Chapter 47. Francis Is A King

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_ CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. FRANCIS IS A KING

To have seen King Henry seated at his supper in that eventful year, and on one particular night, it would have been impossible to suppose that not many hours before he had been indulging in so fierce a storm of passion, such kingly rage, that not one of his most trusted courtiers and counsellors had dared approach for fear of consequences that might ensue.

It was the lion's feeding time, and the food had evidently been good and satisfying. The music too in the minstrels' gallery had been sweet and pleasant to the ear. The Court jester had for a wonder excelled himself in his strong endeavours to put the King in a good humour, and uttered no less than three samples of his wit which had made the King roar, inasmuch as in the tail of each joke there was a slightly poisoned sting which had gone home to the three noblemen for whom they were intended, my Lord Hurst, the King's chamberlain, getting the worst dose.

There had been a good deal of whispered wonder running through the great dining chamber, especially below the salt, where the King's gentlemen were seated who had for long been disappointed at the absence of royal favour and promotion they had been hoping for since they came to offer their services at Court; and though all who were well within the scan of his Majesty's eyes spoke softly and with a stereotyped Court smile upon their countenances, they said more bitter things by far than any that had been uttered by the King's jester, their remarks being dipped in envy, as they asked one another whether this French boy to whom the King was showing such favour--this French _champignon_, "impudent young upstart"--was to be the new favourite now, and one and all said to themselves that which was too dangerous to confide to another, that the King must have gone a little mad over the fit he had on discovering the loss of his favourite jewel, which had been carried off--so rumour said--by the so-called French Ambassador. This, joined to the second escape, must have turned the royal brain; otherwise he would never have displayed such sudden favour to one who had played so daring a prank as the impersonation of the wounded man.

But all the same this great favour had been shown, and there was the young upstart of an esquire seated on the King's left, where all through the evening he had been the recipient of the greater part of the royal conversation, responding in French, with a little English which made the King roar, and encouraged him to continue his rather lame efforts at English conversation with an accent that could be called nothing better than vile.

The evening had passed away, and, wearied out at last, the King himself had relieved his feelings with more than one unroyal yawn--signals these of the time approaching when the gentlemen of the bedchamber would have to be in attendance, and another of the Court days be at an end.

Henry was about to rise, when the chamberlain came quickly behind his chair and whispered something close to his ear, looking hard at Denis as he spoke.

So meaning was his glance that the boy, who in spite of the royal favour had been on pins all the time, took fright at once, ready as he was to associate everything informal as being in some way connected with those who had escaped. The next moment the lad's hands had turned cold and damp, while a giddy sensation attacked his brain, for the King had suddenly exclaimed:

"Hah! The Captain of the Guard with his reports?"

"Yes, Sire. I have told him to wait at the door of your private cabinet. Will you receive him there?"

"No," cried the King bluffly. "Bring him in here, and see that he has a cup of wine.--Now, my young masquerader," he cried banteringly to Denis, "there's news for you. Scores of my guards have been scouring the riverside, and they have come to announce that the prisoners have been secured, for our sick friend the Comte was certain to break down before he had gone far. Well, why do you look like that?" he continued, as he noticed the change in the young esquire's face. "There, there: I am not so savage as they say, and whatever happens it is nothing to you, boy, for somehow--there, never mind. Here comes my friend the captain."

For there was the heavy tramp of feet, and the stalwart Captain of the Guard, in half armour, huge buff boots, and pointed morion set well back upon his head, strode up to the King's table, dusty and travel-stained, to sink upon one knee, the plates of his armour grinding together with a strange sound as he went down--a sound repeated as the King signed to him to rise.

"Well, captain," cried the King bluffly, "what have you to report? You have captured the French pigeons which escaped their cage, and brought them back with all that they took away?"

"No, Sire," said the captain shortly.

"What!" roared the King, in a voice of thunder; and there was utter stillness in the great chamber as, in no wise abashed, the captain went on:

"Six companies of horse, Sire, have searched every road and every village on the way towards London, and six more companies have harried every place on both sides the river from here to--"

"Bah!" roared the King. "Out of my sight! Go!"

