THE CROWNING OF ROGER HERRICK

The people loudly demanded the death of Count Felix, the nobles strongly advised it. Judgment by his peers would certainly have sealed the Count's fate. With the assembling of the nobles in Vayenne another demand had become insistent. There was peace upon the frontier, peace in the city; it was time that the coronation was completed, that the Duke should wear the iron crown in the Church of St. Etienne.

From the first Herrick had determined to save Felix if he could. Death had been busy since his coming to Vayenne, and although without his presence in the city civil war would undoubtedly have come, he could not feel that this fact shifted the responsibility from his shoulders. The death of Father Bertrand seemed to be the direct result of his own words. He had stood reproved, and he felt justly so, before the soldier who had repeated them. To cut down a villain who deliberately stabs a defenceless man was no crime, but this man had some reason to suppose that he was only fulfilling the Duke's wishes, so that even this act of ready justice troubled Herrick in some degree. There should be no more violent deaths if he could help it, and it was an accident that Jean's murderer, the man possibly who most merited death, was still alive and should be the one to receive mercy. Herrick shrank from condemning the Count. He found a hundred excuses for the man. Besides, he had made a promise to Christine.

Nor was Herrick surprised that his coronation in St. Etienne should be demanded. He had expected that when the nobles assembled in Vayenne; they would insist upon it. They had come to offer publicly the submission they had hitherto withheld, and Herrick's promise to appeal to the nation, and not to remain Duke unless three-fourths of his subjects should desire him to do so, was now a mere form. The whole state was with him, and it was at this moment that he put his hand to, perhaps, the most difficult task he had yet attempted. He began by using the approaching coronation as an excuse for putting off Count Felix's death. It was a ceremony that must not be stained with blood, he argued, even though that blood be a criminal's, and seeing in this argument a promise that justice should eventually be done, the people forgot the Count for a time. Then Herrick chose to be punctilious concerning the bargain he had made with the nobles. They had come loyally forward in answer to his appeal; they had fought, and some had fallen, in defence of their country, right well had they fulfilled their part; it remained for him to fulfil his. Therefore they should meet him in the great hall, and the day and hour he fixed coincided with the day and hour that Christine and Maurice would enter Vayenne.

On the day before, Herrick called into council a dozen of the oldest and most powerful nobles in Montvilliers, and this private meeting was of many hours' duration. Herrick believed that he had estimated to the full the difficulty of his task. He was wrong. For hours the council refused to support him in his scheme. It was not for the country's good, they said, it was not the will of the people. Very hardly, and by making many promises, Herrick persuaded them to uphold him; yet they did so with shaking of heads and loud words of regret. The grave faces of the councillors as they left the Duke's room caused excitement in the castle, and rumor flew about the city.

So it happened that there were few people in the streets at the lower end of the city when Christine returned with Maurice to Vayenne, but crowds had gathered in the neighborhood of the castle, and it was with difficulty that the cavalcade passed through.

In the court-yard Pierre Briant met them, and informed Maurice that he was to go at once to the Duke with Captain Lemasle, and then turning to Christine, he went on:

"Mademoiselle, I am to inform you that the Duke gives audience in an hour in the great hall. He desires your presence. A special place has been reserved for you. I am to await your pleasure and conduct you there."

When presently Christine entered the hall it was crowded from end to end, even as it had been that night when Roger Herrick had claimed the throne. Now the afternoon light was in it and men's faces showed that there was suppressed excitement on every side. A seat had been placed for Christine close to the small door by which she had entered. Pierre Briant remained beside her, and two or three soldiers stood near, who kept the crowd from her. She was so placed that she had a clear view of the dais, but in an angle of the wall, which screened her from most of the people in the hall. Was she still a prisoner, she wondered. It almost seemed so, yet this great gathering could hardly concern her particularly. If it had done, a more prominent place would have been given her.

What was to happen? There were whisperings about her, but it seemed evident that most of those near her were as ignorant as she was herself. Near the dais she noted that some of the oldest and most powerful nobles were standing together, a little apart from the others. She had heard some whisper about a council held yesterday; these men were likely to have formed that council. She saw Lemasle standing near the door by which the Duke would enter. He must know something of what was to happen, and it evidently pleased him not at all, for a set frown was upon his face. He had gone with Maurice to the Duke, and must have been told something privately.

