by G. A. Henty
“I wish the Sieur D’Arblay and the Count de Laville were with us. No doubt they were hidden away, as soon as the troop was seen, but one is never secure against treachery.”
Philip was restless and uncomfortable all day, and walked about the wood, impatiently longing for night to come. As soon as it was dark they mounted, and rode back to the wood near Merlincourt. The five men were at once sent off to the chateau where they had left their leaders.
“That is a pistol shot!” Pierre exclaimed, some twenty minutes after they left.
“I did not hear it. Are you sure, Pierre?”
“Quite sure, sir. At least, I will not swear that it was a pistol—it might have been an arquebus—but I will swear it was a shot.”
“To your saddle, men,” Philip said. “A pistol shot has been heard, and it may be that your comrades have fallen into an ambush. Advance to the edge of the wood, and be ready to dash out to support them, should they come.”
But a quarter of an hour passed, and there was no sound to break the stillness of the evening.
“Shall I go into the village and find out what has taken place, Monsieur Fletcher? I will leave my iron cap and breast and back pieces here. I shall not want to fight but to run, and a hare could not run in these iron pots.”
“Do, Pierre. We shall be ready to support you, if you are chased.”
“If I am chased by half a dozen men, I may run here, sir; if by a strong force, I shall strike across the country. Trust me to double and throw them off the scent. If I am not back here in an hour, it will be that I am taken, or have had to trust to my heels; and you will find me, in the last case, tomorrow morning at the wood where we halted today. If I do not come soon after daybreak, you will know that I am either captured or killed. Do not delay for me longer, but act as seems best to you.”
Pierre took off his armour and sped away in the darkness, going at a trot that would speedily take him to the village.
“Dismount and stand by your horses,” Philip ordered. “We may want all their strength.”
Half an hour later Pierre returned, panting.
“I have bad news, sir. I have prowled about the village, which is full of soldiers, and listened to their talk through open windows. The Sieur D’Arblay, Monsieur Francois, and the owner of the chateau and his wife were seized, and carried off to Toulouse this morning, soon after daybreak. By what I heard, one of the servants of the chateau was a spy, set by the council of Toulouse to watch the doings of its owner; and as soon as Monsieur D’Arblay arrived there last night, he stole out and sent a messenger to Toulouse. At daybreak the chateau was surrounded, and they were seized before they had time to offer resistance. The troop of horse we saw have all day been searching for us, and went back before nightfall to Merlincourt; thinking that we should be sure to be going there, sometime or other, to inquire after our captain. The five men you sent were taken completely by surprise, and all were killed, though not without a tough fight. A strong party are lying in ambush with arquebuses, making sure that the rest of the troop will follow the five they surprised.”
“You were not noticed, Pierre, or pursued?”
“No, sir. There were so many men about in the village that one more stranger attracted no attention.”
“Then we can remain here safely for half an hour,” Philip said.
The conversation had taken place a few paces from the troop. Philip now joined his men.
“The Sieur D’Arblay and Count Francois have been taken prisoners. Your comrades fell into an ambush, and have, I fear, all lost their lives. Dismount for half an hour, men, while I think over what is best to be done. Keep close to your horses, so as to be in readiness to mount instantly, if necessary. One of you take my horse.
“Do you come with me, Pierre.
“This is a terrible business, lad,” he went on, as they walked away from the others. “We know what will be the fate of my cousin and Monsieur D’Arblay. They will be burnt or hung, as heretics. The first thing is, how are we to get them out; and also, if possible, the gentleman and his wife who were taken with them?”
“We have but ten of the men-at-arms left, sir; and four of them are so wounded that they would not count for much, in a fight. There are the two other lackeys and myself, so we are but fourteen, in all. If we had arrived in time we might have done something but, now they are firmly lodged in the prison at Toulouse, I see not that we can accomplish anything.”
Philip fell into silence for some minutes, then he said:
“Many of the councillors and members of parliament live, I think, in villas outside the walls. If we seize a dozen of them, appear before the city, and threaten to hang or shoot the whole of them, if the four captives are not released, we might succeed in getting our friends into our hands, Pierre.”
“That is so, sir. There really seems a hope for us, in that way.”
“Then we will lose no time. We will ride at once for Toulouse. When we get near the suburbs we will seize some countryman, and force him to point out to us the houses of the principal councillors and the members of their parliament. These we will pounce upon and carry off, and at daybreak will appear with them before the walls. We will make one of them signify, to their friends, that if any armed party sallies out through the gates, or approaches us from behind, it will be the signal for the instant death of all of our captives.
“Now let us be off, at once.”
The party mounted without delay, and rode towards Toulouse. This rich and powerful city was surrounded by handsome villas and chateaux, the abode of wealthy citizens and persons of distinction. At the first house at which they stopped, Philip, with Pierre and two of the men-at-arms, dismounted and entered. It was the abode of a small farmer, who cultivated vegetables for the use of the townsfolk. He had retired to bed with his family, but upon being summoned came downstairs trembling, fearing that his late visitors were bandits.
