A COURIER OF FORTUNE
[Illustration: “GERARD, GERARD,” CRIED GABRIELLE IN DIRE ALARM]
_A Courier
of Fortune_
_By ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT_
_Author of “By Wit of Woman,” “The Queen’s Advocate,”
“By Snare of Love,” “In The Name of a
Woman,” “When I Was Czar,” etc., etc._
[Illustration]
_A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers_
_NEW YORK_
_Copyright, 1904, by_
ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT
_Copyright, 1904, by_
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
TO
RALPH STUART, ESQ.
MY DEAR MR. STUART: I dedicate this book to you as a memento of our
delightful hours of travel and work together in writing the play--“A
Courier of Fortune”--founded upon this story. The circumstances of our
joint literary work were as unusual to me as they were fascinating;
for, although the play was commenced in London, the last “curtain” was
not written until my wife and I had crossed the Atlantic and journeyed
with you on a tour of over ten thousand miles of railway travelling,
through so many of the marvels of this wonderful Continent. St. Louis;
Denver; Salt Lake City; San Francisco; the Pacific Seaboard north
to Puget Sound; the fertile Palouse Country; Washington, Idaho, and
Montana--those wealthy States of boundless promise and marvellous
scenic contrasts; the cities of the Lakes, Duluth and Superior;
then the young giant twins, St. Paul and Minneapolis; and by way of
Milwaukee and Chicago to New York. A tour of momentous interest and a
collaboration of close-knit sympathy, cementing a friendship which, I
assure you, is one of the pleasantest things of my life.
Yours ever,
ARTHUR W. MARCHMONT.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE “TIGER OF MORVAIX” 1
II. THE MAISON DE MALINCOURT 10
III. SINISTER HINTS 21
IV. THE DUKE’S PROPOSAL 33
V. THE TIGER’S CLAWS 43
VI. “I AM KNOWN AS GERARD DE COBALT” 56
VII. AT MALINCOURT 68
VIII. THE PLOT THICKENS 81
IX. WHAT DENYS KNEW 94
X. THE ACCUSATION 107
XI. THE DUKE’S SENTENCE 118
XII. GABRIELLE’S FRIEND 130
XIII. DISCOVERY 145
XIV. “I AM NOT GERARD DE COBALT” 156
XV. A PRISONER 168
XVI. PASCAL AND THE SPY 180
XVII. GABRIELLE PLEADS 190
XVIII. IN THE “TIGER’S DEN” 201
XIX. A LIFE AND DEATH STRUGGLE 214
XX. A DASH FOR THE WALLS 226
XXI. AT MALINCOURT AGAIN 237
XXII. PASCAL PLAYS SPY 248
XXIII. LUCETTE AS DECOY 259
XXIV. SUSPENSE 272
XXV. A RUSE 284
XXVI. AT THE CITY GATES 295
XXVII. HUNTED 308
XXVIII. A RISING AND ITS SEQUEL 322
XXIX. IN THE HALL OF AUDIENCE 333
XXX. THE TROOPS MARCH 349
A COURIER OF FORTUNE
CHAPTER I
THE “TIGER OF MORVAIX”
The hot noontide sun was pouring down into the market place of Morvaix
and in the shadow cast by the great Cross of St. Jean in the centre,
a handsome but very soberly dressed cavalier was sheltering from
the fierce July heat and closely observing the townspeople as they
clustered here and there to engage in eager animated discussion. Every
now and then he cast sweeping impatient glances in all directions in
evident search of some one whose delay irritated him.
It was plain even to a stranger’s eyes that the townsfolk were
greatly excited, and that the reason which had drawn the people
from their houses was both urgent and disturbing. All classes were
present--burghers, merchants, shopkeepers, workmen, ’prentices, down
to the poorest of the labourers and peasants. Men, women and children
alike were gathered there; the men set-faced and bitter, the women
sad and anxious. Discontent, anger, fear and sorrow were the emotions
evinced among all save the many soldiers who moved among the excited
knots, with leers for the women and oaths for the men, and jibes and
ribald laughter one to another.