The captain saluted, and began to walk backwards, the rowels of his spurs clinking, while his armour crackled loudly as he made his way; but before he was half the distance towards the door he was brought up short by the royal thunder which exploded with one sharp crack about his ears.

"Stop! At eight to-morrow let the outer court be filled with my archers of the guard and my horses ready. I will take up this quest myself."

He rose to go, as the captain again saluted, and there was a sharp rustling of garments throughout the great chamber as the courtiers who had been present at the supper rose, when to the surprise of all the great door was once more thrown open, and one of the Court functionaries stepped quickly forward and in a loud clear voice announced:

"His Majesty the King of France."

There was a peculiar thrill running through the great chamber, and then a heavy bang as Henry in his astonishment gave vent to his feelings in a truly English way, for he brought down his clenched fist upon the table with a thud which made the silver flagons leap, and one, the tallest on the table, thin and weak with age, missed its footing and came down upon its side, seeming to bleed the rich red wine in a little pool.

The next moment, with bandaged head erect and flashing eyes, Francis appeared in the doorway, resting upon Leoni's arm, Saint Simon slightly behind on the other side ready to support his master should he want his help.

But none was needed. Francis stood for a few moments gazing towards the upper table where the King was standing, and his quick clear glance took in the position in a moment, for he had seen Denis standing a little to Henry's left.

Then with a quick movement Francis thrust back Leoni's arm and walked proudly up towards Henry's chair bowing slightly once to right and left as he swept with disdainful eye the now silent throng.

Then, to use the good old grandmotherly term, a pin might have been heard to drop, as Francis pressed forward till close up to where Henry stood, and before the English monarch could recover from his surprise his visitor had laid his hands lightly upon his shoulders and kissed his cheeks.

It was all done in the most courtly way, and only as one of the grandest gentlemen in Europe could at such a time have given the salute, while its reception was as marked and English as it was the reverse of friendly. For the King was so utterly taken aback by this change in the state of affairs that for a few moments he could not speak. When he did find words they were of the gruffest and most matter-of-fact that an Englishman could vent.

"So then," he cried, "you have come back?"

"Yes, my brother," replied Francis, and his voice sounded musical and soft, as the gesture he made was graceful and easy. "I, the King of France, have come back to you, my brother of England, to ask your pardon for my mad folly and grave mistake. See here," he continued, after a slight pause, and he once more looked round the tables at the glittering courtiers, while he held out fully in the light the scintillating ruby that had attracted him to the English shores. "I am no believer in magic or the dark art, but there must be something strange and fateful in this stone, magnetic perhaps, but he what it will, it led me here, knowing as I did the history of its loss; and now I have brought it back to its rightful owner, to its proper resting-place. It is yours, my brother of England, won in the far back past on the battlefield. I for the moment have held it once again in this right hand. Sire, I return it now, asking once more your forgiveness of the past, your renewed hospitality to a sick man for the night."

He ceased speaking, as Henry made a snatch and caught the jewel from his hand, when, light as the action was, it was sufficient to make his now exhausted visitor stagger. He would have fallen but for the King's strong arm, which saved him, and helped him to the seat Henry had just vacated.

"Quick, here!" he shouted. "Wine for my brother of France!"

There was a quick movement, but Henry's hand was the first to snatch one of the silver flagons from the table and hold it to the fainting King's lips, as he drank with avidity, uttered a sigh, and then rose with a smile.

"Am I a prisoner?" he said.

"No," cried Henry in his deepest tones--"my brother and my guest."

As he spoke he caught Francis by the hand and half supported him on his right, as he turned now to the excited lookers-on.

"My lords and gentlemen," he thundered out, "are we to be out-distanced in chivalry and generosity by the King of France? No!" he almost roared, as he turned to Francis. "Sire," he cried, "it was to win back that stone to the Crown of France that you risked your life and liberty, coming almost unarmed to my Court and bearing it away. I, Sire, can but admire your daring and the gallantry with which you carried out your quest to its successful end. And, Sire, I honour far more the gallant act of chivalry, that bravery which forced you back to my Court to make this honourable amend. Francis, my brother, I cannot take the gem. It is the jewel of France, and you shall bear it there. Keep it, Sire. It is yours." _

Read next: Chapter 48. Leoni's Secret

Read previous: Chapter 46. In Borrowed Plumes

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