SECRETS OF THE PRISON HOUSE
"But Francis Agnew is dead! With my own eyes I saw him lie dead, in the
robing-room of Professor Anatole----"
"_Row, you skulking 'Giffe'!_" cried the "comite," bringing down his
whip upon the Abbe John's shoulders, which were bare, with a force that
convinced him that he at least was both alive and awake.
So he kept silence and rowed in his place next the side of the vessel.
And even his wonder in the matter of Claire's father could not prevent
his cursing in his heart the man who had brought him to this pass--the
talkative, hospitable, and far-descended Don Sileno Lorent y Valvidia,
of the Parador of the Cabeledura d'Oro in the town of Rosas.
The galley of the first class, _Conquistador_, was one of the few which
had been left behind in the Mediterranean at the time of the Great
Armada. Most of the others had been carried northward for coast defence,
and now lagged idly in port for lack of crews to navigate them. So that
it became a quaint dilemma of King Philip's how to obtain sufficient
heretics for his _autos de fe_ without impoverishing too greatly his
marine.
The _Conquistador_ kept close company with the _Puerto Reale_, another
of the same class, but with only two hundred slaves aboard to the three
hundred and fifty of the _Conquistador_. The "comite," or
master-in-charge of the slaves, walked up and down a long central bench.
His whip was hardly ever idle, but it did not fall again upon John
d'Albret--not from any pity for a newcomer, but because the ship's
purser had let out the fact that a considerable sum in gold was in his
hands to the credit of the newcomer. For King Philip, though he
persecuted the heretic with fire and sword, fine, imprisonment, and the
galleys, did not allow his subordinates to interfere with his monopoly.
And indeed, as the Abbe John learned, more than one officer had swung
from the forty-foot yard of his own mainmast for intromitting wrongfully
with a prisoner's money.
As to the captains, they were for the most part impoverished grandees or
younger sons of dukes and marquises. Most were knights of Malta and so
apparent bachelors, whose money would go to the Order at their death. In
the meantime, therefore, they spent royally their revenues. The captain
of the _Conquistador_ was the young Duke of Err, recently succeeded to
the ambassadorial title, and it was said of him that he counted the life
of a galley-slave no more than that of a black-beetle beneath his
seigneurial heel.
So long as the boat remained at sea, there was no sleep for any slave.
Neither, indeed, for any of the "comites" or sub-officers, who
consequently grew snappish and drove their slaves to the very limit of
endurance, so that they might the sooner reach the harbour. Yet it was
full morning before the awnings were spread within the roads of
Barcelona, and the Abbe John could stretch his limbs--so far, that is,
as the chain allowed. He had been placed, at the request of the senior
oarsman of his mess, Francis Agnew, in the easiest place, that next to
the side of the galley. Here not only was the stroke of the oar
shortest, but at night, or in the intervals of sleep, the curve of the
ship's side made a couch, if not luxurious, at least, comparatively
speaking, tolerable.
The "comite" hoisted his hammock across the broad _coursier_ or
_estrada_ which ran the length of the ship, overlooking and separating
the two banks of oars, and formed the only passage from the high poop to
the higher stern. It was also useful in rough seas, when the waves broke
right across the ship, and (a mere detail) over the rowers also. For the
only communication with the hold was by gangways descending from either
end of the _coursier_.
The Abbe John heard the sound of the chief "comite's" whistle with
astonishment--so varied were its tones, the quick succession of its
notes, that the prompt understanding and obedience of the slaves and
sailors, at whatever part of the deck they were placed, seemed as magic
to him.
"Do as I do," said Francis Agnew, noticing his bewilderment. So the Abbe
John halted and pulled, raised his oar level or backed water at the word
of Claire's father. And all the while he kept looking sideways at the
Dead-come-to-Life-again with speechless wonder and the sense of walking
in a dream. Only the sound of the "comite's" lash on his comrades' backs
kept him convinced of the general reality of things.
Francis Agnew was a strong and able-bodied rower, much remarked and
approved by his chiefs. At various periods of an adventurous life he had
served on the French and other galleys, even including those of Turkey.
So that all the commands and disciplines came easily to him. He had even
been charged with the provisioning of the rowers of the whole port side,
and on occasion he could take the "comite's" whistle and pipe upon it,
to the admiration of all.
Claire's father began his tale as soon as he had arranged his great grey
cloak of woollen stuff commodiously, and laid the pillow (which he had
by favour) close to the Abbe John's ear.
"The servants of the Sorbonne who were employed to carry my body to the
vault were greedy rascals. It was their thought at first to sell my body
to the younger surgeons for the purpose of their researching. But after
stripping me of my apparel, it chanced that they cast a bucket of water
over me to help me to 'keep'--the weather being hot in those Barricade
Days in the city of Paris."
At this moment the tread of the night-sentinel approached along the
_coursier_ above their heads. The voices and whisperings ceased before
him as by magic. It was full afternoon without, blazing under the
chinked awnings. But officially it was night on board the galley. Day
closed when the whistle of the "comite" blew. Mostly a careful captain,
from motives of self-interest more than from any humanity, worked his
men in the cool times of the night. For the Mediterranean is always so
luminous of itself that the merest ripple of air is sufficient to stir
the water and show the way. Moreover, in times of peace and on that safe
coast galleys were rarely moored save in calm weather.
