VIII
THE FIGHT IN THE MOAT
As they stood there, hand clasped in hand, exchanging the dateless pledgeof brotherhood, they heard the sound of many feet coming cautiously alongthe road to the bridge. The practised assassins walked catfoot, but therewere others that shuffled in their care to go warily.
Nevers said, quietly: "Here come the swords."
Lagardere gave a jolly laugh. "Now for a glorious scrimmage!" he said,and made his sword sing in the air.
As he spoke the words, shade after shade began to descend the steps fromthe bridge and to advance cautiously into the moat. Lagardere countedthem as they came: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine,ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Even in the darkness he thought he couldrecognize certain figures: the twisted form of the hunchback, the burlybody of Cocardasse, the gaunt figure of the Norman, the barrel bulk ofStaupitz. This barrel bulk came to the front of the shadows huddledtogether at the base of the hill, and spoke with the thick, Teutonicvoice that Lagardere had heard so short a time before. "There they are,"Staupitz said, and Lagardere could see a gleam in the night as the Germanpointed to where the two newly bound comrades stood together.
An instant answer came with the defiant cry of Nevers, "I am here!" whichwas immediately echoed by Lagardere. "I am here!" he shouted; and thenadded for himself: "Lagardere! Lagardere!"
Among the bravos a momentary note of comedy intruded upon the intendedtragedy, as is often the way when humanity foregathers on sinisterbusiness. Cocardasse plucked Passepoil by the sleeve and drew him alittle away from their fellow-ruffians. "We cannot fight against theLittle Parisian," he whispered into the Norman's ear. "We will look on,comrade." Passepoil nodded approval, but spoke no word. For the rest ofthat red adventure into the placid blackness of the night those two stoodapart in the shadow, with their arms folded and their swords in theirsheaths, sombrely watching the seven men that were their friendsassailing the one man they loved. Such honor as they had forbade them tochange sides and fight for the Little Parisian. They had been paid torange with the assailants of Nevers. But no payment could possiblyprevail on them to attack Lagardere. So, according to their consciences,they split the difference and held aloof. Their abstention was notnoticed by their fellows in the excitement of the time.
Numerous as they were, the bravos and their new recruits seemed unwillingto advance against two such famous swordsmen. Lagardere taunted theirapathy:
"Come, you crows, the eagles wait for you." He felt that the words had afine theatrical ring, and he enjoyed them as he flung them forth.
Nevers cried his cry, "I am here!" and Lagardere repeated it, "I amhere!" He was longing to come to blows with the bandits, and to show themwhat two men could do against their multitude. His sword quivered like asnake in its eagerness to feel blades against its blade.
The barrel bulk of Staupitz spoke again addressing his little army. "Doyou fear two men?" he asked. "Forward!"
On the word the eighteen men charged, the original seven leading; theeleven recruits, less whole-hearted in the business, came less alertly inthe rear. The charge of the assassins was abruptly arrested byLagardere's bulwark, and over that bulwark the swords of the twodefenders flashed and leaped, and before every thrust a man went down. Itseemed an age of battle, it seemed an instant of battle. Then the baffledassassins recoiled, leaving two of the smugglers for dead, while Saldagnoand Faenza were both badly wounded, and cursing hideously in Portugueseand Italian.
Behind the intrenchments, Lagardere chuckled as he heard. He turned toNevers. "Are you wounded?" he asked, anxiously.
And Nevers answered, quietly: "A scratch on the forehead."
As he saw Nevers lift his hand for a moment to the space between hiseyes, Lagardere groaned to himself, "My damned fencing-lesson," andmentally promised to make his enemies pay for their readiness to learn.He had not long to wait for an opportunity.
The discomfited bravos were rapidly gathering together for a freshattack. This time their leading spirit was no longer Staupitz,disagreeably conscious of the difficulties of the enterprise, but thehunchback AEsop, who seemed to burn with a passion for slaughter.Lagardere likened him in his mind to some ungainly, obscene bird of prey,as he loomed out of the mirk waving his gaunt arms and shrieking in hisrage and hate. "Kill them! kill them!" he screamed, as he rushed acrossthe intervening space, and the bravos, heartened by his frenzy of fight,streamed after him, flinging themselves desperately against the piled-uphay, only to meet again the irresistible weapons of the friends, andagain to recoil before them. Nevers held his own on one side; Lagardereheld his own on the other. Nevers delivered his thrust at AEsop, and forthe second time that day the hunchback felt the prick of steel betweenhis eyes and saved himself by springing backward, his blood's firesuddenly turned to ice. Lagardere's sword was like a living fire. "Lookout, Staupitz! Take that, Pepe!" he cried, and wounded both men. Then,while the German and the Spaniard fell back swearing, he turned joyouslyto Nevers, for his quick ear caught the sound of galloping on the distanthighway.
"Good cheer, brother! I hear horses. My men are coming. Lagardere!Lagardere!"
Nevers responded joyously, "I am here! Victory!"
By this time the ground was strewn with the dead and wounded of theirassailants, and, save for the slight scratch on Nevers's forehead, thedefenders were unhurt. The galloping of horses was now distinctly heard,and the sound was as displeasing to the bravos as it was delightful toLagardere.
