OBSCURI SOLA SUB NOCTE
When Gabriel returned to his seat after escorting Monsieur de Guise to
the door, he made a sign to Martin-Guerre, who at once left his
occupation and went out, seeming to need no further instructions.
The squire came back after about fifteen minutes, accompanied by a pale,
emaciated individual, whose clothes were almost falling from his body.
Martin approached his master, who was again absorbed in thought. The
other occupants of the tent were playing or sleeping, as their fancy
dictated.
"Monseigneur," said Martin-Guerre, "this is our man."
"Oh, yes!" said Gabriel; "so you are Anselme the fisherman, of whom
Martin-Guerre has spoken to me?" he added, turning to the new-comer.
"Yes, Monseigneur, I am Anselme the fisherman," was the reply.
"Do you know the service in which we desire your aid?" asked Vicomte
d'Exmès.
"Your squire has told me, Monseigneur; and I am ready."
"Martin-Guerre ought also to have told you," continued Gabriel, "that in
this expedition your life will be in danger as will our own."
"Oh," rejoined the fisherman, "he had no need to tell me that; for I
knew it as well as he, or even better."
"And still you came?" said Gabriel.
"Here I am, at your service," Anselme replied.
"Very good, my friend; it is the deed of a noble heart."
"Or of a hopeless existence," was the response.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Gabriel.
"Why, by our Lady!" said Anselme. "Every day I take my life in my hand
for the sake of bringing home a few fish, and very often I come home
empty-handed. So there is very little merit in risking my tanned skin
for you to-day, when you promise, whether I live or die, to care for the
future welfare of my wife and my three children."
"Very true," said Gabriel; "but the danger that you face every day is
uncertain, and hidden from you in a measure. You never go to sea during
a gale. But this time the risk is perceptible and unmistakable."
"Indeed," replied the fisherman, "it is perfectly certain that one must
be a madman or a saint, to venture upon the water on such a night as
this. But that is your affair; and it is not for me to find fault, if
you choose to do it. You have paid me in advance for my boat and my
body. But you will owe the Holy Virgin a fine candle of pure wax if we
arrive safe and sound."
"Even when we have arrived, Anselme," Gabriel resumed, "your labors are
not at an end. Having rowed us safely across, you will be called upon to
fight, and do a soldier's work after having done duty as a sailor. Don't
forget that you are about to incur dangers of two sorts."
"It's all right," said Anselme; "but don't be too discouraging in what
you say. Your orders shall be obeyed. You guarantee the lives of those
who are dear to me, and I give you mine. The bargain is struck, and let
us say no more about it."
"You are a brave fellow!" said Gabriel. "As to your wife and children,
let your mind be quite easy; for they shall want for nothing. I have
written to my agent Elyot my wishes on that point; and Monsieur le Duc
de Guise will himself see that they are carried out."
"That is more than you were called upon to do," said the fisherman; "and
you are more generous than a king. I will play no tricks with you. You
need only have given me sufficient money to relieve me from
embarrassment during these hard times, and I would have expected nothing
further. But if I am satisfied with you, I hope that you will not be
disappointed in me."
"Let us see," said Gabriel; "will your boat hold fourteen?"
"She has held twenty, Monseigneur."
"You will need strong arms to help you row, will you not?"
"Yes, indeed," said Anselme; "for I shall have my hands full with the
helm and the sail, if we can carry sail."
"We have three men," said Martin-Guerre,--"Ambrosio, Pilletrousse, and
Landry,--who can row as if they had never done anything else in their
lives, and I myself can swim with a pair of oars as easily as with my
arms."
"Well, well," said Anselme, joyously, "I shall quite have the appearance
of a smart sea-captain with so many fine fellows in my crew! There is
one point on which Master Martin has thus far left me in ignorance, and
that is the precise spot where we are to land."
"The Risbank fort," Gabriel replied.
"The Risbank fort! Did you say the Risbank fort?" cried the stupefied
fisherman.
"Certainly I did," said Gabriel; "what objection have you to offer to
that?"
"Oh, nothing," rejoined Anselme, "except that it is hardly possible to
land at that point, and that I personally have never cast anchor there.
It's nothing but rocks."
"Do you refuse to guide us?" asked Gabriel.
"My faith! no; I will do my best, though I am but little acquainted with
that part of the coast. My father, who like myself was born a fisherman,
used to say; 'We must not try to lord it over fish or customers.' I will
take you to the Risbank fort if I can. A nice little trip we shall
have!"
"At what hour must we be ready to start?" asked Gabriel.
"You want to reach there at four, I believe?" returned Anselme.
"Between four and five; no later."
"Very well! from the point where we must embark so as not to be seen and
arouse suspicion, we must reckon upon two hours of sailing; the most
important thing is not to tire ourselves unnecessarily on the water.
From here to the creek is about an hour's march."
"Then we should leave the camp about one hour after midnight?" said
Gabriel.
"That will be about right," Anselme replied.
"Well, then, I will go and tell my men," said Gabriel. "Do so,
Monseigneur," said the fisherman. "I will ask your leave to lie down
with them and sleep until one o'clock. I have said farewell at home; the
boat is already carefully hidden and safely moored, so that I have
nothing to call me away."
"You are quite right, Anselme," said Gabriel; "lie down for awhile, for
you will have enough to tire you before this night is over.
