THE CHIRURGEON OF LÉGUÉ
WITH a powerful following wind, _Les Trois Frères_ made a rapid
passage down the harbour, and, before Raymond fully realised the
fact, the little vessel was lifting to the gentle heave of the
Channel.
By midday the chalk cliffs of the Isle of Wight were all that was
visible of the shores of England, and, though a careful watch was
kept for hostile ships, not a sail was to be seen on the wide expanse
of water.
The master, Pierre de la Corbière, was a huge-limbed, swarthy
Guernseyman, who spoke in a guttural patois that was almost
unintelligible to the young squire, though Redward, to whom most of
the dialects of France were familiar, could make himself understood
with comparative ease.
Nine men and a boy composed the crew, a large one for so small a
craft; but the perils of war, added to the dangers of the sea, were a
sufficient excuse for their numbers. Each man, picturesquely clothed
and wearing silver earrings, was a trained pilot, and most of them
had served in that capacity on board the ships that had on past
occasions taken the King and his troops to France and Flanders. All
of them carried short daggers or knives in their belts, while a large
chest, lashed to ringbolts in the deck, contained a good supply of
swords and axes.
"If this wind lasts," remarked the master, "we shall sight Cap de la
Hogue within a couple of hours. Whither would ye land, good sir?"
"Nay, I know not," replied Redward. "And, moreover, I care not, so
long as it be not too close to the town."
"There are the ports of Quimper, Doualan, Auray, and Morbihan," said
Pierre, counting them on his fingers. "All of easy distance from
Hennebon--though, perchance, we may receive a rough handling when we
arrive. Ma foi! And the passage of the Chenal du Four 'Twould be
quicker and safer to run into St. Brieuc."
"St. Brieuc!" exclaimed Redward, referring to a very rough plan.
"Why, 'tis at least twenty leagues from the town to which we
journey."
"Twenty leagues by land, as ye say," replied the Guernseyman
doggedly. "But if 'tis a question of time, commend me to St. Brieuc,
for if we lose the wind or have a contrary wind off Ushant, it may
mean a week's buffeting in the Chenal du Four, with a score of reefs
and unseen rocks on each side of us."
"As ye will, then," assented Redward; and he moved away to tell
Raymond of the alteration of their plans.
But the young squire was in no fit mood to be informed. The long,
swinging motion and the heat of the sun had done their work, and he
lay prone on the deck in the miseries of sea-sickness. Knowing that
any attempt at consolation would only aggravate the malady, the
master-bowman turned away, and, leaning against the low bulwarks,
gazed intently towards the still invisible French coast.
Late in the afternoon the grey cliffs of La Hogue and the dark
outline of the Isle of Aurigny were sighted; but just before sundown
the wind died utterly away, leaving the little craft wallowing
heavily in the long swell, her sail flapping idly against the mast.
The sky, hitherto clear and cloudless, was now overcast, and away
towards the southward a succession of flashes of lightning betokened
an approaching storm.
Even Pierre de la Corbière, bold fisherman as he was, looked anxious,
for the vessel was now beginning to feel the influence of the
dreadful Race of Alderney, and, with a lack of wind and a dark night
to boot, the terrors of the Race were considerably magnified.
About midnight they were in the thick of it. A slight breeze had
sprung up, but barely sufficient to give the boat steerage-way. All
around were tremendous broken waves, and, although Pierre stood
gripping the tiller in an endeavour to avoid the heaviest breakers,
the boat was urged onwards through the Race at the rate that a horse
would trot, her mast threatening to snap under the irregular action
of the vicious cross seas.
Throughout the tumult Raymond lay like a log, utterly unmindful of
the danger, his illness having completely overcome him. His father
took the precaution to lash him to the mast, and throughout that
fearful night Redward remained by his side, making endless vows to
the saints, which he heartily meant to fulfil should they ever again
reach dry land.
Fortunately the threatened storm passed away, and as daylight broke
_Les Trois Frères_ was beyond the influence of the Race, Guernsey and
its attendant islands, Sark and Herm, being plainly visible.
With a skill acquired by long years of experience, the Guernseyman
steered his craft between the islands, taking advantage of every
current that would help to bear them south, and, before the sun was
high, the Island of Jersey was abeam. The waters, too, were dotted
with the sails of fishing boats, forming a pleasing contrast to the
dreary waste of water they had traversed on the previous day.
Worn out and faint from the effect of his long fast, Raymond sat up
and looked around, as if unable to bring himself to recall his
surroundings; but after a scanty meal of dry bread and water, he felt
the giddiness leave him, and with an effort he stood on his feet,
gripping his father tightly for fear of falling.
"Where are we?" he asked dejectedly.
"Nearly there," replied Redward. "A sailorman thou'lt be some day,
but beshrew me if thou lookest like one now! An hour ashore will make
all the difference; but rest awhile, my son, for there's work enow
ere long for both of us."
Late in the afternoon _Les Trois Frères_ entered St. Brieuc Bay, the
high ground showing up distinctly, while far away they could discern
the lofty Bretagne hills, that lay between them and their
destination; and, just as the sun was sinking low behind the Brittany
coast, the little craft brought up under the shadow of the gloomy
castle of Cesson.
