“Listen to me, sire, I beseech you,” said Queen Claude. “You have done Bourbon grievous wrong. Make him some amends. You know I rarely interfere with your proceedings, but in this case I cannot refrain. I would not have you commit injustice.”
“Do you also tax me with injustice?” said the king, frowning.
“I have said it, sire,” she replied.
“I should be wanting in duty to your majesty if I remained silent,” said Montmorency. “In my opinion, Bourbon has been unjustly treated.”
“You, too, against me, marshal?” cried the king.
“I will answer for Bourbon's loyalty with my head, sire,” said Saint-Vallier.
“And so will I,” added René de Bretagne.
“I take you at your word, messieurs,” replied François. “Charles de Bourbon, you are free to depart.”
“Sire, you do wrong in granting this permission,” sad the Duchess d'Angoulême.
“Beware, madame,” said the Dame de Beaujeu, stepping towards her. And clutching her hand, she whispered, “Interfere, and I will proclaim your infamy to all around.”
Bourbon tarried not a moment. With a haughty obeisance, and with a look of ill-disguised menace at the king, he quitted the salon, followed by Saint-Vallier and René.
This time he experienced no hindrance from the guard, but passing through the vestibule, and descending the great horse-shoe staircase, he mounted his steed, and rode off with his escort.
As Cornelius Agrippa had predicted, the Dame do Beaujeu expired on her litter on the way back to Paris.
END OF THE FIRST BOOK
BOOK II.—THE FLIGHT.
I. THE SECRET TREATY.
At the ancient Château of Moulins, the abode of his illustrious ancestors, the Constable de Bourbon dwelt in princely state, maintaining a vast number of retainers, holding a court little inferior in splendour to that of the king, and exercising all the privileges of a powerful feudal suzerain. A grand and picturesque-looking structure was the château, and from its proud position dominated the town, and the rich vine-covered district around it. Not two leagues from Moulins was the abbey of Souvigny, a venerable Gothic pile, which was to the Dukes of Bourbon what Saint Denis was to the Kings of France—a mausoleum.
On his return from Fontainebleau to Moulins, Bourbon allowed no indication to appear from his manner that he was disturbed by the quarrel that had taken place between him and the king, though those in his confidence knew that he meditated revenge, and was making preparations for revolt.
Ere a week had elapsed, he received information through a trusty messenger that the Comte de Beaurain, the ambassador of the Emperor, and Sir John Russell, the envoy of Henry VIII., had arrived at Bourg, in Bresse, where they proposed to await a communication from the Constable. The moment had now arrived when it became necessary for Bourbon to decide whether he would remain faithful to his sovereign, and bear tamely all the injuries he had received, or cast off his allegiance to François, and enter into a league with that monarch's enemies. The Constable was not long in arriving at a determination to adopt the latter course.
As it might excite the king's suspicions if he went to Bourg, and as it would be equally dangerous if the ambassadors attempted to come to Moulins, Bourbon appointed a meeting with them at Montbrison, the capital of the Haut-Forez, the most mountainous and inaccessible portion of his domains.
Under the pretext of a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame du Buy, he forthwith set out for the Chateau de Montbrison, accompanied by a great number of adherents on whose zeal and attachment he could rely, and who were prepared to second his projects, and take up arms in his cause. Chief among these were Saint-Vallier and René de Bretagne. Bourbon was also attended by his confidant, Philibert de Saint-Romain, Seigneur de Lurcy, the Seigneur de Pomperant, his two chamberlains, his two maîtres d'hôtel, Antoine d'Espinat, lieutenant of his company of men-at-arms, the Bishops of Puy and Autun, both of whom had warmly embraced his cause, and a crowd of young seigneurs from the Bourbonnais, Auvergne, Forez, and Beaujolais.
On the third night after his arrival at Montbrison, while he was seated at supper with his retainers in the great banqueting-hall of the château, two strangers, who described themselves as merchants of Lyons, who were travelling to Clermont, claimed his hospitality.
The Constable at once gave them welcome, and assigned them seats at the lower table. Their attire accorded with the account they gave of themselves, but their bearing proclaimed them persons of rank, and Bourbon easily detected in one of them, a handsome, dark-complexioned man, with fine eyes and a very intelligent countenance, the Seigneur de Beaurain; while, though he was wholly unacquainted with the other—a well-made, but somewhat robust personage, with a bright fresh colour and light-brown locks—he judged him to be Sir John Russell, and he was right in the conjecture.
At the close of the meal, the Constable expressed a desire to converse with his new guests, and requested them to follow him to his private cabinet.
As soon as the door was closed, all disguise was thrown aside, and Bourbon cordially welcomed Beaurain, and expressed the highest satisfaction at beholding the English envoy.
“I regret that I could not receive you in a manner befitting your rank, messeigneurs,” he said. “I do not think I have any spies amid my household, but it is necessary to be cautious. And now be seated, I pray you, and let us address ourselves to the matter in hand.”
“First, let me express the indignation which my royal master the Emperor feels at the infamous treatment experienced by your highness from the King of France,” said Beaurain—“treatment as injudicious as unworthy, and which fully justifies any reprisals you may make.”
“I have also to convey to your highness the expression of similar sentiments from my sovereign, King Henry VIII.,” added Sir John Russell. “His majesty is highly indignant.”
“I have not merely my own private wrongs to redress, messeigneurs,” replied Bourbon, “but those of my country, which is suffering from bad government and oppression, and half ruined by a luxurious monarch, who ravages the people to enrich his mistresses and favourites. François de Valois is unworthy to occupy the throne of France.”
“He shall not occupy it long,” replied Beaurain, with a significant smile. “But before proceeding further, let me offer my credentials to your highness. Here is a letter from the Emperor,” he added, delivering a despatch to the Constable.
Bourbon took it, broke the seal, and read as follows:
“Cousin,—I
