The Abbess Of Vlaye

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XVI.

  TO DO OR NOT TO DO?

  To do or not to do? How many a one has turned the question in hismind; this one in the solitude of his locked room, seated withfrowning face and eyes fixed on nothingness; that one amid the babbleof voices and laughter, masking anxious thought under set smiles. Howmany a one has viewed the act she meditated this way and that, askanceand across, in the hope of making the worse appear the better, and soof doing her pleasure with a light heart. Others again, trampling thescruple under foot, have none the less hesitated, counting the costand striving to view dispassionately--with eyes that, the thing done,will never see it in that light again--how it will be with themafterwards, how much better outwardly, how much worse inwardly, and soto strike a balance for or against--to do or not to do. And some withburning eyes, and minds unswervingly bent on the thing they desirehave yet felt hands pluck at them, and something--be it God or thelast instinct of good--whispering them to pause--to pause, and not todo!

  The Abbess pondered, while the Duke, reclining in the opening of hishut, from which the screen had been drawn back that he might enjoy theair, had no more accurate notion of her thoughts than had theLieutenant's dog sleeping a few paces away. The missal had fallen fromher hands and lay in her lap. Her eyes fixed on the green slope beforeher betrayed naught that was not dove-like; while the profoundstillness of her form which permitted the Duke to gaze at willbreathed only the peace of the cloister and the altar, the peace thatno change of outward things can long disturb. Or so the Duke fancied;and eyeing her with secret rapture, felt himself uplifted in herpresence. He felt that here was a being congenial with his betterself, and a beauty as far above the beauty to which he had been aslave all his life as his higher moods rose above his worst excesses.

  He had gained strength in the three days which had elapsed since hisarrival in the camp. He could now sit up for a short time and evenstand, though giddily and with precaution. Nor were these the onlychanges which the short interval had produced. The Countess's spears,to the number of thirty, were here, and their presence augmented thesafety of the Vicomte's party. But indirectly, in so far as it fed thepeasants' suspicions, it had a contrary effect. The Crocans submittedindeed to be drilled, sometimes by the Bat, sometimes by his master;and reasonable orders were not openly disobeyed. But the fear oftreachery which a life-time of ill-usage had instilled was deepened bythe presence of the Countess's men. The slightest movements on desAgeaux' part were scanned with jealousy. If he conferred too long withthe Villeneuves or the Countess men exchanged black looks, or mutteredin their beards. If he strayed a hundred paces down the valley a scorewere at his heels. Nor were there wanting those who, moving secretlybetween the camp and the savage horde upon the hill--the Old Crocans,as they were called--kept these apprised of their doubts and fears.

  To eyes that could see, the position was critical, even dangerous. Norwas it rendered more easy by a feat of M. de Vlaye's men, who,reconnoitring up to the gates one evening, cut off a dozen peasants.The morning light discovered the bodies of six of these hanged on atree below the Old Crocans' station, and well within view from theridge about the camp. That the disaster might not have occurred haddes Ageaux been in his quarters, instead of being a virtual prisoner,went for nothing. He bore the blame, some even thought him privy tothe matter. From that hour the gloom grew deeper. Everywhere, and atall times, the more fanatical or the more suspicious drew together incorners, and while simpler clowns cursed low or muttered of treachery,darker spirits whispered devilish plans. Those who had their eyes opennoted the more frequent presence of the Old Crocans, who wandered bytwos and threes through the camp; and though these, when des Ageaux'eye fell on them, fawned and cringed, or hastened to withdrawthemselves, they spat when his back was turned, and with stealthygestures they gave him to hideous deaths.

  In a word, fear like a dark presence lay upon the camp; and to add tothe prevailing irritation, the heat was great. The giant earth-wallwhich permitted the Lieutenant to mature his plans and await hisreinforcements shut out the evening breezes. Noon grilled his men asin a frying-pan; all night the air was hot and heavy. The peasantssighed for the cool streams of Brantome and the voices of the frogs.The troopers, accustomed to lord it and impatient of discomfort, werequick with word and hand, and prone to strike, when a blow was asdangerous as a light behind a powder screen. Without was Vlaye, withinwas fear; while, like ravens waiting for the carnage, the horde of OldCrocans on the hill looked down from their filthy eyrie.

