CHAPTER XXVII.
THE BLACK TOWN.
It was late evening when, riding wearily on jaded horses, they came tothe outskirts of Angers, and saw before them the term of theirjourney. The glow of sunset had faded, but the sky was still warm withthe last hues of day; and against its opal light the huge mass of theAngevin castle, which even in sunshine rises dark and forbidding abovethe Mayenne, stood up black and sharply defined. Below it, on bothbanks of the river, the towers and spires of the city soared up from asombre huddle of ridge-roofs, broken here by a round-headed gateway,crumbling and pigeon-haunted, that dated from St. Louis, and there bythe gaunt arms of a windmill.
The city lay dark under a light sky, keeping well its secrets.Thousands were out of doors enjoying the evening coolness in alley andcourt, yet it betrayed the life which pulsed in its arteries only bythe low murmur which rose from it. Nevertheless, the Countess at sightof its roofs tasted the first moment of happiness which had been hersthat day. She might suffer, but she had saved. Those roofs would thankher! In that murmur were the voices of women and children she hadredeemed! At the sight and at the thought a wave of love andtenderness swept all bitterness from her breast. A profound humility,a boundless thankfulness took possession of her. Her head sank lowerabove her horse's mane; but it sank in reverence, not in shame.
Could she have known what was passing beneath those roofs which nightwas blending in a common gloom--could she have read the thoughts whichat that moment paled the cheeks of many a stout burgher, whose gabledhouse looked on the great square, she had been still more thankful.For in attics and back rooms women were on their knees at that hour,praying with feverish eyes; and in the streets men--on whom theirfellows, seeing the winding-sheet already at the chin, gazedaskance--smiled, and showed brave looks abroad, while their heartswere sick with fear.
For darkly, no man knew how, the news had come to Angers. It had beenknown, more or less, for three days. Men had read it in other men'seyes. The tongue of a scold, the sneer of an injured woman had spreadit, the birds of the air had carried it. From garret window to garretwindow across the narrow lanes of the old town it had been whisperedat dead of night; at convent grilles, and in the timber-yards besidethe river. Ten thousand, fifty thousand, a hundred thousand, it wasrumoured, had perished in Paris. In Orleans, all. In Tours this man'ssister; at Saumur that man's son. Through France the word had goneforth that the Huguenots must die; and in the busy town the sameroof-tree sheltered fear and hate, rage and cupidity. On one side ofthe party-wall murder lurked fierce-eyed; on the other, the victim laywatching the latch, and shaking at a step. Strong men tasted thebitterness of death, and women clasping their babes to their breastssmiled sickly into children's eyes.
The signal only was lacking. It would come, said some, from Saumur,where Montsoreau, the Duke of Anjou's Lieutenant-Governor and aPapist, had his quarters. From Paris, said others, directly from theKing. It might come at any hour now, in the day or in the night; themagistrates, it was whispered, were in continuous session, awaitingits coming. No wonder that from, lofty gable windows, and from dormersset high above the tiles, haggard faces looked northward and eastward,and ears sharpened by fear imagined above the noises of the city thering of the iron shoes that carried doom.
Doubtless the majority desired--as the majority in France have alwaysdesired--peace. But in the purlieus about the cathedral and in thelanes where the sacristans lived, in convent parlours and collegecourts, among all whose livelihood the new faith threatened, was astir as of a hive deranged. Here was grumbling against themagistrates--why wait? There, stealthy plannings and arrangements;everywhere a grinding of weapons and casting of slugs. Old grudges,new rivalries, a scholar's venom, a priest's dislike, here was finalvent for all. None need leave this feast unsated!
It was a man of this class, sent out for the purpose, who first espiedCount Hannibal's company approaching. He bore the news into the town,and by the time the travellers reached the city gate, the dusky streetwithin, on which lights were beginning to twinkle from booths andcasements, was alive with figures running to meet them and crying thenews as they ran. The travellers, weary and road-stained, had nosooner passed under the arch than they found themselves the core of agreat crowd which moved with them and pressed about them; nowunbonneting, and now calling out questions, and now shouting "Vive leRoi! Vive le Roi!" Above the press, windows burst into light; and overall, the quaint leaning gables of the old timbered houses looked downon the hurry and tumult.
