Count Hannibal | Page 6

Medicis' favourite
son. Tavannes, waiting respectfully two paces behind the King, could
catch little that was said; but Charles, something more, it seemed, for
on a sudden he laughed, a violent, mirthless laugh. And he clapped
Rambouillet on the shoulder.
"There!" he said, with one of his horrible oaths, "'tis settled! 'Tis settled!
Go, man, and take your orders! And you, M. de Retz," he continued, in
a tone of savage mockery, "go, my lord, and give them!"
"I, sire?" the Italian Marshal answered, in accents of deprecation. There
were times when the young King would show his impatience of the
Italian ring, the Retzs and Biragues, the Strozzis and Gondys, with
whom his mother surrounded him.
"Yes, you!" Charles answered. "You and my lady mother! And in
God's name answer for it at the day!" he continued vehemently. "You
will have it! You will not let me rest till you have it! Then have it, only
see to it, it be done thoroughly! There shall not be one left to cast it in
the King's teeth and cry, 'Et tu, Carole!' Swim, swim in blood if you
will," he continued, with growing wildness. "Oh, 'twill be a merry night!
And it's true so far, you may kill fleas all day, but burn the coat, and
there's an end. So burn it, burn it, and--" He broke off with a start as he
discovered Tavannes at his elbow. "God's death, man!" he cried
roughly, "who sent for you?"
"Your Majesty called me," Tavannes answered; while, partly urged by
the King's hand, and partly anxious to escape, the others slipped into
the closet and left them together.
"I sent for you? I called your brother, the Marshal!"
"He is within, sire," Tavannes answered, indicating the closet. "A
moment ago I heard his voice."
Charles passed his shaking hand across his eyes. "Is he?" he muttered.

"So he is! I heard it too. And--and a man cannot be in two places at
once!" Then, while his haggard gaze, passing by Tavannes, roved
round the Chamber, he laid his hand on Count Hannibal's breast. "They
give me no peace, Madame and the Guises," he whispered, his face
hectic with excitement. "They will have it. They say that Coligny--they
say that he beards me in my own palace. And--and, mordieu," with
sudden violence, "it's true. It's true enough! It was but to-day he was for
making terms with me! With me, the King! Making terms! So it shall
be, by God and Devil, it shall! But not six or seven! No, no. All! All!
There shall not be one left to say to me, 'You did it!'"
"Softly, sire," Tavannes answered; for Charles had gradually raised his
voice. "You will be observed."
For the first time the young King--he was but twenty-two years old,
God pity him!--looked at his companion.
"To be sure," he whispered; and his eyes grew cunning. "Besides, and
after all, there's another way, if I choose. Oh, I've thought and thought,
I'd have you know." And shrugging his shoulders, almost to his ears, he
raised and lowered his open hands alternately, while his back hid the
movement from the Chamber. "See-saw! See-saw!" he muttered. "And
the King between the two, you see. That's Madame's king-craft. She's
shown me that a hundred times. But look you, it is as easy to lower the
one as the other," with a cunning glance at Tavannes' face, "or to cut
off the right as the left. And--and the Admiral's an old man and will
pass; and for the matter of that I like to hear him talk. He talks well.
While the others, Guise and his kind, are young, and I've thought, oh,
yes, I've thought--but there," with a sudden harsh laugh, "my lady
mother will have it her own way. And for this time she shall, but, All!
All! Even Foucauld, there! Do you mark him. He's sorting the cards.
Do you see him--as he will be to-morrow, with the slit in his throat and
his teeth showing? Why, God!" his voice rising almost to a scream,
"the candles by him are burning blue!" And with a shaking hand, his
face convulsed, the young King clutched his companion's arm, and
pinched it.
Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders, but answered nothing.

"D'you think we shall see them afterwards?" Charles resumed, in a
sharp, eager whisper. "In our dreams, man? Or when the watchman
cries, and we awake, and the monks are singing lauds at St. Germain,
and--and the taper is low?"
Tavannes' lip curled. "I don't dream, sire," he answered coldly, "and I
seldom wake. For the rest, I fear my enemies neither alive nor dead."
"Don't you? By G-d, I wish I didn't," the young man exclaimed. His
brow was wet with sweat. "I wish