Page:The Lady's Book Vol. V.pdf/9

 THE TRAITORS DOOM. 7

was the royal balcony, where the heart-broken king sat in impatient expectation, for the sacrifice to begin; he was arrayed in the gorgeous robes of state, the crown reposed upon his brow, and his hand held the sceptre, but with a feeble grasp. What misery did that splendour conceal! his blasted and withered hopes had spurred him on to revenge, while the loss was fresh in his me- mory—his injured honour, and love despised, had supported him for the trial—but now, that the decisive moment had come, his long lost affection returned with redoubled vehemence, and he could not be convinced that one so lovely could be polluted with such horrid guilt. But then the testimony of her accuser supported by an oath, staggered his belief; her own prophetic words flashed on his bewildered mind, and he buried his face in his hands, in utter despair. The trumpets pealed; with a powerful exertion, the king regained his feet, and gazed sadly but firmly on the mournful procession, approaching the scaffold, to a strain of wild and solemn music. As if in ridicule of her destitution, Marie was closely guarded by a score of men at arms, who moved onward in dreadful and death-like silence, unbroken by a single whisper. The scaffold reached, the beautiful culprit looked with an unquailing eye upon the immense concourse and the cruel preparations for her execution, but when she encountered the eye of her lord, and saw the piteous expression of his haggard fea- tures, her emotion was too big for utterance, and she burst into tears. Philip turned and bit his lip, till the blood sprung from it, but he was still firm and unaltered, unswayed by those tears he would once have reproached himself for allowing to fall to the ground; but that day was passed, and he seemed another and a different being. The dark funeral garb of the queen, contrasted strongly with her alabaster neck and pallid cheek, where the rose of health

“had withered under the desolating touch of sor-“

row. Standing on the other end of the platform, was the accuser, with folded arms, and his eyes fixed on the ground; he was arrayed in a suit of armour, and a plumed helmet was on his head, but the raised visor still showed the same counte- nance which had startled Philip at his first in- terview; dark and sinister, and looking like a demon by the side of the fair victim. A solemn oath was taken to disclose the participation of Marie in the murder of the young prince, and while he spoke the words which should condemn his companion, a deep silence reigned over the vast assembly. He declared that he had been employed by the queen to procure poison, which having been disguised in sweetmeats was given by the queen to the young Lewis in his presence, and that stung by remorse he had un- burdened his conscience to the king, and pre- viously to the chamberlain. There was a low murmur, and the marshal addressing the queen, thus spoke—

“Marie, queen of France, what hast thou to answer; art thou guilty of this most heinous crime?”

The gueen replied, mournfully, “It is as false as hell. God knows my innocence, and into his hands I commit my cause.”

“Then, men, do your duty,” cried the officer; “fire the pile.”

One step they advanced, but were arrested bya cry from the royal balcony, commanding them to desist. It was the king, who, with outstretch- ed hand pointed to the extremity of the list, where a knight, attended by several esquires, was pass- ing the barrier. “ Sonnd, heralds, sound a loud welcome to the stranger.”

_ Marie sank upon her knees, and, raising her clasped hands to heaven, breathed a grateful prayer; then, rising, called upon the king ina loud, clear voice for the right of a champion to defend her cause; she had recognised in the de- vice of the stranger, her well known family arms, of the house of Brabant, and she knew that the assistance she had sent to entreat was not asked in vain. Her brother, the Duke of Brabant, knelt before the king, and demanded room to defend his sister’s innocence against the machi- nations of her enemies. It was instantly granted.

“And now,” he shouted, as he hurled his gauntlet furiously at the feet of the accuser, “raise my challenge, and show that your craven heart is as bold in battle as in lies;—I would crush thee slave, but that, from thy noble office thou may’st claim a right of combat, lift my guage, and mount thee, for my sword is impatient to hack thy coward limbs from thy false carcase.”

The accuser was silent, and stirred not, but gazed vgcantly on.

“Not move,” cried the” fiery Duke, “then yield thee, villain, and confess thy guilt, before I dash thy head from thy shoulders; confess that thou hast, with damnable intent, leagued wita others, against the happiness of thy liege lord, and the life of a pure and virtuous queen;—con- fess that she is innocent—thine answer?”’

“Ido,” were the only words that escaped his lips. Benois cannot describe the effect which these words produced; even the champion start- ed back in astonishment, and the queen sank into her brother’s arms. A low sound, like.the sighing of the wind before a hurricane, ran round the immense multitude, strengthening and deepening as it moved onward, till, all suddenly, a roar burst from the arena, like the battle-cry ef an army. The Duke, snatching his sister, flew to the barriery just in time to escape the multitude who poured forth to the scaffold, like, some huge ocean, bursting its confines and rush- ing foaming afid swelling, and ovérwhelming every thing in its progress. Mingled shouts of “vivela reine,” and curses on the accusers head rent the air: in one moment the lofty pyre blaz- ed to heaven, and the enraged populace, drag- ging their miserable and guilty victim, hurled him headlong into the midst of the flames, drown- ing his cries for mercy in their deafening yells.

Who can describe the first meefing of the royal pair;—let it be imagined from. the fervour of woman’s love, and that proudest act of a ge-