by G. A. Henty
“Do you know that young gentleman, Louis?” he asked. “I seem to know his face well; and yet he does not know me, for he just now glanced at me, without recognizing me. You know most of the gentry in this neighbourhood. Do you know him?”
“No, I cannot say that I do, Raoul; though I, too, seem to have a recollection of his face. It is a sort of face one remembers, too. I should think his family must belong to the north, for you do not often see men of that complexion about here. He looks very young, not above nineteen or twenty; but there is a look of earnestness and resolution, about his face, that would point to his being some years older.”
Dismissing the matter from his mind, Raoul joined in the conversation round him. Presently he grasped his cousin’s arm.
“I know where we saw the face now, Louis. He was one of the four fellows we stopped, two days since, near Bazas.”
“Impossible, Raoul! Those men were peasants, though two of them had served for a time in the army; the others—” and he stopped.
“You see it yourself, Louis. One of the others was a dark, active man. The other was but a lad—a tall, well-built young fellow, with fair complexion and gray eyes. I thought of it afterwards, and wondered where he got that skin and hair from. I put it down that it was a trace of English blood, of which there is a good deal still left in Guyenne, and some of the other provinces they held, long ago.”
“I certainly see the likeness, now you mention it, Raoul; but it can hardly be the same. This is a gentleman. He is certainly that, whoever he may be. How could a gentleman be masquerading about as a peasant?”
“That is what I am going to find out, Louis. He may have been a Huguenot, making his way down to join the Queen of Navarre at Nerac He may be one of her train there, who had gone out, in disguise, to reconnoitre the country and see what forces of ours were in the neighbourhood, and where posted. That may be his mission, here; but this time he has chosen to come in his proper attire.”
“That can hardly be his attire, if he is one of Jeanne of Navarre’s followers. He may have got a suit for the purpose, but assuredly the colours are too gay for a Huguenot in her train. For my part, I see nothing suspicious about his appearance. There, he is paying his reckoning, and going.”
“And I am going after him,” Raoul said, rising. “There is something strange about the affair, and there may be some plot. Do you come with me, Louis.
“Monsieur D’Estanges, I have a little matter of business on hand. Will you come with me?”
Chapter 12
An Escape From Prison
Glancing half round, as he turned away from the wine shop, Philip saw Raoul and two of his companions rising. He walked off in a leisurely manner and, a few paces farther, turned down a side street. He heard steps following him, and then a voice said:
“Hold, young sir. I would have a word with you.”
Philip turned, with an expression of angry surprise.
“Are you addressing me, sir? I would have you know that am not accustomed to be spoken to, in that fashion; and that I bear an insult from no one.”
Raoul laughed.
“Are you equally particular, sir, when you are going about in peasant’s clothes?”
“I am not good at riddles, sir,” Philip said haughtily, “and can only suppose that your object is to pick a quarrel with me; though I am not conscious of having given you offence. However, that matters little. I suppose you are one of those gallants who air their bravery when they think they can do so, with impunity. On the present occasion you may, perchance, find that you are mistaken. I am a stranger here, and know of no place where this matter can be settled, nor am I provided with a second; but I am quite content to place myself in the hands of one of these gentlemen, if they will act for me.”
“I am sure, Raoul, there is some mistake,” Louis began, putting his hand on his cousin’s shoulder.
But the other shook it off, angrily. He was of a passionate and overbearing temper, and Philip’s coolness, and the manner in which he had turned the tables upon him and challenged him to a duel, inflamed him to the utmost.
“Hands off, Louis,” he said. “Do you think that I, Raoul de Fontaine, am to be crowed over by this youth? He has challenged me to fight, and fight he shall.”
“You provoked him,” Louis said firmly. “You gave him provocation such as no gentleman of honour could suffer. It was not for this that I came out with you, but because you said that you wished to unravel what may be a plot.”
