CHAPTER VIII
THE BREAKING FRIENDSHIP
Two men were riding side by side through the forest of Soignies; beforeand behind them was a great army. It was a May night, with the moonfull overhead and casting long shadows from the tall, dark, motionlesstrees. News had been received at the camp the evening before that theFrench were threatening Brussels, and the confederate army was marchingto save the Capital.
These two men who rode in the centre were alone, though part of such animmense force; for the Dutch guards, who marched before and behind themwere several yards distant; they were both wrapped in long militarycloaks. One, who was the King-Stadtholder, the commander of the allies,was mounted on a white horse; the other, William Bentinck, Earl ofPortland, rode a great brown steed. The King was speaking veryearnestly, in a lowered voice suited to the hush of the warm night andthe solemnity of the long denies they traversed.
"I must tell you of the dispatch I received from my Lord Devonshire. Ihad scarcely received it before we broke camp, or I had told you before.This John Fenwick, the Jacobite, hath made a cunning confession,designed to put the Government into a confusion. He accuseth Godolphin,Shrewsbury, Marlborough, and Russell of being deep with St. Germains."
Portland made no answer.
"It was," continued the King, "no news to me, as you know."
"What have you done?" asked the Earl.
"I have done nothing yet. I shall write to Devonshire ordering thetrial of this Fenwick to proceed."
"And for these lords?"
"I shall affect to disbelieve this evidence," answered William. "AndShrewsbury, at least, I shall assure of my trust."
"And so traitors flourish!"
There was silence for awhile, only broken by the jingle of the harness,the fall of the horses' feet, and the tramp of the army before andbehind. The faces of the two men were hidden from each other; theycould only discern outline of horse and figure as the moonlight fellbetween the elms and oaks.
The King spoke again.
"I have learnt to be tolerant of treason. These men serve me--evenMarlborough--instruments all of them! And Shrewsbury I ever liked. Iwill not have him put out for this."
"You will even let them remain in office?"
"Surely," answered the King, "it would be beneath me to stoop tovengeance? And what else would this be? Both policy and kindnessdictate to me this course."
Portland's voice came heavily out of the morning shadows.
"You are too lenient to every sort of fault. These men do not even knowyou spare them--they think you are fooled. Marlborough will laugh atyou."
"What doth that matter if he serveth my turn? He is a villain, but agreat man--he should be useful to England."
The King spoke in strained, weary accents, and with, it seemed, butlittle interest.
"Besides," he added, "I do not believe half of what Fenwick saith."
Portland retorted sharply.
"You did not believe the assassination plot itself until I producedPrendergrass, who had heard them discuss who was to fire the bullet onTurnham Green."
The King answered simply--
"One becometh so well used to these attempts, I should have been deadten times if assassins could have done it. That was not the wayordained."
"I hope," said Portland dryly, "that your clemency will be rewarded. I,for one, could well wish to see these traitors come to theirpunishment--yea, and such men as Sunderland----"
William interrupted.
"I hope they will leave me Sunderland--I could ill do without him. ButI hear he is likely to be pressed hard in the Commons."
"I cannot wonder," returned Portland, "but only at you who continue toemploy such a man."
The King did not answer at once. The moon was sinking and taking on ayellow colour, the shadows were fainter and blended one with another,the trunks, branches, and clustering leaves of the great trees began toshow dimly against a paling sky; there was a deep stir of freshness inthe still air, the perfume of grass, bracken, and late violets. Thesteady, unbroken tramp of the great army seemed to grow louder with thefirst lifting of the night; the men, in ranks of not more than four,could be seen defiling through the yet dark forest.
The King spoke, looking ahead of him.
"Of late I can do nothing to please you," he said in a whisper. "It isnot pleasant to me to have this growing coldness."
"Your Majesty hath other friends," answered Portland bitterly.
"You are unreasonable," said the King, in the same sad, broken voice."I cannot withdraw my favour from M. van Keppel--justice and dignityforbid it. You should understand that, William. I also might have mycomplaints; it is not easy for me to keep the peace between you and M.van Keppel. Your constant quarrels make my household in a perpetualtumult--and, I must say it, it is not M. van Keppel who is generally theaggressor."
"His presence is an offence," declared Portland hotly; "a creature of myLord Sunderland, a flattering, smooth-tongued boy--a dissolute rake whohath done nothing for your service!"
The King turned his face towards his friend.
"It cuts me to the heart," he said, with great emotion, "that you shoulddream--for one second--that he could make me ever forget or undervalueall the services I owe to you. Nothing could alter my affection for you;it is my great grief that you should not feel that as I do."
"You have changed," was all Portland said.
The King lifted his eyes to the sky showing between the trees they rodepast, his haggard face was faintly visible in the increasing light.
