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THE MAN IN BLACK
[Illustration: "'IF YOU WANT ME TO--DRAW HER HOROSCOPE,' THE
ASTROLOGER REPLIED" (_p_. 89).]
The
Man in Black
BY
STANLEY J. WEYMAN
_Author of "A Gentleman of France" "The Story
of Francis Cludde" etc_.
Illustrated by
WAL PAGET AND H. M. PAGET
SIXTH THOUSAND
CASSELL AND COMPANY Limited
_London Paris & Melbourne_
1894
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. The Fair at Fecamp.
II. Solomon Notredame.
III. Man and Wife.
IV. The House with Two Doors.
V. The Upper Portal.
VI. The Powder of Attraction.
VII. Clytaemnestra.
VIII. The Mark of Cain.
IX. Before the Court.
X. Two Witnesses.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
"'If you want me to draw her horoscope,' the astrologer replied."
Frontispiece
"The showman was counting his gains into his pouch."
"Jehan went trembling and found the hole."
"The astrologer rose slowly from his seat."
"Jehan leapt back with a shriek of pain."
"For a second the man in black stood breathless."
"'Madame! Madame de Vidoche, if you please!'"
"He watched her every motion."
"In a moment he was down, writhing on the floor."
"'Who stole him? Where has he been?'"
"They were carrying him."
"A man, half-naked, ... crawled on to the highroad."
THE MAN IN BLACK.
CHAPTER I.
The Fair At Fecamp.
"_I am Jehan de Bault, Seigneur of--I know not where, and Lord of
seventeen lordships in the County of---I forget the name, of a most
noble and puissant family, possessing the High Justice, the Middle,
and the Low. In my veins runs the blood of Roland, and of my
forefathers were three marshals of France. I stand here, the_----"
It was the eve of All Saints, and the famous autumn horse-fair was in
progress at Fecamp--Fecamp on the Normandy coast, the town between the
cliffs, which Boisrose, in the year '93, snatched for the Great King
by a feat of audacity unparalleled in war. This only by the way,
however; and that a worthy deed may not die. For at the date of this
fair of which we write, the last day of October, 1637, stout Captain
Boisrose, whom Sully made for his daring Lieutenant-General of the
Ordnance, had long ceased to ruffle it; the Great King had lain in his
grave a score of years or more; and though Sully, duke and peer and
marshal, still lived, an aged, formal man, in his chateau of Villebon
by Chartres, all France, crouching under the iron hand of the
Cardinal, looked other ways.
The great snarled, biting at the hem of the red soutane. But that the
mean and Jacques Bonhomme, the merchant and the trader, flourished
under his rule, Fecamp was as good evidence this day as man could
desire. Even old burghers who remembered Charles the Ninth, and the
first glass windows ever seen in Fecamp outside the Abbey, could not
say when the price of horses had been higher or the town more full.
All day, and almost all night, the clatter of hoofs and babble of
bargains filled the narrow streets; while hucksters' cries and
drunkards' oaths, with all raucous sounds, went up to heaven like the
smoke from a furnace. The _Chariot d'Or_ and the _Holy Fig_, haunts of
those who came to buy, fairly hummed with guests, with nobles of the
province and gay sparks from Rouen, army contractors from the Rhine,
and dealers from the south. As for the _Dame Belle_ and the _Green
Man_, houses that lower down the street had food and forage for those
who came to sell, they strewed their yards a foot deep with straw, and
saying to all alike, "Voila, monsieur!" charged the full price of a
bed.
Beyond the streets it was the same. Strings of horses and ponies, with
an army of grooms and chaunters, touts and cutpurses, camped on every
piece of level ground, while the steeper slopes and hill-sides swarmed
with troupes more picturesque, if less useful. For these were the
pitches of the stilt-walkers and funambulists, the morris dancers and
hobby-horses: in a word, of an innumerable company of quacks,
jugglers, poor students, and pasteboard giants, come together for the
delectation of the gaping Normans, and all under the sway and
authority of the Chevalier du Guet, in whose honour two gibbets, each
bearing a creaking corpse, rose on convenient situations overlooking
the fair. For brawlers and minor sinners a pillory and a whipping-post
stood handy by the landward gate, and from time to time, when a lusty
vagrant or a handsome wench was dragged up for punishment, outvied in
attraction all the professional shows.
Of these, one that seemed as successful as any in catching and
chaining the fancy of the shifting crowd consisted of three persons--a
man, a boy, and an ape--who had chosen for their pitch a portion of
the steep hill-side overhanging the road. High up in this they had
driven home an iron peg, and stretching a cord from this to the top of
a tree which stood on the farther edge of the highway, had improvised
a tight-rope at once simple and effective. All day, as the changing
throng passed to and fro below, the monkey and the boy might be seen
twisting and turning and posturing on this giddy eminence, while the
man, fantastically dressed in an iron cap a world too big for him, and
a back- and breast-piece which ill-matched his stained crimson jacket
and taffety breeches, stood beating a drum at the foot of the tree, or
now and again stepped forward to receive in a ladle the sous and eggs
and comfits that rewarded the show.
