Lochinvar: A Novel

by S. R. Crockett

  CHAPTER IV

  THE DUEL AT THE INN OF BREDERODE

  So, thinking with all his might upon the adorable pout of his lady'slips, that right loyal lover Walter Gordon strode, not without fear,but all the braver for mastering it, into the dark passage whichstretched straight before him, gloomy as a sea cave at midnight. Doorsstill blacker yawned on either side of him like the mouths of hugecannon. He held his candle aloft, and paused a moment at each, strivingwith all his might to penetrate the silence that reigned within. Butthe faint circle of illumination hardly passed beyond the threshold.Wat, as he held his breath and listened, only heard the rats scuttleand the mice cheep in the oaken wainscoting.

  It was with a feeling of chill water running icily down his back thathe passed each black cavern, glancing warily over his shoulder lest heshould catch the downward stroke of an arm in the doorway, or see thecandle-light flash on the deadly blade of the Killer's butchering knife.

  It was nerve-shaking work. The sweat, chill as the clammy mist of thenight, began to pour down Wat's face, and his flesh grew prickly allover as though he had been stuck full of pins.

  Unless something happened, he felt that in another moment he mustshriek aloud. He stopped and listened. Somewhere near him he felt surehe could distinguish the sound of breathing. It was not the heavy,regular to-and-fro respiration of unconscious sleep, but rather thequicker and shorter breathing of one who has recently undergone severeexertion, and whose heart still runs fast ahead.

  Wat stood and listened. The sound came from half-way up the stairs, outof a room with a door which opened wider than the others, and which nowstood, gaping black and ominous, directly before him. Wat could hearthe sound of feet behind him, cautiously shuffling on the flags of thedoorway, and by this sign he knew that his three ruffians were therewaiting for him with the weapons of their trade naked and deadly intheir hands. He was trapped, taken between the brutal, dastard butchersbehind him and the unknown but more terrible breathers in the darkabove him.

  Yet his very desperation brought a compensating calmness. He pressedhis arm against his side, where, in an inner pocket, he carried thepapers he had come to deliver. He undid the button of his cloak, andlet it fall to the ground to clear his sword-arm. Then, bending forwardlike a runner straining to obtain good pace at the start of a shortrace, he went up the stairs steadily and warily till he had reached thedoor of the room. His candle was almost blown out with the quicknessof his motion. It flickered low, and then caught again, as Wat steppednimbly within, and made the point of his sword circle about him toclear himself a space against attack.

  Then he looked around him. He found himself in a wide, low-ceilingedroom, with many small windows along the side. A curtain of arrashung at one end, and a table stood in front of it--a hall of rusticassembly, as it seemed. At the far side of the table from him andbetween its edge and the curtain, calm as though it had been broadday, sat a tall, thin man. He had red hair and a short red beard, bothliberally sprinkled with gray. His eyes were of a curious China blue,pale and cold. He was clad in a French uniform, and a pair of pistolsand a drawn sword lay on the table before him.

  The man sat perfectly still, with his elbows on the table and his chinon the knuckles of the hands which were joined beneath his beard. Hiseyes were alive, however, and surveyed Wat Gordon from head to foot.The effect of this scrutiny upon the man in the chair was somewhatsurprising.

  He started half-way to his feet, and so disturbed the table behindwhich he sat that one of the pistols rolled off and fell underneath,so that the butt appeared on the side nearest to Wat. At the noise thearras behind was disturbed, and Lochinvar felt that unseen eyes werewatching and unseen ears listening behind its shelter.

  Wat, on his side, was not less astonished. For at the first glance heknew the man at the table.

  "Jack--Jack Scarlett?" he stammered, half holding out and halfwithholding his hand, as to a friend met unexpectedly in more thandoubtful circumstances. The man nodded without appearing to notice theoutstretched hand, and continued to look the young man over with thepale, piercing eyes of blue.

  "Then you are the officer of the prince appointed to receive mydespatches?" cried Wat, when words came back to him.

  The man whom Wat had called Jack Scarlett shook his head.

  "With another I might pretend it," he said, "but not with you, Lord ofLochinvar. Now do I see that Barra plots deeper and yet more simplythan I had given his Highland brains credit for. I little knew thatthe cavalier whom I was to meet to-night was Wat Gordon, mine ancientscholar and good ally."

  "It pleases you to speak riddles with your tongue, John," repliedWalter, "you that were wont to strike so strong and straight with theblade of steel. You that know me well, mine old master of the fence, Ibeseech to speak plainly and riddle to me no more."