“I will cut it, which will be easier than unravelling it,” Raoul replied. “It is shorter and easier work, to finish the matter with a sword thrust, than to provide for his being swung at the end of a rope.”
“We had best waste no time in empty braggadocio,” Philip said coldly, “but proceed at once to some quiet spot, where this matter can be settled, undisturbed.”
“I think the young gentleman is right,” Monsieur D’Estanges, a gentleman of the court, said gravely. “The matter has gone too far for anything else, now; and I am bound to say that your adversary, of whose name I am ignorant, has borne himself in a manner to merit my esteem; and that, as your cousin will of course act for you, I shall be happy to place my services at his disposal.”
“Let us get beyond the gates,” Raoul said abruptly, turning on his heel, and retracing his steps up the lane to the main street.
“I thank you, sir, for offering to stand by one of whose very name you are ignorant,” Philip said as, accompanied by Monsieur D’Estanges, he followed the others. “It is, however, right that you should know it. It is Philip Fletcher. On my father’s side I am English, on my mother’s I am of noble French blood, being cousin to Francois de Laville, whose mother and mine were daughters of the Count de Moulins.”
“Two distinguished families of Poitou,” Monsieur D’Estanges said, courteously. “It needed not that, to tell me that you were of good blood. I regret much that this encounter is going to take place. Monsieur Raoul de Fontaine was in the wrong, in so rudely hailing you, and I cannot blame you for taking it up sharply; although, seeing your age and his, and that he is a good swordsman, it might have been more prudent to have overlooked his manner.
“Unless, indeed,” and he smiled, “Monsieur Raoul was right, and that you are engaged on some weighty matter here, and preferred to run the risk of getting yourself killed rather than have it inquired into. The Countess of Laville and her son are both staunch Huguenots, and you may well be on business here that you would not care to have investigated.
“You have not asked my name, sir. It is Charles D’Estanges. I am a cousin of the Duc de Guise, and am naturally of the court party; but I can esteem a brave enemy, and regret to see one engaged in an encounter in which he must needs be overmatched.”
“I am a fair swordsman, sir,” Philip said; “though my arm may lack somewhat of the strength it will have, a few years later. But had it been otherwise, I should have still taken the course I have. I do not say your conjecture is a correct one, but at any rate I would prefer the most unequal fight to being seized and questioned. One can but be killed once, and it were better that it should be by a thrust in the open air than a long imprisonment, ending perhaps with death at the stake.”
Monsieur D’Estanges said no more. In spite of his relationship with the Guises he, like many other French Catholic nobles, disapproved of the persecutions of the Huguenots, and especially of the massacres perpetrated by the lower orders in the towns, men for whom he had the profoundest contempt. He felt sorry for his companion, whose youth and fearless demeanour moved him in his favour; and who, he doubted not, had come to Agen to confer with some of the Huguenots, who were to be found in every town.
Issuing from the gates, they went for a quarter of a mile along the road, and then Raoul led the way into a small wood. Here, without a word being spoken, Raoul and Philip threw aside their cloaks and doublets.
“Gentlemen,” Monsieur D’Estanges said, “surely this quarrel might be arranged without fighting.
Monsieur de Fontaine addressed my principal, doubtless under a misapprehension, with some roughness, which was not unnaturally resented. If Monsieur de Fontaine will express his regret, which he certainly could do without loss of dignity, for the manner in which he spoke; my principal would, I am sure, gladly accept his apology.”
“That is my opinion also,” Louis de Fontaine said, “and I have already expressed it to my cousin.”
“And I have already said that I will do nothing of the sort,” Raoul said. “I am fighting not only in my own quarrel, but in that of the king; being well assured in my mind that this young man, whether he be, as he now appears, a gentleman of birth, or whether, as I saw him last, a peasant boy, is engaged in some plot hostile to his majesty.”
“Then there is nothing more to be said,” Monsieur D’Estanges said gravely; “but before you begin, I may tell you, Monsieur de Fontaine, that this gentleman belongs to a family no less noble than your own. He has confided to me his name and position, which I think it as well not to divulge.
