The Historical Nights' Entertainment by Rafael Sabatini (most important books to read .txt) 📖

added. “If you are unable

to rule without guidance, I must at least do what I can so that the

guidance shall not be that of a rebel, of one who guides you to the

end that he may master you.”

 

“Master me!” he screamed. He rose in his indignation and faced her.

But his glance, unable to support her steady eyes, faltered and fell

away. Foul oaths poured from his royal lips. “Master me!” he

repeated.

 

“Aye - master you,” she answered him. “Master you until the little

remnant of your authority shall have been sapped; until you are no

more than a puppet in the hands of the Huguenot party, a roi

faineant, a king of straw.”

 

“By God, madame, were you not my mother - “

 

“It is because I am your mother that I seek to save you.”

 

He looked at her again, but again his glance faltered. He paced the

length of the room and back, mouthing and muttering. Then he came

to stand, leaning on the prie-dieu, facing her.

 

“By God’s Death, madame, since you demand to know what the Admiral

said, you shall. You prove to me that what he told me was no more

than true. He told me that a king is only recognized in France as

long as he is a power for good or ill over his subjects; that this

power, together with the management of all State affairs, is

slipping, by the crafty contrivances of yourself and Anjou there,

out of my hands into your own; that this power and authority which

you are both stealing from me may one day be used against me and my

kingdom. And he bade me be on my guard against you both and take

my measures. He gave me this counsel, madame, because he deemed it

his duty as one of my most loyal and faithful servants at the point

of death, and - “

 

“The shameless hypocrite!” her dull, contemptuous voice interrupted

him. “At the point of death! Two broken fingers and a flesh-wound

in the arm and he represents himself as in articulo mortis that he

may play upon you, and make you believe his lies.”

 

Her stolidity of manner and her logic, ponderous and irresistible,

had their effect. His big, green eyes seemed to dilate, his mouth

fell open.

 

“If - ” he began, and checked, rapped out an oath, and checked again.

“Are they lies, madame?” he asked slowly.

 

She caught the straining note of hope in that question of his - a

hope founded upon vanity, the vanity to be king in fact, as well

as king in name. She rose.

 

“To ask me that - me, your mother - is to insult me. Come, Anjou.”

 

And on that she departed, craftily, leaving her suggestion to prey

upon his mind.

 

But once alone in her oratory with Anjou, her habitual torpor was

sloughed away. For once she quivered and crimsoned and raised her

voice, whilst for once her sleepy eyes kindled and flashed as she

inveighed against Coligny and the Huguenots.

 

For the moment, however, there was no more to be done. The stroke

had failed; Coligny had survived the attempt upon his life, and

there was danger that on the recoil the blow might smite those who

had launched it. But on the morrow, which was Saturday, things

suddenly assumed a very different complexion.

 

That great Catholic leader, the powerful, handsome Duke of Guise,

who, more than suspected of having inspired the attempted

assassination, had kept his hotel since yesterday, now sought the

Queen-Mother with news of what was happening in the city. Armed

bands of Huguenot nobles were riding through the streets, clamouring:

 

“Death to the assassins of the Admiral! Down with the Guisards!”

 

And, although a regiment of Gardes Francaises had been hastily

brought to Paris to keep order, the Duke feared grave trouble in

a city which the royal wedding had filled with Huguenot gentlemen

and their following. Then, too, there were rumours that the

Huguenots were arming everywhere - rumours which, whether true or

not, were, under the circumstances, sufficiently natural and

probable to be taken seriously.

 

Leaving Guise in her oratory, and summoning her darling Anjou,

Catherine at once sought the King. She may have believed the

rumours, and she may even have stated them as facts beyond dispute

so as to strengthen and establish her case against Gaspard de

Coligny.

 

“King Gaspard I,” she told him, “is already taking his measures.

The Huguenots are arming; officers have been dispatched into the

provinces to levy troops. The Admiral has ordered the raising of

ten thousand horse in Germany, and another ten thousand Swiss

mercenaries in the Cantons.”

 

He stared at her vacuously. Some such rumour had already reached

him, and he conceived that here was definite confirmation of it.

 

“You may determine now who are your friends, who your loyal servants,”

she told him. “How is so much force to be resisted in the state in

which you find yourself? The Catholics exhausted, and weary as they

are by a civil war in which their king was of little account to them,

are going to arm so as to offer what resistance they can without

depending upon you. Thus, within your State you will have two great

parties under arms, neither of which can be called your own. Unless

you stir yourself, and quickly, unless you choose now between friends

and foes, you will find yourself alone, isolated, in grave peril,

without authority or power.”

 

He sank overwhelmed to a chair, and took his head in his hands,

cogitating. When next he looked at her there was positive fear in

his great eyes, a fear evoked by contemplation of the picture which

her words had painted for him.

 

He looked from her to Anjou.

 

“What then?” he asked. “What then? How is the danger to be averted?”