  Scarlett never took his blue eyes off Lochinvar's face as he spoke.

  "We are here, my Lord of Lochinvar, in the matter of a most seriousconference," he said; "therefore, do not stand there fixed andforwandered in the midst of the floor. Set your candle on a sconce andbe seated."

  Wat shook his head.

  "There are too many perils behind me and before," he replied; "I musthave light and room to guard my head ere I can sit or talk with you orany man, seeing that my life is not my own so long as my commissionremains unfulfilled."

  Scarlett knocked three times loudly on the board in front of him.

  In a moment the arras stirred behind, and a man-at-arms appeared. Hewas clad in a pale-blue uniform, unlike any that Wat had seen in thearmy of the States-General.

  "Bring lights," said Scarlett to him in French.

  In a few minutes the room was fully illumined by the rays of halfa dozen candles set in a pair of silver candlesticks, each of themholding three lights.

  Then Scarlett pointed Wat to a chair.

  "Surely you will do me the honor to be seated now," he said,courteously.

  Wat replied by picking up a cross-legged stool of black oak and settingit down at the angle of the room, at the point most distant from thearras, and also from the door by which he had entered. Then he sat downupon it, still holding his sword bare in his right hand, and made thepoint of it play with the toe of his buff leathern riding-boot, whilehe waited impatiently for Scarlett to speak.

  The man at the table had never once removed his eyes from Lochinvar'sface. Then in a quiet, steady, unhurried voice he began to speak:

  "You have not forgotten, my Lord of Lochinvar--"

  At the repetition of the title Walter stirred his shoulders a littledisdainfully.

  "I say again, my Lord of Lochinvar has not forgotten--my lord has everyright to the title. It was given to his ancestors by the grandfather ofhis present majesty--"

  "His present majesty?" said Walter, looking up inquiringly.

  "Aye," replied Scarlett, with some apparent heat, "His Most GraciousMajesty James the Second, King of Great Britain and Ireland. Since whendid Walter Gordon of Lochinvar need to stand considering who has theright to be styled his lawful king?"

  And the keen, cold eyes glinted like steel blades in the candle-light.

  "It was in fencing and not in loyalty that I took lessons from you,John Scarlett," replied Lochinvar, haughtily, looking with level browsat the red-bearded man across the table, who still leaned his chin onthe tips of his fingers. "I pray you, say out your message and be done."

  "But this is my message," Scarlett went on, "which I was commanded todeliver to the man whom I should meet here in the inn of Brederode. Youare the servant of King James, and his messages and commands are yoursto obey."

  Wat Gordon bowed stiffly. "In so far," he said, "as they do notconflict with my orders from my superior officers in the service of thePrince of Orange, in whose army I am at present a humble soldier."

  "You are indeed a soldier in the Scottish Guards, which were raisedin that country by permission of King James, and by him lent to hisson-in-law, the Stadtholder of Holland. But surely the commands ofyour k
ing are before all; before the mandates of Parliament, before thecommands of generals--aye, before even the love of wife and children."

  And the sonorous words brought a fire into the cold eyes of the speakerand an answering erectness into the pose of Wat Gordon, who hadhitherto been listening listlessly but watchfully as he continued totap the point of his riding-boot with his sword-blade.

  "I have yet to hear what are the commands of his majesty the king,"said Wat, lifting his hat at the name.

  Scarlett tossed a sealed paper across the table, and as Wat rose totake it he kept a wary eye on the two chief points of danger--thedivision in the arras and the door, behind which, as he well knew, werestationed those three worthy gentry of my Lord Barra's retinue, Haxothe Bull, the Calf, and the Killer.

  Wat took the paper with his left hand, broke the seal, and unfolded itby shaking it open with a quick, clacking jerk. It read thus:

  _JAMES II., by the GRACE OF GOD, etc._

  _It is my command that John Scarlett, Lieutenant of the Luxemburg Regiment in the service of the King of France, obtain the papers relating to the numbers and dispositions of the troops of the States-General in the city and camp of Amersfort, which I have reason to believe to be in the possession of my trusty servant and loving Cousin, Walter Gordon, Lord of Lochinvar in Galloway._

  _At Whitehall, this 14 of Aprile, 1688._

  _JAMES R._

  Walter bent his knee, kissed the king's message, and, rising to hisfeet, as courteously folded it and handed it back to LieutenantScarlett.

