Tracked, or Not?
"That is your road, monsieur. At the end of a mile a cross-road leads
straight to Etienne Cordel's dwelling. You will see the house from the
spot where the road branches. You will pardon us for our hasty
departure, but time presses. If you put up again at the inn, we may have
the pleasure of meeting you on our return."
Taking the cue from Jacques, who evidently did not intend holding a
prolonged conversation, I said: "Adieu, monsieur, and a pleasant ending
to your journey. You cannot mistake the way, now," and directly he had
thanked us for our assistance we rode on.
"Rather an abrupt departure, Jacques," I remarked presently, feeling
somewhat puzzled.
"Better that, monsieur, than wait to be asked inconvenient questions.
Did you notice that slash across his doublet? He has been pretty close
to a naked sword, and not long ago either! What does he want with
Etienne Cordel? He looks more fitted for the camp than the law courts."
"Monsieur Cordel no doubt transacts his private business for him."
"No doubt," said Jacques, with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I did not
like his appearance, and if we could spare the time I would ride back to
discover what made Pierre suddenly dumb. I warrant he misliked his
questioner; but if the stranger is seeking information, he can obtain
all he wants from Cordel."
"You are no friend to the advocate, Jacques!"
"He is a spy, monsieur, and a maker of mischief. One of these days men
will learn his true character."
"I have no liking for Cordel," I said, "but still all this has nothing
to do with our errand."
"Perhaps not, monsieur; we will hope not," replied my companion, "but
all the same, I wish we had started an hour earlier."
Honestly I felt rather inclined to laugh at Jacques' vague fears, for
the stranger's pleasant speech and affable manner had impressed me, and
I could not think of him in any other light than that of a courteous and
gallant gentleman. In spite of wise saws, one is often tempted to
believe that occasionally fine feathers make fine birds.
We rode on steadily, stopping for an hour or two during the hottest part
of the day, and putting up late at night at a dilapidated inn in a
half-deserted village. The landlord, a bent, feeble, old man, had gone
to bed, but he set about preparing some supper, while, since there was
no ostler, we fed and groomed the animals ourselves.
"We must start at daybreak," said Jacques, when we had finished our
meal; "that will give us four hours' sleep."
"Fourteen would suit me better!" I laughed, as we followed our host to
the guest-chamber, and, indeed, I was so thoroughly tired that my head
scarcely touched the pillow before I was sound asleep.
It was still dark when Jacques roused me, and by dawn we were once more
on the road. On this second day's journey the ravages of the late war
were plainly apparent, and the sights made one's heart ache. The fields
lay waste and untilled; the cattle, few in number, were mere bundles of
skin and bone; the villages were half-emptied of their inhabitants,
while those who remained resembled skeletons rather than human beings.
"And all this," exclaimed my companion bitterly, "is the work of the
Italian woman and her friends. It is time that Frenchmen took their
country into their own hands again, and out of the clutches of these
foreign harpies!"
"That can be done only by another war, Jacques, and surely we have had
enough of cutting one another's throats!"
"It must be either war or murder," he responded. "The Guises won't rest
until they become masters. France will swim in blood one of these days.
Do you know, monsieur, I am glad that Mademoiselle Jeanne is not at the
castle!"
Jeanne was my sister, who, since the peace, had been living at Rochelle
with an invalid aunt. She was seventeen years of age, a year older than
myself, and a girl of beauty and courage.
"You are in a gloomy mood, Jacques, and fancying all kinds of dangers
that are not likely to happen. Why, even the stranger we met at Le Blanc
alarmed you."
"He alarms me yet," replied Jacques gravely; "he is a bird of ill
omen."
"Come," I said banteringly, "let us have a canter; it will clear the
cobwebs from your brain, besides helping us on our way to Saintbreuil,"
the little town where we intended to pass the night and to procure fresh
horses. Jacques had an acquaintance at Saintbreuil--an innkeeper who
secretly favoured the Cause without possessing sufficient courage to
declare his opinions.
The night had grown somewhat late by the time of our arrival, but we
managed to secure admittance, and Jacques had no difficulty in finding
the inn--a fairly decent house in a small square.
