In Kings' Byways

  THE KING'S STRATAGEM

  In the days when Henry the Fourth of France was as yet King of Navarreonly, and in that little kingdom of hills and woods which occupies thesouth-western corner of the larger country, was with difficultysupporting the Huguenot cause against the French court and the CatholicLeague--in the days when every little moated town, from the Dordogne tothe Pyrenees, was a bone of contention between the young king and thecrafty queen-mother, Catherine de Medicis, a conference between thesewarring personages took place in the picturesque town of La Reole. Andgreat was the fame of it.

  La Reole still rises grey, time-worn, and half-ruined on a lofty cliffabove the broad green waters of the Garonne, forty odd miles fromBordeaux. It is a small place now, but in the days of which we arespeaking it was important, strongly fortified, and guarded by a castlewhich looked down on some hundreds of red-tiled roofs, rising interraces from the river. As the meeting-place of the two sovereigns itwas for the time as gay as Paris itself. Catherine had brought with hera bevy of fair maids of honour, and trusted more perhaps in the effectof their charms than in her own diplomacy. But the peaceful appearanceof the town was as delusive as the smooth bosom of the Gironde; for evenwhile every other house in its streets rang with music and silverylaughter, each party was ready to fly to arms at a word if it saw thatany advantage could be gained thereby.

  On an evening shortly before the end of the conference two men wereseated at play in a room, the deep-embrasured window of which lookeddown from a considerable height upon the river. The hour was late; belowthem the town lay silent. Outside, the moonlight fell bright and pure onsleeping fields, on vineyards, and dark far-spreading woods. Within theroom a silver lamp suspended from the ceiling threw light upon thetable, but left the farther parts of the chamber in shadow. The wallswere hung with faded tapestry, and on a low bedstead in one corner lay ahandsome cloak, a sword, and one of the clumsy pistols of the period.Across a high-backed chair lay another cloak and sword, and on thewindow seat, beside a pair of saddle-bags, were strewn half a dozentrifles such as soldiers carried from camp to camp--a silver comfit-box,a jewelled dagger, a mask, a velvet cap.

  The faces of the players, as they bent over the cards, were in shadow.One--a slight, dark man of middle height, with a weak chin--and a mouththat would have equally betrayed its weakness had it not been shaded bya dark moustache--seemed, from the occasional oaths which he let drop,to be losing heavily. Yet his opponent, a stouter and darker man, with asword-cut across his left temple, and the swaggering air that has at alltimes marked the professional soldier, showed no signs of triumph orelation. On the contrary, though he kept silence, or spoke only a formalword or two, there was a gleam of anxiety and suppressed excitement inhis eyes; and more than once he looked keenly at his companion, as if tojudge of his feelings or to learn whether the time had come for someexperiment which he meditated. But for this, an observer looking inthrough the window would have taken the two for that commonconjunction--the hawk and the pigeon.

  At last the younger player threw down his cards with an exclamation.

  "You have the luck of the evil one," he said, bitterly. "How much isthat?"

  "Two thousand crowns," the other replied without emotion. "You will playno more?"

  "No! I wish to heaven I had never played at all!" was the answer. As hespoke the loser rose, and moving to the window stood looking out. For afew moments the elder man remained in his seat, gazing furtively at him;at length he too rose, and, stepping softly to his companion, he touchedhim on the shoulder. "Your pardon a moment, M. le Vicomte," he said."Am I right in concluding that the loss of this sum will inconvenienceyou?"

  "A thousand fiends!" the young gamester exclaimed, turning on himwrathfully. "Is there any man whom the loss of two thousand crowns wouldnot inconvenience? As for me----"

  "For you," the other continued smoothly, filling up the pause, "shall Ibe wrong in supposing that it means something like ruin?"

  "Well, sir, and if it does?" the young man retorted; and he drew himselfup, his cheek a shade paler with passion. "Depend upon it you shall bepaid. Do not be afraid of that!"

