AT THE CITY GATES
Gerard’s judgment that the unexpected position at Malincourt would be
found much too formidable to be dismissed with a curse and a threat was
quite correct.
The Governor was furiously angry, and as sternly resolved as ever to
carry his purpose through; nothing should be suffered to come between
him and it; but the last few hours had revealed certain obstacles to
the importance of which even his selfish rage could not blind him.
He had had convincing proof that in threatening Gabrielle he would
provoke far greater and more dangerous antagonism than any he had yet
encountered at any time of his government.
The first sign of this had come from the Duchess herself. She had sent
for him soon after Lucette had left the Castle, and after avowing her
share in procuring Gerard’s escape, had met his storm of invective with
a stubborn resistance culminating in a solemn declaration that if harm
was done to a hair of Gabrielle’s head, she would have herself carried
in her bed out into the streets of Morvaix and denounce him and his
acts to the citizens, and if that did not avail she would take the
matter, if it cost her her life, to the King of France himself.
He had laughed at her threats, but they had gone home, none the less,
and had rendered him ill at ease.
More was to come, however. Babillon was right in saying the city was
roused by the news that Gabrielle was a fugitive from the Castle
troops. She was beloved in Morvaix by people of every class, rich and
poor alike; and hundreds of them were ready to spend their lives in her
defence.
Those who had not had personal experience of her innumerable acts of
charity and kindness were bound to the House of Malincourt by ties of
allegiance which had stood the test of many years of turbulence and
crisis. In former troubles their attitude had been decided by that of
the Maison, and when Malincourt had stood aloof in any quarrel, they
had been neutral. And now every member of every family was stirred to
the depths by the report of her danger.
The Governor’s agents in the city had brought him word of this, and the
citizens themselves had been to the Castle to seek assurances of her
safety from the Governor. Hot words had passed on both sides, but the
Governor had found it discreet to appease them by giving the assurances
of her safety and explaining that the object of the pursuit was merely
a prisoner, a murderer, who had escaped from the Castle.
Hints had been given him, too, discreetly and almost timorously, by
some of his officers that the concern on Gabrielle’s account was not
confined to the city, but had also spread to such of the troops as were
Morvaix men, and that reliance upon them in any attack upon her could
not be fully placed.
Considerations of this disquieting character could not but produce an
effect even upon the iron of his will, but he still saw a way to gain
his end without open conflict with the forces supporting the Malincourt
influence. He could coerce Gabrielle through her lover. If Gerard could
be recaptured he would have once more the means of secretly compelling
the consent which it might be dangerous to force from her by open
violence. She would consent to be his wife to save Gerard.
And here it was that he found the position at Malincourt so
disconcerting. He did not doubt that Gabrielle was in the Maison with
Gerard and he had gone there anticipating no more opposition to his
entry than the presence of a large body of troops could at once remove.
But instead of that, he found the maison barred against him and held by
a force which his soldier’s eye showed him was both powerful and ably
disposed for purposes of defence.
That he could carry the place with the resources at his command was
not, of course, open to question; although there would be a stout
resistance involving bloodshed and the loss of many lives on both
sides. It was not this which made him hesitate. But to batter the
maison to pieces and burn it while Gabrielle was inside with the
defenders, was at once to subject her to imminent personal danger and
to rouse every one of her supporters in the city to active interference.
There was another course open, however: to starve those in Malincourt
to surrender. It involved delay, always distasteful to his impetuous
overbearing will, but it was less dangerous and in the end would be
equally effective. Thus he decided to adopt it, and at the same time to
keep up a sufficient show of force to intimidate those in Malincourt.
He could easily surround the house so that not a soul could leave it,
and by an occasional feint could harry those defending it and thus
hasten their submission.
First, however, he would make sure that Gabrielle was really in
Malincourt, and at the end of the hour of grace he had allowed, he
caused another summons for admission to be made, and when as before
Pascal appeared in answer to it, he demanded to speak with Gabrielle.
She came at once, with Gerard at her side, and very proud and defiant
she looked.
“I wish you to understand the nature of the resistance you are
offering to me, mademoiselle, and the consequences,” began the Governor.
“I understand it perfectly, my lord,” she answered resolutely.
“You are harbouring at Malincourt a prisoner of mine, and this neither
the laws of France nor I myself can permit.”
“There is no one in Malincourt, my lord, who can rightly be termed your
prisoner. Whom do you mean?”