“No harm will be done to you, if you obey our orders,” Philip said; “but if not, we shall make short work of you. I suppose you know the houses of most of the principal persons who live outside the walls?”
“Assuredly I do, my lord. There is the President of the Parliament, and three or four of the principal councillors, and the Judge of the High Court, and many others, all living within a short mile of this spot.”
“Well, I require you to guide us to their houses. There will be no occasion for you to show yourself, nor will anyone know that you have had aught to do with the matter. If you attempt to escape, or to give the alarm, you will without scruple be shot. If, on the other hand, we are satisfied with your work, you will have a couple of crowns for your trouble.”
The man, seeing that he had no choice, put a good face on it.
“I am ready to do as your lordship commands,” he said. “I have no reason for goodwill towards any of these personages, who rule us harshly, and regard us as if we were dirt under their feet. Shall we go first to the nearest of them?”
“No, we will first call on the President of the Parliament, and then the Judge of the High Court, then the councillors in the order of their rank. We will visit ten in all, and see that you choose the most important.
“Pierre, you will take charge of this man, and ride in front of us. Keep your pistol in your hand, and shoot him through the head, if he shows signs of trying to escape. You will remain with him when we enter the houses.
“Have you any rope, my man?”
“Yes, my lord, I have several long ropes, with which I bind the vegetables on my cart when I go to market.”
“That will do. Bring them at once.”
Pierre accompanied the man when he went to his shed. On his return with the ropes, Philip told the men-at-arms to cut them into lengths of eight feet, and to make a running noose at one end of each. When this was done, they again mounted and moved on.
“When we enter the houses,” he said to the two other lackeys, “you will remain without with Pierre, and will take charge of the first four prisoners w
e bring out. Put the nooses round their necks, and draw them tight enough to let the men feel that they are there. Fasten the other ends to your saddles, and warn them, if they put up their hands to throw off the nooses, you will spur your horses into a gallop. That threat will keep them quiet enough.”
In a quarter of an hour they arrived at the gate of a large and handsome villa. Philip ordered his men to dismount, and fasten up their horses.
“You will remain here, in charge of the horses,” he said to the lackeys; and then, with the men-at-arms, he went up to the house.
Two of them were posted at the back entrance, two at the front, with orders to let no one issue out. Then with his dagger he opened the shutters of one of the windows and, followed by the other six men, entered. The door was soon found and, opening it, they found themselves in a hall where a hanging light was burning.
Several servants were asleep on the floor. These started up, with exclamations of alarm, at seeing seven men with drawn swords.
“Silence!” Philip said sternly, “or this will be your last moment.
“Roger and Jules, do you take each one of these lackeys by the collar. That is right. Now, put your pistols to their heads.
“Now, my men, lead us at once to your master’s chamber.
“Eustace, light one of these torches on the wall at the lamp, and bring it along with you.
“Henri, do you also come with us.
“The rest of you stay here, and guard these lackeys. Make them sit down. If any of them move, run him through without hesitation.”
At this moment an angry voice was heard shouting above.
“What is all this disturbance about! If I hear another sound, I will discharge you all in the morning.”
Philip gave a loud and derisive laugh, which had the effect he had anticipated for, directly afterwards, a man in a loose dressing gown ran into the hall.
“What does this mean, you rascals?” he shouted angrily, as he entered.
Then he stopped, petrified with astonishment.
“It means this,” Philip said, levelling a pistol at him, “that if you move a step, you are a dead man.”
“You must be mad,” the president gasped. “Do you know who I am?”
“Perfectly, sir. You are president of the infamous parliament of Toulouse. I am a Huguenot officer, and you are my prisoner. You need not look so indignant; better men than you have been dragged from their homes, to prison and death, by your orders. Now it is your turn to be a prisoner.
“I might, if I chose, set fire to this chateau, and cut the throats of all in it; but we do not murder in the name of God. We leave that to you.
“Take this man away with you, Eustace. I give him into your charge. If he struggles, or offers the least resistance, stab him to the heart.”
“You will at least give me time to dress, sir?” the president said.
“Not a moment,” Philip replied. “The night is warm, and you will do very well, as you are.
“As for you,” he went on, turning to the servants, “you will remain quiet until morning; and if any of you dare to leave the house, you will be slain without mercy. You can assure your mistress that she will not be long without the society of your master; for in all probability he will be returned, safe and sound, before midday tomorrow. One of you may fetch your master’s cloak, since he seems to fear the night air.”
The doors were opened and they issued out, Philip bidding the servants close and bar them behind them. When they reached the horses, the prisoner was handed over to D’Arblay’s lackey, who placed the noose round his neck, and gave him warning as Philip had instructed him. Then they set off, Pierre with the guide again leading the way.
Before morning they had ten prisoners in their hands. In one or two cases the servants had attempted opposition, but they were speedily overpowered, and the captures were all effected without loss of life. The party then moved away about a mile, and the prisoners were allowed to sit down. Several of them were elderly men, and Philip picked these out, by the light of two torches they had brought from the last house, and ordered the ropes to be removed from their necks.
