant."
"My dear Admiral," cried Charles, "a word from you is sufficient recommendation. But there are forms to be observed, and you would not have me override the Parliament! Eh, my dear Admiral, you would not have me do that," and he laughed roguishly.
"I would have you do nothing unjustly, sire, but I would have you set the wrong right, and this is a foul wrong. The Sieur Le Blanc did nothing more than any other Huguenot gentleman. Why was he outlawed, and a price set on his head, and his property confiscated?"
"Upon my word," exclaimed Charles, looking very foolish, "I do not know!"
"You were pleased at St. Jean d'Angely to call him a very gallant gentleman."
"At D'Angely?" echoed the king. "Are you speaking of the man who set us so long at defiance? My brother was not well pleased with him."
"Your brother, sire, does not rule France."
"No, by St. James!" cried Charles, with sudden fury, "and while I live he never shall! I am the king, and what I wish shall be done. This Le Blanc who fought at D'Angely was as brave a soldier as ever drew sword. Had he been on our side, I would have made him a marshal. I swear it!"
"He fought against you, sire, but it was for what he thought right."
"Perhaps he was right," said Charles. "Why can't we all live at peace with each other? When we have finished cutting each other's throats, the Spaniards will step in and seize the country. I am not a fool, though my brother thinks I am!"
"While France remains true to herself, sire, Spain can do her no harm. And a generous action, your majesty, goes far toward gaining a nation's love."
"You wish me to restore this young man's estates? They shall be restored, my dear Admiral; I will look into the matter on my return to Paris. There will be papers to sign—it seems to me I am always signing papers, principally to please my mother and Monseigneur—in this I will please myself."
"I thank you, sire, not only for myself, but for Henry of Beam, whose life the youth had the good fortune to save, and who is greatly interested in him."
"If it will please Henry of Beam," said the king with an interest for which I could not account, but which became clearer afterwards, "that is a further reason why I should have justice done. Let the young man go to his estates whenever he pleases; I will see that whatever forms are necessary are made out."
At that I thanked his majesty very respectfully, and at a sign from my patron fell back to rejoin my companions. I said nothing to Felix then concerning this conversation, but at night, when we were alone, I told him of the king's promise.
"He will keep his word," said my comrade, "unless Anjou gets hold of him. But if Anjou has promised the estates to his tool, I foresee difficulties."
"Surely the king is master of his own actions!" I remarked.
My comrade laughed. "He is a mere puppet; his mother and Anjou between them pull the strings as they please. Charles is a weakling, Edmond, and easily swayed by other people's opinions."
"He seems to be under the Admiral's influence just at present."
"Yes; it is when he returns to Paris that the trouble will begin. The other side will work hard to drive him away from our patron."
A fortnight passed before I heard anything more of the subject, and I was beginning to feel somewhat doubtful of the king's good faith when one morning the Admiral sent for me.
"His majesty is returning to Paris, Le Blanc," he said, "and I am going for a short while to Chatillon. He has promised to set things right for you, but he may forget, and I shall not be with him."
"It is very kind of you to think of my troubles, my lord."
"I must be true to those who are true to me," he replied graciously, "and I am still deeply in your debt. Now, what is to be done? Until the papers are signed, your tenants must continue to pay their rents to the crown; but it may be as well for you to take the king at his word, and go to your estates. Of course, you will need money, but, fortunately, I can supply that."
"You are indeed generous, my lord; but there is another objection," I stammered out awkwardly.
"What is that?" he asked
"My duty to yourself, my lord. It is not the part of a gentleman of France to leave his chief in danger."
"But I am not in danger, my boy! France is at peace; the king is my friend; we have blotted out the past. Still, should the time come when I have need of a trusty sword, I shall not fail to send for Edmond Le Blanc. I leave Blois in two or three days, but before then I will send my chaplain to you. Keep a stout heart; the king is anxious to stand well with Prince Henry, who will not forget to press your claims."
I took my leave of him with heart-felt gratitude, and sought my comrade, whose face clouded as he listened to my story.
"'Tis good advice, Edmond," he exclaimed dolefully, "and it is selfish in me to feel sorry; but it puts an end to our comradeship."
"Say, rather, it breaks it for a time," I suggested. "As soon as the affair is settled I shall come back."
"Will you?" he cried delightedly; "then I hope the king will sign the papers directly he reaches Paris. I shall be miserable until your return."
"The pleasures of the capital will help to keep up your spirits," I laughed. "It will be a novelty to see our friends attending the royal banquets and receptions. Monseigneur and the Guises will be charmed with your society."
"It is a big risk," he remarked thoughtfully. "I wonder how it will all end?" and I hardly liked to answer the question even to myself.
The next day the chaplain brought me a purse of money, with a kindly message from the chief, who had gone to attend the king, and I told Jacques to prepare for setting out early in the morning.
"Are we going to Paris?" he asked, and I laughed at the amazed expression of his face on hearing that we were about to return home.
"'Tis a long story," I said, "but there will be ample time to tell it on the journey."
I wished my comrades farewell, and early in the morning took my departure from Blois, Felix riding a short distance with me.
"I would we were travelling the whole journey together," he said; "but as that is out of the question I shall pray for your speedy return. Good-bye, Edmond, till we meet again."
"And may that be soon!" I exclaimed warmly.