Part 10 (1/2)

To seize De la Foret, and send him to the Medici, and then rely on Elizabeth's favor for his pardon, as he had done in the past? That might do, but the risk to England was too great. It would be like the Queen, if her temper was up, to demand from the Medici the return of De la Foret, and war might ensue. Two women, with two nations behind them, were not to be played lightly against each other, trusting to their common-sense and humor.

As he walked among the trees, brooding with averted eyes, he was suddenly faced by the Seigneur of Rozel, who also was shaken from his discretion and the best interests of the two fugitives he was bound to protect by a late offence against his own dignity. A seed of rancor had been sown in his mind which had grown to a great size, and must presently burst into a dark flower of vengeance. He, Lempriere of Rozel, with three dove-cotes, the _perquage_, and the office of butler to the Queen, to be called a ”farmer,” to be sneered at--it was not in the blood of man, not in the towering vanity of a Lempriere, to endure it at any price computable to mortal mind.

Thus there were in England on that day two fools (there are as many now), and one said:

”My Lord Leicester, I crave a word with you.”

”Crave on, good fellow,” responded Leicester, with a look of boredom, making to pa.s.s by.

”I am Lempriere, Lord of Rozel, my lord--”

”Ah yes, I took you for a farmer,” answered Leicester. ”Instead of that, I believe you keep doves, and wear a jerkin that fits like a king's. Dear Lord, so does greatness come with girth!”

”The king that gave me dove-cotes gave me honor, and 'tis not for the Earl of Leicester to belittle it.”

”What is your coat of arms?” said Leicester, with a faint smile, but in an a.s.sumed tone of natural interest.

”A swan upon a sea of azure, two stars above, and over all a sword with a wreath around its point,” answered Lempriere, simply, unsuspecting irony, and touched by Leicester's flint where he was most like to flare up with vanity.

”Ah!” said Leicester. ”And the motto?”

”Mea spes supra stellas--my hope is beyond the stars.”

”And the wreath--of parsley, I suppose?”

Now Lempriere understood, and he shook with fury as he roared:

”Yes, by G.o.d, and to be got at the point of the sword, to put on the heads of insolents like Lord Leicester!” His face was flaming, he was like a c.o.c.k strutting upon a stable mound.

There fell a slight pause, and then Leicester said, ”To-morrow at daylight, eh?”

”Now, my lord, now!”

”We have no seconds.”

”'Sblood! 'Tis not your way, my lord, to be stickling in detail of courtesy.”

”'Tis not the custom to draw swords in secret, Lempriere of Rozel.

Also, my teeth are not on edge to fight you.”

Lempriere had already drawn his sword, and the look of his eyes was as that of a mad bull in a ring. ”You won't fight with me--you don't think Rozel your equal?” His voice was high.

Leicester's face took on a hard, cruel look. ”We cannot fight among the ladies,” he said, quietly.

Lempriere followed his glance, and saw the Duke's Daughter and another in the trees near by.

He hastily put up his sword. ”When, my lord?” he asked.

”You will hear from me to-night,” was the answer, and Leicester went forward hastily to meet the ladies--they had news, no doubt.