Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four)

by Robert E. Howard

  Some faint echo of this singing penetrated into the great hall where Henri sat at wine with his unsolicited guest.

  “Your men make merry, sir,” grunted the Count.

  “They are glad to feel the sand under their feet again,” answered Villiers. “It has been a wearisome voyage — yes, a long, stern chase.” He lifted his goblet gallantly to the unresponsive girl who sat on his host’s right, and drank ceremoniously.

  Impassive attendants ranged the walls, soldiers with pikes and helmets, servants in worn satin coats. Henri’s household in this wild land was a shadowy reflection of the court he had kept in France.

  The manor house, as he insisted on calling it, was a marvel for a savage coast. A hundred men had worked night and day for months building it. The logs that composed the walls of the interior were hidden with heavy silken, goldworked tapestries. Ship beams, stained and polished, formed the support of the lofty ceiling. The floor was covered with rich carpets. The broad stair that led up from the hall was likewise carpeted, and its massive balustrade had once been a galleon’s rail.

  A fire in the wide stone fireplace dispelled the dampness of the night. Candles in the great silver candelabrum in the center of the broad mahogany board lit the hall, throwing long shadows on the stair. Count Henri sat at the head of that table, presiding over a company composed of his niece, his piratical guest, Gallot, and the captain of the guard.

  “You followed Harston?” asked Henri. “You drove him this far afield?”

  “I followed Harston,” laughed Villiers. “I followed him around the Horn. But he was not fleeing from me. He came seeking something; something I, too, desire.”

  “What could tempt a pirate to this naked land?” muttered Henri.

  “What could tempt a Count of France?” retorted Villiers.

  “The rottenness of a royal court might sicken a man of honor.”

  “D’Chastillons of honor have endured its rottenness for several generations,” said Villiers bluntly. “My lord, indulge my curiosity — why did you sell your lands, load your galleon with the furnishings of your castle and sail over the horizon out of the knowledge of men? And why settle here, when your sword and your name might carve out a place for you in any civilized land?”

  Henri toyed with the golden seal-chain about his neck.

  “As to why I left France,” he said, “that is my own affair. But it was chance that left me stranded here. I had brought all my people ashore, and much of the furnishings you mentioned, intending to build a temporary habitation. But my ship, anchored out there in the bay, was driven against the cliffs of the north point and wrecked by a sudden storm out of the west. That left us no way of escape from this spot.”

  “Then you would return to France, if you could?”

  “Not to France. To China, perhaps-or to India-”

  “Do you not find it tedious here, my Lady?” asked Villiers, for the first time addressing himself directly to Francoise.

  Hunger to see a new face and hear a new voice had brought the girl to the banquet-hall that night. But now she wished she had remained in her chamber with Tina. There was no mistaking the meaning in the glance Villiers turned on her. His speech was decorous, his expression respectful, but it was only a mask through which gleamed the violent and sinister spirit of the man.

  “There is little diversion here,” she answered in a low voice.

  “If you had a ship,” Villiers addressed his host, “you would abandon this settlement?”

  “Perhaps,” admitted the Count.

  “I have a ship,” said Villiers. “If we could reach an agreement-”

  “Agreement?” Henri stared suspiciously at his guest.

  “Share and share alike,” said Villiers, laying his hand on the board with the fingers spread wide. The gesture was repulsively reminiscent of a great spider. But the fingers quivered with tension, and the buccaneer’s eyes burned with a new light.

  “Share what?” Henri stared at him in bewilderment. “The gold I brought with me went down in my ship, and unlike the broken timbers, it did not wash ashore.”

  “Not that!” Villiers made an impatient gesture. “Let us be frank, my lord. Can you pretend it was chance which caused you to land at this particular spot. with thousands of miles of coast to choose from”

  “There is no need for me to pretend,” answered Henri coldly. “My ship’s master was one Jacques Piriou, formerly a buccaneer. He had sailed this coast, and he persuaded me to land here, telling me he had a reason he would later disclose. But this reason he never divulged, because the day we landed he disappeared into the woods, and his headless body was found later by a hunting party. Obviously the Indians slew him.”

