"Halt! and declare yourselves!" cried a hoarse voice speaking in
the French tongue.
"Now for it, Tom," said Lord Claud quietly, speaking between his
shut teeth. "Remember what I have told you. Be wary, be ready. We
shall get through all right. There are but two or three score, and
none of them mounted."
The travellers were passing now through the narrow territory of the
Margrave of Baden, with the Rhine upon their right, the only
protection from the frontier of France with all its hostile hosts.
The slow and inactive policy of the Margrave of Baden naturally
encouraged the enemy to send small parties of soldiers across to
harry his country; and already Tom and his master had had to dodge
and hide, or go out of their way, to avoid meeting with these bands
of inimical marauders. They were not the class of opponents whom
Lord Claud most dreaded, still they might well fall upon and make
prisoner the two English travellers; and if despatches were found
upon the person of either, they would almost certainly be shot as
spies. Indeed, so bitter was the feeling on the part of the French
after their defeat at Blenheim, that any travellers belonging to
the hated English nation went in danger of their lives.
For some time now Tom had been wearing the garb of a serving man.
His peruke had disappeared, and he wore a little dark wig that
looked like his natural hair. It excited less comment for master
and servant to travel from town to town together than for two
English gentlemen to be riding unattended through such a disturbed
country; and as they pursued their way, Lord Claud would give
minute and precise directions to Tom how to act in the event of
their falling in with one of these scouting or marauding parties,
showing such a wonderful knowledge of the tactics of forest warfare
that Tom was often astonished at him, and would have liked to ask
where he had obtained his experience.
And now, for the first time, Tom was face to face with a real
foe--no mere antagonist of the hour, with whom he had exchanged
some angry word, and was ready to follow it up with blows, but with
armed foes of a hostile race, whose blood was stirred by the hatred
bred of long-continued warfare, and who would think as little of
taking the lives of two Englishmen as Tom would of shooting a fat
buck in his native woodlands.
Again came the word of command in the hoarse voice.
"Halt! and declare yourselves, or--"
But the threat remained unspoken, for Lord Claud had drawn rein,
and was looking at the speaker with eyes of mild inquiry.
"What is your will, monsieur?" he asked, in his easy and excellent
French.
At this seeming show of submission the face of the officer relaxed,
and the men in his company lowered their carbines and stood more at
ease pending the result of the dialogue.
"Monsieur is not a Frenchman?" questioned the officer, with a look
from one face to the other.
Tom sat gazing before him with a stolid expression of countenance,
which greatly belied the tingling which he felt through every vein
in his body. It seemed as though this tingling sensation was in
some way communicated to the mare he rode, for she began fidgeting
in a fashion which plainly told Tom that she was ready to do her
part when the tussle should come.
"How know you that, sir?" asked Lord Claud with a smile. "If you
can tell me my nationality I shall be grateful, for I am ignorant
upon the point myself."
The man's face clouded a little; he felt a certain suspicion of the
handsome stranger, and yet he must not do despite to one of His
Majesty's subjects, and Lord Claud had the air of a man of no mean
status.
"Your servant is English," he said with a touch of sullenness, "and
I take it your horses are, too. The army of His Majesty of France
is badly in need of strong horses. If you are good subjects of his
you will be willing to part with them. My horse was killed but a
little way back; that one of yours would suit me right well," and
he made a step forward as though to lay a hand on Lucifer's rein.
"Now, Tom, my boy!" said Lord Claud in a clear, low tone.
In a moment he had whipped out his pistols and fired straight at
the officer, who fell face downwards almost without a groan. Tom
had meanwhile marked his man--the foremost in the rank behind; and
he rolled over like a log.
With a yell of rage and amaze the men were upon them; but Lucifer
and Nell Gwynne had already reared almost upright, and now were
fighting so wildly with their iron-shod hoofs that in fear and
dismay the assailants fell back, whilst a second report from each
pistol dropped another man dead upon the field.
"Forward! before they can take aim!" cried Lord Claud in a voice of
thunder; and the horses obeyed the word without any touch of spur
from their riders.
They bounded forward with an impetus which must have unseated any
but an experienced horseman, and then laying themselves along the
ground, they fled onwards at a gallop which astonished even Tom by
its wild velocity.
