The Chevalier d'Auriac

'The guns – the guns – turn them on the King!'

'They are spiked,' someone gave answer, with a grim, hopeless laugh.

As he heard this reply, de Leyva slipped sideways, and would have fallen had I not sprang forward and supported him with my arm. He leaned his smitten frame against me for a moment, and something that was like a sob burst from him. But he recovered himself on the instant, and with the strength so often given to those who are about to die, pushed me aside with an oath, and shaking his broken blade in the face of the advancing line, fell forwards in a huddled mass, a dead man.

The next moment the enemy were on us. We met them with a row of pikes; but what could we do, for we were few in number, weary with the long struggle, and weak with wounds? The issue was never in doubt, and they broke us at once. I have a vague memory of fighting for dear life amidst a thunder of hoofs, and the hissing sweep of swords, but was ridden down by some one, and all became dark around me.

When my mind came back, it was with the consciousness of rain that was falling softly, and the cool drops plashed on my burning head with a sensation of relief that I cannot describe. I suffered from an intolerable thirst, and strove to rise that I might find means to quench it; but found I was powerless to move, and writhed in my agony in the rut amidst the corn-stalks wherein I had fallen. The rain was but a passing shower, and when it ceased a light but cool breeze sprang up. It was night, and a fitful moon shone through the uneasy clouds that hurried to and fro overhead in the uncertain breeze, which shifted its quarter as often as a child might change its mind. I seemed to be alive only in the head, and began to wonder to myself how long I was to lie there until death came, and with it the end of all things. I began to wish it would come quickly, and there was a secret whispering in my soul to pray – to pray to the God of whom I had never thought since childhood – to entreat that Invisible Being, at whose existence I had so often laughed, to stoop from above the stars and end my pain, and I cursed myself for a white-livered cur that forgot the Godhead in my strength, and in my weakness could almost have shrieked to him for help. I pulled my fainting courage up, as I thought that if there was no God, it was useless wasting my breath in calling on him, whilst if, on the other hand, there was one, no prayer of mine could go higher than my sword's point, were I to hold the blade out at arm's length above me – and now that the end was coming, I was not going to cringe and whimper. So my sinful pride caught me by the heel as I lay there in my dolour.

A half-hour or so may have passed thus, and the moon was now almost entirely obscured. Occasionally I could hear through the darkness around me the moaning of some poor wounded wretch, and now and again rose the shrill discordant shriek of a maimed horse, an awful cry of pain, the effect of which those only who may have heard it can understand. Soon a number of twinkling lights began to hover over the plain. Sometimes they moved forward rapidly, sometimes they were raised and lowered, and at other times stationary. Gradually two of these lanthorns came closer to me, stopping about ten paces off, and when I saw who bore them I knew at once they were death-hunters, and that in a few moments the knife of one of these ghouls might end my suffering. There were two of these fiends, a man and a woman, and as they halted the man stooped: there was a choking cry for mercy, the blow of a dagger, and a groan. The robber busied himself in searching the dead man's person, and, in the silence that followed, the woman with him threw up her head and laughed a horrid shrill laugh. It pealed out with so eerie a sound that the death-hunter sprang to his feet; but finding who it was, burst into the foulest language.

'Sangdieu! Be still, fool,' he snarled, 'or you'll laugh another way if I tickle you with my knife.'

'Oh, ho! The brave Mauginot,' answered the she-devil, 'you will tickle me with your butcher knife – will you? I, too, can make you skip,' and she shook a bright dagger in her long lean arm, but suddenly changing her tone, 'Pouf!' she said, 'there is no use in squabbling, partner. This is the sixth we have helped to hell to-night, and not a broad piece amongst them. Holy Virgin! This is a field of paupers – let us begone!' and to my joy she made as if to go.

'Stay Babette! what shines there?' and Mauginot ran forward a couple of paces, and bending low wrenched something from a body, and then stood up, holding it to the light.

I saw his face clearly, and saw also his prize. It was poor de Leyva's collar of the Golden Fleece, and the blood-stained hand of the croquemort held it up to the lantern, and clinked the jewelled links, whilst he feasted his eyes on the gold and gems. Over his shoulders peered the pitiless features of his partner, and in her eyes blazed all the bad light of avarice and murder. I almost held my breath as I watched the eyes of the woman leave the jewel and turn on the man with death in their look. As for him, he was unconscious of the knife quivering in the nervous fingers behind him, and he chuckled over his find.

