The Long Night

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XXI.

  THE _REMEDIUM_.

  Blondel's thin lips were warrant--to such of the world as had eyes tosee--that in the ordinary things of life he would have been one of thelast to put faith in a man of Basterga's stamp: and one of the first,had the case been other than his own, to laugh at the credulity he wasdisplaying. He would have seen--no one more clearly--that, in making thebargain he had made, he was in the position of a drowning man whoclutches at a straw; not because he believes that the straw will supporthim, but because he has no other hope, and is loth to sink.

  He would have seen, too, another thing, which indeed he did see dimly.This was that, talk as he might, make terms as he might, repeat asfirmly as he pleased, "The _remedium_ first and then Geneva," he wouldbe forced when the time came to take the word for the deed. If he darednot trust Basterga, neither dared the scholar trust him. Once safe, oncesnatched from the dark fate that scared him, he would laugh at thenotion of betraying the city. He would snap his fingers in the Paduan'sface; and Basterga knew it. The scholar, therefore, dared not trust him;and either there was an end of the matter or he must trust Basterga,must eat his own words, and, content with the possession of something,must wait for proof of its efficacy until the die was cast!

  In his heart he knew this. He knew that on the brink of the extremityto which circumstances and Basterga were slowly pushing him it might notbe in his power to check himself: that he must trust, whether he wouldor no, and where instinct bade him place no trust. And this doubt, thissuspicion that when all was done he might find himself tricked, andlearn that for nothing he had given all, added immeasurably to thetorment of his mind; to the misery of his reflections when he awoke inthe small hours and saw things coldly and clearly, and to the fever andsuspense in which he passed his days.

  He clung to one thought and got what consolation he could from it; abitter and saturnine comfort it was. The thought was this: if it turnedout that, after all, he had been tricked, he could but die; and die hemust if he made no bargain. And to a dead man what matter was it whatprice he had paid that he might live! What matter who won or who lostGeneva, who lived, who died, who were slaves, who free!

  And again, the very easiness of the thing he was asked to do temptedhim. It was a thing that to one in his position presented no difficultyand scarcely any danger. He had but to withdraw the guards, or thegreater part of them, from a portion of the wall, and to stop on onepretext or another--the bitter cold of the wintry weather wouldavail--the rounds that at stated intervals visited the various posts.That was all; as a man of tried loyalty, intrusted with the safeguardingof the city, and to whom the officer of the watch was answerable, hemight make the necessary arrangements without incurring, even after thecatastrophe, more than a passing odium, a breath of suspicion.

  And Baudichon and Petitot? He tasted, when he thought of them, the onlymoments of comfort, of pleasure, of ease, that fell to his lotthroughout these days. They would thwart him no more. Petty worms,whose vision went no farther than the walls of the city, he would havedone with them when the flag of Savoy fluttered above St. Pierre; andwhen for the confines of a petty canton was substituted, for those whohad eyes to see and courage to adapt themselves, the wide horizon of theItalian Kingdom. When he thought of them--and then only--he warmed tothe task before him; then only he could think of it without a shiver andwithout distaste. And not the less because on that side, in theirsuspicion, in their grudging jealousy, in their unwinking integrity, laythe one difficulty.

  A difficulty exasperated by the insult that, in a moment of bitterdisappointment, he had flung in Baudichon's face. That hasty word hadrevealed to the speaker a lack of self-control that terrified him, evenas it had revealed to Baudichon a glimpse of something underneath theFourth Syndic's dry exterior that might well set a man thinking as wellas talking. This matter Blondel saw plainly he must deal with at once,or it might do harm. To absent himself from the next day's council mightrouse a storm beyond his power to weather, or short of that might giverise at a later period to a dangerous amount of gossip and conjecture.

  He was early at the meeting, therefore, but to his surprise found it insession before the hour. This, and the fact that the hubbub of voicesand discussion died down at his entrance--died down and was succeeded bya chilling silence--put him on his guard. He had not come unprepared foropposition; to meet it he had wound himself to a pitch, telling himselfthat after this all would be easy; that he had this one peril to face,this one obstacle to surmount, and having succeeded might rest.Nevertheless, as he passed up the Great Council Chamber amid thatsilence, and met strange looks on faces which were wont to smile, hiscourage for one moment, even in that familiar scene--conscience makescowards of all--wavered. His smile grew sickly, his nerves seemedsuddenly unstrung, his knees shook under him. It was a dreadful instantof physical weakness, of mental terror, under the eyes of all. Tohimself, he seemed to stand still; to be self-betrayed, self-convicted!

