Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon

by The Lure of the Falcon (v1. 0) (lit)

  'Never heard of you,' Tudal snarled. 'Where have you come from?'

  'From America, where I've had the opportunity of seeing something of your brother's ways. Not that it's any concern of yours. I'm asking the questions.'

  'Go on, then. Ask away, if it gives you any pleasure. But something tells me I shan't please to answer.'

  'We'll see about that. You forced Madame de la Bourdonnaye to let you take Judith away, pretending you were going to marry her to a rich old man. So will you tell me how it comes about that on the night of her wedding you thought fit to murder her? Murder? It's a poor word to describe the horror of your deed. You buried her alive, didn't you, alive in the dark earth, with her wedding dress for a shroud. I want to know why.'

  The red-headed man laughed, revealing teeth that would have been good but for the ravages of decay. The slate-grey eyes beneath his red brows gleamed with malice.

  'So you think you can carry on like this in folks' houses, loosing off pistols all round and then set yourself up as a righter of wrongs, a judge—'

  'And executioner, too! Are you going to talk?'

  'Go—'

  'Very well.'

  Coolly returning the unused pistol to his belt, Gilles held the other out to Corentine, along with the powder and balls.

  'You know how to load?'

  'Of course. Give it to me.'

  His hands thus freed, he walked over to the hearth and took down the long coachman's whip he had seen on the wall above it as he came in. He weighed it in his hand, tightened his grip and struck like lightning. The lash hissed through the air and was followed a fraction of a second later by a scream of agony. With diabolical accuracy, the thong had wound itself round Tudal's gouty leg and with a sharp jerk Gilles had dragged him from his seat on to the floor. The big man sprawled there, sweating profusely and bellowing like an injured bull. He tried to struggle up but he was in too much pain. Moreover, Gilles was on him in a flash, turning him over like a pancake, which made him scream again, and then holding him down with a knee in the small of his back.

  'Get me a rope,' he ordered Corentine, who had been watching the scene delightedly out of her good eye.

  She ran to a chest and brought out a whole assortment of them. In a trice, Tudal's hands were tied behind his back. He slavered and cursed with his face to the floor, half insane with rage and pain.

  'You villain! You'll not get out of here alive,' he roared. 'My brother will deal with you!'

  'I'm not afraid of your brother. I've had occasion to chastize him once before this and his turn will come. Now talk, or I'll put your foot in the fire.'

  And, while Tudal continued to deliver himself of a stream of abuse, Gilles set about dragging his big body close enough to the fire for him to feel the heat. Meanwhile, a muffled hammering had been resumed without.

  'Take care,' Corentine breathed. 'The men are taking advantage of his screams to attack the shutters.'

  'If you've finished loading that pistol, fire it at the first man who shows himself. And you, Tudal, talk quickly or I'll heave the whole of you into the fire without more ado.'

  'All right. I'll tell you what happened. After all, I've no call to conceal it. I was within my rights. The bitch cheated us. She got what she deserved. We'd found a fine match for her, a man of great wealth who had seen her in the convent parlour one day when he went to visit a cousin.'

  'Vauferrier. I know. What then?'

  'He fell madly in love with her. He was determined to have her and he offered a fortune to marry her. So we went to fetch her to him. He has a big place over towards Malestroit. That was where the wedding was to take place and so that was where we took the bride, naturally. Vauferrier received her like a queen. He had ordered clothes and jewels for her – he threw a fortune at her feet and got nothing but contemptuous glances for his pains. She said she didn't want to marry him and that nothing and no one could make her, the little fool—'

  'Insult her once more and I'll start on that foot of yours,' Gilles warned.

  'Go to the devil! I wanted to drag her to the altar there and then, only that fool Vauferrier still thinks he's an Adonis. He wanted to win her by gentleness. He said she'd come round to him in the end, that he'd tamed harder cases than her and all he needed was time. She was put in the best room in the house, with a governess and an army of servants. But she was as cunning as a fox. She pretended to be coming round so that the watch on her was relaxed and then, one morning, as she was going to mass in a little chapel on the far side of the grounds, she knocked the poor woman down with a branch of wood and ran away.