 

“By a simple stroke of the sword,” she answered calmly. “Slice off

at a blow the head of this beast of rebellion, this hydra of heresy.”

 

He huddled back, horror in his eyes. His hands slid slowly along

the carved arms of his chair, and clenched the ends so tightly that

his knuckles looked like knobs of marble.

 

“Kill the Admiral?” he said slowly.

 

“The Admiral and the chief Huguenot leaders,” she said, much in the

tone she might have used, were it a matter of wringing the necks of

a dozen capons.

 

“Ah, ca! Par la Mort Dieu!” He heaved himself up, raging. “Thus

would your hatred of him be served. Thus would you - “

 

Coolly she sliced into his foaming speech.

 

“Not I - not I!” she said. “Do nothing upon my advice. Summon your

Council. Send for Tavannes, Biragues, Retz, and the others. Consult

with them. They are your friends; you trust and believe in them.

When they know the facts, see if their counsel will differ from your

mother’s. Send for them; they are in the Louvre now.”

 

He looked at her a moment.

 

“Very well,” he said; and reeled to the door, bawling hoarsely his

orders.

 

They came, one by one - the Marshal de Tavannes, the Duke of Retz,

the Duke of Nevers, the Chancellor de Biragues, and lastly the Duke

of Guise, upon whom the King scowled a jealous hatred that was now

fully alive.

 

The window, which overlooked the quay and the river, stood open to

admit what air might be stirring on that hot day of August.

 

Charles sat at his writing-table, sullen and moody, twining a string

of beads about his fingers. Catherine occupied the chair over

beyond the table, Anjou sitting near her on a stool. The others

stood respectfully awaiting that the King should make known his

wishes. The shifty royal glance swept over them from under lowering

brows; then it rested almost in challenge upon his mother.

 

“Tell them,” he bade her curtly.

 

She told them what already she had told her son, relating all now

with greater detail and circumstance. For some moments nothing was

heard in that room but the steady drone of her unemotional voice.

When she had finished, she yawned and settled herself to hear what

might be answered.

 

“Well,” snapped the King, “you have heard. What do you advise?

Speak out!”

 

Nevers was the first to answer.

 

“There is no other way,” he said stiffly, “but that which Her Majesty

advises. The danger is grave. If it is to be averted, action must

be prompt and effective.”

 

Tavannes clasped his hands behind him and said much the same, as

did presently the Chancellor.

 

Twisting and untwisting his chaplet of beads about his long fingers,

his eyes averted, the King heard each in turn. Then he looked up.

His glance, deliberately ignoring Guise, settled upon the Duke of

Retz, who held aloof.

 

“And you, Monsieur le Marechal, what is your counsel?”

 

Retz drew himself up, as if bracing himself to meet opposing forces.

He was a little pale, but quite composed.

 

“If there is a man whom I should hate,” he said, “it is this Gaspard

de Coligny, who has defamed me and all my family by the foul

accusations he has put abroad. But I will not,” he added firmly,

“take vengeance upon my enemies at the expense of my king and master.

I cannot counsel a course so disastrous to Your Majesty and the

whole kingdom. Did we act as we have been advised, Sire, can you

doubt that we should be taxed - and rightly taxed in view of the

treaty that has been signed - with perfidy and disloyalty?”

 

Dead silence followed that bombshell of opposition, coming from a

quarter whence it was least expected. For Catherine and Anjou had

confidently counted upon the Duke’s hatred of Coligny to ensure his

support of their designs.

 

A little colour crept into the pale cheeks of the King. His glance

kindled out of its sullenness. He was as one who sees sudden hope

amid despair.

 

“That is the truth,” he said. “Messieurs, and you, madame my mother,

you have heard the truth. How do you like it?”

 

“Monsieur de Retz is deceived by an excess of loyalty,” said Anjou

quickly. “Because he bears a personal enmity to the Admiral, he

conceives that it would hurt his honour to speak otherwise. It must

savour to him, as he has said, of using his king and master to avenge

his own personal wrongs. We can respect Monsieur de Retz’s view,

although we hold it mistaken.”

 

“Will Monsieur de Retz tell us what other course lies open?” quoth

the bluff Tavannes.

 

“Some other course must be found,” cried the King, rousing himself.

“It must be found, do you hear? I will not have you touch the life

of my friend the Admiral. I will not have it - by the Blood!”

 

A hubbub followed, all speaking at once, until the King banged the

table, and reminded them that his cabinet was not a fish-market.

 

“I say that there is no other way,” Catherine insisted. “There

cannot be two kings in France, nor can there be two parties. For

your own safety’s sake, and for the safety of your kingdom, I

beseech you so to contrive that in France there be but one party

with one head - yourself.”

 

“Two kings in France?” he said. “What two kings?”

 

“Yourself and Gaspard I - King Coligny, the King of the Huguenots.”

 

“He is my subject - my faithful, loyal subject,” the King protested,

but with less assurance.

 

“A subject who raises forces of his own, levies taxes of his own,