THE ACTS OF PIERREBON
Leaving us to find our way upstairs Torquato Trotto went out into the
porch where Piero the giant stood, cast a glance at the retreating
figure of Pierrebon, who was leading the horses away, looked over his
shoulder like a cat, and, gripping Piero by the arm, shook with
laughter.
"_Maledetto_!" exclaimed Piero, who was of an evil temper, as he freed
himself from Trotto's clutches, and looked at the swaying figure before
him. "Loose hold, signor! Have you been bitten by a tarantula?"
"Oh! I could sing, I could shout, I could dance. Man! that is the
very girl we want; and Monsieur the Vidame, who lies within, twisting
in his chair, will pay a thousand fat, gold Henris for her when he
knows. Ho! it will be rare news for him!"
"Are you sure?"
"As I live. Did I not watch her for a whole week at Saumur? 'Tis well
we have not Aramon and the rest with us. The fewer there are the
larger the shares. Can Malsain deal with the lackey?"
Piero grinned for reply.
"Well! let him be his care, and you had better stay at hand here. Give
me the key of the gate, and, remember, a hundred crowns apiece to you
and Malsain for this. And now for a word in the Vidame's ear."
With this he turned back into the house, leaving Piero looking after
him.
"A hun--dred crowns apiece! _Diavolo_! Captain Torquato! If I knew
the money was here I would make the whole thousand mine; and then--hey
for Rome again! But a hundred crowns are a hundred crowns, and fill a
purse rarely. Well, I go to warn Malsain!"
And the giant went slowly off, regretting in his heart what might have
been.
In the meantime we found ourselves on a landing before an open door,
disclosing a room brightly lit. There was a glimpse too of a table
laid for supper, and near the table stood a tall woman, with black hair
that hung to her waist, with bare rounded arms and painted cheeks, and
a face that was beautiful still, though she had come to be what she was.
She was holding a cup of red wine in her hand, but stopped in the act
of lifting it to her lips as she caught sight of us, and setting down
the wine untasted advanced, saying:
"Enter, I pray you. La Marmotte bids you welcome."
"I thank you, madame," I replied bowing, with many misgivings in my
heart, and inwardly cursing the folly that had made me yield and enter
this house. But who is there who does not make mistakes?--and I for
one have never set claim to be infallible. I was wrong, and I admit
it--that is enough.
And so we went in, and for the first time there was light enough to see
mademoiselle's face, and as I looked there came to me a sting of regret
for the days that would never return. It was as if some devil had
flashed before me a mirror in which the past was reflected; and,
believe me, when one has lived and regretted it is not necessary to be
in love for such a lightning flash of bitter memory to come to a man
when he sees beside him the purity of innocence.
And so it was too with La Marmotte, who had turned to us with a light
laugh, and lighter words to her lips; but laugh and words died away as
she met the girl's look, and--I could read her like an open
page--awakened memory took the woman back to the time when she herself
was as the girl before her. And so, because there were yet undefiled
wells of good in her soul, there came upon her an unwonted timidity,
and it was with a respectful hesitation that she pressed upon us seats
and refreshment. But even as she did so her eyes met mine with a
half-imploring, half-defiant glance. She felt that I knew, though I
thanked her for her courtesy as if she were a princess of the land.
Mademoiselle sank weariedly into a chair; whilst La Marmotte, with all
the silent notes in her heart touched in some undefinable way, hovered
over her, fearing to approach her, and yet feeling as if she must.
For me, I remained standing, softly rubbing my wounded arm, over which
I had drawn my cloak, and looking around me here, there, and
everywhere, for I knew we were in a trap, and trapped by my own folly.
As I looked I saw something white showing beneath the cushions of a
settle, and taking the cup of wine that La Marmotte handed to me I
moved thereto, and, sitting down, looked more closely. It was a white
mask. Softly drawing it forth, and, unobserved, slipping it into the
pocket of my cloak, I saw in doing so that it was stained with fresh
blood, and then I knew we were in the house of death.
At this moment Torquato Trotto appeared at the door with suave
apologies, and stepping forward, rubbing his hands together, he said:
"I regret to have appeared so discourteous; I trust that monsieur and
madame will remain here for to-night."
"I am afraid, Signer Torquato Trotto, that is impossible."
"_Per Bacco_! You know me!" exclaimed the Italian in slight surprise.
"The name of Torquato Trotto is known in France," I said, and the brow
of the man darkened.
"Perhaps I too can return the compliment, monsieur. You are----"
"Bertrand Broussel, bourgeois, of the Rue des Lavandières, Paris," I
interrupted, and I caught a strange expression of disappointment in
mademoiselle's eyes. "Hum!" I thought, "does the furrier's niece take
me for a prince of the blood in disguise?"
