Chapter 25 The Gamester by Rafael Sabatini
THE WHEEL
It was not as the saviour of a nation that the Count of Horn took his trial with Colonel de Mille. The indictment pronounced them just a couple of common thieves and murderers, and as thieves and murderers both were sentenced to be broken alive upon the wheel.
In counting upon dukes and peers to stand by him, at least, Horn was not disappointed. And not only dukes and peers, but princes, too, beginning with his own brother the Prince of Horn, came pleading to the Regent. But all the plea the circumstances of his conviction permitted was that he might be hanged or beheaded. Thus it was sought to spare him the infamy of the wheel, an infamy that must besmirch members of all his family, and so deeply in Germany, where he had great connections, that for three generations none of them might be admitted to any noble chapter or hold any office under the State.
The Regent, deeply shocked by the outrage, displayed unusual sternness and rigour, accounting it his duty to stand firm and allow the law to take its course.
He quoted Corneille to the pleaders. "It is the crime that makes the infamy," he answered them, "and not the scaffold."
He was reminded that Horn had once been in the circle of his own intimates and that, in fact, he was actually a remote kinsman of the Regent's.
"Very well," he answered. "I must bear my share of the ignominy."
The Abbé Dubois and the Duke of Saint-Simon were exhorted to employ on the condemned man's behalf their great influence with His Highness. Dubois was too busy at the time preparing himself to be received into holy orders, so that he might be installed Archbishop of Cambrai, as a preliminary to receiving at last the coveted red hat.
Saint-Simon, however, who was about to go into the country, to spend Easter on his lands, tells us in his memoirs that he did intercede, using every argument he knew, and that he actually wrung a promise from the Regent that Horn should be spared the wheel, and be beheaded instead.
But as after the Duke's departure there was no announcement of any modification in the sentence, it was widely concluded that other influences were at work against the doomed man.
It was recalled that Angus McWhirter was one of Law's chief lieutenants, and also that there had been a long and bitter feud between Law and Horn. Hence, and considering that Law's influence with the Regent was paramount, it was not unnaturally concluded--and there was no lack of those to encourage the conclusion--that it was the Comptroller-General's counsel that sustained an inflexibility so unusual in the easy-going Regent.
Appeals for intervention had been addressed to Law from every quarter. Amongst the many who had sought him were the Prince de Conti, who had last parted from him in anger and with injurious terms, because of unsatisfied greed, the old Duc de Villeroy, who had always been his enemy, and even d'Argenson, to whom he had become detestable since the ruin of the anti-system and the Marquis' loss of the Comptrollership.
To all of them, without entering into details, Mr Law replied that finance and not justice was his department and that he would account it an unpardonable presumption in himself to submit their pleas to His Highness.
Villeroy, turning pale with anger under his rouge, had begged that if Monsieur le Baron would not intervene in Horn's favour, at least, he should abstain from intervening against him, whereupon Mr Law had pulled the bell cord and requested a footman to escort Monsieur le Maréchal-Duc to his coach.
D'Argenson, hectoring as was his nature, had stormed that Monsieur le Baron was treading a dangerous path.
"I have endeavoured to make it clear," said Mr Law, always urbane, "that in this matter I tread no path at all.''
"That is precisely what is dangerous," shouted the Marquis, and stamped out.
Monsieur de Conti had similarly prophesied that Monsieur le Baron would ruin himself if he did nothing to arrest the doom of the Count of Horn.
"That should be a matter for regret to you, mon prince," said Mr Law, thus by implication reminding the malicious little hunchback of how richly he had profited by Mr Law's prosperity.
"Nay, sir--for rejoicing, if you persist in your aloofness."
In this manner those three who detested him, and now detested him the more for having been under the necessity of appealing to him, departed in a still deeper rancour because of what they accounted the arrogance of a refusal that had lacerated their overweening pride.