They passed along a narrow street in which the rabble, hurrying atCount Hannibal's bridle, and often looking back to read his face, hadmuch ado to escape harm; along this street and before the yawningdoors of a great church, whence a hot breath heavy with incense andburning wax issued to meet them. A portion of the congregation hadheard the tumult and struggled out, and now stood close-packed on thesteps under the double vault of the portal. Among them the Countess'seyes, as she rode by, a sturdy man-at-arms on either hand, caught andheld one face. It was the face of a tall, lean man in dusty black; andthough she did not know him she seemed to have an equal attraction forhim; for as their eyes met he seized the shoulder of the man next himand pointed her out. And something in the energy of the gesture, or inthe thin lips and malevolent eyes of the man who pointed, chilled theCountess's blood and shook her, she knew not why.
Until then, she had known no fear save of her husband. But at that asense of the force and pressure of the crowd--as well as of the fiercepassions, straining about her, which a word might unloose--broke uponher; and looking to the stern men on either side she fancied that sheread anxiety in their faces.
She glanced behind. Bridle to bridle the Count's men came on, pressinground her women and shielding them from the exuberance of the throng.In their faces too she thought that she traced uneasiness.
What wonder if the scenes through which she had passed in Paris beganto recur to her mind, and shook nerves already overwrought?
She began to tremble. "Is there--danger?" she muttered, speaking in alow voice to Bigot, who rode on her right hand. "Will they doanything?"
The Norman snorted. "Not while he is in the saddle," he said, noddingtowards his master, who rode a pace in front of them, his reins loose."There be some here know him!" Bigot continued, in his drawling tone."And more will know him if they break line. Have no fear, madame, hewill bring you safe to the inn. Down with the Huguenots?" hecontinued, turning from her and addressing a rogue who, holding hisstirrup, was shouting the cry till he was crimson. "Then why not away,and----"
"The King! The King's word and leave!" the man answered.
"Ay, tell us!" shrieked another, looking upward, while he waved hiscap; "have we the King's leave?"
"You'll bide _his_ leave!" the Norman retorted, indicating the Countwith his thumb. "Or 'twill be up with you--on the three-legged horse!"
"But he comes from the King!" the man panted.
"To be sure. To be sure!"
"Then----"
"You'll bide his time! That's all!" Bigot answered, rather it seemedfor his own satisfaction than the other's enlightenment. "You'll allbide it, you dogs!" he continued in his beard, as he cast his eye overthe weltering crowd. "Ha! so we are here, are we? And not too soon,either."
He fell silent as they entered an open space, overlooked on one sideby the dark facade of the cathedral, on the other three sides byhouses more or less illumined. The rabble swept into this open spacewith them and before them, filled much of it in an instant, and for awhile eddied and swirled this way and that, thrust onward by theworshippers who had issued from the church and backwards by those whohad been first in the square, and had no mind to be hustled out ofhearing. A stranger, confused by the sea of excited faces, anddeafened by the clamour of "Vive le Roi!" "Vive Anjou!" mingled withcries against the Huguenots, might have fancied that the whole citywas arrayed before him. But he would have been wide of the mark. Thescum, indeed--and a dangerous scum--frothed a
nd foamed and spat underTavannes' bridle-hand; and here and there among them, but not of them,the dark-robed figure of a priest moved to and fro; or a Benedictine,or some smooth-faced acolyte egged on to the work he dared not do. Butthe decent burghers were not there. They lay bolted in their houses;while the magistrates, with little heart to do aught except bow to themob--or other their masters for the time being--shook in their councilchamber.
There is not a city of France which has not seen it; which has notknown the moment when the mass impended, and it lay with one man tostart it or stay its course. Angers within its houses heard theclamour, and from the child, clinging to its mother's skirt, andwondering why she wept, to the Provost, trembled, believing that thehour had come. The Countess heard it too, and understood it. Shecaught the savage note in the voice of the mob--that note which meansdanger--and her heart beating wildly she looked to her husband. Then,fortunately for her, fortunately for Angers, it was given to all tosee that in Count Hannibal's saddle sat a man.
He raised his hand for silence, and in a minute or two--not at once,for the square was dusky--it was obtained. He rose in his stirrups,and bared his head.
"I am from the King!" he cried, throwing his voice to all parts of thecrowd. "And this is his Majesty's pleasure and good will! That everyman hold his hand until to-morrow on pain of death, or worse! And atnoon his further pleasure will be known! Vive le Roi!"
And he covered his head again.
