'I have heard of your history and of your exploits, sir,' he said, carefully refraining from looking at Lauzun, for whom he seemed to have no great affection. 'They make you a most interesting person and we should beware of opposing God's will when it is made as clearly manifest as it is in your reunion with your father. The Comte de Tournemine de la Hunaudaye has acknowledged you publicly as his son and – we shall do likewise.'
'Sire,' Lauzun ventured to say, the irony in his voice too slight wholly to conceal its insolence, 'does your majesty think your genealogist will be of the same opinion?'
The King, who was washing his hands in the basin a page was holding for him, looked up sharply. His short-sighted eyes looked stonily at the young duke, who reddened in spite of himself.
'Need I remind you, Duke, that Monsieur Chérin is here to serve me and that a good servant does not flout his master's orders?' he said coldly. 'Here is no case for researches into genealogy, or for proving a title to nobility which is among the most ancient in the realm of France. Monsieur Chérin will see to it that this young man's affiliation is properly registered, and when that is done I trust that I shall find a good servant in him also. Is that not so, sir?'
'Sire,' Gilles murmured, deeply moved, 'I have been your majesty's subject and servant from my birth and I am ashamed that I have nothing better to offer you than that which has been yours all along, my life!'
Louis XVI smiled benevolently. Then he extended his hand to the young man and said, unconsciously echoing Washington: 'Take good care of it, Monsieur de Tournemine. A dead servant may deserve my respect, but he is not much use to me.'
Gilles knelt and kissed the hand which smelled agreeably of verbena soap, and then backed out, bowing deeply. The King's voice followed him:
'They tell me you are a formidable woodsman and a fine shot, and that you learned to hunt from the American Indians? We must hunt together one of these days. You shall instruct me. Monsieur de Lauzun, when the time comes, you will present this young man to the Queen.'
'Damnation!' Lauzun exclaimed, as soon as they had left the royal presence. 'You have made a success! You are not merely recognized, you are high in favour. He must have liked you a lot. I make you my compliments, for it is not easily done.'
And indeed, only two days later, Gilles had received from the chancellery the documents which conferred on him the hereditary title of chevalier. It was accompanied by a lieutenant's commission in the Queen's Dragoons, commanded by the Chevalier de Coigny, and also a note to be presented to the regimental paymaster to enable him to draw his first quarter's pay at once. For Gilles, it meant both fame and fortune.
Beside himself with joy, the new chevalier seized his pen upon the instant to impart to the Abbé de Talhouët the news of his return and of the astonishing good fortune which had come to him as a result of his providential meeting with Pierre de Tournemine. It was several months since he had written and so the letter was an unusually long one. He concluded with the hope that he would soon be able to revisit his home and embrace those dear to him, if only on his way back to America, supposing he were granted permission to return there.
The response to this was threefold, in the shape of a boy, a horse and a letter, the second bearing the other two. The boy's name was Pierrot and he was a son of Guillaume Briant. The horse was none other than Fersen's one-time Magnus, whom Gilles himself had rechristened Merlin. The letter was from the rector of Hennebont, and Gilles could not read the superscription without a thrill of pleasure, for it was addressed to the Chevalier de Tournemine de la Hunaudaye, at the house of the Duc de Lauzun in the rue des Reservoirs.
In it, the good abbé wrote at length of his joy and loving kindness in receiving the good news. He explained that Count Fersen had himself written to Guillaume Briant, telling him of his intention to make a present of the horse to his young friend. Finally, he enclosed the letter which Judith de Saint-Mélaine had sent to him by the extern sister of the convent on the day of her departure for Le Frêne.
