Guy had found his mornings hang heavy on his hands, as of course he had
been obliged to give up attending the fencing-school. Going down to the
river now, he sat there watching the passing boats until nearly one
o'clock, and then returned to the fair. Before reaching the booth Katarina
joined him.
"I have been watching for you, Monsieur Guy. Father said it was as well
that you should not, twice in a day, be seen entering his place. He bade
me tell you that the three gentlemen have been to him and will not re-enter Paris."
"Did you see Simon this morning?"
"Yes, he only told me that the market men would have an interview with the
Duke of Aquitaine to-morrow, and would demand the arrest of those whom the
Duke of Burgundy had pointed out as his enemies. He said that they would
go in such force that the duke would be unable to refuse their request.
Although it was so early, I think that the man had been drinking. My
father, when I told him, said I should go no more to meet him."
"I am very glad to hear it," Guy said. "He is a low scoundrel, and though
I say not but that the information obtained from him may have been of some
advantage, for indeed it was the means of my being enabled to save our
lives and those of my Burgundian friends, I like not the thought of your
going to meet him; and I am sure that if he were to take the idea into his
thick head that it was not for the advantage of the Duke of Burgundy that
the information he had given was being used, he is capable of denouncing
you."
"I did not mind meeting him,", the girl said. "I never went into the rough
quarters, but always met him in one of the better squares or streets.
Still, I am glad that I have not to go again. I think that he had been
drinking all night, and with his unwashed face and his bloodshot eyes and
his foul attire I was ashamed even in my present dress to speak with him."
"I hope that I have done with him too," Guy said. "Of course, for my
mistress's sake, I shall go again if there be aught to be learnt by it,
but as it seems he is now no longer to be trusted it is not likely that
any advantage is to be gained by visiting him. However, I shall hear what
your father thinks this evening."
Upon talking over the matter with the astrologer the latter at once said
that he thought that it would be better for him not to go to Simon's
again.
"When he finds that my daughter meets him no more he will feel aggrieved.
I myself shall go in disguise to-morrow to meet him in the Place de Grève,
and tell him that for the present there will be no occasion for him to
come to the rendezvous, as the events of the meeting which will have taken
place before I see him show that there can be no doubt that the butchers
are ready to go all lengths against the Orleanist party; but that if any
change should occur, and private information be required, you would go to
his lodging again, I shall make no allusion to his having given me none of
the names save those furnished by the duke, or remark on the strangeness
that, having been at the meeting, he should have heard nothing of the
measures proposed against the others; his own conscience will no doubt
tell him that his failure is one of the causes of my no longer desiring
any messages from him. I have other means of gaining information, as I
have one of the medical students who follow that cracked-brained fellow,
John de Troyes, in my pay. Hitherto I have not employed him largely, but
shall now, if need be, avail myself of his services. But I do not think
that I shall have any occasion to do so. After the demand by the Parisians
for so many nobles and gentlemen to be arrested, it will be clear to all
adhering to Orleans that Paris is no longer a place for them, and even the
followers of Burgundy will see that those the duke regarded as his
servants have become his masters, and there will be but few persons of
quality remaining in Paris, and therefore, save when some citizen wishes
to consult me, I shall have little to do here save to carry on my work as
a quack outside the gates. Even this I can drop for a time, for the people
of Paris will not be inclined for pleasure when at any moment there may be
fierce fighting in the streets. I shall be well content to look on for a
time. I have been almost too busy of late. And it was but yesterday that I
received news from a Carthusian monk,--whom I thought it as well to engage
to let me know what is passing,--that there have been debates among some
of the higher clergy upon reports received that persons, evidently
disguised, call upon me at late hours, and that I practise diabolic arts.
A determination has been arrived at that an inquisition shall be made into
my doings, my house is to be searched, and myself arrested and tried by
the judge for having dealings with the devil. This news much disturbed me;
however, when you told me that the Archbishop of Bourges was among those
on the list of accused, and also Boisratier, confessor to the queen, it is
evident that these good ecclesiastics will have ample matter of another
sort to attend to, and are not likely to trouble themselves about sorcery
at present."