A shower of bullets fell round them, but none touched either steeds
or riders; the yells of the infuriated soldiers died away on their
ears; the horses sped on and on as though they had wings to their
feet, and only after some few miles had been traversed did the
riders draw rein.
"That is always the best plan of action," said Lord Claud, as
though such an occurrence as this was a matter of everyday
experience with him. "Always appear ready to pause and parley. It
invariably disarms suspicion. At the first every pistol or musket
is levelled at your head; but if you stop to talk, these are
lowered. Then, when you have put the enemy a little off guard, make
a dash for it; take them by surprise, drop a few, and confuse the
rest, and you almost invariably escape with a sound skin."
Then Lord Claud coolly proceeded to wipe and recharge his pistols,
as though the escape of half an hour back had been a mere detail
hardly worth discussion.
But Tom knew well that both his master and the horses they rode
must have been through many such perils before this, or they could
never (at any rate the horses) have shown such aptitude in playing
their parts. He had felt that the mare he rode was prepared to
fight furiously with hoofs and teeth; and, as it was, she had
struck down two men who had been preparing to spring at her.
"Ah, my lady had always a temper of her own," replied Lord Claud
with a smile, as Tom said something of this. "Yes; I have taken
some pains with my horses to teach them to help in a fight.
Travelling even in one's own land is none too safe, as you found to
your cost, honest Tom. Nell Gwynne comes of a fighting stock, and
showed an early aptitude for the fray. Trust to her, Tom, if ever
you are hard pressed; she will bring you safely through, if it can
be achieved at any price."
And, indeed, as the travellers pursued their long ride through a
disturbed and often half-hostile country, they had frequently to
depend as much upon the fleetness, fidelity, and strength of their
horses as upon the strength of their own right arms.
Well did Tom now understand why Lord Claud had made such a point of
having their own horses with them. Had they been jogging along upon
some beast hired or purchased in the country, they would never have
got through the divers perils of the way.
Once Tom was aroused from slumber in a little, ill-smelling inn by
the sound of kicking and stamping proceeding from the stable; and
when he had aroused his companion, and they had hastily dressed
themselves and descended, it was to find that a desperate fight was
going on between the two horses and a handful of French soldiers,
who had followed after the fine animals, and were seeking to steal
them whilst the travellers slept.
They had paid dearly for their temerity, however, for Nell Gwynne
was stamping the life out of one wretched fellow; whilst Lucifer
had broken the leg of a second, and had pinned his companion by the
arm, so that he was yelling aloud in his agony.
Lord Claud sprang in, and at the sound of his voice the horse
loosened his grip, and the man reeled hack against the wall, white
and bleeding, and cursing beneath his breath. Tom was too late to
save the life of the victim of the mare's anger, but he was in time
to strike up the pistol which another of the soldiers had pointed
at her, in the trembling hope of saving his comrade.
"If you fire you will drive her to madness, and she will kill every
man of you," said Lord Claud coolly. "She has a devil in her, and
is bullet proof; you had better leave meddling with both the
beasts."
The men crossed themselves in pious horror, and were glad enough to
back out of the place, carrying their dead and maimed companions
with them. Tom and Lord Claud did not linger longer than the time
needful for saddling the horses. They knew that the people of the
inn must be in collusion with the soldiers, and the sooner they
quitted the place the better.
They had long since left behind them the level plains, and were now
in a country that became increasingly mountainous and difficult.
After the long, flat plains of Holland, Tom had thought the Baden
territory sufficiently mountainous; but now he was to make
acquaintance with the snow-topped peaks and ranges of Switzerland,
and his eyes dilated with awe and wonder when first he beheld the
dazzling white peaks standing out clear against a sunny sky.
He was not a youth of much imagination or poetry, but he did feel a
strange thrilling of the pulses as he looked upon this wonderful
sight.
But Lord Claud's face was cool and impassive as usual, and his
remark was:
"Very fine to look at, good Tom, but ugly customers to tackle. A
snowstorm up amongst those mountain peaks may well be the death of
either or both of us, and the snow will be our winding sheet."
"Have we to cross those snows, my lord? to scale those lofty
peaks?"
"We shall have plenty of snow, Tom, without scaling the peaks. At
this season the passes will be deep in snow. We shall have to trust
to a guide to take us safely over; and the very guide may be a spy
and a traitor himself."
