Clash of Arms

Up from the hall floor, as they saw her above, came a shout of many voices. In an instant the crack of half a dozen muskets came, too, also shrieks and ribald cries.

"The witch, Clemence. The hell-cat. The beldam. His mother's rival. The curse of all her days. At her! At her! Tear her to pieces."

"Nay!" roared out that harsh, strident voice he had heard before. "Nay. Not so. And come you back," its owner cried to three others who had already begun to rush up the stairs, as though to seize on her. "Come back, I say. Nor fire on her more. There is a better way. He is here and she is with him. Let them burn together!"

The shots had missed her-every one! – though Andrew, watching, had seen her stagger back as they struck the stairs and the wall around her; now she turned and retraced her steps to where he stood.

"Are you wounded?" he gasped when she had rejoined him, noticing that her face was bloodless, white as that of a corpse-that the great pendulous lips-in years gone by, doubtless, so full and ruddy-shook and trembled.

"No," she said, "unharmed. Yet doomed. Doomed! Still, there is a chance. If I go back to them, fling my body from this landing to the stone floor below, they may cease."

"Are you also mad?" he asked hoarsely; "Are you mad? You think I shall permit that?"

"'Tis the only way to stop them."

"Bah!" Andrew exclaimed. "Nothing will stop them. You forget. They know he is here. Also they cannot know of any secret escape-even though there be one."

Her hands fell in despair by her side, her eyes rolled piteously, she recognized that it was as he had said. It was the wolf they sought first and chiefly-her next.

"We are lost!" she muttered. "Lost! Lost!"

It was impossible to doubt that such was the case.

Looking over once more, down into that great well beneath them, he saw that the floor was piled the height of a man's head with saplings and trees, both green and dry, and with kindlings formed from wrenched-down tapestry, broken chairs and stools and other things, chopped up small; even the great table itself was being hacked into firewood. All hope was gone!

Likewise, he saw three men standing close together, the palms of two of them placed side by side, so as to form a bowl, while the third emptied all their powder-horns into those hands; after which they placed the heap beneath the accumulated fuel. No need to doubt that the fire would blaze fiercely! Then one strode forward-the man with the great raucous voice-and said some words of gloating, while, as he did so, he bent his knees and stooped down, and peered into the mass collected together, and nodded approbation of the heap of powder beneath. Then rose and stood back some yards and drew a great pistol from his belt.

Drew it, gave one look to the priming and his flint-fired, and ignited the heap. And as the powder leapt up a mass of green and yellow flames, as the kindlings and the logs caught, even as the report rang through the house of the De Bois-Vallées, so, too, there rang cheer after cheer, howl after howl, as though hell itself had let loose all its fiends. Also they danced and capered round and round that pyre, Andrew seeing two men clasp hands and waists and execute a grim fantastic dance about the hall! They stirred, too, with pikes and halberds wrenched from off the walls, the logs; some even thrust the swords they carried into the flames to make the fire burn more fiercely. Then, all stood away from the great open doorway, from which the door had long since been torn, so that the breeze of morning-for the day was nigh at hand-might blow in and fan those flames. The great door itself as well was lifted up upon their shoulders, carried in, and flung upon them.

"To the leads! To the leads!" Clemence muttered. "To the leads. Better die there than here, as we must if we stay longer. See! See!" and she pointed down. "The lower stairs are on fire; already the way-that way-is cut off. We are trapped. To the leads."

"Ay," said Andrew, "to the leads. After that-death, unless some portions of the house stand firm. How is it with her?"

"She is insensible-not dead. Not yet."

"Not yet, I pray God. Give her to me. Come-if we can find the opening to the roof the air may revive her." Whereon, stooping down, he lifted the girl once more to his shoulder.

267

"Go carefully," he said to Clemence, "carefully-beware the oubliette. For God's sake, avoid that."

Thus they returned to the garret, groping their way in the dense blackness.

"Give me your hand," she answered, putting out her own and finding his. "I have been here in the dark before, and know where the exit is. Now come."

