There had been something a little peculiar in the way in which Master
Ned had pronounced the words, "We want a little light," which, if
Jargeau had remarked the curl of his lip as they were uttered, might
have induced him to turn his horse's head toward Rochelle instead of
Fontenay; for in truth the lad spoke of other than moonlight. Ned rode
on in silence, however, for some minutes, along a small road, or rather
path, which led from the old cottage, first to a small straggling
village, such as is still to be seen in the Bocage and its neighborhood,
and then to a place of junction with the highroad running from Marans to
Mauzé. It was called a highroad then, God wot; but it has fallen into a
second-class way now, and was in all but name a very low road always.
Pierrot was silent too,--not that he had not a strong impulse toward
eloquence upon him, but that he felt a certain confusion of thought
which did not permit of seeing distinctly which was the head, which the
tail, of a subject. The last draught of brandy had been a deep one. Yet
Pierrot was practised in all the various phases of drunkenness, and in
general knew how to carry his liquor discreetly; but this was in fact
the reason that he abstained from using his tongue, feeling an intense
conviction that it would either speak some gross nonsense, or betray
some secret, or commit some other of those lamentable blunders in which
drunken men's tongues are wont to indulge, if he once opened his mouth.
It was not an easy task to keep quiet, it is true; and, had he not been
a very experienced man, he could not have accomplished it. But the
struggle was soon brought to a conclusion; for, when they had ridden
about half a mile, Master Ned turned sharp upon him, and asked,
abruptly, "What was that Jargeau said to you, just as we were coming
away, Pierrot?"
"Oh, nothing," answered Pierrot, in a muddled voice, "but to lead you
right."
"Where?" demanded the lad, sternly.
"Why, to Mauzé, to-be-sure," replied Pierrot.
"What a pity he gave himself such unnecessary trouble!" answered the
lad, in a quiet tone: "neither you nor I go to Mauzé to-night, Pierrot."
"Then where, in Satan's name, are you going?" demanded his companion,
checking his horse.
"To Rochelle," replied Master Ned. "Jog on, Maître Pierrot. It is the
next turn on the right we take, I think. Jog on, I say. Why do you
stop?"
"Because I ought to go back and tell Jargeau, and ask him what I am to
do," answered the other, half bewildered with drink and astonishment.
"You are to do what I tell you, and to do it at once," replied the lad;
"and, if you do not, I have got a persuader here which will convince you
sooner than any other argument I can use." And as he spoke he drew one
of the large horse-pistols of that day from beneath his cloak and
pointed it straight at Pierrot's head. "It is the same argument that
stopped your running away and leaving us in the enemy's teeth at St.
Martin's-in-Rhé," he said.
"You young devil, the ball is in my leg still," answered Pierrot. "But
this is not fair, Master Ned. You might be right enough then, for you
thought I was going to betray you; though, on my life and soul, I was
only afraid. Now you want me to disobey those I am bound to serve, and
do not even give me a reason."
"I will give you a reason, though I have not much time, for fear the
powder in the pan should get damp," replied the boy; "but my reason is
that I was told to go to Rochelle and see Maître Clement Tournon; and
therefore I am going. Now, in the Isle de Rhé I did not think you were
going to betray us, and knew quite well it was mere fear; but at present
I do think Jargeau is seeking to betray me,--or mislead me, which is as
bad. At all events, you have got to go with me to Rochelle, or have the
lead in your head, Pierrot: so choose quickly, because you know I do not
wait long for any one."
"Well, I vow you are too hard upon me, Master Ned," said Pierrot, in a
whimpering tone. "You take the very bread out of my mouth and give me
over to the vengeance of that cold-blooded devil Jargeau."
"You will find me a worse devil still," replied Master Ned, coldly; but
even as he spoke he fell into a fit of thought, and then added, "Listen
to me, Pierrot, if the brandy has left you any brains, or ears either. I
want a man like you to go with me a long way, perhaps. It will not be I
who pay you, for I have got little enough, as you know; but I will be
your surety that you shall be well paid as long as you serve well. I
know you to the bottom. You are honest at heart, whether you are drunk
or sober; though liquor has not the same effect upon you as upon most
men. You are brave enough when you are sober, but a terrible coward when
you are drunk. Now, if you like to go with me, you shall have enough to
live on, and to get drunk on, when I choose to let you get drunk."