"But, my lord, I thought you knew the way? I thought you had
crossed the pass once?"
"So I have, Tom; but these snow fields are treacherous places, and
the track shifts and changes with every winter's snow. You will
see, when you get amongst them, what a savage scene they present.
In summer it is none so bad; but we are yet in the grip of winter,
and though the foothold is harder and better on the ice slopes, the
cold is keen and cruel, and the snowfalls frequent and dangerous."
"And the horses, my lord?"
"Those we must needs leave behind us for a while, Tom. I do not say
that we could not get them over, for, methinks, Hannibal must needs
have brought his horsemen across in days of yore, and where any
other horse has been, there could Lucifer and Nell Gwynne travel.
But I fear the poor beasts would suffer sorely; and I misdoubt me
if they would not be more care than use to us. They have done their
work gallantly, so far; and they will take us back as gallantly, I
doubt not, when our task is done. Meantime, I know a pleasant and
sheltered valley, where dwell some honest folk with whom I tarried
in bygone days, to heal me of a fever I had caught in the hot
Italian plains. There we will leave them; and there, Tom, if we
lose sight of each other, will we meet when our appointed tasks be
done.
"There are two places where we may find a safe asylum in this wild
land. One is the valley to which we are now bending our steps,
which nestles not far from the foot of the great mountain men call
the St. Bernard; the other is at the hospice upon the Great St.
Bernard itself, where is a colony of devout and kindly monks, who
give their succour to travellers of every nationality and creed,
and where a safe shelter may always be found. Moreover, the monks
have a certain intercourse with the inhabitants of the valleys
round and about, and we could thus have news of each other were one
of us there and the other here below.
"But we will not part company save for urgent need; yet 'tis well
always to be prepared."
Travelling was becoming increasingly difficult and trying as they
mounted into higher regions, and the roads became mere bridle
paths, often encumbered with snow drifts, and difficult to
traverse.
Fortunately it was fine overhead, and the season was a favourable
one. The sun had already attained some height in the sky, and could
shine with power at midday, for February was well advanced by this
time. But the cold at nights was intense, and the state of the
roads often made travelling difficult for the horses. The mountain
torrents were swelled to brawling rivers, and the ordinary bridges
broken down, so that the travellers had much ado to get across
them.
It seemed a savage country to Tom, although the excitement and
peril made travelling a delight. Moreover, the people were kind and
friendly, although they spoke such a barbarous patois that it was
difficult to hold communication with them.
At last they reached the sheltered little valley of which Tom had
heard, and here they found friends of a kind; for at the little inn
Lord Claud was remembered and hailed with joy. He had plainly won
the affections of the simple folks whilst lying there sick, and
they were ready and willing to give the travellers of their best,
and furnish them with guides for the passage of the mountain range,
which seemed now to tower above their heads into the clouds.
Travellers and horses were alike pretty well worn out by this time,
and the thought of spending a few days in this hospitable valley
was grateful even to Tom's stalwart frame. As for the horses, they
testified their satisfaction in many ways. They even made friends
with the goatherd who was told off to attend to them, and attempted
none of their tricks upon him; which was a source of considerable
satisfaction to Tom, who had been afraid the people might decline
to be left alone with such charges.
After seeing them safely stabled, bedded, and fed, Tom was glad
enough of a good meal himself; after which he retired to bed, and
slept for hard upon thirty-six hours, as he found to his amaze upon
awakening. And, indeed, it was small wonder that he did so; for he
had not been used to such strenuous exercise so constantly
continued, nor to the clear, bracing air of the mountains.
He woke as hungry as a hunter; and it was only after he had
satisfied the cravings of nature that he had time to observe the
thoughtful shadow which had gathered upon the face of his comrade.
"Is aught amiss?" he asked presently, leaning his elbows on the
table, and heaving a sigh of satisfaction.
"Well, Tom, that is as you like to think it; but what I feared
might be the case has come to pass. We shall not reach the plains
of Italy without being sore beset by danger."
Tom's eyes flashed keenly under their dark brows.
"What have you learned, my lord?"
"That the pass is being closely watched, Tom, by spies, or whatever
you choose to call them, from the French army. The Duke of Savoy
is, as I have told you before, completely hemmed in by the armies
of the great Vendome, one of the ablest generals France possesses.