  No one knew better than the Abbess that the least thing might servefor a spark. And she pondered. Not for an hour since its birth had theplan she had imagined been out of her mind; and still--there was somuch good in her, so much truth--she recoiled. The two whom shedoomed, if she acted, were her enemies; and yet she hesitated. Her ownsafety, her father's, her sister's, the safety of all, those twoexcepted, was secured by the Rochechouart reinforcement. Only herenemies would perish, and perhaps the poor fool whose presence shemust disclose. And yet she could not make up her mind. To do or not todo?

  It might suffice to detach Joyeuse. But the time was short, and theDuke's opinion of her high; and she shrank from risking it by apremature move. He had placed her on a pinnacle and worshipped her: ifshe descended from the pinnacle he might worship no longer. Meantime,if she waited until his troopers rode in, and on their heels a secondlevy from Rochechouart, it might be too late to act, too late todetach him, too late to save Vlaye. To do or not to do?

  A dozen paces from her, old Solomon was pouring garrulous inventionsinto the ear of the Countess's steward; who, dull, faithful man, tookall for granted, and gaped more widely at every lie. Insensibly hermind began to follow and take in the sense of their words.

  "Six on one tree!" Solomon was saying, in the contemptuous tone of oneto whom Montfaucon was an every-day affair. "'Tis nothing. You neversaw the like at Rochechouart, say you? Perhaps not. Your lady ismerciful."

  "Three I have!"

  "And who were they?" Solomon asked, with a sniff of contempt.

  "Cattle-stealers. At least so it was said. But the wife of one camedown next day and put it on another, and it was complained that theyhad suffered wrongfully. But three they were."

  "Three?" Solomon's nose rose in scorn. "If you had seen the elm atVilleneuve in my lord's father's time! They were as acorns on an oak.Ay, they were! Fifteen in one forenoon."

  "God ha' mercy on us!"

  "And ten more when he had dined!"

  "God ha' mercy on us!" Fulbert replied, staring in stricken surprise."And what had they done?"

  "Done?" Solomon answered, shrugging his shoulders after a carelessfashion. "Just displeased him. And why should he not?" he continued,bristling up. "What worse could they do? Was he not lord ofVilleneuve?"

  And she was making a scruple of two lives. Of two lives that stood inher path! Still--life was life. But what was that they were sayingnow? Hang Vlaye? Hang--the Captain of Vlaye?

  It was Solomon had the word; and this time the astonishment was on hisside. "What is that you say?" he repeated. "Hang M. de Vlaye?"

  "And why for not?" the steward replied doggedly, his face red withpassion, his dull intelligence sharpened by his lady's wrongs. "Andwhy for not?"

  Solomon was scandalised by the mere mention of it. Hang like any clodor clown a man who had been a constant visitor at his master's house!"Oh, but he--you don't hang such as he!" he retorted. "The Captain ofVlaye? Tut, tut! You are a fool!"

  "A fool? Not I! They will hang him!"

  "Tut, tut!"

  "Wait until _he_ speaks!" Fulbert replied, nodding mysteriously in thedirection of the Lieutenant, who, at no great distance from the group,was watching a band of peasants at their drill. "When he speaks 'tisthe King speaks. And when the King speaks, it is hang a man must,whoever he be!"

  "Tut, tut!"

  "Whoever he be!" Fulbert repeated with stolid obstinacy. And then, "Itis not for nothing," he added with
a menacing gesture, "that a manstops the Countess of Rochechouart on the King's road! No, no!"

  Not for nothing? No, and it is not for nothing, the Abbess cried inher heart, that you threaten the man I love with the death of a dog!Dogs yourselves! Dogs!

  It was well that the Duke was not looking at her at that moment, forher heaving bosom, her glowing eyes, the rush of colour to her faceall betrayed the force of her passion. Hang him? Hang her lover? Sothat was what they were saying, thinking, planning behind her back,was it! That was the camp talk! That!

