AN ENCOUNTER AT THE BRIDGE
Some part of the interview with the commandant which had resulted in
their release the jester told his companion as they sped down the
sloping plain in the early silvery light which transformed the
dew-drops and grassy moisture into veils of mist. Behind them the
château was slowly fading from view; the town had already disappeared.
Around them the singing of the birds, the cooing of the cushat doves
and the buzzing of the bees, mingled in dreamy cadence. On each side
stretched the plain which, washed by recent heavy rains, was now
spangled with new-grown flowers; here, far apart in sequestered beauty;
there, clustering companionably in a mass of color.
"Upon the strength of the letter from the emperor, the vicomte took the
responsibility of allowing us to depart," explained the fool. "In it
his Majesty referred to his message to the king, to the part played by
him who took the place of the duke, and what he was pleased to term my
services to Francis and himself."
So much the _plaisant_ related, but he did not add that the commandant,
with Triboulet's words in mind, had at first demurred about permitting
the jestress to go. "_Vrai Dieu_!" that person had exclaimed. "If
what the dwarf said be true? To cross the king!--and yet," he had
added cynically, "it sounds most unlike. Did Aladdin flee from the
genii of the lamp? Such a magician is Francis. Châteaux,
gardens--'tis clearly an invention of Triboulet's!" And the fallacy of
this conclusion the duke's _plaisant_ had not sought to demonstrate.
Without question, the young girl listened, but when he had finished her
features hardened. Intuitively she divined a gap in the narrative;
herself! From the dwarf's slur to Caillette's gentle look of surprise
constituted a natural span for reflection. And the duke's fool, seeing
her face turn cold, attributed it, perhaps, to another reason. Her
story recurred to him; she was no longer a nameless jestress; an
immeasurable distance separated a mere _plaisant_ from the survivor of
one of the noblest, if most unfortunate, families of France. She had
not answered the night before when he had addressed her as the daughter
of the constable; motionless as a statue had she gazed after him; and,
remembering the manner of their parting, he now looked at her curiously.
"All's well that ends well," he said, "but I must crave indulgence,
Lady Jacqueline, for having brought you into such peril."
She flushed. "Do you persist in that foolishness?" she returned
quickly.
"Do you deny the right to be so called?"
"Did I not tell you--the constable's daughter is dead?"
"To the world! But to the fool--may he not serve her?"
His face was expectant; his voice, light yet earnest. Her answer was
half-sad, half-bright, as though her tragedy, like those acted dramas,
had its less somber lines. And in the stage versions of those dark,
mournful pieces were not the softer bits introduced with cap and bell?
The fool's stick and the solemn march of irresistible and lowering
destiny went hand in hand. Everywhere the tinkle of the tiny bells.
"Poor service!" she retorted. "A discredited mistress!"
"One I am minded for," he replied, a sudden flash in his eyes.
She looked away; her lips curved.
"For how long?" she said, half-mockingly, and touched her horse before
he could reply.
What words had her action checked on his lips? A moment was he
disconcerted, then riding after her, he smiled, thinking how once he
had carelessly passed her by; how he had looked upon her but as a
wilful child.
A child, forsooth! His pulses throbbed fast. Life had grown strangely
sweet, as though from her look, when she had stood on the stairs, he
had drawn new zest. To serve her seemed a happiness that drowned all
other ills; a selfish bond of subordination. Her misfortunes dignified
her; her worn gown was dearer in his eyes than courtly splendor; the
disorder of her hair more becoming than nets of gold and coifs of
jewels. He forgot their danger; the broad plain lay like a pleasure
garden before them; fairer in natural beauty than Francis' conventional
parks.
And she, too, had ceased to remember the dwarf's words, for the joy of
youth is strong, and the sunshine and air were rarely intoxicating.
There was a stirring rhythm in the movement of the steeds; noiselessly
their hoofs beat upon the soft earth and tender mosses. The rains
which elsewhere had flooded the lowlands here but enlivened the vernal
freshness of the scene. The air was full of floating thistle-down; a
cloud of insects dancing in the light, parted to let them pass.
At the sight of a bush, white with flowers, she uttered an exclamation
of pleasure, and broke off a branch covered with fragrant blossoms, as
they rode by. Out of the depths of this store-house of sweets a
plundering humming-bird flashed and vanished, a jewel from nature's
crown! She held the branch to her face and he glanced at her covertly;
she was all jestress again. The cadence of that measured motion shaped
itself to an ancient lyric in keeping with the song of birds, the blue
sky, and the wild roses.
"Hark! hark!
Pretty lark!
Little heedest thou my pain."
He bent his head listening; he could scarcely hear the words. Was it a
sense of new security that moved her; the reaction of their narrow
escape; the knowledge they were leaving the château and all danger
behind them?
"Hark! hark!
