I BECOME THE OWNER OF A RING
I started from my seat, and Camus, with a turn and a step, reached the
window, where, resting his hands on the mullions, he leaned far out. I
was on his heels; but the window was narrow, a mere slit, and so I
could see nothing below. Late as it was the cry had, however, reached
other ears than ours as well. Here and there a dim light glowed for an
instant or so in an overhanging window. Here and there a shadowy
figure appeared at a balcony, only to vanish like a ghost after peering
for a moment in the direction of the sound. This was all the interest,
all the attention it excited, and this spoke for the times.
"What is it? Can you see anything?" I asked, craning over Camus'
shoulder; and, as if in answer to my question, the cry rang out again,
just below the window:
"_A moi_! _Au secours_!" Then came an oath, and the rasp of steel.
"They are killing someone there," said Camus; "killing with clumsy
steel. Well! 'tis an affair for the watch." And with a shrug of his
lean shoulders he turned back. But I waited to hear no more. Drawing
my sword I made all haste down the stairway and into the street, and
there before me, where the moonlight glistened on the mud and on the
green and slimy cobble stones of the Rue des Lavandières, two men,
their backs to the wall, fought for their lives against four, whilst a
fifth, who seemed to direct them, stood a little apart.
The odds were heavy against the two. All the heavier because one,
dressed in the bizarre attire of jester, had no sword but only a dagger
for defence. Nevertheless, with his short cloak wrapped over his left
arm, and the dagger in his right hand, he held his own with skill and
courage.
The attack, however, was chiefly directed upon his companion, a
fair-haired man, with a short moustache and beard. He had lost his
hat. There was a red line of blood on his face from a wound in the
forehead, and a twitching smile on his lips; but he fought silent as a
wolf.
A thrust that would have found his heart was parried, but not by him.
Quick as thought, the swordless man by his side hit up the bravo's
rapier with his left arm, and the blade, stabbing the air, struck and
bent against the stones of the wall just over shoulder-height.
"_Sus_! _sus_!" cried the leader of the night-hawks; and he ran forward.
Clearly it was time that help came. So I passed my sword through one
of the bravos, and as the others, surprised and disconcerted, gave way
a little, I ranged myself beside the two.
"Courage!" I said, "affairs are more equal now."
Cursing and growling, spitting like so many cats, the villains came on
with a rush, their leader first. A long arm and a long sword are,
however, great advantages in affairs of this kind, and I took him on
the riposte. A cry and a gasp, a sword clattered on to the pavement,
and the stricken man spun round and, holding his hand to his side,
tried to stagger off, but after stumbling a few steps he fell in a heap
in the shadow.
This settled the matter. The others, seeing their leader hit, waited
for no more, but fled. There was no pursuit. For a few brief seconds
we heard the patter of running feet, and then all was still.
We stood, all three staring at each other, and then the fair-haired man
held out his hand, saying simply: "I thank you, monsieur!"
I met his grasp, expressing at the same time my concern for his wound.
"It is not much, I think--all due to a weak parry on my part." And he
strove with a gold-laced handkerchief to staunch the blood that was
flowing somewhat freely. I was about to offer what help I could when
the jester cut in.
"Faith of a fool!" he said, sheathing his dagger, "my gossip here is
apt to make light of these scratches; but I would give my cap and bells
now for a little salve."
"If you will come into my house, messieurs--'tis but a step--we will
see to the hurt."
I almost repented of my offer the moment after I made it, for I caught
the jester plucking at my friend's sleeve in warning; but the other
laughed, and, addressing me in a high and gracious way, said:
"Monsieur, once more thanks! I accept your offer. Of a truth!" and he
ruefully looked at his handkerchief, "this is a trifle too much cupping
for me."
I bowed, and led the way across the road; but the jester stayed us,
calling out in his high-pitched tones:
"Just a look at this carrion! One may as well see upon whom our friend
here has put his mark." So saying he stooped and turned over the man,
the first of the two who had fallen. He lay half in a stagnant pool of
water, and was quite dead, as we could see, for the moon fell clearly
on his evil and distorted face and horny, film-covered eyes.
"As dead as imperial Caesar," said the jester; "nor can I say who or
what he was. St. Siege! Stay--see this!" And throwing back the man's
cloak, which half covered his breast, he pointed with his fingers at a
crest embroidered on the doublet. It was a crescent in silver, with a
scroll beneath it, and as we all stooped down to see, the jester's keen
eyes met those of his companion.
"The scroll explains all," he said, as if in reference to the attack
upon them: "it is _totum donec impleat orbem_."