His capital is in danger, and it is of the first importance that he
should receive the despatches and messages with which I am charged
by Marlborough, and which will give him heart and courage to
prolong the contest till the promised help, which is now on its
way, shall reach him. Doubtless it is equally the policy of the
enemy to keep him in ignorance of what they themselves now know or
fear, so that he may surrender to the French arms before he hears
what is being done for his succour.
"That, in brief, is the situation we have to grapple with. I
suspect that Sir James is one of those who are watching for
messengers from England, and that we shall have to measure our wits
against his. Tom, I must get through the pass. I must carry my
despatches into Turin. I am not one whit afraid of the French
lines. I can disguise myself, and pass through them if needs be
without a qualm of fear. I can speak French against any Frenchman
living, for I was cradled in that land. But the first problem we
have to face is this--how can we cross the pass unseen? How can we
put the spies on a false scent?"
Tom drew his brows together and scratched his head in the effort to
think matters out.
"Do they know that strangers are here in this valley? Are we
watched?"
"I suspect so," answered Lord Claud. "It is not easy to be certain,
because the people here are friendly to us, and distrust the
French, who have given them small cause to love them. But I am
convinced that so astute a man as Sir James Montacute would cause a
close watch to be kept upon this valley. Most likely our presence
here is known, and we are being watched for."
"And is there no other way of crossing the mountains into Italy?"
"Yes, there is one other route; for historians disagree as to the
one taken by Hannibal, albeit most believe that it was this of the
Little St. Bernard. There is another way, which doubtless could be
found; but if we were to strike aside after it, the spies would be
upon our heels at once."
"I was thinking," said Tom slowly, "that we might perchance part
company, one take one route and the other the other, and so arrange
matters that the spies should follow hot-foot upon the scent of the
wrong man."
A gleam came into Lord Claud's eyes. He spoke very quietly.
"In truth, Tom, some such thought has come into mine own head; but
it is not easy to make up one's mind to act upon it, for I fear it
means certain death to the wrong man who must be followed."
Tom's face set itself in grim lines. There was a vein of reckless
bravery and hardihood about him which imparted to the situation a
species of stern delight, and sent the blood tingling once more
through his veins.
"I will take the risk of that," he said; "I shall take some
killing, I think. And killing is a game that more than one can play
at! If I have to sell my life, I will make it cost the French King
dear."
"Right, Tom; but that will not give back a gallant servant to Her
Majesty of England!"
"I am not dead yet," answered Tom, with a grim laugh. "Tell me the
plan which you have worked out in your head, my lord; for your wits
are seven-fold keener than mine."
Then Lord Claud unfolded the plan which had been working in his
busy brain during the day that Tom had been sleeping, after he had
heard news which made him sure that his mission was suspected, and
that he would be stopped and robbed if possible.
Higher up the mountain side, just where the snow line lay, above
which there was everlasting ice and snow, was a little rough
hostel, where travellers rested and slept before they tried the
pass itself. An old half-witted man and his goitred wife kept the
place, and provided rough food and bedding for travellers, though
interesting themselves in no wise with their concerns. In that rude
place several men were now stopping, and had been stopping for some
days.
That fact in itself was almost sufficient for Lord Claud; but
somebody had found a scrap of torn paper with some French words
upon it, and this had made assurance doubly sure. Moreover, Lord
Claud believed it to be the writing of the man he had duelled with
beneath Barns Elms.
To this inn (if such it could be called) he and Tom must journey,
with a peasant for a guide to take them across the pass. Upon
reaching the place, his idea now was that he should appear sorely
smitten by the cold, as some travellers were; so ill and unfit for
further journeying, that he should have perforce to send Tom on
alone with the guide, whilst he returned to the valley. All this
they should discuss in their room at night, assured that they would
be overlooked and overheard; and when quite certain that eyes were
watching them, Lord Claud was to unrip his doublet and take thence
a packet of papers, sealed with the signet of the Duke of
Marlborough, and sew this same packet firmly into Tom's coat.
In reality this tempting-looking packet with the Duke's seal
contained nothing but a sheet of blank parchment. The real missive
for the Duke Victor Amadeus was written on a thin paper, and was
concealed between the soles of Lord Claud's boots--though even Tom
did not know that. The packet was arranged as a blind, if need
should be; and now it seemed as though the need had come.
