The Justice of the King

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

  But for two happenings by the way Stephen La Mothe's ride over theroute taken twenty-four hours earlier by Commines was without event.Of these happenings one was bitter and one was sweet, and in mercy thebitter came first, leaving the sweet to comfort the end of the journey.

  Once fully clear of Amboise the leader of the troop halted, and by aprearranged plan his followers gathered round them, hemming them into acircle as they had hemmed Beaufoy earlier in the day.

  "Monsieur La Mothe," he said civilly, but speaking with the air of aman who had a fixed purpose, "there is a certain signet which I mustdemand. We who come from Valmy always say must and demand," he added,with a touch of grim humour, which was lost on La Mothe, but which PaulBeaufoy would have appreciated.

  "Your instructions said nothing about a signet."

  "I must have it, nevertheless. You can see for yourself that the orderwas written in haste, and how should I know the ring exists if the Kinghad not told me? To be frank with you, these men do not go with us allthe way to Valmy, and where would I be if, when we arrived, you playedyour signet against my scrap of paper?"

  "But you have my parole."

  "Valmy's parole!" he said scornfully. "I mean no offence, but I canafford no risks. Come, Monsieur La Mothe, do not put me and yourselfto the indignity of a search."

  At the contempt in the scornful voice La Mothe started, flushing hotlyin the darkness. But the memory of the deadly deceit practised on hisown faith was too recent, and he controlled himself. How could heblame a stranger for judging the servant by the master?

  "The ring came from the King and should go back to the King. On yourhonour, is this part of your duty?"

  "My most solemn duty, as God is above us; without the signet I cannotfulfil all that has been laid upon me"--which was true in a sense. Theorder stolen from Beaufoy might gain him entrance to Valmy, but withoutthe signet he could not count on forcing a way to Louis himself.

  "On compulsion, then," said La Mothe, giving up the signet, andthenceforward they rode in silence, not pressing their horses unduly;but it vexed him to think that Louis would not trust him to return thering.

  If Stephen La Mothe was sick at heart, who could blame him or charge itto the discredit of his courage? The rough lesson had been roughlytaught that it is better to tramp the road of life afoot and one's ownmaster than to ride a-horseback under compulsion. He had learned, too,that on the tree of knowledge of the ways of men are many fruits whichpucker the mouth, as well as those which gladden the spirit. As to theways of women, that is an altogether different book--a serial, let ussay, but in how many numbers?

  Of these ways La Mothe learned one before the sun of a new day hadrisen. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of the auberge where PaulBeaufoy had purchased breakfast at a cost greater than an empty purse,the troopers were dismissed after a brief conference, from which LaMothe was excluded, and the two rode on alone. Each was preoccupiedand neither spoke. Knowing the relationship which existed betweenValmy and Amboise there seemed to La Mothe nothing strange in theprocedure followed both at the Chateau and afterwards. If the Kingsuspected he had joined the camp of the Dauphin, then arrest might havebeen resisted; but once upon the road, and his parole passed, there wasno further need for force. The King who kept no faith was shrewd toknow when he could trust the faith of others, and the troopersdoubtless were required elsewhere. The truth was they followed at adistance, in order to cover and aid Molembrais' flight in the desperatepossibility of his escape from Valmy.

  Unconsciously following the precedent set by Commines, they drew reinwhile it was yet dark. Daylight, both knew, would show Valmy in thedistance. But as they crawled at a foot's pace in the yet darkershadow of a dense pine-wood edging the highway, the east a sullen greyribbed by a narrow cloud poised upon the horizon like an inverted giantmonolith, there sounded behind them the remote pad, pad of rapid hoofsmuffled by dust. It was the very dead hour of night, when even natureis steeped in the quiet of a child's sleep, and the rhythmic beat brokethe stillness like the throbbing of a heart.

  "This way and be silent."

  La Mothe felt rather than saw his bridle caught, wrenching his horsebackward into a gloom so heavy that those behind them would have passedthem by but that Grey Roland, chafing at the pressure on the bit,tossed his head and set the cheek-chains jangling. Instantly theforemost rider checked, and a voice called out of the darkness, "Who isthere? Stephen! Stephen!" It was Ursula de Vesc. With a touch ofthe spur La Mothe drove Grey Roland forward, dragging the rein from thehand which held it.

  "Ursula! You! Why are you here? Who is with you?"

  "Where else should I be?" she answered between laughter and a sob."Did you think I could wait, breaking my heart alone in Amboise?Besides, there is no danger. Father John is with me, and now we shallbe together to the end."

  "But the Dauphin?"

  "Your orders are cancelled, don't you remember? There is no longer anyfear for the Dauphin. And if there was," she added half defiantly, "Iwould be here all the same."

  From the shadow of the pines La Mothe's captor rode slowly forward."For what purpose, mademoiselle?"