Redward and the master conferred long and anxiously on the subject of
how to gain the shore without observation, but at length a light
dawned upon the dull mind of the Guernseyman.
"Thou hast said well," he remarked. "Of a truth we cannot make sure
whether they of St. Brieuc are for the Countess of Montfort or
against her. And none of us wishes to put his head into the wolf's
mouth. But I know of a man--a foster-brother of mine--at whose house
ye could stay until the way is clear for ye to journey across
country. He dwells at Légué, but a mile from St. Brieuc, and I will
go ashore and converse with him."
Silently and in the now black night the little skiff was lowered, and
Pierre de la Corbière was rowed ashore by two of his men.
For nearly two hours Redward and the young squire remained on board,
anxiously listening for the sound of oars, till at length the little
boat shot noiselessly alongside, and the master sprang upon the deck.
"'Tis easily done, though they of Blois hold the town," he exclaimed
breathlessly. "Raoul de Rohein, of whom I spoke, is willing to
receive you, for which service he demands five sols. He is a barber
and chirurgeon, and lives in the Rue Mortbec. Hasten, ere it be
light, for we must leave on top o' the tide."
Once more the skiff, deeply laden, started for the shore. Raymond, in
his light armour, had discarded his surcoat with the conspicuous
cross of St. George, Redward in his harness could hardly be
distinguished from a Breton, and could rely upon his knowledge of the
French tongue to pass for a Gascon, or a Burgundian, as occasion
served. With them went Pierre de la Corbière and a sailor, both of
whom rowed while the squire and his father sat in the stern-sheets.
Half-an-hour's steady pulling and the skiff grounded on the sandy
shore. Silently the three disembarked, leaving the seaman to look
after the boat, and quickly they made their way towards the house of
refuge.
Suddenly the master stopped. "_Mon Dieu_," he exclaimed, "_c'est les
gardes!_"
Coming straight towards them was a body of halberdiers, accompanied
by an officer. Retreat, without arousing suspicion, was impossible;
but in a few words the ever-resourceful Redward had devised a plan.
Raymond lay down in the road, his father lifted him by the shoulders
while Pierre took him by the feet, and, staggering under their heavy
burden, they advanced to meet the watch.
"_Halte! Qui v'la?_" demanded the officer, flashing a lantern upon
the trio.
"'Tis le Sieur d'Erqui, Monsieur," replied the Guernseyman, speaking
in a patois which is common between the Bretons and the Channel
Islanders. "He has been roystering and brawling, and has been sore
hurt."
"One cannot put old heads on young shoulders," remarked the officer,
with a deprecating shrug. "What folly has he been at?"
"I cannot say, monsieur."
"Eh, bien! All the wine-shops will have the tale to-morrow! _En
avant, mes enfants!_" he added to his men, and to the great relief of
Raymond and his companions the watch shouldered their halberts and
moved on towards St. Brieuc.
"A narrow escape," exclaimed Pierre, crossing himself. "If we were
discovered, three against seven would be long odds."
"I've been in a worse fix before to-day," replied Redward sturdily.
"And we could have taken them by surprise."
"Nevertheless, fighting is not in my line--on land, at least--and I
am thankful it did not come to blows."
At length they arrived at a narrow street, where storeys of the
houses projected beyond those below, till the uppermost ones appeared
almost to meet, shutting out even the dim gloom of the now
starlit sky.
With the air of a man who feels certain of his ground Pierre strode
rapidly ahead, the others following closely at his heels. Presently
he stopped outside a house, and drawing his dagger, struck lightly
upon the door with the hilt. After a few seconds' delay they heard
the sound of some one moving within, and the door was carefully
unbarred and thrown open.
Pierre whispered a few words to the occupant, then, bidding his
former passengers farewell, he turned on his heel and walked swiftly
and silently towards the shore.
The Englishmen followed their host into a low, ill-lighted room, and
for the first time they were able to see what manner of man he was.
A misshapen, undersized body, surmounted by a lean, yellow-skinned
face, and furnished with a pair of long arms, the hands of which,
shaking as if with ague, resembled the claws of a bird, formed the
outward appearance of the barber and chirurgeon of Légué; and Raymond
could not repress a shudder as he gazed upon this caricature of a
human being.
"Ye are for Hennebon?" he asked in a quavering tone, rolling his
lustreless eyes from one to the other.
"Ay," replied Redward, "but how, by Saint Gregoire of Brittany, didst
thou know?"
"The shipman, my foster-brother, hath told me. But the money, the
money?" he added, opening his withered hand.
"A curse on the shipman," growled Redward to himself, "his tongue
will be our undoing. Here, take this," he added, counting out a sum
of money equivalent to the five sols demanded. "Canst furnish us with
a horse apiece?"
Ignoring the question, the barber counted the pieces, putting each
coin between his toothless gums, as if doubtful of their quality.
"Didst hear me--respecting the use of two horses?" demanded Redward
sternly.