The young cavalier’s face darkened as he listened, and more than once
he started as if he would interfere, but checked himself. His keen,
quick blue eyes were everywhere; and presently catching sight of two
closely-cowled monks clad in the black habit of their order, who showed
at a secluded corner of the square, he left his shelter and went toward
them quickly but cautiously.
As he reached them one gave him a monkish greeting and the other a
military salute.
“I half feared you had forgotten the appointment,” he said, in a tone
of authority; “and you are certainly forgetting your part, Pascal.
Monks don’t salute like soldiers.”
“Don’t I know it?” was the reply, laughingly spoken. “I haven’t trained
all our tough fellows in the monkish drill for nothing. I’ll tell my
beads against Dubois here for a stoup of wine”; and taking in hand the
rosary which hung conspicuously at his side, he commenced to mumble a
string of nonsense words, and laughed again.
“Peace, man, peace!” said the other monk, much older in years. “You’ll
be overheard and ruin all.”
“Tush! they’ll only think it’s my priestly Latin.”
“I fear I ought to have left you in Paris, Pascal,” said the cavalier.
“I was warned your unruly tongue would play the mischief with a scheme
that calls for tact and silence.”
“Nay, my lord----”
“Not, my lord, here. I am not Gerard de Bourbon for a few days. I have
borrowed the name of that dicing scoundrel, Raoul de Cobalt, and am
Gerard de Cobalt. Remember that, and watch your words until you have
learnt that lesson.”
“I shall not forget. This holy man here, Dubois, will keep me in
order,” answered Pascal with a smile.
“Tell me the news, Dubois.”
“All has gone as you wished. The men have all arrived; and yesterday I
sought an interview with the Governor and did all as you had directed.”
“He swallowed the bait?”
“Readily. I told him that the Cardinal Archbishop had sent him a
hundred fighting men for his troops, and craved permission for the
hundred begging friars to remain in the city until the pilgrimage
southward could be resumed.”
“Good.”
“I brought the monks in,” interposed Pascal. “A hundred tough
stalwarts, every man as sober as a begging friar should be; all telling
their beads with unctuous unanimity, uttering ‘Pax Vobiscum’ with
fervid zeal, and praying as only Bourbons can pray--for a fight.”
“Have a care, brother,” cried Dubois quickly, as a knot of the
townsfolk passed.
“Have I not always care, holy brother?” cried Pascal, taking his rosary
in hand again and mumbling his Paternoster in tones loud enough to
reach the passers’ ears. “A fine achievement, M. de Cobalt, but it will
not last.”
“What mean you?” asked Gerard quickly.
“Soldiers are soldiers, and it takes more than a monk’s gabardine to
change them. When pretty girls come buzzing round, craving ‘A blessing,
holy father,’ and looking so sweet and piteous, it’s not in nature,
at least in soldiers’ nature, not to kiss ’em. Cherry lips lifted in
supplication are strong enemies of this new discipline. I know it
myself.”
“For shame, Pascal!” cried Dubois sternly. “Are we to betray everything
for a pair of laughing eyes?”
“Anything can happen when there’s a shapely nose, a kissable mouth, and
two soft cheeks to complete the face. Let there be haste, I say, or,
Bourbons or no Bourbons, those lips will get kissed; and then there may
be the devil to pay.”
“There is reason in his madcap words, Dubois,” said Gerard after a
pause.
“Aye, even a fool can tell the truth,” laughed Pascal.
“But we must wait till I have proofs. When the news of this governor’s
evil doings came to my father’s ears he sent me to learn the truth; and
while bidding me act as I would, enjoined me to do nothing until I had
clear proofs. A Bourbon does not act on mere rumours.”
“Proofs!” broke in Pascal with a swift change to earnestness. “In the
devil’s name, what better proof of the man’s deeds could you find than
that which is writ large on the wretched, starving faces of the people?
Look at them--faces that the devil grins to see when he would tempt men
and women to sin.”
“I came in during the night only, and have seen little or nothing yet,”
said Gerard. “What is the meaning of this gathering?”