Suddenly Lemasle drew himself up to attention, and, saluting, cried in stentorian voice:

"The Duke!"

It was thrilling to hear the great shout that spontaneously rang to the rafters as Roger Herrick entered. Maurice was beside him, and seemed to shrink back a little at that shout. Herrick leaned toward him, and whispered a few words in his ear. They had the effect of steadying Maurice, who took his place at the foot of the dais, standing near the council, who all looked at him furtively, as Herrick mounted to the chair. Herrick did not seat himself in it, he stood beside it, his hand resting upon the arm, and Christine noticed that he was pale, and could almost fancy that he trembled a little.

"My lords, and men of Vayenne, you are here in order that I may fulfil the promise made to the nobles of Montvilliers when I appealed to them to drop for a while their quarrel with me, and stand with me in defence of our country."

"Now wear the iron crown—our chosen Duke," a voice cried, and immediately the hall was filled with shouting again.

"But you are here also for another purpose," said Herrick slowly when silence was restored, "a purpose that it is difficult for me to speak of, so I pray you listen to me without interruption and with patience. Yesterday I called together a council, and told them what was in my mind. It is now for you to hear it, and through you the whole of this land of Montvilliers. It is within your memory how I claimed this throne; many of you since then have traced my descent, some of you have admitted the right of it, some of you in your hearts still doubt it. But even with those who doubt, two things have weighed in my favor: the fact that I have been of service to the state, and that Count Felix was disliked by most of you."

Again there was shouting, but it ended quickly lest a word of the Duke's should be lost.

"Had Count Felix been a just and honorable man, had he been loved by you, I should never have claimed this throne as I did, and if I had, I should never have succeeded in mounting it. I should have been cut down on the steps of it as a traitor."

A voice said "No," but there was silence, a hanging upon the Duke's words.

"My claim was not so strong that it could have stood against Count Felix's had he been a just man. Much less would it have stood had young Count Maurice, Duke Robert's son, son of the man you, or your fathers, had claimed as Duke, been alive."

"Maurice is dead," some one shouted.

"I knew more about Count Felix than you did. I told you something of what I knew that night. I loved this country, and I took the throne to save it from such a Duke as Felix."

"Now wear the iron crown in St. Etienne," came the cry, and once more the shouts rang to the rafters.

"But I did not tell you all I knew of Count Felix," Herrick continued. "He plotted to have his cousin assassinated on his way from Passey; he brought a disfigured body, and buried it here in St. Etienne, but it was not his cousin's, and he knew it. As you know, I fought in the young Count's defence. He and I struck good blows side by side. He was wounded, his horse shot from under him, and I caught him up onto my own. Thus I rode through the forest, escaping those who pursued us. Then, as I kneeled to dress his wounds by a stream, a band of real robbers fell upon us. Me they bound to a tree, where I was afterward found by Mademoiselle de Liancourt and Captain Lemasle; him they recognized, and sold to his enemies—your enemies—those we have fought with on the frontier. I knew not then whether he was dead or alive. I did not know then where he was. I only knew that the body Felix had buried was not his. I only knew that nothing stood in the way of Felix mounting this throne, so I took it. Dare I at that time cast a single doubt upon my right by saying that after all the young Count might be alive?"

Herrick paused, but none answered him.

"But one of my first cares was to find out his fate for certain," he went on, "and from a hag in the forest I heard what had happened to him, learned that he was in a tower by Larne. Some of you know how we attacked that tower and released a prisoner. Few knew that it was the young Count Maurice. He is alive. He is here."

Herrick beckoned to Maurice, and taking his hand, drew him up beside him.

"My lords, and men of Vayenne," Herrick said, raising his voice a little, "you have heard of the pale scholar of Passey, and in your hearts despised him, perhaps because he was not such a man as his father was. Truly he is a scholar, and that shall make him wise in counsel and in judgment, but he is something more. He has fought side by side with me, and I know him for a brave soldier, a man worthy to be your Duke."