"A quiet room, Edouard, and some supper," said my companion to the host,
"and serve us yourself. There is no need that all Saintbreuil should
learn of our being here. And be quick, for we are tired and hungry, and
there is business to transact."
The landlord, a nervous-looking fellow, took us quickly to a chamber at
the farther end of the house, and in a short time we were sitting down
to a well-spread table.
"Is the town quiet?" asked Jacques presently.
"Quiet, but uneasy. The citizens are afraid of they know not what. There
is a whisper that the peace will be broken."
"Humph! there is more than a whisper in some parts; but listen to me,
Edouard; monsieur and I are travelling fast. We have nearly foundered
our animals, and yet it is necessary to push on again directly the
gates are opened. You must procure us fresh horses, the best that can
be got."
"And the two in the stables?"
"Can go in exchange."
"You will have to pay heavily."
"Of course we shall, my dear Edouard, but monsieur is prepared to open
his purse. Get them into the stable to-night, and call us at daybreak."
"Can you trust him to procure really good animals?" I asked, when the
man had gone out.
"There are few keener judges of horseflesh than Edouard, monsieur; and
now let us to bed."
Jacques had lost his gloomy fit; there seemed little likelihood of
danger, and I slept soundly till wakened by our host. Dressing hastily
we went straight to the stables, and were more than satisfied with our
new animals. They were beautiful creatures, shaped for both speed and
endurance, and I did not grudge the money the landlord had spent.
"They should carry us to our journey's end," said Jacques in a whisper;
"the sight of them gives me fresh courage. I care not a rap of the
fingers now for our chance acquaintance!"
"The cavalier seems to have turned your brain!" I laughed.
"Maybe 'twas only an idle fancy, but I mistrusted the fellow. Perhaps
you will laugh, but I thought he might be one of those who attacked
Monsieur Devine."
"Well?" I said, startled by this statement, and yet puzzled to
understand how it affected us.
"If so, he must be trying to obtain possession of the papers. He would
follow the wounded man, and suddenly lose him. He failed to get any
information from old Pierre, and he learned little from us; but the
advocate would tell him everything."
"What could Cordel tell?" I asked, still puzzled.
"That your father, monsieur, is the chief person in the district--that
he is of the Religion--that the wounded messenger might have found
shelter in the castle."
"Yes, the advocate would certainly mention that."
"The stranger would speak of us, too, and the lawyer, recognizing the
description, would inform him who we were. That would arouse his
suspicions, for you must admit that we chose a strange hour to ride."
"And you think he would follow us?"
"That is what I feared. He is splendidly mounted, and could easily
overtake us; but now," and Jacques laughed, "the case is different."
"Even should he come up with us," I said, "he is but one against two,
and we can both handle a sword!"
My companion shrugged his shoulders. "What chance should we have in
Saintbreuil, monsieur? A word to a king's officer, and we should either
be dead, or in prison."
"Faith," I said laughing, though not with much heartiness, "you draw a
lively picture! Once outside these walls, I shall not care to venture
into a town again until we reach Tanlay."
"With these horses there should be no need."
The officer of the guard gazed at us suspiciously. "You travel early,
monsieur!" he remarked.
"Too early for comfort!" I replied, "but I must reach Nevers before
Marshal Tavannes leaves. He does not like idle excuses."
"You are right, monsieur!" replied the man, with an instant change of
expression, "one does not play tricks with the marshal. But I did not
know he was at Nevers."
"'Tis but a flying visit, I believe."
"Well, a pleasant journey to you. Have a care, though, if you ride late;
the country is infested with brigands."
Thanking him for his advice I followed after Jacques, who had taken
advantage of the conversation to ride on.
"I thought the officer might take a fancy to ask me some questions, and
I am not so intimately acquainted as you with the doings of the king's
general!" he said with a chuckle. "'Twas a bold stroke, monsieur, but it
paid."
"Yes," I said, "it paid. And now let us push forward."
Strangely enough, now that Jacques had recovered his composure I began
to feel nervous, and more than once caught myself glancing round as if
half expecting to see a body of pursuers on our track. However, we
proceeded all day without adventure, slept for two or three hours at a
village inn, and resumed our journey in high spirits.
"We should reach the Loire by midday," remarked Jacques. "Shall we go
into the town and cross by the bridge, or try for a ford? There is one a
little to the north."