  Then--and so brief was the moment of weakness no eye detected it--hemoved on to his place, and with his usual coolness took his seat. Helooked round.

  "You are early," he said, ignoring the glances, hostile or doubtful,that met his gaze. "The hour has barely struck, I believe?"

  "We were of opinion," Fabri answered, with a dry cough, "that minuteswere of value."

  "Ah!"

  "That not even one must be lost, Messer Blondel!"

  "In doing?" Blondel asked in a negligent tone, well calculated to annoythose who were eager in the matter. "In doing what, if I may ask?"

  "In doing, Messer Syndic," Petitot answered sharply, "that which shouldhave been done a week ago; and better still a fortnight ago. In issuinga warrant for the arrest of the person whose name has been several timesin question here."

  "Messer Basterga?"

  "The same."

  "You may save yourselves the trouble," the Syndic replied, with a littlecontempt. "The warrant has been issued. It was issued yesterday, andwould have been executed in the afternoon, if he had not got wind of it,and left the town. And on this let me say one more word," Blondelcontinued, leaning forward and speaking in sudden heat, before any onecould take up the question. "That word is this. If it had not been forthe importunity of some who are here, the warrant had _not_ been issued,the man had still been within the walls, and we had been able still totrace his plans! We had not been as we now are, and as I foretold weshould be, in the dark, ignorant from which quarter the blow may fall,and not a whit the wiser for the hint given us."

  "You have let him escape!" The words were Petitot's.

  "I? No! I have not let him escape, but those who forced my hand!"Blondel retorted in passion, so real, or so well simulated, that itswept away the majority of his listeners. "They have let him escape!Those who had no patience or craft! Those whose only notion ofstatesmanship, whose only method of making use of the document we hadunder our hand was to tear it up. Only yesterday morning I was withhim----"

  "Ay?" Baudichon cried, his eyes glowing with dull passion. "You werewith him! And he went in the afternoon! Mark that!" He turned quickly tohis fellows. "He went in the afternoon! Now, I would like to know----"

  Blondel stood up. "Whether I am a traitor?" he said, in a tone of fury;and he extended his arms in protest. "Whether I am in league with thisItalian, I, Philibert Blondel of Geneva? That is what you ask, what youwish to know! Whether I sought him yesterday in the hope of worming hissecrets from him, and doing what I could for the benefit of the State ina matter too delicate to be left to underlings? Or went there, one withhim, to betray my country? To sell the Free City? That--that is what youask?"

  His passion was full, overpowering, convincing; so convincing--it almoststopped his speech--that he believed in it himself, so convincing thatit swept away all but his steady and professed opponents. "No, no!"cried a dozen voices, in tones that reflected his indignation. "No, no!Shame!"

  "No?" Blondel took up the word, his eyes sparkling, his adust complexionheated and full of fire.
"But it is--yes, they say! Yes, they say whomyou have to thank if we have lost our clue, they who met me going to himbut yesterday and threatened me! Threatened me!" he repeated, in a voiceof astonishment. "Me, who desired only, sought only, was going only todo my duty! I used, I admit the fault," he allowed his voice to drop toa tone more like his own, "words on that occasion that I now regret. Butis blood water? Does no man besides Councillor Baudichon love hiscountry? Is the suspicion, the open suspicion of such an one, no insult,that he must cavil if he be repaid in insult? I have given my proofs. Ifany man can be trusted to sound the enemy, it is I! But I have done! HadMesser Baudichon not pressed me to issue the warrant, not driven mebeyond my patience, it had not been issued yesterday. It had been in theoffice, and the man within the walls! Ay, and not only within the walls,but fresh from a conference with the Sieur d'Albigny, primed with all weneed to know, and in doubt by which side he could most profit!"

  "It was about that you saw him?" Petitot said slowly, his eyes fixedlike gimlets to the other's face.

  "It was about that I saw him," Blondel answered. "And I think in a fewhours more I had won him. But in the street he had some secret word orwarning; for when I handed the warrant--against my better sense--to theofficers, they, who had never lost sight of him between gate and gate,answered that he had crossed the bridge and left the town an hourbefore. Mon Dieu!"--he struck his two hands together and snapped histeeth--"when I think how foolish I was to be over-ridden, I could--Icould say more, Messer Baudichon"--with a saturnine look--"than I saidyesterday!"

  "At any rate the bird is flown!" Baudichon replied, with sullen temper."That is certain! And it was you who were set to catch him!"

  "But it was not I who scared him," Blondel rejoined.

  "I don't know what you would have had of him!"