"It happened thus"--as the sentinel passed Francis Agnew took up the
tale--"after the Sorbonne rascals had plashed the cool water over me, I
sat up suddenly and looked about me for a sword. But, there being none,
I was in their power. For ten days they kept me in hold in a secret
place among firewood, deep underground, without any loophole whatever.
Twice a day they brought me food, and by the light of a candle they
dressed my wounds--one of them being expert at that business, having had
practice in the hospitals. Then when I was recovered they gave me a
candle which burned two hours only. And with it also a pile of brushwood
to cut up into small pieces. This was the pleasantest part of the day to
me. But they always took away the axe afterwards, bidding me push it
through beneath the door, so that whoever came with my next meal might
see it. Else I would get no dinner. For they feared lest I might brain
one of them as he came in, and then make a rush for the passage-way. But
I knew that the doors were shut behind, so that there was no chance. And
besides, being a Christian man, I was covenanted to fight only when I
could do so without sin, and with some chance of continuing the life so
marvellously preserved to me!
"Then this Flamand, the chief of the servitors of the Sorbonne--Holtz
was his name, a huge-handed animal of monkey breed, but with cunning
under that sloping skull of his--made interest to find me a place in one
of the slow waggons which carry the king's artillery to the port of
Calais, where the new forts are. And me he laid, tied like a parcel
between two brass guns for sieging, strapped down and gagged, feeding me
at nights when the convoy halted. Also he paid the chief waggoner so
much. For he meant to sell me for a slave to the Duke of Parma, who at
that time was gathering a great fleet of galleys to destroy England. I
had heard them arguing the matter somewhat thus:
"'Better kill him and be done,' said one; 'thus we are sure of a hundred
shields for him from the lads of the beef barrel.' (So they spoke of the
young surgeons of the Sorbonne.)
"However, the Flamand (a vantard and a bully, but very cunning) offered
to fight any man there, or any two with fists or knives or any other
weapon in their choice. And when no one took up his challenge, he cried
out, 'Ho, stand back there, ye pack of cowards! This man is mine. A
hundred silver shields! What is a hundred shields, when for such a wiry
fellow, albeit a little old, we will get a hundred gold pieces from
Parma, if only we can get him as far as Nieuport.'
"And so to Parma I was given, but the galley I was first placed in met
with an English ship-of-war, and she ran us so close that we could not
row. Her prow scraped us, breaking the oars and tossing the dead about,
many being slain with the bounding fragments. And I--I was in the place
next the port-hole, and I mind me I could lay my hand on the muzzle of a
shotted gun. But that is the last I remember. For at that moment the
Englishman fired a broadside and swept our decks. I alone was unhurt,
and after a while in the lazar-house of Vigo, I came hither in a
galleasse to teach the 'comites' of the Mediterranean side the newer
practice of the fleets of the North."
He chuckled a little, his well-trained ear taking in the _diminuendo_
and _crescendo_ of the sentinel's footsteps on the wooden platform above
his head.
"But from what I saw of the English," he murmured, "I judge that before
long there will be no need of galleys to fight Spain's battles."
In a moment John d'Albret knew that his companion had not yet heard of
the destruction of the Great Armada. He told him.
"Glory to the God of Battles," he said, hushed and low, "to Him the
praise!"
Just then all the bells of the city began to ring, slow and measured.
The sound came mellowed over the water and filtered through the striped
awnings of yellow and red.
"Some great man is dead," he said, "perhaps the King--Philip, I mean. Or
else a day of humiliation----"
"_Auto de fe!_" came along the benches in a thrilling whisper, for in
spite of their fatigue few of the slaves were asleep. The afternoon was
too hot, the glare from the water intolerable.
"Ah, well, the sooner to peace for some poor souls," said Francis the
Scot. Then a thought seemed to strike him. "It is not possible--no, you
cannot have heard. I dare not expect it. But I had a daughter, she was
named Claire. They told me--that is, the Flamand Holtz, a not unkindly
brute, though he had resolved to make money out of me, dead or
alive--well, he told me that one of the wisest of the professors, a
learned man, had taken her under his care. They escaped together to go
to his mother's house with one of the students, a cousin of the Hope of
Israel. You never heard--no, it is not possible. Why should I dream it?"
The Abbe John's throat became suddenly dry. He gasped for a moment, but
could not speak.
"You do know--she is dead--tell me!" said Francis the Scot, shaking him
roughly by the arm. And that was the single unkindness he used to the
young man.
"No, no!" gasped John d'Albret. "She is well. I love her. I was that
third who escaped in her company!"
"Where is she?"
"Nay, that I do not know exactly," said the Abbe John, "but it is in
France, in a quiet province, with good folk who love her--though not as
I love her. For I came hither for her sake!"
And he told the tale--how, in Jean-aux-Choux's secret _cache_ behind
the sheepfold on the hill, he had found a list of the articles for
transport to Dame Amelie's new abode, with directions to the carriers,
and one or two objects of price, evidently set aside for Jean to carry
thither himself upon his next visit. So far, therefore, he was assured
that all went well.
"God is great!" said Francis the Scot aloud; and the captive Turk who
rowed outside oar, catching the well-known formula, added instantly,
"And Mohammed is His prophet."
But on this occasion, at least, he was mistaken. For--like many a good
proselyte who knows little of his master's doctrine yet draws converts
notwithstanding--not Mohammed or Another, but plain, flippant,
light-hearted John d'Albret was on this occasion the Prophet of the
Lord.