Vayenne

The Dukes of Montvilliers had ever been autocrats, asking advice but seldom, and Herrick, even if he had wished to be otherwise, was forced into the same position. To none did he explain all his thoughts and actions. Only Jean knew that Pierre Briant and the charcoal-burners were searching for the hag. Only Lemasle knew what steps he had taken to meet the dangers that threatened on the frontier. Only de Bornais had been his counsellor in other matters, and he had encouraged Father Bertrand to visit Christine and bring her to reason. He had not attempted to see her again himself.

Jean was alone with him when news came from Pierre Briant.

"Sir, we found her lying on a heap of dead leaves in the most solitary depths of the forest," said the soldier.

"She cursed us for not leaving her to die in peace. She was ill, of that there was no doubt, and we carried her to the charcoal-burners' hut. She is still alive, but Briant thought it would not do to bring her to Vayenne. The journey would probably kill her."

"We will come to her to-morrow," said Herrick. "Hasten back at once, and tell Pierre Briant to treat her well, and keep her alive."

The man saluted, and went out.

"So we are not contented with the difficulties we have, friend Roger, but go quickly to raise up others," said Jean.

"We try to be honest," was the careless answer, "but it's a difficult world to be honest in."

"Ay; even our friends stand in the way," said the dwarf. "You'll have to choose between your friends and honesty some day."

"I am going to try and satisfy both." And the dwarf laughed as Herrick sent for de Bornais and Lemasle.

They entered the room together, Lemasle expecting orders that had been long waited for, de Bornais a little disturbed in his mind, as was natural to a man holding such a secret as he did.

"It is time that the threatened danger on the frontier should be brought to a definite issue," said Herrick. "Lemasle, we march to-night. De Bornais, we leave the city in your charge. We must keep what men are necessary to defend the castle and the town, but as few as possible must remain. We shall have need of all the men we can command. Arrange it with Captain Lemasle. At the first sight of riot in the city, deal firmly with it, de Bornais. The men who would plot and rise against us when their country's freedom is at stake, deserve little mercy."

"I will defend the town," said de Bornais, and perhaps he hated himself a little for the deceit he practised, for he added: "Your army must be small, my lord; is it wise to leave Vayenne?"

"Before we meet the enemy I hope it will be larger," Herrick answered. "There are some honest men amongst my enemies. In the country's need I have appealed to them to forget civil dissension for the time being, and some are inclined to listen to me. I have appointed a meeting-place, where all honest men in Montvilliers shall send me what help they can. To-morrow I expect to find a goodly array of stalwart soldiers there. The enemy at the frontier shall find that we can still bite, de Bornais, and are not such curs that we cannot drop our own quarrels when face to face with a common danger."

De Bornais bowed. Words could not come easily. Did the Duke suspect him, and was this a subtle appeal to his honor?

So at midnight, when a moonless sky was brilliant with low-hanging stars, the commotion in the court-yard woke Christine out of her first sleep, and she got up, and went to the window. The torches threw a weird, dancing light over the scene. Impatient steeds were pawing the uneven stones, men called hoarsely to one another, and at sharp commands swung themselves quickly to their saddles, and in troops passed through the open gate and across the great square, and caused other sleepers to awake and go to their windows, disturbed by the unusual noise in the streets. Vayenne had heard no rumor of this midnight march. Christine had known nothing of it. She watched the men mount and go, recognized Captain Lemasle as he superintended the departure, and presently saw him mount his own horse. Then a figure appeared on the terrace and slowly descended the steps. How different now to that night when, at the foot of those steps, she had mounted her horse, and had ridden across the court-yard to look into the face of a spy. Herrick stood for a moment at the bottom of the steps, and looked up into the starlit sky – or was the look only toward her window? – and the next moment he was settling himself in his saddle. Jean was leaning from the terrace to look at him, and Christine leaned forward to see him better. Had Herrick looked up again, he might have caught sight of the white figure at the window. But he did not turn. He bent down to say something to de Bornais, and then with the last of the soldiers rode out of the gate, which was immediately closed. Then the dwarf looked up at the window, and saw the white figure, and wondered!

