AT THE SIGN OF 'THE TOISON D'OR'
Turning, we beheld de Vitry at the open door, the small and narrow
figure of Pantin at his elbow, and, close behind, the stern features
of the Grand-Master, the anxiety on whose face cleared as he saw the
King before him. He was about to speak, but Henry burst in rapidly:
'I know all, my lord. It is time to act, not talk. _Arnidieu!_ But I
shall long remember this frolic!'
'It would seem that God has given us a great deliverance. Sire. All is
ready. I came but to see that your Majesty was safe and unharmed, and
to leave Du Praslin with a sufficient guard for your person whilst we
took our prisoners.'
As Sully spoke the King threw his roquelaure over his arm and answered
coldly, 'Monsieur, you are very good. When I want a guard I shall ask
for one. I have yet to learn that Henri de Bourbon is to lurk in a
corner whilst blows are going, and I shall lead the assault myself!'
'And the first shot from a window, fired by some _croquemort_, might
leave France at the feet of Spain, I cut in bluntly, whilst de Vitry
stamped his foot with vexation, and the forehead of the Grand-Master
wrinkled and furrowed, though he gave me an approving look from under
his shaggy brows.
For a moment it was as if my words would have stayed the King. He
looked at me fixedly and stabbed at the carpet with the point of his
blade, repeating to himself, 'At the feet of Spain--Spain! Never!' he
added, recovering himself and looking highly around. 'Never!
Messieurs, we shall all yet see the lilies flaunting over the
Escorial.'
'Amen!' exclaimed a voice from the darkness of the stairway, and I
heard the grinding of a spurred heel on the woodwork of the floor.
'Come,' said the King, 'we have no time to lose, and if we delay
longer that hot-head de Belin, will strike the first blow.'
'With your Majesty's permission, I will make an assault on the rear,'
I said.
'On the rear!' exclaimed de Vitry, whilst the Grand-Master said, 'It
is impossible!'
But I only pointed to the window, and Henry laughed.
'_Ventrebleu!_ I understand--a great idea! But, monsieur, take care
how you give away a secret. I shall have no peace if Monseigneur the
Grand-Master hears what has happened.'
I was young enough still to feel my face grow hot at the approval in
the King's voice, and then, without another word, they passed out,
_tramp_, _tramp_, down the stairs, all except Sully, who stayed behind
for a moment.
'Monsieur,' he asked, 'what has happened between you and the King?'
'His Majesty has pardoned me.'
'A child might see that. What else? Be quick!'
'And has given me orders to meet you as you enter the Toison d'Or.'
The frown on his face cleared. 'Well answered, chevalier. The King, I
see, has won a faithful and discreet friend. Make your attack when you
hear the petard.' Then he, too, turned his broad shoulders on me and
followed the rest.
As the sound of the heavy footfalls ceased I gave a last look at my
pistols, drew in my sword-belt by a hole, and, all booted as I was,
essayed the ladder again. The practice I had with it made the ascent
easy now, and perhaps it was this that rendered me careless, for, as I
was climbing, my foot slipped with a grating noise, and as I stopped
for a moment, with one leg over the parapet and the other trailing
over the drop behind, I heard a quick 'What is that?' through the open
skylight. The voice was the Marshal's, and I almost felt that I could
see his nervous start and rapid upward glance as the scrabbling noise
reached his ears. Then came Lafin's answer, in those cool tones that
can penetrate so far:
'A cat--only a cat, monseigneur!'
All was still again, and I crept softly to the opening. I did not dare
look in, but crouched beneath the skylight, waiting for the signal. I
had already observed that the skylight was but a light, wooden
framework, with a glazing between, and would need no great effort to
break down--one strong push and the way was clear before me. So I
stayed for a minute of breathless silence, then from far below came a
sharp, shrill whistle, hurried exclamations from the plotters, and now
the explosion of the petard, that made the house rock to and fro like
a tree in the wind.
I had no need to force open the skylight. The effect of the explosion
did that most effectually for me and blew out the lamps in the room
below as well, reducing it on a sudden to absolute darkness. There was
a yell of terror from the room, and, without a moment's hesitation, I
swung through the window and dropped down amongst the conspirators.
They were to a man crowding to the door, and not one took any note of
my entrance, so great was their confusion. I followed the rush of
hurrying figures as they passed through the door into a passage in dim
light from a fire that burned in a small grate. One end of this
passage was full of smoke, against which the bright flashes of drawn
swords were as darts of lightning. Beyond the smoke and below we could
hear the clash of steel, cries of pain, and savage oaths, where men
were fighting and dying hard. As I dashed down the passage, sword in
hand, my only thought to reach the prisoner's room, one of the
retreating figures turned and called out, 'Quick, monseigneur! follow
me--the secret stair!'
