“See, Monsieur de la Forêt,” she added, “since you will not fight, you shall preach. A priest you came into my kingdom, and a priest you shall remain; but you shall preach good English doctrine and no Popish folly.”
De la Forêt started, then composed himself, and before he had time to reply Elizabeth continued:
“Partly for your own sake am I thus gracious, for as a preacher of the Word I have not need to give you up, according to agreement with our brother of France. As a rebel and conspirator I were bound to do so, unless you were an officer of my army. The Seigneur of Rozel has spoken for you, and the Comtesse de Montgomery has written a pleading letter. Also I have from another source a tearful prayer—the ink is scare dry upon it—which has been of service to you. But I myself have chosen this way of escape for you. Prove yourself worthy and all may be well—but prove yourself you shall. You have prepared your own brine, monsieur; in it you shall pickle.”
She smiled a sour smile, for she was piqued, and added: “Do you think I will have you here squiring of distressed dames save as a priest? You shall hence to Madame of Montgomery as her faithful chaplain, once I have heard you preach and know your doctrine.”
Leicester almost laughed outright in the young man’s face now, for he had no thought that De la Forêt would accept, and refusal meant the exile’s doom.
It seemed fantastic that this noble gentleman, this very type of the perfect soldier, with the brown face of a Romany and an athletic valor of body, should become a preacher even in necessity.
Elizabeth, seeing De la Forêt’s dumb amazement and anxiety, spoke up sharply: “Do this, or get you hence to the Medici, and Madame of Montgomery shall mourn her protector, and mademoiselle, your mistress of the vermilion cheek, shall have one lover the less, which, methinks, our Seigneur of Rozel would thank me for.”
De la Forêt started, his lips pressed firmly together in effort of restraint. There seemed little the Queen did not know concerning him, and reference to Angèle roused him to sharp solicitude.
“Well, well?” asked Elizabeth, impatiently, then made a motion to Leicester, and he, going to the door, bade some one to enter.
There stepped inside the Seigneur of Rozel, who made a lumbering obeisance, then got to his knees before the Queen.