The last to seek him in this matter were Lord and Lady Stair. Horn had been a close friend of theirs. It was they, in fact, who had introduced him to Law's household. To strengthen themselves they sought to enlist the aid of Catherine, and induced her to lend it. She recalled her tender passages with the Count and was disposed to condone his attempts upon her virtue, charitably and femininely attributing them to the excessive ardours she had aroused in him and had even encouraged until they became too ardent.
Together the three sought Mr Law in his study, and when they found him coldly unresponsive to their prayers, Lord Stair had recourse to a crowning argument.
"My dear Law, it is being widely said that you have intervened already, in a contrary sense; that Monsieur de Saint-Simon had obtained a promise that Horn should be spared the wheel, but that you have since persuaded His Highness to disregard it. That, my friend, is not an imputation under which you can comfortably lie."
"Why not?"
"Why not! You admit, then, that it is true."
"I do not. But if it were, who could blame me? The murdered man was a valued friend and loyal servant. I should be doing poor justice to his memory if I raised so much as a finger for the least mitigation of the punishment of his assassin."
"That I can understand. But you do yourself no good service if you permit the general belief to be confirmed by the execution."
"A mere argument of expediency, my lord."
And then her ladyship made an unfortunate contribution to the discussion. "Have you never killed a man, Mr Law?"
Mr Law's grey eyes were stern in a face whose natural pallor was deepened by indignation. But his voice, if charged with bitter irony, was level. "Is it possible that your ladyship insults me by comparing an act of mine in the way of honour with a brutal murder committed by a thief?"
Stair accounted it necessary to hasten to his wife's aid. "No, no," he cried. "But when you charge Horn with being a thief you are forgetting that he believed he was recovering his own, of which he was under the impression--of course the mistaken impression--that you had defrauded him?"
"Is that also to be laid to my charge?"
"You should not ignore that it might be. Horn was talkative. He complained bitterly and widely."
"And because he was a liar and defamer as well as a thief and a murderer, I am now to plead for him. Let me tell you something which is not generally known, in which you may discover yet another reason for my intervention. Horn believed that it was I, myself, who had gone to the Flying Stag, whither he sought to lure me by a letter in a false name. He came into the room only when McWhirter and de Mille were struggling on the floor. He could not see McWhirter's face because his wig had fallen across it. So that when Horn passed his sword through McWhirter he believed that he was passing it through me."
"Oh!" It was an outcry of horror from Catherine, who sprang to her feet, her face suddenly white.
Mr Law turned to her. "You said?"
"Oh, John!" She was fiercely vehement. "You'll believe that if I had known this I should never have joined Lord and Lady Stair to plead with you. I should never even have brought them to you. Why didn't you tell me?"
Mr Law stared at her for a moment, surprised by her vehemence. Then he shrugged. "It is not important. I should not trouble to mention it now but that his lordship constrains me."
Catherine sank to her chair again, a limp figure of distress, whilst Lord Stair gravely inclined his head. "Of course, there is no more to be said."
Lady Stair, however, would not yet accept defeat. Her pale, mean eyes had glowed in contempt upon Catherine. Malice deepened her ladyship's resemblance to a hen. "There is one fact you would be wise to consider, Mr Law, for your own sake. The Count of Horn was talkative, you say. So he was. And he told the world not only that you had defrauded him, but that you had seduced his wife."
There was a low moan of horror from Catherine, whilst his lordship threw up his hands in despair. But Lady Stair went ruthlessly on: "When you say that he killed your agent, believing him to be you, you say something which, if known, must be held to extenuate the deed. It must be held a crime of passion, a thing done, not in the course of a theft, as has been supposed, but to vindicate his honour." On a queer note of triumph she flung out the question: "Now will you think it worth while to use all your influence with His Highness?"
There were beads of sweat on Mr Law's brow, along the line of his wig. He drew a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat of heavy, purple Indian satin, and passed it across his forehead. Yet his voice still preserved its quiet level. "Your ladyship will perceive that what I have just told you--of the mistake that Horn made--is known to no one else. Your ladyship will hardly be threatening to publish it unless I do as I am bidden?"