  "Oh, I see that plainly enough," said Fabri. He was an honest man,without prejudice, and long the peace-maker between the two parties.

  "I thank you," Blondel replied dryly. "But, by your leave, I will makeit clear to Messer Baudichon also, who will doubtless like to know. Iwould have had of him the time and place and circumstance of the attack,if such be in preparation. And then, when I knew all, I would have madedispositions, not only to safeguard the city, but to give the enemy sucha reception that Italy should ring with it! Ay, and such as should putan end for the rest of our lives to these treacherous attacks!"

  The picture which he drew thus briefly of a millennium of safety,charmed not only his own adherents, but all who were neutral, all whowavered. They saw how easily the thing might have been done, howcompletely the treacherous blow might have been parried and returned.Veering about they eyed Baudichon, on whom the odium of the lostopportunity seemed to rest, with resentment--as an honest man, but asimpleton, a dullard, a block! And when Blondel added, after a pause,"But there, I have done! The office of Fourth Syndic I leave to you tofill," they barely allowed him to finish.

  "No! No!" came from almost all mouths, and from every part of thecouncil table.

  "No," Fabri said, when silence was made. "There is no provision for achange, unless a definite accusation be laid."

  "But Messer Baudichon may have one to make," Blondel said proudly. "Inthat case, let him speak."

  Baudichon breathed hard, and seemed to be on the point of pouring fortha torrent of words. But he said nothing. Instinct told him that hisenemy was not to be trusted, but he had the wit to discern that Blondelhad forestalled him, and had drawn the sting from his charges. He couldhave wept in dull, honest indignation; but for accusations, he saw thatthe other held the game, and he was silent. "Fat hog!" the man hadcalled him. "Fat hog!" A tear gathered slowly in his eye as he recalledit.

  Fabri gave him time to speak; and then with evident relief, "He has noneto make, I am sure," he said.

  "Let him understand, then," Blondel replied firmly, "let all understand,that while I will do my duty I am no longer in the position to guardagainst sudden strokes, in which I should have been, had I been allowedto go my own way. If a misfortune happen, it is not on me the blame mustrest." He spoke solemnly, laughing in his sleeve at the cleverness withwhich he was turning his enemy's petard against him. "All that man cando in the dark shall be done," he continued. "And I do not--I am free toconfess that--anticipate anything while the negotiations with thePresident Rochette are in progress."

  "No, it is when they are broken off, they will fall back on the otherplan," one of the councillors said with an air of much wisdom.

  "I think that is so. Nor do I think that anything will be done duringthe present severe weather."

  "They like it no better than we do!"

  "But the roads are good in this frost," Fabri said. "If it be a questionof moving guns or wagons----"

  "But it is not, by your leave, Messer Fabri, as I am informed," the manwho had spoken before objected; supporting his opinion simply because hehad voiced it, a thing seen every day in such assemblies. Fabri repliedon him in the other sense: and presently Blondel had the satisfaction oflistening to a discussion in which the one party said a dozen thingsthat he saw would be of use to him--some day.

  One only said not a word, and that was Petitot. He listened to all witha puzzled look. He resented the insult which Blondel had flung at hisfriend Baudichon, but he saw all going against them, and no chance ofredress; nay, capital was being made out of that which should have beena disadvantage. Worst of all, he was uneasy, fancying--he was veryshrewd--that he caught a glimpse, under the Fourth Syndic's manner, ofanother man: that he detected signs of emotion, a feverishness andimperiousness not quite explained by the circumstances.

  He got the notion from this that the Fourth Syndic had learned more fromBasterga than he had disclosed. His notion, even so, went no furtherthan the suspicion that Blondel was hiding knowledge out of a desire toreap all the glory. But he did not like it. "He was always for risking,for risking!" he thought. "This is another case of it. God grant it gowell!" His wife, his children, his daughters, rose in a picture beforehim, and he hated Blondel, who had none of these. He would have put himto death for running the tithe of a risk.

  When the council broke up, Fabri drew Blondel aside. "The bird is flown,but what of the nest?" he asked. "Has he left nothing?"

  "Between you and me," Blondel replied under his breath, as his eyessought the other's, "I hope to make him speak yet. But not a word!"

  "Ah!"

  "Not a word! But there is just a chance. And it will be everything to usif I can induce him to speak."

  "I see that. But the house? Could you not search it?"

  "That would be to scare him finally."

  "You have made no perquisition there?"

  "None. I have heard," Blondel continued, hesitating as if he had notquite made up his mind to speak, "some things--strange things in respectto the house. But I will tell you more of that when I know more."

