Читать книгу The Sword Decides! - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 8

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He made his way through the thronging courtiers, thrust aside the servants, and struck upon her chamber door.

One of her women opened to him, and without a word he passed her.

"Where is the Queen?" he demanded.

From the inner room came her low voice: "Who is it, Sancia?"

"The King," he answered, and entered the chamber where she sat. She was alone, seated by the foot of her bed, with sunshine strong over her primrose velvet gown; she had an ivory mirror on her lap and a comb in her hand; on a table beside her was an open casket of pearls and a heap of white roses.

She looked up when he entered, and slightly flushed. "Why, this is unmannerly!" she said.

Her quiet, her words, the fact that this was her bedchamber, abashed him for a moment; he stood awkwardly by the door.

"What do you want with me?" asked Giovanna, laying down the comb. "If you had waited I would have seen you presently—now, as you see, I am dressing my hair."

He stared at her sullenly.

"If my welcome and your behaviour had been of another kind," he said, "you had been spared this."

Her violet eyes gave him a sidelong glance.

"You should have looked for your welcome, Lord Andreas, to those who invited you."

She picked up the white roses and began twisting them together. His blood fired at her tone; he came heavily into the room.

"I am your husband," he said. "Before God and man your husband, and King of this realm of Naples." He stood by the post of her bed, and his eyes challenged hers. "You defied the King's will," he continued; "you insulted me before your minions—I have had a cur's welcome to Naples. By God! there must be an end of it!"

She would not look at him; her head was bent over the roses she played with; he could only see the white line of her neck and the waves of her undressed auburn hair that shone with a thousand threads of gold.

"You were a fool to come," she said quietly.

"I came for my heritage," he answered stormily; "the saints know, for no love of you or yours." She laughed a little, still without looking up.

"No man could say we were wedded for love," she said. "Certainly I did not think you came for that." The way she spoke was to him a profanation of a sacred and unknown thing.

"I have not come to talk of love," he said roughly.

She turned now and looked him up and down with mocking violet eyes.

"No?" she said in a very scornful manner. "What have you come to speak of?"

Her face dimpled into a contemptuous smile. Her beauty and her self-possession were as goads to Andreas; he raged to have a man to deal with.

"You have treated me badly," he said confusedly, and bit the ends of his thick yellow hair.

She was fixing two of the white roses on to the bosom of her blue vest.

"What do you want, my cousin?" she asked carelessly, and she glanced at him again with a contained amusement, as if she thought him a fool who might be humoured into submission.

"My kingdom," he answered heavily.

The violet eyes darkened. "Ah, yes," said Giovanna, "you wedded me for that. I was to be your footstool to the throne of Naples—I understand."

"And I," interrupted Andreas—"I read San Severino's last letter to you."

She gave a little start, but her clear gaze did not falter.

"Well," she answered—"well, then you know, cousin, that I shall hold what I have—that I am Queen here, with no man's hand over me."

"I know you are a usurper—the heiress of the younger branch."

Giovanna smiled; her fair white hands fingered the pearls in the case beside her.

"You must say that to my council, cousin, and to the people of Naples."

The air of indifferent disdain brought the colour to his cheeks. "I shall not go there for justice," he cried, with blazing eyes. "Nor will I tamely bear the wrong—I shall appeal even to the Pope at Avignon and to Ludovic my brother."

Giovanna gave him a quick look; the name of Ludovic the Triumphant carried terror.

"You will do that?" she said.

At this, the first sign of flinching she had shown, his awe of her fled; he came up to the table, standing between her and the sunlight.

"I am Charles Martel's grandson," he said, "and the son of Carobert of Hungary; and my house, by God's heaven! is not one to be ruled by women."

She sat very still, but her narrowed eyes gave him hate for hate, scorn for scorn.

"Why, you are but a foolish woman," said Andreas, with a heaving breast; "and of what use are women to rule? I am King in Naples, by God His grace; and if you or your minions do dispute it, I will bring the arms of Ludovic like a thunderbolt into your midst—yea, I will make Naples the vassal of Hungary, and cool your pride within a cloister."

