Vayenne

"I know a likely hole," Lemasle answered, and he turned quickly into a side passage, and was gone.

"I'll hide, too," muttered the dwarf. "I have no great desire to meet Barbier until I see him to-night in the great hall." And he, too, turned into a dark corridor and silently disappeared.

CHAPTER XVII

THE DUKE OF MONTVILLIERS

Darkness crept slowly over Vayenne. Lights shone in the wider thoroughfares, and blinked dimly in the narrower streets. The taverns and the cafés were full, and although there were some who went about their business as though this night were as other nights, there were many who had waited eagerly for the close of day and knew that the hour of action was at hand. Only a few, perhaps, had any clear notion what was to happen; the majority would merely follow where they were led, do what they were told, without question, and without knowing to what end their actions tended. Whatever that end might be, they understood in a vague manner that it would be to their own individual advantage, and in every city there are large numbers who want no greater incentive than this to make them turn out of the ordinary course of their daily routine. They will eagerly follow a possibility without pausing to weigh probabilities. So they waited in the taverns, in the cafés, and at street corners for their leaders, who were discussing the final plans with Pierre Briant at the Cheval Noir.

Within the castle all was life and movement, all men working toward the same purpose it would seem, and if there were an undercurrent which set in an opposite direction, none but those interested in it had time to notice it. Even the lynx-eyed Barbier surveyed his preparations, and found little wanting. For the Duke must be crowned with all ancient customs, and it was so long since a duke had been crowned in Vayenne that some of the usages had been almost forgotten.

The custom had come down from ancient times, and Count Felix dared not alter it. To-night was the civil crowning. In the great hall stood the chair of state, mounted on a platform of six steps; and here in the presence of the nobles of the land and representative burghers of the city, must Felix claim to mount that throne as rightful heir, or by the power given him of the people. If any choose, now might they question him, and he must answer, but being once seated in the chair of state, all right of question was over; only could petition be made then, which the new Duke might answer or not as he willed. Then a priest, placing a golden circle upon his brows, proclaimed him crowned Duke of this land of Montvilliers, and bade him consecrate such crowning on the morrow according to all rites and customs. Then must the representative nobles and burghers, each and individually, bow the knee and swear fealty to their sovereign, making oath to keep the realm inviolate with their lives, and to hold their swords and revenues at the Duke's service for the defence of the state and of his person. Thus was the Duke crowned by his court and by his people. To-morrow in St. Etienne must he be crowned by the Church. Here for a space he must wear the iron crown of Montvilliers and make his vows before the altar in the midst of gorgeous ceremonial and splendor.

There had been occasions when the religious crowning had not followed the civil one immediately, but this was only when stress of state affairs intervened, or an enemy thundered at the gates. Count Felix had decreed that it should follow at once. To-night the civil, to-morrow morning the religious ceremony. When darkness fell again the double ordeal should be over.

The dwarf squatted upon his doubled-up legs in the deep embrasure of one of the windows in the great hall which overlooked the square. He was lifted well above the heads of those who were rapidly filling the hall from end to end, and no one entered without Jean's keen eye noting them and the particular position they took up. Yet to watch him, one would not have supposed that he took any very keen interest in what was going forward. He sat in a more huddled-up fashion than usual, his eyes half closed, as though he might fall asleep at any moment. His bauble was tucked under his arm, and held there so that the little bells on it might not jingle; and although several men looked up at him and made some passing jest, he had no answer for them. The lights in the hall left this window somewhat in shadow, and the dwarf seemed to have chosen it in order to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Beside him lay a small, unlighted torch.

The chair of state stood on its raised dais at the upper end of the hall, and the space around it was at present empty. The less important folk came into the hall first, soldiers and retainers, those who held office about the castle, and others who held civil offices in the town and who by custom had a right to be present at this ceremony.