La Marmotte, however, cut in at this juncture, for she saw the storm in
the air, and I again said that we would go on at once, if Messire
Trotto would of his kindness provide us with a guide; if not, we would
go without one.
And Trotto answered blandly:
"Impossible! My lieutenant is away with my men, and I have no one here
who knows the way. I am totally ignorant myself, or I would willingly
help you. Besides, to go now would be madness. The road is infested
by robbers--faith of a gentleman!"
"That is indeed true! I have just escaped them--thanks to the bravery
of this gentleman here," exclaimed mademoiselle.
"Madame, you are lucky to have escaped; but you must tell us of your
adventures as we sup," and he moved towards the table.
In the meantime Pierrebon, looking well to the right and left, led the
horses towards the stables. Every shadow in the winding walk, every
recess in the over-grown privet, hid a secret enemy to him. He avoided
passing near the ruined summer-house for fear of the ambush that might
be within, and then, finding the hedges close in upon the road, boldly
took his beasts along the neglected parterres until at last he reached
the stables. Here, near the open door he saw Malsain, tall and thin,
but muscular and strong as whipcord, sitting down by the light of a
guttering candle to a meagre repast of bread and cheese, washed down
with water--for Malsain never touched wine.
"An evil-looking man," Pierrebon thought, as he glanced at Malsain
sitting on a stool; and evil-looking indeed he was, with his hawk's
face, thin cruel slit of a mouth, and one wicked eye that glowed with
the same sombre fire as the fuse of his arquebus, which leaned against
the wall behind him. And then from the man himself Pierrebon glanced
at the hermit's fare before him. "St. Siege!" he groaned, "bread and
cheese and cold water--with a dagger-thrust to follow for digestion,
perhaps."
But now Malsain heard him, his hand went out silently to the arquebus,
and he turned a yellow, threatening face towards the visitor.
"Hola!" exclaimed Pierrebon. "It is I. I have brought monsieur's
horses for a feed and a rest."
"Ho! it is you." And Malsain, putting down his arquebus, returned to
his cheese again as he added: "There are two stalls vacant there, and
you will find oats in that barrel." He had not, of course, it will be
understood, received Trotto's message as yet.
Pierrebon entered without further ceremony. There were already three
horses in the stables; but, as Malsain had said, there were still two
stalls vacant, and here he put the nags. Whilst attending to them,
however, he kept glancing uneasily at the supper before Malsain, which
was diminishing at a frightful rate, for the thin man ate like a
cormorant. At last, unable to endure this more, he stopped rubbing
down the brown hackney, and, stepping up to the table, took a seat on a
stool opposite Malsain. Then, drawing his dagger, he helped himself
without further ceremony to some cheese and bread, and glanced somewhat
ruefully into the jug of water.
"_Diable_!" grumbled Malsain, "you are eating my supper."
"Well," and Pierrebon looked at him, "am I not your guest, as my master
is your master's?"
Malsain said nothing, but scowled across the table at Pierrebon; and
the latter, who was as alert as a weasel when it came to the push, went
on: "But, _compère_, they feed you thinly here--and no wine!"
"I eat to my taste, and drink to my taste," growled Malsain; but
Pierrebon, not heeding his ill temper, continued:
"Now, with my master there is always a bottle of Rochecorbon, and a cut
from a pasty, not to mention a crown-piece here and a crown-piece
there; and I wager that in the house yonder there is something more
than acid cheese and dry bread for hunger, or spring water for thirst."
"Be silent, fool! Take what you can get, or leave it," said Malsain
sullenly, his hand slipping down to his side; but Pierrebon laughed
cheerily as he cut another slice of cheese, his two blue Burgundian
eyes steadily fixed on Malsain's sallow face, and as they looked at
each other there came a heavy footfall outside, and Piero called out in
his deep voice:
"Malsain! Here! A word with you!"
Malsain rose slowly, and went outside, and Pierrebon, following him
with his glance, saw Piero's huge figure in the moonlight, and a chill
came upon him.
"By St. Hugo! 'tis the ogre himself! And they consult together!" he
murmured, wishing himself a hundred miles away, and he watched the
twain moving off into the shadow, straining his ears to catch a word if
possible, but at first he could hear nothing. Thus a minute or so
passed, whilst the evil pair outside stood in the shadow of a copper
beech whispering together. If Pierrebon could but hear a word to guide
him! He dared not attempt to approach them, but was forced to stay
where he was. At last he caught something. Malsain laughed out like a
hyena: "I would slit their throats for fifty, and throw the Vidame into
that----" But Piero roughly bade him lower his voice, and the
whispering continued.
