Michel and Angele [A Ladder of Swords], Complete - Gilbert Parker
On Michel de la Foret entering the presence the Queen's attention had
become riveted. She felt in him a spirit of mastery, yet of unselfish
purpose. Here was one, she thought, who might well be in her household,
or leading a regiment of her troops. The clear fresh face, curling hair,
direct look, quiet energy, and air of nobility--this sort of man could
only be begotten of a great cause; he were not possible in idle or
prosperous times.
Elizabeth looked him up and down, then affected surprise. "Monsieur de la
Foret," she said, "I do not recognise you in this attire"--glancing
towards his dress.
De la Foret bowed, and Elizabeth continued, looking at a paper in her
hand: "You landed on our shores of Jersey in the robes of a priest of
France. The passport for a priest of France was found upon your person
when our officers in Jersey made search of you. Which is yourself--Michel
de la Foret, soldier, or a priest of France?"
De la Foret replied gravely that he was a soldier, and that the priestly
dress had been but a disguise.
"In which papist attire, methinks, Michel de la Foret, soldier and
Huguenot, must have been ill at ease--the eagle with the vulture's wing.
What say you, Monsieur?"
"That vulture's wing hath carried me to a safe dove-cote, your gracious
Majesty," he answered, with a low obeisance.
"I'm none so sure of that, Monsieur," was Elizabeth's answer, and she
glanced quizzically at Leicester, who made a gesture of annoyance. "Our
cousin France makes you to us a dark intriguer and conspirator, a
dangerous weed in our good garden of England, a 'troublous, treacherous
violence'--such are you called, Monsieur."
"I am in your high Majesty's power," he answered, "to do with me as it
seemeth best. If your Majesty wills it that I be returned to France, I
pray you set me upon its coast as I came from it, a fugitive. Thence will
I try to find my way to the army and the poor stricken people of whom I
was. I pray for that only, and not to be given to the red hand of the
Medici."
"Red hand--by my faith, but you are bold, Monsieur!"
Leicester tapped his foot upon the floor impatiently, then caught the
Queen's eye, and gave her a meaning look.
De la Foret saw the look and knew his enemy, but he did not quail. "Bold
only by your high Majesty's faith, indeed," he answered the Queen, with
harmless guile.
Elizabeth smiled. She loved such flattering speech from a strong man. It
touched a chord in her deeper than that under Leicester's finger.
Leicester's impatience only made her more self-willed on the instant.
"You speak with the trumpet note, Monsieur," she said to De la Foret. "We
will prove you. You shall have a company in my Lord Leicester's army
here, and we will send you upon some service worthy of your fame."
"I crave your Majesty's pardon, but I cannot do it," was De la Foret's
instant reply. "I have sworn that I will lift my sword in one cause only,
and to that I must stand. And more--the widow of my dead chief, Gabriel
de Montgomery, is set down in this land unsheltered and alone. I have
sworn to one who loves her, and for my dead chief's sake, that I will
serve her and be near her until better days be come and she may return in
quietness to France. In exile we few stricken folk must stand together,
your august Majesty."
Elizabeth's eye flashed up. She was impatient of refusal of her favour.
She was also a woman, and that De la Foret should flaunt his devotion to
another woman was little to her liking. The woman in her, which had never
been blessed with a noble love, was roused. The sourness of a childless,
uncompanionable life was stronger for the moment than her strong mind and
sense.
"Monsieur has sworn this, and Monsieur has sworn that," she said
petulantly--"and to one who loveth a lady, and for a cause--tut, tut,
tut!--"
Suddenly a kind of intriguing laugh leaped into her eye, and she turned
to Leicester and whispered in his ear. Leicester frowned, then smiled,
and glanced up and down De la Foret's figure impertinently.
"See, Monsieur de la Foret," 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 Foret 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 scarce 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 Foret 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 picaroon and an athletic valour
of body, should become a preacher even in necessity.
Elizabeth, seeing De la Foret'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 Foret started, his lips pressed firmly together in effort of
restraint. There seemed little the Queen did not know concerning him; and
reference to Angele 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.
"You have brought the lady safely--with her father?" she asked.