And, following her, with his burden clasped to his breast with one arm, he let her guide him slowly and step by step-each one made sure of ere another was taken-through the darkness and the ever-increasing atmosphere of suffocation, towards where stood the ladder leading to the roof.

And so, feeling their way inch by inch, Clemence first, with Andrew following, he bearing Marion in his arms, and having at the same time to keep touch with the former and also to carry his drawn sword-since he knew not if, even now, De Bois-Vallée might not be lurking somewhere close by in that dark garret, ready to thrust his own weapon through him, or, indeed, through all of them-they reached shortly the ladder that led to the roof. And, then, a few moments more and they had emerged on to the leads.

The rain, that had been falling at intervals (though sometimes it had been clear moonlight) since the wintry sun had set amidst a bank of deep blood-coloured clouds, backed up and surrounded by still deeper leaden ones, had ceased now-up from the south-west, as they gained the roof, there blew a soft, warm breeze that was as the breath of heaven to them after the reeking interior from which they had escaped. Yet-escaped for how long, Andrew and Clemence wondered inwardly? For how long? How long would it be ere that portion of the house on which they stood might be alight, and, thus destroyed, engulf them below? Below, where it was easy enough to see that already the house was in flames-and whence there reached their nostrils the fumes of smoke. Already, too, by gazing over the parapet Andrew could see the red tongues of fire shooting out from windows, and volumes of dun-coloured smoke emerging. Could hear, also, those windows bursting and the sound of rent glass as it fell on the stones of the courtyard.

Heard, too, and saw other things ere an hour had elapsed-an hour in which Clemence had sat on the ladder giving to the roof, with Marion lying in her arms. For, at the end of that hour, a terrible roar and rending sound reached his ears from beneath, and, looking once more over the parapet, he saw the left side of the house rent open; knew that a portion of one of the wings had fallen inwards. The north wing, and that the one which joined the part of the house above which they all were.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE LAST CHANCE

Another hour passed-the dawn was close at hand-and the ruin of the greater part of the fabric was almost accomplished. For that was what Andrew perceived now, as still he kept his vigil above and listened still to the cries of those below, who were all by this time outside in the courtyard and the fringe of the copse, revelling in their handiwork and the accomplishment of their long-thirsted-for vengeance.

Beneath him the fire still raged and burned, though by God's mercy it had even now left untouched that side of the building on which they were-the side that was nearest to the slope of the mountain from which he had originally crossed: untouched at least at present! Therefore, he knew that for some time they were safe; below where they stood there was still the floor of more or less solid masonry, then the other floor from which they had escaped-the one that was beneath the leads on which they were. In the front, also, the fire had not yet got a hold, it was on the two sides that its fury seemed to have been most expended. Of them, the north wing had already fallen in, as has been said; the south one looked as though it would do so at any moment. And, gazing at the gap made by that destroyed on the other side, Andrew could not but shudder, for had it so happened that they had been there when it gave way, had it so happened that the way to the leads had lain through the north wing, they would have gone with it in its fall, have all been lying crushed to death beneath the stonework and woodwork which had been hurled into the great hall.

Yet, even as he looked across the gap left by that fallen wing, as he peered down into the now blocked-up hall, so blocked up, indeed, that the débris of the north side rose almost level with the top floors of the sides still standing, he saw that here was something which would prevent the total annihilation of the house, and deprive the Lorrainers of their vengeance in its entirety; would also prevent the whole of the building from being razed to the ground.

Something, too, that would, perhaps, save those who were upon the roof, render it unlikely that that roof should sink beneath them, and, in so sinking, carry them with it to destruction.

He saw that, as the northern side had crashed in, the lower, or stone, portion had fallen upon the mass of burning matter, and, thereby, had beaten out much of the fire, which now only smouldered beneath the masonry and wreckage of that lower portion, which, in its turn, had received above it the wooden part. The flames from below-even if not totally extinguished-could never, therefore, reach the woodwork above; it was as likely as not that, soon, they would be entirely pressed out by the weight. If, therefore, the foundations of that portion of the house over which they now stood were not injured, if that wing did not fall in, they were saved. The fire would die out, and, when it had done so, surely some means of descending to earth again could be found, even though there were now no stairs left.