Giovanna, very pale, laughed bitterly.

"You are gallant, cousin,"—she was breathing hard, and the slender fingers clutched tightly at the strings of pearls. "You are very chivalrous; this is a knightly manner in which to speak—to me."

"To you!" repeated Andreas, frowning. "Have I not reason to speak so to you who have given me this welcome to my kingdom and my home—you—my wife?"

"Leave that word alone," answered Giovanna, speaking very quietly. "Between you—and me—it has no meaning; no, nor ever will have. Sweet Virgin I I will never be a wife to you—I will not put my head under your yoke. I do not need you beside me—I can live alone, rule alone. Husband!—you will never be that to me, cousin."

Red in the face, he passionately answered her: "You might go down the wind for me..." He trembled in his utterance. "By God's heaven! I do not want you...you are not desirable to me. I want no wife"—he struck his hand fiercely against the post of the bed—"you need not fear that I shall woo you. I come for my kingdom."

Her pride was stung; white-lipped she answered him

"Oh, I am fair enough to break your heart an I cared to try."

He strode away from her, tossing his hair out of his eyes.

"I would not lift my hand to touch you, so indifferent you are to me; but if you thwart me, I will bring you to your knees, proud witch."

Giovanna's violet eyes were blazing like stars.

"Leave my chamber!" she said hoarsely. "I am Queen—yea, if you had a thousand armies at your back, I am Queen."

Andreas swung round to look at her.

"Do you defy me?" he asked.

She rose; she had infinitely more control than he, and she exercised it now.

"You—and all that you can do," she said quietly. "I also have my friends."

"Yea, such as Raymond de Cabane!" he cried, "to whom you pay a shameful price; and San Severino."

"So you have been speaking to Maria!" said Giovanna. "She, of course, will champion you—none the less she will be the Conte Raymond's wife."

"She is my brother's betrothed by the King's will, and I will not see her marry another man."

"Let King Ludovic come for her," returned Giovanna. "And you, cousin, leave me."

His blue-grey eyes were dark with wrath; the leopard's skin rose and fell with his angry breathing.

"My messengers shall ride to-day to Avignon—I'll rouse the world—I'll see Naples ashes and this palace with not one stone upon the other before I forgo my rights."

Giovanna broke into sudden passion: "Leave my presence!—do you wish me to have you put without my doors?"

Andreas of Hungary laughed magnificently, in the confidence of his pride and strength. "You have no men would dare to touch me," he said. "But as I have no more to say, I will go—you will not see me here again."

He went from her chamber, and Giovanna sank into the chair, trembling. "Sancia!" she called. "Sancia!"

The waiting-woman entered with a soft step; she was a golden-haired Italian, with a lovely arch face.

"You may finish my hair now," said Giovanna faintly. "I must see Conte Raymond."

"Madonna, he is waiting without."

Sancia was arranging the white roses in the coils of the Queen's auburn hair.

"Sweetheart," asked Giovanna suddenly, "what do you think of Andreas?" She picked up the mirror as she spoke and gazed into it.

"Madonna, I think he is splendid."

"Taller than the Conte, is he not?" said Giovanna musingly. "He has beautiful hands—I should like to see him out of his armour."

"Why doth he wear a leopard's skin?" asked Sancia curiously. "It is a strange fashion."

"Yes," assented the Queen moodily. "He is a fine knight, but he does not know much about women. Sancia, he might have won me, despite them all, to be his friend at least, if he had been wise enough to be foolish and a little flattering." She smiled, and put the mirror down. "But now he has made of me a very bitter enemy. Tell the Conte I am coming, Sancia."

A little after, with her face as pale as the roses in her hair, she entered the antechamber. Raymond de Cabane was there, standing before the wide, open fireplace, his arms crossed on his breast, his face, save for the restless glitter of his black eyes, calm and passionless.