"How often will that be?" asked Pierrot, interrupting him.
"I will make no bargain," answered the lad; "but this much I will say:
you may drink whenever I do not tell you I have important business on
hand. When I do tell you that, you shall taste nothing stronger than
water."
"Good! good!" said Pierrot: "strong water you mean, of course."
"Well-water," said the lad, sharply. "But, remember, I am not to be
trifled with. As to Jargeau, I will take care he does nothing to injure
you. If it be as I think, I have got his head under my belt, and he will
soon know that it is so. Now choose quickly, for we have stood here too
long."
"Well, I'll go," said Pierrot; "but I am terribly afraid of that
Jargeau. However, your pistol is nearest; and so I'll go. I know you are
not to be trifled with, well enough; but I must find some way of letting
Jargeau know I have left him. It would be a shame to go without telling
him, you know, Master Ned."
"We shall find means enough in Rochelle of sending him word," answered
the lad, putting up his pistol and resuming his journey.
Pierrot followed with sundry half-articulate grunts; but he appeared
soon to recover both good humor and spirits, for ere they had gone half
a mile he burst forth into song, broken and irregular indeed, now a
scrap from one lay, now from another; but, at all events, the music
seemed to show that no very heavy thing was resting on his mind. His
rambling scraps of old ditties ran somewhat as follows:--
"Whither go you on this dark, dark night,
Wayfaring cavalier?
Go you to love, or go you to fight?
Either is better by clear moonlight,
Venturous cavalier.
"By my life, the moon is beginning to break through,--though how she
will manage it I don't know; for there is mud enough in yonder sky to
swallow up the tallest horse I ever rode.
"Oh, tell-tale moon,
You are up too soon
For the long train of kisses yet on the way.
Your eyes so bright
Make all the world light:
We might just as well kiss in the full of the day.
"She has got behind the cloud again. Moons and maidens don't know their
own minds.
"Katy went to the cupboard-door,
Ah, Katy, Katy!
What want you in your grandam's store?
Cunning little Katy.
"She went quietly over the floor:
Fie, Katy, Katy!
No use of the lock, no use of the door,
Against that little Katy.
"She's put away her own little snood:
Fie, little Katy!
She has got on her grandmother's hood:
Can that be pretty Katy?
"She has opened the back door into the wood:
Beware! Katy, Katy;
Such sly marches never bode good
To any little Katy.
"But there's a priest with the yeoman tall:
Is that it, little Katy?
And now she is wedded and bedded and all,
And no more little Katy."
The concluding stanzas, if they were neither very excellent nor very
tender, were at least an indication that his mind was settling down into
a calmer state than when he began. They were connected, at all events;
and continuity of thought is a great approach to reason, which dwelleth
not in the brains of any man together with much brandy. The finer spirit
was, therefore, apparently getting the better of the coarser; and Master
Ned thought the time was come for him to take advantage of the change of
dynasty and see whether he could not obtain some advantage from the new
ruler.
"Well, Pierrot," he said, "this is a very pretty business you have been
engaged in. After having had the honor of serving the King of England
and fighting for the liberty of the Protestants of France, you have been
persuaded to aid in trying to betray me into the hands of the enemy,
though you did not know that I might not be the bearer of important
messages to your own people."
"Whew!" cried Pierrot, with a long whistle. Now, whistles mean all kinds
of things, from the ostracism of a play-house gallery to the signal of
love or housebreaking; but the whistle of good Pierrot was decidedly a
whistle of astonishment, and so Master Ned interpreted it.
"Do not affect ignorance or surprise, Pierrot," he said: "that will not
do with me. Jargeau is a traitor: that is clear."