Lempriere, puzzled, looked inquiringly at the Queen, then replied: "Both
are safe without, your infinite Majesty."
De la Foret's face grew pale. He knew now for the first time that Angele
and her father were in England, and he looked Lempriere suspiciously in
the eyes; but the swaggering Seigneur met his look frankly, and bowed
with ponderous and genial gravity.
Now De la Foret spoke. "Your high Majesty," said he, "if I may ask
Mademoiselle Aubert one question in your presence--"
"Your answer now; the lady in due season," interposed the Queen.
"She was betrothed to a soldier, she may resent a priest," said De la
Foret, with a touch of humour, for he saw the better way was to take the
matter with some outward ease.
Elizabeth smiled. "It is the custom of her sex to have a fondness for
both," she answered, with an acid smile. "But your answer?"
De la Foret's face became exceeding grave. Bowing his head, he said: "My
sword has spoken freely for the Cause; God forbid that my tongue should
not speak also. I will do your Majesty's behest."
The jesting word that was upon the royal lips came not forth, for De la
Foret's face was that of a man who had determined a great thing, and
Elizabeth was one who had a heart for high deeds. "The man is brave
indeed," she said under her breath, and, turning to the dumfounded
Seigneur, bade him bring in Mademoiselle Aubert.
A moment later Angele entered, came a few steps forward, made obeisance,
and stood still. She showed no trepidation, but looked before her
steadily. She knew not what was to be required of her, she was a stranger
in a strange land; but persecution and exile had gone far to strengthen
her spirit and greaten her composure.
Elizabeth gazed at the girl coldly and critically. To women she was not
over-amiable; but as she looked at the young Huguenot maid, of this calm
bearing, warm of colour, clear of eye, and purposeful of face, some thing
kindled in her. Most like it was that love for a cause, which was more to
be encouraged by her than any woman's love for a man, which as she grew
older inspired her with aversion, as talk of marriage brought cynical
allusions to her lips.
"I have your letter and its protests and its pleadings. There were fine
words and adjurations--are you so religious, then?" she asked brusquely.
"I am a Huguenot, your noble Majesty," answered the girl, as though that
answered all.
"How is it, then, you are betrothed to a roistering soldier?" asked the
Queen.
"Some must pray for Christ's sake, and some must fight, your most
christian Majesty," answered the girl. "Some must do both," rejoined the
Queen, in a kinder voice, for the pure spirit of the girl worked upon
her. "I am told that Monsieur de la Foret fights fairly. If he can pray
as well, methinks he shall have safety in our kingdom, and ye shall all
have peace. On Trinity Sunday you shall preach in my chapel, Monsieur de
la Foret, and thereafter you shall know your fate."
She rose. "My Lord," she said to Leicester, on whose face gloom had
settled, "you will tell the Lord Chamberlain that Monsieur de la Foret's
durance must be made comfortable in the west tower of my palace till
chapel-going of Trinity Day. I will send him for his comfort and
instruction some sermons of Latimer."
She stepped down from the dais. "You will come with me, mistress," she
said to Angele, and reached out her hand.
Angele fell on her knees and kissed it, tears falling down her cheek,
then rose and followed the Queen from the chamber. She greatly desired to
look backward towards De la Foret, but some good angel bade her not. She
realised that to offend the Queen at this moment might ruin all; and
Elizabeth herself was little like to offer chance for farewell and
love-tokens.
So it was that, with bowed head, Angele left the room with the Queen of
England, leaving Lempriere and De la Foret gazing at each other, the one
bewildered, the other lost in painful reverie, and Leicester smiling
maliciously at them both.
CHAPTER X
Every man, if you bring him to the right point, if you touch him in the
corner where he is most sensitive, where he most lives, as it were; if
you prick his nerves with a needle of suggestion where all his passions,
ambitions and sentiments are at white heat, will readily throw away the
whole game of life in some mad act out of harmony with all he ever did.
It matters little whether the needle prick him by accident or blunder or
design, he will burst all bounds, and establish again the old truth that
each of us will prove himself a fool given perfect opportunity. Nor need
the occasion of this revolution be a great one; the most trivial event
may produce the great fire which burns up wisdom, prudence and habit.