'That is the collar of the Toison d'Or, Babette. Sacre chien! But I will wed you, and we will buy an estate and settle down, and you will be Madame de Mauginot – hey! That carrion there must have been a great prince – a field of paupers – bah! Give me more paupers like this. I am sorry he is dead, Babette, I would like to have – Ah, mon Dieu!– you devil! you devil!' for as he babbled on, his words were cut short by Babette's knife, which was buried to the hilt between his shoulder-blades, and he fell on his knees and then lurched on his face stone dead. The murderess made a snatch at the jewel, which I saw her conceal, and then with a mocking 'Adieu, M. de Mauginot!' to her victim, stepped over my body and moved out of sight, swinging her lantern, and laughing low to herself.

As I watched this hideous scene, I for the moment forgot the pain of my hurts; but they soon began to assert themselves in such a manner that I longed for the relief that unconsciousness would afford, nor indeed would I have been sorry if the night-hag, Babette, had come back and put an end to me. My senses half failed me again, and I felt myself tottering on the brink of delirium. I caught myself shouting and speaking out aloud in a mad manner; but I had no power of stopping myself. So the long hours of the night passed, and at last it was dawn once more, and morning came.

Lying with my ear against the ground, I heard the dull beat of horses' hoofs, growing louder and more distinct as they approached, and in a little time the party, whoever they were, rode into the cornfield. For a second my eyes were dazzled by the reflection of the sun on the silver-plate of their armour; but I recovered myself with an effort, and watched eagerly, intending to cry out for help as they passed me, for my voice was too weak to reach where they were. There were two ladies amongst them, and all appeared to be looking with much concern and anxiety for some one. As they came closer I saw it was the King himself, with Madame Gabrielle and another lady, doubtless of the court, and a numerous retinue. Henry was mounted on his famous bay charger; and, as he lifted his hat and looked silently around him, I had good opportunity of observing the man who was without doubt the most heroic figure of the age, and who united in himself the most opposite extremes of character. I saw before me a spare figure, the head covered with short black hair, a long hooked nose that fell over the upper lip, and a sharp protruding chin, half hidden in a beard tinged with grey. His long curled moustaches were white as snow, and the story went that they had become so on the night when the Edicts of Pacification were revoked by the last of the Valois. Under his bushy eyebrows his keen restless eyes glittered like two beads, but for the moment they seemed dilated with a soft light, and there was an infinite sadness in them as he looked round the bloody field.

'I am afraid we search in vain, madame,' and a tall cavalier mounted on a big bay addressed Madame de Beaufort. She nodded her head to him sadly, and turned to the King.

'It is useless, sire, and I can bear this no longer – it is too horrible – let us go.'

'Mignonne, you are right – this is no place for you. Roquelaure will see you and your little friend there back, and I will come to you soon – but now I have a letter to write – just a few lines to Béarn.' The King spoke with a strong southern accent, and as he spoke leaned forward and caressed Madame Gabrielle's hand. She, however, declined to go. 'I will wait, sire, but it shall be with my eyes shut,' and the King's mistress, whose cheeks were very pale, put her hand to her eyes as if to shut out the sight around her. The lady with Madame de Beaufort coming nearer at this time, I recognised my unknown Madame of the outposts, who had evidently found her way back to her friends. But it was with a bitter disappointment that I saw her in the company of the duchess, and evidently in attendance on her. Madame was nothing to me I thought, but I could not associate her with the fallen woman who was the mistress of the King. I was learning the lesson that love comes on a man like a thief in the night, and, unconsciously to myself, Madame had climbed on a pinnacle in my heart, and the thought that I had deceived myself in my estimate of her moved me to sudden anger, and stilled the cry for help that was rising to my lips – I would have no help from her and her friends.

In the meantime the King was busily engaged in writing his despatch on a small tablet, which he rested on the pommel of his saddle, and as he wrote he repeated the words aloud, and the purport of the note, which was to de la Force at Pau, was to send him a dozen young peach-trees, carefully packed in mould, each in a tin case one foot long, these to be planted in his gardens of St. Germain.