  "To tell the King what I know Monsieur La Mothe will never tellhim--that he has twice saved the Dauphin's life against that would-bemurderer, Molembrais. And when all France hears the story, as allFrance shall, not even the King will dare to lay a finger on the mostloyal gentleman from Artois to Navarre. My one fear was I might be toolate, and all night have ridden in terror lest you should reach Valmybefore me."

  "But there is no entering Valmy in the dark."

  "Monsieur La Mothe's signet----"

  "La Mothe, you never told me that."

  "Why should I?" replied La Mothe. "I owed you no information. Youtook your instructions from the King. But, Ursula, you cannot, mustnot, dare not, go to Valmy. Remember Saxe. The risk would be madness,the danger----"

  "Where you go I go," she answered steadily. "Dear, do not try todissuade me, it would be no use. Let us not fret ourselves in thelittle time we have. And is the danger less for you than for me?"

  "Do you mean," demanded Molembrais, "that the signet will giveadmission to the King at any hour, day or night?"

  "At any hour, yes."

  "And we are ready to go," said the girl, ranging her horse by the sideof Grey Roland, so that La Mothe was within touch of her hand.

  "Neither you nor the priest--La Mothe and La Mothe only," he answered,his voice roughening into passion for the first time. "Come, sir, Ihold your parole."

  "But this does not touch Monsieur La Mothe's parole."

  "Mademoiselle, you read my instructions; they have nothing to do withyou."

  "Monsieur, I never thought myself a person of any importance, but Ibelieve the King will thank you."

  "Flatly, I decline to take you."

  "Flatly, I shall go whether you decline or not."

  "Father!" and in his angry perplexity Molembrais turned, appealing tothe priest.

  "She is right," answered the Franciscan, speaking for the first time,"and when one is right there is no turning back, no matter what the endmay be. Yes," he went on, replying now to a sudden gesture dimly seenin the gloom, "I know you are armed and we are not, but, short ofkilling me, you can no more turn me back from the right than you canturn back the finger of God from lifting the sun yonder."

  He faced the east as he spoke, and at the sweep of his arm all facedwith him. Dawn trembled in birth below the hard rim of the world. Theleaden sullenness was colder, clearer, the upper sky a threat of storm,but the impending shaft of cloud had caught the first of the comingglory and blazed a splendid crimson. It was as if indeed the Divinehad clothed itself in visibility, that the troubled in spirit mighttake comfort, and faith go forward strengthened in the right, unafraid.

  Crossing his breast mechanically with his finger-tips the monk sat insilence, like one tranced. "'Lift up your heads, O ye
gates, and theKing of Glory shall come in,'" he murmured. Then he roused,straightening himself in the saddle. "Let us ride on. Have no fear,mademoiselle. By the Christ of Love whom I serve you shall taste noharm."

  "They will never let you pass the outer guard."

  "A way will open; ride on."

  "Well ride, then!" And ride they did, furiously. The fewer sleeplesseyes in Valmy the better for his purpose; the surer, too, his chance ofescape in the confusion which must follow the King's death. Once onlyMolembrais looked round.

  "Remember your parole. Keep near me, La Mothe!" Then, crouching low,he drove his spurs home and dashed forward at a reckless gallop.

  But if he thought to shake off Ursula de Vesc and the Franciscan, hewas mistaken. Thanks to the good offices of Cartier, the innkeeper,they had changed horses at Chateau-Renaud, and now their freshness morethan balanced any lesser skill in horsemanship. Even Father John, theweakest rider of the four, never flinched or fell behind, but, stiffwith pain and every joint a living fire from the unaccustomed fatigue,kept his place, second in the troop. Stephen and Ursula came last,side by side. Crossing the Loire the pace slackened, and for the firsttime speech was possible.

  "Stephen, you are not vexed? I could not wait in Amboise eating myheart out, knowing nothing."

  "How could love vex me?" he answered as they clasped hands across thecurrent. "But, beloved, I am in terror for you. The King----"

  "Hush! do not talk of the King. Father John is right, God's over all,and I have no fear." The clasp tightened in a message neither couldspeak. But it was only for a moment; already their horses werescrambling up the further bank, forcing them apart.

  "God guard you, Ursula."

  "Stephen, beloved, is it good-bye?" For answer he shook his head, butnot in denial; none knew for certain how suddenly good-byes might besaid in Valmy.

  Once across the river Molembrais beckoned to La Mothe to close up withhim.

  "We must keep together now. If I have done my part courteously, helpme in return by silence. Remember, no one in Valmy knows of thearrest. Mademoiselle de Vesc and the monk must fend for themselves."

  La Mothe nodded agreement. The request was natural. For his part hehad no desire to be a target for curious questions. He had noexplanation to give, nor was he even certain whether, as Villon said,he knew too much, or was accused of disloyalty in joining the Dauphin'sparty. As to Ursula, it seemed safer for her to be disassociated fromhim in either case; safer, too, that the King should see him first andalone; the heat of his wrath might exhaust itself. So the two rode onahead, Ursula and Father John following more leisurely. The dawn wasas yet little more than a haze of yellow mist.