  "I am the king's subject, it is true," he said. "Moreover, the king isanointed, and his word binds those to whom it is addressed. But I amalso the soldier of the Prince of Orange and of the States-General ofHolland. I eat their bread; I wear their uniform; I take their pay; tothem I have sworn the oath of allegiance. I am in this inn of Brederodeas a plain soldier, charged with orders given to me by my superiorofficer, and I cannot depart from these orders while I live a free manand able to carry them out."

  "But the king--the king--?" sternly reiterated Scarlett, rising for thefirst time to his feet, and clapping the palm of his hand sharply onthe table by way of emphasis.

  "The king," replied Walter, in a voice deeply moved, "is indeed myking. But he has no right to command a soldier to become a traitor,nor to turn an honest man into a spy. He may command my life and myfortunes. He may command my death. But, landless, friendless, and anexile though I be, mine honor at least is mine own. I refuse to deliverthe papers with which I have been intrusted, or to be a traitor to thecolors under which I serve."

  While Walter spoke Scarlett stood impatiently tapping the table withthe paper, which he had refolded.

  "The request, at any rate, is nothing more than a formality," he said."You are here alone. Your three attendant rascals are, equally withmyself, in the pay of the King of France. They wait under arms at thatdoor--"

  "Under butchers' knives, say rather!" interrupted Lochinvar, scornfully.

  But Scarlett paid no heed to his words.

  "If you will deliver up the papers cheerfully, according to the mandateof your king, I have in my pocket a patent of nobility made out for theman who should put them into my hand at the inn of Brederode--besidesthe promise of pardons and restoration of heritages for all his friendsand associates at present lying outside the law in Scotland andelsewhere. Think well, for much more than the present hangs upon youranswer. Life and death for many others are in it!"

  Wat stood still without making any answer. With his left hand he turnedthe dainty lace upon the cuff of his coat-sleeve carefully back. Hethought vaguely of his love whom he was renouncing to go to certaindeath, of the friends whose pardon he was refusing. Most clearly of allhe bethought him of the old tower in the midst of the Loch of Lochinvarunder the heathery fell of lone Knockman. Then he looked straight atthe man before him.

  "Jack Scarlett," he said, "it was you who taught me how to thrust andparry. Then your hand was like steel, but your heart was not also hardas the millstone. You were not used to be a man untrue, forsworn. Godknows then, at least, you were no traitor. You were no spy. You wereno murderer, though a soldier of fortune. You called me a friend, andI was not ashamed of the name. I do not judge you even now. You mayhave one conception of loyalty to the king we both acknowledge. I haveanother. You are in the service of one great prince, and you are (Ibelieve it) wholly faithful to him. Do me the honor to credit that Ican be as faithful to my uniform, as careless of life, and as carefulof honor in the service of my master as you would desire to be inyours."

  Scarlett turned his eyes away. He felt, though he did notyet acknowledge, the extraordinary force and fervor of theappeal--delivered by Wat with red-hot energy, with a hiss in the swiftwords of it like that which the smith's iron gives forth when it isthrust into the cooling caldron.

  Wat turned full upon him. The two men stood eye to eye, with only thebreadth of the table between them.

  "Look you, Scarlett," Lochinvar said again, without waiting for hisreply. "You are the finest swordsman in the world; I am but yourpupil; yet here and now I will fight you to the death for the papersif you will promise to draw off your men and give me free passage fromthis place should I kill you or have you at my mercy. But I warn youthat you will have to kill me without any mercy in order to get thedocuments from me."

  Scarlett appeared to consider for a space.

  "There is no risk, and, after all, it makes it less like a crime," hesaid, under his breath. But aloud he only answered, "I will fight youfor the papers here and now."

  Walter bowed his head, well pleased.

  "That is spoken like my old Jack!" he said.

  Lieutenant Scarlett went to the arras and threw it open with bothhands. It ran with brazen rings upon a bar in the Flemish manner.

  "Clairvaux! Ferrand!" he cried.

  And two young officers in gay uniforms immediately appeared.

  "Gentlemen," he said, addressing them, "this is Walter Gordon, Lord ofLochinvar. He has done me the honor to propose crossing swords with mehere in this room. If he should kill me or have me at his mercy he isto be allowed free passage and outgate. Also he fights far from hisfriends, and therefore one of you will be good enough to act as hissecond."

  The younger of the two officers, he who had answered to the name ofFerrand, a tall, fair-haired Frenchman of the Midi, at once said, "Ishall consider it an honor to act as second to the Sieur of Lochinvar."