"Good God, no!" cried Stair. "How could my wife have such a thought? You would insult her by supposing it. She only points out to you what will be concluded if it transpires."
"It cannot transpire save from one or the other of you. And if it should," he added, his eyes glittering upon Lord Stair, "I should require a severe account of it."
The ambassador's face flushed scarlet. It was a moment before, bowing stiffly, he answered. "Always and in all things at your service, Mr Law."
He turned to his wife, now breathless in panic of the mischief she had wrought. "Come, madam, we take our leave." He bowed again coldly to Law and then to Catherine. "Madam, your humble obedient."
When in frosty dignity they had departed, Catherine looked at her husband through a blur of tears. He stood by his writing table, deep in thought, a frown darkening his brow.
"John, was it true what that woman said?"
"What did she say? She merely repeated a falsehood put about by that shameless man Horn."
"A falsehood?"
Because he scorned to lie to her, he answered: "As it happens. Yet it might have been true and would have been true but that Margaret would not have it so."
"Oh, John!" she cried.
He looked at her with his bitter smile. "What's to surprise you? Yourself you believed it true. You taunted me with it when suspicion was your only evidence. And why this wail of outraged virtue? Have you nothing on your side with which to reproach yourself? Or is it possible that you still do not realize how much? Trace all this mischief to its source. Or don't you know where to find it? Then I will tell you.
"Knowing Horn's evil repute you encouraged his gallantries. Against my wishes you went to Sceaux in order to afford him opportunities, and but that his Countess watched over you, it is likely that you would have succumbed."
Fiercely she broke in. "Did Margaret Ogilvy say so? Did she tell you that?"
"Where was the need? Yourself you told me, when on your return from Sceaux you said that you never wished to see the Count of Horn again. Whether you have seen him since or not you will know better than I. I have not spied upon you."
Again she interrupted fiercely. "Because you did not care. Do you make a virtue of it?"
He paid no heed, but went relentlessly on, "Your laudable resolve not to see Horn again was taken too late, the harm was already done. It happened earlier, when the flagrancy of his pursuit of you and your encouragement of it were giving rise to scandal.
"With the innuendoes of Lady Stair in my ears I thought it time to take steps to protect my honour. I requested him to cease attentions to you which were becoming too assiduous. You will recall that he attempted to strike me, and taking the will for the deed I demanded the ordinary satisfaction that obtains between gentlemen. He refused it with fresh insult. But I happened to have other weapons for this needy gallant, this canaille, whom I had put in the way of fortune; and whilst he was making love to you at Sceaux I broke him.
"After that he was driven by vindictiveness upon his doom. First he allied himself with my enemies, then, when that failed him, he set a trap for me into which poor Angus went to be murdered. And now I am warned that unless on Tuesday he is spared the wheel, I shall be charged with basest motives for having urged the Regent to show no mercy."
His bitter laugh cut her like a whip. "Do you begin to see, Catherine, the havoc your easy smiles have wrought?"
She was rocking herself in anguish, her hands locked between her knees. "I thought you did not care," she wailed. "That is what drove me, goaded me. If you had cared, John, do you suppose any other man would have had those smiles? Those smiles that you call easy?"
"You are my wife. You bear my name. You are the mother of my children."
"Have you always remembered that, John?" She asked the question plaintively.
"Always, though never given credit for it. Always, though constantly charged with imagined infidelities. Always until lately, when temptation snapped the bond of duty your levity had worn thin. However, as I've said, to that temptation it was denied me to succumb.''
"For that, at least, I suppose I may thank God," she cried.
"And Margaret Ogilvy," said he, as he sat down at his writing table. "It was the virtue of this woman you miscall that made the barrier."