Then on the following morning Tom and the guide would start forth
across the pass; whilst Lord Claud should creep feebly down to the
valley, watched, perhaps, but probably unmolested. The majority of
the men, at any rate, would most certainly follow Tom.
"There are but four," said Lord Claud; "and if one be Montacute
himself, I doubt if he will stir from the inn. He will try to keep
an eye upon both, being a man full of cunning himself. I reckon
that he will send two men after you, Tom, and one after me. I
shall, after a while, pause, lie in wait, and kill that man. Then I
shall flee to the valley, get a guide who can show me the other
pass, and make such way from the seat of peril that I shall be
well-nigh across the frontier before Sir James knows that one of
his quarry has escaped him.
"As for you, my boy, you may like enough escape with a sound skin,
unless Montacute himself pursues, making three to one--for one
cannot trust these peasants to show fight. But be the issue what it
may, that is the plan I have thought out which gives the best
chance of winning through. If you escape, flee either back here, or
perhaps, better still, to the protection of the monks. For here
these unwarlike peasants could perhaps give you little aid if hard
pressed; but the Church will afford you sanctuary, and not even the
wrath of Sir James himself will avail to wrest you from the hands
of the monks, if you claim their protection."
"It seems to me," said Tom, throwing back his head, "that the peril
is, after all, not so great--not so great, indeed, as what we have
faced many times before. Let us carry out the plan, and whether
good or evil follow, we shall have done our best--and no man can do
more!"
The two men gripped hands upon it, and the compact was sealed. Tom
rather exulted in the post of peril that was accorded to himself.
Perhaps in days to come the Duke would hear of it, and might reward
him by some words of praise or thanks.
That same afternoon Tom felt his veins tingling again as they
neared the lone little hut amid the whiteness of the low-lying
winter snow. He was about to launch forth upon the first solitary
adventure of his life, and one which might be fraught with dire
perils; but his heart quailed not.
Almost at once he was lost in admiration and amaze at the power
displayed by Lord Claud in acting a part. He began to draw his
breath with apparent difficulty; his face looked drawn and ghastly;
he clung to Tom's arm as if for support; and it was difficult
indeed to believe that he was not feeling really terribly ill.
They reached the hut and knocked. The door was instantly opened,
and Tom was certain he saw a gleam of malicious satisfaction upon
the faces of the men, who welcomed them in with a show of rude
cordiality.
There were but two rooms that could be called sleeping apartments,
they said, and one was already occupied; but they would give up the
other to the use of the sick traveller. Lord Claud was speedily
assisted thither, and the fire in the stove replenished. He lay
down upon the bed with a groan, and looked as if nigh to death. The
peasant chattered with the old couple, and it was plain that this
sort of seizure was not very uncommon in those altitudes.
The men tried to make Tom understand that his companion should go
back to the valley; but that could not be done till the morrow, and
presently the pair were left alone in their room.
This room was only separated from the next by some rude split pine
trunks. Tom had seen upon entering that a light had been quickly
extinguished, otherwise he would have seen clearly through the
chinks who the occupant was. He knew perfectly that every word they
spoke could be overheard, and every action they performed duly
watched; and he entered into the game of play acting with a zeal
that gave him greater aptitude than he had thought to possess.
He strove to get his master to take the broth that one of the men
brought up; he entreated him not to give way; and finally he agreed
that it would be impossible for the sick man to attempt further
travel, and offered himself to bear the packet of letters into
Italy.
Then came the projected piece of play acting--the ripping up of the
doublet, the sewing of the sealed packet into Tom's clothes,
promises, directions, warnings, all given with apparent feeble
energy, and received with faithful eagerness.
And all the while Tom was aware that close to them, just behind the
thin partition, other eyes were watching, other ears listening to
all that passed. He could even hear the short breathings of
repressed excitement, and almost feel the keen gaze which he knew
was constantly bent upon him.
When all was done to the satisfaction of the sick man, Tom
extinguished the light, and lay down beside him on the rude bed.
After his long sleep of the previous day, he cared little whether
he slumbered or not--indeed, it seemed better that he should keep
awake. His head was full of the adventure which lay before him, and
he was almost certain that he heard whispering voices either in the
next room or below; by which he guessed that their enemies, having
discovered all they wanted to know, were now laying their plans how
best they might carry out their own designs.