  He was too clever to state that he held the house in suspicion forsorcery and kindred things. Charges such as that spread, he knew,upwards from the lower classes, not downwards to them. The poison,disseminated as he had known how to disseminate it, by hints andinnuendoes dropped among his officers and ushers, was already in theair, and would do its work. Fabri, a man of sense, might laugh to-day,and to-morrow; but the third day, when the report came to him from adozen quarters, mainly by women's mouths, he would not laugh. Andpresently he would shrug his shoulders and stand aside, and leave thematter in more earnest hands.

  Blondel dropped no more than that hint, therefore, and as he passedhomeward applauded his discretion. He was proud of the turn things hadtaken at the Council; elated by the part he had played, and the proof hehad given of his mastery, he felt able to carry anything through. Hismind, leaping over the immediate future, pictured a wider theatre, inwhich his powers would have full scope, and a larger stage on which hemight aspire to play the first part. He saw himself not only wealthy,but ennobled, the fount of honour, the favourite, and, in time, themaster of princes. Such as he was to-day the Medicis had be
en, and manyanother whom the world held noble. He had but to live and to dare; onlyto live and to dare! Only in order to do the one he must--it was nochoice of his--do the other!

  Before he was five minutes older he was reminded of the necessity. Atthe door of his house the pains of the disease from which hesuffered--aggravated, perhaps, by the excitement through which he hadjust passed, or by the cold of the weather--seized him with unusualviolence. He leant, pale and almost fainting, against the door-jamb,unable at the moment to do so much as raise the latch. The golden dreamsin which he had lost himself by the way, the visions of power and fame,vanished as he had so many times seen the after-glow vanish from thesnow-peaks; leaving only cold images of death and desolation. Presently,with an effort, he staggered within doors, poured out such medicine ashe had, and, bent double and almost without breath, swallowed it; andso, by-and-by, a wan and wild-eyed image of himself came out of the fit.

  He told himself in after days that it was that decided him; that but forthat sharp fit of pain and the prospect of others like it, he would nothave yielded to the temptation, no, not to be the Grand Duke'sfavourite, not to be Minister of Savoy! He ignored, in his lookingbackward, the visions of glory and ambition in which he had revelled. Hesaw himself on the rack, with life and immunity from pain drawing himone way, the prospect of a miserable death the other; and he pleadedthat no man would have decided otherwise. After that experience thestraw did not float, so thin that he was not ready to grasp it ratherthan die, rather than suffer again. Nor did the fact that the straw atthat moment lay on the table beside him go for much.

  It did lie there. When he felt a little stronger and began to look abouthim, he found a note at his elbow. It was a small, common-lookingletter, sealed with a B, that might signify Blondel or Basterga, or, forthe matter of that, Baudichon. He did not know the handwriting, and heopened it idly, in the scorn of small things that pain induced.

  He had not read a line of the contents, before his countenance changed.The letter was from Basterga, and cunningly contrived. It gave him thedirections he needed, yet it was so worded that even after the event itmight pass for a trifling communication from a physician. The place andthe hour were specified--the latter so near that for a moment his cheekgrew pale. On that ensued the part which interested him most; but as thewhole was brief, the whole may be given.

  "Sir" (here followed a cabalistic sign such as physicians were in the habit of using to impose on the vulgar). "After paying a visit in the Corraterie, where I have an appointment on Saturday evening next between late and early, I will be with you. But the mixture with the necessary directions shall be sent to you twelve hours in advance, so that before my visit you may experience its good effects. As surely as the wrong potion in the case you wot of deprived of reason, so surely (as I hope for salvation) will this potion have the desired effect.

  "The Physician of Aleppo."

  "Saturday next, between late and early!" Blondel muttered, gazing at thewords with fascinated eyes. "It is for the day after to-morrow! The dayafter to-morrow!" And in his thoughts he passed again over the road hehad travelled since his first visit to Basterga's room, since the hourwhen the scholar had unrolled before him the map of the town he called"Aurelia," and had told him the story of Ibn Jasher and the Physician ofAleppo.

  "No, I am not well," he answered. He sat, warmly wrapped up, in the highchair in his parlour, his face so drawn with want of sleep that CaptainBlandano of the city guard, who had come to take his orders, had nodifficulty in believing him. "I am not well," he repeated peevishly. "Itis the weather." He had some soup before him. Beside it stood a tinyphial of medicine; a phial strangely shaped and strange looking,containing something not unlike the green cordial of the Carthusians.

  "It troubles me a good deal, too," Blandano said. "There are seven menabsent in the fourth ward. And two men, whose wives are urgent with methat they should have leave."