He was a lean, middle-sized man, with squinting eyes and a crafty
mouth. Unaided he might have made his living by cutting purses. But he
had the wit to do by others what he could not do himself, and the luck
to have that in his company which pleased all comers; for while the
clowns gazed saucer-eyed at the uncouth form and hideous grimaces of
the ape, the thin cheeks and panting lips of the boy touched the
hearts of their mistresses, and drew from them many a cake and
fairing. Still, with a crowd change is everything; and in the contest
of attractions, where there was here a flying dragon and there a
dancing bear, and in a place apart the mystery of Joseph of Arimathaea
and the Sacred Fig-tree was being performed by a company that had
played before the King in Paris--and when, besides all these raree
shows, a score of quacks and wizards and collar-grinners with lungs of
brass, were advertising themselves amid indescribable clanging of
drums and squeaking of trumpets, it was not to be expected that a boy
and a monkey could always hold the first place. An hour before sunset
the ladle began to come home empty. The crowd grew thin. Gargantuan
roars of laughter from the players' booth drew off some who lingered.
It seemed as if the trio's run of success was at an end; and that, for
all the profit they were still likely to make, they might pack up and
be off to bed.
But Master Crafty Eyes knew better. Before his popularity quite
flickered out he produced a folding stool. Setting it at the foot of
the tree with a grand air, which of itself was enough to arrest the
waverers, he solemnly covered it with a red cloth. This done, he
folded his arms, looked very sternly two ways at once, and raising his
hand without glancing upwards, cried, "Tenez! His Excellency the
Seigneur de Bault will have the kindness to descend."
The little handful of gapers laughed, and the laugh added to their
number. But the boy, to whom the words were addressed, did not move.
He sat idly on the rope, swaying to and fro, and looked out straight
before him, with a set face, and a mutinous glare in his eyes. He
appeared to be about twelve years old. He was lithe-limbed, and burned
brown by the sun, with a mass of black hair and, strange to say, blue
eyes. The ape sat cheek by jowl with him; and even at the sound of the
master's voice turned to him humanly, as if to say, "You had better
go."
Still he did not move. "Tenez!" Master Crafty Eyes cried again, and
more sharply. "His Excellency the Seigneur de Bault will have the
kindness to descend, and narrate his history. _Ecoutez! Ecoutez!
mesdames et messieurs!_ It will repay you."
This time the boy, frowning and stubborn, looked down from his perch.
He seemed to be measuring the distance, and calculating whether his
height from the ground would save him from the whip. Apparently he
came to the conclusion it would not, for on the man crying "_Vitement!
Vitement!_" and flinging a grim look upwards, he began to descend
slowly, a sullen reluctance manifest in all his movements.
On reaching the ground, he made his way through the audience--which
had increased to above a score--and climbed heavily on the stool,
where he stood looking round him with a dark shamefacedness,
surprising in one who was part of a show, and had been posturing all
day long for the public amusement. The women, quick to espy the
hollows in his cheeks, and the great wheal that seamed his neck, and
quick also to admire the straightness of his limbs and the light pose
of his head, regarded him pitifully. The men only stared; smoking had
not yet come in at Fecamp, so they munched cakes and gazed by turns.
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!" cried the man with the drum. "Listen to the
remarkable, lamentable, and veritable history of the Seigneur de
Bault, now before you! Oyez!"
The boy cast a look round, but there was no escape. So, sullenly, and
in a sing-song tone--through which, nevertheless, some note of
dignity, some strange echo of power and authority, that gave the
recital its bizarre charm and made it what it was, would continually
force itself--he began with the words at the head of this chapter:--
"I am Jehan de Bault, Seigneur of--I know not where, and Lord of
seventeen lordships in the County of--I forget the name, of a most
noble and puissant family, possessing the High Justice, the Middle,
and the Low. In my veins runs the blood of Roland, and of my
forefathers were three marshals of France. I stand here, the last of
my race; in token whereof may God preserve my mother, the King,
France, and this Province! I was stolen by gypsies at the age of five,
and carried off and sold by my father's steward, as Joseph was by his
brethren, and I appeal to--I appeal to--all good subjects of France
to--help me to----"
"My rights!" interjected Crafty Eyes, with a savage glance.
"My rights," the boy whispered, lowering his head.