  Villiers stared fixedly at the Count for a space.

  “Sink me,” quoth he at last. “I believe you, my lord. And I’ll make you a proposal. I will admit when I anchored out there in the bay I had other plans in mind. Supposing you to have already secured the treasure, I meant to take this fort by strategy and cut all your throats. But circumstances have caused me to change my mind-” he cast a glance at Francoise that brought color into her face, and made her lift her head indignantly.

  “I have a ship to carry you out of exile,” said the buccaneer. “But first you must help me secure the treasure.”

  “What treasure, in Saint Denis’ name?” demanded the Count angrily. “You are yammering like that dog Harston, now.”

  “Did you ever hear of Giovanni da Verrazano?”

  “The Italian who sailed as a privateer for France and captured the caravel loaded with Montezuma’s treasures which Cortez was sending to Spain?”

  “Aye. That was in 1523. The Spaniards claimed to have hanged him in 1527, but they lied. That was the year he sailed over the horizon and vanished from the knowledge of’ men. But it was not from the Spaniards that he fled.

  “Listen! On that caravel he captured in 1523 was the greatest treasure trove in the world — the jewels of Montezuma! Tales of Aztec gold rang around the world, but Cortez carefully guarded the secret of the gems, for he feared lest the sight should madden his own men to revolt against him. They went aboard ship concealed in a sack of gold dust, and they fell into Verrazano’s hands when he took the caravel.

  “Like Cortez, da Verrazano kept their possession a secret, save from his officers. He did not share them with his men. He hid them in his cabin, and their glitter got in his blood and drove him mad, as they did with all men who saw them. The secret got out, somehow: perhaps his mates talked. But da Verrazano became obsessed with the fear that other rovers would attack him and loot him of his hoard. Seeking some safe hiding place for the baubles which had come to mean more than his very life, he sailed westward, rounded the Horn, and vanished, nearly a hundred years ago.

  “But the tale persists that one man of his crew returned to the Main, only to be captured by the Spaniards. Before he was hanged he told his story and drew a map in his own blood, on parchment, which he smuggled somehow out of his captors’ reach. This was the tale he told: da Verrazano sailed northward, until, beyond Darien, beyond the coast of Mexico, he raised a coast where no Christian had ever set foot before.

  “In a lonely bay he anchored and went ashore, taking his treasure, and eleven of his most trusted men. Following his orders, the ship sailed northward, to return in a week’s time and pick up their captain and his men-for he feared otherwise men he did not trust would spy upon him and learn the hiding place of his trove. In the meantime he meant to hide the treasure in the vicinity of the bay. The ship returned at the appointed time. but there was no trace of da Verrazano and his men, save for the rude dwelling they had built on the beach.

  This had been demolished, and there were tracks of naked feet about it, but no sign to show there had been fighting. Nor was there any trace of the treasure, or any sign to show where it was hidden. T he buccaneers plunged into the forest to search for their captain, but were attacked by the savages and driven back to their ship. In despair, they heav
ed anchor and sailed away, but they were wrecked off the coast of Darien, and only that one man survived.

  “That is the tale of the Treasure of da Verrazano, which men have sought in vain for nearly a century. I have seen the map that sailor drew before they hanged him. Harston and Piriou were with me. We looked upon it in a hovel in Havana, where we were skulking in disguise. Somebody knocked over the candle, and somebody howled in the dark, and when we got the light on again, the old miser who owned the map was dead with a d irk in his heart. I he map was gone, and the watch was clattering down tile street with their pikes to investigate the clamor. We scattered, and each went his own way.

  “For years thereafter Harston and I watched one another, each thinking the other had the map. Well, as it turned out, neither had it, but recently word came to me that Harston had sailed for the Pacific, so I followed him. You saw the end of that chase.