It was Lafin. In the confusion and semi-gloom he had mistaken me for
his chief. I made no answer, but, as I rushed forwards, struck him on
the face with the hilt of my sword, and he rolled over like a log.
Now I was right in amongst the scared plotters, cheek by jowl with M.
de Savoye's envoy, and I could have dropped him then and there, but
that my whole heart was in Madame's room, and I knew that there were
others who could and would deal with him.
As I elbowed my way through the press, vainly endeavouring to find the
way to my dear's prison, we reached a landing from which a long stair
led straight up, and here I heard the Marshal's voice, cracked with
rage and fear.
'Lafin! de Gomeron! To me--here! here!'
'Ladies first. Marshal. I must look to my bride.'
Then through the smoke I saw de Gomeron's tall figure mounting the
stair, and I rushed forward to follow him.
It was at this juncture that a portion of our own party forced their
way to the landing, and one of them, whose sword was broken, flung
himself upon me, dagger in hand, shouting, 'Death to traitors.' I
had just time to seize his wrist. He tripped sideways over something
that lay very quiet at our feet, and, dragging me down, we rolled over
and over, with the clash of blades over us. 'It is I--fool--I,
d'Auriac--let go,' I shouted, as he tried to stab at me.
'Let go you,' sputtered d'Aubusson's voice, and we loosed each other.
I had no time for another word, and grasping my sword, which was
hanging to my wrist by the knot, I sprang up, and the next moment was
hot foot after de Gomeron.
I managed somehow to force my way through the crowd, but the stairway
was half-full of men, and at the head of it stood the free-lance, with
a red sword in his hand, and two or three huddled objects that lay in
shapeless masses around him.
Some one, with a reckless indifference to his own life--it was, I
afterwards found out, Pantin--held up a torch, and as the flare of it
shot up the stairway de Gomeron threw back his head and laughed at us.
'Twenty to one--come, gentlemen--or must I come to you?' He took a
couple of steps down the stairs, and the crowd, that had made as if it
would rush him, wavered and fell back, bearing me, hoarse with
shouting for way, with them to the landing.
For the moment, penned up and utterly unable to get forward, I was a
mere spectator to what followed.
The free-lance took one more downward step, and then a slight figure,
with one arm in a sling, slid out from the press and flew at him.
It was d'Ayen, and I felt a sudden warming of the heart to the man who
was going to his death.
'You--you traitor,' he gasped, as, using his sword with his left hand,
his sword ripped the free-lance's ruff.
'Stand back, old fool--stand back--or--there! Take it,' and, with a
sharp scream, d'Ayen fell backwards, the crowd splitting for a moment,
so that he rolled to the foot of the stairs and came up at my feet.
God rest his soul! He died at the last like a gallant man.
They were backing in confusion now, and above the din I could hear the
mocking of de Gomeron.
'Come, gentlemen, do not delay, time presses.'
One rush through at that time might have saved him, but he stood there
playing with death. With an effort I pushed d'Ayen, who was still
breathing, against the side of the wall, to let the poor wretch die in
such comfort as could be, and, seeing my chance at last, made my way
to the front.
De Gomeron was half-way down the stairs by this, and when our swords
met he did not for the moment recognise me. But at the second pass he
realised, and the torchlight showed him pale to the forehead.
'You!' he said between his teeth.
'Yes--I--from under the Seine,' and I had run him through the throat
but for our position, where the advantage was all his, and my reach
too short. He had backed a step up as I spoke. Whether it was my
sudden appearance or what, I know not, but from this moment his
bravado left him, and he now fought doggedly and for dear life.
There was a hush behind me, and the light became brighter as more
torches were brought, and I could now see the Camarguer white as a
sheet, with two red spots on his cheeks.
'Do you like fighting a dead man, monsieur?' I asked as I parried a
thrust in tierce.
He half groaned, and the red spot on his cheek grew bigger, but he
made no answer, and step by step I forced him upwards.
He had been touched more than once, and there was a stain on his white
satin doublet that was broadening each moment, whilst thrust and parry
grew weaker, and something, I know not what, told me he was my man.
Messieurs, you who may read this, those at least of you who have stood
sword in hand and face to face with a bitter foe, where the fight is
to the last, will know that there are moments when it is as if God
Himself nerves the arm and steels the wrist. And so it was then with
me. I swear it that I forestalled each movement of the twinkling blade
before me, that each artifice and trick the skilful swordsman who was
fighting for his life employed was felt by something that guided my
sword, now high, now low, and ever and again wet its point against the
broad breast of the Camarguer.