  "Gently, gently, my friend," the winner answered, his patience in strongcontrast to the other's violence. "I had no intention of insulting you,believe me. Those who play with the Vicomte de Noirterre are not wont todoubt his honour. I spoke only in your own interest. It has occurred tome, Vicomte, that the matter may be arranged at less cost to yourself."

  "How?" was the curt question.

  "May I speak freely?" The Vicomte shrugged his shoulders, and the other,taking silence for consent, proceeded: "You, Vicomte, are governor ofLusigny for the King of Navarre; I, of Creance, for the King of France.Our towns lie but three leagues apart. Could I by any chance, say on oneof these fine nights, make myself master of Lusigny, it would be worthmore than two thousand crowns to me. Do you understand?"

  "No," the young man answered slowly, "I do not."

  "Think over what I have said, then," was the brief answer.

  For a full minute there was silence in the room. The Vicomte gazed fromthe window with knitted brows and compressed lips, while his companion,seated near at hand, leant back in his chair, with an air of affectedcarefulness. Outside, the rattle of arms and hum of voices told that thewatch were passing through the street. The church bell rang one o'clock.Suddenly the Vicomte burst into a forced laugh, and, turning, took uphis cloak and sword. "The trap was well laid, M. le Capitaine," he saidalmost jovially; "but I am still sober enough to take care ofmyself--and of Lusigny. I wish you good night. You shall have yourmoney, do not fear."

  "Still, I am afraid it will cost you dearly," the Captain answered, ashe rose and moved towards the door to open it for his guest. And then,when his hand was already on the latch, he paused. "My lord," he said,"what do you say to this, then? I will stake the two thousand crowns youhave lost to me, and another thousand to boot--against your town. Oh, noone can hear us. If you win you go off a free man with my thousand. Ifyou lose, you put me in possession--one of these fine nights. Now, thatis an offer. What do you say to it? A single game to decide."

  The younger man's face reddened. He turned; his eyes sought the tableand the cards; he stood irresolute. The temptation came at anunfortunate moment; a moment when the excitement of play had given wayto depression, and he saw nothing outside the door, on the latch ofwhich his hand was laid, but the bleak reality of ruin. The temptationto return, the thought that by a single hand he might set himself rightwith the world, was too much for him. Slowly--he came back to the table."Confound you!" he said passionately. "I think you are the devilhimself!"

  "Don't talk child's talk!" the other answered coldly, drawing back ashis victim advanced. "If you do not like the offer you need not takeit."

  But the young man was a born gambler, and his fingers had already closedon the cards. Picking them up idly he dropped them once, twice, thriceon the table, his eyes gleaming with the play-fever. "If I win?" he saiddoubtfully. "What then? Let us have it quite clearly."

  "You carry away a thousand crowns," the Captain answered quietly. "Ifyou lose you contrive to leave one of the gates of Lusigny open for mebefore next full moon. That is all."

  "And what if I lose, and do not pay the forfeit?" the Vicomte asked,laughing weakly.

  "I trust to your honour," the Captain answered. And, strange as it mayseem, he knew his man. The young noble of the day might betray his causeand his trust, but the debt of honour incurred at play was binding onhim.

  "Well," said the Vicomte, with a deep breath, "I agree. Who is to deal?"

  "As you will," the Captain replied, masking under an appearance ofindifference the excitement which darkened his cheek, and caused thepulse in the old wound on his face to beat furiously.

  "Then do you deal," said the Vicomte.

  "With your permission," the Captain assented. And gathering the cards hedealt them with a practised hand, and pushed his opponent's six acrossto him.

  The young man took up the
hand and, as he sorted it, and looked from itto his companion's face, he repressed a groan with difficulty. Themoonlight shining through the casement fell in silvery sheen on a fewfeet of the floor. With the light something of the silence and coolnessof the night entered also, and appealed to him. For a few seconds hehesitated. He made even as if he would have replaced the hand on thetable. But he had gone too far to retrace his steps with honour. It wastoo late, and with a muttered word, which his dry lips refused toarticulate, he played the first card.