  'Oh, we searched for a long time. But to no avail. It was as if she had vanished into the landscape with the morning mist. In the end, Vauferrier lost his temper and threw us out, Morvan and me. It was only after we came back here that we found out by accident what had become of her. A physician from Vannes, a man named Job Kernoa, had taken her in, after finding her half dead with hunger, almost under his carriage wheels. She told him her story and he hid her in a house of his, on the heath at Lanvaux. He was young, prosperous – and not ill-looking. He persuaded her that the only way for her to keep out of our clutches was to marry him. It seems he told her he had relatives in the Parliament and in high positions. At all events, she agreed. Yes, she agreed. That hurts, does it? You come here, shouting and carrying on about how you loved one another, and your rights? It's not worth playing Sir Galahad, Tournemine. She never cared for you—'

  'Go on,' Gilles ordered coldly.

  Tudal's jeering eyes could read nothing in his face, which was as hard as stone, or in his icy glance, but the pain had reawakened in his heart, joined to a bitter jealousy, for which he reproached himself as sacrilege. Disappointed, Tudal shrugged his shoulders.

  'We caught up with her just in time. On the day of the wedding we were there, on the heath, Morvan, Yann and I, with the rest. We let them get the ceremony over. There were not many there, only the priest and two witnesses. It was a very quiet wedding. And then, when we were quite sure that everyone had gone – and the turtle doves were pretty well alone, we went into action. It wasn't difficult, and it didn't take long. The bride was still in her wedding clothes. She was drinking a glass of champagne with her husband. The poor fellow hadn't even time enough to drain his. My sword went through his body like a needle through silk. He fell without a sound. There was a carriage in the stables. We got Madame Kernoa into it, weeping like a fountain – and then the next night, you know what happened to her.'

  'Why the next night, then? And why the woods at Trecesson?'

  Tudal's laughter rasped the young man's raw nerves.

  'To kill two birds with one stone! First because it would never occur to anyone to look for her there, and secondly because we liked the idea of making a present of her to the Comte de Châteaugiron. We'd had some trouble with him the year before. Now, I hope you're satisfied, for something tells me that your troubles are just beginning.'

  At that moment one of the shutters was torn away and a shot rang out, missing Corentine by a hair's breadth. She let out a cry which was echoed by Tudal's maniacal laugh. But Gilles was already at the outer door, pulling back the bolts and dragging it wide open, while keeping himself out of the line of fire. He found himself face to face with a man and fired. The man dropped like a stone. Meanwhile, Corentine had crept bravely over to the broken window then stood up suddenly and, holding Tudal's heavy pistol in both hands, fired blindly. She was rewarded by a shriek which ended in a gurgle.

  'Got him!' Gilles cried. 'Well done, lass!'

  He saw her smile for the first time, a funny shy little smile that sat crookedly on her bruised face.

  'It's easy to feel like a heroine with someone like you around, chevalier,' she called back. 'If you ever need to raise hell in Brittany, remember Corentine! My father was a marine. It was he taught me to shoot. But we'd better not go to sleep yet. There's still one more outside and Morvan can't be far off.'

  'The dogs!' Tudal was bellowing.
'Why don't the fools go for the dogs?'

  Gilles was already outside. He saw a man running towards a barn from which came a chorus of frantic barking.

  'Stop!' he cried. 'Throw down your gun and stand still or you're a dead man!'

  The man, a rough-looking fellow in a goatskin waistcoat and wide, baggy trousers, with hair that stuck out stiffly from beneath his round hat, stopped dead but did not drop the gun. In one swift movement, he swung round and fired. The ball lodged in the lintel of the door but even as it did so Gilles' second pistol let loose its deadly bark. The last of Tudal's bodyguards rocked, bent at the knees and fell face downwards in the mud.

  Gilles walked calmly back to the house. He fastened the door carefully and leaned against it. He let his eyes roam coolly round the room, pausing briefly on the girl who had been dancing and who was now cowering under the table with a vacant expression and a hambone clutched in one hand, and then brought them back to his strange ally, who was gazing at him as though he were the archangel Gabriel in person.

