We bore him into the lovely bedchamber and laid him upon the King’s bed.
When we would have taken his coat, he shook his head.
“He’s got me all right,” he whispered: “so let me be.”
I tried to say I was sorry, with the tears running down my face.
But he only smiled.
“Rot,” he said gently. “Luck of the battle—that’s all.”
Upon the great bed sat Adèle, steady-eyed as ever, but very pale. She might have been Eve, as Milton has pictured her, sitting upon the green bank, looking into the pool. Her left arm propped her, and she was sitting sideways, after the way of a child: one ring of the broken handcuffs was still about her slim leg. Her hand was in Mansel’s, and their two hands lay in her lap: her beautiful head was bowed, and her eyes never left the eyes of the man she loved.
On his other side lay Tester, close up against his lord. Mansel’s left hand was upon him; but, though, I think, he would have licked it, the poor scrap never moved, but lay as still as an image, with his chin on his little paws and his eyes upon Mansel’s face.
If the others came and went, I did not notice them; and, after a little, I found the windows open and the doors of the chamber shut.
“Punter and Bunch,” said Mansel. “Search them for money and take every penny they’ve got. Go to Innsbruck and buy them two tickets for London. Give them these and drop them outside the town. Someone must watch them in and see that they go. And the caretakers must be dealt with. Perhaps the ‘doctor’ will help. It shouldn’t be very hard to stop their mouths. But try and mop everything up before you go.”
I could only nod: and, when he had seen me do this, he closed his eyes.
If he suffered, he never showed it. Indeed, he seemed well content. And, when Adèle stooped to kiss him, a light that was not of this world came into his eyes.
Once I made to rise and leave them, but, interpreting my movement, Mansel lifted his hand and bade me stay.
So we three waited together, as we had waited together the day before, but this time under a shadow which would not pass. …
My eyes stole round the room.
The chamber was full of light, and a broad sash of sunshine was lying athwart the wall. The black oak, the gold and the crimson feasted the eye. The tapestries beckoned into the glades they pictured, and the four men-at-arms about the bed insisted upon the presence they had been set to keep. All I can say is that the presence was there. For once Fate had not bungled, but had laid a king upon a king’s bed to die.
Then I thought of Maximilian and of the exquisite surname which he had won, and at last I saw the writing which had been all the time upon the wall.
Destiny will be served. For more than four hundred years that room had been swept and garnished, had stood ever ready and waiting for “The Last of the Knights.” Jonathan Mansel, Gentleman, had come into his own.
My eyes returned to the bed—to read as dreadful a message as ever I saw.
We had drawn the coverlet, before we had laid him down, exposing a silken quilt that had, I think, once been white, but was now yellow with age. Upon this there was now a great bloodstain, very slowly spreading about his hips.
The terrible sight shocked me, and I covered my eyes.
Adèle was speaking.
“Can we do nothing, my darling? No single thing?”
Very gently he shook his head.
“If we were in London,” he murmured, “they might have a shot: but I’m very comfortable, and it’s a great relief to know that we’re out of the wood.”
A dry sob shook Adèle.
“Another wood’s coming, Jonah: it’s very near: I must go into that alone—and there aren’t any leaves on the trees.”
Mansel smiled very tenderly.
“The spring’s in your heart, my darling. The trees will break at your coming, and the wood will become your bower.”
Adèle shook her lovely head.
“Ah, Jonah, I’ve no heart left. If we could have gone in together, I wouldn’t have cared: but it’s … so dreadful, Jonah … to face it alone.”
“Hush, my darling. William will see you through. Think only how rich you made me, that I’m going laden with a treasure which no Customs can take away. Remembering that, my lady, how can you mourn? See what a tide I’m taking. It’s never been half so high in all my life. I’m going out on the very full of the flood, and the ebb that might have hurt me will never run.”
“It’s our tide you’re taking, Jonah—our wonderful, shining tide. And I’ve got to stand on the shore and see it go down. I could have borne it with you. It never would have fallen, so long as you were beside me—to share our lovely secret and teach me to play the game.”
For the first time a troubled look came into his face.
“It’s better like this, my sweet. We might have slipped and fallen, or—”
“Never,” sobbed Adèle. “You know it. Not if Boy were to live for fifty years. You love me, and that’s enough. Your arms have been about me, and I’ve kissed your blessed lips, and I’d have lived on that memory—”
“Live on it still, my queen. Do me that matchless honour. Lift up the heart I touched, because I touched it, the eyes I kissed, because a man knelt and looked up and saw himself in them.”
“Oh, Jonah, if love could do it, it should be done. But it’s strength alone that can help me, and all my strength is in you. You don’t know your strength, my darling. You carry so lightly what no other man could lift. We’ve always leaned on you, Jonah: the first