She sat for a moment miserably considering, then spoke very quietly. "At least you have been honest with me, John, and I owe it to you to be honest in my turn. When I suspected--when you gave me cause to suspect your relations with the Countess of Horn, I sought the Count again. I deliberately used his...his interest in me, in the hope of forming an alliance with him, so that he might place his wife beyond your reach. I was desperate...desperate to save us both, John. Can you understand?" Without waiting for his answer, she went miserably on to make a full avowal of her aborted association with Horn.
Whilst his countenance remained impassive, yet, despite himself, his heart was touched by a confession which but for his preconceptions might well have vouchsafed him more than a glimpse of the true state of her feelings for him beneath their habitually shrewish surface. For a spell when the tale was told there was silence between them, save for the quiet weeping of the woman huddled miserably in her chair.
When at last he spoke again it was very gently. "Dry your tears, Catherine. What is done is done, and it shall never again be mentioned by me. I accept my part of the blame. Do not imagine that I don't perceive it, and how much we are both of us the sport of destiny."
She roused herself to look at him. He sat erect, staring sternly before him, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. She was all humility. "You can be generous, John. More generous perhaps than I deserve. But what now?"
"Now?"
"What are you going to do?"
"Do? Why, nothing."
"But you must. You know that woman Lady Stair. You know her malice. Do you think it will allow her to keep silent, that she'll not tell the world that McWhirter was killed in your place? Hasn't she warned you of what would then be believed? Oh, why, why did you tell them?"
"It was a folly, I confess. I perceived my error as soon as the words were out. But I was hard driven, as you saw."
"If it were put about that the Count of Horn thought he was killing his wife's lover, that would partly rehabilitate him as she said."
"Does it matter? He is naught."
"My God, don't I know it? Am I thinking of him? I am thinking of you, John. His rehabilitation will be at your expense. Don't you see?"
"I see," he said. But what he suddenly saw was that it would also be at the expense of Margaret's good name.
"Then you will go to the Regent?"
"It will be better," he said, his tone flat and dull. "Yes. I will go." He rose. "I will tell Laguyon to order my carriage."
In passing, he paused, looking down upon her, touched by an anxiety for him, of which he had long since ceased to believe her capable. Meeting her raised, piteous glance, he smiled wistfully, and his fingers lightly touched her dark brown head. "Poor Catherine," he said, and sighed. "Fate has had great sport with us both."
She swung round in eagerness to answer him; but he was gone before she could find words, and it was late when he returned, to discover her waiting in a fever of impatience. His dark look proclaimed his failure before he spoke.
"A wasted effort," he announced. "I have never known His Highness so hard. There is no obstinacy like the obstinacy of a weak man. He would scarcely listen to me. For once he was in a mood of nobility. 'It is being said already,' he told me, 'that in this realm there is one law for the noble and another for the simple.
"'It shall not be said in the case of a brutal murder by a vulgar thief.'
"I did not leave it there. I told him that I begged leniency for my own sake. I told him that it was being bruited that out of vindictiveness it was I who was urging His Highness to this severity. He was angrily ironical. 'We shall bear the blame together, then. You should be happy in the association.' And that was his last word."
On the following Tuesday--the Tuesday of Easter Week--in the Place de Grève, the high-born Count of Horn and Colonel de Mille suffered the dreadful, brutal punishment of being broken alive upon the wheel.
On the day after that, as the Regent drove through the streets of Paris, he was greeted by acclamations of a fervour he had never yet known.
For his stern undiscriminating justice the populace hailed him as its protector. It was being said--according to the Regent's German mother--that however lenient His Highness might be towards offenders against himself, he forgave nothing that was done against a subject.
Mr Law sneered when it was reported to him. "He will now account himself justified of his severity."
But when later in the day Mr Law himself drove forth, he was shocked to find himself the object of similar demonstrations of respect and affection, and he took shame in the thought that it sprang from the belief that the Regent's severity was largely due to his advocacy.
Again he sneered as he spoke to his brother who rode with him, "He said that we should share the blame. Meanwhile we share the plaudits. And, faith, one is as distasteful as the other."