CHAPTER II
A LESSON IN OBEDIENCE
Passing his clenched hand through the crook of Commines' arm, andleaning heavily on the stick in the other hand, Louis turned slowly upthe gallery, and for a time both were silent. They made a strangecontrast. The King was shrunken, bowed, and bent, a veritable walkingskeleton to whom the grave already imperiously beckoned nor would takelong denial. With his bony head, his listless face, his lean, longneck thrust out from the fur of his upturned collar, he resembled agiant bird of prey. The skinny hand thrust through the crook ofCommines' arm, and still grasping the crumpled despatch, was the clawof a vulture. Above him, head and shoulders, towered Commines,square-set, burly, muscular, and as full of life and vigour as hismaster was sapless. Just midway to the threescore years and ten, hisbodily powers were at their highest, and in the ten years he had servedLouis his mind had ripened so that few men were more astute, moreshrewd to see and seize upon advantages, whether for himself or hismaster. In the King's service few scruples troubled him, thequestionable act was Louis', his part was to obey.
"Then, sire, the post was not from Paris?"
"From Amboise," answered Louis, with sudden incisive vigour, his voicerasping harshly. "From Amboise, where the ungrateful son of amiserable father plots and plots and plots: and you, whose business itis to know everything, know nothing."
"The Dauphin? and plotting against you? But, sire, it is impossible.The Dauphin is barely thirteen years of age."
"The pity of it, Argenton, oh! the pity of it." As he spoke one whodid not know him as Commines knew him would have sworn that tears werevery near the dull, dry eyes. "No more than thirteen--no, notthirteen, and yet--ah! the pity of it."
"Oh, sire, some one has deceived you. The Dauphin is too young toplot, even if affection and common nature----"
"Too young?" broke in Louis, halting in his slow walk to strike thepavement angrily with his stick. "At what age does a serpent growfangs? Too young? Ill weeds grow apace, and then there may be thoseabout him who egg him on, who sow wrong ideas in his mind that they mayreap some gain to themselves. All are not as faithful as thou art,Philip. I have not always been merciful--not always. At times justicehas rejoiced against mercy for the general good; yes, for the generalgood. There was Molembrais; men blame me for Molembrais; but if theKing's arm be not strong enough to strike, who shall hold the kingdomin its place? And because the King's hand pulls down and raises up asGod wills"--he paused, and bowed with a little gesture of his hand tohis cap--"there are those who do not love me. But if they egg on,those others who should be loyal to their King and are not, if theysuggest, it is my son--my son, Argenton--who is the very heart andcentre; my son, who out of his little twelve years raises his handagainst my threescore."
"If he has done that," began Commines, picking his words slowly (he hadnot as yet fathomed Louis' purpose, and feared lest he should commithimself in too great haste to the wrong policy), "if the Dauphin hastruly so forgotten natural love and duty----"
"If!" With a snarl which showed his gapped and yellow teeth Louisagain straightened himself, and as he raised his head beyond thereflected glow of the scarlet cloak his face was grey with passion."If? If? Head of God, man! do you dare talk to me in 'ifs'? Philipde Commines, when you were little in your own eyes, when you were thehumble fetcher and carrier to that Bully of Burgundy whom I crushed,when you were the very hound and cur of his pleasure, fawning on himfor the scraps of life, I took you up, I!--I! Now you are Lord ofArgenton, now you are Seneschal of Poitou, now you are Prince ofTalmont, and I have made you all these, I!--I! and you answer me withan 'if'! But the hand which raised you up can drag down, you whoanswer me with an 'if.' The hand which drew from the mud can flinginto the ditch, you who answer me with an 'if.' And, by God! I'll doit! An 'if'? We say 'ifs' to fools. Was I a fool to turn thelickshoe of Charles the Bully into the Prince of Talmont? Was I a foolto grope in the mud for a Seneschal of Poitou? Am I a fool now--I, whohave held the strings of all Europe in my hand for thirty years, andloosed or ravelled them as suited the greatness of France? God be mywitness, all has been for the greatness of France! France comes first,always first. And now, when I say my son plots against me, thattwelve-year boy who is of an age to be king, am I a fool and liar?Does this lie? Answer me, Argenton, does this lie?" And wrenching hishand free from Commines he shook the paper passionately above his head.
