HOSTAGES.
There is born of the enthusiasm of self-denial a happiness that while
the fervour lasts seems all-sufficing. The skirmish that has routed
the van of jealousy stands for the battle; nor does the victor foresee
that with the fall of night the enemy will flock again to the attack,
and by many an insidious onset strive to change the fortune of the
day.
Still once to have felt the generous impulse, once to have trodden
self underfoot and risen god-like above the baser thoughts, is
something. And if Bonne and her brother were destined to find the
victory less complete than they thought, if they were to know moments
when the worst in them raised its head, they were but as the best of
us. And again--a reflection somewhat more humorous--had these two been
able to read the mind of the man of whom each was thinking, they had
met with so curious an enlightenment that they had hardly been able to
look at one another. To say that des Ageaux entertained no tender
feeling for any one were to say more than the truth; for during the
last few days a weakness had crept unwelcome and unbidden into his
heart. But he kept it sternly in the background--he who had naught to
do with such things--and it did not tend in the direction of the
Countess. In point of fact the Lieutenant had other and more serious
food for thought; other and more pressing anxieties than love.
Forty-eight hours had disclosed the weakness of the position in which
he had chosen to place himself. He foresaw, if not the certainty, the
probability of defeat. And defeat in the situation he had taken up
might be attended by hideous consequences.
These were not slow to cast their shadows. The two on the hill had not
sat long in silent companionship before the sounds which rose from the
camp began to take a sterner note. Roger was the first to mark the
change. Rousing himself and shaking off his lugubrious mood, "What is
that?" the lad asked. "Do you hear, Bonne? It sounds like trouble
somewhere."
"Trouble?" she repeated, still half in dreams.
"Yes, by Jove, but--listen! And what has become"--he was on his feet
by this time--"of the Bat's ragged regiment? They have vanished."
"They must be behind the tree," Bonne answered. And moved by the same
impulse they walked a little aside along the slope until they could
see the section of the camp immediately below them, which had been
hidden hitherto by the branches of the great plane-tree.
The little group which Bonne had left when her feelings compelled her
to flight remained in the same place. But all who formed it, the
Vicomte and his eldest daughter as well as des Ageaux and the
Countess, were now on their feet. The Vicomte and the ladies stood
together in the background, while des Ageaux, who had placed himself
before them, confronted an excited body of men, some hundred in
number, and composed in part at least of those whom the Bat had been
lately drilling. Whether these had broken from his control and
gathered their fellows as they moved, or the impulse had come from
outside and they were but recruits, their presence rendered the
movement more formidable. They were not indeed of so low and savage a
type as the creatures who had met des Ageaux in the gate the previous
day, but viewed in this serried mass, their lowering brutish faces and
clenched hands called up a vivid sense of danger. They must have made
some outcry as they approached, or Roger had not noticed their
assemblage. But now they were fallen silent. A grim mass of scowling,
hard-breathing men, then small suspicious eyes glaring through tangled
locks irresistibly reminded the observer of that quarry the most
dangerous of all the beasts of chase, the wild boar.
Bonne's colour faded as her eyes took in the meaning of the scene. She
grew still paler as her brain pictured for the first time the things
that might happen in this camp of clowns of whose real sentiments the
intruders had so little knowledge, at whose possible treachery it was
so easy to guess. Time has not wiped, time never will wipe from the
French memory the fear of a Jacquerie. The horrors of that hideous
revolt, of its rise and its suppression are stamped on the minds of
the unborn. "What is it?" she repeated more than once, her heart
fluttering. How very, very near he stood--on whom all depended--to the
line of scowling men!
"A mutiny, I fear!" Roger answered hastily. "Come!" And, with face
slightly flushed, he hurried, running and sliding down the slope.
She was not three paces behind him when he reached the foot. Here they
lost sight of the scene, but quickly passed between two huts and
reached the Vicomte's side. Des Ageaux was speaking.
"I cannot give you the man," he was saying, "but I can give you
justice."