"The ford will suit our purpose," I said, "and I hardly care about
trusting myself in the town."
There still wanted two hours to noon when, coming to a grassy and
tree-shaded plateau through which ran a sparkling stream, Jacques
proposed that we should rest the horses. So we dismounted, gave them a
drink, fastened them to a tree, and lay down beside them.
"Monsieur might be able to sleep," suggested Jacques. "I will watch, but
we cannot afford more than an hour."
"We will take turns," I said.
"Not at all, monsieur. I do not feel sleepy. I will waken you in good
time."
Feeling refreshed by the short rest I was just remounting when a rough,
sturdy-looking fellow came along, riding a powerful horse.
"Good-day, messieurs," he said, glancing at us, I thought, very keenly;
"am I on the right track for Nevers?"
"Yes," I answered rather curtly.
"Perhaps monsieur is himself going there? I am a stranger in these
parts."
"No," I replied, "we are not going to the town, but you cannot miss the
way."
He hung about for some time, trying to make conversation, but presently
rode on, and a bend in the road hid him from our view.
"An ugly customer to meet on a dark night, Jacques," I remarked.
"Let us push on, monsieur; that fellow meant us no good. Did you notice
his speech?"
"No."
"I did; he comes from our own neighbourhood. It is possible he has seen
us before."
"And what of that?"
"Nothing, except that it is curious," and Jacques quickened his pace.
At the end of a quarter of a mile a cross-road to the left led to the
river, and along this track we travelled. It was very narrow, so narrow,
indeed, that we were forced to ride in single file, Jacques going
before. The stranger had disappeared; no one was in sight; the
countryside seemed deserted.
"Do you know where the ford is situated?" I asked.
"I have a fairly good notion. Ah, what is that?" and he reined up
sharply.
From our position we could just catch a glimpse of several horsemen
riding swiftly along the bank of the river. They were out of sight in a
few minutes, and we proceeded in a somewhat uncomfortable frame of mind.
"They can have nothing to do with us, Jacques," I said cheerily.
"No, monsieur, nothing," he replied.
"How much farther do we go before descending?"
"About a quarter of a mile."
"Once across the river we shall be in no danger at all."
"None at all, monsieur."
"A plague on you, Jacques!" I cried, "can't you make some sensible
remark?"
"I was but agreeing with monsieur."
We had gone about four hundred yards when the track began to descend in
winding fashion toward the water. My companion was still in front, and I
noticed he had loosened his sword. I had done the same, and in addition
had seen that my pistols were in order. Somehow, a strange sense of
approaching peril, for which I could not account, hung about me.
"There is the ford," said Jacques, drawing rein, and pointing straight
ahead of him. "That is where we must cross."
"Yes," I said.
"But I cannot see the horsemen, and they should be visible from here. It
is very absurd, of course, but still, I would advise monsieur to look to
his pistols."
"I am ready, Jacques."
"Come, then, and if I say 'Gallop!' stretch your horse to his utmost."
He advanced carefully, I following, and watching him intently.
Presently, without turning round, he said: "It is as I thought; the
horsemen are there; we cannot get through without a fight."
"Then we must fight, Jacques; it is impossible to turn back. They will
not expect a rush, and we may catch them off their guard. But it will be
amusing if they turn out to be simply peaceful travellers."
"Amusing and satisfactory, monsieur. Are you ready? We will ride abreast
at the bottom; it will give us greater strength."
Jacques was a splendid horseman, and he had taught me to ride almost
from the first day I could sit a horse's back. From him, too, as well as
from my father, I had learned how to use a sword, though my weapon had
never yet been drawn in actual conflict, and even now I hoped against
hope that the horsemen below were not waiting for us.
But if Jacques' view were correct, then we must fight. Because of the
trust reposed in me, I could not yield; either I must win a way through,
or leave my dead body there on the bank.
My companion's voice recalled me to action. "Fire your pistol directly
we come within range," he said, "and then lay on with the sword."
"But we must give them warning, Jacques!"
"It is needless; they have seen us, and are preparing. _Corbleu!_ it is
as I thought! See, there is the man who overtook us in the village.
Monsieur, there is no escape; it is a fight to the death!"
"I am ready!"