Biscarrat found himself between a protection and a threat, the one almost as terrible as the other. However brave the young man might be, he could not prevent a cry escaping him, which Aramis immediately suppressed by placing a handkerchief over his mouth. “Monsieur de Biscarrat,” said he, in a low voice, “we mean you no harm, and you must know that, if you have recognised us; but, at the first word, the first sigh, or the first breath, we shall be forced to kill you as we have killed your dogs.”
“Yes, I recognise you, gentlemen,” said the officer in a low voice. “But why are you here—what are you doing here? Unfortunate men! I thought you were in the fort?”
“And you, monsieur, you were to obtain conditions for us, I think?”
“I did all I was able, messieurs, but—”
“But what?”
“But there are positive orders.”
“To kill us?” Biscarrat made no reply. It would have cost him too much to speak of the cord to gentlemen. Aramis understood the silence of the prisoner.
“Monsieur Biscarrat,” said he, “you would be already dead if we had not had regard for your youth and our ancient association with your father; but you may yet escape from the place by swearing that you will not tell your companions what you have seen.”
“I will not only swear that I will not speak of it,” said Biscarrat, “but I still further swear that I will do everything in the world to prevent my companions from setting foot in the grotto.”
“Biscarrat! Biscarrat!” cried several voices from the outside, coming like a whirlwind into the cave.
“Reply,” said Aramis.
“Here am I!” cried Biscarrat.
“Now, begone; we depend upon your loyalty.” And he left his hold of the young man, who hastily returned towards the light.
“Biscarrat! Biscarrat!” cried the voices, still nearer. And the shadows of several human forms projected into the interior of the grotto.
Biscarrat rushed to meet his friends, in order to stop them, and met them just as they were adventuring into the cave. Aramis and Porthos listened with the intense attention of men whose lives depend upon a breath of air.
“Oh! oh!” exclaimed one of the guards, as he came to the light, “how pale you are!”
“Pale!” cried another, “you ought to say livid.”
“I!” said the young man, endeavouring to collect his faculties.
“In the name of Heaven! what has happened to you?” exclaimed all voices.
“You have not a drop of blood in your veins, my poor friend,” said one of them, laughing.
“Messieurs, it is serious,” said another, “he is going to faint; does any of you happen to have any salts?” And they all laughed.
All these interpellations, all these jokes crossed each other round Biscarrat as the balls cross each other in the fire of a mêlée. He recovered himself amidst a deluge of interrogations.
“What do you suppose I have seen?” asked he. “I was too hot when I entered the grotto, and I have been struck with the cold; that is all.”
“But the dogs, the dogs, have you seen them again—did you see anything of them—do you know anything about them?”
“I suppose they have gone out by another way.”
“Messieurs,” said one of the young men, “there is in that which is going on, in the paleness and silence of our friend, a mystery which Biscarrat will not, or cannot, reveal. Only, and that is a certainty, Biscarrat has seen something in the grotto. Well! for my part, I am very curious to see what it is, even if it were the devil! To the grotto! messieurs, to the grotto!”
“To the grotto!” repeated all the voices. And the echo of the cavern carried like a menace to Porthos and Aramis, “To the grotto! to the grotto!”
Biscarrat threw himself before his companions. “Messieurs! messieurs!” cried he, “in the name of Heaven do not go in!”
“Why, what is there so terrific in the cavern?” asked several at once. “Come, speak, Biscarrat.”
“Decidedly, it is the devil he has seen,” repeated he who had before advanced that hypothesis.
“Well!” said another; “if he has seen him, he need not be selfish; he may as well let us have a look at him in our turns.”
“Messieurs! messieurs! I beseech you,” urged Biscarrat.
“Nonsense!—Let us pass!”
“Messieurs, I implore you not to enter!”
“Why, you went in yourself?”