  He took that trick and the next: they were secure.

  "And now," said the Captain, who knew well where the pinch came. "Whatnext?"

  The Vicomte compressed his lips. Two courses were open to him. Byadopting one he could almost for certain win one more trick: by theother he might just possibly win two tricks. He was a gamester; headopted the latter course. In half a minute it was over. He had lost!

  The winner nodded gravely. "The luck is with me still," he said, keepinghis eyes on the table that the light of triumph which had leapt intothem might not be seen. "When do you go back to your command, Vicomte?"

  The unhappy man sat, as one stunned, his eyes on the painted cards whichhad cost him so dearly. "The day after to-morrow," he muttered at last,striving to collect himself.

  "Then shall we say--the following evening?" the Captain askedcourteously.

  The young man shivered. "As you will," he muttered.

  "We quite understand one another," continued the winner, eyeing his manwatchfully, and speaking with more urgency. "I may depend on you, M. leVicomte, I presume--to keep your word?"

  "The Noirterres have never been wanting to their word," the youngnobleman answered stung into passing passion. "If I live I will putLusigny into your hands, M. le Capitaine. Afterwards I will do my bestto recover it--in another way."

  "I shall be most happy to meet you in that way," replied the Captain,bowing lightly. And in one more minute, the door of his lodging hadclosed on the other; and he was alone--alone with his triumph, hisambition, his hopes for the future--alone with the greatness to whichhis capture of Lusigny was to be the first step. He would enjoy thatgreatness not a whit the less because fortune had hitherto dealt out tohim more blows than caresses, and he was still at forty, after a scoreof years of roughest service, the governor of a paltry country town.

  Meanwhile, in the darkness of the narrow streets, the Vicomte was makinghis way to his lodgings in a state of despair difficult to describe,impossible to exaggerate. Chilled, sobered, and affrighted he lookedback and saw how he had thrown for all and lost all, how he had savedthe dregs of his fortune at the expense of his loyalty, how he had seena way of escape--and lost it for ever! No wonder that as he trudgedthrough the mud and darkness of the sleeping town his breath camequickly and his chest heaved, and he looked from side to side as ahunted animal might look, uttering great sighs. Ah, if he could haveretraced the last three hours! If he could have undone that he had done!

  In a fever, he entered his lodging, and securing the door behind himstumbled up the stone stairs and entered his room. The impulse toconfide his misfortunes to some one was so strong upon him that he wasglad to see a dark form half sitting, half lying in a chair before thedying embers of a wood fire. In those days a man's natural confidant washis valet, the follower, half friend, half servant, who had been born onhis estate, who lay on a pallet at the foot of his bed, who carried his_billets-doux_ and held his cloak at the duello, who rode near hisstirrup in fight and nursed him in illness, who not seldom advised himin the choice of a wife, and lied in support of his suit.

  The young Vicomte flung his cloak over a chair. "Get up, you rascal!" hecried impatiently. "You pig, you dog!" he continued, with increasinganger. "Sleeping there as though your master were not ruined by thatscoundrel of a Breton! Bah!" he added, gazing bitterly at his follower,"you are of the _canaille_, and have neither honour to lose nor a townto betray!"

  The sleeping man moved in his chair but did not awake. The Vicomte, hispatience exhausted, snatched the bonnet from his head, and threw it onthe ground. "Will you listen?" he said. "Or go, if you choose look foranother master. I am ruined! Do you hear? Ruined, Gil! I have lostall--money, land, Lusigny itself--at the cards!"

  The man, roused at last, stooped with a sleepy movement, and picking uphis hat dusted it with his hand, then rose with a yawn to his feet.

  "I am afraid, Vicomte," he said, in tones that, quiet as they were,sounded like thunder in the young man's astonished and bewildered ears,"I am afraid that if you have lost Lusigny--you have lost somethingwhich was not yours to lose!"