“The man who stands at your side, at whose escape from my prison you
connived.”
“You mean the Lord Gerard de Bourbon. It is by his commands that the
doors of Malincourt are closed against you. And they will remain
closed, my lord.”
“They cannot remain closed against the forces at my disposal.”
“If you as Governor of Morvaix think you dare to use violence against
the son of your Suzerain, the great Duke de Bourbon, you must act as
you will.”
“I demand that that man be given up to me.”
“And I decline to listen to a demand I deem infamous.”
“I wish no harm to come to you, mademoiselle, and if you will give him
up, I will at once withdraw my troops from Malincourt.”
“No harm can come to me, my lord Duke. I am with those who know how to
protect me.”
“The blood of those who may suffer if you drive me to use force will be
upon your head. I have told you you can go free.”
“The blood of the Bourbon soldiers here will be shed freely in defence
of their master, and for the rest the responsibility is yours, my lord,
not mine.”
“I give you this last chance to avoid a conflict.”
Gerard whispered to her before she answered.
“You ask me to surrender, and I am authorized by my Lord Gerard de
Bourbon to answer you thus. Cry a truce for forty-eight hours and we
will come to you voluntarily to the Castle.”
“I will not give you forty-eight seconds,” was the angry reply, and
with that the Governor turned away.
He rapidly completed his dispositions for the feinted attack which
commenced almost immediately. It was delivered with much show of force
from four different points round the house, and was accompanied by a
great deal of musketry firing on both sides. But this, owing to the
darkness, did little or no harm to either party.
The result satisfied the Governor that there really was a considerable
body of men opposed to him, and he drew off his troops and surrounded
the maison, and left instructions with the officer in command to keep
up the pretence of an attack and to make one or two demonstrations
during the night. Then he rode back to the Castle, carrying with him
the conviction that in a day or two at most Gerard would be again in
his hands.
Inside Malincourt a very different view of the position was taken. The
attack was regarded as the proof of the Governor’s intention to make
good his threat to storm the maison and burn it; while the ease with
which it was beaten off only served to rouse the suspicion that it was
no more than the preface to a much more serious effort.
“His object is to test our strength,” said Gerard to Pascal, “and
to see whether we really are in any force. We may look for the real
fighting later. If we had known, we would have saved our powder.”
“We could ill spare it. Slight as the thing was, it has made grievous
inroads on our supply.”
“We need not be anxious. It will last out till morning, and then we
shall go. They are likely to try and harry us through the night, so
that we must be on our guard, but the real attack will be delivered in
daylight, and before it comes we must be out of the house. We have
gained our end, the delay of a night, and for to-morrow we can safely
trust ourselves to the burghers.”
“I would rather have trusted to these walls if only Babillon could have
got up with the arms.”
“But he cannot, in the face of the soldiery round the house.”
“There is the secret passage. I could go and find him and guide him by
that way.”
“But the risk, man. If a suspicion were roused we should have the one
chance of escape stopped. Not for an armoury full of guns and powder
would I have that way discovered.”
“True enough; it is perhaps too great a risk,” agreed Pascal.
“My plan is this,” explained Gerard. “We will hold the maison through
the night--unless I am wrong and we are to be driven from it by
force--and in the morning we will slip away secretly, Lucette and you
accompanying us, and make first for the gates to leave the city with
the pass we took from the spy, and if we fail we shall place ourselves
in the hands of the burghers.”
“And the men here?”
“Must remain until the last possible moment as a ruse. D’Artois will
stay in command, and every show of continued resistance must be
maintained. You’ll see my thought. The Governor knows we are here and
thinks he has us safely caged. In that belief the restrictions about
passing in and out of the city will probably be relaxed; the search
parties will be recalled from the city, and I am mistaken if a bold
front and a slight disguise will not be all that is necessary for us to
get away. Then by nightfall we shall be back with the troops to read
this Governor a lesson.”
“D’Artois had better continue the resistance here?”
“Only in form, of course. No lives need be thrown away. The only need
is to blind the Castle people. But when the attack grows serious he
can either surrender or escape by the same means we shall use, the men
scattering and resuming the monkish disguise. Even if they are captured
and taken to the Castle nothing will be done to them before we are back
with d’Alembert.”
They were still discussing their plans when the second feint was made
by the Castle troops, and the ease with which this was also repulsed
confirmed Gerard in his belief that the night would see no serious
attack, and when matters had quieted down and the last shot had been
fired, he prevailed upon Gabrielle and Lucette to attempt to get some
sleep. They should be roused at the first sign of any real danger, but
what they had to do during the coming day made it imperative that they
should at least lie down, even if sleep were impossible.