Then one of the officers who—of a riper age than the others—had, till this time remained behind, and had said nothing, advanced. “Messieurs,” said he with a calmness which contrasted with the animation of the young men, “there is in this some person, or something, that is not the devil; but which, whatever it may be, has had sufficient power to silence our dogs. We must know who this some one is, or what this something is.”
Biscarrat made a last effort to stop his friends, but it was useless. In vain he threw himself before the most rash; in vain he clung to the rocks to bar the passage; the crowd of young men rushed into the cave, in the steps of the officer who had spoken last, but who had sprung in first, sword in hand, to face the unknown danger. Biscarrat, repulsed by his friends, not able to accompany them without passing in the eyes of Porthos and Aramis for a traitor and a perjurer, with painfully attentive ear and still supplicating hands leant against the rough side of a rock which he thought must be exposed to the fire of the musketeers. As to the guards, they penetrated farther and farther, with cries that grew weaker as they advanced. All at once, a discharge of musketry, growling like thunder, exploded beneath the vault. Two or three balls were flattened against the rock where Biscarrat was leaning. At the same instant, cries, howlings, and imprecations burst forth, and the little troop of gentlemen reappeared—some pale, some bleeding—all enveloped in a cloud of smoke, which the outward air seemed to draw from the depths of the cavern. “Biscarrat! Biscarrat! cried the fugitives, ”you knew there was an ambuscade in that cavern, and you have not warned us! Biscarrat, you are the cause that four of us have been killed! Woe be to you, Biscarrat!”
“You are the cause of my being wounded to death,” said one of the young men, gathering his blood in his hand, and casting it into the face of Biscarrat. “My blood be upon your head!” And he rolled in agony at the feet of the young men.
“But, at least, tell us who is there?” cried several furious voices.
Biscarrat remained silent. “Tell us or die!” cried the wounded man, raising himself upon one knee, and lifting towards his companion an arm bearing a useless sword. Biscarrat rushed towards him, opening his breast for the blow, but the wounded man fell back, not to rise again—uttering a groan which was his last. Biscarrat, with hair on end, haggard eyes, and bewildered head, advanced towards the interior of the cavern, saying, “You are right. Death to me, who have allowed my companions to be assassinated. I am a base wretch!” And throwing away his sword, for he wished to die without defending himself, he rushed head foremost into the cavern. The others followed him. The eleven who remained out of sixteen imitated his example; but they did not go farther than the first. A second discharge laid five upon the icy sand; and, as it was impossible to see whence this murderous thunder issued, the others fell back with a terror that can be better imagined than expressed. But, far from flying, as the others had done, Biscarrat remained safe and sound, seated on a fragment of rock, and waited. There were only six gentlemen left.
“Seriously,” said one of the survivors, “is it the devil?”
“Ma foi! it is much worse,” said another.
“Ask Biscarrat, he knows.”
“Where is Biscarrat?” The young men looked round them, and saw that Biscarrat did not answer.
“He is dead!” said two or three voices.
“Oh! no,” replied another; “I saw him through the smoke, sitting quietly on a rock. He is in the cavern; he is waiting for us.
“He must know who are there.”
“And how should he kno
w them?”
“He was taken prisoner by the rebels.”
“That is true! Well! let us call him, and learn from him whom we have to deal with.” And all voices shouted, “Biscarrat! Biscarrat!” But Biscarrat did not answer.
“Good!” said the officer who had shown so much coolness in the affair. “We have no longer any need of him; here are reinforcements coming.”
In fact, a company of the guards, left in the rear by their officers, whom the ardour of the chase had carried away—from seventy-five to eighty men—arrived in good order, led by their captain and the first lieutenant. The five officers hastened to meet their soldiers; and, in a language, the eloquence of which may be easily imagined, they related the adventure, and asked for aid. The captain interrupted them: “Where are your companions?” demanded he.
“Dead!”
“But there were sixteen of you.”
“Ten are dead. Biscarrat is in the cavern, and we are five.”