The city grew silent under the night when the last of the soldiers had passed out of it and across the river, the last round was that of the horses as they passed over the bridge; and to Jean the castle seemed empty, ghost-haunted, and a place to feel fear in. He could not sleep on such a night; he climbed to the summit of the western tower, and was alone with the stars and his thoughts.

When they had been riding for about an hour, Herrick left Lemasle in command, and taking half-a-dozen men with him, turned in the direction of the forest. One of the men who knew the hut of the charcoal-burners acted as guide, and early in the morning they came to the place so full of memories to Herrick. Pierre Briant heard the horses, and came out of the hut.

"Is she still alive?" asked Herrick, swinging himself from the saddle.

"Yes, sir: but dying."

"Or shamming, think you?"

"Really dying, sir; there was a rattle in her throat in the night."

The old hag was lying in much the same spot that Herrick himself had occupied. A fire was upon the hearth, and the smell of the peat was pungent. The old woman's face looked like a skull over which yellow skin had been lightly drawn. The closed eyes, sunken, and like empty sockets, increased the likeness. The noise of Herrick's entrance disturbed her, and she looked up at him as he stood over her.

"You know me," he said sternly.

"You're a liar, curse you." And although the words were feebly spoken there was venom in them.

"A wounded manIn a forest lay,Who the fates decreeShall be Duke one day."

recited Herrick.

The sound of the doggerel brought a look of interest into the old hag's face.

"Now do you know me?" asked Herrick. "You were wrong. I was not the wounded man. I am the one you had bound to a tree, to be left to the will of fate. Fate has been kind. I am the Duke."

The hag tried to raise a skinny arm, as though to protect herself from his vengeance.

"Tell me, where was the wounded man taken? Where is he now?"

"Shall be Duke one day," mumbled the old woman.

"Where is he?"

"Ah!" she said, not sharply, but in a long drawn out sound almost like the hiss of a snake.

"Quick, or we will find means to make you speak."

"You can't, curse you."

"We'll tie her to a tree," said Herrick. "I know the method of it, and there is no need for care that the rope is loose at her throat."

Two of the men moved forward as though to seize her and carry her out.

"Curse you, let me be," she tried to scream, but the words were only a whistle. "If I tell, what then?"

"We make no bargain."

"You – you – curse you!"

"Out with her to the tree," said Herrick, and one of the men bent down, and touched her.

"I'll tell – I'll tell."

"Quickly then."

"Simon sold him to the enemy," the old woman said – "the enemy that's now on the way to make carrion of such as you. He's dead, or if he isn't he's safe in a tower by the frontier close to Larne, and you'll never get him, curse you."

"I know the place, sir," whispered one of the men. "She may be speaking the truth."

The hag had closed her eyes again, but after a few seconds she opened them, and in that short interval she seemed to have forgotten all that had gone before. She started, as though for the first time she realized that men were looking down at her, and she began to curse them in a long string of foul oaths which were truly appalling. Herrick thought she must be shamming sickness, for she suddenly raised herself almost into a sitting posture, and pointing at him with her long, skeleton hand, let loose all the vials of her vituperation upon him, promising him a hell here and damnation of the most horrible and fantastic kind hereafter.

"Duke! – Liar!" she screamed, and her voice was strong for an instant. "Duke! – curse you – wounded man – fates – some day – curse!"

The words were in a descending scale, the last a mere whisper, and then her body heaved as if she would spring to her feet. The next moment she fell backward with a thud – dead!

Herrick turned away with a shudder. Such a death was horrible.

"The world's well rid of her," said Briant.

"Bury her presently," said Herrick to the charcoal-burners. "God knows her history, and shall judge her. Bury her out of the beaten track, and deeply, and then if you will, follow us toward Larne. Montvilliers has need of every stalwart son she has given birth to."

They were soon riding through the forest again, Pierre Briant and his men with them. Herrick rode alone a little in advance, and the old hag's doggerel was singing in his ears. Her last disjointed words were evidently an attempt to repeat the rhyme. It was well that the soldiers knew nothing of the circumstances under which it had first been spoken, or they might have been superstitious enough to look upon him as a leader foredoomed to failure.

