THE JOURNEY PERILOUS
LONG before the grey morn began to dawn Redward and his son had
covered a couple of leagues, and were at the foot of a long range of
hills. Slowly they began the ascent, and, ere the summit was reached,
the light was sufficient for them to see their grotesque and horrible
garb.
"A safe disguise," exclaimed Raymond, "yet right glad will I be when
we can doff these garments."
"A safe disguise enough, should the barber not play us false,"
replied his father. "I liked not his looks, though I trow he is in
no ways to blame for the cut of his face."
"But dost think that he will play us false?"
"'Tis not unlikely; so the more leagues we place between us and St.
Brieuc the better. Canst get at thy sword-hilt?"
"Not easily. Wherefore dost thou ask?"
"Danger might come apace and at any time. See, I have cut a slit in
my gown so that I can grasp my sword without delay. I pray thee do
likewise."
On the brow of the first hill was a long farmstead, sheltered more or
less by a clump of stunted pine-trees. Behind the house was an
orchard, its branches laden with fruit, while amongst the trees were
several cows, their heads tethered to their forefeet, after the
manner of those parts, so that the animals could not tear down the
branches of the fruit-trees.
"A sight to gladden the eyes of an old campaigner!" exclaimed the
master-bowman, and, taking his steel cap from beneath his cowl, he
stole cautiously towards the cattle, Raymond waiting behind a
sheltering tree.
With the deftness born of old experience Redward did his work, and
soon returned with his casque filled to the brim with warm milk.
Having drunk their fill, the travellers helped themselves to a
bounteous supply of fruit, and proceeded on their way, the fruit,
together with some dry bread they had brought with them, making a
passable breakfast.
At the bottom of the hill they entered a small village. Although
still early, most of the inhabitants were astir, and the Englishmen
had their first experience of the efficacy of their disguise. For
directly they rattled their barillets the villagers ran hither and
thither to avoid the supposed sufferers, save a horseman and an old
woman. The former passed them at a distance of a few paces, throwing
them a couple of deniers. With his usual presence of mind Redward
stooped, picked up the coins, and louted to the donor. The woman
threw them a rusk loaf, and this was caught and quickly concealed
beneath the sheltering cloaks.
Once clear of the village they mended their pace, and, with the
exception of a pair of shepherds, and a peasant clattering along in
his heavy sabots, not a soul did they meet till close on midday, when
the travellers arrived at a cross-road, where the monotony of the
outlook was broken by four avenues of trees.
"I would fain have rested here awhile," exclaimed Redward. "But with
that for company methinks we shall do better if we get about a
bow-shot further on!"
"A corpse?"
"Ay, lad; a malefactor hanged close to the scene of his crime. See,
already the crows have begun their work."
With averted heads the twain passed the gallows; but on giving a
glance down the cross-road they saw a sight that filled them with
misgiving, for plodding wearily along were two figures dressed like
themselves!
"Lepers, indeed!" exclaimed Redward. "My faith, they would bear us
company."
Waving their arms to attract and arrest their supposed
fellow-sufferers, the two grey-robed men quickened their pace, but,
directly the Englishmen had gained the cover of the tree-lined road,
they, too, hastened to avoid being overtaken, so that by the time the
lepers had turned the corner, Raymond and his father were some
distance ahead.
"We more than hold our own," quoth Redward, glancing over his
shoulder. "Directly we shake them off we'll have a well-earned rest."
It was as he said. The well-knit frames of the Englishmen were vastly
superior to the diseased bodies of the lepers, and long before the
bottom of the hill was reached their two pursuers were but dimly
visible on the dusty road.
Once again the road led upwards. Not a village was to be seen, only a
vast undulating plain, unbroken except for an occasional clump of
trees, while in the distance the blue outlines of a lofty range of
hills showed that some stiff climbing would be necessary ere Hennebon
was in sight.
An hour later and they had all but gained the ridge of the next hill.
By the roadside was a heather-covered bank, while between a mass of
rocks a spring gushed forth, the water making a pleasant sound in the
ears of the weary travellers.
Father and son drank at the spring, then clambering over the bank,
lay down on the springy heather, where, without being seen, they
could command the road for nearly a league.
"'Tis quite evident that we can outpace those poor wretches," said
Raymond, stretching out his limbs to their fullest extent in
appreciation of his natural bed. "Here we can rest in comfort till
they draw nigh; then, refreshed, we can hasten onwards once more."
For nearly an hour they remained, sleep all but claiming them. Not a
word was spoken, though Redward gave an occasional grunt as he raised
himself on his elbow at intervals to watch the advancing lepers.
The heat, too, was terrific, the sun beating down with fierce
violence on their unprotected resting-place.
Suddenly Raymond raised himself and looked along the road they had
just traversed. There were the two grey-robed figures moving slowly
up the hill, but away in the distance the sun glittered upon a
swiftly-moving mass of steel, followed by a thick cloud of dust.
"Soldiers!" he exclaimed.