And impossible it was for all in the maison. A most vigilant watch had
to be kept, and Gerard and Pascal were constantly moving from point to
point, that no single precaution should be slackened and not a movement
of the troops outside pass unobserved.
So matters remained until the dawn. When the light broke at length, the
great strength of the Castle force was immediately apparent, spreading
as it did all round the maison in imposing numbers that filled
Gabrielle and Lucette with consternation.
Gabrielle was for instant flight, indeed, but Gerard decided for some
further delay.
“We have to wait until the Governor shall have had time to give fresh
instructions to the captains of the city gates, or we cannot get
through.”
Then Lucette suggested a serious objection.
“Gabrielle is so well known that she will be recognized at the gates,
and although she might pass, any one with her would be at once
suspected and stopped.”
“I am hoping that the gates will be open to all,” replied Gerard, “and
that no one will be stopped. But she will be disguised. We shall all
be, in fact--Pascal and I as monks.”
“But if they are not open?”
“Then we have this pass of Dauban’s and the disguises.”
“Monks do not act as cavaliers to ladies, monsieur,” objected Lucette,
and despite the gravity of the situation they smiled.
“There is M. de Proballe’s wardrobe,” suggested Gabrielle.
“Aye, we might pass for rogues, Gerard,” laughed Pascal. “But for my
part, I’d rather take the risk and play monk.”
“May I suggest?” asked Lucette. “A plain burgher’s or merchant’s dress
would be safest, with the monks’ gabardines carried for use in case of
need. And these could easily be furnished here in the maison.”
“We must have weapons, Lucette,” said Gerard.
“They could be covered with wrappings to look like staves or some part
of your merchandise. There is no difficulty there, surely. The real
difficulty is Gabrielle’s face, I fear.”
“I like the plan,” was Pascal’s emphatic verdict. “But I would have a
change in it. Let Mademoiselle Lucette and myself, if she will trust
herself to me, try to leave the city first. If we are turned back, or
even held by the guard, it will be no grievous matter; and you and
mademoiselle can see how it fares with us. If we have to show the pass
to get through, we can go a short distance and I can return on the plea
that something has been forgotten, and can hand it to you.”
This scheme was discussed at length to be finally adopted,
and Gabrielle and Lucette were left to settle the best device
they could fashion to conceal what Lucette had termed the real
difficulty--Gabrielle’s face.
Lucette solved the problem by means of a large hooded cloak, such
as was not uncommonly worn by the burghers’ and merchants’ wives in
travelling. Drawn over the head and low down over the brow, it fastened
under the chin, but a little alteration by Lucette’s deft fingers so
arranged it that much of the lower part of the face was also hidden,
and when she was ready to start, both Gerard and Pascal smiled at the
little device.
“A burgher’s spouse to the life,” exclaimed Pascal, whose irrepressible
spirits were as high as if they were all bent on a picnic. “And on the
pillion no one will know miladi of Malincourt!”
“If Babillon can get us the horses, that is,” said Gerard, for they
were first to make for Babillon’s house.
“Crowns are crowns in Morvaix, Gerard, and speak the same language as
everywhere else; and if he cannot, I will. Shall we start?”
“We have told d’Artois everything?”
“Oh, yes. I supplemented what you said with an hour’s lecture.”
“Pray God we get away and do not find the Castle men have spread out
too far.”
“I have made sure of that,” answered Pascal. “I’ve been out to look for
myself.”
“Come then,” and they started.
“I would poor Denys could be with us,” said Gabrielle.
“I have seen him and told him all,” replied Lucette. “He is much
better, but knows he has not strength enough for this.”
Gerard was very grave and anxious in his concern for Gabrielle, and as
they passed through the chapel, down into the crypt and along the dark,
mouldy, gloomy passage, scarce a word was spoken. But as soon as they
emerged into the fresh air, Pascal, who had gone on first to make sure
no one was about, began to talk. He walked with Lucette, Gerard and
Gabrielle being ahead.
“We mustn’t look like a funeral procession, mademoiselle.”
“If you were as anxious for me as M. Gerard is for Gabrielle, you too
might be solemn, monsieur.”
He glanced at her and smiled.
“Hadn’t we better settle the parts we mean to play?”
“What are they?”
