Crown in Candlelight Read Online Free PDF Page A

his hands, Orléans felt Katherine’s dry firey face.
    ‘We must be off,’ said the Queen. She peered up through the bars. ‘Are you sleeping? Come, we’ve delayed too long.’ He did not answer.
    ‘My lord?’ The voice sharpened.
    ‘The princess cannot stand,’ he heard himself reply. ‘She can scarcely breathe. She needs a physician.’
    ‘You disobey me?’
    He sat, cradling Katherine. To the inn-keeper’s son he said softly: ‘Go, run into town and bring a doctor,’ and the boy slid from the loft on quick bare feet, and, skirting the Queen warily, ran from the inn.
    ‘You’ll anger me, my lord.’ She laughed uneasily. Louis of Bavaria came to stand beside her.
    ‘We appear to have a brave man in our company,’ he said.
    Orléans knew himself anything but brave, but a new man, full of strange morality, had got inside his skin.
    ‘I’ll punish you, never fear,’ said Isabeau.
    ‘No, my liege,’ answered the strange new man. ‘You need my loyalty. You need your daughter—alive. I’ll serve you in Milan, but I’ll not ride there with a dead child. Not for all my estate or your esteem.’
    ‘One hour, then.’ She stalked back to the table. The doctor entered, a tall cloaked Jew, and ascended to the loft, bringing out almanac and herbs and vials, sending the landlord’s son for water and cloths.
    ‘One hour!’ the Queen repeated viciously. She sat, they all waited, the henchmen in the doorway, yawning but vigilant of the jewels and the paniers of gold, the small Louis and Michelle asleep again on a bench. The doctor examined Katherine. The evil humours were strong in the ascendancy, he said, shaking his head. The sobbing rasping breath continued. In the town a church bell sounded and Isabeau said: ‘Your time is nearly up, my lord of Orléans.’
    He raised his head to reply and heard the first trumpet. An acrid bray muted by the trees, but near; lilting as if sounded by someone riding hard, and the sound of many horses, the noise of harness and wheels. The orchestration of swift approach grew and voices drifted, shouts breathless with intent. One of the men-at-arms ran out of the door and scanned the dawn-lit trees. And the Dauphin, awakened, ran out to the edge of the glade to peer down the tree-lined slope. He saw the cavalcade, the mud-soaked finery, the carriages, the arms and colours of the leaders. With a shriek of glee, he bounded back into the inn.
    ‘Burgundy!’ he cried. ‘It’s my uncle of Burgundy!’
    Isabelle whirled and drove an evil look at Orléans. Your accursed dalliance had brought us to this, what I most dreaded. Outside the sounds of hoof and wheel merged with the slither of steel. There were more shouts, as the Queen’s horse was recognized. And then the inn was filled with man and arms. In the centre, cynically smiling and splendidly clad in a habit of fleurs-de-lys, stood Jean sans Peur.
    He was a strong stoutish man with a merry eye. Beneath a tall fur hat the cumbrous Valois nose swooped powerfully. He had owned the dukedom of Burgundy for little more than a year since his father Philip had died, but it sat on him like a treasure. He was amused by the whole denouement, at apprehending Isabeau like this. He crooked his knee and kissed her rigid knuckles, appraising her decadent beauty, her dismay.
    ‘God greet you, Madame. Are you going far?’ rising to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘To think I might have missed your company!’
    Her eyes slid past him to the grim figure of Odette, at whom the Duke turned to smile.
    ‘This lady,’ he said, ‘is very loyal to the crown of France. So. God rest him, was her brother. A swift rider, Gaspard, eh, Demoiselle Odette?’
    ‘He accomplished his duty.’ Odette’s eyes moved upon the Queen, speaking of murder.
    At sight of the jewels and gold, Jean sans Peur’s little smile spread. Over Louis of Bavaria his glance passed without a sign. To Colard de Laon he nodded; he was an artist, immune. The he saw Michelle and the