The Justice of the King

by Hamilton Drummond

  CHAPTER XIX

  GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN

  But meanwhile there was a pause. Below, in the defenceless doorway,Hugues and La Mothe stood shoulder to shoulder for one of those fieryinstants which try a man's nerve rather than his courage. For themoment the Dauphin was saved. But they had no illusions. It was onlyfor the moment, and both knew that in the moment to follow the dangerwould not be for the Dauphin alone. But only one, Stephen La Mothe,gave that a thought, and it was not for himself. Ursula de Vesc? Themasked scoundrel who, panting with the rage of disappointment, facedthem three yards away, one hand still gripping the reins of the horseby whose head he stood, the other a naked sword, had his half-score ofcut-throats behind him, and could afford to leave no witness to hisoutrage. There would be no pity for Ursula de Vesc.

  "Damnation," cried La Mothe almost in a sob, and, forgetting that he,too, wore a sword, he would have sprung upon him barehanded in hisdespair had not Hugues forced him to keep his place.

  "Not yet," he whispered. "Wait; perhaps--later----" and the moment ofpossibility had passed. The troop was upon them.

  But their leader held them back.

  "Wait," he said in his turn. "We may save time. Be wise, and give usthe Dauphin. We are a dozen, you only three or four. We are sure tohave him in the end."

  "On what terms?" It was Hugues who answered.

  "Terms?" cried La Mothe. "Hugues, there can be no terms."

  "Your pardon, Monsieur La Mothe," said Hugues. "You are a gentleman,but I am only a servant," and in his excitement La Mothe never pausedto ask himself why Hugues should so classify a hedge minstrel of theDuchy of Lackeverything. "It is a fine thing, no doubt, to die foryour honour, but what have I to do with honour? Life is life. Theboy, on what terms?"

  "Your lives. And you gain nothing by refusing. The boy is ours in anycase."

  "Never," said La Mothe, struggling to shake off the restraining handthat pinned him, helpless, half behind the doorpost. "Never while Ilive."

  "Just so," answered Hugues, tightening his grasp; "not while you live.But afterwards? and what better are we then, or the Dauphin either?Give me three minutes, monsieur, to persuade him, just three minutes,"and in La Mothe's ear he whispered, "For God's sake be quiet or youwill ruin us all."

  "Three minutes? Play me no tricks, my man."

  "But, monsieur," and Hugues' voice was a whine as he spoke. "Whattrick is possible? You are a dozen, we three or four. And are we notcaught like rats in a pit?"

  "Like rats! You have said the word! Take your three minutes, rat, anddon't forget that like rats we'll kill you."

  Urging his point vehemently, pleadingly, and with every plausibleargument at his command, but never slackening his grip, Hugues drew LaMothe a yard or two into the blackened ruin. There he held him with awary eye to a possible surprise. Blaise and Marcel were on the upperfloor and only La Follette was in sight, standing guard at thestair-head.

  "Listen," he said. "Monseigneur is dearer to me than to you. Do youthink I would give up one hair of him while I live, I, who sleep at hisdoor of nights? Never, not one hair! But between us we may save himyet. Shake your head, curse me for a coward, for a scoundrel, try tothrow me off, strike me if you like. Yes, yes," he insisted, raisinghis voice, "it is our lives; why lose our lives for nothing?" Then, ina whisper, "They will give the alarm from the fields; it is only a mileto Amboise----"

  "But it is a mile--a mile to go, a mile to come back----"

  "It is the one chance," answered Hugues loudly, fawning on La Mothewith a hand which aped persuasion. The words had a double meaning andheld La Follette quiet, La Follette who might have ruined all throughincomprehension. "You know the bench where Mademoiselle sits to watchthe play? When I cry Now! rush up and fling it across the gap of thestair-head. It will hold them back for a time. Then, for God's sake,Monsieur La Mothe, fight, fight, fight. Fight to the last. It is forlife, it is for France, it is for Mademoiselle."

  "And you?"

  "I will hold the door."

  "But that is death."

  "It will give you a minute, or two, or three."

  "Then it is my place; I have a sword."

  "I love him best," answered Hugues. To him was the one unanswerableargument; he loved him best, and love had the right to die for love'ssake. "You understand? When I cry Now! run--run."

  "Hugues, Hugues, let me----"

  "Do you think a valet cannot love?"

  "It is time," said a voice from without. "Are you ready, rats?"

  "Yes, monsieur, yes, yes. I have him persuaded Just one little moment.Monsieur La Mothe, NOW! Now!"

  "No, Hugues, no, let me----"

  "Damn you, man, would you murder the Dauphin for a scruple? Now! Isay, Now!"

  "I have a sword----"

  But Hugues had caught up the slender cudgel dropped by Marcel in hisflight for the stairs and was already in the doorway.

  "If you want the Dauphin, come and take him. God save the Dauphin!France! France!" and drawing a deep breath he stood on guard, onewooden sword against a dozen of steel.

  "Bravo, Hugues," cried La Follette from above. "Hold the scoundrelswhile you can, and God be with you. Come, La Mothe, come, come."

  And what could La Mothe do but obey? For a moment he glanced this wayand that, uncertain, drawn to the one man who stood alone against suchodds, yet knowing that to aid him was the surest way to make Hugues'sacrifice unavailing. Then he jumped for the stairs; but not beforethe doorway was darkened; not before he heard the dull clash of steelupon wood; not before Hugues had stifled a cry which told that theoffering up of the sacrifice had begun.