Giovanna went slowly to the table in the centre of the room and seated herself there.

"I have seen Andreas," she said briefly. "If we bring things to an open rupture, he will appeal to Avignon. What shall we do?"

"It is no matter," answered Raymond in a deep, unmoved voice. "We have more friends than has he at Avignon. I think he is a fool, too."

The Queen laid her slender hands along the table and gazed at them. "I think so," she said quietly, and turned her heavy wedding ring about on her finger.

"And I have won the first move," remarked Raymond de Cabane. "You have been proclaimed throughout Naples, despite the will."

"Yes," answered Giovanna.

"I come nearer my reward," said the Conte, and his eyes flashed.

The Queen looked at him curiously. "You are very steady in your desire," she answered. "Conte, are you so fond of her?"

"My feelings are no part of the bargain, Madonna; you are to give her to me, and Alba, and Giordano."

Giovanna shrugged her shoulders.

"Conte, I was merely curious. One hears so much of love—in the poets—sometimes one wonders "—she looked at him sideways—"if one has ever met it or ever will—or ever will!"

"Maybe you will find it in your own heart one day, Madonna," said Raymond de Cabane.

Queen Giovanna looked at him steadily, rather mournfully.

"Why, it would be as impossible as the stars stooping to the meadows, for me to love any man I have ever seen," she answered. "I am in love with power, and glory, and this splendid crown of Naples, Conte. But Maria! I risk something to give her to you—she is promised to this Ludovic of Hungary."

Raymond de Cabane lifted his head a little. "I think he is not eager for the alliance," he said quietly. "In any case, what does it matter? She is mine."

She watched him curiously. "Maria desires it," she replied, "and Ludovic might fight."

"Well," he said stubbornly, "I could fight Ludovic of Hungary for her—or any man, king or commoner." Fire flashed for a moment into his black eyes and the dusky colour came into his swarthy cheek. "Stand you but my friend, Madonna," he added, "as you have sworn." He breathed heavily.

"When you have fulfilled your promise," she put in quickly. "I am not yet safely Queen. The day that I am crowned in Santa Chiara, you may draw up your marriage contract."

He swore it, with a great passion underlying his quiet: "You shall be crowned!"

"Despite of Andreas?" she asked him.

"Despite of everything!"

At that the Queen suddenly laughed. "You are curious," she said. "I do think you love her."

He gave her no pleasant glance. "Love her?" he echoed. "Hath she not Alba and Giordano?"

"Yet," smiled Giovanna, "you made this bargain with me before the King's will was known; and always has the bourne of your desires and the height of your rewards been Maria, Maria."

His heavy eyes flashed under the light mockery of her tone.

"I always knew that she would be an heiress," he answered.

Giovanna leant back in her chair. The white rose above her brow shone against the carved wood; her white hands lay idly among the folds of her vivid gown; over her bosom the azure vest rose and fell evenly, and her full lids were lowered till the bronzed lashes touched her cheek.

"Maria hates you," she said.

Raymond de Cabane stood very still. "I know," he answered abruptly.

"It makes no difference?" asked Giovanna.

He came a step into the room. "Madonna! have we come to talk of these things? I serve for my reward, like every man: let it end at that."

She suddenly rose and pushed back her chair; her violet eyes swept over him.

"Very well," she said; "it is a question of policy, is it not? And you will manage the council, my cousin Carlo, the people, this Hungarian faction—"

"And your husband," finished the Conte Raymond.

"My husband," she repeated steadily. "And you will send an ambassador to Avignon to win the Pope."

"All this," said Raymond, "for the hand of Maria d'Anjou."

Queen Giovanna's look was one of mingled contempt and half-admiring wonder; she crossed slowly to her chamber door.

"There is no more, Conte; I have trust in you." Raymond glanced at her abruptly.

"You shall be crowned within a month, Madonna."

With an air of resolution and that veiled fierceness that was his usual bearing, he left the room.

Queen Giovanna stood with her hand on the door-handle, staring after him with disdainful violet eyes.