"Diane?"
"Yes; Diane de Poitiers--Diane, Duchess of Valentinois--Diane, the
curse of France! But I should play the Caliph Aaron no more, and keep
home of nights; better still, take horse with the dawn for Navarre!"
There was a strange earnestness in the speaker's voice. There he was,
one knee to ground, a finger resting on the ill-omened crest of the
mistress of the King, the moon shining on his rich dress of black and
gold, on the sharp, weasel-like face, and keen eyes that looked up at
his friend.
"There is more in this than I thought at first," I said to myself, and
scanned the features of the dead man more closely. He looked like a
foreigner, and, saying that I was going to see after the other, I
turned away, but with my ears skinned, as I began to dislike the affair
exceedingly.
As I suspected, the jester began to warn his friend once more.
"Monseigneur, there has been enough folly for tonight, and your wound
is but slight. Go not into the house! Let us thank him--reward him if
you will--but let us be off!"
"Hush, Le Brusquet!" said the other in the same low tone. "There is no
fear, and if there is danger I turn not from it."
I had heard enough, and seen enough too. The other man had got off
somehow. He had fallen, it is true, but recovered himself sufficiently
to make away. One can never be sure of the riposte in an uncertain
light, and uncertain moonlight is worst of all.
"He has got off," I said as I returned; "and 'twere well to have your
wound looked after, if you mean to have it done."
With this I led the way to the door of my house, and opening it bade
them enter. The fair-haired man passed in at once, but I caught a
gleam in Le Brusquet's hand as he followed. He had drawn his dagger
once more.
My first thought had been, much as I disliked him, to ask Camus to help
me in dressing the wound; but upon consideration, and chiefly, after I
had heard Le Brusquet address his friend as "Monseigneur," I deemed it
preferable that I should see to it myself. I had some experience in
these things. A soldier should know how to stop as well as to let
blood; and by way of precaution I always keep a little store of
remedies at hand, for one never knows when they may be needed, as they
were then. With this in my mind I led the way up into my apartment.
Here, I may mention, I had established myself modestly but comfortably.
It is true that the walls were bare, except for a demi-suit of mail, a
couple of swords, and a banner I had taken at Cerisolles; but for the
rest, what with my books--I had five in all--and my lute, I flattered
myself that I had all that a man needed.
Pierrebon was asleep on a settle, and I had to call twice ere I could
wake him, for he slept like the dead. But he rose quickly enough, and
lit the candles. Then, bidding him fetch me materials for dressing a
cut, I begged my guests to be seated. It was the first chance we had
of really seeing each other. The jester Le Brusquet I did not
recognize at all, though I noticed the royal cipher on his pourpoint.
As for the other, there is only one house in France that bears such
features, and the greatest of them all is now King, and owes his being
to the man who stood before me.
As the lights fell on us I noticed a quick glance pass between the two,
and Le Brusquet's hand moved beneath his cloak. It was as if suspicion
were gone and he had resheathed his poniard. I smiled to myself; but
Pierrebon now entered with a ewer and the things I required. He placed
these on the table, and at a look from me, which he understood,
vanished again.
I set myself at once to dress the wound, which was, after all, but a
slight affair, though it had bled freely. I said so as I finished,
adding that if it had been a trifle deeper the business would have been
serious; but, as it was, a couple of days would mend matters entirely,
except for a patch.
"Not Frenel himself could have tended me better," said the wounded man.
"Monsieur, I am deeply obliged to you."
And Pierrebon entering at this time with some wine I begged them to do
me the honour to drink a cup.
This they willingly assented to, and filling three cups from the flagon
I raised mine on high.
"Messieurs, a toast for all good Christians! Down with the crescent!"
They understood and drank--Le Brusquet with a searching look in his
eyes and a smile on his lips, and his companion with a reckless laugh.
And now they rose. "Monsieur," said the wounded man, "will you add to
your kindness by telling us to whom we are indebted? You are a
soldier--I can see that--and I can keep that sword of yours from
rusting if you will."
So he had not recognised me! Well, ten years make a difference! And
yet, if once, he had seen me a hundred times in the days when his
valiant brother Enghien lived. I began to feel sure that if he did not
know me I was safe indeed; but I had no mind to change my present peace
for any other life, and so made answer:
"Monseigneur, it were idle for me to say that I do not know you. Rest
assured that were I so minded I could follow no braver or more generous
prince than Antony of Vendôme, but my sword is hung to the wall. My
name is Broussel. I am bourgeois, as you see, and having a small
estate of fifty écus have all that suffices for the simple needs of a
citizen such as I. Monseigneur, the little service I rendered is
small; let it be forgotten. Nevertheless, I thank you for the kind
offer you have made."
