Part 14 (1/2)
There were gruff murmurs of a.s.sent, and Simon drew back a s.p.a.ce. It was not, however, from fear--Simon of Orrain never suffered from the poltroon fever; he but drew back to strike hard, and to sell his life dearly. They ringed him in--his own men who had turned against him--and he stood with his back to the gate. He did not flinch, and meant to fight, hopeless as it was, for all around him were white, s.h.i.+ning swords, that needed but a word from Aramon to be red with his blood. But the new captain did not want this.
”Bah!” he said, ”throw down your dagger, monseigneur. We want not your life. For the present you will be the guest of Aramon--that is, until you have paid me, and these gentlemen here, two thousand gold Henris--fat gold Henris--for all our trouble. Come!--throw down the dagger! Put a good face on it!”
CHAPTER XI
THE ROAD TO POITIERS
We reined up on the edge of a shelving bank, and the Mable swirled before us.Beyond the alders on the opposite sh.o.r.e, but about a mile higher upstream, lay Richelieu. Late though it was there were many lights still burning, and now and then a fitful flare, that made the houses stand out redly for a moment, led me to think that the place was occupied by troops or marauders; and if so, the result would in either case be the same for the town, or for ourselves if we ventured thither.
It must be remembered that the King's Writ was waste-paper here. All that was ill was loose in the land, and though Montpensier from the north and Montluc from the south struck with heavy hands, the Christaudins--or Huguenots, as they called them--held all the country from the chalks of Chatellerault to Saumur, and from Fontenaye to Thouars and La Mothe St. Heraye.
Craning forward from the saddle I looked in the direction of the town, muttering to myself: ”It may be out of the frying-pan into the fire.”
And as I did so mademoiselle exclaimed:
”Monsieur, why do we stay? That is Richelieu; and they follow us.
Cross, cross!”
I made no answer; but Pierrebon dismounted, and placed his ear to the ground.
”No one follows,” he said after a little, rising to his feet; ”they have had enough, these accursed bandits.” And with this he mounted once more.
”But why stay? See! there is the house of the Bailiff of Muisson--that tall one where the lights are burning at the windows.”
”The Bailiff keeps late hours, mademoiselle.” And even as I spoke a bright flame suddenly flashed out, a ruddy light lit the walls, and the distant shouting of many voices came to our ears.
”See!” I went on, ”they are cooking a late supper with the doors. They will make breakfast with the rafters.”
”What is happening? Oh! what an awful night this is!”
”What is happening, mademoiselle, I cannot tell; but it seems we have only escaped a great danger to meet with another. Richelieu is full of armed men. Who they are we do not know. At any rate, for your sake if for nothing else, we will risk no more. We will cross, and make for Razines. There we will wait for daylight. Come!”
Leaning forward I took her horse by the bridle and we entered the stream.
”Courage!” said Pierrebon, who rode at her right; ”courage, mademoiselle! It is not deep.”
And she laughed, for she was not afraid, though the water bubbled and hissed around us, and once or twice the horses staggered and swayed, as though they would have fallen. Finally we made the pa.s.sage, and reached the opposite sh.o.r.e. Once there I led them at a trot along the white, dusty track. We were in the angle formed by the Mable and the Veude, and here, where Poitou slopes towards the sea, the country still retains, with a roughness like unto that of Auvergne, all the freshness of La Marche. Far south was a dreary plain, but around us the land billowed into low hillocks, that stood over long stretches of stunted forest.
We rode in silence, except when now and again I spoke a word of warning in regard to the state of the road, or to regulate the pace. I began to wonder how long mademoiselle would hold out; and my doubts were soon set at rest. It was whilst crossing the almost dry bed of one of the small streams, spreading like veins over the country, that she suddenly reined up.
”I cannot go farther,” she said faintly; and calling a halt I looked around me. A little distance from the track, which wound before us amongst the glistening stones, lay a dark grove of trees. I pointed at them.
”We will rest there, mademoiselle. 'Tis barely fifty paces; bear up till then!” And dismounting I walked by the side of her horse.
Short as the distance was I was in doubt if she would hold out, and as I glanced at her I saw even by the moonlight how white and drawn was her face, and then she began to sway in her seat. Calling to Pierrebon to take the reins of her horse I tried to hold her in the saddle, but, feeling her slipping, I put my unhurt arm around her and lifted her to the ground. For a little s.p.a.ce she stood as one dazed, leaning against me with closed eyes, and then with an effort recovered herself and drew back.
”I am able to walk, monsieur--I--how far is it?”
”Only a step now.” And, still supporting her, I led her onward until we reached the trees.
”We are here, mademoiselle.” And taking her into the shade of a huge walnut-tree I flung my cloak on the gra.s.s, and made her sit thereon, whilst we hedged her around with saddlery. It was done as quickly as we could, and the tired girl leaned back against the saddles utterly wearied and exhausted. I stood watching her for a little, and then with a whispered word to Pierrebon about the horses stepped aside. I could do no more; but my heart was heavy within me, for I feared the result of exposure for her.
A few yards off a withered tree stood apart, an outcast from its fellows. The thought struck me as I went up to it, and tapped the decayed trunk with my fingers: ”You and I, my friend--we have seen our past, and are out of the pale now.” With this I sat down on one of the huge roots, that coiled like monstrous serpents at my feet, and leaning my head against the tree prepared to wait for the dawn.