"Justice?" the spokesman of the peasants retorted bitterly--he wore
the dress of a smith, and belonged to that craft. "Who ever heard but
of one sort of justice for the poor man? Justice, Sir Governor, is the
poor man's right to be hung! The poor man's right to be scourged! The
poor man's right to be broken on the wheel! To see his hut burned and
his wife borne off! That is the justice"--rudely--"the poor man gets--
be it high or low, king's or lord's!"
"Ay, ay!" the stern chorus rose from a hundred throats behind him,
"that is the poor man's justice!"
"It is to put an end to such things I am here!" des Ageaux replied,
marking with a watchful eye the faces before him. He was far from
easy, but he had handled men of their kind before, and thought that he
knew them.
"There was never a beginning of such things, and there will never be
an end!" the smith returned, the hopelessness of a thousand years of
wrong in his words. "Never! But give us this man--he has done all
these things, he and his master, and we will believe you."
"I cannot give him to you," des Ageaux answered. The same prisoner,
one of Vlaye's followers, was in question whom the Old Crocans had
yesterday required to be given up to them. "But I have told you and I
tell you again," the Lieutenant continued, reading mischief in the
men's faces, "that you shall have justice. If this man has wronged you
and you can prove it----"
"If!" the peasant cried, and baring his right arm he raised his
clenched fist to heaven.
But the Lieutenant went on as if the man had not spoken. "If you can
prove these things upon him by witnesses here present----"
"You will give him to us?"
"No, I will not do that!"
"You will give him to us!" the smith repeated, refusing to hear the
denial. And all along the line of scowling faces--the line that
wavered ominously at moments of emotion as if it would break about the
little group--ran a swift gleam of white teeth.
But des Ageaux did not blench. He raised his hand for silence, and his
voice was steady as a rock as he made answer. "No," he said, "I will
not give him to you. He belongs neither to me nor to you, but to God
and the King, whose is justice."
"To God!" the other snarled, "whose is justice! Rather, whose servants
hold the lamb that the devils may flay it! And for the King, Sir
Governor, a fig for him! Our own hands are worth a dozen kings!"
"Stay!" The line was swaying; in the nick of time des Ageaux' voice,
and perhaps something in his eye, stayed it. "Listen to me one
moment," he continued. "To-morrow morning--for I have not
time to-day--the man you accuse shall be tried. If he be guilty,
before noon he shall die. If he be not guilty, he shall go!"
A murmur of protest.
But des Ageaux raised his head higher and spoke more sternly. "He
shall go!" he repeated--and for the moment he mastered them. "If he be
innocent he shall go! What more do you claim? To what beyond have you
a right? And now," he continued, as he saw them pause angry but
undecided, "for yourselves! I have told you, I tell you again that
this is your last chance. That I and the offer I make you are your
last hope! There is a man there"--with his forefinger he singled out a
tall youth with a long, narrow face and light blue eyes--"who promises
that when you are attacked he will wave his arm, and Vlaye and his
riders will fall on their faces as fell the walls of Jericho! Do you
believe him? Will you trust your wives and children to him? And
another"--again he singled out a man, a beetle-browed dwarf, hideous
of aspect, survivor of some ancient race--"who promises victory if you
will sacrifice your captives on yonder stone! Do you believe him? And
if you do not trust these, in what do you trust? Can naked men stand
before mailed horses? Can you take castles with your bare hands? You
have left your villages, you have slain your oxen, you have burned
your tools, you have slain your lords' men, you have taken the field.
Have peasants ever done these things--and not perished sooner or later
on gibbets and in dungeons? And such will be your fate, and the fate
of your women and your children, if you will go your way and will not
listen!"
"What do you promise us?" The question in various forms broke from a
dozen throats.
"First, justice on the chief of your oppressors."
"The Captain of Vlaye?"
"The same."
"Ay, ay!" Their harsh cries marked approval. Some with dark looks spat
on their hands and worked their right arms to and fro.
"Next," des Ageaux continued, "that which never peasant who took the
field had yet--pardon for the past. To those who fear not to go back,
leave to return to their homes. To those who have broken their lords'
laws a settlement elsewhere with their wives and children. To every
man of his hands, when he leaves, ten deniers out of the spoils of
Vlaye to carry him to his home."