'It is already three months' old,' the rector wrote, 'and it grieves me to send it to you, for you missed one another by so little. As I understand it, Judith was taken away by her brothers on, or near, the very day that you landed in France. But in this, as in all things, we must bow to God's will, and He has already done much for you. We cannot look for every happiness in this vile world and a wise man will content himself with what he has. Farewell, my dear chevalier. I will see to it that your mother is informed of what has befallen you. Remember that you are always in my prayers and in my heart…'
The fire was dying down. Gilles refolded Judith's letter and replaced it over his heart. Then he rose and stretched himself with a sigh. The poor, unhappy tearstained epistle had overwhelmed him. As for resigning himself to the tyrannical decrees of the Saint-Mélaine brothers, he would do nothing of the kind. Perhaps, if he were to make haste, he might still be in time to snatch Judith from her fate.
Heaven, moreover, seemed to be on his side because the Queen's Dragoons were at that moment quartered at Pontivy. Gilles had gone to find Lauzun and asked him to postpone his presentation to the Queen, telling him of his desire to reach Brittany as soon as possible. Then he had packed Pierrot into the coach for Brest, buckled his valise and, bestriding Merlin, set off full tilt for the land of his birth.
He had no very clear idea of what he meant to do. He only knew that life would mean nothing to him unless he knew what had become of Judith. If he found that she had chosen death in preference to a marriage she hated, then at least he would have the satisfaction of sticking several inches of steel into Morvan's guts, and spitting his elder brother Tudal at the same time. That alone would be worth the journey.
Gilles took out his watch, a present from Washington, and saw that it was time he went down to his dinner. His stomach, in fact, was already telling him so in no uncertain terms. He washed his hands, straightened his wig and after giving a final brush to his dark blue coat of somewhat military cut, went down to the common room with the fixed idea in his mind of getting his host to talk about the Saint-Mélaines, however reluctant that worthy man might prove to be. Perhaps if he plied him with drink… But then the capacity of a man who kept an inn was likely to be prodigious.
A table had been laid for him in the corner nearest to the great granite hearth and a not particularly trim maidservant was busy tossing pancakes. Gilles sniffed the familiar fragrance. It was such a long time since he had eaten them. He seated himself at the table, with its check tablecloth, colourful pottery and pewter tankard. A decorated pat of butter, a crusty loaf and a jug of the sparkling cider which was the pride of Ploermel completed the spread.
He settled down to eat with all the appetite of a man who had been all day in the saddle and knew the value of keeping his bodily needs well satisfied.
When the last pancake had been finished, Gilles uttered a sigh of satisfaction, took out his pipe and began to fill it, looking around him for the landlord as he did so. He found him a short way off, leaning both fists on a table and deep in conversation with two postilions while he waited for the Rennes coach. Gilles beckoned him over.
'Where there's such good cider, there must be a brandy to go with it,' he said.
The man smiled, his pride and joy evidently gratified.
'To be sure, your honour. And the very best.'
'Bring it then – and two glasses! We'll drink together.'
The landlord obeyed with alacrity and returned with a small cask.
Gilles sipped and smacked his lips, then he pushed his tobacco pouch towards his host who was savouring his brandy with his gaze fixed raptly on the ceiling with the expression of a man in bliss.
'Sit down for a moment and try this tobacco, if you like to smoke. I want to ask you something. By the way, what is your name?'
The blissful landlord came down to earth abruptly. The corners of his mouth, curved upwards in a beatific smile, drooped at once.
'Le Coz – Yvon Le Coz. But if your qu
estion has anything to do with Le Frêne, then I'd as lief not answer it, by your leave.'
'You obviously don't like the place! No, I only wanted to ask you whether you'd heard anything of a great wedding taking place in these parts – in the last two months, say?'
Le Coz stared at him in a way that made Gilles think for a moment he was about to burst into tears. He sat down rather suddenly on the stool opposite his guest and, pulling the cask towards him, poured himself another glass and swallowed it at a gulp.
'Well,' Gilles said. 'I didn't know it would have that effect on you. Yet a wedding can't be such a tragic subject, surely?'
'It shouldn't be, but there are times—Listen, sir. You look like a man of substance and you're certainly a good customer. So I'm going to answer your question, only don't blame me if my answer doesn't seem to make much sense. I've heard nothing of any great wedding in the last three months, at least. But I have heard of a bride, a most unfortunate lady. Only no one knew who she was or where she came from.'