Martin-Guerre, you may tell your companions now."
"Ho, there, you fellows! You gamblers and sleepy heads!" cried
Martin-Guerre.
"What is it? What's the matter?" they cried, rising and drawing near.
"Thank Monseigneur; for there is a special expedition on foot for one
o'clock," said Martin.
"Good! very good! splendid!" was the hearty chorus of the veterans.
Even Malemort added his joyful shout to these unequivocal demonstrations
of satisfaction.
But at that very moment four of Ambroise Paré's assistants appeared to
carry the wounded man to the hospital.
Malemort was loud in his protestations.
But notwithstanding his cries and struggles, they put him upon a litter
and held him there. In vain did he pour most bitter reproaches upon his
comrades, even calling them deserters and traitors, since they were
despicable enough to go into battle without him. No notice was taken of
his epithets; and he was carried off cursing and swearing.
"How," said Martin-Guerre, "we must make our final arrangements, and
assign to every man the part he is to play and his position."
"What sort of job have we on hand?" asked Pilletrousse.
"Oh, a sort of assault," replied Martin.
"Then I will be the first one to scale the wall!" cried Yvonnet.
"Very well," said the squire.
"No, that isn't fair!" exclaimed Ambrosio. "Yvonnet always monopolizes
the first place in times of danger. Really, it seems as if he thinks of
nobody but himself."
"Let him have his way," said Gabriel, interposing. "In the hazardous
ascent that we are about to make, the foremost will be the least
exposed, I imagine. As a proof of my belief, I propose myself to be the
last to ascend."
"Then Yvonnet will be cheated," cried Ambrosio, laughing.
Martin-Guerre assigned to each man his place in the order of march, as
well as his number in the boat and in the assault. Ambrosio,
Pilletrousse, and Landry were notified that they would have to row. In
fact, everything that could be was arranged beforehand, so as to avoid
confusion and misunderstanding as far as possible.
Lactance took Martin-Guerre aside for a moment.
"Pardon me," said he; "but do you imagine there is any killing to be
done?"
"I am not sure; but it is very possible," Martin replied.
"Thanks," returned Lactance; "in that case I think I will say my prayers
and do penance in advance for three or four dead men and as many
wounded."
When everything was settled, Gabriel advised his men to obtain an hour
or two of sleep. He undertook to awaken them himself when it was time.
"Yes, I shall be glad to get a little sleep," said Yvonnet; "for my poor
nerves are terribly excited this evening, and I need above all things to
be cool and fresh when I am fighting."
In a few moments not a sound was to be heard within the tent save the
regular breathing of the veterans and the monotonous _Pater nosters_ of
Lactance.
Soon the last-mentioned noise also ceased, for drowsiness had at last
overcome Lactance, and he too was asleep.
Gabriel alone was awake and deep in thought.
Toward one o'clock he awoke his men one by one. They all rose and
equipped themselves in silence. Then they went softly from the tent and
left the camp.
At the words, 'Calais and Charles,' uttered in a low voice by Gabriel,
the sentinels allowed them to pass unquestioned.
The little band, under the guidance of Anselme the fisherman, took its
way through the fields, along the shore. Not a word was uttered. Nothing
was to be heard save the moaning of the wind, and the melancholy voice
of the sea in the distance.
It was a dark and stormy night. Not a soul was to be seen along the road
traversed by our adventurers. Even if they had met any one, it was more
than probable that they would have passed unnoticed; but had they been
seen, they would certainly have been mistaken for phantoms at that hour
and in such darkness.
Within the city, there was also one man who at that hour was still
awake.
It was Lord Wentworth, the governor, although, relying upon the
reinforcements for which he had sent to Dover as being sure to arrive on
the morrow, he had retired to his own house, hoping to obtain some rest.
He had not slept, in truth, for three days, exposing himself
continually, it must be said, at the points of greatest danger with
untiring gallantry, and was always to be found wherever his presence was
required.
On the evening of January 4 he had paid a visit to the breach of the Old
Château, had personally posted the sentinels, and had reviewed the
civic militia, who were intrusted with the simple duty of defending the
Risbank fort.
But notwithstanding his intense weariness, and although everything was
secure and quiet, he could not sleep.
A vague dread, absurd but not to be driven away, kept his eyes wide open
as he lay on his bed.
Yet all his precautions were well taken; the enemy could not possibly
venture upon a night attack, relying upon so trifling a breach as that
in the Old Château. As for the other points, they would protect
themselves with the aid of the swamp and the ocean.
Lord Wentworth said all this to himself a thousand times, and yet he
could not sleep.
He seemed to feel something floating in the night air about the city
which told him of a terrible danger from an invisible foe.
In his disordered fancy that enemy was not Maréchal Strozzi, nor the
Duc de Nevers; it was not even the great François do Guise.
What! Could it be that it was his former prisoner, whom his bitter
enmity had enabled him to recognize several times in the distance from
the summit of the fortifications? Was it really that madman. Vicomte
d'Exmès, Madame de Castro's lover?
What a ridiculous adversary for the governor of Calais in his strong
city, still so impregnably guarded!
However, Lord Wentworth, whatever the reason may have been, could
neither overcome this indefinable dread nor explain it.
But he felt its presence, and he could not sleep.