Nine out of ten marked their approval by a shout; and des Ageaux
heaved a sigh of relief, thinking all well. But the smith turned and
exchanged some words with the men nearest him, chiding them and
reminding them of something. Then he turned again.
"Fine words! But for all this what pledge, Sir Governor?" he asked
with a sneer. "What warranty that when we have done our part we shall
not to gibbet or gallows like our fellows?"
"The King's word!"
"Ay? And hostages? What hostages?"
"Hostages?" The Lieutenant's voice rang sharp with anger.
"Ay, hostages!" the man answered sturdily, informed by the murmurs of
his fellows that he had got them back into the road from which des
Ageaux' arguments had led them. "We must have hostages."
Clearly they had made up their minds to this, they had determined on
it beforehand. For with one voice, "We must have hostages!" they
thundered.
Des Ageaux paused before he answered--paused in dismay. It looked as
if--already he feared it--he had put out his hand too far. As if he
had trusted too implicitly to his management of men, and risked not
himself only, but women; women of the class to which these human
beasts set down their wrongs, women on whom the least accident or
provocation might lead them to wreak their vengeance! If it were so!
But he dared not follow up the thought, lest the coolness on which all
depended should leave him. Instead, "We are all your hostages," he
said.
"And what of those? And those?" the smith answered. With a cunning
look he pointed to the two knots of troopers whom des Ageaux had
brought with him. "And by-and-by there will be more. Madame"--he
pointed to the little Countess who had shrunk to Bonne's side, and
stood with the elder girl's arm about her--"Madame has sent for
fifty riders from her lands in the north--on, we know! And the Duke
who is ill, for another hundred and fifty from Bergerac! When they
come"--with a leer--"where will be our hostages? No, it is now we must
talk, Sir Governor, or not at all."
Des Ageaux, his cheek flushed, reflected amid an uneasy silence. He
knew that two of his riders were away bearing letters, and that four
more were patrolling the valley; that two with Charles de Villeneuve
were isolated on the ridge, unable to help; in a word, that no more
than twelve or thirteen were within call, who, separated from their
horses, were no match for a mob of men outnumbering them by five or
six to one, and whom the first blow would recruit from every quarter
of the seething camp. He had miscalculated, and saw it. He had
miscalculated, and the consequences he dare not weigh. The men in
whose power he had placed himself--and so much more than himself--were
not the dull clods he had deemed them, but alike ferocious and
suspicious, ready on the first hint of treachery to exact a fearful
vengeance. No man had ever kept faith with them; why should they
believe that he would keep faith? He shut his teeth hard. "I will
consider the matter," he said, "and let you know my answer to-morrow
at noon." He spoke as ending the conference, and he made as if he
would turn on his heel.
"Ay, when madame's fifty spears are come?" the smith cried. "That will
not do! If you mean us well give us hostages. If you mean us ill,"
taking one step forward with an insolent gesture----
"Fool, I mean you no ill!" the Lieutenant answered sternly. "If I
meant you ill, why should I be here?"
But "Hostages! Hostages!" the crowd answered, raising weapons and
fists.
Their cries drowned his words. A score of hands threatened him.
Without looking, he felt that the Bat and his troopers, a little clump
apart, were preparing to intervene, and he knew that on his next
movement all depended. The pale faces behind him he could not see, for
he was aware that if his eye left his opponents, they would fall upon
him. At any second a hurried gesture, or the least sign of fear might
unloose the torrent, and well was it for all that in many a like scene
his nerve had been tempered to hardness. He shrugged his shoulders.
"Well," he said, "you shall have your hostages."
"Ay, ay!" A sudden relaxation, a falling back into quietude of the
seething mass approved the consent.
"You shall have my lieutenant," he continued, "and----"
"And I will be the other," cried Roger manfully. He stepped forward.
"I am the son of M. le Vicomte there! I will be your hostage," he
repeated.
But the smith, turning to his followers, grinned. "We'd be little the
better for them," he said. "Eh? No, Sir Governor! We must have our
choice!"
"Your choice, rogues?"
"Ay, we'll have the pick!" the crowd shouted. "The best of the
basket!" Amid ferocious laughter.