"Well, well, Master Ned," interposed his companion, "you are a mighty
sharp lad, beyond question; but sometimes you ride your horse too fast,
notwithstanding. Just stop a bit till my head gets a little--a very
little bit--clearer, and I'll set you right. As you think the matter
worse than it is, I may as well show you it is better. I don't mean to
say they did not want to trick you; but not the way you fancy."
"Why, are not all the towns round in the hands of the Papists?" asked
the lad. "We have had that news in England for the last four months."
"No, no, no," answered Pierrot: "the Papists may have the upper hand in
most of them, it is true; but stop a bit, and I'll tell you all clearly.
Your long pistol half sobered me; and when I can get to a spring and put
my head in, that will wash out the rest of the brandy. It is of no use
giving you a muddled tale."
"Take care you do not make one up," answered Master Ned. "I shall find
you out in five minutes."
Pierrot laughed. "I'd as soon try to cheat the devil," he said. "But let
us ride on. There is a well just where the roads cross, and it will
serve my turn. Brandy is a fine thing, but a mighty poor counsellor."
The lad followed the suggestion, for he did not wish to give his
companion too much time to think, and, urging their horses on, in about
five minutes they reached the spot where two highways crossed, and where
a large stone trough received the waters of a beautiful and plentiful
spring, affording solace to many a weary and thirsty horse in those days
of saddle-travelling. There Pierrot dismounted, slowly and deliberately,
for he could not precisely ascertain to what extent he retained a
balancing power till his feet touched the ground. With more directness
of purpose, however, than could have been expected, he made his way to
the trough, and, kneeling down, plunged his head once or twice into the
cool water. He then rose, with his long rugged black hair still
streaming; and, after the horses had been suffered to drink, the two
travellers resumed their way. The moon by this time had completely
scattered the clouds; glimpses of dark-blue sky appeared between the
broken masses, and the keen eye of the young lad could mark every
change in the expression of Pierrot's face as he went on.
"Now, Master Ned," he said, "I think my noddle has got clear enough of
the fumes to let you know something of what people have been about here,
which you do not know rightly, I can see. Rochelle is going to be taken
by the Catholics: that's clear to me."
"Unless the great Duke of Buckingham drive the Catholics beyond the
Loire, it must be taken," answered the lad. "You can never stand against
all France. But what makes you give up hope, Pierrot?"
"First, the King of France, and his devil of a Cardinal, are drawing
together a great army all around us," answered Pierrot,--"a greater army
than ever approached Rochelle before. That we could manage to resist,
perhaps. But then they are going very coolly to work fortifying every
town and well-pitched village of the Papists within fifty miles of the
city, and filling them with soldiers, so that every egg that comes to
market will have to be fought for. Well, that we could perhaps manage
too, for we could get supplies from England. But look here, Master Ned:
there are two parties in Rochelle. Our best lords and wisest citizens,
our chief generals and captains, know well that our only hope is in the
support of England; but there is a more numerous, if not a stronger,
party, who do not like your great duke, would have nothing to do with
your good country, and would have us stand alone and fight it out by
ourselves. One of their chief men is Jargeau."
"I see," said the lad. "But what did he seek by trying to entrap me to
go to Mauzé?"
"First, your letters were likely either to fall into the hands of the
Catholics, and, by showing how firmly Rochelle could count upon English
help, frighten them and make them reasonable," answered Pierrot, "or,
secondly, they might fall into the hands of Miguet and his other
friends, who would take care they should never reach their destination.
That was the plan, Master Ned."
"And not a bad plan, either," answered the other, thoughtfully,
"supposing I had any letters. But, as you say, Rochelle is in a bad
way; for, if her leaders are afraid to let each other know their exact
position and what they may count upon, she is a house divided against
herself, and cannot stand. But what made Jargeau think I had letters?
Nobody told him so, I think."
"No; but they told him you would have messages for our principal
people," answered Pierrot,--adding, not unwilling, perhaps, to show a
little scorn for one whose strong will had exercised what may be called
an unnatural ascendency over him more than once, "and Jargeau never
believed that they would trust messages to such a young boy as you."