“This devil spawn of a governor has a new ordinance to proclaim, a new
tyranny to enact,” said Pascal. “He will tax afresh to half its value
every ounce of foodstuff that comes into the city. As if the poor
wretches were not already half-starving. And this tax will finish them.
Look at them and say if the Governor is not justly dubbed the Tiger of
Morvaix? They are waiting his coming now with the heralds. Of a truth I
would as lief dwell in hell as in Morvaix under Bourbon sway though it
be in name, and Bourbon as I am to the core.”
“We have had other and weightier matters to occupy us than the troubles
of a small province so remote,” said Gerard, with a frown at Pascal’s
words. “But if the tale of wrongs be warranted, the Governor, Duke de
Rochelle though he be, will answer to me for them.”
“By all reports he will answer to no man but himself.”
“Enough, Pascal,” said Gerard, with a wave of the hand. “There appear
to be over many soldiers, Dubois.”
“And report says theirs are the only mouths that take enough food,”
broke in Pascal. “Your fighting man must be fed, of course; but when it
comes to feeding him with the food for which all others starve, it is
first cousin to cannibalism.”
“The number of the soldiery has surprised me,” said Dubois seriously.
“They are far too many for our small band to do much. It is well your
cousin’s army lies so close to Cambrai. This governor will fight hard.”
“If his soldiers are loyal to him, it argues in his favour,” replied
Gerard thoughtfully. “We know to what lengths the burghers of a town
may be driven by their jealousy of us soldiers. We must wait.”
“And if we wait but a little while there will be no grievances left.
Those who have them will be dead,” cried Pascal with a shrug of the
shoulders.
“I need no taunts of yours, Pascal, to stir me to do great Bourbon’s
will,” answered Gerard with some sternness.
“I meant no taunt, and spoke only my mind as friend to friend,” said
Pascal.
“The Governor is coming now,” put in Dubois.
“We had better not be seen longer together. Where shall I find you at
need?”
“The Duke has lodged Pascal and myself in his castle,” answered Dubois,
and the two were turning away when Gerard exclaimed, in a tone of
excitement--
“See, Dubois, see, that man riding by the side of the Governor. Do you
recognize him?”
“It is that villain, de Proballe.”
“The old rat, so it is,” declared Pascal. “If there is devil’s work to
be done in Morvaix he’ll be in it. Paris was too hot for him. I thought
he was in hell by now. By the saints, he is long overdue.”
Gerard did not wait to hear the conclusion of the speech, but mingling
with the crowd watched the proceedings with close interest.
It was a very strong force of soldiery, both horse and foot, that
gathered in the market place round the statue, large enough to brush
away like so many flies the crowd of citizens, who fell back hushed and
awe-stricken before the muskets and halberds which were used with much
wilful violence.
The Governor of the city, the Duke Charles de Rochelle, seated on his
charger, a magnificent coal black Flemish animal, drew up in the centre
of the cleared space, and gazed with amused contemptuousness upon the
shrinking burghers.
He made a striking centre-piece. Short and slight of figure, yet
suggesting suppleness and strength, his fifty years sat lightly on him.
His fair hair had scarce a touch of grey, and his pointed auburn beard
and flowing moustache might have belonged to a man twenty years his
junior. His features, strong and regular, would have been handsome but
for the small close-set grey eyes, whose cold, hawk-like glitter was
rendered additionally repulsive by a strong cast.
“The eyes of a wild beast,” thought Gerard, who had been watching him
intently. “Well named the Tiger.”
At a signal from the Governor, the herald stepped forward amid a
blare of trumpets and read the proclamation. The people listened in
dead silence; but at the close, loud murmurs broke out which even the
presence of the soldiery could not wholly check.
“It means starvation to us,” cried one lusty voice, and a powerful
fellow, a smith, wielding the heavy hammer of his trade, broke through
the ring of the soldiers and made as if to approach the Governor.
“What dog is this that dares to bay?” It was the Duke who spoke.
“I am no dog, my lord, but a burgher of Morvaix, and I do but speak
what all here know,” answered the smith sturdily.