  “I had but a glimpse at the map as it lay on the old miser’s table, and could tell nothing about it. But Harston’s actions show that he knows this is the bay where da Verrazano anchored. I believe they hid the treasure somewhere in that forest and returning, were attacked and slain by the savages. The Indians did not get the treasure. Neither Cabrillo nor Drake, nor any man who ever touched this coast ever saw any gold or jewels in the hands of the Indians.

  “This is my proposal: let us combine our forces. Harston fled because he feared to be pinned between us, but he will return. If we are allied, we can laugh at him. We can work out from the fort, leaving enough men here to hold it if he attacks. I believe the treasure is hidden near by. We will find it and sail for some port of Germany or Italy where I can cover my past with gold. I’m sick of this life. I want to go back to Europe and live like a noble, with riches, and slaves, and a castle-and a wife of noble blood.”

  “Well?” demanded the Count, slit-eyed with suspicion.

  “Give me your niece for my wife,” demanded the buccaneer bluntly. Francoise cried out sharply and started to her feet. Henri likewise rose, livid. Villiers did not move. H is fingers on the table hooked like talons, and his eyes smoldered with passion and a deep menace.

  “You dare!” ejaculated Henri.

  “You forget you have fallen from your high estate, Count Henri,” growled Villiers. “We are not at Versailles, my lord. On this naked coast nobility is measured by the power of men and arms. And there I rank you. Strangers tread d’Chastillon Castle, and the d’Chastillon fortune is at the bottom of the sea. You will die here, an exile, unless I give you the use of my ship.

  “You will have no cause to regret the union of our houses. With a new name and a new fortune you will find that Guillaume Villiers can take his place among the nobility of the world, and make a son-in-law of which not even a d’Chastillon need be ashamed.”

  “You are mad!” exclaimed the Count violently. “You-what is that?”

  It was the patter of soft-slippered feet. Tina came hurriedly into the hall, curtsied timidly, and sidled around the table to thrust her small hands into Francoise’s fingers. She was panting slightly, her slippers were damp, and her flaxen hair was plastered wetly on her head.

  “Tina! Where have you been? I thought you were in your chamber!”

  “I was,” answered the child breathlessly, “but I missed my coral necklace you gave me-”She held it up, a trivial trinket, but prized beyond all her other possessions because it had been Francoise’s first gift to her. “I was afraid you wouldn’t let me go if you knew-a soldier’s wife helped me out of the stockade and back again. I found my necklace by the pool where I bathed this morning. Please punish me if I have done wrong.”

  “Tina!” groaned Francoise, clasping the child to her. “I’m not going to punish you. But you should not have gone outside the stockade. Let me take you to your chamber and change these damp clothes—”

  “Yes, my Lady,” murmured Tina, “but first let me tell you about the black man-”

  “What?” It was a cry that burst from Count Henri’s lips. His goblet clattered to the floor as he caught the table with both hands. If a thunderbolt had struck him, his bearing could not have been more horrifyingly altered. His face was livid, his eyes starting from his head.

  “What did you say`’” he panted. “What did you say, wench?”

  “A black man, my lord,” she stammered, while all stared at Henri in amazement “When I went down to the pool to get my necklace, I saw him. I was afraid and hid behind a ridge of sand. He came from the sea in an open boat. He drew the boat up on the sands below the south point, and strode toward the forest, looking like a giant in the fog, a great, tall black man=“

  Henri reeled as if he had received a mortal blow. He clutched at his throat, snapping the golden chain in his violence. With the face of a madman he lurched about the table and tore the child screaming from Francoise’s arms.

  “You lie!” he panted. “You lie to torment me! Say that you lie before I tear the skin from your back!”

  “Uncle!” cried Francoise, trying to free Tina from his grasp. “Are you mad? What are you about?”

  With a snarl he tore her hand from his arm and spun her staggering into the arms of Gallot who received her with a leer he did not conceal.

  “Mercy, my lord!” sobbed Tina. “I did not lie!”

  “I say you lied!” roared Henri. “Jacques!”

  A stolid serving man seized the shivering youngster and tore the garments from her back with one brutal wrench. Wheeling, he drew her slender arms over his shoulders, lifting her feet clear of the floor.