The Earl of Leicester, so long counted astute, clearheaded, and
well-governed, had been suddenly foisted out of balance, shaken from his
imperious composure, tortured out of an assumed and persistent urbanity,
by the presence in Greenwich Palace of a Huguenot exile of no seeming
importance, save what the Medici grimly gave him by desiring his head. It
appeared absurd that the great Leicester, whose nearness to the throne
had made him the most feared, most notable, and, by virtue of his
opportunities, the most dramatic figure in England, should have sleepless
nights by reason of a fugitive like Michel de la Foret. On the surface it
was preposterous that he should see in the Queen's offer of service to
the refugee evidence that she was set to grant him special favours; it
was equally absurd that her offer of safety to him on pledge of his
turning preacher should seem proof that she meant to have him near her.
Elizabeth had left the presence-chamber without so much as a glance at
him, though she had turned and looked graciously at the stranger. He had
hastily followed her, and thereafter impatiently awaited a summons which
never came, though he had sent a message that his hours were at her
Majesty's disposal. Waiting, he saw Angele's father escorted from the
palace by a Gentleman Pensioner to a lodge in the park; he saw Michel de
la Foret taken to his apartments; he saw the Seigneur of Rozel walking in
the palace grounds with such possession as though they were his own,
self-content in every motion of his body.
Upon the instant the great Earl was incensed out of all proportion to the
affront of the Seigneur's existence. He suddenly hated Lempriere only
less than he hated Michel de la Foret. As he still waited irritably for a
summons from Elizabeth, he brooded on every word and every look she had
given him of late; he recalled her manner to him in the ante-chapel the
day before, and the admiring look she cast on De la Foret but now. He had
seen more in it than mere approval of courage and the self-reliant
bearing of a refugee of her own religion.
These were days when the soldier of fortune mounted to high places. He
needed but to carry the banner of bravery, and a busy sword, and his way
to power was not hindered by poor estate. To be gently born was the one
thing needful, and Michel de la Foret was gently born; and he had still
his sword, though he chose not to use it in Elizabeth's service. My Lord
knew it might be easier for a stranger like De la Foret, who came with no
encumbrance, to mount to place in the struggles of the Court, than for an
Englishman, whose increasing and ever-bolder enemies were undermining on
every hand, to hold his own.
He began to think upon ways and means to meet this sudden preference of
the Queen, made sharply manifest as he waited in the ante-chamber, by a
summons to the refugee to enter the Queen's apartments. When the refugee
came forth again he wore a sword the Queen had sent him, and a packet of
Latimer's sermons were under his arm. Leicester was unaware that
Elizabeth herself did not see De la Foret when he was thus hastily
called; but that her lady-in-waiting, the Duke's Daughter, who figured so
largely in the pictures Lempriere drew of his experiences at Greenwich
Palace, brought forth the sermons and the sword, with this message from
the Queen:
"The Queen says that it is but fair to the sword to be by Michel de la
Foret's side when the sermons are in his hand, that his choice have every
seeming of fairness. For her Majesty says it is still his choice between
the Sword and the Book till Trinity Day."
Leicester, however, only saw the sword at the side of the refugee and the
gold-bound book under his arm as he came forth, and in a rage he left the
palace and gloomily walked under the trees, denying himself to every one.
To seize De la Foret, and send him to the Medici, and then rely on
Elizabeth's favour for his pardon, as he had done in the past? That might
do, but the risk to England was too great. It would be like the Queen, if
her temper was up, to demand from the Medici the return of De la Foret,
and war might ensue. Two women, with two nations behind them, were not to
be played lightly against each other, trusting to their common sense and
humour.
As he walked among the trees, brooding with averted eyes, he was suddenly
faced by the Seigneur of Rozel, who also was shaken from his discretion
and the best interests of the two fugitives he was bound to protect, by a
late offence against his own dignity. A seed of rancour had been sown in
his mind which had grown to a great size and must presently burst into a
dark flower of vengeance. He, Lempriere of Rozel, with three dovecotes,
the perquage, and the office of butler to the Queen, to be called a
"farmer," to be sneered at--it was not in the blood of man, not in the
towering vanity of a Lempriere, to endure it at any price computable to
mortal mind.