On the following morning some twelve thousand White Hoods marched to the
Hôtel de St. Pol, and the leaders, on being admitted, found all the great
lords assembled. After making various propositions they presented a roll
to the Duke of Aquitaine containing the names of those they charged with
being traitors. He at first refused to take it; but so many of their
followers at once poured into the great hall that he was obliged to do so,
and to read out the names. Twenty of those mentioned in the list were at
once, in spite of the protest of the duke, arrested and carried off; a
proclamation was made by sound of trumpet in all the squares of Paris
summoning the other forty named to appear within a few days, under penalty
of having their property confiscated. A week later the king, having
recovered his health, went to the church of Notre Dame, he and all the
nobles with him wearing white hoods. Four days later the Parisians rose
again, seized the gates, drew up the bridges, placed strong guards at each
point, and a cordon of armed men outside the walls all round the city, to
prevent any from escaping by letting themselves down from the walls.
Parties of ten armed men were placed in every street, and the sheriffs and
other leaders marched a large body of men to the Hôtel de St. Pol and
surrounded it by a line three deep. They then entered and found the king,
dukes, and nobles all assembled in the great hall.
They then ordered a Carmelite friar, named Eustace, to preach to the king.
He took for his text, "_Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman
waketh but in vain_," and upon this discoursed on the bad state of the
government of the kingdom, and of the crimes committed. The Chancellor of
France demanded of the friar when he had concluded who were those who had
incited him thus to speak, and the leaders at once said they had done so,
and called up a number of other leaders, who on bended knees declared to
the king that Father Eustace had spoken their sentiments; that they had
the sincerest love for the king and his family, and that what they had
done had been for the welfare of himself and the kingdom. While this was
going on, the Duke of Burgundy, at once indignant and alarmed at this
insolence of the Parisians, had gone out, and, finding the lines of armed
men surrounding the hotel, had earnestly entreated them to retire, saying
that it was neither decent nor expedient that the king, who had but just
recovered from his illness, should thus see them drawn up in battle array
round his abode. Those he addressed replied like the leaders within, that
they were there for the good of the kingdom, and then gave him a roll,
saying that they should not depart until those written on it were
delivered up to them.
With the names of Louis of Bavaria, five knights, an archbishop and
priest, were those of nine ladies of high rank, including the eldest
daughter of the constable. The duke found that neither his authority nor
powers were of the slightest avail, and returning to the queen, showed her
the list. She was greatly troubled, and begged him to go with the Duke of
Aquitaine and beg the Parisians in her name to wait for eight days, and
that she would at the end of that time allow them to arrest her brother.
The two dukes went out to the Parisians, but they positively refused to
grant the request, and declared that they would go up to the queen's
apartments and take those named by force, even in her or the king's
presence, unless they were given up. On their return to the queen they
found Louis of Bavaria and the king with her. On their report of the
Parisians' demands the Duke of Bavaria went out and begged them to take
him into custody, and that if he were found guilty they could punish him,
but that if found innocent he should be allowed to go back to Bavaria,
under a promise not to return to France again. He begged them to be
content with taking him a prisoner, and to arrest no others.
They would not, however, abate one jot of their pretensions, and the whole
of those demanded were at once brought out, including the ladies. They
were put two and two on horseback, each horse escorted by four men-at-arms, and were carried to various prisons. The Duke of Burgundy now, with
his usual craft, professed to be well satisfied with what the Parisians
had done, and handed over to them the Duke of Bar and the other prisoners
confined in the Louvre, for whose security he had solemnly pledged
himself. The Parisians then obliged the king to appoint twelve knights,
nominated by themselves, and six examiners, to try the prisoners and
punish all found guilty, while the dukes were obliged to draw up a
statement and send it to the University for their seal of approval of what
had been done.
The University, however, to their honour, stood firm; and while king and
nobles had quailed before the violence of the crowd, they declared in full
council before the king that they would in nowise intermeddle or advise in
the business; and that so far from having advised the arrests of the dukes
and other prisoners, they were much displeased at what had taken place.
The University was a power; its buildings were strong, and the students
were numerous, and at all times ready to take part in brawls against the
Parisians; and even the butchers, violent as they were, were afraid to
take steps against it.
