The Chevalier d'Auriac

Nicholas pointed to the window, then looked at the priming of his wheel lock pistol and whispered hoarsely, 'We must keep in the shadow, monsieur. Stay – this is the tree; you cannot mistake it, and now come on. Be careful not to trip or stumble, and, above all, do not cough.'

No worse warning than the latter could have been given to me, and I all but choked myself in my efforts to restrain an almost uncontrollable desire either to sneeze or cough. Luckily, I managed to hold myself in. Inch by inch we crept onwards, keeping well in the shadow, and edging our way round the frills of the forest. I could hear Nicholas breathing hard, and from time to time he stopped to rest; but I was a glad man to find I was not winded, and that therefore I must be truly as strong again as ever I was. At last, by dint of creeping, crawling, and wriggling along, we worked our way to within twenty paces of the terrace, above which the stained glass of the oriel window glowed with light. Here we came to a stop and watched. Sometimes we saw a shadow moving backwards and forwards in the light of the window, then the shadow was joined by another, and both stopped, as if the two men to whom they belonged were in earnest converse. The merriment from the courtyard was unceasing, and whatever may have been the dark plots weaving upstairs, below there was nothing but the can and the catch.

'We must get to the window,' I whispered with an inquiring look.

'By the terrace,' said Nicholas in answer, and as he spoke there came to us the faint but distinct sound of a horn, apparently from the very depths of the forest, and the notes roused a brace of hounds in the courtyard, who bayed into the night. Nicholas gripped my arm, and I turned to him in surprise. His face was pale, he was shaking all over like an aspen, and his black eyes were dilated with fear.

'Did you hear that, monsieur?' he said thickly.

'Diable! What? I hear three different things – dogs, men, and someone blowing a horn.'

'Then you did hear it – the horn?'

'Yes. What of it? No doubt a post on its way to Anet.'

'No post ever rang that blast, monsieur. That is the Wild Huntsman, and the blast means death.'

As he spoke it came again, wild and shrill with an eerie flourish, the like of which I had never heard before. The dogs seemed to go mad with the sound, there was a hubbub in the courtyard, and someone in the chamber above the terrace threw open the sash and peered out into the night. I thought at first it was de Gomeron; but the voice was not his, for, after looking for a moment, he gave a quick order to the men below and stepped in again. As for Nicholas, he seemed beside himself, and I had to hold him by main force by my side, or he would have broken and fled.

'Diable!' I said, 'sit still, fool – see, there are a couple of horsemen gone in search of your Wild Huntsman, who has been so nearly spoiling our soup. They will occupy him at any rate – sit still.'

The men rode by us slowly, one of them carrying a torch, and, turning to the right, trotted off into the forest, cursing the orders they had received to go forth after the horn-winder. As they passed, I began to breathe more freely, for had they gone to the left it was an even chance that they would have discovered our horses, owing to one of the beasts neighing, a danger always to be guarded against in an ambuscade. In a minute or so Nicholas, too, began to get more composed, and seeing this I determined to prick him into anger, for then he would fear nothing.

'Pull up, man,' I said; 'your ears lie beyond that pane of glass. Do you not want them back?'

He put his hand up to the side of his head with a muttered curse, to which de Gomeron's name was linked, and I saw that he was better.

'Now,' I whispered, 'for the window.'

'We must get to the terrace,' he answered. 'From there it might be done.' And with a hurried look behind him, at which I began to laugh in a low tone of mockery, he crawled forward rapidly. I followed with equal speed and caution, and in a half minute we had gained the shadow of the terrace, and, working along its ivy-covered wall, got to the main building. Here we cast about for some means to get up. It was not possible to do this by holding on to the ivy, as if it came away there would be a fall and all our fat would be in the fire. The ascent had to be made noiselessly, and, as I looked at the high wall before us, I began to think it was impossible. Running my eye on the lichen-grey face of the main building, however, I noticed something that looked like a series of huge monograms, with a crescent above each, cut in high relief on the stones, beginning about ten feet from the ground.

'We might get up that way,' I whispered.

Nicholas nodded, with a pale face. In his excitement he had forgotten the Wild Huntsman, much to my satisfaction.

'Bend then, and I will ascend from your back.'