Redward raised himself. "I like it not," he exclaimed. "They are
following us. That rogue of a barber hath betrayed us. Lie low,
Raymond, and let them pass; I perceive 'twill mean a journey by night
for us."
Stretching side by side, and concealing their hoods with sprays of
heather, father and son waited and watched. The two lepers were
within two hundred paces ere they heard the thunder of the horses'
hoofs behind them. With a cry of terror one of the twain turned and
fled; the other, ignorant of the intentions of the pursuing horsemen,
held his ground, flourishing his rattle with the vigour that danger
bestowed upon him.
Like a flash the foremost soldier was upon him; a back-handed sweeping
cut with his sword and the grey-robed figure was dashed to the earth,
and ere his companion had come level with the spot where the
Englishmen were concealed, he was transfixed by a lance-thrust and
was trampled beneath the horses' hoofs.
With wild cries of exultation the troop of horsemen reined in their
steeds and surveyed the result of their fell work.
"Quickly, Geoffroi! Strip those cloaks from the bodies of these
accursed English and search them for concealed papers," ordered their
leader. "By St. Denis, 'tis a smart piece of work, though I little
thought the rogues would have died so tamely!"
The soldier addressed dismounted, handed his still reeking lance to a
comrade, and bent over the corpse of the man he had slain. With a
quick motion he tore aside the robe. But the next instant, uttering a
shriek of terror, he jumped backwards, covering his eyes with his
hands as if to ward off a blow.
"_Mon Dieu!_" exclaimed the captain, craning over the neck of his
charger. "What have we done? They are in truth real lepers! Dolt of a
barber! A curse upon Raoul de Rohein! He hath deceived us! Is it the
same with the other?"
The first victim had fallen on his back, and his hood, stained with
his blood, had slipped from off his head, disclosing the repulsive
disease-eaten features of a man whose malady was far advanced.
"Stand back, all of you!" shouted the captain, beside himself with
rage and mortification. "Stand back! Do thou, Jehan, cast thy sword
and its sheath from thee lest thou die! And do thou, Geoffroi, ride
fifty paces behind us, and hold communication with no man till the
law respecting contagion is complied with. Now back to the town with
all speed, _mes enfants_, for I have an account to settle with Maitre
Raoul! What will they say of us when they hear we have vanquished
nought but a pair of lepers?"
The troop galloped away down the dusty road towards St. Brieuc, the
unfortunate soldier following in the rear, his face ashen with terror
at the thought of the loathsome death he had courted, while two
mottled grey corpses, a discarded sword, and the imprints of the
hoofs of the cavalry alone remained to mark the scene of so swift and
terrible a tragedy.
Shuddering at the thought of their narrow escape, Raymond and his
father rose, and with averted faces, left behind them the bodies of
the ill-fated men, and pursued their journey. Not till they were two
leagues from the spot did they halt; then, selecting a secluded
coppice, they threw themselves on the ground and were soon deep in
dreamless slumber.
The sun had set and the stars were beginning to twinkle in the
darkening sky ere the travellers awoke stiff and cramped with lying
on the bare earth; but stern duty urged them onwards, and with
swinging stride they resumed their way.
Along the deserted highway, past the slumbering village of Ploeue
they jogged, too discomforted and weary even to engage in
conversation.
About two hours after midnight they were startled by hearing the
sound of horsemen behind them. Without hesitation Redward sprang to
the side of the road, dragging the squire with him; then kneeling
down and placing his ear to the ground he listened intently.
"'Tis but a pair of horsemen," he whispered. "See to thy sword, for
there will be work afoot for us!"
The riders had now slackened down to a slow trot, and by their
conversation the Englishmen recognised that one of them was an old
acquaintance--none other than the Sieur d'Erqui.
"Once have we met him, and once at least hath he done us a service,"
muttered the bowman in a low tone. "Methinks yet another service will
he render us. Now, follow me!"
Giving a tremendous salute with his rattle, Redward, with Raymond
close at his heels, sprang into the road and barred the Sieur's way.
Taken aback, his face livid with superstitious fear, d'Erqui reined
in his steed, while his companion, evidently a retainer, did
likewise.
"Dismount, monsieur, lest I lay hands on thee and thou diest a
horrible death," exclaimed Redward in a sepulchral voice, relying on
the cowardice of the foppish Frenchman to gain his end.
Without a word the Sieur leapt, or, rather, rolled, from the saddle
and cowered down in the darkness by the roadside. Seizing the horse's
bridle by the left hand, the soldier advanced towards the other
horseman.
Made of sterner stuff, the latter had recovered from the first
surprise, and, perceiving that he had no supernatural foes to deal
with, he drew his sword and rode towards his challenger. Avoiding
with ease a terrific sweep of the heavy weapon, Redward returned the
blow without effect, but, ere the man could shorten his sword, the
young squire rushed in, seized him round the waist and hurled him
from the saddle to the ground, where he had enough reason to remain
quiet.
It was the work of a moment for the Englishmen to mount the captured
steeds, then, giving a parting salute to the discomforted Sieur, they
pricked the horses with the points of their weapons, and urged them
into a brisk canter.