They foresaw, however, that the position taken up by the University might
lead some day to an inquiry into their conduct, and therefore obtained
from the king an edict declaring that all that had been done was done by
his approval and for the security of his person and the state, and that
the arrests and imprisonments were therefore to be considered and regarded
as having been done for the true honour and profit of the crown, and that
he accordingly commanded all his councillors, judges, and officers to
proclaim that this was so in all public places. This was signed by the
king in council, the Dukes of Berri and Burgundy, and several other nobles
and ecclesiastics, by the Chancellor of Burgundy, and other knights
attached to the duke.
Many nobles quitted Paris at once, either openly or in disguise, including
many of the Burgundian party, who were to the last degree indignant at
what was going on; for the mock trials were at once commenced, and many of
the prisoners, without regard to sex, were daily either put to death in
prison or drowned in the Seine. Some of the bodies were exhibited on
gibbets, the heads of others were fixed on lances, and some of them were
beheaded in the market-place. During this time Paris remained in a state
of terror, bands of armed butchers parading the streets were loud in their
threats as to what would be done to all who did not join heartily with
them. None of the better class ventured from their houses, and the mob
were absolute masters of the city. The leaders, however, maintained for
the time a certain degree of order. For the time they were anxious to
appear in the light of earnest friends of the king, and as carrying out in
his name the punishment of his enemies. But many tumults, murders, and
conflagrations occurred in the city, and the country in general soon
perceived the real nature of their doings. It was known that the Orleanist
forces were marching against the city. The Count d'Eu had left Paris and
returned to his estates, where he raised two thousand men-at-arms and
marched to Verneuil, where the Dukes of Orleans, Brittany, and Bourbon
were assembled, with a number of great lords, among whom were the Counts
of Vettus and D'Alençon, the king's sons. The former had made his escape
from Paris, and brought letters from the Duke of Aquitaine declaring that
he himself, with the king and queen, were prisoners in the hands of the
Parisians.
All these nobles met in a great assembly, and letters were written to the
king, his great council, and to the Parisians, ordering them to allow the
Duke of Aquitaine to go wherever he pleased, and to set at liberty the
Dukes of Bar and Bavaria and all other prisoners. Should they refuse to
comply, they declared war against the town of Paris, which they declared
they would destroy, with all within it except the king and the princes of
royal blood. The Parisians compelled the king to send a friendly answer,
putting them off with excuses, and in the meantime to despatch
commissaries to all the towns and baronies of France assuring them that
the trials and executions of the traitors had been fairly conducted and
their guilt proved, and calling upon the country to take up arms to aid
Paris against various nobles who were traitorously advancing against it.
During this time Guy remained quietly in his lodging with the four
retainers, seldom stirring abroad. The men were now regarded by all their
neighbours as honest carpenters, and they shared the indignation of the
great body of the craft at this usurpation by the market men of the
government of France, and at the murders of knights and ladies that were
daily taking place. At present, however, the opponents of the butchers
dared not resort to arms. So great had been the fear that they excited
that most men, however much at heart opposed to them, had been constrained
to appear to side with and agree with them, and as there was no means of
knowing who could be counted upon to join the carpenters were these to
take up arms, the latter could not venture alone to enter the lists
against the armed host of the other party.
One evening Guy, who had not been near the Italian's for over a fortnight,
received a message from Dame Margaret to say that she wished to speak to
him, for that she had determined, if any way of escape could be decided
on, to quit Paris, and to endeavour to make her way to Villeroy. He was
greatly pleased at the news. He had himself ventured to urge this step on
the day after the Duke of Bar and his companions were seized, pointing out
that it was evident that the Duke of Burgundy had neither the power nor
the inclination to thwart the Parisians, and that although both parties
were now nominally hostile to the English, neither were likely, at so
critical a time, to give so much as a thought to Villeroy. Dame Margaret
had agreed to this, but considered the difficulties of getting out of
Paris and traversing the intervening country were so great that she
preferred to wait until some change took place in the situation of Paris.
But it was now too evident that the changes were entirely for the worse,
and that if discovered the butchers would undoubtedly add her and her
children to their long list of victims.
His companions were equally glad when Guy told them the news.