“Biscarrat is then a prisoner?”
“Probably.”
“No, for here he is—look.” In fact, Biscarrat appeared at the opening of the grotto.
“He makes us a sign to come on,” said the officer. “Come on!”
“Come on!” cried all the troop. And they advanced to meet Biscarrat.
“Monsieur,” said the captain, addressing Biscarrat, “I am assured that you know who the men are in that grotto, and who make such a desperate defence. In the King’s name I command you to declare what you know.”
“Captain,” said Biscarrat, “you have no need to command me; my word has been restored to me this very instant; and I come in the name of these men.”
“To tell me who they are?”
“To tell you they are determined to defend themselves to the death, unless you grant them good terms.”
“How many are there of them, then?”
“There are two,” said Biscarrat.
“There are two—and want to impose conditions upon us.”
“There are two, and they have already killed ten of our men.”
“What sort of people are they—giants?”
“Better than that. Do you remember the history of the bastion Saint-Gervais, captain?”
“Yes; where four musketeers held out against an army.”
“Well, these two men were of those musketeers.”
“And their names?”
“At that period they were called Porthos and Aramis. Now, they are styled M. d’Herblay and M. du Vallon.”
“And what interest have they in all this?”
“It is they who held Belle-Isle for M. Fouquet.”
A murmur ran through the ranks of the soldiers on hearing the two words “Porthos and Aramis.” “The musketeers! the musketeers!” repeated they. And among all these brave men, the idea that they were going to have a struggle against two of the oldest glories of the French army, made a shiver, half enthusiasm, half terror, run through them. In fact, those four names—d’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, were venerated among all who wore a sword; as, in antiquity, the name of Hercules, Theseus, Castor, and Pollux, were venerated.
“Two men—and they have killed ten in two discharges! That is impossible, Monsieur Biscarrat! ”
“Eh! captain,” replied the latter, “I do not tell you that they have not with them two or three men, as the musketeers of the bastion Saint-Gervais had two or three lackeys; but, believe me, captain, I have seen these men, I have been taken prisoner by them—I know they themselves alone could suffice to destroy an army.
“That we shall see,” said the Captain, “and that in a moment too. Gentlemen, attention!”
At this reply no one stirred, and all prepared to obey. Biscarrat alone risked a last attempt. “Monsieur,” said he in a low voice “believe me; let us pass on our way. Those two men, those two lions you are going to attack, will defend themselves to the death. They have already killed ten of our men; they will kill double the number, and end by killing themselves rather than surrender. What shall we gain by fighting them?”
“We shall gain the consciousness, monsieur, of not having made eighty of the King’s guards retire before two rebels. If I listened to your advice, monsieur, I should be a dishonoured man; and by dishonouring myself I should dishonour the army. Forward, men!”
And he marched first as far as the opening of the grotto. There he halted. The object of this halt was to give to Biscarrat and his companions time to describe to him the interior of the grotto. Then, when he believed he had a sufficient acquaintance with the places, he divided his company into three bodies, which were to enter successively, keeping up a sustained fire in all directions. No doubt, in this attack they should lose five more men, perhaps ten; but certainly, they must end by taking the rebels, since there was no issue; and, at any rate, two men could not kill eighty.
“Captain,” said Biscarrat, “I beg to be allowed to march at the head of the first platoon.”
“So be it,” replied the captain; “you have all the honour of it. That is a present I make you.”
“Thanks!” replied the young man, with all the firmness of his race.
“Take your sword, then.”
“I shall go as I am, captain,” said Biscarrat, “for I do not go to kill, I go to be killed.”
And placing himself at the head of the first platoon with his head uncovered and his arms crossed,—“March, gentlemen!” said he.