Captain Barbier, still ignorant apparently of the release of the prisoners, was the most conspicuous person in the assembly at present, and Jean gave more than a passing glance to him. He noted how he placed the company of guards who presently tramped into the hall, noted that, for all his fine appearance and buoyant camaraderie, the captain was no great favorite; a sneer met him here, and a look of contempt followed him yonder. Barbier was quite oblivious of the one and the other. He could afford to smile and strut in his gay new feathers, for was he not trusted by the new Duke, was he not a man in authority, one it would be ill considered to offend? Barbier knew the full strength of his position, and was unlikely to let any of its advantages slip. Jean was quick to recognize the tact and wisdom there was in this man, and to understand that with a few more like him Duke Felix's throne might stand firmer than it did at present.

Next there came into the hall representatives of the suites of the nobles who had come to Vayenne for the funeral of the old Duke and for the coronation of the new. Some of these nobles had been lodged in the castle, some in the town. For the most part they had brought few retainers with them, having, indeed, few to bring. There were rich men in Montvilliers, but not many of them were of noble descent, and some of the most ancient families were comparatively poor. De Bornais was one of the exceptions, and besides loved to uphold his dignity. He had come to Vayenne with a considerable retinue, and although all his followers did not find a place in the hall to-night, he had a larger representation there than anyone else. Jean looked at these men keenly as they were marshalled to their places at the very edge of the open space which surrounded the raised dais. They were fewer in number than he could have wished, but they were stalwart men. One, who fell into his place behind the others, and who, while Barbier was near, kept his hand over his brow, hiding the upper part of his face, glanced presently toward the window where the dwarf sat, and their eyes met. No heads were turned to look at this man particularly, yet for Jean the most important person who would find place in that assembly to-night had already come. It was Roger Herrick.

And now from the side doors which led from the great hall, nobles entered, and took up their positions in the vacant place around the chair of state, and there were many ladies, their wives or daughters, or those who in their own right held high place in the land. The beautiful Countess Elisabeth drew all eyes to her as she took her place at the foot of the dais. Jewels were at her throat and in her hair, and there was no woman fairer to look upon in all that great assembly. After her coming there was a pause, and then, followed by Lucille, Christine de Liancourt entered the hall. A murmur of welcome, like a ripple of low music, greeted her, and the eyes that had rested upon the Countess turned to rest on her. Jewels were at her throat, too, and on her brow a jewelled diadem; almost it seemed as though for her all ceremony was at an end, that already she was crowned Duchess. It was the first time Herrick had seen her arrayed in all the splendor of beautiful womanhood, and that beauty and her position seemed to lift her far beyond his reach. All that had happened in these last days, the ride through the forest, the desperate encounter, the charcoal-burners' hut, their last meeting in the house in the Place Beauvoisin, all seemed to sink far back into the past, to fade and take indefinite outline, to wrap themselves in the dim mantle which belongs to dreams. The present, and all thought of the things he was to do in it, was for the moment forgotten, and fascination riveted his eyes on this woman as a man may look upward and gaze spellbound at the beauty of a distant star. Was it true that only a few nights since she had almost confessed that she loved him? That such a thing could be, seemed impossible now.

Christine was pale, but her eyes shone, and the little firm mouth was brave and determined; yet Lucille, who stood beside her, knew that she was nervous. Christine spoke to her companion, looking into her eyes as she uttered some commonplace. She paid no heed to the girl's answer, her only desire was to steady herself. To-night something was to happen, in a few moments it might be. What was to happen, how it was to come, she did not know; she was only certain that whether came success or failure, bloodshed must assuredly follow. What part had she to play in this rebellion? Then growing steady, she turned and looked to where de Bornais' men stood close behind their master, and saw how Roger Herrick's eyes were fixed upon her. If she read any message at all in them, it did not help her to understand what was to occur. She did not glance at the window in the shadows. She had no knowledge that Jean was there. "Obedience and trust," the dwarf was muttering to himself and wondering how it was friend Roger had succeeded in making her promise so much. Truth to tell there was something like resentment in Christine's mind at that moment at being kept so entirely in the dark. What could happen to-night? What power had this one man, who stood, insignificant, behind de Bornais?

