CHAPTER II
THE CROIX VERTE LOSES ITS GUEST
"Does the death of a man prevent the living from finishing the bottle?It's a sin to waste good wine," said Lemasle, striding back into theroom.
He spoke rather as a man who was perplexed than as one who wascallous. Whatever scheme Father Bertrand was persuading him to, hadbeen in the future a few moments ago; there was plenty of time toweigh it and digest it, to play with it and calculate the chances;that cannon booming out into the night had made a quick decisionimperative, and Gaspard Lemasle was troubled.
"Leave him to me," said the priest to the other two men, and then asHerrick turned and went down the passage toward the stairs, FatherBertrand drew his companions closer to him, and talked eagerly to themfor a few moments.
When Herrick descended the stairs a few minutes later the passage wasempty, and only a waiter was in the long room. The conversation he hadchanced to overhear had made little impression upon him. Was thereever a state yet in which every citizen was contented with his rulers?Here in Montvilliers there were contentions, and the coming demise ofthe Duke prompted men to talk. How dangerous such talk might be,Herrick had no means of judging. He had heard a few names which hadlittle meaning for him--a count, a beautiful woman, and a scholar.Evidently they were of import in the Duchy, but of what interestcould they be to him? Nor had he particularly noticed the priest'sclose scrutiny of his face. Father Bertrand had been astonished to seea stranger there, one who had certainly overheard something of whathad been said, and, being a politician as well as a churchman, moreloyal as the latter possibly than as the former, he had naturallysought to understand what manner of man this stranger might be. Thatwas all.
So Herrick sought to dismiss the occurrence from his mind as he passedout of the inn, and, after standing on the narrow footway for a momentlooking up and down the street, turned in the direction of the castle,bent on a short walk before bed.
There is ever a sense of mystery in an unknown city when it istraversed for the first time after nightfall. Seen over theintervening roofs, some tower or battlemented edifice, rising gray andghost-like in the dim light of the moon as it did to-night, seems fullof mystery; there is a secret in every street turning to right andleft, leading we know not whither; in every narrow alley, lookingdangerous betwixt frowning walls; in every dark window, from whenceevil might peep out unseen. In Vayenne this sense of mystery wasintensified since for long centuries history had been busy with it.Its interest lay in the folded mantle of the past rather than in theopen lap of the present. Its foundations were in the days ofCharlemagne, and in war and peace it had played a foremost part sincethen. Hate and ambition had fought out their deadly feuds around itand in its streets. Thrice it had closed its gates against the invaderand stood a siege. Chivalry had held sway in it, and in cruel agesdeeds unspeakable had been perpetrated within its walls. It had hadits periods of great glory and of even greater neglect, of victory anddefeat, yet it stood to-day as it ever had stood, the capital of theDuchy of Montvilliers, the centre of an independent state, the dukesof which could still link themselves with those Frankish pirates whohad conquered and made their home here.
But to-day Vayenne had fallen behind in the march of moderncivilization. For the most part its streets were old and ill-lighted.Men still inhabited houses which had stood for centuries, the castlestill frowned over the city as it had done in the Middle Ages, and theruling hand had still an iron grip in it. Perhaps nowhere in Europehad the ways of the foreigner made less progress. Travellers had notyet marked Vayenne as a place to visit. It was not easy of access, andno one had written eulogies concerning it. That it had fallen behindthe times in this manner may have been a potent factor in keeping itinviolate and independent. What wonder then if its rulers, and itspeople, too, were satisfied with things as they were?
Well might a traveller feel strangely alone and out of the world inthis city, whose monuments of chiselled stone and sturdy oak haddefied the ravages of the conqueror and of time. Yet no suchstrangeness took possession of Roger Herrick. Vayenne had been to hima dream city. He had known of it from earliest childhood, why and howhe hardly understood; as a boy he had vowed one day to see and know itin reality; and to-night the sudden rushes of bell and chime music,the very cadences of the carillon, which came from the belfry of thegreat church whose spire rose high toward heaven, seemed familiar.They were not new, he had only forgotten them for a while. He seemedto have known these dark streets with their overhanging houses in someother life, and in this present existence the death of the Duketo-night seemed to hold some meaning for him.