As he was thus engaged, a little shrivelled old man pushed his horse beside Madame de Beaufort, and said in mincing tones as hard as steel. 'Come, madame, your brother has met a soldier's death, and no Frenchman can hope for a better – or he is safe and well somewhere. Dry your tears, and rejoice at the glorious victory we have won.' The duchess made some answer in a broken voice, and the King, hearing her, stopped writing and put his tablet away.

'M'amye! D'Ayen speaks rightly, though he speaks from the head. God keep us from more scenes like this. As for your brother, de Cœuvres, I will not rest till there is news of him; but now we can do no more. Come, then – open your pretty eyes and we will go – there is much on hand.'

I was a hot-headed fool and furious in those days, and I set my teeth together grimly as they made ready to start, swearing I would rather die than make the slightest signal for aid. They rode past quite close to me – Gabrielle weeping at the King's bridle hand, and his Majesty sucking at a nectarine he had pulled from his holster. Madame was immediately behind, and as she came up to me, our eyes met with an instant recognition. In a moment her cheek had crimsoned and paled, and she reined in with a cry:

'Stop – halt!'

'It is Louis – Louis – O God, no!' exclaimed Madame de Beaufort, swinging round, the glad note in her voice breaking as she saw I was not her brother, de Cœuvres; but Madame had already dismounted and was holding my head up, and gently passing a handkerchief over my face.

They had all surrounded me now, and I heard quick orders given.

'He is past mending,' said d'Ayen, bending over me from his saddle, 'a gentleman, too, it seems. Let him lie there – he will die very soon, poor devil!'

'Mon Dieu! No!' broke in the duchess, and Madame looked at the speaker with a cold contempt.

'He is the only man living here,' and the strong accent of the Béarnais came as from a distance; 'Ventre-saint-Gris! But they fought like paladins, and Frenchman or foreigner, he shall be saved if it can be done.'

'Sire,' said a soft voice, 'you are the true King of the brave.'

Then two men-at-arms raised me with a rough gentleness on their crossed spears, and inflicted on me in their kindness the most infinite torture. The King himself pressed a flask of wine to my lips, and, as I drank greedily, two cool hands held up my head. Then we moved on slowly, Madame refusing to ride, but walking by my side, and supporting my burning head.

CHAPTER IV

THE CHATEAU DE LA BIDACHE

Months had passed since I shook hands with death in the cornfield by the banks of the Oise, and the grass was tall and green on the mounds around La Fère which marked the graves of those who had fought and died there, in reality for the hand of Spain, in spirit for the League that was dead. It was autumn now, and as I, well and strong again, walked down the long avenue of beeches that led to the park gates of Bidache, I let my memory run back to the days in the hospital of Ste. Geneviève, whither I was borne from the field; to the soft-voiced, gentle-handed sisters of mercy; to the physician Marescot, the King's own leech, with his acid face and kind heart, who doctored me; and above all to the tall, slight, black-robed figure that came to see me daily, and for whose coming I used to long, in the dreary hours of my pain, with an infinite desire. I argued with myself on the absurdity of the thing – here was I, hardened by ten years of campaigning which ought to have taught me the world, conquered out of hand by the glance of a pair of bright eyes, and the tones of a sweet voice. As the days wore on, I cursed myself for the unworthy suspicions that had come to me and tied my tongue when I lay wounded, and was rescued by chance, and her charity. Who or what she was I cared not, and recklessly abandoned myself to the feelings that were aroused in my heart.

I shall not forget what happened one afternoon. A long gallery in the convent of Ste. Geneviève had been turned into a ward, and here the wounded lay on pallets with a walking space between. Owing to Madame's kindness I was comfortably quartered at the end of the gallery, and a screen had been set between me and the other patients. I was gaining strength daily, and, at the moment I speak of, was in a state between sleeping and waking, when I heard a laugh and the sound of footsteps, and saw through the partly open wing of the screen that my lady had come to make her daily rounds, not attended as usual only by her women, but by a gaily-dressed cavalier as well, and it was his laugh that I had heard. In this person, dressed in the extreme of fashion, I made out M. d'Ayen, the same who had so kindly suggested that I should be left to die in the field. He pattered along, holding a kerchief edged with gold lace to his nose, and ever and again waving it in the air, whilst he spoke in a loud tone, regardless of the looks cast at him by the sisters in attendance on the wounded. They came slowly towards me, for Madame stayed constantly to speak to some maimed wretch, and I saw her slip money into the hands of some, and there were kind words for all. I felt a strange pleasure in watching her, whilst at the same time I thought of my past, and how unfit I was even to nurse such a dream as my love for her. When within a yard or so of the screen, Madame bent over a sufferer, and d'Ayen exclaimed in his biting voice —

'Morbleu! Madame! But you are the Princess of Charity. Let us hasten to your interesting patient, however. His Majesty is most anxious to hear of him.'