Suddenly there was movement in the hall and shouting, loud shouts of welcome rising sharply above a low, murmuring accompaniment which might be a welcome, differently expressed, or might not. At least there was no harsh and unruly cry of dissatisfaction, nothing that broke upon the ear as actual discord. Those at the back stretched themselves and stood on tiptoe in an endeavor to look over their neighbors' heads; and even Jean from his exalted position could not see clearly what was going forward, for the crowd had closed in at the upper end of the hall for a moment. Then it fell back a little, to show that Count Felix stood at the foot of the dais, and that Father Bertrand had mounted it and stood by the chair of state.

There was a moment's pause, during which the shifting feet became silent, and Jean, leaning backward in the shadow of the embrasure, stole a glance down into the great square below.

"It has ever been our custom to crown the Dukes of Montvilliers according to certain peculiar rites and customs," said Father Bertrand, speaking slowly and in a tone which carried his words clearly to the utmost limits of the great hall. "You know, most of you, what these ancient rites and customs are, how your future Duke, claiming this throne, must stand to answer your questioning before he seats himself to receive your homage. There have been occasions when the claim has stood more by might than by right, when your voices by common consent have bid a warrior, or a deliverer from oppression, to wear the crown and rule over you. This is no such occasion. Since Maurice, son of the late Duke, is dead, Count Felix stands before you, the legal heir to Duke Robert. I have then but to ask him those questions which every Duke that has reigned in Montvilliers has been asked, solemn questions which here, in this old hall of Vayenne, each one of them has been required to answer. Count Felix, I demand by what right you claim to ascend this throne of Montvilliers?"

"By right of birth," came the answer, spoken quickly and in a loud voice.

There was a pause, but no sound broke the silence which followed.

"Count Felix, I charge you, is there any reason known to you which makes your claim a false one?"

"There is no such reason," said the Count. Again he spoke quickly and in a clear tone, and he looked at Christine. Her eyes met his for a moment, but hers were the first to look away. Whatever she knew or believed, she was not going to speak.

Again the silence remained unbroken.

"Count Felix, do you swear to govern this land according to the same laws of right and liberty by which it has heretofore been governed, and to hold the welfare of your people as a sacred trust?"

"All this I swear to do," answered the Count.

"My lords, knights, burghers, and men of Montvilliers, those are the questions I have to ask, and which you have heard the Count answer. Now question him as you will," said Father Bertrand.

Count Felix stood on the lower step of the dais, and turned to face his questioners. He was pale as a man facing such an ordeal well might be, but he smiled bravely. He felt that the worst was over. Christine had not spoken. The time for the questions which he had dreaded most seemed to be passed. Christine did not look at him. Her eyes were fixed upon the group of men behind de Bornais. One of them no longer kept himself in the background. His companions had made way for him, and he stood almost at de Bornais' side. Why had Roger Herrick not spoken? Had fear kept him dumb at the last moment?

For some little time no question was asked, and then a burgher, stammering in his words and half fearful of the sound of his own voice, prayed for an alteration in some civic law, a mere triviality it seemed to break so momentous a silence. Yet it set others asking questions, and Felix answered them, promising future grave attention where no immediate relief could be given. Such questioning served to stimulate the Count, and a color gradually stole into his face. A new courage was in his soul as may come to a man who feels himself whole, and knows that the danger he has so much dreaded is past.

The questioning was over. A long pause had come, and not a voice was raised in the hall. The dwarf silently put down his bauble by his side, careful that the little bells should not jingle, and took up the torch. Matches were in his hand, but his eyes were fixed upon the dais. No movement below caused him to look away for an instant.

"Count Felix," the priest's voice rang out clearly, "you have answered my questions, you have answered the questions of your people as represented by this assembly. To this throne you must now ascend."

Count Felix turned, and his foot was on the second step of the dais when a loud voice cried:

"Stay!"