  As he spoke he struck the embers with his boot, and the fire, blazingup, shone on his face. The Vicomte saw, with stupor, that the man beforehim was not Gil at all--was indeed the last person in the world to whomhe should have betrayed himself. The astute smiling eyes, the aquilinenose, the high forehead, and projecting chin, which the short beard andmoustache scarcely concealed, were only too well known to him. Hestepped back with a cry of despair. "Sir!" he said, and then his tonguefailed him. His arms dropped by his sides. He stood silent, pale,convicted, his chin on his breast. The man to whom he had confessed histreachery was the master whom he had agreed to betray.

  "I had suspected something of this," Henry of Navarre continued, after alengthy pause, and with a tinge of irony in his tone. "Rosny told methat that old fox, the Captain of Creance, was affecting your companysomewhat too much, M. le Vicomte, and I find that, as usual, hissuspicions were well-founded. What with a gentleman who shall benameless, who has bartered a ford and a castle for the favour ofMademoiselle de Luynes, and yourself, and another I know of--I am blestwith some faithful followers, it seems! For shame! for shame, sir!" hecontinued seating himself with dignity in the chair from which he hadrisen, but turning it so that he confronted his host, "have you nothingto say for yourself?"

  The young noble stood with bowed head, his face white. This was ruin,indeed, absolute, irremediable ruin. "Sir," he said at last, "yourMajesty has a right to my life, not to my honour."

  "Your honour!" Henry exclaimed, biting contempt in his tone.

  The young man started, and for a second his cheek flamed under thewell-deserved reproach; but he recovered himself. "My debt to yourMajesty," he said, "I am willing to pay."

  "Since pay you must," Henry muttered softly.

  "But I claim to pay also my debt to the Captain of Creance."

  The King of Navarre stared. "Oh," he said. "So you would have me takeyour worthless life, and give up Lusigny?"

  "I am in your hands, sire."

  "Pish, sir!" Henry replied in angry astonishment. "You talk like achild. Such an offer, M. de Noirterre, is folly, and you know it. Nowlisten to me. It was lucky for you that I came in to-night, intending toquestion you. Your madness is known to me only, and I am willing tooverlook it. Do you hear? I am willing to pardon. Cheer up, therefore,and be a man. You are young; I forgive you. This shall be between youand me only," the young prince continued, his eyes softening as theother's head sank lower, "and you need think no more of it until the daywhen I shall say to you, 'Now, M. de Noirterre, for Navarre and forHenry, strike!'"

  He rose as the last words passed his lips, and held out his hand. TheVicomte fell on one knee, and kissed it reverently, then sprang to hisfeet again. "Sire," he said, his eyes shining, "you have punished meheavily, more heavily than was needful. There is only one way in which Ican show my gratitude, and that is by ridding you of a servant who cannever again look your enemies in the face."

  "What new folly is this?" Henry asked sternly. "Do you not understandthat I have forgiven you?"

  "Therefore I cannot betray Lusigny, and I must acquit myself of my debtto the Captain of Creance in the only way which remains," the young manreplied firmly. "Death is not so hard that I would not meet it twiceover rather than again betray my trust."

  "This is midsummer madness!" said the King, hotly.

  "Possibly," replied the Vicomte, without emotion; "yet of a kind towhi
ch your Grace is not altogether a stranger."

  The words appealed to that love of the fanciful and the chivalrous whichformed part of the young King's nature, and was one cause alike of hisweakness and his strength. In its more extravagant flights it gaveopportunity after opportunity to his enemies, in its nobler and sanerexpressions it won victories which all his astuteness and diplomacycould not have compassed. He stood now, looking with half-hiddenadmiration at the man whom two minutes before he had despised.

  "I think you are in jest," he said presently and with some scorn.

