Bardelys the Magnificent by Rafael Sabatini (best ebook reader under 100 .txt) đź“–
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fortunes.
I did not play myself; I was not in the mood, and for one night, at
least, of sufficient weight already I thought the game upon which I
was launched.
I was out on the balcony as the first lines of dawn were scoring the
east, and in a moody, thoughtful condition I had riveted my eyes
upon the palace of the Luxembourg, which loomed a black pile against
the lightening sky, when Mironsac came out to join me. A gentle,
lovable lad was Mironsac, not twenty years of age, and with the face
and manners of a woman. That he was attached to me I knew.
“Monsieur le Marquis,” said he softly, “I am desolated at this wager
into which they have forced you.”
“Forced me?” I echoed. “No, no; they did not force me. And yet,”
I reflected, with a sigh, “perhaps they did.”
“I have been thinking, monsieur, that if the King were to hear of
it the evil might be mended.”
“But the King must not hear of it, Armand,” I answered quickly.
“Even if he did, matters would be no better - much worse, possibly.”
“But, monsieur, this thing done in the heat of wine—”
“Is none the less done, Armand,” I concluded. “And I for one do
not wish it undone.”
“But have you no thought for the lady?” he cried.
I laughed at him. “Were I still eighteen, boy, the thought might
trouble me. Had I my illusions, I might imagine that my wife must
be some woman of whom I should be enamoured. As it is, I have grown
to the age of twenty-eight unwed. Marriage becomes desirable. I
must think of an heir to all the wealth of Bardelys. And so I go
to Languedoc. If the lady be but half the saint that fool
Chatellerault has painted her, so much the better for my children;
if not, so much the worse. There is the dawn, Mironsac, and it is
time we were abed. Let us drive these plaguy gamesters home.”
When the last of them had staggered down my steps, and I had bidden
a drowsy lacquey extinguish the candles, I called Ganymede to light
me to bed and aid me to undress. His true name was Rodenard; but
my friend La Fosse, of mythological fancy, had named him Ganymede,
after the cup-bearer of the gods, and the name had clung to him.
He was a man of some forty years of age, born into my father’s
service, and since become my intendant, factotum, majordomo, and
generalissimo of my regiment of servants and my establishments both
in Paris and at Bardelys.
We had been to the wars together ere I had cut my wisdom teeth, and
thus had he come to love me. There was nothing this invaluable
servant could not do. At baiting or shoeing a horse, at healing a
wound, at roasting a capon, or at mending a doublet, he was alike
a master, besides possessing a score of other accomplishments that
do not now occur to me, which in his campaigning he had acquired.
Of late the easy life in Paris had made him incline to corpulency,
and his face was of a pale, unhealthy fullness.
To-night, as he assisted me to undress, it wore an expression of
supreme woe.
“Monseigneur is going into Languedoc?” he inquired sorrowfully.
He always called me his “seigneur,” as did the other of my servants
born at Bardelys.
“Knave, you have been listening,” said I.
“But, monseigneur,” he explained, “when Monsieur le Comte de
Chatellerault laid his wager—”
“And have I not told you, Ganymede, that when you chance to be among
my friends you should hear nothing but the words addressed to you,
see nothing but the glasses that need replenishing? But, there! We
are going into Languedoc. What of it?”
“They say that war may break out at any moment,” he groaned; “that
Monsieur le Duc de Montmorency is receiving reenforcements from
Spain, and that he intends to uphold the standard of Monsieur and
the rights of the province against the encroachments of His
Eminence the Cardinal.”
“So! We are becoming politicians, eh, Ganymede? And how shall
all this concern us? Had you listened more attentively, you had
learnt that we go to Languedoc to seek a wife, and not to concern
ourselves with Cardinals and Dukes. Now let me sleep ere the sun
rises.”
On the morrow I attended the levee, and I applied to His Majesty
for leave to absent myself. But upon hearing that it was into
Languedoc I went, he frowned inquiry. Trouble enough was his
brother already making in that province. I explained that I went
to seek a wife, and deeming all subterfuge dangerous, since it might
only serve to provoke him when later he came to learn the lady’s
name, I told him - withholding yet all mention of the wager - that
I fostered the hope of making Mademoiselle de Lavedan my marquise.
Deeper came the line between his brows at that, and blacker grew
the scowl. He was not wont to bestow on me such looks as I now
met in his weary eyes, for Louis XIII had much affection for me.
“You know this lady?” he demanded sharply.
“Only by name, Your Majesty.”
At that his brows went up in astonishment.
“Only by name? And you would wed her? But, Marcel, my friend, you
are a rich man one of the richest in France. You cannot be a
fortune hunter.”
“Sire,” I answered, “Fame sings loudly the praises of this lady,
her beauty and her virtue - praises that lead me to opine she would
make me an excellent chatelaine. I am come to an age when it is
well to wed; indeed, Your Majesty has often told me so. And it
seems to me that all France does not hold a lady more desirable.