'His Majesty has never done me the honour to inquire,' she answered coldly.

'You could hardly expect that, madame. But it came about in this way. We were at flux, and as usual I held a bad cascade – '

But Madame, to whom his presence was unwelcome, waited to hear no more, and passing the screen, came to my side, and would have spoken; d'Ayen, however, cut in with a rudeness for which I could have run him through.

'My compliments, M. d'Auriac. You are a lucky man. The King takes so great an interest in you that he has charged me with a message to you. His Majesty bids me say,' and his bead-like eyes twinkled down on me from his painted cheeks, and then turned slily towards Madame.

I waited for him to continue, and he went on, talking as if his words were meant for Madame as well.

'His Majesty trusts you will soon be recovered, and relieve Madame de la Bidache from the strain of watching you, and begs me to add that he is of a temper that can brook no rival in war – or love. Let me say, on my own account, that it would be well if M. le Chevalier would take a change of air.'

I looked from one to another in blank amaze – at the little ape with his cruel eyes, and at Madame, who was still as a stone. Then she coloured to her eyelids, her hands fell clenched to her side, and she turned on d'Ayen.

'Such a message, monsieur, should not have been delivered before me. I will take care that M. d'Auriac has a change of air; and, monsieur, your presence oppresses me. I beg you will not trouble to escort me farther.'

Then she turned from us and passed down the ward, but d'Ayen remained.

'I will kill you for this,' I gasped.

He looked at me with a shrug of his lean shoulders.

'Perhaps – I am old. But you would do well to take my advice, monsieur,' and with a bow he too turned and went.

I was left lost in wonder, utterly in the dark as to what this all meant, but determined to find out and bring d'Ayen to book at the first chance. I made up my mind to ask the next day. The next day came; but Madame did not, and then another and yet another day of dreariness passed. At last someone, I forget who, told me she had gone with the court to Nantes, and that I would see her no more. Later on, when Marescot came to me, I begged the favour of his getting me the knot of ribbon he would find in the lefthand breast pocket of the doublet I wore on the day I was brought into the hospital.

'You are getting well,' he said, and turned away, but came back in a little with a wrinkled smile on his lips, 'I cannot find the cordial you want, Chevalier.'

I had half raised my head in expectancy as he returned, but sank back again at his words, and Marescot went on in his low voice that sounded like the humming of a bee. 'M. le Chevalier, that bow of ribbon has gone away, so high up that a taller man than you could not reach it. Forget it. But I have news for you, which the clumsy fool who told you of Madame's departure should have given you: you are to go to Bidache shortly, and stay there until you are well again. It will not be for long. After that, try the tonic of the Italian war. France will be all ploughshares now that the King is king.'

I caught him by the sleeve of his soutane. 'Tell me,' I said weakly, 'who is Madame, where is Bidache?'

'Madame, as we all call her, is Claude de Rochemars, widow of Antoine de la Tremouille, and heiress of Bidache, Pelouse, and a quarter of the Cevennes. Bidache, where you go, is her chateau in Normandy. Madame,' he went on with a ghost of a smile on his thin lips, 'is kindness itself. Now no more talk for to-day.' Then he went, and I lay back, as sore in mind as in body.