  "No, sir," the young man answered, gravely. "In my country they have aproverb about us. 'The Noirterres,' say they, 'have ever been badplayers but good payers.' I will not be the first to be worse than myname!"

  He spoke with so quiet a determination that the King was staggered, andfor a minute or two paced the room in silence, inwardly reviling theobstinacy of this weak-kneed supporter, yet unable to withhold hisadmiration from it. At length he stopped, with a low exclamation.

  "Wait!" he cried. "I have it! _Ventre Saint Gris_, man, I have it!" Hiseyes sparkled, and, with a gentle laugh, he hit the table a soundingblow. "Ha! ha! I have it!" he repeated gaily.

  The young noble gazed at him in surprise, half suspicious, halfincredulous. But when Henry in low, rapid tones had expounded his plan,the young man's face underwent a change. Hope and life sprang into it.The blood flew to his cheeks. His whole aspect softened. In a moment hewas on his knee, mumbling the prince's hand, his eyes moist withgratitude. Nor was that all; the two talked long, the murmur of theirvoices broken more than once by the ripple of laughter. When they atlength separated, and Henry, his face hidden by the folds of his cloak,had stolen to his lodgings, where, no doubt, more than one watcher wasawaiting him with a mind full of anxious fears, the Vicomte threw openhis window and looked out on the night. The moon had set, but the starsstill shone peacefully in the dark canopy above. He remembered, histhroat choking with silent emotion, that he was looking towards hishome--the round towers among the walnut woods of Navarre which had beenin his family since the days of St. Louis, and which he had so lightlyrisked. And he registered a vow in his heart that of all Henry'sservants he would henceforth be the most faithful.

  Meanwhile the Captain of Creance was enjoying the sweets of his comingtriumph. He did not look out into the night, it is true--he was over oldfor sentiment--but pacing up and down the room he planned andcalculated, considering how he might make the most of his success. Hewas still comparatively young. He had years of strength before him. Hewould rise high and higher. He would not easily be satisfied. The timeswere troubled, opportunities were many, fools not few; bold men withbrains and hands were rare.

  At the same time he knew that he could be sure of nothing until Lusignywas actually in his possession; and he spent the next few days inpainful suspense. But no hitch occurred nor seemed likely. The Vicomtemade him the necessary communications; and men in his own pay informedhim of dispositions ordered by the governor of Lusigny which left him inno doubt that the loser intended to pay his debt.

  It was, therefore, with a heart already gay with anticipation that theCaptain rode out of Creance two hours before midnight on an eveningeight days later. The night was dark, but he knew his road well. He hadwith him a powerful force, composed in part of thirty of his owngarrison, bold hardy fellows, and in part of six score horsemen, lenthim by the governor of Montauban. As the Vicomte had undertaken towithdraw, under some pretence or other, one-half of his command and tohave one of the gates opened by a trusty hand, the Captain foresaw nodifficulty. He trotted along in excellent spirits, now stopping to scanwith approval the dark line of his troopers, now to bid them muffle thejingle of their swords and corselets that nevertheless rang sweet musicin his ears. He looked for an easy victory; but it was not any slightmisadventure that would rob him of his prey. If necessary he would fightand fight hard. Still, as his company wound along the river-side orpassed into the black shadow of the oak grove, which stands a mile tothe east of Lusigny, he did not expect that there would be muchfighting.

  Treachery alone, he thought, could thwart him; and of treachery therewas no sign. The troopers had scarcely halted under the last clump oftrees before a figure detached itself from one of the largest trunks,and advanced to the Captain's rein. The Captain saw with surprise thatit was the Vicomte himself. For a second he thought that something hadgone wrong, but the young noble's first words reassured him. "It isarranged," M. de Noirterre whispered, as the Captain bent down to him."I have kept my word, and I think that there will be no resistance. Theplanks for crossing the moat lie opposite the gate. Knock thrice at thelatter, and it will be opened. There are not fifty armed men in theplace."