"Vive le Roi!" cried a number of the foremost. But their shouts werefeeble and half-hearted, and were quickly drowned in a rising murmurof discontent and ill-humour, which, mingled with cries of "Is thatall? Is there no more? Down with the Huguenots!" rose from all parts.Presently these cries became merged in a persistent call, which hadits origin, as far as could be discovered, in the darkest corner ofthe square. A call for "Montsoreau! Montsoreau! Give us Montsoreau!"
With another man, or had Tavannes turned or withdrawn, or betrayed theleast anxiety, words had become actions, disorder a riot; and that inthe twinkling of an eye. But Count Hannibal, sitting his horse, withhis handful of riders behind him, watched the crowd, as little movedby it as the Armed Knight of Notre Dame. Only once did he say a word.Then, raising his hand as before to gain a hearing, "You ask forMontsoreau?" he thundered. "You will have Montfaucon if you do notquickly go to your homes!"
At which, and at the glare of his eye, the more timid took fright.Feeling his gaze upon them, seeing that he had no intention ofwithdrawing, they began to sneak away by ones and twos. Soon othersmissed them and took the alarm, and followed. A moment and scores werestreaming away through lanes and alleys and along the main street. Atlast the bolder and more turbulent found themselves a remnant. Theyglanced uneasily at one another and at Tavannes, took fright in theirturn, and plunging into the current hastened away, raising now andthen as they passed through the streets a cry of "Vive Montsoreau!Montsoreau!"--which was not without its menace for the morrow.
Count Hannibal waited motionless until no more than half a dozengroups remained in the open. Then he gave the word to dismount; sofar, even the Countess and her women had kept their saddles, lest themovement which their retreat into the inn must have caused should bemisread by the mob. Last of all he dismounted himself, and with lightsgoing before him and behind, and preceded by Bigot, bearing his cloakand pistols, he escorted the Countess into the house. Not many minuteshad elapsed since he called for silence; but long before he reachedthe chamber looking over the square from the first floor, in whichsupper was being set for them, the news had flown through the lengthand breadth of Angers that for this night the danger was past. Thehawk had come to Angers, and lo! it was a dove.
Count Hannibal strode to one of the open windows and looked out. Inthe room, which was well lighted, were people of the house, going toand fro, setting out the table; to Madame, standing beside thehearth--which held its summer dressing of green boughs--while herwoman held water for her to wash, the scene recalled with painfulvividness the meal at which she had been present on the morning of theSt. Bartholomew--the meal which had ushered in her troubles. Naturallyher eyes went to her husband, her mind to the horror in which she hadheld him then; and with a kind of shock, perhaps because the last fewminutes had shown him in a new light, she compared her old opinion ofhim with that which, much as she feared him, she now entertained.
This afternoon, if ever, within the last few hours, if at all, he hadacted in a way to justify that horror and that opinion. He had treatedher--brutally; he had insulted and threatened her, had almost struckher. And yet--and yet Madame felt that she had moved so far from thepoint which she had once occupied that the old attitude was hard tounderstand. Hardly could she believe that it was on this man, much asshe still dreaded him, that she had looked with those feelings ofrepulsion.
She was still gazing at him with eyes which strove to see two men inone, when he turned from the window. Absorbed in thought she hadforgotten her occupation, and stood, the towel suspended in herhalf-dried hands. Before she knew what he was doing he was at herside; he bade the woman hold the bowl, and he rinsed his hands. Thenhe turned, and without looking at the Countess, he dried his hands onthe farther end of the towel which she was still using.
She blushed faintly. A something in the act, more intimate and morefamiliar than had ever marked their intercourse, set her bloodrunning strangely. When he turned away and bade Bigot unbuckle hisspur-leathers, she stepped forward.
"I will do it!" she murmured, acting on a sudden and unaccountableimpulse. And as she knelt, she shook her hair about her face to hideits colour.
"Nay, madame, but you will soil your fingers!" he said coldly.
"Permit me," she muttered half coherently. And though her fingersshook, she pursued and performed her task.
When she rose he thanked her; and then the devil in the man, or theNemesis he had provoked when he took her by force from another--theNemesis of jealousy, drove him to spoil all. "And for whose sake,madame?" he added with a jeer--"mine or M. de Tignonville's?" And witha glance between jest and earnest, he tried to read her thoughts.