  And as it began so it ended. But how desperately the breach was held,how desperately Hugues fought with his mockery of a sword, with hisbare hands, with his very breast, they could only guess when he wasfound later with the staff in splinters, his palms and arms hacked andgashed, his bosom agape with dumb mouths which told their tale of loveand splendid courage lavished to the utmost. He died with all hiswounds in front; he died for loyalty, for love's sake, giving his lifewithout a grudge. Could a Roland or a Charlemagne have done more?

  Reaching forward La Follette seized La Mothe, dragging him up the lastthree stairs, "Draw, man, draw, we will fight them here." But La Motheshook him off.

  "This first," he said, and catching up the broad, unbacked bench whichday by day had served Ursula de Vesc as a resting-place he flung it,flat downwards, across the railless stair-head. "It's done, Hugues,and never fear but we'll fight," he cried, offering the only comfort hecould to the man who, down below, gave his life for them all. "Now,Follette, I am ready."

  But Hugues still held the door, and for the first time La Mothe hadleisure to look round him. In the background were Blaise andMarcel--barehanded, silent, helpless. The younger, Marcel, was cryingopenly but dumbly, the tears running unheeded and unwiped down hischeeks; the other, dogged and dour, with teeth and fists clenched, wasof braver stuff, a fighter, but without a weapon. Midway, stillexhausted from his flight, Charles lay on his elbow, propped againstUrsula de Vesc, who stooped above him with one arm round his shouldersas support. The boy's long narrow face was paler beyond his naturalpallor, but his mouth was firm-set, his eyes bright and dry. Thegirl's features were hidden, and Stephen La Mothe was not sure whetherhe was glad or sorry. To have read coldness or reproach in her eyes atsuch a time would have been bitter indeed.

  It was but a glance, then La Follette touched his arm. Down belowthere was no longer the rasp of steel on wood. Hugues was fighting nowbarehanded, but he had been better than his word--the three minutes hadbeen prolonged to four. Then came a cry, "Ah, God!" and La Mothe heardUrsula de Vesc sob. For a moment she looked up and their glances met,but there was little time to read her message, little time to seeanything but the pain in the grey eyes. A rush of feet on the stairscalled him, and side by side with La Follette he bent across the well.The bench half covered the opening, but there were slits o
f a foot ormore wide at either edge, opening the way for attack.

  But the rush ceased almost as soon as it began. This new obstacle wasunlooked for, and between the slits those above could see the savagelypassionate faces of the besiegers staring up at them. Then one, bolderor more enterprising than the rest, crept up cautiously step by step,measuring his distance as he advanced.

  "Cover me," he said to the next lower. "Strike at whatever showsitself," and thrust blindly upwards. It was their first sight of baresteel, and Ursula de Vesc drew in her breath with a shiver as she sawthe red smear upon its flat. "Oh! Hugues, Hugues," she moaned, andthe Dauphin, catching at her hand with both his, shrank closer.

  "Damnation!" cried La Mothe, striking fiercely at the blade as itdarted from side to side or sawed back and forth. But when he wouldhave struck a second time La Follette curtly forbade him.

  "You may break your sword, and he can do no harm from where he is."

  So they discovered for themselves, and the foremost crept yet a stephigher. But when he struck afresh La Follette, lunging aslant anddownwards, caught him below the wrist. With a curse he let the bladefall clattering, and there was a pause. But if he were bolder, thosebehind had not been idle. A voice from the background cried out toclear the steps, and before those above understood the altered tacticsa picket, drawn from the palisade, was thrust between the bench and thewall. It was La Follette who first grasped the danger.

  "Blaise--Marcel!" he cried. "Here on the bench both of you and hold itdown."

  But only one answered the call. Marcel was on his knees in the cornerpraying for the miracle which should be his own handiwork, not thefirst man nor the last who has called on God to bear the burden his ownshoulder refuses. Blaise was of better stuff. "Here I am, monsieur,"he cried, but before he could bring his weight to bear a second picket,sharpened at the point, was rammed up and forward with two men'sstrength, driving the bench aslant till its end dipped and it fell witha crash, scattering those below, but with little hurt. The way wasopen, but Hugues' foresight had added five minutes to the four.

  "For the Lord's sake," cried Blaise, staring into the welter below,"give me something in my bare hand. Rats, he called us, rats, and Iwon't die like a rat, I won't, I won't." It was the cry of primitivenature and the Dauphin answered it.

  "Here," said he, rising on his knees as he unbuckled his own smallsword. "You are stronger than I am. Be a man, Blaise."

  "You'll see, Monseigneur, you'll see. Come up, you curs, come up.Rats, you said? Come up and meet a man."

  "Three men," said Mademoiselle. "Monsieur La Mothe, is there nothing Ican do?"

  "Nothing, mademoiselle," he answered, and turning met her eyes with asmile. He knew he was forgiven, and thanked Hugues in his heart thathe had lived so long. But for Hugues he would have died at the door,died in ignorance. The comfort was the dead man's gift to him, andnow, in the paradox of nature, because of that comfort it would not beso hard to follow him.

  But if to die comforted would be less hard, there was something muchmore than comfort to live for, and to La Mothe the odds did not seemutterly hopeless. Three resolute men could surely hold the well holetill succour came. Resolute? Much more than resolute--desperate.Again he glanced aside at Ursula de Vesc. Had he not the best causethe world holds to be resolute to desperation? Hugues had died forlove's sake, please God he would live for it.