Heaven send she will agree to my suit!”
In that tired way of his that was so pathetic: “Do you love me a
little, Marcel?” he asked.
“Sire,” I exclaimed, wondering whither all this was leading us,
“need I protest it?”
“No,” he answered dryly; “you can prove it. Prove it by
abandoning this Languedoc quest. I have motives - sound motives,
motives of political import. I desire another wedding for
Mademoiselle de Lavedan. I wish it so, Bardelys, and I look to
be obeyed.”
For a moment temptation had me by the throat. Here was an
unlooked-for chance to shake from me a business which reflection
was already rendering odious. I had but to call together my
friends of yesternight, and with them the Comte de Chatellerault,
and inform them that by the King was I forbidden to go awooing
Roxalanne de Lavedan. So should my wager be dissolved. And then
in a flash I saw how they would sneer one and all, and how they
would think that I had caught avidly at this opportunity of
freeing myself from an undertaking into which a boastful mood had
lured me. The fear of that swept aside my momentary hesitation.
“Sire,” I answered, bending my head contritely, “I am desolated
that my inclinations should run counter to your wishes, but to your
wonted kindness and clemency I must look for forgiveness if these
same inclinations drive me so relentlessly that I may not now
turn back.”
He caught me viciously by the arm and looked sharply into my
face.
“You defy me, Bardelys?” he asked, in a voice of anger.
“God forbid, Sire!” I answered quickly. “I do but pursue my
destiny.”
He took a turn in silence, like a man who is mastering himself
before he will speak. Many an eye, I knew, was upon us, and not
a few may have been marvelling whether already Bardelys were about
to share the fate that yesterday had overtaken his rival
Chatellerault. At last he halted at my side again.
“Marcel,” said he, but though he used that name his voice was harsh,
“go home and ponder what I have said. If you value my favour, if
you desire my love, you will abandon this journey and the suit you
contemplate. If, on the other hand, you persist in going - you
need not return. The Court of France has no room for gentlemen who
are but lip-servers, no place for courtiers who disobey their King.”
That was his last word. He waited for no reply, but swung round
on his heel, and an instant later I beheld him deep in conversation
with the Duke of Saint-Simon. Of such a quality is the love of
princes - vain, capricious, and wilful. Indulge it ever and at any
cost, else you forfeit it.
I turned away with a sigh, for in spite of all his weaknesses and
meannesses I loved this cardinal-ridden king, and would have died
for him had the need occurred, as well he knew. But in this matter
—well, I accounted my honour involved, and there was now no
turning back save by the payment of my wager and the acknowledgment
of defeat.
RENE DE LESPERON
That very day I set out. For since the King was opposed to the
affair, and knowing the drastic measures by which he was wont to
enforce what he desired, I realized that did I linger he might
find a way definitely to prevent my going.
I travelled in a coach, attended by two lacqueys and a score of
men-at-arms in my own livery, all commanded by Ganymede. My
intendant himself came in another coach with my wardrobe and
travelling necessaries. We were a fine and almost regal cortege
as we passed down the rue de l’Enfer and quitted Paris by the
Orleans gate, taking the road south. So fine a cortege, indeed,
that it entered my mind. His Majesty would come to hear of it,
and, knowing my destination, send after me to bring me back. To
evade such a possibility, I ordered a divergence to be made, and
we struck east and into Touraine. At Pont-le-Duc, near Tours,
I had a cousin in the Vicomte d’Amaral, and at his chateau I
arrived on the third day after quitting Paris.
Since that was the last place where they would seek me, if to seek
me they were inclined, I elected to remain my cousin’s guest for
fifteen days. And whilst I was there we had news of trouble in
the South and of a rising in Languedoc under the Duc de Montmorency.
Thus was it that when I came to take my leave of Amaral, he,
knowing that Languedoc was my destination, sought ardently to keep
me with him until we should learn that peace and order were
restored in the province. But I held the trouble lightly, and
insisted upon going.
Resolutely, then, if by slow stages, we pursued our journey, and
came at last to Montauban. There we lay a night at the Auberge de
Navarre, intending to push on to Lavedan upon the morrow. My
father had been on more than friendly terms with the Vicomte de
Lavedan, and upon this I built my hopes of a cordial welcome and
an invitation to delay for a few days the journey to Toulouse,
upon which I should represent myself as bound.
Thus, then, stood my plans. And they remained unaltered for all
that upon the morrow there were wild rumours in the air of Montauban.
There were tellings of a battle fought the day before at
Castelnaudary, of the defeat of Monsieur’s partisans, of the utter
rout of Gonzalo de Cordova’s Spanish tatterdemalions, and of the
capture of Montmorency, who was sorely wounded
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