  “Uncle!” shrieked Francoise, writhing vainly in Gallot’s grasp. “You are mad! You can not — oh, you can not-!” The cry choked in her throat as Henri caught up a Jewel-hilted riding whip and brought it down across the child’s frail body with a savagery that left a red weal across her naked shoulders.

  Francoise went sick with the anguish in Tina’s shriek. The world had suddenly gone mad. As if in a nightmare she saw the stolid faces of the retainers, reflecting neither pity nor sympathy. Villiers’ sneering face was part of the nightmare. Nothing in that crimson haze was real except Tina’s naked white shoulders, crisscrossed with red welts; no sound real except the child’s sharp cries of agony, and the panting gasps of Henri as he lashed away with the staring eyes of a madman, shrieking: “You lie! Admit your guilt, or I will flay you! He could not have followed me here-”

  “Mercy, mercy, my lord!” screamed the child, writhing vainly on the brawny servant’s back. “I saw him! I do not lie! Please! Please!”

  “You fool! You fool!” screamed Francoise, almost beside herself. “Do you not see she is telling the truth? Oh, you beast! Beast! Beast!”

  Suddenly some shred of sanity seemed to return to Henri’s brain. Dropping the whip he reeled back and fell up against the table, clutching blindly at its edge. He shook as if with an ague. H is hair was plastered across his brow in dank strands, and sweat dripped from his livid countenance which was like a carven mask of Fear. Tina, released by Jacques, slipped to the floor in a whimpering heap. Francoise tore free from Gallot, rushed to her, sobbing, and fell on her knees, gathering the pitiful waif into her arms. She lifted a terrible face to her uncle, to pour upon him the full vials of her wrath — but he was not looking at her. In a daze of incredulity, she heard him say: “I accept your offer, Villiers. In God’s name, let us find your treasure and begone from this accursed coast!”

  At this the fire of her fury sank to sick ashes. In stunned silence she lifted the sobbing child in her arms and carried her up the stair. A backward glance showed Henri crouching rather than sitting at the table, gulping wine from a goblet he gripped in both shaking hands, while Villiers towered over him like a somber predatory bird-puzzled at the turn of events, but quick to take advantage of the shocking change that had come over the Count. He was talking in a low, decisive voice, and Henri nodded mute agreement, like one who scarcely heeds what is being said. Gallot stood back in the shadows, chin pinched between forefinger and thumb, and
the retainers along the walls glanced furtively at each other, bewildered by their lord’s collapse.

  Up in her chamber Francoise laid the half-fainting girl on the bed and set herself to wash and apply soothing ointments to the weals and cuts on the child’s tender skin. Tina gave herself up in complete submission to her mistress’s hands, moaning faintly. Francoise felt as if her world had fallen about her ears. She was sick and bewildered, overwrought, her nerves quivering from the brutal shock of what she had witnessed. Fear and hate of her uncle grew in her soul. She had never loved him; he was harsh and without affection, grasping and avid. But she had considered him just and courageous. Revulsion shook her at the memory of his staring eyes and bloodless face. It was some terrible fear which had roused this frenzy; and because of this fear Henri had brutalized the only creature she had to love; because of that fear he was selling her, his niece, to an infamous outlaw. What was behind this madness?

  The child muttered in semi-delirium.

  “Indeed, I did not lie, my Lady! I saw him-a black man, wrapped in a black cloak! My blood ran cold when I saw him. Why did the Count whip me for seeing him?”

  “Hush, Tina,” soothed Francoise. “Lie quiet, child.”

  The door opened behind her and she whirled, snatching up a jeweled dagger. Henri stood in the door, and her flesh crawled at the sight of him. He looked years older; his face was grey and drawn, his eyes made her shiver. She had never been close to him; now she felt as though a gulf separated them. He was not her uncle who stood there, but a stranger come to menace her.

  She lifted the dagger.

  “If you touch her again,” she whispered from dry lips, “I swear I will sink this blade in your breast.”