"The sooner the better, Master Guy," Long Tom said. "I own that I should
like to have a tussle with these rascals before I go; their doings are so
wicked that every honest man must want to get one fair blow at them.
Still, I don't see any chance of that, for although the good fellows round
here grumble under their breath, there does not seem any chance of their
doing anything. There is not an hour passes that my heart is not in my
mouth if I hear a step on the stairs, thinking that they may have found
out where my lady is hidden."
Guy had just turned into the street where the astrologer dwelt when he
heard loud voices from a little group in front of him. Four armed men,
whose white hoods showed that they were one of the butchers' patrols, were
standing round a slight figure.
"It is well you stopped him, comrade," a voice said, that Guy recognized
at once as being that of Simon Bouclier. "I know the young fellow; he has
been to me many a time on the part of a knave who professed to be an agent
of Burgundy's, making inquiries of me as to the doings in our quarter. I
have found out since that the duke employed no such agent, and this matter
must be inquired into. We will take him with us to the market; they will
soon find means of learning all about him and his employer."
Guy felt at once that if Katarina were carried to the butchers, not only
would the consequences to herself be terrible, but that she would be
forced to make such disclosures as would lead to the arrest of the count,
and to the discovery of Dame Margaret. He determined at all hazards to get
her out of these men's hands. The girl made a sudden attempt to free
herself, slipped from the grasp that one of the men had of her shoulder,
dived between two others, and would have been off had not Simon seized her
by the arm. Guy sprung forward and threw himself on the butcher, and with
such force that Simon rolled over in the gutter.
"Run, run!" he shouted at the same moment to Katarina, who darted down a
lane to the left, while he himself ran forward and turned down the first
lane to the right with the three men in hot pursuit of him. Young, active,
and unencumbered by armour, he gained on them rapidly; but when he neared
the end of the lane he saw some five or six White Hoods, whose attention
had been called by the shouts of his pursuers, running to meet him. He
turned and ran back till close to those who had been following him, and
then suddenly sprung into a doorway when they were but three or four paces
from him. They were unable to check their speed, and as they passed he
brought his sword down on the neck of the one nearest, and as he fell to
the ground Guy leapt out and ran up the street again. He had gone but ten
paces when he met Simon, who rushed at him furiously with an uplifted axe.
Springing aside as the blow descended he delivered a slashing cut on the
butcher's cheek, dashed past him, and kept on his way. He took the first
turning, and then another, leading, like that in which he had been
intercepted, towards the river. His pursuers were fifty yards behind him,
but he feared that at any moment their shouts would attract the attention
of another patrol. More than once, indeed, he had to alter his direction
as he heard sounds of shouts in front of him, but at last, after ten
minutes' running, he came down on to the main thoroughfare at the point
where the street leading to the bridge across to the island issued from
it.
[Illustration: "GUY DELIVERED A SLASHING BLOW ON THE BUTCHER'S CHEEK, AND
DASHED PAST HIM."]
His pursuers were still but a short distance away, for fresh parties who
had joined them had taken up the chase, and Guy was no longer running at
the speed at which he had started. His great fear was that he should be
stopped at the gate at the end of the bridge; but as there was no fear of
attack this had been left open, so as not to interfere with the traffic
between that quarter of the city on the island and those on the opposite
banks. Guy was now again running his hardest, in order to get across far
enough ahead of his pursuers to enable him to hide himself, when a strong
patrol of some twenty White Hoods issued from the gate at the other side
of the bridge. Without a moment's hesitation he climbed the parapet and
threw himself over. It would, he knew, be as bad for his mistress were he
captured as if Katarina had fallen into their hands, for if caught he felt
sure that tortures would be applied to discover who he was and where his
mistress was hidden, and he had made up his mind that if he was overtaken
he would fight until killed rather than be captured.