Toward evening they came to the rendezvous, and the sight put new spirit into Herrick. The nobles had responded to his appeal in a manner far beyond his greatest hopes. Many of them had come themselves to the meeting-place bringing all the men they could, and others had sent men. Herrick found his army greatly increased.

There came forward to meet him the old noble who had spoken in the great hall that night, and Herrick dismounted to receive him.

"Sir, there was only one way of answering your appeal," said the old man. "It was worthy of a Duke. My arm is not so strong as it was, but there is still too much energy in it to stay at home when every good man is of service."

"I thank you," Herrick answered. "You shall find me as ready to fulfil my part of the bargain when we return in peace."

"Sir, I know you for a true man, and if I return you shall find me amongst your friends."

Not all met him in this generous fashion, but they were all willing to follow him in the defence of their country.

"With such loyalty, who can dream of failure?" said Herrick. "In Vayenne yonder, they have whispered that the nobles of Montvilliers were in league with the enemy. It was a false report. Surely there can be few in the land."

"And they may be in the city," said one.

Herrick would not believe such a thing.

"Their quarrel was with me," he said, "that is a different matter to treachery toward their country. We march at dawn. See to it, Lemasle. Not yet is Montvilliers to fall a prey to her enemies."

A great shout welcomed his words, but Herrick's heart was heavy that night in spite of all. Were there traitors in Vayenne, subtle and powerful enough to make terms with the enemy? Who were they? Felix? De Bornais? Christine? Did she hate him so much, that to punish him she would sacrifice her country? And all night he lay awake, thinking not of the task before him, but of the woman he loved.

CHAPTER XXII

THE DWARF'S APPEAL

Jean's face and manner were more sadly at variance with his gaudy attire than ever. He barely had a jest for anyone, and earned the opinion that he was a dull fool after all. He spent many lonely hours on the battlements of the West Tower, and for days he did not go outside the castle. In the body he was in Vayenne, in spirit he was with the Duke and his sturdy fighters on the frontier, and sometimes with his bauble for sword he would make savage passes at an imaginary enemy.

It was not long before rumors, conflicting and uncertain, began to find their way to Vayenne. It was whispered that many of the nobles had gone to fight side by side with the Duke, but this was not generally believed. Father Bertrand had denied it, and was it not well known that the first and best information always came to the house in the Rue St. Romain? Then came rumors of battles, of victory, and defeat. The Duke had driven the enemy back, said one report; he had been defeated with great loss, and was in full retreat, said another. Jean wondered where the truth lay, and noted that Vayenne was preparing for the worst. The gates were shut, few were permitted to pass in and out of the city, military discipline was everywhere. De Bornais was ready to resist a siege. Then for a while no news came. It was a time of anxious waiting in the city, and many there were who started at any unusual commotion in the streets or in the castle, their real hopes and fears known only to their own hearts. Suddenly came news of fierce conflict in the vicinity of Larne. The Duke had suddenly attacked a stronghold there, on the other side of the frontier; and that the men of Montvilliers had shown splendid courage, had proved themselves worthy of their forefathers, seemed certain, but the issue was not known. Some said the Duke had fallen as he led the attack, and something of regret was in the hearts of those most ready to plot against him. At any rate he was a man.

"Is it true that the Duke is dead?" asked Lucille, coming hastily into Christine's room.

"Who says so?" Christine asked, rising suddenly from her chair, the color going from her cheeks.

"They are saying so in the court-yard, mademoiselle."

"Go, Lucille, quickly, find de Bornais, and send him to me."

De Bornais came presently.

"Is it true?" she asked.

"I know nothing certainly," was the answer, "beyond the fact that there has been heavy fighting. There is no doubt of that, and Roger Herrick is not the man to stay in a place of safety."

"No. He would be in the front of it all. I am sure of that."

"Mademoiselle, may I urge that you should no longer delay the scheme we have decided upon? The people are always fickle; it is well to please them while they are in the humor."

"A few hours can make no difference, de Bornais; I will decide everything in a few hours."

"Time is of value, mademoiselle. If Roger Herrick is not dead, if he has been successful, in the flush of victory the people will be shouting his name in Vayenne. Our opportunity will have gone. Why delay any longer, mademoiselle?"

"Would not any victim delay the sacrifice if it could?" she asked. "See me again in a few hours, to-night; I will decide then."

