Part 13 (2/2)
”Go to him!” I said; and turning to mademoiselle: ”Come! we have not a moment to lose.”
And so we went out, leaving La Marmotte staring after us, for she made no movement. And, standing there, a cold hand grasped her wrist, and a voice hissed in her ear:
”Fool! there is a dagger at your girdle. Could you not have driven it through his heart?”
But La Marmotte only looked at the Vidame foolishly, and from the far distance there came through the night the sound of a horn.
”It is Aramon returning,” exclaimed Simon; ”we have them yet.” And leaving La Marmotte where she stood he followed on our footsteps, his dagger in his unwounded hand.
On he went, with uncertain, wavering footsteps, and fury in his heart.
He meant to kill if he could. It was in Simon's mind to make a sudden, desperate attack. An unexpected stroke from his poniard might free him from me, and his prize might yet be his. As for the varlet--Simon gave Pierrebon not a thought. But as he went on his wounded arm began to sting and bleed afresh. A faintness came upon him, and, overcome by the pain and loss of blood, he sank down all dizzy behind the high privet, a cold sweat on his forehead. In impotent fury he struck his dagger to the hilt in the soft turf at his side, and, still holding the haft, leaned forward and peered through the hedge. Then as he crouched he heard quick voices, and then three mounted figures rode across the parterres to the gate. Again the sound of the horn rang out, and Simon heard Pierrebon's voice.
”The other wasps come back, monsieur! Hasten! Let us be off!”
”But not before I have struck a blow,” answered Simon, as, heartened by the sound of the horn, he gathered himself together and made for the gate, only to see us pa.s.s through it ere he had gone ten paces.
He reached the gate somehow, and stared into the night. We were gone.
We had turned to the right in the direction of the river, and were already hidden from view by the woods.
Twice Simon heard the beat of hoofs as the horses dashed over the hard ground, and after that all was still.
”If Aramon would but come!” he groaned; and then, through the moonlit haze on the left, where the moorland stretched long and brown, came the sound of hoa.r.s.e voices, and a loud laugh, and upon this a line of about half-a-dozen hors.e.m.e.n appeared riding slowly towards the house.
”Aramon! Aramon! Here! To me!”
At his call they put spurs to their beasts, and were soon beside him--an evil-looking set of knaves, mounted on horses foam-flecked and weary with hard going. Simon gave them no time for speech, but shouted:
”After them! After them! Else they escape!”
”After whom, monseigneur?” asked he who appeared to be their leader as he went on: ”We have chased the air all day; are we to ride after phantoms by night?”
”Fool! It is Mademoiselle de Paradis and her lover. He has wounded me, and killed Trotto and Piero and Malsain, and escaped with her ten minutes ago. They cannot have gone far, and the river must stop them.
After them!” And, panting with excitement, he ceased.
From the height of his saddle Aramon looked down on Simon, and whistled low to himself.
”So monseigneur is wounded, which is bad for you, monseigneur; and Piero is dead, which is good; and Malsain is dead, which is bad, for he was my own man; and the captain Trotto is dead, which is good again--for me, monseigneur.”
”Fool! Will you waste time? Every moment is precious.”
”Softly, monseigneur! There is plenty of time for me. Trotto is dead, you say, and I sit here in my saddle captain of the wolves of Fontevrault; and,” he continued with a chuckle, ”with a new king comes a new policy, as you are aware, monseigneur.”
”What do you mean?” asked Simon, with an uneasy note in his voice.
”I mean, monseigneur, that of late you have not played fair with us. I mean that a sword that can slay as the one you describe is not one to be meddled with by weary men; and I mean that I, Aramon, being captain of these brave fellows now, intend to be my own captain for the future.
Is it not so, my wolves?”
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