Felix, white again suddenly, and to his very lips, looked down into the face of the man who had dared thus to approach the throne and stand even with his foot upon the first step. He wore the uniform of the de Bornais, but Felix hardly noticed this. It was the face of the man that riveted his attention. He recognized it. How could he forget it, since when last he looked into those eyes it had been across keen, naked blades. Does a man ever forget a face seen thus?

"Your interference comes late," said the priest, "yet is it not, I think, against the ancient custom. Until the Duke is seated he may be questioned. What is your question?"

Christine bent suddenly forward almost as though she expected the question to be asked in a whisper. But the words rang out clearly.

"It is no question I would ask, but a demand I make, not to Count Felix, but to those assembled in this hall. I, Roger Herrick, claim my right by birth to ascend this throne as the true and lawful Duke of Montvilliers!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS

As the moment after a catastrophe is ever one of silence, a hush before the piteous wail of anguish rises or the tempest thunders out its fury, so was it now. Herrick's words were followed by utter silence.

Then the tempest broke suddenly. With a hiss of rage, Felix raised his arm to strike his adversary, but Herrick sprang up to him, and gripped it before the blow could fall.

"I stand sponsor for this man's claim!" de Bornais cried, and the men who had stood behind him drew their swords as their chief did, and ranged themselves with him at the foot of the dais.

Other swords leaped from their scabbards in a moment, and women screamed and scattered, fleeing to the side doors of the hall, men pressing back to let them go. Only Christine stood immovable, and Countess Elisabeth made a sudden step forward as though she would go to Felix's help. So round the dais men waited ready to attack or to defend, but no one moved to strike the first blow.

At the end of the hall by the great doors it was different. There was Barbier with his guard, and at a sharp command from the captain they began to move to Felix's rescue. At that moment Jean sprang to his feet in the embrasure of the window, a lighted torch, which spluttered and flared up, in his hand. There was the crash of broken glass, and as he flung the burning torch into the square below, he shouted in a voice that rang high above the tumult:

"Long live Roger the Duke!"

For one instant the cry seemed a solitary one, doomed to die in its own echoes, but the next an answering roar came from the square below, such a rage of sound that even Barbier's men paused.

"Cut down that grinning fool from the window," shouted Barbier, "and forward to the Duke!"

Whatever his faults, Barbier was a brave man. Had Felix had more like him, the situation might have been saved even at this eleventh hour. But his men hung back, and did not strive with a will against the pressure of the crowd. Barbier alone fought his way through all obstacles, and threw himself, sword in hand, upon de Bornais' men. One stumbled, wounded slightly in this onslaught, and then Barbier's sword rattled to the floor, and with a catch in his breath he flung out his arms and fell backward through the crowd which pressed aside to let him go – dead.

"So he pays for his attack on Maurice," whispered Herrick to the man whose arm he still held.

Few moments had elapsed since the Count had raised his arm to strike, and since Barbier had fought and fallen, other swords might well have been crossed in anger had not the roaring from the square held men back. There was a force around them which there was no withstanding, and the cry of "Roger the Duke" now rang in the castle itself, in the court-yards, and in the corridors. Armed men, shouting the cry, rushed into the hall, headed by Gaspard Lemasle, and in the court-yard was a compact throng of men of Vayenne with Pierre Briant at their head. Barbier was dead in the hall, and one or two who had attempted to defend the castle had been struck down, killed or grievously hurt, that was all. The success of the conspirators was complete.

"Treachery triumphant," Felix said as Herrick let go his arm. "The day is to traitors, Christine."

He had stepped from the dais, and stood beside her, but neither by look nor movement did she show that she had heard his words. Her eyes were fixed upon the place where Barbier had staggered back and fallen through the little lane that pressure on either side had formed for him. It had closed up again immediately, but somewhere behind there he lay, perhaps trampled underfoot. It is not to be supposed that the terrible suddenness of his death had not shocked her, but there was a sense of relief that the whole hall was not full of fighting and death. Beyond this her thoughts were unable to focus themselves. Fear had not held Roger Herrick back, but, as yet, she hardly realized what had happened. She neither looked at Herrick standing on the steps of the dais, nor took in the words of Felix, who was standing beside her.