The Duke fixed his keen eyes on the man’s face, and without a word
signed to some of those about him. Three soldiers sprang toward the
smith, who faced them fearlessly, and lifted his hammer.
“I have done no wrong. No man shall touch me,” he said threateningly.
“Down with the rebel dog,” cried the Duke; and at the words the
soldiers, who had hesitated, rushed upon the smith. Two went down with
broken heads from blows of the terrible hammer; but the third got his
halberd in, and as the man lay on the ground some others dashed forward
and one of them thrust home to his heart.
“So perish all rebels,” cried the Governor, in a ringing tone to the
crowd; and at the threat and the sight of the smith’s blood the people
shrank together and cowered.
The Duke smiled coldly on the crowd, and without another word signed
for the procession to reform and march on, the people shrinking and
cowering in silence from the troops as they passed.
Gerard’s hot blood had fired at the scene, and he stood looking
after the Governor with a heart hot with indignant anger at the foul
injustice he had witnessed.
His two followers in monkish garb crossed to him and as the three
whispered together, they were startled by the sound of a woman’s
wailing. It was the dead man’s wife. She had heard the news and came
rushing upon the scene in wild disordered distress, carrying her babe
in her arms.
As she was nearing the body, a girl attended by a page, whose attire
evidenced his mistress’ high station, met her and with tender
solicitude offered such consolation as was possible.
Gerard’s gaze, attracted by the girl’s beauty, followed the couple as
together they approached the body, which had now been lifted by some
of the sympathizing townsfolk; and then with a cry of anger he dashed
hotly toward them, followed by his companions.
There was indeed cause for his anger. Several of the brutal soldiers
had rushed upon the men carrying the corpse, and with oaths and blows
and threats of the Duke’s anger, seized the body from them and flung it
on the ground.
The girl, courageously placing herself between the soldiers and the
frightened townsfolk, had turned upon the former and ordered them away;
but the bullies, strong in the protection of their tyrant master and
presuming on their license to deal as they would with the people, first
jeered at her coarsely and then thrust her roughly aside while one of
them ran and kicked the corpse with wanton brutality.
It was the attack on the girl which drove Gerard to interfere. He was
by her side in an instant, flung the man who had touched her to the
ground, and with eyes flashing and hand on his sword, dared the men to
interfere further.
The soldiers were still present in the square in great force, however,
and attracted by the tumult many came rallying to the side of their
comrades. At the same time, inspirited by Gerard’s daring, a great
crowd of the townsfolk closed up behind him; and it seemed impossible
that a conflict could be avoided.
There was a moment of hesitation, however, while the two opposing
bodies glared angrily at one another, and Pascal with ready wit seized
it to step between them, and with uplifted crucifix threatened the
soldiers with the ban of Holy Church if they attempted further violence
to either dead or living.
While he was haranguing them in loud and vehement tones, a number
of men in monkish dress appeared almost as if by magic, and pushing
through the citizens ranged themselves at his side, thus giving an
impressive background to his exhortation.
The soldiers, abashed by this strange opposition, hung back in doubt,
and the citizens having in the meanwhile borne the dead body away, the
trouble ended in nothing more serious than muttered threats and oaths
from the soldiers and stern remonstrances from the monks.
When the soldiers had drawn off, Gerard turned to seek the girl the
attack on whom had provoked him to interfere, but she had vanished.
With an eagerness which brought a smile to Pascal’s face, Gerard
plied those about him with questions regarding her, and learnt that
she was Mademoiselle de Malincourt, and had gone away to comfort
the trouble-stricken woman whose husband had been the victim of the
morning’s tragedy.
“You did shrewdly, Pascal,” said Dubois, when the two were alone.
“Our good fellows won’t thank me, for, like myself, their fingers were
tingling to be at some of the rascals’ throats. Where’s the young lord,
Gerard?”
“Gone in search of----” Pascal’s laugh interposed to finish the
sentence.
“Aye, aye. We can understand. There’s a woman in the thing now, of
course. And we shall hear more of her, or I am a monk indeed, and no
soldier, which God forfend.”