The drum-man came forward briskly. "Just so, ladies and gentlemen," he
cried with wonderful glibness. "And seldom as it is that you have
before you the representative of one of our most noble and ancient
families a-begging your help, seldom as that remarkable, lamentable,
and veritable sight is to be seen in Fecamp, sure I am that you will
respond willingly, generously, and to the point, my lord, ladies and
gentlemen!" And with this, and a far grander air than when it had been
merely an affair of a boy and an ape, the knave carried round his
ladle, doffing his cap to each who contributed, and saying politely,
"The Sieur de Bault thanks you, sir. The Sieur de Bault is your
servant, madam."
There was something so novel in the whole business, something so odd
and inexplicably touching in the boy's words and manner, that with all
the appearance of a barefaced trick, appealing only to the most
ignorant, the thing wrought on the crowd: as doubtless it had wrought
on a hundred crowds before. The first man to whom the ladle came
grinned sheepishly and gave against his will; and his fellows
throughout maintained a position of reserve, shrugging their shoulders
and looking wisdom. But a dozen women became believers at once, and
despite the blare and flare of rival dragons and Moriscoes and the
surrounding din and hubbub, the ladle came back full of deniers and
sous.
The showman was counting his gains into his pouch, when a silver franc
spun through the air and fell at his feet, and at the same time a
harsh voice cried, "Here, you, sirrah! A word with you."
Master Crafty Eyes looked up, and doffing his cap humbly--for the
voice was a voice of authority--went cringing to the speaker. This was
an elderly man, well mounted, who had reined up his horse on the
skirts of the crowd as the boy began his harangue. He had a plain
soldier's face, with grey moustachios and a small, pointed grey beard,
and he seemed to be a person of rank on his way out of the town; for
he had two or three armed servants behind him, of whom one carried a
valise on his crupper.
"What is your will, noble sir?" the showman whined, standing
bare-headed at his stirrup and looking up at him.
"Who taught the lad that rubbish?" the horseman asked sternly.
"No one, my lord. It is the truth."
"Then bring him here, liar!" was the answer.
The showman obeyed, not very willingly, dragging the boy off the
stool, and jerking him through the crowd. The stranger looked down at
the child for a moment in silence. Then he said sharply, "Hark ye,
tell me the truth, boy. What is your name?"
The lad stood straight up, and answered without hesitation, "Jehan de
Bault."
"Of nowhere in the County of No Name," the stranger gibed gravely. "Of
a noble and puissant family--and the rest. All that is true, I
suppose?"
A flicker as of hope gleamed in the boy's eyes. His cheek reddened. He
raised his hand to the horse's shoulder, and answered in a voice which
trembled a little, "It is true."
[Illustration: "THE SHOWMAN WAS COUNTING HIS GAINS INTO HIS POUCH"
(_p_. 11).]
"Where is Bault?" the stranger asked grimly.
The lad looked puzzled and disappointed. His lip trembled, his colour
lied again. He glanced here and there, and finally shook his head. "I
do not know," he said faintly.
"Nor do I," the horseman replied, striking his long brown boot with
his riding-switch to give emphasis to the words, and looking sternly
round. "Nor do I. And what is more, you may take it from me that there
is no family of that name in France! And once more you may take this
from me too. I am the Vicomte de Bresly, and I have a government in
Guienne. Play this game in my county, and I will have you both whipped
for common cheats, and you, Master Drummer, branded as well! Bear it
in mind, sirrah; and when you perform, give Perigord a wide berth.
That is all."
He struck his horse at the last word, and rode off; sitting, like an
old soldier, so straight in his saddle that he did not see what
happened behind him, or that the boy sprang forward with a hasty cry,
and would, but for the showman's grasp, have followed him. He rode
away, unheeding and without looking back; and the boy, after a brief
passionate struggle with his master, collapsed.
"You limb!" the man with the drum cried, as he shook him. "What bee
has stung you? You won't be quiet, eh? Then take that! and that!" and
he struck the child brutally in the face--twice.
Some cried shame and some laughed. But it was nobody's business, and
there were a hundred delights within sight. What was one little boy,
or a blow more or less, amid the whirl and tumult of the fair? A score
of yards away a dancing girl, a very Peri--or so she seemed by the
light of four tallow candles--was pirouetting on a rickety platform.
Almost rubbing elbows with her was a philosopher, who had conquered
all the secrets of Nature except cleanliness, and was prepared to sell
infallible love-philtres and the potion of perpetual youth--for four
farthings! And beyond these stretched a vista of wonders and
prodigies, all vocal, not to say deafening. So one by one, with a
shrug or a sneer, the onlookers melted away, until only our trio
remained: Master Crafty Eyes counting his gains, the boy sobbing
against the bank on which he had thrown himself, and the monkey
gibbering and chattering overhead--a dark shapeless object on an
invisible rope. For night was falling: where the fun of the fair was
not were gloom and a rising wind, lurking cutpurses, and waste land.
