Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini
Page 484
“By a quarter to nine I shall be arrested; by nine o’clock I shall be in the Châtelet, and by to-morrow in the Bastille.”
I shuddered and groaned alternately for the next minute...and groaning with a choke-pear in one’s mouth is not easily accomplished.
Next I remembered that I had my own rash tongue to thank for the ropes about me. Had I held my peace I might have been left free to proceed to the Rue du Bac, and warn Adeline and her father of what was about to take place. I could have gone calmly to the Bastille, afterward, reassured by the vows which I knew my lady would utter, and...I thought...fulfil, to wait for me. She might have to wait a few years, but even the Cardinal de Richelieu could not live forever; he was already old, and, in the end, I should be released, and we might still be happy.
But to disappear in this fashion, as if the earth had consumed me...it was dreadful! She would not know that it had been Castelroc’s handiwork, and after she had mourned me for a few weeks, with that villain at hand to console her, who could say what might happen?
Women, I told myself, were fickle things, and many had an unhealthy fancy for a profligate, especially when, like Castelroc, he chanced to be courtly, handsome, and gifted with a persuasive tongue.
As these thoughts paraded themselves tormentingly before my brain, I was nigh upon becoming mad with anger. In a paroxysm of rage I writhed like a wounded snake upon the polished floor, and rolled myself over and over, until I had almost broken my pinioned arms.
I paused at length in my futile struggles, and lay panting, on my back, staring stupidly at the hands of the time-piece, which now pointed to half past eight. In another quarter of an hour Castelroc would return.
Oh, if I could only have that quarter of an hour free, so that I might yet go to the Rue du Bac!
Then the thought of escape presented itself, and I was astonished that it had not occurred to me before. The next instant, however, I laughed inwardly...the choke-pear prevented me from laughing aloud...as I remembered how impossible it was. But I set myself to think.
If only I could release my hands! But how? I looked about. My sword lay on the ground, but I could devise no means of employing it.
Then my eyes alighted on the tapers that had been left burning, and my heart almost ceased to beat at the idea they suggested.
I glance at the clock. It was already twenty-five minutes to nine. If only I had time. And at the thought I fell to cursing myself for not having acted sooner.
In ten minutes Castelroc would be back. Yes, but that was if he gained immediate audience. What if the cardinal kept him waiting? He might spend a half hour, an hour, or even two hours in the antechamber. Richelieu was not particular, and he had tried the patience of better men than Castelroc in this fashion.
Still, fortune favors fools and rogues as well as brave men, so it would not do to build my hopes upon a moonbeam. Of ten minutes I was certain, and what a desperate man could do in ten minutes, I would do.
With the agility of a reptile I wriggled across the room, and having turned myself upon my face, I contrived to kneel. Next, with my chin upon the table, I strove to raise the weight of my body.
I had almost succeeded, when of a sudden my feet slipped, and I fell heavily to the ground, dragging the table with me. Two of the tapers spluttered and went out, but the third, fortunately, still burned upon the floor.
With a wildly thumping heart I lay there listening, wondering if the noise of my fall had attracted attention. But as all remained quiet, I crawled over to the lighted taper, and having gained my knees, I bent over it backward, holding the rope that bound my wrists in the flame, heedless of the searing of my flesh.
In half a minute my hands were free, although severely cut and scorched. To draw the gag from my mouth, and cut the cords at my ankles with my dagger, was the work of an instant.
Then, having righted the candle and recovered my sword, I made stealthily across the room to the window.
III
I opened the window and looked out. It was a fine night, and clear enough, although the moon had not yet risen, for which I was thankful.
Pausing for a moment to inhale a deep, invigorating breath of the pure April air, I glanced about me for a means of escape, but groaned as I beheld the street pavement a good forty feet beneath, and nothing that might assist me to climb down, as I had hoped.
I wasted a full minute in cursing my ill-fortune, as I realized that, after all, there was nothing for it but to submit to the inevitable, and remain.
Only three minutes left! The thought acted on me like a dagger prod, and served to quicken my tumultuous thoughts. I turned wildly this way and that, and at last my eyes fastened upon the sloping roof of the adjoining house, not more than twelve feet below the window whereat I stood, but quite three feet away to the left.
For the moment I thought of jumping it; but the peril was too great. I would of a certainty have been dashed to pieces. Then a bright thought occurred to me, and I rushed back for my cloak, which lay in the room.
An iron stanchion protruded from the wall, a little to the left, and some two feet below the window. I know not what it did there, nor for the moment did I care. It was already a quarter to nine.
Reaching out, I tied with trembling hands a corner of my cloak to that most apropos of stanchions. Even as I completed the task, a carriage came rumbling down the street; I felt myself grow cold with apprehension. Could this be Castelroc?
I went near to dropping from my perch on the window sill at the thought. But the coach passed on, and I took its advent as a good omen. I would cheat the dog yet! Verily, I laughed as I lowered myself gently from the window.
For a moment I clung to the sill, suspended in mid-air; then, moving my right leg across, I got astride of the stanchion, wondering for the first time if it would bear my weight, and sweating with fear at the thought.