Thus there were in England on that day two fools (there are as many now),
and one said:
"My Lord Leicester, I crave a word with you."
"Crave on, good fellow," responded Leicester with a look of boredom,
making to pass by.
"I am Lempriere, lord of Rozel, my lord--"
"Ah yes, I took you for a farmer," answered Leicester. "Instead of that,
I believe you keep doves, and wear a jerkin that fits like a king's. Dear
Lord, so does greatness come with girth!"
"The King that gave me dove-cotes gave me honour, and 'tis not for the
Earl of Leicester to belittle it."
"What is your coat of arms?" said Leicester with a faint smile, but in an
assumed tone of natural interest.
"A swan upon a sea of azure, two stars above, and over all a sword with a
wreath around its point," answered Lempriere simply, unsuspecting irony,
and touched by Leicester's flint where he was most like to flare up with
vanity.
"Ah!" said Leicester. "And the motto?"
"Mea spes supra stella--my hope is beyond the stars."
"And the wreath--of parsley, I suppose?"
Now Lempriere understood, and he shook with fury as he roared:
"Yes, by God, and to be got at the point of the sword, to put on the
heads of insolents like Lord Leicester!" His face was flaming, he was
like a cock strutting upon a stable mound.
There fell a slight pause, and then Leicester said: "To-morrow at
daylight, eh?"
"Now, my lord, now!"
"We have no seconds."
"'Sblood! 'Tis not your way, my lord, to be stickling in detail of
courtesy."
"'Tis not the custom to draw swords in secret, Lempriere of Rozel. Also
my teeth are not on edge to fight you."
Lempriere had already drawn his sword, and the look of his eyes was as
that of a mad bull in a ring. "You won't fight with me--you don't think
Rozel your equal?" His voice was high.
Leicester's face took on a hard, cruel look. "We cannot fight among the
ladies," he said quietly. Lempriere followed his glance, and saw the
Duke's Daughter and another in the trees near by.
He hastily put up his sword. "When, my lord?" he asked.
"You will hear from me to-night," was the answer, and Leicester went
forward hastily to meet the ladies--they had news no doubt.
Lempriere turned on his heel and walked quickly away among the trees
towards the quarters where Buonespoir was in durance, which was little
more severe than to keep him within the palace yard. There he found the
fool and the pirate in whimsical converse.
The fool had brought a letter of inquiry and warm greeting from Angele to
Buonespoir, who was laboriously inditing one in return. When Lempriere
entered the pirate greeted him jovially.
"In the very pinch of time you come," he said. "You have grammar and
syntax and etiquette."
"'Tis even so, Nuncio," said the fool. "Here is needed prosody potential.
Exhale!"
The three put their heads together above the paper.
CHAPTER XI
"I would know your story. How came you and yours to this pass? Where were
you born? Of what degree are you? And this Michel de la Foret, when came
he to your feet--or you to his arms? I would know all. Begin where life
began; end where you sit here at the feet of Elizabeth. This other
cushion to your knees. There--now speak. We are alone."
Elizabeth pushed a velvet cushion towards Angele, where she half-knelt,
half-sat on the rush-strewn floor of the great chamber. The warm light of
the afternoon sun glowed through the thick-tinted glass high up, and, in
the gleam, the heavy tapestries sent by an archduke, once suitor for
Elizabeth's hand, emerged with dramatic distinctness, and peopled the
room with silent watchers of the great Queen and the nobly-born but poor
and fugitive Huguenot. A splendid piece of sculpture--Eleanor, wife of
Edward--given Elizabeth by another royal suitor, who had sought to be her
consort through many years, caught the warm bath of gold and crimson from
the clerestory and seemed alive and breathing. Against the pedestal the
Queen had placed her visitor, the red cushions making vivid contrast to
her white gown and black hair. In the half-kneeling, half-sitting
posture, with her hands clasped before her, so to steady herself to
composure, Angele looked a suppliant--and a saint. Her pure,
straightforward gaze, her smooth, urbane forehead, the guilelessness that
spoke in every feature, were not made worldly by the intelligence and
humour reposing in the brown depths of her eyes. Not a line vexed her
face or forehead. Her countenance was of a singular and almost polished
smoothness, and though her gown was severely simple by comparison with
silks and velvets, furs and ruffles of a gorgeous Court at its most
gorgeous period, yet in it here and there were touches of exquisite
fineness. The black velvet ribbon slashing her sleeves, the slight
cloud-like gathering of lace at the back of her head, gave a
distinguished softness to her appearance.