"Yes, I have changed," he said slowly. "Perhaps even you cannot guesshow much. I could not convey to you how utterly indifferent all theworld is to me save only my hope to a little more complete the task Godput upon me. Your friendship is all that is left to me. Nothing hathbeen real since--she--died. I only act and think and go through my daysbecause I believe she would have wished it. I only do this and thatbecause I think--she would have done it. I only keep on because shewished that, even at the last. I only endure to live because I dare tohope she may be somewhere--waiting----"
His voice sank so low as to be almost incoherent; Portland couldscarcely catch the words. They came to a little hollow beside the paththat was filled with spring flowers opening to the dawn, daisies andlilies and tufts of fresh green.
The King spoke again.
"For the rest, all is dead--here," he lightly touched his heart. "Youalone have the power to hurt me, and you should use it tenderly."
Portland had meant to resign his position in the King's household, sointolerable had it become to him, but now restrained himself.
"I will serve you till death," he said, with his air of cold, highbreeding. "Your Majesty must believe that of me."
William gave a little sigh.
"What of this Congress at Ryswick?" added Portland, "and your suggestionthat I should see M. de Boufflers?"
He thought that it would be something of a compromise if he could stillcontinue to serve the King yet get away from the odious van Keppel.
"They will never do anything at Ryswick," answered the King wearily."They fill their time with ceremonies and vexations, and this time ahundred years might find them still arguing there. And I am resolutefor peace now as all my life I have been resolute for war. No need toexplain my policy to you. We shall never get better terms than Franceoffereth now, and they must not be lost through the intolerableimpertinences of Spain, who hath contributed nothing but rigmaroles tothe coalition from the first."
"I think," said Portland, "I could get some satisfaction from M. deBoufflers."
The French Marechal had formed a friendship with Portland when he hadbeen his prisoner at Huy, after the fall of Namur, and it had recentlyoccurred to William to use this friendship to open negotiations betweenEngland and France, regardless of the formal mummeries of the Congress,which seemed to be likely to be as protracted as that held at Nymwegenin '79.
/> It was William's object to discover if Louis was in earnest. Thelistlessness of Spain, the ambition of the Emperor must bow if onceFrance, England, and Holland came to terms. What he proposed was daringand unconstitutional. He had not informed a single English politicianof his plan, and Portland, whom he thought to employ, was not even anEnglishman, but William was never stopped by any fear of responsibility.If he could accomplish an honourable peace (the very best he couldobtain he knew would be only a breathing space, for there was thetremendous question of the Spanish Succession ahead), he cared nothingfor the temper of the English parliament or the complaints of theallies, and in the United Provinces he was practically absolute. He hadbefore suggested to Portland that he should write and open negotiationswith Boufflers, and had mentioned Hal, midway between Brussels and Mons,as a likely place for an interview. He now, on Portland's words,reverted to this and discussed the details of the scheme that was togive peace to Europe in his weary, low, and strained voice, broken byconstant coughs.
The forest of Soignies began to break; the trees became thinner and werescattered to right and left like echelons of soldiers, the whole heavenwas clear of cloud, and the sun, just rising above the plains ofBrabant, filled the air with a steady colour of pearl-blue.
A little wind touched the trees, then was silent; the constant noise ofbirds accompanied the tramp of the heavy infantry and the distant,unequal rumble of the gun carriages and baggage waggons.
The King loosened his cloak, cast it over his holster, and looked backat the army following him through the wood.
"If we sign peace this year this will be my last campaign," he remarked.
Portland looked at him quickly.
"The Spanish question--there will be war there--and before long."
"But I have so few years to live," answered the King simply; "for withthis peace my work would be done. No, I think I shall never lead anarmy across the Netherlands again."
They rode clear of the trees now, and saw before them the beautifulvalley soft and veiled in the mists of morning.
The King fixed his eyes on the spot where Brussels lay. If Villeroy hadoutmarched him and was bombarding the capital as he had bombarded itlast year, the allies had been checkmated and there would be little hopefor the prospects of peace.
Scouts were sent out to ascertain the movements of the enemy; no sign oftheir fires could be discerned. William thought that his activity hadsaved Brussels and that there were no fears from Villeroy. He pushedon, and, by ten in the morning, after having ridden fifteen hours,reached the still unmolested ramparts of the capital from which theSpanish flag was yet flying.
He instantly took up his position before the walls and proceeded tostrongly entrench himself on the very spot from which Villeroy haddropped his shells into Brussels near a year ago when the allies werebefore Namur.
It appeared that he had saved the magnificent city by a few hours;before midday the French came up, but, finding the confederate armyalready so strongly fortified, fell back across Brabant without firing ashot.
The King, as he rode about surveying the encampment, sent for Portland.
The Earl came, and the two men looked at each other steadily; the hastyearthworks, the rising canvas, the sights and sounds of the camp wereabout them, overhead the blazing blue faintly hazed with clouds of heat.
William held out his thin, bare right hand.
"Since I think you are resolute to leave me," he said, "I would have yougo to Hal to meet M. de Boufflers." He added with great sweetness, "Iput the fate of Europe in your hands, and could put it in none moreworthy."