He leaned forwards against the wall, and climbing on to his shoulders, I found that I might possibly raise myself by the monograms, which I discovered to be the letters H. D. interlaced in one another, the initials of the second Henry and Diane de Poitiers; and the crescent was, as is well-known, Madame Diane's crest. Taking a long breath, I lifted myself slowly – there was but an inch or so to hold on to – and at last found a crevice in which I could just put the point of my boot. This was enough for me to change my hold to the next higher monogram, and finally I came to a level with the parapet of the terrace. Here there was a difficulty. Every time I stretched my hand out to grasp the parapet I found that I could not reach over, and that my fingers slipped off from the slime and moss on the stones. Three times I made the attempt, and swung back three times, until I began to feel that the effort was beyond me. There was, however, one chance, and quietly thrusting my boot forward, I began to feel amidst the ivy for a possible foothold, and, to my delight, found it rest at once on a small projecting ledge that ran round the terrace. The remainder of my task was easy, and the next moment I found myself lying flat on my face beneath the oriel window.

Here I paused to recover myself, peering down at Nicholas, who was making an attempt to raise himself by his hands to reach the monograms and climb to me. 'Steady,' I whispered, 'and catch this.' Rapidly unwinding a silken sash I wore round my waist, in the fashion I had learned when serving in Spain, I dropped one end towards him, and after an effort or two he managed to seize it. Then I looped a fold of the silk round a buttress of the parapet, and, holding on to the other end, told Nicholas to climb, and as the sash tightened suddenly, I cast up a prayer that it might not break. It was, however, of Eastern make, and one may have hung a bombard to it with safety. I heard Nicholas breathing hard, and once or twice the ivy rustled more than it ought to have, but at last his head appeared over the parapet and he too was beside me. A moment after we saw the flash of a torch in the forest and heard the voices of the men who had gone forth returning, and then three instead of two horsemen appeared, riding towards the main entrance.

'There, Nicholas, is your Wild Huntsman. Are you satisfied now?'

And he hung his head like a great dog that has been detected in something wrong.

'Now for the window,' I said. 'I will rise slowly and find out what I can. You keep your pistol ready and your eyes open. Do not rise, and remember my orders.'

'There is a broken pane to the left; it is half-hidden by the curtain. You can hear and see from there.'

As he said this I rose softly to my feet, and finding the broken pane without any difficulty, peered in.

The room was bright with the light of candles, and at a table covered with papers were seated two men, whilst a third was standing and pointing with his fingers at a scroll. In the man with his back to me I had no difficulty in recognising de Gomeron. The one looking towards me was assuredly Biron, for his was a face that once seen could never be forgotten. As for the man who was standing beside him, I knew him not, though subsequently – but I anticipate.

Biron was evidently in a high state of excitement. He was biting at the end of his dark moustache, and the fingers of his hand were playing nervously with the star on his breast, whilst his shifty, treacherous eyes were turning now on de Gomeron, now on the figure standing at his elbow. He seemed to be hesitating, and I heard de Gomeron say:

'This is my price – not money, not land, not a title, but only a few words. You have each one, my lord, your share of the spoils, set down in writing. I do not want so much even. All I ask is your word of honour to favour my suit with the King. For me the word of Biron is enough, and I know his Majesty can refuse you nothing.'

'My God!' exclaimed Biron, and writhed in his chair.

'The Marshal might give me the promise I seek, Lafin,' and de Gomeron turned to the man who was standing at Biron's elbow. 'The word will give me a wife – not much of a reward.'

'And the lands of Bidache and Pelouse, eh?'

I almost fell forwards in my eagerness to hear, and only checked myself in time.

'Exactly,' sneered de Gomeron. 'Do you think I have risked my life for the good of my health? See here, Chevalier,' and he bent forward and whispered a word or so that made the other pale, and then de Gomeron leaned back in his chair and smiled. Biron did not apparently see or hear. His forehead was resting on his clasped hand, and he seemed to be revolving the hazard of some great step. As for me, I thought I caught the words, 'your instant help,' followed by 'lances' and 'power,' and guessed – I was not wrong – that the captain had forced Lafin's hand.