She winced as if he had indeed struck her, and the hot colour fled hercheeks. "For his sake!" she said, with a shiver of pain. "That hislife may be spared!" And she stood back humbly, like a beaten dog.Though, indeed, it was for the sake of Angers, in thankfulness for thepast rather than in any desperate hope of propitiating her husband,that she had done it!
Perhaps he would have withdrawn his words. But before he could answer,the host, bowing to the floor, came to announce that all was ready,and that the Provost of the City, for whom M. le Comte had sent, wasin waiting below. "Let him come up!" Tavannes answered, grave andfrowning. "And see you, close the room, sirrah! My people will wait onus. Ah!" as the Provost, a burly man with a face framed for jollity,but now pale and long, entered and approached him with manysalutations. "How comes it, M. le Prevot--you are the Prevot, are younot?"
"Yes, M. le Comte."
"How comes it that so great a crowd is permitted to meet in thestreets? And that at my entrance, though I come unannounced, I findhalf of the city gathered together?"
The Provost stared. "Respect, M. le Comte," he said, "for HisMajesty's letters, of which you are the bearer, no doubt induced someto come together----"
"Who said I brought letters?"
"Who----"
"Who said I brought letters?" Count Hannibal repeated in a strenuousvoice. And he ground his chair half about and faced the astonishedmagistrate. "Who said I brought letters?"
"Why, my lord," the Provost stammered, "it was everywhereyesterday----"
"Yesterday?"
"Last night, at latest--that letters were coming from the King."
"By my hand?"
"By your lordship's hand--whose name is so well known here," themagistrate added, in the hope of clearing the great man's brow.
Count Hannibal laughed darkly. "My hand will be better knownby-and-by," he said. "See you, sirrah, there is some practice here.What is this cry
of Montsoreau that I hear?"
"Your lordship knows that he is His Grace's Lieutenant-Governor inSaumur."
"I know that, man. But is he here?"
"He was at Saumur yesterday, and 'twas rumoured three days back thathe was coming here to extirpate the Huguenots. Then word came of yourlordship and of His Majesty's letters, and 'twas thought that M. deMontsoreau would not come, his authority being superseded."
"I see. And now your rabble think that they would prefer M.Montsoreau. That is it, is it?"
The magistrate shrugged his shoulders and opened his hands. "Pigs!" hesaid. And having spat on the floor he looked apologetically at thelady. "True pigs!"
"What connections has he here?" Tavannes asked.
"He is a brother of my lord the Bishop's Vicar, who arrivedyesterday."
"With a rout of shaven heads who have been preaching and stirring upthe town!" Count Hannibal cried, his face growing red. "Speak, man, isit so? But I'll be sworn it is!"
"There has been preaching," the Provost answered reluctantly.
"Montsoreau may count his brother, then, for one. He is a fool, butwith a knave behind him, and a knave who has no cause to love us! Andthe Castle? 'Tis held by one of M. de Montsoreau's creatures, I takeit?"
"Yes, my lord."
"With what force?"
The magistrate shrugged his shoulders, and looked doubtfully atBadelon, who was keeping the door.
Tavannes followed the glance with his usual impatience. "Mon Dieu, youneed not look at him!" he cried. "He has sacked St. Peter's and singedthe Pope's beard with a holy candle! He has been served on the knee byCardinals; and is Turk or Jew, or monk or Huguenot as I please. Andmadame"--for the Provost's astonished eyes, after resting awhile onthe old soldier's iron visage, had passed to her--"is Huguenot, so youneed have no fear of her! There, speak, man," with impatience, "andcease to think of your own skin!"
The Provost drew a deep breath, and fixed his small eyes on CountHannibal.
"If I knew, my lord, what you--why, my own sister's son"--he paused,his face began to work, his voice shook--"is a Huguenot! Ay, my lord,a Huguenot! And they know it!" he continued, a flush of rageaugmenting the emotion which his countenance betrayed. "Ay, they knowit! And they push me on at the Council, and grin behind my back;Lescot, who was Provost two years back and would match his son with mydaughter; and Thuriot who prints for the University! They nudge oneanother, and egg me on, till half the city thinks it is I who wouldkill the Huguenots! I!" Again his voice broke. "And my own sister'sson a Huguenot! And my girl at home white-faced for--for his sake."
Tavannes scanned the man shrewdly. "Perhaps she is of the same way ofthinking?" he said.
The Provost started, and lost one-half of his colour. "God forbid!" hecried, "saving madame's presence! Who says so, my lord, lies!"