Delightful, indeed, for the sake of his companion, whom he was so hot tosave. Otherwise, Lagardere, so far as he had clearness enough to thinkcoherently at all, thought that he had never lived, had never hoped tolive, through moments so delightful. To be in the thick of such a brawl,to be fighting side by side with the best swordsman in all France againstwhat might well be considered overwhelming odds, and to be working havocand disaster among his antagonists, stirred Lagardere's blood moreblithely than ripe wine. He had fought good fights before now, but neversuch a fight as this, in the black and dark night, with the dim air thickwith hostile swords, and the night wind singing songs of battle in hisears. To live like this was to be very much alive; this had a zest deniedto any calmly planned duello; this had a poetry fiercer and finer thanthe shock of action in the daylit lanes of war.
He called merrily to the bravos to renew their assault, but the bravoshung back discouraged; even the murder-zeal of AEsop had flagged. Then, inan instant, the attacked became the attackers, on the impulse of Nevers.Shouting anew the motto of his house, "I am here!" he leaped lightly overthe rampart of hay, soliciting the swords of his foemen. Lagarderefollowed his example in an instant, and the pair now carried the war intothe enemies' country, charging the staggered assassins, who scatteredbefore them. Lagardere drove some half a dozen of the rogues, includingStaupitz and the discomfited AEsop, towards the bridge. Nevers, nearer tothe castle, struck down in quick succession two of the ruffians that wererash enough to stand their ground, and stood for the moment alone andunassailed, the master of his part of the field.
Noiselessly behind him the little postern of Caylus opened. Noiselesslytwo shadows emerged, both masked and both holding drawn swords. Though itwas still all blackness under the walls of the castle, there was now alittle light in the sky, where a pale moon swam like a golden shipthrough wave after wave of engulfing cloud. The pair paused for a moment,as if to make sure that indeed their auxiliaries were being routed. Thenthe foremost shadow glided quietly close to Nevers, where he stoodflushed with victory.
"I am here!" Nevers cried, exulting, as he waved his conquering sword andlooked in vain for an antagonist.
"I am here!" repeated the shadow behind him, mockingly, and thrust hisweapon deep into the victor's side. Nevers reeled before the suddennessand sureness of the stroke, and fell on his knees to the ground with agreat cry that startled Lagardere and stayed him in his triumph. Nevers,striving to rise, turned his face against his tre
acherous enemy, andseemed to recognize the shadow in spite of its masked visage.
"You!" he gasped--"you, for whom I would have given my life!"
"Well, I take it," the shadow whispered, grimly, and stabbed him again.Nevers fell in a huddle to the earth, but he raised his dying breath in acry.
"Help, Lagardere! help! Save the child! Avenge me!"
Then he died. Though the assassin stabbed again, he only stabbed acorpse. Lagardere, who was brooming his foes before him as a gardenerbrooms autumnal leaves from grass, had been arrested in his course by thefirst cry of the wounded Nevers. While he paused, his antagonists,rallying a little and heartened by their numbers, made ready for a freshattack. Then, swiftly, came Nevers's last wild call for help, andLagardere, with a great fear and a great fury in his heart, turned fromthe steps leading to the bridge and made to join his comrade. But theclustering swordsmen heard that cry, too, and found new courage in thesound. It meant that one of the demi-gods with whom, as it seemed, theywere warring, was now no more than common clay, and that there was goodhope of ending the other. They came together; they came upon Lagardere;they strove to stay him in his way. They might as well have tried to staya hurricane. Lagardere beat them back, cut them down, and swept throughtheir reeling line to the spot where Nevers was lying.
"I am here!" he shouted, and faced the masked shadow. "Murderer, you hideyour face, but you shall bear my mark, that I may know you when we meetagain."
The slayer of Nevers had stood on guard by the side of his victim whenLagardere came towards him. By his side the masked companion extended acautious blade. In one wild second Lagardere beat down the slayer's swordand wounded the unknown man deeply on the wrist. The assassin's swordfell from his hand, and the assassin, with a cry of rage, retreated intothe darkness. Lagardere had only time to brand the traitor; he had notthe time to kill him. Looking swiftly about him, he saw that hisvengeance must be patient if he were to save his skin from that shambles.The sword of the satellite defended the master; other swords began togleam anew. From all the quarters of that field of fight the bravos weregathering again, all there were left of them, and Lagardere was nowalone. With the activity of the skilled acrobat he leaped backward to thecart, and, while he still faced his enemies and while his terrible swordglittered in ceaseless movement, he snatched the child from thesheltering hay with his left hand, and, turning, began to run at his fullspeed towards the bridge. There were bravos in his path that thought tostay him, but they gave way before the headlong fury of his rush as ifthey believed him to be irresistible, and he reached the steps insafety.
Once there he turned again and raised his sword in triumph, while hecried, fiercely: "Nevers is dead! Long live Nevers!"
By now the galloping of horses sounded loud as immediate thunder, andeven as Lagardere spoke a number of shadowy horsemen had occupied thebridge behind him, and those in the moat could see above them the glintof levelled muskets. The servant shadow held the postern open with atrembling hand to harbor the survivors of the strife. But the man thathad killed Nevers, the man that Lagardere had branded, had still a hateto satisfy.
"A thousand crowns," he cried, "to the man who gets the child!"
Not a man of all the baffled assassins answered to that challenge.Standing upon the steps of the bridge, Lagardere caught it up.
"Seek her behind my sword, assassin! You wear my mark, and I will findyou out! You shall all suffer! After the lackeys, the master! Sooner orlater Lagardere will come to you!"
The Duke's Motto: A Melodrama Page 9