"There is yet a chance for us," he said, going back to where Clemence was, and telling her briefly what he had observed, and what he deduced from that observation. "Still a chance-that is, if the Lorrainers are content with what they have done. Will they be, or will nothing satisfy them but the total destruction of the house? If so, they will set it alight again on the other sides. Then nothing can save us."

"They may be content," the woman answered, glancing up at him, "if they suppose that he is dead. Otherwise they will not. And more than one half of the house still stands secure. Therefore, they may think he is safe somewhere. They will begin again; they will never desist until he is slain."

"Our danger is not then over," Andrew said quietly. "It seems-if you guess aright-that we are doomed. How is it now with her?" and he glanced down at Marion as she lay in the woman's arms.

"She is more peaceful. And she breathes easily. Yet, the shock has been too much for her. She will not live."

"You are sure of that?"

"I fear so."

"Therefore," said Andrew more to himself than to her, "my determination to kill him is greater than ever. Two lives now to demand expiation for, besides his other crimes." Then, turning to Clemence, and bending down to her, he asked: "What think you? Has he escaped? Oh! that I should have let him-let him go without me at his heels."

"I know not," she muttered, "yet, as I have said, there is some way out of this house. His father knew it-I have heard him speak of it-though he kept the secret well. But, even though he escapes you, he is a doomed man if he stays in this land. They have begun," and she waved her hand to the depths below, where still the Lorrainers could be heard calling to each other and-sometimes, it seemed-from the sounds which arose in the early morning air-gloating over the ruin they had wrought: "now there can be but one end. I know my own people."

"He will not escape me," Andrew replied. "As you know your own people, so I know myself. If I live through this night-this day which is now dawning-I will find him. And then his last chance is gone. I spared him once when he lay stretched at my feet-I saved his life-to-night I have let him trick me and so save himself. Well! 'tis the last. When next we stand face to face I slay him like some poisonous reptile."

While, as he spoke, he gazed down on Clemence, and saw her great starry eyes gleaming out at him through what was not, now, all the darkness of night.

And they had lived through it! For he had said truly-the dawn of another day was come-that night of horror had passed.

Far away to the east, away to the side of the slope from which he had crossed to the roof of this now ruined house, there was a light in the sky-dim at present, yet gradually becoming clearer, which told that the night was indeed over; also the tree-tops were beginning to be visible, other objects to stand out and be recognizable. And as Andrew on that roof gazed towards the coming day-wondering if, with it, would come also safety and escape; if the next night would find all or any of them alive-he knew that he, too, had become visible to those below. He heard a shout from the fringe of copse beyond the great courtyard, and, turning his eyes down, saw the danger which threatened him.

Observed the gleam of a dozen musketoon barrels pointed his way, and, as he sprang back behind the buttress of an angle close to where the women were, saw their puffs of smoke and darts of flame, followed half a second after by the reports, and heard some of the bullets hurtle against that buttress while others sang through the air over the very spot he had just quitted.

In a moment he knew and understood!

"They take me for him," he said, turning to Clemence, who had half sprung from the ladder where she sat supporting Marion, while the girl moaned, either at being disturbed, or at the falling pieces of brick and stone that scattered round her, "take me for him. 'Tis not strange in this half light. Yet, how to make them understand? Even if there are any there who have known me-Jean, to wit-they think me dead. They knew I was within this house."

"See," the woman interrupted, and scarce listening to his words, "see, the fire breaks out again. On the south side now-and it has reached the top floor. Soon all that will be in flames. There is no hope."

It was true. From the parapet that ran beneath the leads of the south side, and which was at a left angle to that portion of the roof on which they were, there sprang a long thin line of flame-flame that bubbled out accompanied by white, clear smoke, but which, thin as it was, yet grew thicker every moment Both flame and smoke were finding a vent from below; they could not doubt that, underneath, a large portion of the south wing was burning fiercely.