'My dear de Gomeron,' he said, 'the Marshal is willing enough, but you know the common talk, that the King has other views for Madame, and that M. d'Ayen – ' But Biron interposed:

'M. de Gomeron, you ask too much. Madame de la Bidache is of the first nobility. Tremouille was my friend. It is too much.'

'And I give Monseigneur a crown.'

'Peste! My lord, after all M. de Gomeron has deserved his price, and a good sword and a better head must not be thrown away. Remember, monseigneur, an open hand makes faithful hearts,' said Lafin.

'But the King would never consent,' began Biron.

'Give me your word to help me, monseigneur. I will do the rest for myself.'

'Give it, my lord.'

Biron hesitated for a moment, and then suddenly threw up his hands. 'Very well, let it be as you wish. I promise, M. de Gomeron.'

'Enough, my lord; I thank you. The Chevalier Lafin has laid before you in detail all our resources. Let me now show you this.' He unrolled a parchment that was before him, and handed it to the Marshal. 'Here,' he added, 'are the signatures of all. It only needs that of Biron; now sign.'

I could hear the beating of my heart in the silence that followed, and then Biron said hoarsely, 'No! no! I will never put my name to paper.'

'Morbleu! Marshal,' burst out Lafin, 'This is no time for nibbling at a cherry. Tremouille and Epernon have signed. Put your seal to the scroll, and the day it reaches M. de Savoye, thirty thousand troops are across the frontier, and you will change the cabbage gardens of Biron for the coronet of Burgundy and La Breese.'

'And see your head on a crown piece, Marshal,' added de Gomeron.

'But we have not heard, Lafin – ' began the Marshal.

'We will hear to-night, monseigneur – that horn meant news, and Zamet never fails. Curse the low-bred Italian! Pardieu! he is here,' and as he spoke, I heard what seemed to be three distinct knocks at a carved door, and, Lafin opening it, a man booted and spurred entered the room. He was splashed with mud as one who had ridden fast and far.

'Zamet!' exclaimed the Marshal and de Gomeron, both rising, and the face of the former was pale as death.

'Good evening, gentlemen! Maledetto! But I have had a devil of a ride, and some fool kept winding a will-o'-the-wisp kind of horn that led me a fine dance. It was lucky I met your men.'

'Then that blast we heard was not yours?'

'Corpo di Bacco! No, Chevalier.'

I was a glad man to think that Nicholas, who was crouching at my feet, did not hear this, or there might have been a catastrophe, but that indeed was not long delayed.

'Well, friends, you all seem to have pale faces – would you not like to hear the news? I have ridden post to tell you.'

There was no answer, and the Italian continued: 'I suppose I must give it, make your minds easy. It is all over – she died last night. We are free at any rate from the enmity of Gabrielle – she knew too much.'

'Did it hurt her?' asked Biron nervously.

'I don't know,' answered Zamet brutally, 'I have never tasted the Borgia citron myself.'

'Mon Dieu!' exclaimed the Marshal, springing to his feet, 'this is too terrible,' and he began to pace up and down, whilst the other three remained in whispered converse, their eyes now and again turning to Biron, who walked the room like a caged beast. Nicholas had risen slowly to his feet despite my orders, and was looking over my shoulders with a white face and blazing eyes. I dared not tell him to go back; but, with a warning look at him, strained my ears to catch what was being said, but could hear nothing, until at length Zamet raised his voice: 'Have done with it, Marshal, and sign. After all, Madame de Beaufort was no more than a – ,' and he used a foul word. 'The King is prostrate now; but in a week Gabrielle will be forgotten, and then anything might happen. He is beginning to recover. He already writes verses on the lost one,' he went on with a grin, 'charmante Gabrielle —diavolo! but you should have seen her as she lay dead – she was green as a jade cup.'

'Be still, dog,' and Biron turned fiercely on him. The Italian stepped back, his hand on his dagger; but in a moment he recovered himself. His black eyebrows lifted, and his upper lip drew back over his teeth in a sneer.

'I did not know Monseigneur would be so affected; but time presses and we need the name of Biron to that scroll. Hand the Marshal the pen, Lafin.'

'It is here,' and de Gomeron, dipping a pen in a silver ink-stand, held it out in his hand.

Biron made a half step forward to take it, when a thing happened. I felt myself suddenly thrust aside, and there was a blinding flash, a loud report, and a shout from Nicholas, 'Missed, by God!'