Pierrebon heard no more. That there was danger in the air he knew. He
had not forgotten my warning pressure on his arm as we entered the
gates of Le Jaquemart, and now his worst fears were confirmed. For a
moment his heart sank, but for a moment only, for as he looked around
him his eyes fell on the arquebus, where it leaned against the wall.
The fuse was still alight. There was no time to hesitate. Malsain was
already returning; and if it were to be war Pierrebon thought he might
as well begin, and strike the first blow. Quick as thought he arose,
and taking up the arquebus moved off near the horses, and he was
blowing on the match to hearten the fire when Malsain stepped in.
"Blood of a Jew! what are you doing with the arquebus, fool? Put it
down this instant, or I slit your throat." And Malsain, his poniard in
his hand, stood near the table, glaring savagely at Pierrebon.
"Pardon!" said Pierrebon. "I was but looking at it. 'Tis a noble
weapon. And one well suited to a soldier's hand."
"It could kill too, I wager," said Pierrebon, laughing, as he raised
the weapon, and pointed it at Malsain, who went back the step he had
taken, saying, with an oath,
"It is loaded, fool! Put it down at once."
"_Hein_! it is loaded. It would kill, then, if I fired--eh?" And
then, with a sudden change of voice and manner: "Ah, bandit! move a
step, utter the slightest cry, and you are a dead man! Throw down your
poniard!"
Malsain looked at the barrel of the arquebus. It was steady as a rock,
and behind the little black muzzle the match burned bravely; whilst
behind the match was a red face with two blue eyes that looked as if
they meant what their owner said. Malsain let his dagger drop with a
clash.
Pierrebon then advanced a couple of paces nearer, still holding the
arquebus at Malsain's breast.
"Now, my friend! Take that bridle from the peg at your hand and fasten
your ankles together. What!--you hesitate?"
Malsain hissed something between his teeth, and snatched the bridle
from the peg.
"Go on! A running knot--lap it well round, and finish off! There!
That is right! You are no novice, I see, _mon vieux_!"
Malsain made no answer, but stood bolt upright before Pierrebon, his
face grey, his one eye bloodshot, his lips livid. It is true that he
had tied himself as loosely as possible, but still he was terribly
crippled; and from his soul he regretted that he had not made a rush at
Pierrebon, and chanced his fortune; but now this was hopeless.
Worse, however, was to come, and it came at once.
"Now," said Pierrebon, "fasten your wrist to your ankle--your left
wrist."
"It is impossible," said Malsain thickly.
"Then I shall blow your brains out when I have counted three. One!"
Malsain looked about him with his red eye, and shuffled uneasily.
"Two!"
Malsain swore again, a nameless oath.
"Th----"
Malsain stooped down with the rapidity of lightning, and began fumbling
with the yard or so of trailing rein.
He tried to deceive Pierrebon; but the candle gave enough light to see,
and Pierrebon was sharp. There was no help for it, and at last it was
done, badly done, but enough to utterly cripple Malsain. The final
order now came:
"Now lie down on your face."
This was difficult; but there are circumstances under which men do all
but impossible things, and Malsain performed the feat.
After this the worthy Pierrebon took a more active part in the binding
of Malsain. Still holding the arquebus in one hand he unhitched
another bridle from its peg. Then, placing the arquebus at _his_ feet,
he drew his dagger and approached Malsain, upon whom he sat, and with a
gentle prick or so reminded him it was unsafe to struggle or cry. He
fastened up his free arm, and finished off the work in an artistic
manner. When it was over Malsain was like a trussed fowl. Pierrebon
stepped back, and surveyed his work with the satisfaction of one who
knows that he has done well.
"Ah, I had forgotten!" he exclaimed. Then he pulled from his pocket a
'kerchief. A touch at Malsain's throat with his poniard was hint
enough. Malsain opened his mouth, and the handkerchief, rolled into a
ball, was thrust inside.
Pierrebon fumbled once more in his pocket, and produced some stout
twine. He gave a little grunt of satisfaction as he lashed it around
Malsain's jaws, and felt at last that victory was his.
"It is complete--eh, _mon vieux_?"
And so saying he dragged Malsain with no tender hand across the
pavement of the stable. There was a black, vicious-looking cob in one
of the stalls. Pierrebon flung his victim on the straw near the beast.
"I should lie still," he said in warning; "the horse might kick."
Then he saddled up again, calmly selecting a third horse from the
stable, from a stall where he saw some ladies' saddlery.
"This will do for mademoiselle," he muttered as he glanced around him
with satisfaction; "all is ready here. And now for the ogre." Taking
up the arquebus he looked at the priming, and made his way cautiously
to the house.