Des Ageaux had suspected for some hours past that he had done a
foolish, a fatally foolish thing in trusting these men, whom no man
had ever trusted. He saw now that only two courses stood open to him.
He might strike the smith down at his feet, and risk all on the effect
which the act might have on his followers; or he might yield what they
asked, allow them to choose their hostages, and trust to time and
skill for the rest. His instincts were all for the bolder course, but
he had women behind him, and their chance in a conflict so unequal
must be desperate. With a quietness and firmness characteristic of the
man he accepted his defeat.
"Very well," he said. "It matters nothing. Whom will you have?"
"We'll have you," the smith replied grinning, "and her!" With a grimy
hand he pointed to the little Countess who with Bonne's arm about her
and Fulbert at her elbow was staring fascinated at the line of savage
faces.
"You cannot have a lady!" the Lieutenant answered with a chill at his
heart.
"Ay, but it is she who has the riders who are coming!" the smith
retorted shrewdly. "It is her we want and it is her we'll have! We'll
do her no harm, and she may have her own hut on our side, and her
woman with her, and a man if she pleases. And you may have a hut
beside hers, if one," with a wink, "won't do for the two."
"But, man," des Ageaux cried, his brow dark, "how can I take Vlaye and
his castle while I lie a hostage?"
"Oh, you shall go to and fro, to and fro, Sir Governor!" the smith
answered lightly. "We'll not be too strict if you are there of nights.
And we will know ourselves safe. And as we live by bread," he
continued stoutly, "we'll do her no harm if faith be kept with us!"
Des Ageaux endeavoured to hide his emotion, but the sweat stood on his
brow. Defeat is bitter to all. To the man who has long been successful
most bitter.
Suddenly, "I will go!" said the Countess bravely. And she stepped
forward by the Lieutenant's side, a little figure, shrinking, yet
resolute. "I will go," she repeated, trembling with excitement, yet
facing the men.
"No!" Roger cried--and then was silent. It was not for him to speak.
What could he do?
"We will all go!" Bonne said.
"Nay, but that will not do," the smith replied, with a sly grimace.
"For then they"--he pointed to the little knot of troopers who waited
with sullen faces a short arrow-shot away--"would be coming as well.
The lady may bring a woman if she pleases, and her man there, as I
said." He nodded towards Fulbert. "But no more, or we are no gainers!"
To the Lieutenant that moment was one of the bitterest of his life.
He, the King's Governor, who had acted as master, who had forced the
Vicomte and his party to come into his plans, whether they would or
no, stood out-generalled by a mob of peasants, whom he had thought to
use as tools! And not only that, but the young Countess, whose safety
he had made the pretext for the abandonment of the chateau, must
surrender herself to a risk more serious--ay, far more serious, than
that from which he had made this ado to save her!
Humiliation could scarcely go farther. It was to his credit, it was
perhaps some proof of his capacity for government that, seeing the
thing inevitable, he refrained from useless words or protest, and
sternly agreed. He and the Countess would remove to the farther side
of the camp in the course of the day.
"With a man and a maid only?" the smith persisted, knitting his brows.
Having got what he had asked he doubted.
"The Countess of Rochechouart will be so attended," the Lieutenant
answered sternly. "And you, Sir Governor?"
"I am a soldier," he retorted, so curtly that they were abashed. With
some muttering they began to melt away. Awhile they stood in groups,
discussing the matter. Then gradually they retired across the rivulet
to their quarters.
The Lieutenant had been almost happy had that ended it. But he had to
face those whom he had led into this trap, those whom he had forced to
trust him, those whom he had carried from their home. He was not long
in learning their views.
"A soldier!" the Vicomte repeated, taking up his last word in a voice
shaking with passion. "You call yourself a soldier and you bring us to
this! To this!" With loathing he described the outline of the camp
with his staff. "You a soldier, and cast women to these devils! Pah!
Since Coutras there may be such soldiers! But in my time, no!"
He did not reply: and the Abbess took up the tale. "Excellent!" she
said, with bitterest irony. "We are all now assured of your prudence
and sagacity, sir! The safety and freedom which we enjoy here, the
ease of mind which the Countess will doubtless enjoy tonight----"
"Do not frighten her, mademoiselle!" he said, repressing himself.