There was absolutely no time to do anything but make for the horses. Nicholas had fired at de Gomeron in his mad thirst for revenge, and had practically given our lives away. In the uproar and din that followed we slid down the sash like apes, and dashed towards the horses. Some one shouted 'Traitor – traitor,' and let fly at us twice as we ran across the open space. From the courtyard we could hear the hurry and bustle of men suddenly aroused, and as we reached the oak we heard the bay of the bloodhounds, and the thunder of hoofs in pursuit.

CHAPTER VII

POOR NICHOLAS!

From the oak to the spot where our horses were tethered was close upon fifty paces, and never, I think, was ground covered at a speedier rate by men running for their lives. I was bursting with anger, and know not what restrained me from pistolling Nicholas, so furious was I at the blind folly of the man. As we reached the horses, we could hear the dogs splashing through the spill-water at the edge of the lake, and someone fired a third shot at us from horseback – a shot in the dark which whistled through the branches overhead.

'Quick! quick, monsieur! 'gasped Nicholas, and with a turn of his hand he freed Couronne, and sprang to her back – the great mare standing steady as a rock.

'Quick!' he called out again more loudly, and I made a vain effort to loosen my beast, which, startled by the shots, the baying of the dogs, and our haste and hurry, plunged and kicked as though it were demented.

'Damn you!' I hissed, half at the horse, half at the crop-eared idiot who had caused this disaster, and, managing somehow to scramble to the saddle, cut the halter with a draw of my dagger. At this moment the dogs reached us; a dark object sprang up from the ground, and, fastening on the jaws of my horse, brought him to his knees, whilst the other beast flew at my companion. Nicholas' pistol rang out to no purpose, the report was echoed by a chorus of shouts from the troopers following us, and Couronne, swinging round, lashed out with her heels at the hound that was baying her. Leaning forward with one arm half round the neck of my snorting horse, I thrust twice at the hound hanging to him, the first time sliding off his metal collar, but at the second blow my blade slipped to the hilt into something soft, it seemed of its own accord, and as the dead dog fell suddenly back, bearing my poniard with it, my freed horse rose to its feet, and mad with pain dashed forwards into the teeth of our pursuers. I let him go – one might as well have tried to stop the rush of a mad bull. By a miracle I escaped being torn off by the overhanging branches, and as we raced into the open, Nicholas at my heels shouting 'To the north! to the north!' we were not twenty paces away from the troopers. My frantic horse went straight at them, and, driving my spurs home, I made him leap at the foremost horseman. His animal swerved off – a piece of good luck for both of us. Then my pistol missed fire, and I was in the midst of them. The quarters were so close, and the confusion so great, that at first only those on the outside could use their weapons, and in their hurry to do so some of these perhaps struck at each other. One man, however, shortened his sword, and would have run me through had I not luckily seen the flash of the blade and given him the heavy iron-bound butt of my pistol on the forehead. He was probably much hurt, but although he lurched backwards senseless, so close was the press that he was held in his saddle. The butt of the pistol was broken off by the blow, and for the moment I was disarmed. I dared not call out to Nicholas for fear of being recognised; but at this juncture horse and man on my right seemed to be dashed to earth, and Nicholas was at my elbow, striking right and left with the heavy hilt of his sword. Profiting by the relief, I drew out my second pistol and shot the man before me. Pressing against his mount with my brave little nag, who was now in hand again, I got clear, and, with a shout to Nicholas to follow, dashed off towards the north. It was at this moment that three other riders galloped up, and I heard de Gomeron call out, 'Sangdieu! They are off. After them, dogs,' and clapping spurs to his beast he rode after us. We had, however, gained a full twenty yards' start, which was more than trebled by the few seconds' delay before the troopers could recover themselves and follow. My horse was going at racing pace; but Couronne kept by his side with a long and effortless stride. De Gomeron was at our heels, and with a sudden rush ranged alongside of Nicholas. The sergeant possibly did not recognise his assailant, and managed somehow to parry the cut aimed at him, and the next moment de Gomeron's horse stumbled and went down; but the man himself, who was a rare horseman, fell on his feet like a cat. It was, however, a moment more of respite, and Nicholas, with a wild cheer, dashed into the forest, riding recklessly through the trees. We both leaned forward to the necks of our horses, and as far as I was concerned I made no attempt to guide my beast, but let him follow Couronne, who, surefooted as a stag, turned and twisted amongst the trees with almost human forethought. The single hound that was left strained bravely behind us; but, mindful probably of the fate that had overtaken his brother, made no direct attack. As we dashed into the wood the troopers attempted to follow; but it was with a relaxed speed, and every moment we were distancing them, and their cries, shouts, and curses became fainter and more faint. I began to think if we could but be rid of the sleuthhound, we would get off with whole skins. The beast was, however, not to be shaken off, and, avoiding the heels of the horses, came with a lop, lop, through the leaves alongside my nag, just out of reach of the point of my sword, which I had managed to draw. As he snapped and growled, my horse, already once wounded, and still smarting with pain, shied off from him, bruising my leg against a tree trunk, in the bark of which my spur remained, and all but unseating me. Another shy amongst the trees would have finished my business, for the pain of the bruise at the moment was exquisite; but, leaping a fallen log, Nicholas burst through a juniper bush, and my horse following him, we came on to an open stretch which sloped down to the river.