And, left alone again, Christine was in spirit with the leader of those fighting men on the frontier, even as Jean was, sitting alone on the battlements. Christine had no thought for the dwarf, but she came into all his visions. He did not go to her; he would not go unless she sent for him. He feared that he might be tempted to break his word to friend Roger, that he might speak of things which he had been told to keep secret.

Buried in his own thoughts, concerned for the safety of Roger Herrick and the happiness of Christine de Liancourt, he had little spirit to jest, and took small notice of what was going on about him. The city had been left to the care of de Bornais, and it was quite evident that he was watchful. Vayenne was prepared, and there had been no rioting. In the castle there was no slackness. If the Duke were driven back upon his capital, all was ready to stand a siege. Montvilliers could not be considered conquered while Vayenne held out, nor was Roger Herrick beaten while he held Vayenne. Jean found consolation in the thought, for he had prepared himself for the worst. He sat for hours upon the battlements watching for the first stragglers of the retreat.

Late one afternoon he came down from the tower, and was crossing the court-yard when he caught sight of a man hastening toward the postern by the great gate. Jean rubbed his eyes, thinking they must be playing him a trick. The man was Count Felix, and the Count was not allowed within the castle! How had he got in, and why had he come? The dwarf had taken a few hasty steps with the intention of going to inform de Bornais at once, when he stopped, and turned suddenly into the nearest doorway. Danger set his wits working, and it was well to hide until he had decided what to believe and how to act. Was it possible that de Bornais was a traitor? This was the sudden thought which had stopped the dwarf. Count Felix had just left the castle; he had made no pretence of concealing his presence there; others must have seen him, yet none had attempted to stop him. If de Bornais were a traitor, then Vayenne was not prepared as a stronghold for the Duke, but was closed against him.

"What can I do?" Jean whispered. "They know I am faithful; that will be enough to hang me if de Bornais is false. There is too much for me to do to run the risk of being hanged at present. I must get to Mademoiselle. If she proclaims herself for the Duke, the curs will get afraid and fawn upon her. I must see her now, before they stop me."

Few knew the castle as Jean did, and by many a passage in which he would be least likely to meet anyone, he made his way in the direction of Christine's rooms. The last part of his journey must be along one of the main corridors, and he waited until the way was clear, and then went forward hurriedly.

A soldier came from a recess, and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Where do you go, Master Fool, in such haste?"

Jean's hand was upon the knife underneath his gay tunic, and for an instant he debated whether it would not be wise to use it.

"I came along a passage in which there were dark shadows," he answered, "and sometimes I'm afraid of shadows."

"Well, I'm no shadow," laughed the soldier; "and why go along such passages? You are being looked for. Mademoiselle has sent for you."

"Ah, then I am happy again," said Jean. "I am all eagerness. Announce me. There are not many Mademoiselle sends for. I warrant she does not send for you, for instance."

"Think of your wonderful attractions, Jean," laughed the soldier.

"True; it's unique men like myself that the women favor. But you're a good fellow, and I am sorry for you," said the dwarf as he strutted by the side of the soldier.

Christine was seated by the window, and Jean hurried across the room, and bent his knee to her.

"You sent for me, mademoiselle."

"Did I? Oh, yes, I remember; it was because I was dull and would be amused. And there was something else; I will speak of it presently."

"I am in no humor to jest," said the dwarf.

"Why not?"

"Mademoiselle, listen. I fear the castle is in the hands of traitors."

"Since when have you feared this?"

"Not an hour since I saw Count Felix in the court-yard."

"Well, Jean?"

"He is not allowed in the castle. It was the Duke's strict command."

"Foolish Jean, to be carried away by a man's boldness. At present there is no Duke of Montvilliers."

"Ah, mademoiselle, listen to me," pleaded the dwarf. "I was coming to you when the soldier found me in the corridor; I was coming secretly lest they should stop me, because they know I am faithful. I am not as other men, therefore you – everyone – treats me differently. I am told secrets which I keep, and I am of such small account that no one minds me if I do overhear their words. I do not forget the night I came to you in the Place Beauvoisin, nor the message you gave me to deliver."

"He has played with us all, Jean."