When he came to the surface of the water Guy turned on his back and
suffered himself to float down until he recovered his breath. When he did
so he raised his head and, treading the water, listened attentively. He
was now nearly a quarter of a mile below the bridge. There was no sound of
shouting behind him, but he felt sure that the pursuit was in no way
abandoned. Already torches were flashing on the quay between the wall and
the river, and in a short time others appeared on his left. On both sides
there were dark spaces where the walls of the great chateaux of the nobles
extended down to the water's side, and obliged those pursuing him along
the quays to make a detour round them to come down again to the bank. He
could hardly succeed in reaching one of these buildings without being
seen, for the light of the torches on the opposite shore would be almost
certain to betray his movements as soon as he began to swim, and even if
he did reach the shore unseen he might at once be handed over to the White
Hoods by those in the hotel. He therefore remained floating on his back,
and in twenty minutes was beyond the line of the city wall. He could now
swim without fear of being discovered, and made for the southern shore.
It was now the middle of June, and the water was fairly warm, but he was
glad to be out of it. So far as Guy had heard he had not been caught sight
of from the moment that he had sprung from the bridge. It might well be
supposed that he had been drowned. Climbing up the bank he gained, after
walking a quarter of a mile, the forest that surrounded Paris on all
sides. Going some distance into it he threw himself down, after first
taking off his doublet and hanging it on a bush to dry. He had escaped the
first pressing danger, that of being taken and tortured into confession,
and the rest was now comparatively easy. He had but to obtain another
disguise of some sort and to re-enter Paris; he would then be in no
greater danger than before, for in the sudden attack on Simon, and in the
subsequent flight through the ill-lighted streets, he was certain that
beyond the fact that he was young and active, and that he was evidently
not a noble, no one could have noted any details of his dress, and
certainly no one could have had as much as a glance at his face.
He started at daybreak, walked through the woods up to Meudon, and thence
to Versailles, which was then little more than a village. By the time that
he reached it his clothes had thoroughly dried on him, and being of a dark
colour they looked little the worse, save that his tight pantaloons had
shrunk considerably. The stalls were just opening when he arrived there,
and he presently came upon one where garments of all sorts were hanging.
The proprietor's wife, a cheery-looking woman, was standing at the door.
"I have need of some garments, madame," he said.
"You look as if you did," she said with a smile, glancing at his ankles.
"I see that you are an apprentice, and for that sort of gear you will have
to go to Paris; we deal in country garments."
"That will suit me well enough, madame. The fact is that, as you see, I am
an apprentice; but having been badly treated, and having in truth no
stomach for the frays and alarms in Paris (where the first man one meets
will strike one down, and if he slays you it matters not if he but shout
loud enough that he has killed an Orleanist), I have left my master, and
have no intention of returning as an apprentice. But I might be stopped
and questioned at every place I pass through on my way home did I travel
in this 'prentice dress, and I would, therefore, fain buy the attire of a
young peasant."
The woman glanced up and down the street.
"Come in," she said. "You know that it is against the law to give shelter
to a runaway apprentice, but there are such wild doings in Paris that for
my part I can see no harm in assisting anyone to escape, whether he be a
noble or an apprentice, and methinks from your speech that you are as like
to be the former as the latter. But," she went on, seeing that Guy was
about to speak, "tell me naught about it. My husband, who ought to be
here, is snoring upstairs, and I can sell what I will; therefore, look
round and take your choice of garments, and go into the parlour behind the
shop and don them quickly before anyone comes in. As to your own I will
pay you what they are worth, for although those pantaloons are all too
tight for those strong limbs of yours they may do for a slighter figure."
Guy was soon suited, and in a few minutes left the shop in a peasant's
dress, and made his way along the village until beyond the houses. Then he
left the road, made a long detour, and returned to Sèvres. Here he first
purchased a basket, which he took outside the place and hid in a bush.
Then he went down into the market and bargained for vegetables, making
three journeys backwards and forwards, and buying each time of different
women, until his basket was piled up. Then he got a piece of old rope for
two or three sous, slung the basket on his shoulders, crossed the ferry,
and made for Paris. He felt strange without his sword, which he had
dropped into the water on landing; for although in Paris every one now
went armed, a sword would have been out of character with his dress, in
the country, and still more so in the disguise in which he had determined
to re-enter the town. He passed without question through the gate, and
made his way to his lodgings. As he entered Long Tom leapt up with a cry
of joy.