  She could have borne it better had the Lieutenant proclaimed his aimaloud. It was the sedateness of his preparations, the slow stealth ofhis sap, the unswerving calmness of his approaches at which her soulrevolted. The ceaseless drilling, the arming, the watch by day andnight, all the life about her, every act, every thought had herlover's ruin for their aim, his death for their end! A loathing, ahorror seized her. She felt a net closing about her, a net thatenmeshed her and fettered her, and threatened to hold her motionlessand powerless, while they worked their will on him before her eyes!

  But she could still break the net. She could still act. Two lives?What were two lives, lives of his enemies, in comparison of his life?At the thought a spring of savage passion welled up in her heart, andclouded her eyes. The die was cast. It remained only to do. To do!

  But softly--softly. As she rose, having as yet no formed plan, a lastdoubt stayed her. It was not a doubt of his enemies' intentions, butof their power. He whose words had opened her eyes to their grimpurpose was a dullard, almost an imbecile. He could be no judge of themeans they possessed, or of their chances of success. The swarm ofunkempt, ill-armed peasants, who disgusted her eyes, the troop ofspears, who even now barely sufficed to secure the safety of herparty, what chance had they against M. de Vlaye and the four or fivehundred men-at-arms who for years had lorded it over the marches ofthe province, and made themselves the terror of a country-side? Surelya small chance if it deserved the name. Surely she was permitting ashadow to frighten her.

  "Something," the Duke murmured near her ear, "has interrupted the evencurrent of your thoughts, mademoiselle. What is it, I pray?"

  "I feel the heat," she answered, holding her hand to her brow, thatbehind its shelter she might recover her composure. "Do not you?"

  "It is like an oven," he answered, "within these earth-walls."

  "How I hate them!" she cried, unable to repress the spirit ofirritation.

  "Do you? Well, so do I," he replied. "But within them--it is nowherecooler than here."

  "I will put that to the proof, my lord," she returned with a smile.And, gliding from him, in spite of the effort he made to detain her,she crossed the grass to her father. Sinking on the sward beside hisstool, she began to fan herself.

  The Vicomte was in an ill-humour of some days' standing; nor withoutreason. Dragged, will he nill he, from the house in which his whim hadbeen law, he found himself not only without his comforts, but a cipherin the camp. Not once, but three or four times he had let his judgmentbe known, and he had looked to see it followed. He might have spokento the winds. No one, not even his sons, though they listenedrespectfully, took heed of it. It followed that he saw himself exposedto dangers against which he was not allowed to guard himself, and to acatastrophe which he must await in inaction; while all he possessedstood risked on a venture that for him had neither interest normotive.

  In such a position a man of easier temper and less vanity might bepardoned if he complained. For the Vicomte, fits of senile rage shookhim two or three times a day. He learned what it was to be thwarted:and if he hated any one or anything more than the filthy peasants onwhom his breeding taught him to look with loathing, it was the manwith whose success his safety was bound up, the man who had forced himinto this ignominious position.

  Of him he could believe no good. When the Abbess, after fanningherself in silence, mentioned the arrival of the Countess's troopers,and asked him if he thought that the Lieutenant was now strong enoughto attack, he derided the notion.

  "M. de Vlaye will blow this rabble to the winds," he said, with acontemptuous gesture. "We may grill here as long as we please, but themoment we show ourselves outside, pouf! It will be over! What can ahandful of riders do against five hundred men as good as themselves?"

  "But the peasants?" she suggested, willing to know the worst. "Thereare some hundreds of them."

  "Food for steel!" he answered, with the same contemptuous pantomime.

  "Then you think--we were wrong to come here?"

  "I think, girl, that we were mad to come here. But not so mad," hecontinued spitefully, "as those who brought us!"

  "Yet Charles thinks that the Governor of Perigord will prevail."

  "Charles had his own neck in the noose," the Vicomte growled, "and wasglad of company. Since Coutras it is the young lead the old, and theissue you will see. Lieutenant of Perigord? What has the Lieutenant ofPerigord or any other governor to do with canaille such as this?"

  Odette heaved a sigh of relief and her face lightened. "It will bebetter so," she said softly. "M. de Vlaye knows, sir, that we had nodesire to hurt him, and he will not reckon it against us."