"There is one hope," Andrew said, "still one. Observe. The volumes of smoke from the hall no longer roll up as they did; there the fire is almost extinguished by the masonry and débris that has fallen on it. Also, the trap leading here from the garret is open, yet none comes forth either. I will back to the garret. I may find the secret way. The way he went."

"Impossible. Others have sought for it, even though only to gratify curiosity-I myself have done so all over the house. You will never find it."

"Yet will I try. If that fresh fire spreads and we cannot escape, we shall be roasted alive. I will go," and as he spoke he went towards the trap opening below (shielding himself behind buttress and chimney base as he did so, so that no bullet from the Lorrainers should find its mark), and descended.

Yet, when he had spent half an hour looking round the garret in all directions, he had to give up his search, had to acknowledge that it was unavailing. No use to look under the bare, uncovered rafters, to see if there was any entrance, however small, to some descent-there was none a cat could have crept down; no use to stamp upon the boards of the floor on which he had lain so many days and nights; they were solid oak planks, affixed to the joists below with great clove-headed nails. It would have taken an hour to get one of them from its place. Yet, fearing to miss any chance, he tried and tested each one separately.

Once he advanced to the horrid shaft-the "oubliette" – and peered down that, wondering if, there, might be the secret way. Yet, he felt sure and told himself, the way out could not be there. The great mouth of the shaft gaped black and cavernous, while, as he laid himself on the floor, and, with face over the edge, peered down into it, there came up a damp odour which seemed to tell for certain that its depth was terrible. And if it were not an "oubliette" – a "guet-apens," as he had once termed it-wherefore that mounting block which they had all had to use so recently, and why that treacherous staircase, or ladder, from above, which ended abruptly, so that the hastening victim should be plunged blindly into the abyss of the shaft below?

Yet he sounded it as well as he was able; leant over and, with his sword in his extended hand, thrust down to see if there were any ledge or bottom within reach-and found none! He discovered, too, a link of the chain which had bound him, and hurled it down, listening for the sound of its fall. But heard nothing-except that it struck once against the side, owing to his not throwing it precisely straight. Then, nothing more.

"There is no way there, except to death!" He muttered. "It is useless. As well return to the roof and await what comes. At least, Marion Wyatt will not die alone."

The flames of the south side had increased to a great extent as he regained the spot where the women were-also a soft wind was fanning them, so that now they leapt up some feet from the roof, burning clear and bright against what was still half night, half day. Standing there watching them, and watching also the direction in which the wind came, he knew that it would not be long-not an hour perhaps-ere those flames had spread to the wing where they all were.

Then the end would be very near. Well! it must be borne. There was nothing for it but that.

From these thoughts he was startled by the action of the woman, Clemence, at this moment. Startled! Amazed!

She had been sitting gazing heedlessly, almost, it might have seemed, indifferently, at those flames towards which he had at that instant turned his back to look down on Marion, when, suddenly, she removed the girl's head from her lap and rose swiftly to her feet-heedless of whether she might be seen or not by the besiegers below. Then she raised her hand-her eyes gleaming strangely as ever-and pointed away towards where the road to Remiremont ran behind the woods. The road along which Andrew had come on that night when he paid his visit of observation.

"Look," she said, and he noticed how firm and unshaken her voice was, "Look, what is that? There are none to help us; none here; not one of the Duke's men would raise a finger to help him-also they come not from where the Duke is. Yet, look. Look, I say."

Following her glance, Andrew did look. And saw that which, at first, he could not understand the meaning of. Amongst the trees, over which the wintry day had now broken, the trees which separated Bois-le-Vaux from the Remiremont road, he saw a long cavalcade of horsemen winding down from the mountain slopes. A cavalcade of horsemen which stretched on and on until several hundreds of them had descended and were still descending to the plains of Lorraine-horsemen on whose glittering corselets and backs-and-breasts and headpieces, as well as bridles and stirrups (though over many of them their long riding cloaks were thrown) the now rising winter sun sparkled. He saw, too, from the roof of the ruined house on which he stood, that, in the morning light, there fluttered the pennons of lances and banners, bearing on them devices of many kinds, guidons also, having on them a large and glittering sun; flags bearing emblems, crests, and coats-of-arms.