The showman seemed to feel this, for having counted his takings, he
kicked up the boy and began to pack up. He had nearly finished, and
was stooping over the coil of rope, securing the end, when a touch on
his shoulder caused him to jump a yard. A tall man wrapped in a cloak,
who had come up unseen, stood at his elbow.
"Well!" the showman cried, striving to hide his alarm under an
appearance of bluster. "And what may you want?"
"A word with you," the unknown answered.
The voice was so cold and passionless it gave Crafty Eyes a turn.
"Diable!" he muttered, striving to pierce the darkness and see what
the other was like. But he could not; so as to shake off the
impression, he asked, with a sneer, "You are not a vicomte, are you?"
"No," the stranger replied gravely, "I am not."
"Nor the governor of a county?"
"No."
"Then you may speak!" rejoined the showman grandly.
"Not here," the cloaked man answered. "I must see you alone."
"Then you will have to come home with me, and wait until I have put up
the boy," the other said. "I am not going to lose him for you or
anyone. And for a penny he'd be off! Does it suit you? You may take it
or leave it."
The unknown, whose features were completely masked by the dusk, nodded
assent, and without more ado the four turned their faces towards the
streets; the boy carrying the monkey, and the two men following close
on his heels. Whenever they passed before a lighted booth the showman
strove to learn something of his companion's appearance but the latter
wore his cloak so high about his face, and was so well served by a
wide-flapped hat which almost met it, that curiosity was completely
baffled; and they reached the low inn where the showman rented a
corner of the stable without that cunning gentleman being a jot the
wiser for his pains.
It was a vile, evil-smelling place they entered, divided into six or
eight stalls by wooden partitions reaching half-way to the tiles. A
horn lantern hung at each end filled it with yellow lights and deep
shadows. A pony raised its head and whinnied as the men entered, but
most of the stalls were empty, or tenanted only by drunken clowns
sleeping in the straw.
"You cannot lock him in here," said the stranger, looking round him.
The showman grunted. "Cannot I?" he said. "There are tricks in all
trades, master. I reckon I can--with this!" And producing from
somewhere about him a thin steel chain, he held it before the other's
face. "That is my lock and door," he said triumphantly.
"It won't hold him long," the other answered impassively. "The fifth
link from the end is worn through now."
"You have sharp eyes!" the showman exclaimed, with reluctant
admiration. "But it will hold a bit yet. I fasten him in yonder
corner. Do you wait here, and I will come back to you."
He was not long about it. When he returned he led the stranger into
the farthest of the stalls, which, as well as that next to it, was
empty. "We can talk here," he said bluntly. "At any rate, I have no
better place. The house is full. Now, what is it?"
"I want that boy," the tall man answered. The showman laughed--stopped
laughing--laughed again. "I dare say you do," he said derisively.
"There is not a better or a pluckier boy on the rope out of Paris. And
for patter? There is nothing on the road like the bit he did this
afternoon, nor a bit that pays as well."
"Who taught it him?" the stranger asked.
"I did."
"That is a lie," the other answered in a perfectly unmoved tone. "If
you like I will tell you what you did. You taught him the latter half
of the story. The other he knew before: down to the word 'province.'"
The showman gasped. "Diable!" he muttered. "Who told you?"
"Never mind. You bought the boy. From whom?"
"From some gypsies at the great fair of Beaucaire," the showman
answered sullenly.
"Who is he?"
Crafty Eyes laughed dryly. "If I knew I should not be padding the
hoof," he said. "Or, again, he may be nobody, and the tale patter. You
have heard as much as I have. What do you think?"
"I think I shall find out when I have bought the boy," the stranger
answered coolly. "What will you take for him?"
The showman gasped again. "You come to the point," he said.
"It is my custom. What is his price?"
The showman's imagination had never soared beyond nor his ears ever
heard of a larger sum than a thousand crowns. He mentioned it
trembling. There might be such a sum in the world.
"A thousand livres, if you like. Not a sou more," was the answer.
The nearer lantern threw a strong light on Crafty Eyes' face; but that
was mere shadow beside the light of cupidity which sparkled in his
eyes. He could get another boy; scores of boys. But a thousand livres!
A thousand livres! "Tournois!" he said faintly. "Livres Tournois!" In
his wildest moments of avarice he had never dreamed of possessing such
a sum.
"No, Paris livres," the stranger answered coldly. "Paid to-morrow at
the _Golden Chariot_. If you agree, you will deliver the boy to me
there at noon, and receive the money."
The showman nodded, vanquished by the mere sound of the sum. Paris
livres let it be. Danae did not more quickly succumb to the golden
shower.