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The King's Esquires: The Jewel of France, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 39. A Death Warrant |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. A DEATH WARRANT "Well," said the King, on the following evening, "you have them prisoners?" "Yes, Sire." "Safely?" "They are back in their old apartments, sir," replied the chamberlain. "What, not imprisoned?" "No, Sire; they are carefully watched, but they are still your Majesty's guests." "Absurd!" cried the King fiercely. "This man can be no ambassador. He is a marauder, a masquerader, who came to my court to act the common thief." "But the letter, Sire, of which he was the bearer?" "Is as false as everything else concerning him. My guests!" cried the King fiercely. "My prisoners! This man shall die." "But that will not restore the jewel, Sire." "What!" cried the King angrily. "Have you not got it?" "No, Sire. They were carefully searched, but it was not found." "Then he shall be forced to confess where it is." "I have not told your Majesty all yet," said the chamberlain. "Then why have you not?" cried the King fiercely. "Speak out, man; speak out!" "Your Majesty checked me," replied the chamberlain deprecatingly, "The Comte was--" "The Comte!" cried the King contemptuously. "Then this member of the Valois family, as you believe he is." "But no--absurd! Let him be the Comte de la Seine; one who has come here under false pretences, a pretender. Whoever he is, he is my enemy, fate has placed him in my hands, and he shall die--ay, if it costs me a war with France. But mark me well--he dies as the thief who under the mask of a French nobleman entered my palace to plunder. The world shall see in this matter only the just punishment of a crime." And as he spoke the King drew towards him paper and seized a pen. "Short and sharp punishment," he said, "and in thus acting I clear the way to the throne which by rights is mine." The chamberlain stretched out his hand in an imploring gesture, the while a mocking smile played about the King's lips. "Sire," he said, "hesitate now. Think well of what you are about to do. Heaven could let no good come of it, and the day will dawn when you will rue the committal of a crime." "Hurst!" exclaimed the King angrily; but the chamberlain dropped on one knee. "Your Majesty, let me plead for this stranger who came to your Court--" "As a thief." "No, Sire; as a patriot who had determined to obtain the jewel which in the old time belonged to his ancestors' crown." "That is naught," said Henry. "This man shall die." And he raised the pen once more. "You who are so great a king, Sire, should be magnanimous here. This night, Sire, is your own, to do good or ill; but it will be the darkest of your reign if that warrant is signed." "But why do you intercede?" asked Henry, and he threw himself back in his chair. "Francis is nothing to you." "The life of a noble prince, Sire, is much to all the world, and--" "You know him?" interrupted the King sharply. "Last year in Paris, Sire, he befriended my brother, who could speak nothing of him but good; and I have not told you, Sire, that he is very ill." "Bah!" cried the King. "Deadly sick from his wound, Sire." "His wound!" said the King, starting. "Yes, Sire. In the daring escape, when two of the guards and Sir Robert Garstang were wounded, the Comte was struck down by one of your brave halberdiers." "And serve the villain right," cried the King impetuously. "Brave fellow! has he been rewarded?" "No, Sire. That is left for your Majesty to do." "And it shall be done, on my royal word," cried the King. "Wounded and sick, say you?" "Yes, Sire; I have seen him, and he is very weak." "Well," said the King, "you have done your part in your appeal. But I have made up my mind to this." And as he spoke the King drew himself up in his chair once more and seized his pen. Hurst watched as if fascinated, seeing the King commence to write, and then toss the pen aside as he finished, while afterwards he was about to summon the officer of the guards without, but checked himself, extending his hand to Hurst, who bent over it. "I will not doubt you," he said, handing him the warrant. "Deliver it to the governor." And then with a wave of the hand he dismissed the chamberlain, who withdrew. Outside the chamber, Hurst proceeded a short distance down a corridor, and then gazed at the document by the light of a swinging lamp. "The death warrant of the King of France," he mused, as he noted the words condemning the Comte de la Seine to die, and then the formula: "By the King. Given at our Court at Windsor--Henry R." He went on slowly along the corridor till he had passed beyond the King's private apartments, and, as if drawn by some attraction, made his way in the direction of the chamber where Francis was lying suffering from his wound. "Bad, bad, bad," he muttered to himself. "I must be right, and Francis was ill-advised, if advised at all, and not led by his own impetuous nature to play such a trick as this. Well, he gambled with his life, and he has lost. What is it to me? I have my duty to perform. But I would give something now for the instinct of the prophet, to be able to see what this will mean in the future to France and to my own country when it is known." He walked on dreamily, and then started, for he found that he had unconsciously drawn near to Francis's chamber, and he hesitated, half disposed to go in and see how he fared; but he frowned and went on. "No," he said, "I have my own head to think of, and my movements may be misconstrued by the most jealous man that ever sat upon a throne." He was passing slowly on in the gloomiest part by the door, when he started, for some one had silently glided out of the opening and plucked him by the sleeve. "My lord," whispered a voice. "Ah!" exclaimed Hurst. "You are the doctor, the Comte's follower with the strange eye. What of your master? How is he now?" "Bad," said Leoni softly. "So much the better," said Hurst bitterly. "Insensible?" "At times, my lord." "Better still." "You speak strangely, my lord." "These are strange times, my man. I spoke so out of sympathy with your master. It may save him further pain." "Further pain?" said Leoni, earning the chamberlain's term of the man "with the strange eye" by the peculiarly fixed look which was dimly seen. "Yes, further pain. People who are insensible do not suffer, do they, doctor?" "No, my lord; but what do you mean?" "What is the meed of a thief who robs a king? Is it not death?" cried Hurst fiercely; and as he spoke he stretched out one hand and tapped it sharply with the folded warrant that he held. "Hah!" ejaculated Leoni harshly, and then almost as fiercely as the chamberlain he whispered, "Would he dare to raise his hand against the ambassador of France?" "No, sir," said the chamberlain coldly, "but against the thief of the night, who abused his hospitality that he might steal. Hark ye, man; if you have your master's interest at heart, tell him to try to make his peace with the King by telling him where the jewel lies, for it must be somewhere concealed. Let him give it up and crave the King's mercy, before it is too late. Do this, and it may save your life as well." He turned away, leaving Leoni standing motionless a short distance from the door, where he remained without stirring until the chamberlain's footsteps had died away. _ |
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