"Ay, lies not far from the truth."
"My lord!"
"Pish, man, Lescot has said it and will act on it. And Thuriot, whoprints for the University! Would you 'scape them? You would? Thenlisten to me. I want but two things. First, how many men hasMontsoreau's fellow in the Castle? Few, I know, for he is a niggard,and if he spends, he spends the Duke's pay."
"Twelve. But five can hold it."
"Ay, but twelve dare not leave it! Let them stew in their own broth!And now for the other matter. See, man, that before daybreak threegibbets, with a ladder and two ropes apiece, are set up in the square.And let one be before this door. You understand? Then let it be done!The rest," he added with a ferocious smile, "you may leave to me."
The magistrate nodded rather feebly. "Doubtless," he said, his eyewandering here and there, "there are rogues in Angers. And for roguesthe gibbet! But saving your presence, my lord, it is a questionwhether----"
But M. de Tavannes' patience was exhausted. "Will you do it?" heroared. "That is the question. And the only question."
The Provost jumped, he was so startled. "Certainly, my lord,certainly!" he muttered humbly. "Certainly, I will!" And bowingfrequently, but saying no more, he backed himself out of the room.
Count Hannibal laughed grimly after his fashion, and doubtless thoughtthat he had seen the last of the magistrate for that night. Great washis wrath therefore, when, less than a minute later--and before Bigothad carved for him--the door opened and the Provost appeared again. Heslid in, and without giving the courage he had gained on the stairstime to cool, plunged into his trouble.
"It stands this way, M. le Comte," he bleated. "If I put up thegibbets and a man is hanged, and you have letters from the King, 'tisa rogue the less and no harm done. But if you have no letters from HisMajesty, then it is on my shoulders they will put it, and 'twill beodd if they do not find a way to hang me to right him."
Count Hannibal smiled grimly. "And your sister's son?" he sneered."And your girl who is white-faced for his sake, and may burn on thesame bonfire with him? And----"
"Mercy! Mercy!" the wretched Provost cried. And he wrung his hands."Lescot and Thuriot----"
"Perhaps we may hang Lescot and Thuriot----"
"But I see no way out," the Provost babbled. "No way! No way!"
"I am going to show you one," Tavannes retorted. "If the gibbets arenot in place by sunrise, I shall hang you from this window. That isone way out; and you'll be wise to take the other! For the rest andfor your comfort, if I have no letters, it is not always to paper thatthe King commits his inmost heart."
The magistrate bowed. He quaked, he doubted, but he had no choice. "Mylord," he said, "I put myself in your hands. It shall be done,certainly it shall be done. But, but----" and shaking his head inforeboding he turned to the door.
At the last moment, when he was within a pace of it, the Countess roseimpulsively to her feet. She called to him. "M. le Prevot, a minute,if you please," she said. "There may be trouble to morrow; yourdaughter may be in some peril. You will do well to send her to me.My lord"--and on the word her voice, timid before, grew full andsteady--"will see that I am safe. And she will be safe with me."
The Provost saw before him only a gracious lady, moved by athoughtfulness unusual in persons of her rank. He was at no pains toexplain the flame in her cheek, or the soft light which glowed in hereyes, as she looked at him, across her formidable husband. He was onlyprofoundly grateful--moved even to tears. Humbly thanking her heaccepted her offer for his child, and withdrew wiping his eyes.
When he was gone, and the door had closed behind him, Tavannes turnedto the Countess, who still kept her feet. "You are very confident thisevening," he sneered. "Gibbets do not frighten you, it seems, madame.Perhaps if you knew for whom the one before the door is intended?"
She met his look with a searching gaze, and spoke with a ring ofdefiance in her tone. "I do not believe it!" she said. "I do notbelieve it! You who save Angers will not destroy him!" And then herwoman's mood changing, with courage and colour ebbing together, "Oh,no, you will not! You will not!" she wailed. And she dropped on herknees before him, and holding up her clasped hands, "God will put itin your heart to spare him--and me!"
He rose with a stifled oath, took two steps from her, and in a tonehoarse and constrained, "Go!" he said. "Go, or sit! Do you hear,madame? You try my patience too far!"
But when she had gone his face was radiant. He had brought her, he hadbrought all, to the point at which he aimed. To-morrow his triumphawaited him. To-morrow he who had cast her down would raise her up.
He did not foresee what a day would bring forth.
Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France Page 42