"Thank God that you are safe, Master Guy! We have been grievously
disturbed for your safety, for the count came here early this morning in
disguise to ask if we had heard aught of you. He said that his daughter
had returned last night saying that you had rescued her from the hands of
the White Hoods, and that beyond the fact that they had followed you in
hot pursuit she had no news of you, and that the countess was greatly
alarmed as to your safety. The other three men-at-arms started at once to
find out if aught could be learned of you. I would fain have gone also,
but the count said that I must bide here in case you should come, and that
there was trouble enough at present without my running the risk of being
discovered. An hour since Robert Picard returned; he had been listening to
the talk of the White Hoods, and had learned that one of their number had
been killed and another sorely wounded by a man who had rescued a prisoner
from the hands of a patrol. He had been chased by a number of them, and
finally threw himself off the bridge into the Seine to avoid falling into
their hands. The general idea was that he was one of the nobles in
disguise, of whom they were in search, and that the capture would have
been a very important one.
"All agreed that he could never have come up alive, for there were bands
of men with torches along both banks, and no sign of him had been
perceived. However, they are searching the river down, and hope to come
upon his body either floating or cast ashore. Robert went out again to try
and gather more news, leaving me well-nigh distraught here."
"The story is true as far as it goes, Tom. I did catch one of them a back-handed blow just under his helmet as he ran past me, and I doubt not that
it finished him; as to the other, I laid his cheek open. It was a hot
pursuit, but I should have got away had it not been that a strong patrol
came out through the gate at the other end of the bridge just as I was in
the middle, and there was no course but to jump for it. I thrust my sword
into the sheath, and went over. It added somewhat to my weight in the
water, and it sunk my body below the surface, but with the aid of my hands
paddling I floated so that only my nose and mouth were above the water; so
that it is little wonder that they could not make me out. I landed on the
other bank a quarter of a mile beyond the walls, slept in the forest,
started this morning from Versailles, where I got rid of my other clothes
and bought these. I purchased this basket and the vegetables at Sèvres,
then walked boldly in. No one could have seen my face in the darkness, and
therefore I am safe from detection, perhaps safer than I was before."
"Well done, Master Guy; they would have killed you assuredly if they had
caught you."
"It was not that that I was afraid of--it was of being taken prisoner. You
see, if they had captured me and carried me before the butchers in order
to inquire who I was before cutting my throat, they might have put me to
the torture and forced me to say who I was, and where my mistress was in
hiding. I hope if they had, that I should have stood out; but none can say
what he will do when he has red-hot pincers taking bits out of his flesh,
and his nails, perhaps, being torn out at the roots. So even if I could
not have swam a stroke I should have jumped off the bridge."
"You did well, Master Guy," the archer said admiringly; "for indeed they
say that the strongest man cannot hold out against these devilish
tortures."
At this moment a step was heard on the stairs, and Jules Varoy entered.
"The saints be praised!" he exclaimed as he recognized Guy. "I thought
that you were drowned like a rat, Master Guy; and though Tom here told us
that you could swim well, I never thought to see you again."
Guy told him in a few words how he had escaped, and begged him to carry
the news to his mistress. He was about to give him the address--for up
till now he had refrained from doing so, telling them that it was from no
doubt of their fidelity, but that if by any chance one of them fell into
the hands of the White Hoods they might endeavour to wring from them the
secret, and it was therefore best that they should not be burdened with
it--but the man stopped him.
"The count told us that he would be at his booth at the fair at eleven
o'clock, and that if any of us obtained any news we were to take it to him
there. He said that there were several parties of White Hoods in the
streets, and that as he went past he heard them say that the boy of whom
they were in search was a messenger of some person of importance at court,
and that doubtless the man who had rescued him was also in the plot, and
that a strict watch was to be kept on the quarter both for the boy and for
the man, who was said to be tall and young. Simon, who had been wounded by
him, had declared that he knew him to be connected with the boy; that he
was a young man with dark hair, and was in the habit of using disguises,
sometimes wearing the dress of an apprentice, and at other times that of a
butcher's assistant. He said that he was about twenty-three."
Guy smiled. He understood that the butcher, who was a very powerful man,
did not like to own that the man who had killed one of his comrades and
had severely wounded himself was but a lad.
"As you go, Jules," he said, "will you see Maître Leroux and ask him if he
can come hither, for I would consult him on the matter."