77
An Homeric Song
IT IS TIME TO pass into the other camp, and to describe at once the combatants and the field of battle. Aramis and Porthos had gone to the grotto of Locmaria with the expectation of finding there their canoe ready armed, as well as the three Bretons, their assistants; and they at first hoped to make the barque pass through the little issue of the cavern, concealing in that fashion both their labours and their flight. The arrival of the fox and the dogs had obliged them to remain concealed. The grotto extended the space of about two hundred yards, to that little slope dominating a creek. Formerly a temple of the Celtic divinities, when Belle-Isle was still called Colonèse, this grotto had seen more than one human sacrifice accomplished in its mysterious depths. The first entrance to the cavern was by a moderate descent, above which heaped-up rocks formed a low arcade; the interior, very unequal as to the ground, dangerous from the rocky inequalities of the vault, was subdivided into several compartments which commanded each other and joined each other by means of several rough, broken steps, fixed right and left, in enormous natural pillars. At the third compartment, the vault was so low, the passage so narrow, that the barque would scarcely have passed without touching the two sides; nevertheless, in a moment of despair, wood softens and stone becomes compliant under the breath of human will. Such was the thought of Aramis, when, after having fought the fight, he decided upon flight—a flight certainly dangerous, since all the assailants were not dead; and that, admitting the possibility of putting the barque to sea, they would have to fly in open day, before the conquered, so interested on recognising their small number, in pursuing their conquerors. When the two discharges had killed ten men, Aramis, habituated to the windings of the cavern, went to reconnoitre them one by one—counted them, for the smoke prevented seeing outside; and he immediately commanded that the canoe should be rolled as far as the great stone, the closure of the liberating issue. Porthos collected all his strength, took the canoe up in his arms and raised it up, whilst the Bretons made it run rapidly along the rollers. They had descended into the third compartment; they had arrived at the stone which walled up the outlet. Porthos seized this gigantic stone at its base, applied to it his robust shoulder, and gave a heave which made this wall crack. A cloud of dust fell from the vault with the ashes of ten thousand generations of sea-birds, whose nests stuck like cement to the rock. At the third shock the stone gave way; it oscillated for a minute. Porthos, placing his back against the neighbouring rock, made an arch with his foot, which drove the block out of the calcareous masses
which served for hinges and cramps. The stone fell, and daylight was visible, brilliant, radiant, which rushed into the cavern by the opening, and the blue sea appeared to the delighted Bretons. They then began to lift the barque over the barricade. Twenty more yards, and it might glide into the ocean. It was during this time that the company arrived, was drawn up by the captain, and disposed for either an escalade or an assault. Aramis watched over everything, to favour the labours of his friends. He saw the reinforcements, he counted the men, he convinced himself at a single glance of the insurmountable peril to which a fresh combat would expose them. To escape by sea, at the moment the cavern was about to be invaded, was impossible. In fact, the daylight which had just been admitted to the last two compartments had exposed to the soldiers the barque being rolled towards the sea, the two rebels within musket shot, and one of their discharges would riddle the boat if it did not kill the five navigators. Besides, supposing everything—if the barque escaped with the men on board of it, how could the alarm be suppressed—how could notice to the royal lighters be prevented? What could hinder the poor canoe, followed by sea, and watched from shore, from succumbing before the end of the day? Aramis, digging his hands into his grey hair with rage, invoked the assistance of God and the assistance of the demon. Calling to Porthos, who was working alone more than all the rollers—whether of flesh or of wood—“My friend,” said he, “our enemies have just received a reinforcement.”
“Ah! ah!” said Porthos quietly, “what is to be done, then?”
“To recommence the combat,” said Aramis, “is hazardous.”
“Yes,” said Porthos, “for it is difficult to suppose that out of two one should not be killed, and certainly, if one of us were killed, the other would get himself killed also.” Porthos spoke these words with that heroic nature which, with him, grew greater with all the phases of the matter.
Aramis felt it like a spur to his heart. “We shall neither of us be killed if you do what I tell you, friend Porthos.”
Man in the Iron Mask (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 69