Immediately there was tumult in the hall.

"Long live Duke Roger! We will have no Duke but Duke Roger!"

"You have failed," Maurice whispered. "Let me go down, and shout your name with them, lest they hate me."

"Hear me!" Herrick cried. "Do you imagine I would vacate this throne for any man who was unworthy? I love this land too well for that. But this man is worthy. His claim is a prior claim to mine. He is your lawful Duke. Would you make a dishonorable man of me?"

"Roger is Duke!" they shouted.

"Let me go down," whispered Maurice.

"Yet hear me," cried Herrick. "I was an alien to you, born in another land, bred in another land, yet in the truest sense is Montvilliers my country. To the council I called together, to the young Count, I have made promises. In this state I have made my home, I will accept any honor this state shall choose to give me. I will walk a prince among you. I will stand by the throne. I will lend my counsel to your Duke. And if enemies thunder at our gates I will be in the midst of you to fight in their defence. All this have I promised, all this will I do for Montvilliers, my country—our country. My lords, men of Vayenne, give me leave to be an honorable man."

The shouting and the tumult had sunk to silence.

"You give me leave," said Herrick, and at a sign from him a priest mounted the dais, and stood by the chair. Almost before the crowd realized what he was doing, he had put to Maurice the three questions of the civil coronation.

Then Maurice turned toward that sea of faces.

"My lords, and men of Vayenne," he said, and his voice was firm and clear, "before you question me, hear me for a moment. If you accept me as Duke, and I have claimed the right by my birth, you call me to a position that I, of all the Dukes who have ever reigned in Montvilliers, shall find most difficult to fill. I cannot hope to fill the place of Roger Herrick. I would most willingly have stood among you and shouted his name with you; but as that may not be, I promise you that I will endeavor to rule by the example he has set. Help me, friends, to make this land worthy of the Duke it loses to-day."

The simple and boyish appeal had its effect, and if the shouting was not so spontaneous, so enthusiastic as it had been, it was genuine.

"Now question me as you will," he said.

No voice broke the silence, and after a long pause Maurice went slowly to the chair, and seated himself, and the priest placed the golden circle upon his head, commanding that he should presently wear the iron crown in St. Etienne.

Christine had sat leaning eagerly forward in her chair, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. So this was the Duke's purpose. He was voluntarily giving up everything to her cousin Maurice. She had, in fact, brought Maurice to Vayenne to be crowned, even as she had set out to do when she made that other journey to Passey. Yet now, although her lips uttered no sound, in her heart she shouted with that great crowd that Montvilliers could have no other ruler but Duke Roger. Everything about her seemed vague and unreal, only that one commanding figure stood clearly before her. Not once, so far as she could tell, had he glanced in her direction; yet a special place had been prepared for her, he must know that she was there.

As the golden circle was placed on Maurice's head Herrick descended the dais, but paused on the lower steps, and once more turned to the crowd.

"Comrades, before I come among you, and with you swear submission to the Duke, grant me one favor."

"It is yours," they shouted.

"I ask it as your recognition that I have, to the best of my power, served this country," Herrick continued. "If you will, it shall be instead of all the other honors your Duke may presently wish to give me."

"Speak. It is yours. It is granted already."

"Give me then the life of Count Felix," said Herrick.

There was a moment's pause, and then sudden anger.

"The Count must die!" they shouted. "Death to Felix!"

"It was my life he sought," Herrick shouted above the tumult.

"Therefore he dies," they cried.

"And you refuse to grant the favor you were so ready to promise?" said Herrick.

Silence fell again.

"Not every man has known such humiliation as Count Felix," said Herrick. "As I would not have this coronation stained with blood, so would I have an act of mercy mark my resignation of power. Let me here and now pronounce judgment. Banish the Count from this realm for ever. Will you give me the life of Felix?"

Still there was silence.

"There is small generosity in granting an easy favor," Herrick continued; "I know I ask a great one, but his death would mean a shadow over my life in the years that are to come. Comrades, for the love you bear me, grant me the Count's life."

"Take it! Banish him! Let him go quickly!"

