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The King's Esquires: The Jewel of France, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 20. The King's Bullies |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY. THE KING'S BULLIES It was towards evening that the little cavalcade came within sight of the town where was situated the famous castle which was so much to the liking of Henry; and at this point there was a separation, for young Carrbroke took leave. "We shall soon meet again," he said to Denis, as the two lads bade each other farewell. "When does your master go to the Court?" Denis shook his head. "I do not know. Ask him." "I dare not." "It will be soon," exclaimed Denis, "for I believe that my lord will not remain in England long." The King took dinner that night at the hostelry by the side of the ferry and ford they had crossed that day, having previously despatched Denis with the letter which was to bring him face to face with the King of England, the lad shortly returning, having intrusted the missive to a captain of the Royal Guards, by whom it was to be handed to the chamberlain on duty. But the meal was not concluded when Francis was asked to receive a messenger from the castle. "Bid him enter," said the King, and he rose and stood by the wide hearth, as the emissary of the English King entered and bowed low. "His Majesty," he said, "wishes to welcome the noble Count de la Seine, and tells me to assure you, sir, that had he known of your coming he would gladly have provided an escort from the coast. He begs that you will honour him this evening with your presence at his Court." "Tell his Majesty," said Francis gravely, "that I am very sensible of his kindness, and that it is my most urgent wish to wait upon him." The royal messenger was bowed out, and Francis turned sharply to Leoni. "Well, Leoni, we are outside the lion's den at present. Are we to go in?--Don't!" cried the King angrily. "My lord!" "Don't stare at me like that. I know what you are thinking--that I am afraid." "Heaven forbid that I should think such a thing of--" The King made a gesture, and in a hoarse whisper: "You were going to say 'King.' One might think from your visage that in walking into his palace I was stepping into a lion's den.--What now, boy? What were you thinking?" he cried, turning sharply to Denis, who had been listening impatiently to his companion's words. "Only, sir, that if it be a lion's den the Comte de la Seine has his sword." "To be sure," said the King. "And three followers who carry theirs, and--" The boy stopped short, for as he uttered his boastful words he was interrupted by a hoarse, mocking laugh which came through the partly open door, rousing the boy's ire so that he clapped his hand to his weapon, the others turning also in the direction from which the sound had come. "What!" came in a loud, bullying tone. "The room engaged? Nonsense! Who are they! What are they doing here?" "French gentlemen, Sir Robert." "French dancing masters, I suppose, come to teach the Court lads minuets; and are they to keep English gentlemen waiting outside because, forsooth, they have engaged the public room? Come in, boys. Here, landlord; a stoup of wine. I'm thirsty. Frenchmen! Why, we can make them dance!" There was a thump struck upon the panel of the door, which flew open, and a big, soldierly-looking man in horseman's boots covered with dust swaggered in, followed by a couple more, who looked, like their leader, hot and dusty, and, judging by their accoutrements, appeared to have just dismounted. Francis started and frowned as he met the English officer's insulting gaze--insulting, for the stranger gave a contemptuous look around at the assembled party, swaggered forward, unbuckling his belt and throwing it and his sword upon the table with a bang, before dragging forward a chair over the polished floor, raising it a little, and then bringing it heavily down, to throw himself into its seat and then cry: "Come, boys; the chairs are not all occupied. How long is that fellow going to be with the wine?" Francis turned pale; Leoni bit his lip, drew closer to him, and whispered softly: "Pay no heed, M. le Comte;" while Denis and Saint Simon, after gazing fiercely at the new-comers, turned to look at the King as if to signify their readiness, and mutely ask his consent to drive these intruders from the room. The result of this was that the painful silence was broken by the officer addressed as Sir Robert bursting into another loud insulting laugh. He looked at first one and then at the other of his companions, before doubling his great gloved fist and beginning to make his sword dance upon the table by thumping hard and shouting loudly: "Now, landlord! Wine--wine--wine!" "Pay no heed, sir," said Leoni softly. "They are trying to provoke a quarrel, and you cannot stoop." "What's that, Frenchman? Can't you speak English? None of your miserable monsieuring here! Do you know where you are? In the shadow of the Court of the great King Hal. Here, youngster, what are you doing with that hilt? It isn't a fiddlestick. I didn't know dancing masters carried swords.--Ah, here's the wine. Pour out landlord; and here," he continued, as the host nervously filled the cups he had brought. "Bah! Fool! Into the cups, not all over the table. Your wine is always bad, but sack is too good to polish English oak. Now, boys, here's to--Stop! Let's make this French springald drink King Harry's health. There, boy. Take up that cup." Leoni stretched out his hand to catch Denis by the arm, but he was too late, for, with his eyes flashing, the boy stepped quickly forward to the table, caught up the cup, and raised it towards his lips. "Montjoie Saint Denis! God save the King of France!" he cried, and was about to drain the cup, while Leoni uttered an impatient hiss, when the vessel was brutally struck from his hand by the English officer, the wine being scattered about the room, and bringing the King to his feet. "Insolent!" cried Sir Robert, with his face now crimson, as he too sprang to his feet, and catching up another of the filled cups. "But he shall drink it, boys, or I'll slit his miserable ears. Do you understand plain English, you minuet-dancing puppy?" "Yes," panted Denis, between his teeth, and never taking his eyes from the Englishman; "every word." "Ah! That's good. Then take this cup, and down upon your knees and drink King Harry's health, or 'fore Heaven you shall go back to your miserable country marked by an English blade." There was a momentary pause in the room, every eye being centred upon the boy, fascinated as all were and self-forgetful, as they watched for the outcome of the incident. They were not kept waiting long, for the fierce look upon the boy's countenance gave place to a pleasant smile which the Englishman did not read as meant mockingly. He stretched out and took the cup, and the bully returned the smile as he gave his companions a quick nod of the head. "You see, boys," he cried, in his loud bullying voice, "this is the way to teach French monkeys! Now, my mincing young skipjack, God save King Harry!--Malediction!" he roared, as he snatched up his sword, for with a quick motion the boy had emptied the wine-cup full in his face. _ |
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