"Yea, noble master," replied the barber. "But there are none to be
had."
"None?"
"None! They have all been seized by those of Blois till the affair is
over. Therefore, by necessity, ye must go afoot--and the roads are
very unsafe for travellers at present, especially Englishmen bound
for Hennebon!"
"A pest on your words! What would ye have us do?"
The old man advanced a step, peering with his bleared eyes into the
face of the master-bowman.
"For money there is much to be had!" he croaked, a sardonic smile
overspreading his withered face, while his long fingers clawed
invisible heaps of gold.
"Out on thee for an arrant cheat! Give thy plan and name the price."
Slowly and deliberately, his voice hardly above a whisper, the Breton
replied: "Did it ever occur to thy noble self that the dress of a
leper would make the best protection?"
Redward recoiled, in spite of his hardened nerves, for sufferers from
that loathsome and incurable disease were far from rare in Western
Europe in those days. In France they were compelled by law to wear
long grey gowns and hoods, and to carry a "barillet," or rattle, to
give due warning of their approach. Under severe penalties they were
forbidden to remain in the larger cities and towns, or to beg or use
their rattle for the purpose of exciting pity. Thus it was common to
see them wandering over the countryside in pairs, their approach
being the signal for other wayfarers to pass them at a safe
distance.[1]
"But the dress?" asked Redward.
"That is easily to be had. I have a stock of them in this house. And
the price----"
"They have not been used?" interrupted the master-bowman anxiously.
"Certainly not, monsieur," replied the barber, with a hideous leer.
"'Twould be impossible. But the price I ask--and they be of good
quality--is but one livre, five sols--quite a small sum for a wealthy
gentleman like monsieur!"
At that moment a loud rapping was heard. The squire and his father
sprang up, and, suspecting danger, their hands flew to their
sword-hilts.
With a motion of his hand, their host indicated that they should hide
behind a heavy curtain; then, taking a torch from its socket, he made
towards the door.
After considerable parleying the nocturnal visitor was admitted, and,
through a small hole in the mouldy curtain, Redward could see him
without risk. That he was a man of quality was apparent by the long
furred gown he wore; and further, by the length of the garment and
its rich violet colour, and the mortier or silk cap, ornamented with
Valenciennes lace, worn instead of the hat affected by the bourgeois,
his rank was of importance.
"Art thou Raoul de Rohein, the chirurgeon?" he asked, in a lisping
voice, flourishing a musk-perfumed handkerchief as if to ward off the
hideous shape before him.
"At thy service, my lord--barber, chirurgeon, apothecary, having been
duly examined and licensed by the great John Pitart, surgeon of the
Châtelet of Paris."
"'Tis well! I am the Sieur d'Erqui, and I am bound for the army of
Charles of Blois, that lieth before Hennebon. In camps one has always
the fear of plague. Therefore, believing that forewarned is
forearmed, I come to thee for a remedy or, rather, a
preventative--'gainst the fell disorder."
"I have the very thing, monsieur! But five sols nine deniers the
box--the nine deniers being devoted to the funds of the hospital of
St. Brieuc, _bien entendu!_ By the holy St. Mark, the very thing! A
mixture of sulphur, viper's cake, powder of pearls, confection of
hyacinth, and an extract of the juice of _scorsonera_, all prepared
according to the recipe of the learned John Pitart, and made into
tablets covered with gold foil. One drachm three times a week, in the
morning, is the dose, monsieur, and if exposed to the infection two
drachms before going to bed!"
"And is that all?" inquired the Sieur anxiously, as if the presence
of the barber was a presage of the plague.
"Nay, of thine own ordering there is much to be done. I perceive that
monsieur carries the perfume of musk about with him. That is wrong.
Instead, let him take a citron pricked with cloves. Never walk out
fasting, neither drink wine immoderately; and, in the case of
immediate danger, take a little theriaque; and I'll warrant Erqui
will welcome its Sieur home in due course. And the fee, monsieur, is,
as I said, seven sols nine deniers."
"But now thou didst ask five sols and nine deniers!"
"Two sols in addition for the advice--excellent advice, monsieur.
_Merci, monsieur, et bon voyage!_"
The Sieur had gone, and Raymond and his father came from their
hiding-place. Redward explained to his son, in a few words, the
nature of their disguise. Once again the talon-like hand of the
miserly Raoul closed over the money, and away he went to look for the
required garments.
In a few moments he returned. The Englishmen donned the repulsive
insignia of the leper, and took the barillets in their hands. The
barber again unfastened the door and listened intently for any sound.
There was none.
"Take the road through the village; it leads to Pontivy. There,
perchance, ye may find horses. Fare ye well!"
And, passing out into the darkness of the night, the Englishmen began
their long journey afoot, stealing silently through the almost
deserted streets towards the frowning hills of Brittany.
[1] It was not until thirty years later that the hospitals of St.
Lazare and St. Germain were founded in Paris for the relief of these
unfortunate sufferers. On systematic steps being taken to deal with
the malady, the number of its victims quickly diminished; till the
scourge was practically wiped out.