Then, as if an impulse moved him, he turned slowly to Bonne. "Have you
nothing to add, mademoiselle?" he asked, in a peculiar tone.
"Nothing!" she answered bravely. And then--it needed some courage to
speak before her father and sister, "Were I in the Countess's place I
should not fear. I am sure she will be safe with you."
"Safe!" Odette cried, her eyes flashing. In the excitement of the
moment the plans she had so recently made were forgotten. "Ay, as safe
as a lamb among wolves! As safe as a nun among robbers! So safe that I
for one am for leaving this moment. Ay, for leaving, and now!" she
continued, stamping her foot on the sward "What is it to us if this
gentleman, who calls himself the Governor of Perigord--and may be
such, I care not whether he is or not--has a quarrel with M. de Vlaye
and would fain use us in it as he uses these brute beasts? What, I
say, is it to us? Or why do we take part? M. le Vicomte"--she turned
to her father--"if you are still master of Villeneuve, you will order
our horses and take us thither. We have naught to fear, I say it
again, we have naught to fear at M. de Vlaye's hands; and if we fall
into them between this and Villeneuve, so much the better! But if we
stay here we have all to fear." In truth she was honestly frightened.
She thought the case desperate.
"Mademoiselle----"
"No, sir!" she retorted, turning from him. "I did not speak to you;
but to you, M. le Vicomte! Sir, you hear me? Is it not your will that
we order the horses and go from here?"
"If we can go safely----"
"You cannot go safely!" des Ageaux said, with returning decision.
"If you have nothing to fear from the Captain of Vlaye, the Countess
has. Nor is that all. These men"--he pointed in the direction
of the peasants, who were buzzing about their huts like a swarm of
bees--"have forced my hand, but through fear and distrust, not in
malice. They mean us no harm if we mean them none. But the Old
Crocans, as they call themselves, in the town on the hill--if you fall
into their hands, M. le Vicomte--and beyond the lines of this camp no
one is safe from their prowling bands--then indeed God help you!"
"God help us whether or no!" the Vicomte answered in senile anger. "I
wash my hands of it all, of it all! I am nothing here, and have been
nothing! Let who will do! The world is mad!"
"Certainly we were mad when we trusted you!" the Abbess cried,
addressing des Ageaux. "Never so mad! But if I mistake not, here is
another with good news! Oh!" to the Bat, who, with a shamefaced air,
was hovering on the skirts of the group, as if he were not sure of his
reception, "speak, sir, without reserve! We all know"--in a tone of
mockery--"how fair and safely we stand!"
Des Ageaux turned to his follower. "What is it?" he asked.
"The prisoner is missing, my lord." The Abbess laughed bitterly. The
others looked at the Bat with faces of dismay. "Missing? The man we
have promised to hold for them. How?" des Ageaux exclaimed sternly.
This was a fresh blow and a serious one.
"When I saw, my lord, that we were like to be in trouble here, I drew
off the two men who were guarding him. He was bound, and--we had too
few as it was."
"But he cannot have passed the ramparts."
"Anyway we cannot find him," the Bat answered, looking ashamed and
uncomfortable. "I've searched the huts, and----"
"Is it known?"
"No, my lord."
"Then set the guards as before over the hut in which you had him, and
see that the matter does not leak out to-night."
"But if," the Bat objected, "they discover that he is gone while you
are with them to-night, my lord, they are in an ugly mood, and----"
"They must not discover it!" des Ageaux answered firmly. "Go, see to
it yourself. And let two men whom you can trust continue the search,
but as if they had lost something of their own."
The Bat went on his errand; and the Abbess, with this fresh weapon in
her quiver, prepared to resume the debate. But the Lieutenant would
not have it. "Mademoiselle," he said, with a look which silenced her,
"if you say more to alarm the Countess, whose courage"--he bowed in
the direction of the pale frightened girl--"is an example to us all,
she will not dare to go this evening. And if she does not go, the
lives of all will be in danger. An end of this, if you please!"
And he turned on his heel, and left them.