I delivered this speech with a respectful air, but yet in a tone that
carried the conviction that my resolve was unchangeable.
"As you will," said the Duke, with some coldness of manner. "A Bourbon
does not offer twice. And so, farewell! I fear 'tis a long road and
an ugly road we have yet to travel, thanks to my folly--eh, Le
Brusquet?"
Out of the tail of my eye I had been watching Le Brusquet. All this
time he had been engaged in examining the silver cup from which he had
drunk his wine--a relic of my past splendour. He toyed with it this
way and that, looking at the arms engraved thereon, and comparing them
with those on the flagon. Then his little eyes stole a swift,
searching glance at me, and a smile--just the shadow of a
smile--flickered over his lips. He had not, however, lost a word of
what was passing between Vendôme and myself, and on the Duke addressing
him he put down the cup he held in his hand, saying quietly: "If
Monsieur Broussel will add to his kindness by lending me a sword it
may, perhaps, be better for us, and I promise faithfully to return it."
Without a word I took a sword from the wall and handed it to Le
Brusquet, who received it with a bow, and then, turning to the Duke, I
offered to accompany them to the end of the street, which was an evil
place even by day. I added that a little beyond the end of the street
was the Gloriette, where the guards of Monsieur the Lieutenant of the
Châtelet were to be found, and that thence their way would be safe.
The Duke pulled a long face, apparently at the thought of having to
disclose his identity to the guards of the Châtelet, but Le Brusquet
cut in with a "Let it be so, Monseigneur. Three are better than two,
except in love-making."
At this the Duke laughed, and agreed, and we all three went out into
the street, which twisted and wound its crooked way towards the river
face between two rows of overhanging houses, that seemed as if they
were ever threatening to fall over and bury it in their ruins.
For a little we walked without a word; for Antony of Vendôme--fickle
and vain, at once the hope and despair of his time--felt himself hurt
and aggrieved by the refusal of his offer, and for a space preserved a
sulky silence. Ere we had gone a quarter mile, however, his
temper--variable as the wind--began to change and his kindly nature to
reassert itself. We were passing the house of the Duplessis Richelieu
when he spoke.
"_Eh bien_, Monsieur Broussel, change your mind and think better of my
offer. What with one thing and another there is steel in the air at
present, and a stout heart and a good sword such as you are may make an
estate of fifty écus five hundred or more. Come, think of it!"
I felt my blood warm within me in spite of my fancied devotion to my
contented life; but I thought of that affair of the duel, of the
judgment of the Chambre Ardente, and above all, of Simon and the cards
he held against me. Besides, I knew Vendôme, and so I refused once
more.
"Well, well," he said, "as you will; but never say Antony of Vendôme
was ungrateful."
We had by this time reached the point where the road opened out upon
the river face, and halted together in the moonlight.
A little distance from us lay the Seine, shining in scales of hammered
brass. The convicts were still on the Gloriette. Poor wretches! They
slaved there day and night, and lights were moving to and fro amongst
them as the guards watched them at their toil. They were singing a
weird refrain--a chorus--ever and again interrupted by yells and curses
as the lash of the task-master fell on some victim of his hatred or
sluggard at work.
"Here we part, Monseigneur!" I said. "The lieutenant of the Châtelet
will give you guards to escort you farther."
I bowed to both, and would have gone--for I thought it well not to be
mixed up further in this matter--but the Duke stayed me. He had taken
off his glove, and was fumbling with a ring on his finger. This he
drew off and thrust into my hand.
"Keep this, monsieur. Remember, if ever you want a friend you have but
to send it to me. Farewell!"
"_Au revoir_!" cried Le Brusquet, who had up to now preserved silence.
"Remember, Le Brusquet is also your debtor doubly--once for a life and
once for a sword--and forget not my address is the sign of the
Crescent."
With this mocking allusion to the Louvre and to Diane de Poitiers'
influence there, he followed on the heels of Vendôme, leaving me with
the ring in my hand.
I watched them until they were lost in the shivering haze. They never
sought the Gloriette, but kept on the right, making directly for the
Louvre.
Then I looked at the ring. It was light enough for me to see that it
was a plain gold signet in the shape of a shield, with the arms of
Béarn--two cows on a field _Or_--cut thereon.
"Perhaps," I said to myself, "I shall need it some day." With this I
slipped it on my finger, and went back.