'Ouf! Out of it at last!' I gasped out to Nicholas.

'It's a mile yet to the river, monsieur,' he answered, slackening pace slightly to allow me to get alongside of him.

The dog, however, was not yet shaken off, and kept steadily beside my horse. In the bright moon I could see him running freely and easily; and, much as I cursed his presence there, I could not help but admire the gallant beast. He seemed to know perfectly the danger that lay in the long shining sword, that thrust out at him like a snake's tongue whenever he came too near.

I, however, owed him one for the bruise, and it was not a time to waste in admiring things. So I called to Nicholas.

'Slacken pace a little more. I want to be rid of the dog.'

'We can kill him in the river,' answered the sergeant.

'Better stop him here,' and Nicholas obeyed.

Seeing us slacken, the hound tried to head the horses. This was exactly what I wanted; and shortening the reins, I pulled round my nag suddenly, right upon the dog, and, stooping low, gave him a couple of inches in the quarters as he attempted to double. It was not a wound that would kill. I had no intention, unless forced to, of doing that; but it had the desired effect, and he fled back howling with pain.

'Adieu, monsieur!' I cried out after him with a laugh, and joining the sergeant we cantered on through the clearing towards the river.

The ill-will I felt towards Nicholas had gone by this time. He had borne himself like a brave man, as he was; and, after all, if I had been in his position I would perhaps have done the same, and let drive at de Gomeron at sight. My little nag, however, at this time began to show signs of distress, and I turned my attention from the sergeant to husbanding the poor beast's strength – patting him on his foam-covered neck to encourage him, and speaking to him in the manner that horses love. Pardieu! If men only knew it, there are moments when a touch of the hand and a kind word are better than four-inch spurs.

We came to a narrow patch now, and rode down this, the river being in sight, winding like a silver ribbon thrown carelessly down. On the opposite bank it was overhung with willows, whose drooping boughs swung low to the very surface of the water. Here and there the stump of a felled tree stood up like a sentinel. In the distance, behind us, we could hear one or two of the troopers, who had by this time managed to get through the wood, yelling and shouting as they urged their horses towards the river. Doubtless more would soon follow, and I cursed them loudly and heartily. Nicholas looked back.

'But fifteen yards of a swim, monsieur, and we are safe.'

'Not exactly. See there?'

The sergeant followed my outstretched blade, and swore too. Right before us two men galloped out of a strip of coppice that stretched to the water's edge and cut us off from the stream.

'Sacrebleu! How did they know that cut? Have at them, monsieur.'

And we did.

It had to be a matter of moments only. The troopers behind were coming on, and, if once they reached us, we could not well hope to escape again; the odds were too many. I did not, therefore, waste time, but went straight for my man, and, to do him justice, he seemed nothing loath to meet me. He cut over the shoulder, and, receiving this on my forte, I gave him the point in the centre of his breastplate, making it ring like a bell. Only a Milanese corselet could have saved him as it did. My nag went on, but turned on its haunches to the reins, and before he could well recover himself I was at him again, and discovered that he wore a demi-mask on his face.