The answer came slowly. The favor was granted unwillingly, so much did they hate the Count. That it was granted at all showed their love for the man who asked it.

"I thank you, comrades," said Herrick, stepping down from the dais. "Long live Duke Maurice! My lord, let me be the first to kneel and swear my loyalty and service."

As the crowd had granted Herrick's request for the Count's life, Christine rose quickly from her chair.

"Am I allowed to go?" she said to Briant.

"Yes, Mademoiselle. I was ordered to await your pleasure."

She went hastily to her rooms, still a prisoner it seemed, for Pierre Briant followed her to the entrance, and a sentry stood at the door.

Had Herrick's eyes met hers? She thought so once just as she had risen from her seat, just as he stepped from the dais, his favor granted. It was a relief to be alone, to think, to try and remember and realize all that had happened. Twilight was gathering fast in the room, but she would have no lights. She could think more easily in the dark, and presently moonlight would be streaming through the window. So this was Herrick's purpose. From the first movement of his power he had been working to this end. Why had he not told her? Would she have believed him if he had? Perhaps not. He had asked her to trust him, and she had not done so. He had asked her to listen to an explanation, and she had refused to do so willingly. Ambition was his god, she had believed, and this was the end of it. Only with difficulty, by strenuous effort, had he persuaded the people to accept Maurice. He had won power, respect, love, everything, for what? to hold them in safe keeping for Maurice. Would he come to her now, now that she understood him? And then the color rushed into her cheeks at the remembrance of how she had knelt to him, and offered, yes, offered herself, and he would not bargain with her. Did he despise her? Yes, surely he must, and he had used her to bring Maurice to Vayenne to prove to her to the full how mean she had been, how really great he was. He might not come to her at all; indeed, why should he? He had humbled her, he had kept his promise and saved Felix's life, but he was not a man to gloat over her discomfiture nor to look for thanks. No, he would not come. Why should he? Maurice would tell her presently that she was no longer a prisoner, that she was free to come and go as she would; and that would be all.

The faint light of the moon was in the room now, and touched her as she leaned back in her chair, her hands lying idly in her lap. She was alone in the midst of excitement. The city was alive to-night, the news was running fast from end to end of it, and Christine could hear faintly the shouting and the tumult in the streets. There was excitement in the castle, quick footsteps constantly in the corridors, the murmur of earnest voices, and the heavy closing and opening of doors. There was noise in the court-yard, the flashing of many lights, and whenever there was a lull for a moment Christine could hear the regular pacing of the sentry along the terrace below her window.

Suddenly there came the sound of quick steps in the corridor, without, and Christine rose hurriedly to her feet. He had come. There was the rattle of a salute, the door opened, and a soldier announced:

"The Duke!"

"How's this, comrade? I know you for a good soldier, but your wits are out of gear to-night. Even in the dark you should recognize Roger Herrick from the Duke."

The door closed again. Then Herrick went toward the woman standing in the moonlight, and knelt before her.

"Mademoiselle, you accepted my service. Is it well done?"

"I have no words," she began, and in her agitation she stretched out her hand, which touched his shoulder. Perhaps it was because she had need of support that it remained pressing gently there.

"Maurice is Duke; Felix will go in safety," he said quietly; "yet my ambition remains unsatisfied. I crave your thanks. Is it well done?"

"You shall not kneel to me," she whispered.

"In St. Etienne I must needs have knelt to receive the iron crown. My ambition mounts higher than that. I think you hated the Duke; I thought once it was not hate you gave to Roger Herrick."

She bent over him, a hand on each of his shoulders now.

"And to-day," she whispered, "to-day my heart cried louder than all: Roger is Duke. Long life to Duke Roger."

"Crown me, Christine."

"You shall not kneel to me," she said. "I too am proud. I will not bargain with you in this fashion."

"Crown me."

Her hands clasped about his neck.

"Oh, my dearest, if my poor love is the crown you covet, take it, wear it, be my king."

Then Herrick rose. His strong arms were about her; his kiss was on her lips.

"You have crowned me king," he whispered. "You are fettered in these arms. You are still my prisoner, and I will not let you go."