  The Vicomte fidgeted in his stool. "I wish I could think so," heanswered with a groan. "Curse him! Who is more to blame? If he hadleft the Countess alone, this would not have happened. They are nobetter one than the other! But what is this? Faugh!" And he spat onthe ground.

  There was excuse for his disgust. Across the open ground a group ofmen were making their way in the direction of the Lieutenant'squarters. They were the same men who had met him at the entrance onhis return with the Abbess and Joyeuse: nor had the lapse of four orfive days lessened the foulness of their aspect, or robbed them of theslinking yet savage bearing--as of beasts of prey half tamed--whichbade beware of them. They shambled forward until they neared desAgeaux, who was writing at an improvised table not far from theVicomte; then cringing they saluted him. Their eyes squinting this wayand that from under matted locks--as if at a gesture they were readyto leap back--added to their beast-like appearance.

  The Lieutenant's voice, as he asked the men with asperity what theyneeded, came clearly to the ears of the group about the Vicomte. Butthe Old Crocans' answer, expressed at length in a patois of thecountry, was not audible.

  "Foul carrion!" the Vicomte muttered. "What do they here?" while theAbbess and Bonne, who had joined her, contemplated them with eyes ofshuddering dislike.

  "What, indeed?" Bonne muttered, her cheek pale. She seemed to beunable to take her eyes from them. "They frighten me! Oh, I hope theywill not be suffered to remain in the camp!"

  "Is it that they wish?" the Vicomte asked.

  "Yes, my lord," Solomon answered: he had gone forward, listened awhileand returned. "They say that eleven more of their people weresurprised by Vlaye's men three hours ago, and cut to pieces. This isthe second time it has happened. They think that they are no longersafe on the hill, and wish to join us."

  "God forbid!" Bonne cried, with a strange insistence.

  The Abbess looked at her. "Why so frightened?" she saidcontemptuously. "One might suppose you were in greater danger thanothers, girl!"

  Bonne did not answer, but her distended eyes betrayed the impressionwhich the wretches' appearance made on her. Nor when Charles--who wasseldom off the ridge which was his special charge--remarked that afterall a man was a man, and they had not too many, could she refrain froma word. "But not those!" she murmured. "Not those!"

  Charles, who in these days saw more of the Bat than of any one else,shrugged his shoulders. "I shall be surprised if he does not receivethem," he answered. "They are vermin and may give us trouble. But wemust run the risk. If we are to succeed we must run some risks."

  Not that risk, however, it appeared. For he had scarcely uttered thewords when des Ageaux was seen to raise his hand, and point with sternmeaning to the entrance. "No," he said, his voice high and clear."Begone to your own and look to yourselves! You chose to go
your ownway and a bloody one! Now your blood be on your own heads! Here is noplace for you, nor will I cover you!"

  "My lord!" one cried in protest. "My lord, hear us!"

  "No!" the Lieutenant replied harshly. "You had your warning and didnot heed it! M. de Villeneuve, when he came to you, warned you, and Iwarned you. It was your own will to withdraw yourselves. You wouldhave naught but blood. You would burn and kill! Now, on your ownheads," he concluded with severity, "be your blood!"

  They would have protested anew, but he dismissed them with a gesturewhich permitted no denial. And sullenly, with stealthy gestures ofmenace, they retreated towards the entrance; and gabbling more loudlyas they approached it, seemed to be imprecating vengeance on those whocast them out. In the gate they lingered awhile, turning about andscolding the man on guard. Then they passed out of sight, and weregone.

  As the last of them disappeared des Ageaux, who had kept a vigilanteye on their retreat, approached the group about the Vicomte. The oldman, though he approved the action, could not refrain from giving histemper vent.

  "You are sure that you can do without them," he said, with a sneer.His shaking hand betrayed his dislike of the man to whom he spoke.

  "I believe I can," the Lieutenant answered. He spoke with unusualgravity, but the next moment a smile--smiles had been rare with him oflate--curved the corners of his mouth. His eyes travelled from one toanother, and in a low voice, but one that betrayed his relief, "I willtell you why, if you wish to know, M. le Vicomte."

  "Why?"