Gilles frowned.
'What do you mean? Can you not be more explicit?'
'No. Because, you see, sir, I've knocked about a bit in my time and I've seen a good many things, but a tale like this, it's more than I can stomach. I couldn't tell it to you. Besides, it wasn't me that saw it.'
'Someone did see it, then?'
'Yes. A cobbler from Campénéac who's a habit of poaching in the forest of Paimpont. He was hiding in a tree and he saw it all. It shook him badly and he's very willing to tell it over to anyone who'll buy him a drink.'
'What is this man called?'
'Guégan. Oh, he's not hard to find.'
At this point, one of the postilions who had been eavesdropping on the landlord's conversation with the strange gentleman, got up and came over to them.
'I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't help overhearing. Le Coz was talking about Guégan. He's even easier to find than you think for, because I saw him arrive a short while ago with a whole sack of sabots for sale. Tomorrow is market day and he spends the night with his nephew, the baker. If you feel like paying his shot, he'll tell you all about the lovely red-haired girl and what happened to her.'
Gilles' heart missed a beat.
'Red-haired? The bride had red hair?'
'Yes. Guégan said she had hair that shone like copper. But I don't want to tell you about it first. It wouldn't be fair to Guégan, and anyway he tells it much better than I do.'
'To say nothing of the fact that you want to hear it again yourself,' Le Coz broke in, 'and get bought a few drinks yourself, as well as Guégan, eh, Joel? That's why you're ready to run and find Guégan for us!'
The postilion grinned and eyed the cask of brandy. 'I like to be helpful, that's all. Though it's true I'm not averse to a little something now and then. Especially since the Rennes coach is bound not to be here for a good hour yet.'
'Go and fetch the man,' Gilles told him. 'I'll buy anyone a drink for the sake of hearing the tale.'
'Oh, don't worry for that,' Le Coz said. 'Guégan won't come alone. He got such a fright that night that he daren't go out in the dark ever since.'
Joel had already clattered off and Gilles sat pulling furiously at his pipe and trying to fight the fear that was creeping over him. It was like a presentiment which his reason strove to throw off but could not. For God's sake, there were other red-headed girls in the world beside Judith de Saint-Mélaine! And other girls of good family in Brittany who might have become brides in the past three months. But something told him that Judith was at the centre of the tale, a dreadful one if what the little Le Coz had said was anything to go by, which he was soon to hear.
The postilion returned in ten minutes or so with two men in tow. One, dressed like a peasant in a goatskin waistcoat, boasted a fine red nose in the midst of his weatherbeaten face. The other, from the faint dusting of white that still adorned his clothes, must be his nephew the baker. The two newcomers bowed awkwardly to Gilles.
'Joel tells me,' said the one who must be Guégan, 'that you want to hear my sad tale, your honour. But I'm asking myself, is it safe to tell you?'
'Why not? If you were a mere spectator, you have nothing to fear from me.'
'What he means,' Le Coz broke in, 'is that you may be acquainted with the farmers – because he was out poaching that night.'
Gilles shrugged and drew a silver coin from his pocket.
'I didn't think I looked like a law officer. You need not fear to speak, my good man. Ask for whatever you want to drink and I'll give you this for your trouble besides.'
'I know what he likes,' Le Coz said. 'Rum.'
'Let it be rum all round, then.'
The arrival of the bottles was greeted with general satisfaction. The second postilion came to join the group and they formed a circle round the hearth in the time-honoured fashion of men preparing to hear a story.
Guégan swallowed a mugful of rum by way of preliminary, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then, cradling his mug, which the landlord at a sign from Gilles had just refilled, between his hands, he embarked on his story amid an awestruck silence.
'It was coming up to Christmas and I'd been setting some traps in the forest, near the lake belonging to the Chateau of Trecesson, with the idea of getting a fine hare or a couple of rabbits, or even something bigger that Master Le Coz here might give me a good price for. It's a good spot, a good two leagues away from here but not far from my own village of Campénéac. The animals come down to the lake at night to drink and I know their habits.
