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The King's Esquires: The Jewel of France, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 46. In Borrowed Plumes |
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_ CHAPTER FORTY SIX. IN BORROWED PLUMES Denis stood for a few moments panting heavily, not daring to take his eyes from those of the King, who stood there speechless with astonishment. Then by an effort the boy wrenched his gaze from where it was held, as he thought of his own sword; but the weapon was on the other side of the bed, and as he realised it the thought came that this was a King--one who had but to utter a word to bring in his guards. "Tricked again," said the King at last; "and by you, boy! Francis's esquire! Where is your King?" "Beyond your reach, Sire, by this time," said the boy boldly, nerved as he was by the feeling that he had gained much time, and that his words were true. "Escaped?" "Yes, Sire." "Ah!" ejaculated the King. "And I see now this was another ruse. How like a Frenchman! He was not wounded after all." "He was, Sire," cried the boy indignantly, "and dangerously too." "But that jewel--where is it now? On its way to France?" "No, Sire; I can answer for that." "Then you have it." "No, Sire, I have it not; and I am sure--my life on it--it never passed into his Majesty's hands." "You lie, boy!" cried the King fiercely. "I am a gentleman of France, Sire," said the boy haughtily. "A gentleman of France!" cried the King scornfully. "A member of a gang of thieves!" "I am your prisoner, Sire," said the boy boldly, "and I know what is bound to be my fate. I am no member of a gang of thieves, but one of my King's esquires, bound to do his duty as his Majesty's servant; and I have done mine--no more." "Ah!" cried the King, making a quick advance towards the boy, who made an involuntary movement towards his rear, but checked it on the instant, drew himself up proudly, and folded his arms across his breast. "Pish!" said Henry impatiently. "I was not going to slay you, boy." And he thrust his sword back into its sheath and caught the lad by the shoulder. "Then that was the King of France!" "Yes, Sire." "I knew it," cried the King, "and Hurst was right. And you have been deceiving us all here, lying bandaged in that bed, while he has been placing himself beyond our reach, bearing away that fateful gem?" "Yes, Sire; but my word for it, his Majesty the King has never laid hands upon the jewel, and is not bearing it away." "Well!" exclaimed the King, with his eyes rolling and his cheeks puffed out; and then, loosening his fierce grip upon the boy's shoulder, he staggered back to the nearest chair, dropped into it, and laughed. The next minute the mirth died out of his half closed eyes, and a scowl appeared upon his brow, as he fiercely gazed in the eyes that did not for a moment blench. But the frown died out in a look of admiration, as he said sharply: "You springald, to play a part like this, with the executioner's axe hanging above your neck and waiting to fall. Why did you do this?" "To save my master, Sire." "Hah! To the risk of your own life." "Yes, Sire." "Speak out, boy--the naked truth. Are you not afraid?" "Horribly, Sire," replied the boy slowly. "The duty is harder than I thought." "Hark ye," cried the King; "are all French boys like you?" "I hope so, Sire." "Do you? Well, boy, I don't believe they are. But speak, and don't turn white like that--a gentleman of France, as you call yourself--a king's esquire, should not be afraid to die." Denis was silent perforce, for no words would come. "A daring young dog!" muttered the King, in a tone so low that it hardly reached the listener's ears. "Look here, sir," continued Henry, "you have forfeited your life and stayed me from showing mercy to your master. Now, sir, would you like to win it back?" "Gladly, Sire," cried the boy, "but--" "But what?" said Henry sharply. "I will not do anything to betray my King." "Wait till you are asked, boy," said Henry roughly, as he kept his eyes fixed admiringly upon the lad, who faced him still with a wondrous command of nerve. "You know that I have the power of life or death?" Denis bowed his head slowly. "Well, then, a king cannot stoop to slay even an enemy if he is brave. I will give you your life on one condition." The boy started, and the King smiled. "Not to sign a paper which gives me Bordeaux and Guienne, but to be my faithful servant and serve me as you have served your master to the end. I want followers like you. Be English, even if you have French blood flowing in your veins. Well, why do you not speak? Is not mine a kingly act?" "Yes, Sire, and I am grateful." "Well, why do you hesitate? Enter my service. The star of the Valois must be setting fast when its representative can stoop to such a deed as this." The lad shook his head. "What! Do you not understand? I will find work for your sword. Serve me faithfully, and rank shall in time be yours. Do you forget that your life is still at stake?" "I cannot buy it, Sire, by betraying my master. Francis is my King." "And fortunate in having followers like this," said the King to himself, as he rose, turned sharply from where the boy still stood with his arms crossed upon his breast, fighting hard for the resignation that refused to come, while his heart now beat slowly and heavily, as if in the march that ended in the scaffold and the axe. The next minute the King had flung open the outer chamber door, as if to show to the boy his fate, for there stood the captain with the guards drawn up on either side, their armour gleaming and the lights they bore flashing from their halberds' heads. But the boy stood firm, seeing as it were through the glittering pageantry of the English Court the gleaming fields of far-off France, a sparkling river, and the grey steeple turrets of an ancient French _chateau_. It was home, with all he loved therein. It was momentary, and the vision was dissolved by the King's loud voice, as he cried sharply: "Who's with you there? Hah! Hurst! Look here, man." "Your Majesty!" cried the chamberlain, looking at the boy in astonishment. "Behold my royal visitor!" cried Henry mockingly. "This is the way my courts are kept." "I do not understand, your Majesty," cried the chamberlain, trembling for what was next to come. "But I do, man!" cried Henry. "Here is our sick and wounded prisoner." "A ruse--a trick!" said the chamberlain excitedly. "Yes--French," cried Henry, with a mocking laugh. "The bird has flown, and left another in his nest. There, young popinjay, young daw--look at him, Hurst! He has cast his borrowed plumes." Then turning to Denis: "Put on your own feathers, boy. You will come with me. Bring him to my apartments, Hurst." "As a prisoner, Sire?" "No," said the King, still fixing Denis with his eyes, and speaking to him as much as to the chamberlain. "He is my guest still, though his master is gone. See that you use him well." _ |
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