In a day or so Madame's steward of Bidache arrived, bearing a letter from her, in which, as a poor return for the service I had done her – so she put it – she placed her Norman chateau at my disposal until I was well again. I had a mind to refuse; but in my state could summon up no such resolution, and, muttering my thanks to the steward, said they could do what they listed with me. They moved me here by easy stages, carrying me in a litter as I was too weak to ride, and when I came to Bidache, and was borne to my apartments, imagine my joy and surprise at seeing there my knave Jacques, whom I thought to be either dead or home again at Auriac; and not only Jacques, but hanging on the wall my own sword, and the sight of it was like meeting a tried friend. Later on, Jacques informed me that after the rout he had made the best of his way back to the old rock, and stayed there, hoping for news of me. At last it came, with orders for him to hurry to Bidache, and he did so, bearing with him such things as he thought I needed, as well as a hundred pistoles of rents, the same being half the sum due to me for my rights over the fish in the bay of Auriac. As for the sword, it had been given to him on his arrival by Madame's orders to keep for me. I had come to a low ebb by this, and the money was trebly welcome, as it would furnish me with a couple of horses, and leave a round sum besides when I left Bidache, which I meant to do as soon as ever I was fit to travel. And now the time had come for me to depart, and I was to start that evening. For forty crowns Jacques had picked up a couple of stout cobs at Evreux, and we meant to leave an hour or so before sundown and make for Paris, where, if the King would accept an old leaguer's sword, we would stay; if not, the world was wide. I was as far as ever from understanding the strange message that M. d'Ayen had delivered to me, and felt myself safe in going to Paris, as a general amnesty covered all our sins of rebellion – so they were called now.

So absorbed was I in these thoughts, that I did not mark the rapid approach of a horseman, nor indeed was I aware of his presence until, when within a few yards of me, he reigned in his plunging beast, whose bit and neck were white with foam, and lifting his hat respectfully, inquired if I was the Chevalier d'Auriac and on my reply exclaimed, 'Madame will be overjoyed. We heard that you had already left Bidache, and my lady arrives within the hour from Evreux. Pardon, monsieur – I go to give the news to the household,' and, saluting again, the lackey dashed onwards towards the chateau.

So I would meet her within the hour. Half unconsciously I glanced down to see if my doublet sat aright and my points were tied. Then I thought I would go back to the house and meet her there, and, as I did this, I looked at the fall of the plumes in my hat, and, finally, laughing at myself for a coxcomb, took my heart in both hands, and marched onwards towards the gates. The porter had already been warned, and on my coming I found him there with a crowd of yokels, all in a state of high excitement.

'It is three years since Madame was here, monsieur,' the honest fellow exclaimed to me as I came up, 'three years, and now she comes without a word of warning —hola! There they are, and there is Madame on the jennet she purchased from M. le duc de Sully – he was but the Sieur de Rosny then —hola! hola!'

The crowd joined with him in his cheers, although as yet the party was far off – not so far, however, that I could not easily make out the graceful figure on the jennet, and in the two riders who accompanied Madame, apart from the half-dozen servants behind, I recognised to my surprise d'Ayen, and guessed that the grey-beard in the tall-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, with the sad-coloured cloak over his shoulders, was no other than the old Huguenot, whose zeal had outrun his discretion on the night when I saved Madame from a great peril.

This guess of mine I hazarded aloud to the gate-keeper, who replied:

'Yes, M. le Chevalier, that is Maître Palin, Madame's chaplain, and he was also chaplain to M. le Compte before he died.'

'When was it that M. le Compte died?'

'Let me see, monsieur – ah, yes – four years ago in Paris, at the time of the Plague. He was a great lord, as you may know, and brother of the duke, who they say has quarrelled with the King because of his conversion, and of Madame Charlotte, the Princess of Condé, who lives in the Rue Grenelle, and whom the King kept for long a close prisoner in the tower of St. Jean d'Angely – no one knows why; but it is buzzed that Monseigneur, the Prince of Condé, the King's cousin, died of a flask of wine, and that the Princess – but hola! hola! welcome to your own house, madame,' and he dropped on his knees as the cavalcade rode up, and presented the keys of the chateau gates slung on a silver chain to their mistress. She bent from the saddle and touched them with her hand, and the peasantry surrounded her with hearty greeting, hedging her in with cheerful red faces and broad smiles, so that she could not move. Meanwhile, I stood apart, tugging at my moustache, wondering by what right d'Ayen rode at her bridle hand, and feeling how true Marescot's words were, that the bow of ribbon was hung too high for me. Not that it was a question of birth – de Breuil of Auriac was a name that was old when Tremouille was unknown; but – there were other things which made all the difference, and men and women of the world will understand what I mean when I say this.