So, too, with him--he was lost, and he knew it. But he was a brave
man, if ever there was one, and he pulled himself together as we
reached the upper landing for one last turn with the death that dogged
him. So fierce was the attack he now made, that had he done so but a
moment before, when the advantage of position was his, I know not what
had happened. But now it was different. He was my man. I was carried
away by the fire within me, or else in pity I might have spared him;
but there is no need to speak of this more. He thrust too high. I
parried and returned, so that the cross hilt of my rapier struck dully
over his heart, and he died where he fell.
But one word escaped him, some long-lost memory, some secret of that
iron heart came up at the last.
'Denise!' he gasped, and was gone.
I stood over him for a moment, a drumming in my ears, and then I heard
the ringing of cheers and the rush of feet. Then a half-dozen strong
shoulders were at the door before me, and as it fell back with a crash
I sprang in and took a tall, slim, white-robed figure in my arms, and
kissed her dear face again and again.
One by one those in the room stepped out and left us together, and for
once a brave heart gave way and she sobbed like a child on my
shoulder.
I said nothing, but held her to me, and so we might have been for a
half-hour, when I heard de Belin's voice at the broken door:
'D'Auriac! Come, man!--the King waits! And bring your prisoner!'
There was a laugh in his voice and a light on his face as he spoke,
and my dear lifted her swimming eyes to my face, and I kissed her
again, saying:
'Come--my prisoner!'
As we passed out I kept between Claude and the grim figure still lying
stark on the landing, and held her to me so that she could not see.
So, with Lisois before us, we passed down the passage, filled now with
men-at-arms, and halted before a room, the door of which was closed.
'We must wait here a moment,' said de Belin; and merely to say
something, I asked:
'I suppose we have the whole nest?'
'All who were not killed. Stay! One escaped--that rascal Ravaillac. I
could have run him through, but did not care to soil my sword with
such _canaille_, so his skin is safe.'
'And Babette?'
He gave me an expressive look and muttered something about Montfaucon.
Then the door was flung open and a stream of light poured forth. We
entered, and saw the King standing surrounded by his friends, and a
little on one side was the dejected group of conspirators.
The Marshal, now abject, mean, and cringing, was kneeling before
Henry, who raised him as we entered, saying:
'Biron, and you, Tremouille, and you all who called yourselves my
friends, and lay in wait to destroy me and destroy your country--I
cannot forget that we were old comrades, and for old friendships' sake
I have already told you that I forgive; and God give you all as clean
a conscience as I have over the blood that has been spilt to-day.'
He ran his eye over the group, and they stood before him abashed and
ashamed, and yet overcome with joy at escape when death seemed so
certain; and he, their leader, the man who hoped to see his head on a
crown-piece, broke into unmanly sobbing, and was led away vowing
repentance--vows that he broke again, to find then that the mercy of
the King was already strained to breaking-point.
As Lafin, with a white and bleeding face, led his master away, Henry's
eye fell on me, and he beckoned me to advance. I did so, leading
Claude by the hand.
'Chevalier,' he said, 'it is saying little when I say that it is
through you that these misguided gentlemen have realised their
wrong-doing. There is one recompense you would not let me make you for
the wrongs you have suffered. There is, however, a reward for your
services which perhaps you will accept from me. I see before me a
Royal Ward who has defied her guardian--_Ventre St. Gris!_ My beard is
getting over grey to look after such dainties. I surrender my Ward to
your care.' As he said this he took Claude's hand and placed it in
mine. 'I see, madame,' he added, 'that this time you have no
objections to the King's choice. There--quite right. Kiss her, man!'
* * * * *
It is all over at last--that golden summer that was so long, and yet
seems but a day. It is ten years ago that those shining eyes, that
never met mine but with the love-light in them, were closed for ever;
and the gift that God gave me that did He take back.
I am old, and grey, and worn. My son, the Vicompte de Bidache, is in
Paris with the Cardinal, whilst I wait at Auriac for the message that
will call me to her. When she went, Bidache, where we lived, became
unbearable to me, and I came back here to wait till I too am
called--to wait and watch the uneasy sea, to hear the scream of the
gulls, and feel the keen salt air.
I have come to the last of the fair white sheets of paper the _Cure_
brought for me from Havre this autumn, and it grows strangely dark
even for my eyes. I will write no more, but sit out on the terrace and
wait for the sunset. Perhaps she may call me to-day.
'Jacques, my hat and cloak!'
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Chevalier d'Auriac, by S. (Sidney) Levett-Yeats