This sense of familiarity with his surroundings was particularlystrong as he stopped at a corner with the intention of turning andretracing his steps to the inn. Some distance down, the street wasspanned by a deep archway, in the upper part of which was a greatclock. By the light of a lamp swinging at the corner, Herrick saw thatit was called the Rue de la Grosse Horloge. Its upper end, at least,was better lighted than most of the streets he had passed through, andhe walked toward the archway, which was old and weather-worn, and musthave been a familiar object in Vayenne long before any clock wasplaced there. There were small shops, part of the structure on eitherside of the road, and in the deep arch itself, above and on the sides,were bold reliefs, some past history of the city carved intopermanence in stone. Herrick paused to look up at them, his actionmarking him for a foreigner, for who amongst those who passed dailythrough that familiar archway would give them a thought? Two menwalking a dozen yards behind him stopped to watch him, and when hewent on, they went on, too, quickening their pace a little and drawingcloser to him. The street beyond the arch was darker, most of theshops there being closed for the night, and the fact reminded Herrickthat it was time to return to the Croix Verte. He turned so suddenlythat he almost collided with the two men who followed him, and hadwalked so lightly that he was quite unconscious of their presence. Onestepped aside and passed on, the other stepped back and began avoluble apology.
"Pardon, monsieur, I did not see. I was walking with my eyes on theground. It is a bad habit."
Raising his hat and bowing even as the other did, Herrick wasexplaining that if there were any fault it was his, and that noapology was necessary, when an arm was thrown suddenly across histhroat from behind, and he was dragged violently backward. Immediatelythe man in front closed with him, endeavoring to prevent his using hishands; and the attack was so unexpected that for some moments it wasall Herrick could do to keep his feet. He was, however, a strong man,a wrestler and a fighter of no mean skill. With the hand that he hadsucceeded in keeping free he gripped the arm about his throat, andwith one great heave of his body threw the man over his head on to theroadway, where he lay motionless, as though all life were beaten outof him. In another moment it would have gone hard with his otherassailant had the man not slipped to the ground, keeping his armstightly clasped round Herrick's legs, however.
"A spy! Help! A spy!" he shouted. The effect of that cry waswonderful. Before Herrick could kick himself free, a score of men wereupon him. He attempted to shout an explanation, but to no purpose.This way and that was he thrown, his arms were seized and twistedbehind him, and then a noose was slipped over his wrists, renderinghim helpless.
Hatless and with torn clothes he was hustled down the street, thecrowd about him becoming larger every moment, those on the outerfringe of it loudly questioning who he was and what he had done.
"A spy!" some one shouted.
"A quick death to all spies," came the ready answer.
Herrick had been severely handled, and for a few moments was hardlyconscious of what was happening about him. The reiterated cry of "Spy"served to rouse him. For these people the word appeared to have aspecial interpretation. They expected and feared spies, and wereinclined to be merciless. Revenge was in their minds rather thanjustice. That the two men who had attacked him took him for a spy,Herrick did not believe; the man clasping his legs had only raised thecry to save himself, knowing
full well how promptly assistance wouldcome to such a shout. A quick death seemed likely to follow capture,and, one man as he was against a multitude, Herrick nerved himself fora last struggle. The cord that bound his wrists was not fastened intoo workman-like a fashion, he could work his hands free, and itshould go hard with some before they succeeded in stringing him tosome lamp at a corner, which he imagined was their intention.
The cry, however, had gone farther than the street of the great clock.There was a spirit of excitement abroad in Vayenne to-night consequenton the death of the Duke, and the closing of the shops had only sentmore men into the taverns and streets to talk and perchance to plot.The cry of "Spy" had leaped from lip to lip far beyond the man who hadbeen the cause of it, and now as the excited crowd poured out of thestreet into a wide, open square, and Herrick was about to make a laststruggle for his life, there came a sharp word of command, a ring ofsteel drawn from the scabbard, and the crowd halted in confusionbefore a body of soldiers.
"What have we here?" said a voice which sounded familiar to Herrick.
"A spy, captain," shouted a dozen voices.
"You may easily call a man that, but the proof?"
There was silence, each man expecting his neighbor to speak.
"You may well ask for the proof, since there is none," said Herrick."Some scoundrels----"
"Ay, and the accusation is as easily denied," interrupted the soldier,turning toward Herrick. "There was never a spy yet but had plenty oflies ready to his tongue."