But the iron was stout and firmly planted. Presently I was sliding slowly down my cloak, until there was perhaps a yard of it above my head. Next, taking a firm hold, I set myself to swing backward and forward, until at length the roof of the adjoining house was immediately below my feet.
Twice might I have loosened my hold and dropped with safety, but a miserable fright made me hesitate each time until it was too late. The third time, however, realizing that the strain was beginning to tell upon my arms, and that I might not have strength enough left to swing across again, I commended my soul to God, and let go.
Down I came with a crash upon the tiles, and it is a miracle that I did not slide over the edge of the sloping roof, plunging into eternity. I did, indeed, slip for a foot or so, but in wild terror I clawed the roof like a cat, and caught myself betimes.
Panting, and covered with perspiration, I lay there for a minute or two to regain my breath and steady my shaken nerves, gazing at my still dangling cloak and at the lighted window above, and marveling greatly that I had had the daring to undertake so desperate a journey.
Castelroc had not yet returned, so I concluded that the cardinal had kept him waiting, Still, he might appear at any moment, and I was too near my prison to feel safe as yet.
So picking myself carefully up, I crawled along on hands and knees for a while, until presently, growing bolder with experience, I rose to my feet and hurried as rapidly as I dared along that elevated highway.
For some five minutes I pushed steadily onward, with naught save a stray cat or two to keep me company.
Albeit the road was passing new to me, and vastly interesting, I began to weary of it, and paused to think how I might descend to the more usual walks of men.
I had reached the corner of the Rue Trecart by then, and looking about me, I saw an attic window conveniently situated on one of the roofs to my left.
Turning, I wended my steps in that direction, and with infinite pains I crawled down until I stood beside it.
The window was fastened; but it was an easy matter to put my foot through it, and afterward my arm, and thus gain admittance.
I had reached the first floor and was debating whether I should go boldly down and quit the house in a rational manner by the street door, when suddenly, hearing male voices and a certain raucous laughter, suggestive of the bottle, I deemed it best to risk no meetings that might be avoided.
I applied my ear to the keyhole of the door by which I stood. As all remained still, I turned the handle and entered. There was nobody in the room, which I could just discern was tastily furnished, and contained a bed; so, closing the door after me, I stole across to the window, which opened on to a wooden balcony.
As I reached it my attention was arrested by the clash of steel below.
“What,” I thought, “brawling at this hour, and in the very streets of Paris, in spite of the edicts?”
Softly I opened the window and stepped out on to the balcony. The sight which met my eyes filled me with astonishment and anger.
A tall, well-built cavalier, with his back against the wall immediately beneath me, the crown of his hat almost on a level with the balcony, which was not more than six feet from the ground, stood defending himself with masterly dexterity against the onslaught of three evil-looking knaves.
If these men had no respect for the laws of the king, they might at least have some for the laws of chivalry. I did not hesitate a moment what to do, and forgot my own affairs utterly. Drawing my sword, I vaulted over the low wooden railings and, like the warrior St. Michael from heaven to do battle for the right, I dropped, with a yell, into their astonished midst.
IV
Notre Dame! How those three ruffians stared at my unexpected and inexplicable advent!
And I, having seen what manner of men they were, felt no compunction at profiting by their surprise to run my sword through the nearest of them, from breast to back. He uttered a sharp cry, dropped his rapier, clawed the air for a moment; then, falling in a heap upon the ground, lay still.
With a shout of rage another one sprang at me before I could release my sword. The lunge he directed upon me would assuredly have sent me from the world unshriven, had not the cavalier interposed his blade and turned the murderous stroke aside.
The next moment, however, he had to defend his own skin from the third ruffian, who sought to take the same advantage of him that his fellow had endeavored to take of me.
But the respite had permitted me to regain my sword, and I now engaged my assailant across the body of his fallen comrade, and kept him busy, albeit the light was bad.
As I had expected, he was but a sorry swordsman, and his parries reminded one of a windmill. Nevertheless, he kept up a vigorous cut-and-thrust play of the old Italian school, which, although soon reckoned with in daylight, is mighty discomposing in the dark, and on a slippery ground with a body at your feet to stumble over if you lunge too far.
During the first few passes I laughed at his labors, and asked him banteringly if he were wielding a battle-ax; but presently, when I had been forced to turn my sword into a buckler three or four times, I recognized that the season was ill-timed for jesting.
If only I could catch that busy arm of his quiet for a second, I knew I should have him.
Presently he essayed a direct thrust, thinking to force my guard, but I caught his point, and with a sharp riposte, which ended in an engage in tierce, I brought his play to a standstill at last.
The opportunity was not to be wasted; so, with a quick one, two stroke, I sent my point round under his elbow, and while he went fumbling away to the right for my blade, it was grating against his ribs on the left. The man uttered no sound.
He fell heavily across his companion’s body. Then, raising himself by a stupendous effort, he fastened one arm around my leg, and attempted to shorten his sword. The exertion soon overcame him, however, and as I kicked my leg free, he sank down in a swoon.
The whole affair had not lasted two minutes. The chevalier was still at work with his opponent; but when, turning, I advanced to his aid, the remaining ruffian sprang back, and setting off at a mad gallop down the street, was soon lost to our eyes and ears alike.