The shouting was still loud in the court-yards, but in the hall there was silence after the coming of Lemasle and his men.

"Your claim must sound strange to many here," said Father Bertrand. "Is it your will that I explain it?"

"Speak, father," said Herrick.

"So you, then, are chief conspirator, old fox?" sneered the Count. "This farce tires me. Have I permission to retire while you prove to these, my lords and loyal men of Vayenne, how false a claim is made by this man?"

"No. Stay," said Herrick.

Felix glanced at the faces of those about him. A single sign would have sufficed to make him their leader in an immediate attack upon their enemies, but no sign was forthcoming. Even those who were his friends, whose hope of future advancement lay with the Count, were afraid to move with those shouts from the court-yard and the square ringing in their ears.

Speaking very deliberately, Father Bertrand recited the history of the last Dukes of Montvilliers, even as he had explained it to Herrick in the Rue St. Romain, showing that although the late Duke, having deposed his predecessor, had ascended the throne by the will of the people, even then there existed one with a prior claim.

"This Roger Herrick was alive then, a child in England, the rightful heir to the Dukedom," said Father Bertrand. "The descent of the late Duke is known to you all, and all that I have said you can verify at your will. Might, and the people's will, set the late Duke upon the throne, and it is in your power to set Count Felix in his place, but not by right of birth while this man Roger Herrick lives."

While the priest had been speaking Christine turned to look at Herrick, but he would not meet her eyes. His glance wandered from face to face in the hall as though he were absorbed in the thought of how far the people were with him. To Christine it seemed that his own ambition possessed him entirely.

"Is Vayenne gone mad that it will believe such a tale as this?" said Felix.

"Let the Duke speak!" cried a voice in the hall, the voice of Lemasle, and there was a shout of applause, which showed the Count how many there were against him.

Then Herrick looked at Christine, and their eyes met. Something he read in them showed him that what he had feared had happened in spite of all his efforts to prevent it. The knowledge forced him to a sudden determination. There were friends about him, but there were many enemies, too. Any indecision would be his ruin; he saw that in the faces which turned to him expectantly. Circumstances still drove him forward, and he dare not say all that it was within his heart to speak. The occasion demanded strong measures.

"Father Bertrand has told you my legal claim," Herrick said, "yet that should hardly suffice without the will of the people. For the moment let might be my right, and understand why that right has been exercised. That success has followed organized rebellion, shows how ready the people were to do away, not with law and order, but with a man unfit to reign over them. For this reason I have pressed my claim, and for no other. Count Felix has friends amongst you, some innocent, some bought with his promises for the future, but the true value of that friendship rested on his becoming Duke. Those who were taken utterly into his confidence I believe to be few, but at all hazards he meant to be Duke, and to achieve this the Duke's son Maurice must be got rid of. The manner in which this was done was clever, worthy of the man who conceived and carried out the treachery. An escort was sent with Mademoiselle de Liancourt to Passey to bring Maurice to Vayenne, an escort that had only one honest man in it, Captain Gaspard Lemasle; the rest were the creatures of Count Felix, paid assassins. This escort on returning to Vayenne was attacked by a strongly armed band of robbers, who were no robbers, but other creatures of the Count, led by the man Barbier, who only a few minutes since so justly paid the penalty of his crime. A mock skirmish took place in a clearing in the woods. The result you know. Maurice's body was found and brought to Vayenne, and the Duke and his son were buried at the same time in St. Etienne. My lords, is such a man a Duke you would willingly have to reign over you?"

"Is such a lie to be easily believed?" the Count burst out.

"I fought beside Captain Lemasle in the young Duke's defence," Herrick cried, "and Mademoiselle de Liancourt can prove the truth of my words."

All eyes turned to her.