"A daring young dog!" muttered the King, in a tone so low that it hardly reached the listener's ears. "Look here, sir," continued Henry, "you have forfeited your life and stayed me from showing mercy to your master. Now, sir, would you like to win it back?"

"Gladly, Sire," cried the boy, "but--"

"But what?" said Henry sharply.

"I will not do anything to betray my King."

"Wait till you are asked, boy," said Henry roughly, as he kept his eyes fixed admiringly upon the lad, who faced him still with a wondrous command of nerve. "You know that I have the power of life or death?"

Denis bowed his head slowly.

"Well, then, a king cannot stoop to slay even an enemy if he is brave.

I will give you your life on one condition."

The boy started, and the King smiled.

"Not to sign a paper which gives me Bordeaux and Guienne, but to be my faithful servant and serve me as you have served your master to the end.

I want followers like you. Be English, even if you have French blood flowing in your veins. Well, why do you not speak? Is not mine a kingly act?"

"Yes, Sire, and I am grateful."

"Well, why do you hesitate? Enter my service. The star of the Valois must be setting fast when its representative can stoop to such a deed as this."

The lad shook his head.

"What! Do you not understand? I will find work for your sword. Serve me faithfully, and rank shall in time be yours. Do you forget that your life is still at stake?"

"I cannot buy it, Sire, by betraying my master. Francis is my King."

"And fortunate in having followers like this," said the King to himself, as he rose, turned sharply from where the boy still stood with his arms crossed upon his breast, fighting hard for the resignation that refused to come, while his heart now beat slowly and heavily, as if in the march that ended in the scaffold and the axe.

The next minute the King had flung open the outer chamber door, as if to show to the boy his fate, for there stood the captain with the guards drawn up on either side, their armour gleaming and the lights they bore flashing from their halberds' heads.

But the boy stood firm, seeing as it were through the glittering pageantry of the English Court the gleaming fields of far-off France, a sparkling river, and the grey steeple turrets of an ancient French _chateau_. It was home, with all he loved therein.

It was momentary, and the vision was dissolved by the King's loud voice, as he cried sharply:

"Who's with you there? Hah! Hurst! Look here, man."

"Your Majesty!" cried the chamberlain, looking at the boy in astonishment.

"Behold my royal visitor!" cried Henry mockingly. "This is the way my courts are kept."

"I do not understand, your Majesty," cried the chamberlain, trembling for what was next to come.

"But I do, man!" cried Henry. "Here is our sick and wounded prisoner."

"A ruse--a trick!" said the chamberlain excitedly.

"Yes--French," cried Henry, with a mocking laugh. "The bird has flown, and left another in his nest. There, young popinjay, young daw--look at him, Hurst! He has cast his borrowed plumes." Then turning to Denis: "Put on your own feathers, boy. You will come with me. Bring him to my apartments, Hurst."

"As a prisoner, Sire?"

"No," said the King, still fixing Denis with his eyes, and speaking to him as much as to the chamberlain. "He is my guest still, though his master is gone. See that you use him well."

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

FRANCIS IS A KING.

To have seen King Henry seated at his supper in that eventful year, and on one particular night, it would have been impossible to suppose that not many hours before he had been indulging in so fierce a storm of pa.s.sion, such kingly rage, that not one of his most trusted courtiers and counsellors had dared approach for fear of consequences that might ensue.

It was the lion's feeding time, and the food had evidently been good and satisfying. The music too in the minstrels' gallery had been sweet and pleasant to the ear. The Court jester had for a wonder excelled himself in his strong endeavours to put the King in a good humour, and uttered no less than three samples of his wit which had made the King roar, inasmuch as in the tail of each joke there was a slightly poisoned sting which had gone home to the three n.o.blemen for whom they were intended, my Lord Hurst, the King's chamberlain, getting the worst dose.

There had been a good deal of whispered wonder running through the great dining chamber, especially below the salt, where the King's gentlemen were seated who had for long been disappointed at the absence of royal favour and promotion they had been hoping for since they came to offer their services at Court; and though all who were well within the scan of his Majesty's eyes spoke softly and with a stereotyped Court smile upon their countenances, they said more bitter things by far than any that had been uttered by the King's jester, their remarks being dipped in envy, as they asked one another whether this French boy to whom the King was showing such favour--this French _champignon_, "impudent young upstart"--was to be the new favourite now, and one and all said to themselves that which was too dangerous to confide to another, that the King must have gone a little mad over the fit he had on discovering the loss of his favourite jewel, which had been carried off--so rumour said--by the so-called French Amba.s.sador. This, joined to the second escape, must have turned the royal brain; otherwise he would never have displayed such sudden favour to one who had played so daring a prank as the impersonation of the wounded man.

But all the same this great favour had been shown, and there was the young upstart of an esquire seated on the King's left, where all through the evening he had been the recipient of the greater part of the royal conversation, responding in French, with a little English which made the King roar, and encouraged him to continue his rather lame efforts at English conversation with an accent that could be called nothing better than vile.

The evening had pa.s.sed away, and, wearied out at last, the King himself had relieved his feelings with more than one unroyal yawn--signals these of the time approaching when the gentlemen of the bedchamber would have to be in attendance, and another of the Court days be at an end.

Henry was about to rise, when the chamberlain came quickly behind his chair and whispered something close to his ear, looking hard at Denis as he spoke.

So meaning was his glance that the boy, who in spite of the royal favour had been on pins all the time, took fright at once, ready as he was to a.s.sociate everything informal as being in some way connected with those who had escaped. The next moment the lad's hands had turned cold and damp, while a giddy sensation attacked his brain, for the King had suddenly exclaimed:

"Hah! The Captain of the Guard with his reports?"

"Yes, Sire. I have told him to wait at the door of your private cabinet. Will you receive him there?"

"No," cried the King bluffly. "Bring him in here, and see that he has a cup of wine.--Now, my young masquerader," he cried banteringly to Denis, "there's news for you. Scores of my guards have been scouring the riverside, and they have come to announce that the prisoners have been secured, for our sick friend the Comte was certain to break down before he had gone far. Well, why do you look like that?" he continued, as he noticed the change in the young esquire's face. "There, there: I am not so savage as they say, and whatever happens it is nothing to you, boy, for somehow--there, never mind. Here comes my friend the captain."

For there was the heavy tramp of feet, and the stalwart Captain of the Guard, in half armour, huge buff boots, and pointed morion set well back upon his head, strode up to the King's table, dusty and travel-stained, to sink upon one knee, the plates of his armour grinding together with a strange sound as he went down--a sound repeated as the King signed to him to rise.

"Well, captain," cried the King bluffly, "what have you to report? You have captured the French pigeons which escaped their cage, and brought them back with all that they took away?"

"No, Sire," said the captain shortly.

"What!" roared the King, in a voice of thunder; and there was utter stillness in the great chamber as, in no wise abashed, the captain went on:

"Six companies of horse, Sire, have searched every road and every village on the way towards London, and six more companies have harried every place on both sides the river from here to--"

"Bah!" roared the King. "Out of my sight! Go!"

The captain saluted, and began to walk backwards, the rowels of his spurs clinking, while his armour crackled loudly as he made his way; but before he was half the distance towards the door he was brought up short by the royal thunder which exploded with one sharp crack about his ears.

"Stop! At eight to-morrow let the outer court be filled with my archers of the guard and my horses ready. I will take up this quest myself."

He rose to go, as the captain again saluted, and there was a sharp rustling of garments throughout the great chamber as the courtiers who had been present at the supper rose, when to the surprise of all the great door was once more thrown open, and one of the Court functionaries stepped quickly forward and in a loud clear voice announced: