Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  Talk of this kind, which we still maintained after we had despatched our supper, was sufficiently engrossing to erase Boisrueil’s fancies entirely from my mind. They were recalled by his sudden entrance, with Colet at his elbow, the faces of both full of importance. I saw that they had something to say, and asked what it was.

  “We have been examining the back gate, M. le Marquis,” Colet said.

  “Well, man?”

  “It is barricaded, and cannot be opened,” he answered.

  “Well,” I said again, “there is nothing wonderful in that. Anyone can see that there has been rough work here. The front gate was stormed, I suppose, and the back one left standing.”

  “But if is so barricaded that it is not possible to open it,” he objected. “And the men have an idea—”

  “Well?” I said, seeing that he hesitated.

  “That this is a one-eyed house.”

  Parabere laughed loudly. “Of course it is!” he said. “That strolling rogue saw the gate as well as the woman, and made his profit of them.”

  “Pardon, sir!” Boisrueil answered bluntly, “That is just what he did not do!”

  “Well,” I said, silencing him by a gesture, “is that all?”

  “No,” he replied; “I have tasted the men’s wine.”

  “And it is drugged?”

  “No,” he said. “On the contrary, it is a great deal too good for the price — or the house. And you ordered a litre apiece. Some have had two, and not asked twice for it!”

  “Ho, ho!” I said, staring at him. “Are you sure of that?”

  “Quite!” he said.

  I was genuinely startled at last; but Parabere still made light of it. “What!” he said. “Are we a pack of nervous women, or one poor traveller in a solitary inn, that we see shadows and shake at them?”

  “The inn is solitary enough,” Boisrueil grumbled.

  “But we are twenty swords!” Parabere retorted, opening his eyes wide. “Why, I have ridden all day in an enemy’s country with less!”

  “And been beaten with more at Craon.”

  “But, man alive, that was in a battle, and by an army!”

  “Well, and there may be a battle and an army here,” Boisrueil answered sulkily.

  I was inclined to laugh at this as extravagance; but seeing that La Font and Colet sided with Boisrueil, I remembered that the latter was no coward though a great gossip; and I thought better of it. Accordingly, resolving to look into the thing myself, I bade La Font fetch a couple of lanthorns, and, when he had done so, went out with him and Boisrueil as if I had a mind to go round the horses before I retired. Parabere declined to accompany me on the ground that he would not be at the pains of it; and Colet I left in the kitchen to keep an eye on the man and woman.

  There was no moon, rain was still falling, and the yard, crowded with steaming, shivering horses, was dreary enough where the lanthorns displayed it; but, accustomed to such a sight, I made, without regarding it, for the gate, which a moment’s examination showed to be barricaded, as they had described, with great beams and stones. In this there was nothing beyond the ordinary, one entrance to a house being in troublous times better than two; but Boisrueil, bidding me kneel and look lower, I found, when I did so, that the soil under the beams — which did not touch the ground by some inches — was wet, and I began to understand. When he asked me at what hour rain had begun to fall, I answered two in the afternoon, and drew at once the inference at which he aimed — that the beams had been put there, and the gate barricaded, at some later hour.

  “We reached here at six,” he said; “it was done some time between two and six, my lord; therefore to-day. To-day,” he repeated in a low voice; “and by a dozen men at least, Fewer could not move those beams.”

  “And the object?”

  “To prevent our escape.”

  “But who are they?” I said, looking at him.

  “The woman knows,” he answered. “We must ask her, my lord.”

  I assented; and we went back into the house, where it would not have surprised me if we had found the wretches flown and the nest empty. But Colet had done his work too well. They were both there, and, in a moment, at a signal from Boisrueil, were secured and pinioned. Parabere, hearing the scuffle, came out and would have remonstrated, but I silenced him with a sharp word; and, despatching La Font with a couple of discreet men to keep watch in the court that we might not be surprised, I bade one of the servants throw some fir-cones on the fire. These, blazing up, filled the squalid room in a moment with a glare of light, which revealed alike the livid faces of the two prisoners and the excited looks and dark countenances of my escort.

  I bade them put the woman forward first, and addressed her sternly, telling her that I knew all, and that she would do well to confess; inasmuch as if she made a clean breast of the matter, I would grant her her life, and if she did not, she would be the first to die, since I would hang her were a single shot fired against the house.

  The promise found her unmoved, but the threat, uttered in a tone which showed that I was in earnest, proved more effectual. With an ugly look, under which my men shrank as if her eye had power to scorch them, the hag said that she would confess, and, with impotent rage, admitted the truth of Boisrueil’s surmises. The rearward gate had been barricaded that afternoon by the Great Band, who had had notice of our coming, and intended to attack us at midnight. I asked her how many they mustered.

  “A hundred,” she answered sullenly.

  “Very well,” I said. “And, supposing that we do not wait for them, how shall we escape? By the road to Gueret?”

  “Fifty lie in ambush on it.”

  “By the road by which we came?”

  “The other fifty lie there.”

  “Across the river?”

  “There is no ford.”

  “Then in the village? If we seize some other building?”

  “The village is watched, and this house,” she answered, with a sparkle of joy in her eye.

  At that the position began to assume so serious an aspect that I turned to Parabere to take his advice. We numbered twenty in all, and were well armed; but five to one are large odds, and we had little ammunition, while, for all we knew, the house might be fired with ease from the outside. The roads north and south being occupied, and the river enclosing us on the west, there remained only one direction in which escape seemed possible; but, as we knew nothing of the country, and the brigands everything, the desperate idea of plunging into it blindly, at night, and with pursuers at our heels, was dismissed as soon as formed.

  Parabere interrupted these calculations by drawing me aside into the room in which we had supped, where, after rallying me on the whimsical notion of the Grand Master of the Ordnance and Governor of the Bastile being besieged in a paltry inn, he confessed that he had been wrong, and that the adventure was likely to prove serious. “Ten to one this is the very band that Bareilles is pursuing,” he said.

  “Very likely,” I answered bluntly; “but the question is how are we to evade them. Are we to fight or fly?”

  “Well, for lighting,” he replied coolly; “the front gate lies in the road, there are no shutters to half the windows, the door is crazy, and there is a thatched pent-house against one wall.”

  “And no help-nearer than Gueret.”

  “Three leagues,” he assented. “And from that we are cut off. Fifty men in the gorge might hold it against five hundred. Better man the courtyard here than that, tether the horses in the gateway, and fight it out.”

  “Perhaps so,” I said; and we looked at one another, hearing through the open door the men muttering and whispering in the kitchen, and above their voices the dull murmur of the stream, which seemed of a piece with the bleak night outside, the ruined hamlet, and the danger that lurked round us. Bitterly repenting the hardihood that had led me to expose myself to such risks in breach of the King’s commandment, I found it difficult to direct my mind to the immediate question. So many reflec
tions connected with my mission at Chatelherault and other affairs of state would intrude that I seemed to be occupied rather with the results of my death at this juncture, and particularly the injury which it must inflict on the King’s service, than with the question how I could escape.

  However, Parabere soon recalled me to the point. “It is now ten o’clock,” he said in a placid tone; “we have two hours.”

  “Yes,” I answered; then, as if my mind had all the time been running in an under-current to the desired goal, I continued, “And we must make the most of them. We must remove the barricade, in the dark and quietly, from the rear to the front gate. Do you see? Then the moment they sound the attack in front we must slip out at the back, make a dash for the road, and through the gorge to Gueret.”

  “Good,” Parabere assented, with the utmost coolness. “Why not? Let us do it.”

  We went in, and in a moment the orders were given, and, the men being charged to be silent and to make as little noise as possible over the work, we had every hope of accomplishing it undetected. To go out into the road and raise and replace the shattered gate would have been too bold a step. We contented ourselves, therefore, with removing four great baulks of timber from the one gate to the other, and placing them across the gap in such a manner that, being supported by large stones, they formed a pretty high barrier. To these, at Boisrueil’s suggestion, were added three doors which we forced from their hinges in the house, and behind the whole, to cover our retreat the better, we tethered six sumpter horses in two lines.

  It remained only to unbar the rear gate and see that it opened easily. This being done, as we had done all the rest, stealthily and in darkness, and by men who dared not speak above a whisper, I gave the word to hang the male prisoner and gag and bind the woman. Colet undertook these duties, and with a grim humour of his own hung the rascally host on the threshold where the brigands must run against him when they entered. Then I directed every man to saddle and bridle his nag and stand by it, and so we waited with what patience we might for the DENOUEMENT.

  It seemed very long in coming, yet when it did, what with the restless movements of the horses and the melancholy murmur of the stream, it well-nigh took us by surprise. It was Boisrueil who touched my sleeve and made me aware of a low trampling on the road outside, a sound that had scarcely become clearly audible before it ceased. I judged that the moment was come, and passed the word in a whisper to open the gates. Unfortunately, they creaked, and I feared for a moment that I had been premature; but before they were more than ajar a harsh whistle startled the silence, a flare blazed up on the road, and a voice cried to charge.

  On the instant the ground shook under the assailants’ rush, but the barricade, which doubtless took the rogues by surprise, brought them to a sudden stop, and gave us time to file out. The heavy rain which was failing served to cover our movements almost as well as the baggage horses which we had posted for the purpose; while we ran the less risk, inasmuch as the flare they had kindled lit up the upper part of the house but left the courtyard in perfect darkness.

  Naturally, once outside, we did not linger to see what happened, but, filing in a line and like ghosts up the bank of the stream, were glad to hit on the road a hundred and fifty paces away, where it entered the gorge. Here, where it was as dark as pitch, we whipped our horses into a canter and made a good pace for half a league, then, drawing rein, let our horses trot until the league was out. By that time we were through the gorge, and I gave the word to pull up, that we might listen and learn whether we were pursued. Before the order had quite brought us to a standstill, however, two figures on a sudden rose out of the darkness before us and barred the way. I was riding in the front rank, abreast of Parabere and La Font, and I had just time to lay my hand on a pistol when one of the figures spoke.

  “Well, M. le Capitaine, what luck?” he cried, advancing, and drawing rein to turn with us.

  I saw his mistake, and, raising my hand to check those behind, muttered in my beard that all had gone well.

  “You got the man?”

  “Yes,” I said, peering at him through the darkness.

  “Good!” he answered. “Then now for Bareilles, supper, and a full purse; and afterwards, for me, the quietest corner of France! The King will make a fine outcry, and I do not trust one gov—”

  In a flash Parabere had him by the throat, and dragged him in a grip of iron on to the withers of his horse. Still he managed to utter a cry, and the other rascal, taking the alarm, whipped his horse round, and in a second got a start of twenty paces. Colet, a light man and well mounted, was after him in a trice, and we heard them go ding-dong, ding-dong, through the darkness for a mile or more as it seemed to us. Then a sharp scream came faintly down the wind.

  “Good!” Parabere said cheerfully. “Let us be jogging.” He had tied his prisoner neck and knees over the saddle before him.

  “You heard what he said?” I muttered, as we moved on.

  “Perfectly,” he answered in the same tone.

  “And you think?”

  “I think, Grand Master,” he replied drily, “that the sooner you are out of La Marche and Bareilles’ government the longer you are likely to live.”

  I was quite of that opinion myself, having drawn the same inferences from the words the prisoner had uttered. But for the moment I had no alternative save to go on, and put a bold face on the matter; and accordingly I led the way forward at as fast a pace as the darkness and the jaded state of our horses permitted. Colet presently joined us, and half an hour later a bunch of lights which appeared on the side of a hill in front proclaimed that we were nearing Gueret. From this point half a league across a rushy bottom and through a ford brought us to the gate, which opened before we summoned it. I had taken care to call to the van one of my men who knew the town; and he guided us quickly, no one challenging us, through a number of foul, narrow streets and under dark archways, among which a stranger must have gone astray. We reached at last a good-sized square, on one side of which — though the rest of the town lay buried in darkness — a large building, which I judged to be Bareilles’ residence, exposed a dozen lighted windows to the street. Two or three figures lounged half-seen on the wide stone steps which led up to the entrance, and the rattle of dice, with a murmur of voices, came from the windows. Without a moment’s hesitation I dismounted at the foot of the steps, and, bidding La Font and Boisrueil attend me, with three of the servants, I directed Colet to withdraw with the rest and the horses to the farther end of the square.

  Dreading nothing so much as that I might lose the advantage of surprise, I put aside two of the men on the steps who would have questioned me, and strode boldly across the stone landing at the head of the flight. Here I found two doors facing me, and foresaw the possibility of error; but I was relieved from the burden of choosing by the sudden appearance at one of them of Bareilles himself. The place was lit only by an oil lamp, and, for a reason best known to himself, he did not look directly at me, but stood with his head half-turned as he said, “Well, Martin, is it done?”

  I heard the dicers hold their hands to catch the answer, and in the silence a bottle in some unsteady hand clinked against a glass. Through the half-open door behind him it was possible to see a long table, laid and glittering with steel and plate; and all seemed to wait.

  Parabere broke the spell. “We are late!” he said in a ringing voice, which startled the governor as if it had been the voice of doom. “But we could not have found you better prepared, it seems. Do you always sup as late as this?”

  For a moment the villain could not speak, but leaned against the doorpost, with his cheeks gone white and his jaw fallen, the most pitiable spectacle to be conceived. I affected to see nothing, however, but went by him easily, and into the room, drawing off my gauntlets as entered. The dicers, from their seats beside a table on the hearth, gazed at me, turned to stone. I took up a glass, filled it, and drank it off. “Now I am better!” I said. “But this is not the warmest of welcom
es, M. de Bareilles.”

  He muttered something, looking fearfully from one to another of us; and, his hand shaking, filled a glass and pledged me. The wine gave him courage and impudence: he began to speak; and though his hurried sentences and excited manner must have betrayed him to the least suspicious, we pretended to see nothing, but rather to congratulate ourselves on his late hours and timely preparations. And certainly nothing could have seemed more cheerful in comparison with the squalid inn and miry road from which we came than this smiling feast; if death had not seemed to my eyes to lurk behind it.

  “I thought it likely that you would lie at Saury,” he said, with a ghastly smile.

  “And yet made this preparation for us?” I answered politely, yet letting a little of my real mind be seen. “Well, as a fact, M. Bareilles, save for one thing we should have lain there.”

  “And that thing?” he asked, his tongue almost failing him as he put the question.

  “The fact that you have a villain in your company,” I answered.

  “What?” he stammered.

  “A villain, M. le Capitaine Martin,” I continued sternly. “You sent him out this morning against the Great Band; instead, he took it upon him to lay a plot for me, from which I have only narrowly escaped.”

  “Martin?”

  “Yes, M. de Bareilles, Martin!” I answered roundly, fixing him with my eyes; while Parabere went quietly to the door, and stood by it. “If I am not mistaken, I hear him at this moment dismounting below. Let us understand one another therefore, I propose to sup with you, but I shall not sit down until he hangs.”

  It would be useless for me to attempt to paint the mixture of horror, perplexity, and shame which distorted Bareilles’ countenance as I spoke these words. While Parabere’s attitude and my demeanour gave him clearly to understand that we suspected the truth, if we did not know it, our coolness and the very nature of my demand imposed upon his fears and led him to believe that we had a regiment at our call. He knew, too, that that which might be done in a ruined hamlet might not be done in the square at Gueret; and his knees trembled under him. He muttered that he did not understand; that we must be mistaken. What evidence had we?