So sudden and so fierce was the attack, so full of bitter venom and rawrage, so brutally naked and perilous in its threat, that Comminesfairly quailed. The florid ruddiness of his fleshy face faded to apallor more cadaverous than the unhealthy grey of Louis' sunken cheeksas he remembered Molembrais. At the door stood the guards with crossedpikes, beyond these were Leslie and Saint-Pierre, watchful and alert.He was loved little better than his master, and he knew it. Let theKing speak and there would be no hesitancy, little pity. In his rapidrise he had kicked many rivals from the ladder of Court favour, andclimbed yet higher by trampling them underfoot, caring little what gulfof disgrace or worse swallowed them. And the King's threat was no idleboast; the hand which had raised could drag down, not only toirremediable disaster, but to the very grave itself. A hand? Abeckoning finger to those who waited at the door would be enough, andCommines trembled.
"Sire, sire," he cried, his arms raised in protest and supplication,"how have I offended you? In what have I been ungrateful? I meant nomore but that it seemed impossible a son could turn against so good, sogreat a father. That--that--staggered me for the moment. It beggaredreason; it--it--but let me read the despatch for myself, sire. Not forbelief, but for comprehension, and that we may meet the blow together,that we may turn it aside--may turn it back on--on--the hand thatstrikes."
"Aye!" said Louis drily, "that is more like the Commines of old, theCommines who served his master without an 'if.' And that is a goodphrase of yours--turn back the blow on the hand that strikes! Whenthat is done, and the time comes for reward, I will not forget that itwas your phrase. And it was for that I sent for you: I knew my friendCommines would find a way to--to--guard his master effectually."
Before Louis ended all the harshness had gone from his voice, and itbecame marvellously gentle, marvellously kindly, almost caressing. Amaster student of the subtle trifles which unconsciously influencegreat events, he played upon men's minds as a skilled musician on hisinstrument, and they obeyed the touch. Nor was Philip de Commines,opportunist, political adventurer, philosopher, soldier of fortune,diplomatist, exempt from the influence of that skilful mastery. As hehad gloomed so now he gladdened: he squared his shoulders to hisfullest height, filling his lungs with a deeper inspiration, and thecolour ran back to his cheeks in flood. Nor was it all in pride; therewas relief, and the lifting up of a burden which for one terriblemoment had threatened to crush him to the earth itself.
But the life which gave its strength to the hand which lifted anddragged down was frail almost to extinction, and remembering that oneday the Dauphin must step into Louis' place Commines ventured totemporize.
"Yes, sire, but to turn back the blow I must know who aims the blow,whence it comes, where it will strike, and when. To fight in the darkis to waste strength. Have I your leave to read the despatch fromAmboise?"
"Eh?" With the gesture of a natural impulse Louis held out the paper,then drew it back. "We will wait a little. I am tired, very tired.This shock has unnerved me. Let me sit down, Philip, and rest."
Slowly, with an arm on Commines' shoulder, he turned and, sinking intothe chair, leaned forward upon the table in an attitude of utterweariness, his hand still resting upon the despatch. So there was apause for a moment, Commines standing to one side, silent and ill atease. Then with a sigh, which was almost a groan, Louis rousedhimself. Reaching out his hand he raised to his lips a little silverimage of Saint Denis, one of a group which filled a corner of thetable, some standing upright, some pitched upon their faces withoutregard to reverence or respect. Kissing i
t fervently he again sighed,his eyes raised to the groined roof, and shook his head sadly. IfSaint Denis did not whisper inspiration he at least spun out the timefor thought. Commines' request was reasonable, and he was at a losshow plausibly to evade it.
"Have I your leave, sire?"
"Eh?" Down came the King's hand upon the paper, Saint Denis grasped,baton-fashion, by the feet. "No, Philip, no, I think not. It is inconfidence, and above all things a king must respect confidence, or howcould he be trusted?" A sentence which sounded strange from the lipsof a man who never kept a treaty he could break to his own advantage,or, to give him his due, to the advantage of France.
"That I can understand," answered Commines, as gravely as if hismaster's tortuous road to the consolidation of the kingdom had not beenstrewn with ruptured contracts, unscrupulous chicanery, and solemnpledges brazenly evaded. "But how am I to act? How can I, in thedark, parry a blow from the dark?"
"Suspect every one," answered Louis, brushing aside Saint Denis as heturned sharply in his chair. The saint had served his turn. He hadbeen invoked in a perplexity, and now that the way was clear, no doubtin answer to the invocation, he was flung aside without ceremony."Suspect every one. To suspect all you meet is the first great rule ofprudence, wisdom, success; and to suspect your own self is the second.Go to Amboise. Remember there is no if, and sift, search, find, butespecially find."
"Find what, sire?"
For answer Louis clutched the paper yet tighter and shook it in theair, and if Commines could but have guessed it, there was a doublemeaning in the action and the words which accompanied it.
"Find this!"
"And having found?" Commines paused, conscious that the ground wastreacherous under his feet. "Sire, remember he is the Dauphin and theson of France."