“Now, Louis, we may as well stand aside. We have done our best to stop this quarrel, and to prevent what I cannot but consider a most unequal contest from taking place.”
The last words were galling, in the extreme, to Raoul de Fontaine. Monsieur D’Estanges stood high at court, was a gentleman of unblemished reputation, and often appealed to on questions of honour; and this declaration that he considered the combat to be an unequal one was the more irritating, since he was himself conscious of the fact. However, he could not recoil now but, with an angry expression of face, drew his sword and stood on guard.
Philip was no less ready. The easy attitude he assumed, with his weight for the most part on his left leg, differed so widely from the forward attitude then in fashion among French duellists, that Monsieur D’Estanges, convinced that he knew nothing of swordplay, shrugged his shoulders pityingly. The moment, however, that the swords grated against each other; and Philip put aside, with a sharp turn of the wrist, a lunge with which his opponent intended at once to finish the combat, the expression of his face changed.
“The lad did not speak boastfully, when he said he was a fair swordsman,” he muttered to himself. “He does not fight in our fashion, but at least he knows what he is about.”
For some minutes the fight continued, Raoul’s temper rising higher and higher, as he found every attack baffled by a foe he had despised, and who refused to fall back even an inch, however hotly he pressed him. He had at first intended either to wound or disarm him, but he soon fought to kill. At last there was a fierce rally, ending by Philip parrying a home thrust and, returning it with lightning swiftness, running Raoul de Fontaine through the body with such force that the hilt of his sword struck against his chest, and he sank lifeless to the ground.
“By our Lady, young gentleman,” Monsieur D’Estanges exclaimed, “but you have done well! You said that you were a fair swordsman. Truly you are of the highest class. Raoul’s temper has led him into many a duel, and he has always wounded or killed his man. Who could have thought that he would receive his death blow at the hands of a youth?
“But whom have we here? Peste! This is awkward.”
As he spoke, Count Darbois, the governor of Agen, with a body of troopers, rode up. He had ridden to within a mile or two of Nerac and, questioning persons from the town, learned that everything was quiet there, and that no fresh body of Huguenots had arrived. He was on his way back when, hearing the clash of swords, he had ridden into the wood to inquire into its meaning.
“What is this?” he exclaimed.
“Why, what is this, Monsieur De Fontaine? Your cousin, Count Raoul, dead!”
Louis, who was leaning over his cousin, looked up.
“Alas! I fear that it is so, Monsieur le Comte. My poor cousin has fallen in a duel.”
“What a misfortune, and at such a moment! Is it not scandalous that, at a time like this, when every gentleman’s sword is needed in defence of our king and faith, they should indulge in private quarrels?
“And is it you, Monsieur D’Estanges, who has done his majesty this bad service?”
For by this time Philip had resumed his doublet and cloak.
“No. I only stood as second to his opponent, who has behaved fairly and honourably in the matter, as I am sure Count Louis will testify.”
“Your word is quite sufficient, Monsieur D’Estanges. And who is this gentleman, who has thus slain one who had no mean reputation as a swordsman?”
“A young gentleman passing through Agen. The quarrel arose through a rencontre in the street. Count Raoul was, as was his nature, hasty, and put himself in the wrong. The gentleman resented his language, and a meeting was at once arranged. Count Louis and myself were with Raoul, and as his opponent was alone, and it was not desirable to draw others into the matter, I offered to act as his second; and he accepted it, at once. We came here. Count Louis and I made a final effort to persuade Raoul to apologize for his language. He refused to do so, and they fought, and you see the consequence.”
“But who is this stranger?” the governor asked again.
“Count Raoul did not feel it necessary to ask, count; and I think, as he waived the point, and the affair is now terminated, it would be well that his opponent should be permitted to withdraw without questions.”