“I should regret, gentlemen,” he said, “the indignity that I have been forced to place upon you, had you been other than you are. It is well, however, that you should have felt, though in a very slight degree, something of the treatment that you have all been instrumental in inflicting upon blameless men and women, whose only fault was that they chose to worship God in their own way. You may thank your good fortune at having fallen into the hands of one who has had no dear friends murdered in the prisons of Toulouse. There are scores of men who would have strung you up without mercy, thinking it a righteous retribution for the pitiless cruelties of which the parliament of Toulouse has been guilty.
“Happily for you, though I regard you with loathing as pitiless persecutors, I have no personal wrongs to avenge. Your conscience will tell you that, fallen as you have into the hands of Huguenots, you could only expect death; but it is not for the purpose of punishment that you have been captured. You are taken as hostages. My friends, the Count de Laville and the Sieur D’Arblay, were yesterday carried prisoners into Toulouse; and with them Monsieur de Merouville, whose only fault was that he had afforded them a night’s shelter. His innocent wife was also dragged away with him.
“You, sir,” he said to one of the prisoners, “appear to me to be the oldest of the party. At daybreak you will be released; and will bear, to your colleagues in the city, the news that these nine persons are prisoners in my hands. You will state that, if any body of men approaches this place from any quarter, these nine persons will at once be hung up to the branches above us. You will say that I hold them as hostages for the four prisoners, and that I demand that these shall be sent out here, with their horses and the arms of my two friends, and under the escort of two unarmed troopers.
“These gentlemen here will, before you start, sign a document ordering the said prisoners at once to be released; and will also sign a solemn undertaking, which will be handed over to Monsieur de Merouville, pledging themselves that, should he and his wife choose to return to their chateau, no harm shall ever happen to them; and no accusation, of any sort, in the future be brought against them.
“I may add that, should at any time this guarantee be broken, I shall consider it my duty, the moment I hear of the event, to return to this neighbourhood; and assuredly I will hang the signatories of the guarantee over their own door posts, and will burn their villas to the ground. I know the value of oaths sworn to Huguenots; but in this case, I think they will be kept, for I swear to you—and I am in the habit of keeping my oaths—that if you break your undertaking, I will not break mine.”
As soon as it was daylight, Pierre produced from his saddlebag an ink horn, paper, and pens; and the ten prisoners signed their name to an order for the release of the four captives. They then wrote another document, to be handed by their representative to the governor, begging him to see that the order was executed, informing him of the position they were in, and that their lives would certainly be forfeited, unless the prisoners were released without delay. They also earnestly begged him to send out orders, to the armed forces who were searching for the Huguenots, bidding them make no movement, whatever, until after midday.
The councillor was then mounted on a horse and escorted, by two of the men-at-arms, to within a quarter of a mile of the nearest gate of the city. The men were to return with his horse. The councillor was informed that ten o’clock was the limit given for the return of the prisoners; and that, unless they had by that hour arrived, it would be supposed that the order for their release would not be respected, and in that case the nine hostages would be hung forthwith; and that, in the course of a night or two, another batch would be carried off.
Philip had little fear, however, that there would be any hesitation, upon the part of those in the town, in acting upon the order signed by so many important persons; for the death of the president, and
several of the leading members of the parliament, would create such an outcry against the governor, by their friends and relatives, that he would not venture to refuse the release of four prisoners, of minor importance, in order to save their lives.
After the messenger had departed, Philip had the guarantee for the safety of Monsieur de Merouville and his wife drawn up and signed, in duplicate.
“One of these documents,” he said, “I shall give to Monsieur de Merouville. The other I shall keep myself, so that, if this solemn guarantee is broken, I shall have this as a justification for the execution of the perjured men who signed it.”
The time passed slowly. Some of the prisoners walked anxiously and impatiently to and fro, looking continually towards the town. Others sat in gloomy silence, too humiliated at their present position even to talk to one another.
The soldiers, on the contrary, were in high spirits. They rejoiced at the prospect of the return of their two leaders, and they felt proud of having taken part in such an exploit as the capture of the chief men of the dreaded parliament of Toulouse. Four of them kept a vigilant guard over the prisoners. The rest ate their breakfast with great gusto, and laughed and joked at the angry faces of some of their prisoners.
It was just nine o’clock when a small group of horsemen were seen in the distance.
“I think there are six of them, sir,” Eustace said.
“That is the right number, Eustace. The lady is doubtless riding behind her husband. Two men are the escort, and the other is, no doubt, the councillor we released, who is now acting as guide to this spot.
“Bring my horse, Pierre,” and, mounting, Philip rode off to meet the party.
He was soon able to make out the figures of Francois and D’Arblay and, putting his horse to a gallop, was speedily alongside of them.
“What miracle is this?” Monsieur D’Arblay asked, after the first greeting was over. “At present we are all in a maze. We were in separate dungeons, and the prospect looked as hopeless as it could well do; when the doors opened and an officer, followed by two soldiers bearing our armour and arms, entered and told us to attire ourselves. What was meant we could not imagine. We supposed we were going to be led before some tribunal; but why they should arm us, before taking us there, was more than we could imagine.