  "Good!" the Captain answered, in the same cautious tone. "But you----"

  "I am believed to be elsewhere, and must be gone. I have far to ride tonight. Farewell."

  "Till we meet again," the Captain answered; and without more he saw hisally glide away and disappear in the darkness. A cautious word set thetroop in motion, and a very few minutes saw them standing on the edgeof the moat, the outline of the gateway tower looming above them, ashade darker than the wrack of clouds which overhead raced silentlyacross the sky. A moment of suspense while one and another shivered--forthere is that in a night attack which touches the nerves of thestoutest--and the planks were found, and as quietly as possible laidacross the moat. This was so skilfully done that it evoked no challengeand the Captain crossing quickly with a few picked men, stood in thetwinkling of an eye under the shadow of the gateway. Still no sound washeard save the hurried breathing of those at his elbow, the stealthytread of others crossing, the persistent voices of the frogs in thewater beneath. Cautiously he knocked three times and waited. The thirdrap had scarcely sounded before the gate rolled silently open, and hesprang in, followed by his men.

  So far so good. A glance at the empty street and the porter's pale facetold him at once that the Vicomte had kept his word. But he was too olda soldier to take anything for granted, and forming up his men asquickly as they entered, he allowed no one to advance until all wereinside, and then, his trumpet sounding a wild note of defiance,two-thirds of his force sprang forward in a compact body while the otherthird remained to hold the gate. In a moment the town awoke to finditself in the hands of the enemy.

  As the Vicomte had promised, there was no resistance. In the small keepa score of men did indeed run to arms, but only to lay their weaponsdown without striking a blow when they became aware of the force opposedto them. Their leader, sullenly acquiescing, gave up his sword and thekeys of the town to the victorious Captain; who, as he sat his horse inthe middle of the marketplace, giving his orders and sending off riderswith the news, already saw himself in fancy Governor of Angouleme andKnight of the Holy Ghost.

  As the red light of the torches fell on steel caps and polishedhauberks, on the serried ranks of pikemen, and the circle of whitefacedtownsfolks, the picturesque old square looked doubly picturesque and hewho sat in the midst, its master, doubly a hero. Every five minutes,with a clatter of iron on the rough pavement and a shower of sparks, ahorseman sprang away to tell the news at Montauban or Cahors; and everytime that this occurred, the Captain, astride on his charger, felt a newsense of power and triumph.

  Suddenly the low murmur of voices about him was broken by a new sound,the distant beat of hoofs, not departing but arriving, and coming eachmoment nearer. It was but the tramp of a single horse, but there wassomething in the sound which made the Captain prick his ears, andsecured for the arriving messenger a speedy passage through the crowd.Even at the last the man did not spare his horse, but spurred throughthe ranks to the Captain's very side, and then and then only sprang tothe ground. His face was pale, his eyes were bloodshot. His right armwas bound up in bloodstained cloths. With an oath of amazement, theCaptain recognized the officer whom he had left in charge of Creance,and he thundered, "What is this? What is it?"

  "They have got Creance!" the man gasped, reel
ing as he spoke. "They havegot--Creance!"

  "Who?" the Captain shrieked, his face purple with rage.

  "The little man of Bearn! The King of Navarre! He assaulted it fivehundred strong an hour after you left, and had the gate down before wecould fire a dozen shots. We did what we could, but we were but one toseven. I swear, Captain, that we did all we could. Look at this!"

  Almost black in the face, the Captain swore another oath. It was notonly that he saw governorship and honours vanish like Will-o'-the-wisps,but that he saw even more quickly that he had made himself thelaughing-stock of a kingdom! And that was the truth. To this day, amongthe stories which the southern French love to tell of the prowess andastuteness of their great Henry, there is no tradition more frequentlytold, none more frequently made the subject of mirth, than that of thefamous exchange of Creance for Lusigny; of the move by which betweendawn and sunrise, without warning, without a word, he gave his opponentsmate.