“Well, to begin with, we’d better stop this ‘monsieur’ and
‘mademoiselle’ to each other. My name, as you know, is Pascal, and
yours is Lucette, and they are neither of them names to be ashamed of.
What say you--Lucette?”
“Just as you wish--Pascal,” and she copied his pause and tone, and
laughed.
“Good. Now we must be something to each other, because we may be asked.
Strangers don’t go riding about together as we have to; and we’re not
strangers either.”
“I am beginning to know something of you, at any rate.”
“And an excellent education I hope you find it. Now, what do you say to
brother and sister?”
“We might have to quarrel with one another in that case, or at least be
discourteous. Is that what you wish--Pascal?”
“That’s an excellent imitation of a sister’s manner--Lucette. But as we
don’t want to quarrel, and I am plain burgher and you Madame Burgher,
we might be husband and wife.”
“It would be a loveless marriage, wouldn’t it?”
“I’ve heard of them before,” he laughed drily. “But it would certainly
be a marriage of convenience.”
“And many of those are but little more acting than this. But I think in
such a case I should be a scold.”
“I am afraid you would, but as my back will be to you when you’re on
the pillion, I don’t know that that will matter. How clear the roads
are,” he said, breaking into earnestness for a moment. His eyes had
been cast sharply in all directions, despite his laughing manner and
words.
“Do you think we shall get through? Poor Gabrielle is so anxious.”
“Aye, that’s one of the troubles. She’s too anxious to play her part
well, I fear. She’s not like--Madame Burgher.”
“Nor is M. Gerard like--Monsieur Burgher.”
“Well, let us hope the husband and wife will get their two charges
safely through. We shall reach Babillon’s, at any rate,” he said soon
afterwards, as they came in sight of the house. “I pray we shall find
better luck than last time.”
But they did not. The house was closed, and when they knocked and
Babillon’s wife admitted them, it was to say that her husband had not
been home all night.
“It’s not a serious matter,” said Pascal, making light of it, as he
did of all difficulties. “Wait here, and I’ll go and find a couple of
horses somewhere.”
“But Babillon could have given us news of how matters stand at the
gates and a hundred other things,” replied Gerard uneasily.
“All of which we shall now have to find out for ourselves instead,” and
learning where he was likely to procure horses, Pascal went off on his
search. He was soon back, riding one horse and leading another.
“The city is much quieter this morning. I had a talk with the man where
I got these,” he reported, “and he says all the soldiers who were
searching the city have been recalled to the Castle.”
“And about the gates?”
“He knew nothing, and I could ask no more than a general question, or I
might have stirred suspicion. Now, Madame Burgher,” he said to Lucette,
and there was some laughing between them over settling her in the
pillion. But Gerard was in no mood to see any objects for jesting, and
Gabrielle was so pale and anxious that Lucette declared it was a good
thing indeed no more of her features could be seen.
“Now for a bold face on things and a laugh if you can, Lucette,” cried
Pascal, “and we’ll soon see whether an honest burgher and his wife
cannot ride abroad together in this uncomfortable fashion on a fine
July morning.”
They rode slowly toward the city gate, Gerard and Gabrielle following
some distance behind. Pascal laughed and gestured over his shoulder to
Lucette, until coming in sight of the gate he said exultantly--
“God be thanked, it’s open, Lucette. We shan’t be husband and wife much
longer, if all goes well.”
“A thought which seems to give you consummate relief,” she answered.
“Aye, the responsibilities of a husband weigh heavily on me, good
wife--as heavily, maybe, as the double burden on this good patient
beast. Good morning, monsieur,” he broke off, as a soldier stepped in
the way and held up his hand. But Pascal made no effort to check the
horse, and was passing on with a nod and a smile when the man laid a
hand on the bridle and brought the horse to a stop.
“What is it, monsieur?” asked Pascal. “Cannot an honest man and his
wife pass on his business?”
“Yes, monsieur. All those who are known to us can pass. Dismount, if
you please, and come to the officer of the gate.”
Pascal mumbled something in a discontented tone and then dismounted.
He gave Lucette one glance with an ominous lift of the eyebrows. She
understood the look--that the check was a very ugly one--but with an
admirably feigned air of extreme vexation, she exclaimed--
“How you bungle things, Pascal. To bring me out like this! One might
as well have a wooden head for a husband.”
“Peace, scold, peace. It is no fault of mine,” he answered crossly.
And the soldier smiled.