'I went out that night after it was dark. It was cold and pitch black but I've a thick skin and I'd never been afraid of the dark. I walked fast and it was not long before I came near the chateau. All was quiet and there was not a light showing. I was glad of that because it meant there wasn't a lot of company up at the chateau. I thought that the Comte de Châteaugiron-Trecesson, who owns the place through his wife, might have decided to spend Christmas at his house in Rennes, and so I was at ease and fairly sure of not getting nabbed.
'I was just fixing my little snares when, all at once, I heard the sound of horses' hooves coming, and coming fast. I was frightened. I thought it was maybe the count arriving and I made haste to get up into the nearest tree so as not to get caught. My heart was thudding a bit. It's not that the count's a hard man, or at all close, but like all the lords of Trecesson for generations past, he likes his coverts, and all through those generations huntsmen and poachers have never got on together. Yet I'd no call to be really worried. There were no leaves left on the trees, but it was a dark night.
'But when I got up there, I wondered for a minute if I hadn't made a mistake. There was nothing more to be heard.
'I was just going to climb down again and get on with my work, when I heard cautious footsteps and the creak of wheels.
Then I saw two masked men come along by the moat in front of the chateau. They were leading their horses and behind them came a closed carriage, with the leather flaps drawn tight over its windows.
'The two men in front stopped for a moment and looked at the front of the chateau, which was dark and silent.
' "It's just as I hoped," one of them said. "There's no one there but the servants and they're all fast asleep at this time of night. And if they did hear anything, they'd not dare to come out. They're too frightened of ghosts and boggarts and fairies."
' "All the same, we'll not do it here, right in front of the castle," said the other man. "It'll be safer to go on a bit."
'They walked on a little farther along the edge of the lake. The carriage followed, the man on the box so muffled up that his face was completely hidden. They halted just underneath the tree where I was hiding, half dead with fright by this time, because the men with their masks, the carriage and its ghostly coachman all filled me with dread. I was all over gooseflesh and beginning to call on my guardian angel to save me.
' "Here will do very well," the taller of the two men said. He fetched one of the carriage lamps and l
it it, then handed it to his companion. "You hold the light."
'The coachman got down then. He was masked, like the others, and he brought tools, picks and shovels, and the two of them set to digging a hole in the ground. They dug for a long time and I sat up in my tree and wondered what these men could be doing, digging a hole in the forest in the middle of the night. But I must admit I was beginning to be interested because to go to all that trouble, they must have something valuable to hide – gold, perhaps. Or contraband.
'The hole was long and narrow and when they decided it was deep enough they stopped and the one who seemed to be the leader, who was taller and bigger than the others, took off his hat to mop his forehead. I saw that he had red hair. Then he put his hat back again, took a flask from his pocket and took a great swig.
' "Put down the lantern," he said to the one who had done nothing but hold the light. "And go and get her."
'That was when I saw what was in the carriage. It wasn't gold or treasure – but something much more precious, so that I nearly fell out of my tree. A woman! A woman as beautiful as the day, wearing a white wedding dress, with lace and silken flowers. She was as pale as her dress, and her big, dark eyes were full of fear. Beneath her crown of orange blossom, the colour of her hair was almost red and it shone like copper, but I could not see her mouth for that was hidden by a gag. Her hands were tied and she was twisting and turning, trying to break free of the rough grip of the man who had dragged her from the carriage.
The tallest man pointed to the hole they had dug.
' "There is your marriage bed, sister. I trust you'll find it to your liking."
'They took off the gag to let her say her prayers but she was weeping so and begging them so piteously—Oh, God! I think I shall hear her pleading in my dreams for as long as I live. She pleaded so hard that they put the gag back on her again, saying that she was making too much noise.
' "If anyone in the chateau hears her, they won't come out because they are afraid of ghosts, but you never know. Some charcoal burner might come to see. Let's make an end!"
Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon Page 42