She was in curious contrast to the Queen, who sat upon heaped-up
cushions, her rich buff and black gown a blaze of jewels, her yellow
hair, now streaked with grey, roped with pearls, her hands heavy with
rings, her face past its youth, past its hopefulness, however noble and
impressive, past its vivid beauty. Her eyes wore ever a determined look,
were persistent and vigilant, with a lurking trouble, yet flooded, too,
by a quiet melancholy, like a low, insistent note that floats through an
opera of passion, romance, and tragedy; like a tone of pathos giving deep
character to some splendid pageant, which praises whilst it commemorates,
proclaiming conquest while the grass has not yet grown on quiet houses of
the children of the sword who no more wield the sword. Evasive, cautious,
secretive, creator of her own policy, she had sacrificed her womanhood to
the power she held and the State she served. Vain, passionate, and
faithful, her heart all England and Elizabeth, the hunger for glimpses of
what she had never known, and was never to know, thrust itself into her
famished life; and she was wont to indulge, as now, in fancies and follow
some emotional whim with a determination very like to eccentricity.
That, at this time, when great national events were forward, when
conspiracies abounded, when Parliament was grimly gathering strength to
compel her to marry; and her Council were as sternly pursuing their
policy for the destruction of Leicester; while that very day had come
news of a rising in the North and of fresh Popish plots hatched in
France--that in such case, this day she should set aside all business,
refuse ambassadors and envoys admission, and occupy herself with two
Huguenot refugees seemed incredible to the younger courtiers. To such as
Cecil, however, there was clear understanding. He knew that when she
seemed most inert, most impassive to turbulent occurrences, most careless
of consequences, she was but waiting till, in her own mind, her plans
were grown; so that she should see her end clearly ere she spoke or
moved. Now, as the great minister showed himself at the door of the
chamber and saw Elizabeth seated with Angele, he drew back instinctively,
expectant of the upraised hand which told him he must wait. And, in
truth, he was nothing loth to do so, for his news he cared little to
deliver, important though it was that she should have it promptly and act
upon it soon. He turned away with a feeling of relief, however, for this
gossip with the Huguenot maid would no doubt interest her, give new
direction to her warm sympathies, which if roused in one thing were ever
more easily roused in others. He knew that a crisis was nearing in the
royal relations with Leicester. In a life of devotion to her service he
had seen her before in this strange mood, and he could feel that she was
ready for an outburst. As he thought of De la Foret and the favour with
which she had looked at him he smiled grimly, for if it meant aught it
meant that it would drive Leicester to some act which would hasten his
own doom; though, indeed, it might also make another path more difficult
for himself, for the Parliament, for the people.
Little as Elizabeth could endure tales of love and news of marriage;
little as she believed in any vows, save those made to herself; little as
she was inclined to adjust the rough courses of true love, she was the
surgeon to this particular business, and she had the surgeon's love of
laying bare even to her own cynicism the hurt of the poor patient under
her knife. Indeed, so had Angele impressed her that for once she thought
she might hear the truth. Because she saw the awe in the other's face and
a worshipping admiration of the great protectress of Protestantism, who
had by large gifts of men and money in times past helped the Cause, she
looked upon her here with kindness.
"Speak now, mistress fugitive, and I will listen," she added, as Cecil
withdrew; and she made a motion to musicians in a distant gallery.
Angele's heart fluttered to her mouth, but the soft, simple music helped
her, and she began with eyes bent upon the ground, her linked fingers
clasping and unclasping slowly.