  Des Ageaux' smile grew broader, but his tone remained low. "Because Ihave news," he returned. "And it is good news. I have had wordwithin the last hour that I may expect M. de Joyeuse's levies aboutnightfall to-morrow, and a day or two later a reinforcement beyond myhope--fifty men-at-arms whom the Governor of Agen has lent me, andfifty from my garrison of Perigueux. With those we should haveenough--though not too many."

  They received the news with words of congratulation or with grunts ofdisdain, according as each felt about it. And all began to discuss thetidings, though still in the tone of caution which the Lieutenant'slook enjoined. One only was silent, and with averted face saw the cupof respite dashed from her lips. A hundred men beyond those lookedfor! Such an accession must change hope to certainty, hazard tosurety. A few days would enable the Lieutenant to match rider forrider with Vlaye, and still boast a reserve of four or five hundredundisciplined allies. While jubilant voices hummed in her ears, andthose whom she was ready to kill because they hated him rejoiced, theAbbess rose slowly and, detaching herself from the group, walked away.

  No one followed her even with the eye; for the Duke, fatigued, and alittle hurt that she did not return, had retired into his quarters.Nor would the most watchful have learned much from her movements, or,unless jealous beyond the ordinary, have found aught to suspect inwhat she did.

  She strolled very slowly along the foot of the slope, as if in pureidleness or to stretch limbs cramped by over-long sitting. Presentlyshe came to some tethered horses, and stood and patted them, andlooked them over; nor could any but the horses tell--and they couldnot speak--that while her hand was on them her eyes were roving thecamp. Perhaps she found what she sought; perhaps it was chance onlythat guided her steps in the direction of the tall young man with paleeyes, whose violence had raised him to a certain leadership among thepeasants.

  It must have been chance, for when she reached his neighbourhood shedid not address him. She stooped and--what could be more womanly ormore natural?--she spoke to a naked child that rolled on the trampledturf within arm's length of him. What she said--in French or patois,or that infant language of which no woman's tongue is ignorant--thebaby could not say, for, like the horses, it could not speak. Yet itmust have found something unusual in her face, for it cowered fromher, as in terror. And what she said could have no interest for theman who lounged near, though he seemed disturbed by it.

  She toyed with the shrinking child a moment, then turned and walkedslowly back to the Vicomte's quarters. Her manner was careless, buther face was pale. No wonder. For she had taken a step--and she knewit--which she could never retrace. She had done that which she couldnot undo. Between her and Bonne and Roger and Charles was a gulfhenceforth, though they might not know it. And the Duke? She winced alittle, recognising more plainly than before how far she stood belowthe notion he had of her.

  Yet she felt no remorse. On the contrary, the uppermost feeling in hermind--and it ran riot there--was a stormy exultation. They who haddragged her at their chariot wheels would learn that in forcing her totake part against her lover they had made the most fatal of mistakes.They triumphed now. They counted on sure success now. They thought tohang him, as they would hang any low-bred thief! Very good! Let themwait until morning, and talk then of hanging!

  Once or twice, indeed, in the afternoon she was visited by misgivings.The man she had seen was a mere savage; he might not have understood.Or he might betray her, though that could hurt her little since no onewould believe him. Or the peasants, though wrought to fury, mightrecoil at the last like the cowards they were!

  But these and the like doubts arose not from compunction, but frommistrust. Compunction was to come later, when evening fell and fromthe door of the Duke's quarters she viewed the scene, now familiar, ofthe hostages' departure in the dusk--saw the horses drawn up and thetwo whom she was dooming in act to mount. It was then that a suddenhorror of what she was about seized her--she was young, a meregirl--and she rose with a stifled cry from her stool. It was not yettoo late. A cry, a word would save them. Would save them still!Impulsively she moved a pace towards them, intending--ay, for amoment, intending to say that word.

  But she stopped. A word would save them, but--she was forgetting--itwould doom her lover! And on that thought, and to reinforce it,there rose before her mind's eye the pale puling features of theCountess--her rival! Was she to be put aside for a thing like that?Was it to such a half-formed child as that she must surrender herlover? She pressed her hands together, and, returning to her seat, sheturned it about that her eyes might not see them as they went throughthe dusk.