  'Go home, Corentine, and take that child with you. What I am going to do now is no sight for a woman.'

  The girl only laughed.

  'Because the things you have done so far were? My late father taught me one thing, you know, chevalier, and that is that a good soldier doesn't go to bed before the battle is over.'

  'He was right, and you are a good little soldier. But the battle is over. This is the time for justice and I would not make you an executioner's assistant.'

  She came and stood before him, her hands on her hips, and her wide, red mouth parted in a smile.

  'I think I'd do worse things for you, chevalier. You'll not be rid of me so easily. I'm staying. I want to see it to the end. As for her—'

  She bent and hauled the girl out from under the table and forced her to stand upright. But she let go of her at once and her captive subsided on to the floor again with a hiccup.

  'Pooh!' Corentine exclaimed. 'She's as drunk as an owl! She must have finished off all the bottles while we weren't looking! We need only lay her on a settle. She's half asleep already.'

  Gilles shrugged and walked over to where Tudal was still lying by the fire. He was silent now, but his grey face and the sweat trickling down his cheeks spoke clearly enough of the fear that possessed him. The death of his men had taken all the braggart out of him and he looked up at the tall, dark figure standing over him with mingled hate and dread.

  'If you know any prayers, Tudal de Saint-Mélaine, now is the time to say them,' Gilles said grimly.

  'You're not going to kill me? Not just like that? Not without giving me a chance to defend myself?' Tudal cried desperately.

  'Did you give Judith a chance to defend herself?'

  'I was within my rights to do what I did,' he wailed. 'She had cast off the obedience she owed me – prostituted our name with a low, common fellow. What I did was justice. A Saint-Mélaine cannot become a Madame Kernoa!'

  Gilles was conscious of a slight nausea. The wretch before him still had enough pride of caste to pose even now as the guardian of justice.

  'What I am going to do is justice also,' he said simply.

  Watched by Tudal's starting eyes, he went over to the ropes which Corentine had got out earlier, selected the longest and, measuring the height of the ceiling with his eye, jumped on to the table, kicking aside the remains of the food, and passed the rope over the king beam.

  'What are you going to do?' Saint-Mélaine croaked. 'You can't—'

  'Hang you? Yes. I told you I was your executioner. And you do not deserve to die like a gentleman. Your blood would sully a good sword.'

  'Coward! You are nothing but a coward! Fight, at least! Oh, you're taking advantage of my helplessness!'

  'I'll do your brother the honour of crossing swords with him when he comes. That's more than your whole family deserves! Start praying.'

  He sprang down and began calmly making a running noose on the end of the rope. Corentine almost snatched it out of his hands.

  'Give it to me,' she said harshly, meeting his eyes. 'It is for me to put it round his neck. I like to pay my debts. You have set me free. I won't let you soil your hands by touching him. It is enough for you to tighten the rope.'

  In a few minutes, Tudal de Saint-Mélaine was dangling like some great swollen fruit from the main beam of his house. Gilles and Corentine stood looking at each other. They were pale and a little breathless. The red-haired man had died as he lived, vilely and without dignity. To the last, he had done nothing but spew out curses, sob and beg for mercy, but never for an instant had the last of the Tournemines felt a shadow of pity cross his frozen heart. He could not forget the picture of Judith, cast alive into that hole in the ground. With seeming calm, he walked over to the table, picked up a half-empty goblet of rum and drained it at a draught.

  'Two,' he said, with a sigh as he put down the cup. 'Now we have only to wait for Morvan.'

  He began reloading his pistols with hands that did not tremble. That done, he unlocked the door, set it ajar and sat down facing it in the armchair recently occupied by his victim, a pistol in either hand. Meanwhile Corentine had wrapped herself in her cloak and sat crouched on the hearth, like some weird spirit of the house. There was nothing for Gilles to do now but wait for the last of the Saint-Mélaines. After that – he did not know very clearly what he would do after that, only that he felt very tired. He had aged ten years in the past twenty-four hours. And still more in the last hour.