"He must have thought my memory very bad," replied the lad, "not to be
able to carry a message from England to France. But my memory is not so
bad, good Pierrot, as he may find some day. At all events, if Rochelle
is to be lost by the intrigues of a man who does not choose his comrades
to know where succor lies when they like to seek it, all the world shall
know who ruined a good cause. But I suppose, Pierrot, all he told me of
the meeting of the Reformed leaders at Mauzé was a mere lure."
"No, no; it is all true," answered Pierrot. "The prince is there, and
Rohan, and a dozen of others; and if you could have got safe through
without the loss of your bags, you would have found some of those you
want; but I suppose he had provided against that. I don't know: he never
told me; but it is likely."
"Very likely," replied Master Ned; "but you say 'some of those I want.'
I only want one person; and him I must see if it be possible. Is Maître
Clement Tournon in the city?"
"He is not with those in the Chateau of Mauzé," replied Pierrot. "I know
little of him. He is a goldsmith,--a very quiet man?"
"Probably," answered the lad: "quiet men are the best friends in this
world. So, on to Rochelle! Will they let us pass the gates at night?"
"'Tis a hard question to answer," said Pierrot. "Sometimes they are very
strict, sometimes lax enough. But it is somewhat late, young lad, and,
if none of the guard is in love with moonlight, we shall find them all
asleep."
"Asleep in such times as these!" exclaimed the young man.
"Why, either the Papists are trying to throw us off our guard," said
Pierrot, "or they are too busy cutting off each others' heads to mind
ours. They have not troubled us much as yet. True, they have taken a
town or two, and stopped some of our parties into the country, and begun
what they call lines; but not a man of their armies has come within
cannon-shot. And there is not much more strictness than in the times of
the _little war_ which has been going on for the last fifty years. But
the people in the town vary from time to time. When one man commands,
the very nose of a Catholic will be fired at; and, when another is on
duty, the gates will be opened to Schomberg, or the devil, or any one
else who comes in a civil manner. But there is Rochelle peeping over the
trees yonder, just as if she had come out to see the moon shine."
"Well, then, mark me, good Pierrot," said Master Ned, "I expect you to
do all you can to make them open the gates to us. You understand what
that means, I suppose?"
"That I shall have a shot in my other leg or through my head if I do
not, I presume," answered Pierrot. "But don't be afraid. When you have
given me a crown, I shall have taken service with you; and then you
know, or ought to know, I will serve you well."
The lad, it would seem, had some reason to judge that the estimate which
his companion put upon such a bond was just. Indeed, in those days the
act of taking service, confirmed by earnest-money, implied much more
than it does in our more enlightened times. Then a man who had thus
bound himself thought himself obliged to let nobody cheat his master but
himself, to feel a personal interest in his purposes and in his safety.
Now, alas! we hire a man to rob us himself and help all others to rob
us,--to brush our coats in the evening, and cut our throats in the
morning if we have too many silver spoons. However, Master Ned put his
hand into his pocket and pulled out a piece of money, which he held out
to Pierrot, who seemed for a moment to hesitate to take it. "I wish I
had told Jargeau I was going to quit him," he said: "not that he ever
gave me a sol, but plenty of promises. How much is it, Master Ned?"
"A spur rial," replied the boy,--"worth a number of your French crowns."
"Lead us not into temptation!" cried Pierrot, taking and pocketing the
money. "And now tell me what I am to do."
"All you can to make them open the gates," answered Master Ned. "You
have got the word, of course?"
"Nay, 'faith, not I," replied Pierrot: "Jargeau got it this evening, but
I did not think of asking. Never mind, however: all the people in
Rochelle know me, and I will get in if any one can."
He was destined to be disappointed, however. In the little suburb, just
before the gate, he and his companion passed a little tavern where
lights were burning and people singing and making a good deal of noise;
but it was in vain that Pierrot knocked at the large heavy door or
shouted through a small barred aperture. No one could be made to hear;
and he and Master Ned were forced to retreat to one of the cabarets of
the faubourg and await the coming of daylight.