  "In the event of my death you will consider these orders imperative,and equally binding upon your honor as upon mine own," said JohnScarlett.

  The two officers bowed.

  "I think we should know the length of each other's swords by thistime," he said, looking at Wat; "there is therefore no need that ourseconds should measure them." For he had noted Walter's disinclinationto let his weapon leave his hand. So far as his own life was concerned,Wat hoped little from this combat. But he desired greatly to die anhonorable death, with his face to a worthy enemy; for John Scarlett hadbeen in his time the greatest swordsman in Europe, and though Walterwas by far his ablest pupil in Scotland, yet at no time could he havestood any chance in open field against his master.

  So, as the swords felt one another after the salute, Wat set his teethand wondered how long it would last, and how much Kate would ever know.There is little need to describe the fight at length. From the firstScarlett contented himself with keeping his opponent's blade in play,feeling it, humoring it, and, as it were, coaxing it into position.And for some bouts Wat fought without any of that verve and lightningversatility of fence which were his usual characteristics in action.Something seemed to paralyze his powers and weigh down his sword-blade,as though the quick and living steel had turned to lead in his hand.It might be that the feeling of ancient pupilage had returned to him,for to himself he seemed rather to be taking a lesson in the finesseof defence than to be fighting against terrible odds for his life andhonor.

  But s
uddenly a wonderful change came over him. A laugh was heard out inthe passage, in which stood Haxo the Bull and his satellites--a laughthin, acrid, unmistakable. It stung Wat to the roots of his heart.For a moment he was in difficulty. The problem divided his mind evenbetween thrust and parry. There was no man whom he knew well whoselaugh rang like that. But even as he fought he remembered how once, inthe palace of the stadtholder, he had seen the prince come in leaningupon the arm of a young, dark-haired man, whose meagre, hatchet facewas decorated, for all ornament, with a black mustache so scanty thatit seemed twisted of twenty hairs, and whose ends hung down, one oneither side of his lips, like a couple of rats' tails. This, and acertain bitter, rasping laugh to which he had at once taken a dislike,were all Wat remembered of that young man. But after the distinguishedparty had passed in to supper he learned that the prince's companionand confidant was one of his own nation, Murdo McAlister, Lord ofBarra and the Small Isles, and that he was one to whom the Prince ofOrange looked for counsel in all that did not touch the ecclesiasticalposition of affairs of Scotland.

  The laugh which rang out from the dark passage behind the Bull,the Calf, and the Killer was the same which he had heard at thesupper-party of the stadtholder.

  From that moment Wat knew that in no event had he now any chance forhis life. It mattered little whether or not he killed John Scarlett.Barra would certainly have the papers. For he knew the man well enoughto know that, having taken such trouble to obtain the return of thenumbers and positions for his own traitorous purposes, he would neverlet the bearer of them slip through his fingers. No oaths of hisown or another would serve to bind Murdo of the Isles in that whichconcerned his schemes. Yet even in that moment of agony Wat could nothelp wondering why Barra had taken so difficult and roundabout a way ofobtaining and transmitting a paper which it would have been perfectlyeasy for him to have gained by means of his official position, and tohave forwarded to the King of France by more ordinary channels. But,however this may be, certain it is that the laugh irritated Wat Gordonstrangely, and at the first sound of it he sprang towards Scarlett withan energy and fierceness entirely unlike the lassitude with which hehad previously fought.

  From that moment he forced the fighting, attacking with furious vigorand astonishing rapidity, so that the great master-at-arms soon foundthat even he had enough to do simply to stand it out on the defensive.Yet Scarlett smiled, too, for he thought that this bout of youthfulfury would soon wear itself down, and that then he would easily enoughget in his favorite deadly thrust in quart, to which no answer had everyet been discovered.

  But Walter never gave him time; for again the acrid laugh came fromthe dark passage and set all the young man's blood tingling to put asword deep in the traitor's throat, and then, if need be, die with hisfoot on his enemy's breast. He sped two thrusts one after the other soswiftly that Scarlett, countering over-late for the first, had to leapback in order to measure his distance for the second. In so doing hisfoot slipped, and his blade, caught unexpectedly by Lochinvar's, wentringing against the ceiling and fell on the floor. Walter's point wasat his breast the next moment.

  "Yield!" said Walter; "I hold you to your word. You are at my mercy."

  "I yield," said Scarlett. "It was well done. Never before in any landwas I thus vanquished in a fair fight."