  His boyhood love, so sweet and pure, born in the sunniest light of a September's evening, had ended in darkness, blood and horror. His vengeance had the bitter taste of fruit not left to ripen but he knew that in a little while, when Morvan appeared, he would not hesitate to gorge himself again. He had offered up five lives as sacrifices to the shade of her whom, even when he did not know it, he had never ceased to love. He needed one more, but if he sacrificed a hundred men it would not appease his grief, since he would never see Judith again on this earth. Even her farewell letter had no meaning for him now, since she had fled to other arms for refuge. He drew it from his pocket and tossed it idly into the flames. As he did so, his eye was caught by his left hand and he held it before his face. The ring of gold and blue enamel which had been his father's glowed softly on it. He caressed the design with his finger, lingering on the gothic letters of the motto Aultre n'auray. I will have no other. Abruptly, he thrust the ring into his mouth and bit on it, fighting back the sobs that rose to his lips. But he could not prevent one tear from creeping out from between his dry lids and rolling down his cheek.

  'But you, my love,' he murmured softly. 'No other but you – if that was truly what you wished.'

  He would not go back to Versailles, nor even to Hennebont or Pontivy. Tomorrow, when it was all over, he would turn Merlin's head towards Brest and take ship with him back to America and a life of a man among men, a life of war and danger. He would be the Gyrfalcon once more, more reckless than ever, until death came to crown a legend for children to listen to in years to come.

  Corentine's voice, though it was no louder than a whisper, penetrated his thoughts and brought him back to the present.

  'Listen! There are horses coming. Morvan is here!'

  'Hide under the table. I want you to keep out of sight as much as possible.'

  She obeyed without demur, although he noticed that she still hugged Tudal's pistol underneath her arm. Gilles rose and stretched himself, then he took up his stand with legs apart, facing the door, and waited. The afternoon was drawing in. It would soon be dark. The low room was filled with dancing shadows from the firelight. The horsemen were nearer now. There must be three or four of them. Soon they were close to the house. The horses whinnied and there was a clatter of booted feet as men sprang to the ground. Footsteps approached the door, which still stood ajar, the steps of one man only.

  'Come in, Morvan,' Gilles called. 'I have been waiting for you—'

  The door was pushed open, creaking slowl
y, from outside. A man stood there.

  'Morvan is not coming,' he said pleasantly. 'I saw him as I arrived. He was flying the place as if the devil were on his heels! I think he must have taken fright at what he saw in the courtyard, especially since he was alone.'

  Gilles examined the stranger with a frown, but did not lower his pistols. The man was evidently a gentleman. That much was clear from his well-modulated voice and the elegance of his grey velvet hunting dress, as well as his distinguished bearing. He seemed to be about thirty, with a pleasant, open face. But what the devil was he doing here?

  'May I inquire who you are, sir?'

  'Certainly. My name is Rene La Prestre de Châteaugiron. You visited my house this morning and I think you were affected by what you heard there – if I am to judge by what I see before me. The justice you mete out is formidable, sir, and exceedingly expeditious.'

  With the air of a connoisseur inspecting an exhibit in a museum, the lord of Trecesson strolled over to where Tudal's body still hung from its beam, then glanced across at the bagpipe player stiffening in his own congealed blood. Gilles drew himself up defensively.

  'After the tragedy which took place on your land, Count, do you think my hand was too heavy?'

  'By no means, my friend – if I may call you so? These scoundrels have deserved death for a long time. I am even beginning to think it would have been a shame if my wife had managed to call you back. Besides, I came here purely in order to assist you and not to put the least rub in the way of your intentions.'

  'And yet, if I understood you, you say that you let Morvan escape?'

  'Good God yes! Time could have been precious. I wasn't going to waste it chasing after him. Remember that I did not know what might have happened inside the house. Moreover, I do really believe that the – er – temporary demise of that delightful and unfortunate young lady has been adequately avenged. Let Morvan go to the devil in his own way. At all events, it won't be long.'

  'The – the temporary demise! Do you know what you are saying, sir? You seem to speak very lightly of these matters!'