"No one has been so constantly near him as I have," the dwarf went on earnestly. "You have not understood him, I cannot tell you all, but you have misjudged him. You have never been out of his thoughts since the day he came to you in Passey, came to fight for you and serve you. He is beset with difficulties, but all his actions have been honest ones, and behind them all has been the thought of you."

"Did he bid you tell me so? Surely you have learned your lesson well."

"I should have run to do his bidding, but I had no command to speak to you. I have kept away, mademoiselle, lest I should say too much. All the people love you, I love you, crooked-limbed and mean as I am. Do you think I would lie to you when I speak of the Duke?"

"Call him Roger Herrick, Jean; it offends me less."

"We may call him what we will, mademoiselle, but yonder on the frontier he has shown himself a man and a leader of men. He has fought for Montvilliers, the land you love, in the forefront of the battle. There have been rumors of victory and of defeat, all vague and uncertain, but there is no uncertainty about Roger Herrick. He is a brave man, even his enemies say so, and half regret that they are his enemies."

Christine had turned from him; memory held pictures for her. They passed slowly before her, and her eyes, looking through the window, were not conscious of the castle battlements sharply defined against the growing twilight of the sky.

"If de Bornais is a traitor, and since Count Felix was here, how can he be anything else? Vayenne will be shut against Roger Herrick. There is one way to make the curs afraid. Let it be known in the city that you are for Roger Herrick. If he is being driven back to the city you can save him and the country by such a proclamation. Do it now, now before it is too late, and I swear to you, mademoiselle, that in believing evil of the Duke you do him wrong."

Christine turned upon him suddenly. "Can you bear other secrets, Jean?"

"Command me, mademoiselle. I will not fail you," said the dwarf eagerly.

"I love Roger Herrick," said Christine, "but I hate the Duke. Love and hate are in the scales; I have weighed them, and am persuaded that my duty compels me to hatred rather than to love. There is no Duke of Montvilliers, and the country calls to me. I have answered that call. Count Felix came because I sent for him. I am to marry the Count at once."

"You! Then you are – "

"Yes, Jean, a traitor to the man you call Duke."

The dwarf shrank back with a little cry.

"I quarrel not with your faith," Christine went on. "You are honest, and I, a Princess in Montvilliers, a Princess of that house which this Roger Herrick would depose, am honest too. Your faithfulness is a danger to us, so great a danger that some in the castle have suggested that the greatest safety lies in your death. That is why I sent for you. You are my prisoner, Jean, and shall be tenderly treated. When I am mistress of Montvilliers you shall have your freedom, and I will ask you for your loyalty."

"Ah, mademoiselle, that I, the poor fool, should have to call you traitor," said the dwarf as two soldiers came at Christine's summons.

"Soon I hope to hear you welcome me as Duchess, for such in my own right I shall be," she answered.

Jean stood between the two soldiers bewildered. They laid their hands gently on his shoulders. He was a prisoner.

"Let it be known that he is to be gently treated," said Christine. "The man who does not obey me implicitly in this matter shall surely suffer for it."

"I am to be petted like a spoiled child," said Jean sharply, looking up first into one soldier's face, then into the face of the other.

"Taken care of, Jean, as a foolish man," said Christine.

"I'd rather be a child. I am tired of it all, and long to be carried." And he sank to the floor, his legs doubled under him. It was so ludicrous that Christine laughed, but the next instant her laughter stopped short. Jean's movements were like lightning. With a sudden thrusting out of his foot, he had shot himself back as the soldiers stooped to lift him up, and had darted through the open door.

The corridor was empty, and the dwarf ran swiftly along it, and turned into a narrow passage. The soldiers followed him shouting, but in the gathering twilight the shadows came early, and the soldiers did not know the castle as Jean did. He dared not hide, the chase must not be prolonged, or every man in the castle would be in his way. Probably only a few knew that he was to be arrested. The fact would serve him if he acted quickly. Jean could hear that others had already joined in the chase; there were more than two men following him now. He must reach the open – the terrace by the South Tower. As he ran across the court-yard men ran to intercept him, but not knowing the goal he was making for, they ran wide, and Jean turned sharply, and dashed across one of the smaller yards. As he ran toward the south terrace he saw there were four or five men there.