Pretty lark!--"
Boom! Far in the distance sounded the discharge of a cannon--its iron
voice the antithesis to the poet's dainty pastoral. As the report
reverberated over the valley, from the grass innumerable insects arose;
the din died away; the disturbed earth-dwellers sank back to earth
again. The song ceased from the young girl's lips, and, gazing quickly
back, she could just distinguish, above one of the parapets of the
château, a wreath, already nearly dissolved in the blue of the sky.
The jester, who had also turned in his saddle, met her look of inquiry.
"It sounds like a signal of some kind--a salute, perhaps," he said.
"Or a call to arms?" she suggested, and he made no answer. "It
means--pursuit!"
Silent they rode on, but more rapidly. With pale face and composed
mien she kept by his side; her resolute expression reassured him, while
her glance said: "Do not fear for me." Gradually had they been
descending from the higher slopes of the country of which the
château-mount was the loftiest point and now were passing through the
lower stretches of land.
Here, the highway ran above fields, inundated by recent rains, and
marshes converted into shining lakes. Out of the water uprose a grove
of trees, spectral-like; screaming wild-fowl skimmed the surface, or
circled above. The pastoral peace of the meadows, garden of the wild
flower and home of the song-bird, was replaced by a waste of desolation
and wilderness. Long they dashed on through the loneliness of that
land; a depressing flight--but more depressing than the abandoned and
forlorn aspect of the scene was the consciousness that their steeds had
become road-worn and were unable to respond. Long, long, they
continued this pace, a strained period of suspense, and then the fool
drew rein.
"Look, Jacqueline," he said. "The river!"
Before them, fed by the rivulets from the distant hills, the foaming
current threatened to overflow its banks. Already the rising waters
touched the flimsy wooden structure that spanned the torrent.
Contemplatively he regarded it, and then placing his hand for a moment
on hers, said encouragingly:
"Perhaps, after all, we are borrowing trouble?"
She shook her head. "If I could but think it," she answered.
Something seemed to rise in her throat. "A moment I forgot, and--was
not unhappy! But now I feel as though the end was closing about us."
He tightened his grasp. "You are worn with fatigue; fanciful!" he
replied.
"The end!" she repeated, passionately. "Yes; the end!" And threw off
his hand. "Look!"
He followed her eyes. "Waving plumes!" he cried. "And drawing nearer!
Come, Jacqueline! let us ride on!"
"How?" she answered, in a lifeless tone. "The bridge will not hold."
For answer he turned his horse to it; proceeded slowly across. It
wavered and bent; her wide-opened eyes followed him; once she lifted
her hand to her breast, and then became conscious he stood on the
opposite bank, calling her to follow. She started; a strange smile was
on her lips, and touching her horse sharply, she obeyed.
"Is it to death he has called me?" she asked herself.
In her ears sounded the swash and eddying of the current; she closed
her eyes to keep from falling, when she felt a hand on the bridle, and
in a moment had reached the opposite shore. The jester made no motion
to remount, but remained at her horse's head, closely surveying the
road they had traveled.
"Must we go on?" she said, mechanically.
"Only one of them can cross at a time," he answered, without stirring.
"It is better to meet them here."
"Oh," she spoke up, "if the waters would only rise a little more and
carry away the bridge."
He glanced quickly around him, weighing the slender chance for success
if he made that last desperate stand, and then, grasping a loose plank,
began using it as a lever against one of the weakened supports of the
bridge. Soon the beam gave way, and the structure, now held but at the
middle and one side, had already begun to sag, when from around the
curve of the highway appeared Louis of Hochfels, and a dozen of his
followers.
The free baron rode to the brim of the torrent, regarded the flood and
the bridge, and stopped. He was mounted on a black Spanish barb whose
glistening sides were flecked with foam; a cloak of cloth of gold fell
from his brawny shoulders; his heavy, red face looked out from beneath
a sombrero, fringed with the same metal. A gleam of grim recollection
shone from his bloodshot eyes as they rested on the fool.
"Oh, there you are!" he shouted, with savage satisfaction. "Out of the
frying-pan into the fire! Or rather--for you escaped the fagots at
Notre Dame--out of the fire into the frying-pan!"
Above the tumult of the torrent his stentorian tones were plainly
heard. Without response, the jester inserted the plank between the
structure and the middle support. The other, perceiving his purpose,
uttered an execration that was drowned by the current, and irresolutely
regarded the means of communication between the two shores, obviously
undetermined about trusting his great bulk to that fragile intermedium.
Here was a temporary check on which he had not calculated. But if he
demurred about crossing himself, the free baron did not long display
the same infirmity of purpose regarding his followers.
"Over with you!" he cried angrily to them. "The lightest first! Fifty
pistoles to the first across!" And then, calling out to the fool: "In
half an hour, you, my fine wit-cracker, shall be hanging from a branch.
As for the maid, she is a witch, I am told--we will test her with
drowning."