"I am a stranger in Vayenne--shall I seek justice in it in vain,Captain Lamasle?" For Herrick recognized him as the soldier who hadbeen with the priest at the Croix Verte that evening.
An expression of astonishment crossed the captain's face at beingknown by this stranger. It was evident that he did not recognizeHerrick, but perhaps he remembered what company he had been in notlong since and what had been said over the wine.
"Being so ready with my name is not much in your favor," he said;"you'll get justice, I warrant." And then in obedience to a quickcommand, Herrick found himself a prisoner amongst soldiers instead ofin the midst of a crowd. It would be useless now to attempt to escape,and at the word of command he marched forward.
Until this moment Herrick had taken little note of his surroundings.Now a sudden rush of music in the air above made him look around him.The square was of great size, misty and ghost-like in the pale,uncertain moonlight, but, in front of him there loomed a great gatewayflanked by towers, and behind and on higher ground, there were othertowers and frowning walls. It was the castle, and near it rose thestately pile of a great church, its spire piercing far into thenight.
As they approached the castle the great gates were flung open, andHerrick saw that the court-yard within was full of men hurrying to andfro. Horses' hoofs impatiently beat the stones, which were rough anduneven. There was much jingling of harness and ring of spur and steel.Lights shone in narrow doorways, and there was the flame of a torchhere and there. All was hurry and excitement; and in some silentchamber near, the Duke lay dead. Herrick remembered this, foundhimself speculating upon it, yet even as he passed through the gate hehardly felt strange in playing a part in this drama.
The word "Spy" seemed to have run before him even here. That grimgateway had not kept it out. Men paused a moment to look at him: somewere silent, some uttered a sound of hatred and contempt, but allseemed convinced that the accusation was a just one.
The soldiers halted by the wall some twenty feet in height. Herrickconcluded that there was a terrace or garden above, because severalpersons, women and pages among them, were leaning over the walllooking into the court-yard below. A flight of stone steps, placedsideways to the wall, led down from this terrace, and at the foot ofthese steps was a woman mounted upon a beautiful bay mare, which pawedthe ground, impatient to be gone. At a little distance a group ofhorsemen waited for her signal, which she was in the act of givingwhen the soldiers, with their prisoner in their midst, came to a haltnot a dozen yards from her. The light from two or three torches heldby servants who stood on the lower steps lit up her face, and Herricksaw again the woman who had ridden past the diligence a few hours ago,the woman who was destined to play so great a part in his life.
Captain Lemasle stepped to her side and saluted.
"Are you not to ride with us?" she asked. "We are waiting."
"Pardon, mademoiselle. I have just been rescuing a spy. The crowd hadcaught him, and it would have gone hard with him had we not takenhim."
"If he is a spy, would that have mattered?" she said, loud enough forHerrick to hear.
"There is justice in proving a man guilty before he is hanged,"Lemasle answered.
"Since when have you been so fastidious? I have heard other things ofGaspard Lemasle. Let me look at this spy."
"I seem better known than I imagined," the soldier muttered as hestood aside.
She rode toward Herrick, the men about him falling back, until she wasclose upon him.
"Look up," she commanded, "and let me see the face of a spy."
"Not of a spy, mademoiselle, but of an honest man," he answered,looking her straight in the eyes.
"Spy, spy," she contradicted sharply, "or what do you in Vayenne atsuch a time as this?"
"I am a traveller."
"So are they all," she cried. "There is a guest-room within thesewalls for you. Vayenne knows how to welcome such travellers. Ah! Icould honor an enemy, but a spy----" And there was such utter contemptin her face that Herrick could find no words to answer her.
As she tightened her reins, her riding whip slipped from her fingersand fell at his feet, and before any one could prevent him he hadshaken the loosened cord from his wrists, and had stooped and pickedit up. In an instant half a dozen soldiers sprang forward to preventhis attacking her. She did not flinch, but waving them back, held outher hand for the whip.
"Thank you, mademoiselle," said Herrick. "At least you have generosityenough to know that I am incapable of such a thing as that."
She looked at him for an instant as she took the whip, a new interestin her eyes, and a slight lowering of her proud head thanked him. Thenshe turned the mare round sharply.
"Captain Lemasle, I am ready," she said, and as the soldiers closedround Herrick again, she rode out through the grim gateway, followedby the troop of horsemen.
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