"Bravely done, Raymond," exclaimed his father. "It will fare ill with
us now if Hennebon sees us not by to-morrow's dawn!"
"But how can we ride in this disguise?" asked Raymond. "It is not the
custom for lepers to go about on horseback."
"There is a good two hours ere daybreak, and by that time, I trow, we
shall be at least five leagues from here. Then, I hope, the saints
being with us, that thou wilt be the Sieur d'Erqui, and I his man!"
"The Sieur d'Erqui?"
"Yea, and why not? Thou hast played the part of the Sieur before to
good purpose, and why not now? But, oh for a plentiful repast! Dry
bread and apples are but a sorry meal when one is used to English
beef!"
Maintaining a hot pace the travellers rode through the night; then
just as day was breaking they halted, watered their horses, and,
after hobbling them, turned them out to graze. They then divested
themselves of their hideous cloaks and hoods, rolled the garments
into a small compass, and resumed the rôle of soldiers.
About eight o'clock they arrived at the village of Pontivy, and
reining-in at the inn, Redward dismounted and strode up to mine host,
who saw in every armed man a spoiler, whether he were for Montfort or
for Blois.
"Hark ye, garçon!" exclaimed the master-bowman, "thy best food and
wine in plenty, and provender for our horses! And, as thou valuest
thy hide, say not one word to my master, the worthy Sieur d'Erqui,
for he is in a bad mood, and woe betide the man who addresses him!"
Their steeds were led away, and Raymond and his father were shown
into the largest room of the inn, while the waiting-maids, urged by
the host, bustled about preparing the meal.
Raymond did not belie the character his father had given him as the
Sieur, but his reticence was due to bodily fatigue. For, while
awaiting the meal, fitful sleep claimed him, but it was only to
awaken with a start as his head fell forward on his chest.
Never was a repast better enjoyed, and never was the desire to sleep
so irresistible, but Redward, though weary himself, was inexorable.
"Maybe swift pursuit is already at our heels," said he. "So onward we
must go. Holà!" he shouted, hammering on the trestled board with his
sword-hilt.
In answer to the summons the host appeared, trembling in his shoes.
"How is the army ordered before Hennebon And where shall my master
find the banners of the Duke Charles?"
"Sir, report hath it that the force of Blois lieth thickest about
where this road approaches the town, so, without doubt, the banners
of the Duke are there."
Throwing down a coin to pay for their repast (whereat the host
marvelled greatly, seeing it was not the custom of the times),
Redward followed the supposed Sieur from the inn; their horses were
brought round, and soon they were clattering over the pavé of the
village towards the open country.
Redward glanced backwards several times to see if there were any
signs of pursuit, but to his great satisfaction none could be
detected.
"Thou hast heard what the rogue said the foe lie thickest along this
road? Should any follow us we have laid a false scent, for I do not
wish to ride straight into the camp of Blois. To that end let us turn
off along the road to Aurai, and thence follow the coast to the walls
of Hennebon."
Accordingly they turned aside at a cross-road, having learned from a
peasant that it led to the town of Aurai. A league or so farther on
they again left the road and rested in a wood, sleeping without
molestation till late in the afternoon.
Darkness was drawing on as they struck the road between Hennebon and
Aurai, about a bow-shot from the latter place. Avoiding the town the
travellers turned towards their goal, now but a short four leagues
distance.
"We must be doubly cautious, Raymond," said his father, "for methinks
another troop of horsemen is approaching."
Once again they withdrew from the road, and, hiding beneath the
shadow of some tall trees, they waited. Nearer and nearer came the
sound, till, like a whirlwind, a large body of knights and mounted
men-at-arms dashed by in the darkness, and, with a thunder of hoofs
and a cloud of dust that rose slowly in the still night air, they
vanished into the gloom.
"By St. George! What doth it mean?" exclaimed Raymond.
"Nay, I cannot say, save it be they of Blois fleeing from those of
Montfort; every man was riding for dear life, and, mark you, with
loose rein and hot spur!"
"Then onwards, father! An hour will decide whether we reach Hennebon
unscathed, or have to fight our way in."
Almost before they were aware of the fact they rode right into the
camp of the besiegers, but, instead of being instantly challenged and
taken prisoners, it was like a progress through a city of the dead.
Most of the tents were cut down, several of the temporary wooden huts
still smouldered, while here and there their horses had to step aside
to avoid treading on the corpse of an unarmoured man.
Still wondering at this unlooked-for sight, the Englishmen spurred on
till they drew rein outside the twin towers that guarded the gate of
Hennebon. A hoarse voice challenged them, and torches flickered on
the battlements as the garrison stood to their arms.
"Open! We would see the Countess!" roared Redward, standing in his
stirrups.
"Who are ye, and whence come ye?" was the reply.
"Messengers from the King of England."
Cries of delight greeted this announcement, the drawbridge fell with
a ponderous clang, the great gates were thrown wide open, and,
conscious that a great duty had been well carried out, Raymond,
followed by his father, entered the town of Hennebon.