Tempted by their leader's offer, one of the troopers, a lank,
muscular-looking fellow, at once drove the spurs into his horse. Back
and forth moved the lever in the hands of the jester; the soldier was
midway on the bridge, when it sank suddenly to one side. A moment it
acted as a dam, then bridge, horse and rider were swept away with a
crash and carried downward with the driving flood. Vainly the trooper
sought to turn his steed toward the shore; the debris from the
structure soon swept him from his saddle. Striking out strongly, he
succeeded in catching a trailing branch from a tree on the bank, but
the torrent gripped his body fiercely, and, after a desperate struggle,
tore him away.
As his helpless follower disappeared, the free baron gave a brief
command, and he and his troops posted rapidly down the bank. The young
girl breathed a sigh of relief; her eyes were yet full of awe from the
death struggle she had witnessed. Fascinated, her gaze had rested on
the drowning wretch; the pale face, the look of terror; but now she was
called to a realization of their own situation by the abrupt departure
of the squad on the opposite shore.
"They have gone," she cried, in surprise, as the party vanished among
the trees.
"But not far." The jester's glance was bent down the stream. "See,
where the torrent broadens. They expect to find a fording place."
Once more they set forth; he knowing full well that the free baron and
his men, accustomed to the mountain torrents, unbridled by the melting
snows, would, in all likelihood, soon find a way to cross the freshet.
His mind misgave him that he had loosened the bridge at all. Would it
not have been better to force the conflict there, when he had the
advantage of position? But right or wrong, he had made his choice and
must abide by it.
To add to his discomfiture, his horse, which at first had lagged, now
began to limp, and, as they proceeded, this lameness became more
apparent. With a twinge of heart, he plied the spur more strongly, and
the willing but broken creature responded as best it could. Again it
hastened its pace, seeming in a measure to recover strength and
endurance, then, without warning, lurched, fell to its knees and
quickly rolled over on its side. Jacqueline glanced back; the animal
lay motionless; the rider was vainly endeavoring to rise. Pale with
apprehension she returned, and, dismounting, stood at the head of the
prostrate animal. Determinedly the jester struggled, the perspiration
standing on his brow in beads. At length, breathing hard, he rested
his head on his elbow.
"Here am I caught to stay, Jacqueline!" he said. "The horse is dead.
But you--you must still go on."
With clasped hands she stood looking down at him. She scarcely knew
what he was saying; her mind seemed in a stupor; with apathetic eyes
she gazed down the road. But the accident had happened in a little
hollow, so that the outlook in either direction along the highway was
restricted.
"My emperor is both chivalrous and noble," continued the _plaisant_,
quickly. "Go to him. You must not wait here longer. I did not tell
you, but I think the free baron will have no difficulty in crossing.
You have no time to lose. Go; and--good-by!"
"But--he had a long way to ride--even if he could cross," she said
slowly, passing her hand over her brow.
"Jacqueline!" he cried out, impatiently.
She made no motion to leave, and, reading in her face her
determination, angered by his own helplessness, he strove violently to
release himself, until wrenching his foot in his frantic efforts, he
sank back with a groan. At that sound of pain, wrung from him in spite
of his fortitude, all her seeming apathy vanished. With a low cry, she
dropped on her knees in the road and swiftly took his head in her arms.
It was he, not the young girl, who spoke first. He forgot all
peril--hers and his. He only knew her warm, young arms were about him;
that her heart was throbbing wildly.
"Jacqueline!" he cried, passionately. "Jacqueline!" And threw an arm
about her, drawing her closer, closer.
Did she hear him? She did not reply. Nor did she release him. She
did not even look down. But he felt her bosom rising and falling
faster than its wont.
"Jacqueline," he repeated, "are you listening?"
She stirred slightly; the pallor left her face. In her gaze shone a
light difficult to divine--pity, tenderness, a warmer passion? Where
had he seen it before? In the cell when he lay injured; in his waking
dreams? It seemed the sudden dawn of the full beauty of her eyes; a
half-remembered impression which now became real. Yet even as she
looked down his face changed; his eager glance grew dark; he listened
intently.
The sound of horses' hoofs beat upon the air.
"Jacqueline!--go!--there is yet time!"
Abruptly she arose. He held out his hand for a last quick pressure; a
God-speed to this stanch maid-comrade of the motley.
"God keep you, mistress!"
Standing in the road, gazing up the hollow, she neither saw his hand
nor caught his words of farewell. An expression of bewilderment had
overspread her features; quickly she glanced in the opposite direction.
"See! see!" she exclaimed, excitedly.
But he was past response; overcome by pain, in a last desperate attempt
to regain his feet, he had lost consciousness. As he fell back, above
the hill in the direction she was looking, appeared the black plumes of
a band of horsemen.
"No; they are not--"
Her glance rested on the jester, lying there motionless, and hastening
to his side, she lifted his head and placed it in her lap. So the
troopers of the Emperor Charles--a small squad of outriders--found her
sitting in the road, her hair disordered about her, her face the whiter
against that black shroud.