“I am deeply indebted to you, monsieur,” said the chevalier in a curiously muffled voice, as he held out his left hand to me. “My right hand is bleeding slightly,” he explained.
I took the proffered hand and, in answering him, I looked up at his face and saw he wore a mask.
“I am happy to have been of service to so valiant a gentleman,” I said, bowing. “But how came you, if I may inquire, into such company?”
“I was decoyed hither,” he answered with a bitter laugh. “I was bidden come alone, and I was foolish enough to accept the invitation.”
Whereat, thinking that possibly there was some jealous lady in the matter, and knowing how such affairs are managed, I inquired no further.
“Had it not been for your timely arrival,” my companion added, “there would have been an end of me by now. But whither are you bent?” he inquired suddenly.
“To the Rue du Bac,” I answered, as my own forgotten affairs came back to my mind.
“Then I will take you there in my carriage; it is waiting not many yards from here. I can thus make up to you for the time that you have lost on my behalf. But let us see these knaves first.”
We turned the two fellows over. One of them was but slightly wounded; but the other one...the first to fall...was quite dead. We dragged them under the balcony, and propped them against the wall.
“I will send some one to attend to them,” said my companion. “Come, it is not safe to linger. The patrol may pass at any moment.”
With that he linked his arm in mine, and drew me away from the spot. And as we went he fell to thanking me again, and ended by praising my swordsmanship...albeit he had seen but little of it himself...and saying that it was an accomplishment one should be thankful for.
“And yet, monsieur,” I exclaimed, “although I am thankful enough to-night, since it has afforded me the opportunity of serving you, yet I am at this very moment in grievous trouble, thanks to my rapier play.”
“Ah!” he murmured, with a show of interest. “And if I am not impertinent, what is this trouble? I may be able to assist you...who knows?”
I required no second invitation, for youth is ever ready with its confidences, and, as we walked along, I began my narrative. When I spoke of Castelroc as a spy of Richelieu’s, he stopped abruptly.
“The Marquis de Castelroc is no spy of the cardinal’s,” he said coldly.
“Ah, pardon! I have offended you, monsieur!” I exclaimed. “Castelroc is a friend of yours.”
“God forbid!” he ejaculated.
“But you know him?”
“Yes, for the greatest rogue unhanged. But pursue your tale. You interest me.”
V
Briefly I told my story down to the point where I had sprung from the balcony to his assistance.
“The dastard!” he uttered, then quickly added, “Hélas, my poor friend, your case is indeed grave; but if you were to seek audience of the cardinal and explain to him...qui sait?...he might forgive. The affair is old and probably forgotten. Moreover, you appear to have been forced into this duel with Beausire, and, ma foi, I fail to see how a gentleman could have done otherwise than fight under such circumstances.”
“Aye, monsieur,” I answered, shaking my head; “but the cardinal will not trouble to inquire. His edicts forbid duelling. That is sufficient. But of more were needed...Beausire was his nephew.”
“You misjudge him.”
“Nay, monsieur, I do not, I recognize in His Eminence a great and just man, too just to err on the side of mercy.”
At that juncture we turned the corner and walked full into a patrol coming in the opposite direction.
My companion surprised me
by bidding the sergeant go attend to the wounded man we had left behind.
“Has there been a duel?” the fellow inquired.
“Possibly,” answered the cavalier with great composure.
The sergeant eyed us suspiciously for a moment, then bade us return with him.
“We have business elsewhere, and the affair does not concern us,” answered my companion.
“I know not that...” the other began, when suddenly:
“Peace, fool,” the cavalier muttered, and drawing forth his right hand, which he had said was wounded, and hitherto kept carefully under his cloak, he held it up.
I knew not what magic was in those fingers, but at the sight of them the sergeant fell back with a cry of dismay; then, recovering himself, he bowed low before us, and bade us pass.
A moment later, and before I could master my surprise at what I had witnessed, we entered a carriage that stood waiting hard by.
“Palais Cardinal!” said my companion.
“No, no!” I exclaimed, making for the door; but the coach was already in motion. I turned to expostulate with my companion. He had removed his mask, and a wild panic seized me as, by the light of a street lamp, I recognized...the cardinal!
“Well, my young friend,” he laughed, “you are in luck to-night; and since you have caught Richelieu breaking his own edicts, you have a right to expect that he will not judge you over harshly, and that for once, this ‘great and just man’ will err on the side of mercy.”
“Your Eminence!” I cried.
He raised his hand, upon which I now beheld the sacred amethyst which had so subjugated the sergeant.
“Say no more,” he said; “You owe me nothing, while I owe you my life. As for this Castelroc, I am sorry to keep you from Mlle. de la Haudraye for a few moments longer; but I shall be grateful if you will afford me the amusement of beholding his face when we walk in, arm in arm, to grant him the audience for which he is, no doubt, still waiting. I know the gentleman of old; he was involved in a Gascon plot last winter, and had a finger in one of Anne of Austria’s tasty pies a few weeks ago. I have lately been thinking of finding him a change of lodging, and your story has decided me. I do not think a sojourn in the Bastille would be amiss, do you?”