Overmastered by that which he observed-for the shining splendour of that great sun upon a purple silk ground told him plainly enough who were those men streaming down from the Vosges-overmastered by the certainty of their safety being at last assured, he threw prudence to the winds, and, boldly exposing himself to the Lorrainers below, he shouted:

"Look! Look! Behold! Your hour is past-you have missed your chance. Behold the army of France is in your land."

Whether surprise at seeing him there-for now none could believe that it was De Bois-Vallée himself-prevented one single shot from being fired at him, or whether it was that, as they saw that army streaming down into Lorraine, they became paralyzed with consternation, Andrew could not tell. Yet one of these it must have been, for soon, from all below, there came a babel of shouts and cries, from all their throats there rose the words:

"The army of France! the army of France! Lorraine is lost to all eternity!" And, even as they so cried, they dispersed and sped away. Sped, too, as fast as they could go, for now it was evident that the burning house had been observed by some in the ranks of the advancing cavalry. Already more than one troop had been detached and was breaking off from the main body, and seeking for a road that should bring them to it.

While Clemence, white now to the lips, white as the woman whose face lay once more on her lap, muttered hoarsely:

"What? What does it mean? What portend?"

"It means," replied Andrew, "that Turenne has crossed the Vosges, that your fair Lorraine will be wrenched from out your Duke's hands for ever-that the Imperialists are in a trap. Also-it means that we are saved."

CHAPTER XXX

FREE!

Andrew had divined aright. That was what, in truth, it did mean.

Turenne had performed the greatest military feat of Louis' reign, had set the chief seal upon a long career of glory.

Weary of lying inert in winter quarters for weeks after the battle of Entzheim, he had suddenly conceived, and afterwards carefully matured, the achievement which he had now carried through. The whole of his army had left Alsace in three different brigades, and, passing over the Vosges in the depth of a winter remarkable for its inclemency and particularly for the amount of rain which fell-progressing through roads and mountain paths rendered almost impassable by the mud and water with which they were soaked-had reached Lorraine. There remained nothing now but to fall upon the unsuspecting Imperialists at Belfort, Mühlhausen, and elsewhere, to hunt them from Lorraine and, once more and finally, to make Louis master of that much disputed province. How this was done countless other pens have told.

Of those three brigades which had so wondrously and rapidly crossed the mountains, the one that had met the eyes of Clemence first and of Andrew afterwards, on this winter morning and after that night of horror, was led by the great captain himself-it taking possession of Remiremont ere many more hours had passed. Amongst those who had been detached towards the still burning house, the moment that the flames were seen, were some that formed the brigade of cavalry under the Count de Lusignan, with also several of the English and Scotch auxiliaries, under the command for the moment of the Marquis De La Fare.

They rode into that great courtyard half an hour after the Lorrainers had deserted the place, and, used though they were-God knows the devastation of the Palatinate had made them so! – to the sight of burning houses, even of burning towns and cities, they could not but stare in amazement at what met their eyes.

For, still, from the south wing of that great house the flames poured forth in fury-that side of it having now caught well alight; upon the roof of the west wing they saw, clear against the threatening sky, the form of a great man standing looking down upon them, his arms folded.

Then, from the midst of those rescuers, there rode forward one who was, undoubtedly, in command of them-the rich justaucorps with its gold gallooning and flammes d'or showing that he who wore it belonged to the nobility-who called up to Andrew standing above.

"Sir, are you the owner of this unfortunate house?" while, as he spoke, he raised his hand to his thick, three-cornered felt hat.

"Nay, sir. Yet am I the last man left alive in it. But if you will, or can, rescue us from our perilous position, for there are two women here as well as I-"