  "Leave?" the Syndic cried. "Do they think naught"--leaning forward in apassion--"of the safety of the city? If I were not ill, I would takeservice on the wall myself to set an example!"

  "There is no need of that," the Captain answered respectfully, "if Imight have permission to withdraw a few men from the west side so as tofill the places on the east----"

  "Ay, ay!"

  "From the Rhone side of the town----"

  "From the Corraterie? That is least open to assault."

  "Yes, from that part perhaps would be best," Blandano assented, nodding."Yes, I think so. If I might do that, I think I could manage."

  "Well, then do it," Blondel answered. "And make a note that I assentedto your suggestion to take them from the Corraterie and put them on thelower part of the wall. After all, the nights are very bitter now, andthere are limits. Do the men grumble much?"

  "It is as much as I can do to make them go the rounds," Blandanoanswered. "Some plead the weather; and some argue that, with PresidentRochette, whose word is as good as his bond, on the point of coming toan agreement with us, the rounds are a farce!"

  The Syndic shrugged his shoulders. "Well!" he muttered, rubbing his chinand looking thoughtfully before him, "we must not wear the men out.There is no moon now, is there?"

  "No."

  "And the enemy can attempt nothing without light," Blondel continued,thinking aloud. "See here, Blandano, we must not put too heavy a burdenon our people. I see that. As it is so cold, I think you may pass theword to pretermit the rounds to-night--save two. At what hours would yousuggest?"

  Blandano considered his own comfort--as the other expected he would--andanswered, "Early and late, say an hour before midnight and an hourbefore dawn".

  "Then let be it as you suggest. But see"--with returning asperity--"thatthose rounds go, and at their hours. Let there be no remissness. I willmake a note," he continued, "of the hours fixed. An hour before midnightand an hour before dawn".

  He extended his arm and drew the ink-horn towards him. Midway in theact, whether it was that his hand shook by reason of his illness, orthat he was in a hurry to close an interview which tried him moreseverely than appeared, his sleeve caught the little phial of greenwater that stood beside the soup on the table. It reeled an instant onits edge, toppled on its side, and rolling, in one-tenth of the time ittakes to tell the tale, to the verge of the table--fell over.

  Messer Blondel made a strange noise in his throat.

  But the Captain had seen what was happening. Dexterously he caught thebottle in his huge palm, and with an air of modest achievement was goingto set it on the table, when he saw that the Syndic had fallen back inhis chair, his face ghastly. Blandano was more used to death in thefield than in the house; and in a panic he took two steps towards thedoor to call for help. Before he could take a third, Blondel gasped, andmade an uncertain movement with his hand, as if he would reassure him.

  Blandano returned and leant over him. "You are ill, Messer Syndic," hesaid anxiously. "Let me call some one."

  The Syndic could not speak, but he pointed to the table. And whenBlandano, unable to make out what he wanted, and suspecting a stroke ofa mortal disease, turned again to the door, persisting in his intentionof getting aid, the Syndic found strength to seize his sleeve, andalmost instantly regained his speech. "There!" he gasped, "there! Thephial! Put it down!"

  Captain Blandano placed it on the table, wondering much. "I was afraidyou were ill, Messer Blondel," he said.

  "I was ill," the Syndic answered; and he pushed his chair back so thatno part of him was in contact with the table. He looked at the littlebottle with fascinated eyes, and slowly, as he looked, the colourreturned to his face. "I--was ill," he repeated, with a sigh that seemedto relieve his breast. "I had a fright!"

  "You thought it was broken?" Blandano said, wondering much, and lookingin his turn at the phial.

  "Yes, I thought that it was broken. I am much obliged to you. Much, verymuch obliged to you," the Syndic repeated, with a deep sigh, his handsstill moving nervously about his dress. Then
, after a moment's pause,"Will you ring the bell?" he said.

  The Captain, marvelling much, rang the hand-bell which lay on aneighbouring table. He marvelled still more when he heard MesserBlondel order the servant to place six bottles of his best wine in abasket and take them to the Captain's lodging.

  Blandano stared. He knew the wine to be choice and valuable; and he eyedthe tiny phial respectfully. "It is something rare, I expect?" he said.

  The Syndic nodded.

  "And costly too, I doubt not?" with an admiring glance.

  "Costly?" Messer Blondel repeated the word, and when he had done soturned on the other a look that led the Captain to think that he wasgoing to be ill again. Then, "It cost me--it will cost me"--again aspasm contorted the Syndic's face--"I don't know what it will not havecost me before it is paid for, Messer Blandano!"