“That is all very well for you, Monsieur D’Estanges, as a party in a private quarrel; but as governor of Agen, it is my duty to satisfy myself as to who this stranger, who has killed an officer of the king, may be.”
He turned his horse, and for the first time obtained a view of Philip; who, seeing the impossibility of escape, had been standing quietly by.
“Why, it is but a youth!” he exclaimed. “You say he slew Count Raoul in fair fight, Monsieur D’Estanges?”
“In as fair a fight as ever I saw, Monsieur le Comte.”
“Who are you, sir?” the governor asked Philip.
“I am a stranger, travelling through Agen on private business,” Philip said quietly.
“But what is your name and family, sir?”
“I am English,” Philip replied. “My name is Philip Fletcher.”
“A Huguenot, I will be bound?” the governor said angrily.
“Not at all, count. I am of the religion of my nation—a Protestant.”
“It is the same thing,” the governor said. “It is clear that, for whatever purpose you may be in Agen, you are here for no good.
“This is a serious matter, Monsieur D’Estanges.”
“As I have said, I know nothing of this gentleman, count. I saw him for the first time a little over half an hour ago, and on every account I wish that I had not seen him. He has killed my friend Raoul, deprived his majesty of a staunch adherent, and has got himself into trouble. But for all that, I am assured, by his conduct and bearing in this business, that he is an honourable gentleman; and I intreat you, as a personal favour, count, that you allow him to go free.”
“I would do much to oblige you, Monsieur D’Estanges; but he is an Englishman and a Protestant, by his own confession, and therefore can only be here to aid the men who have risen in rebellion, and to conspire with the king’s enemies. He will be placed in close charge and, when the present pressing affairs have been put out of hand, I doubt not we shall find means of learning a good deal more about this mysterious person, who claims to be English, but who yet speaks our language like a Frenchman.”
“As to that matter, I can satisfy you at once,” Philip said. “My mother was a French lady, a daughter of the Count de Moulins of Poitou.”
“A Huguenot family, if I mistake not,” the governor said, coldly. “Well, we have other things to think of, now.
“Captain Carton, place two troopers one on each side of this person. I authorize you to cut him down, if he tries to escape. Let four others dismount, and carry the body of the Count de Fontaine into the city.
“You will, of course, take the command of his troop, Count Louis; seeing that, if I mistake no
t, you are his nearest relative, and the heir to his possessions.”
As Philip was led through the streets he caught sight of Pierre, who made no sign of recognition as he passed. He was taken to the castle, and confined in a room in a turret, looking down upon the river. The window was closely barred, but otherwise the room, though small, was not uncomfortable. It contained a chair, a table, and a couch.
When the door was barred and bolted behind him, Philip walked to the window and stood looking out at the river. The prospect seemed dark. The governor was unfavourably disposed towards him now; and when the news came, on the morrow, that the Queen of Navarre had slipped through his fingers, his exasperation would no doubt be vented on him. What was now but a mere suspicion, would then become almost a certainty; and it would, as a matter of course, be assumed that he was there on matters connected with her flight. That he was a Protestant was alone sufficient to condemn him to death, but his connection with the queen’s flight would, beyond all question, seal his fate.
Pierre, he felt sure, would do all that he could for him; but that could amount to almost nothing. Even if he had the means of filing through or removing the bars, it would need a long stout rope to enable him to descend to the water’s edge, a hundred feet below him; and that he could obtain possession of either file, or rope, seemed to him as absolutely impossible.
“Nevertheless,” he said to himself, “I will let Pierre know where I am confined. I do not see that it can do any good. But he is a fellow of resource. I have great faith in him and, though I can see no possible plan of escape, he, being without, may try something.
“I have no doubt that his first endeavour will be to find out where I am confined. I warrant he will know my cap, if he sees it. He has an eye like a hawk and, if he sees anything outside one of the windows, he will suspect at once that it is a signal; and when he once looks closely at it, he will make out its orange tint and these three long cock’s feathers.”