I MEET A KINDRED SPIRIT
HOW it thrilled me--that cry echoing up and down the corridors! What
would I not have given for the chance to ride forth, thigh to thigh
with these lusty ruffians, to give and take good blows! Instead of
that, here was I a prisoner--and at the thought my eyes turned to my
companion.
He laughed as he caught my glance.
“Come, M. de Marsan,” he said, “your face is an open book. You are
longing to fare out with these blood-letters. You heard M. le Comte
instruct me to secure you a new equipage. Besides, I doubt not you
stand in need of meat and drink, as well. So come,--for twenty minutes
is not a long time.”
His last words, spoken after a moment’s teasing hesitation, brought the
hot blood leaping to my cheek.
“Twenty minutes!” I stammered. “We go also, then, Monsieur?”
“Assuredly,” he laughed. “Come.”
I followed him from the room blindly, unable to speak, trembling with
excitement. What a chance! What fortune! I would show whether I or that
cursed, hawk-faced d’Aurilly was to be believed! It made my blood boil
to think of his cool insolence,--his black treachery,--for in my heart
of hearts I was certain that it was he who had stolen my letter--but to
prove it, there was the problem!
Down the stair we went to a great room piled with arms, where a mob
of crazy men were already choosing what they needed. With great joy I
found my own sword among a pile of others,--its leathern scabbard did
not proclaim the Toledo within, thank Heaven!--and in five minutes was
armed with pistolets and poniard, clothed in a very handsome suit of
black, with great boots, whose spurs clanked most merrily as I rattled
down the stair behind my friend--for such, even in the few minutes I
had known him, I was determined he should be.
“Now for food,” he said, and I was not sorry to follow him to a room on
the lower floor where there was a long table piled with meat and drink.
“In faith, I have need of it myself,” he added, as he dropped into the
seat at my right, but his appetite was far from keeping pace with mine.
As I ate I looked at him, and my heart warmed to his frank face and
honest eyes. Young he still was,--not more than a year or two my
senior,--but there was that in his air which proclaimed the soldier and
man of affairs, accustomed to the smiles of fortune and quite ready
to coerce her should she attempt to turn her face away. I had already
realized my helplessness without a friend in this great house, and I
blessed the chance that had thrown me into this man’s keeping.
“Do you know, M. de Marsan,” he said suddenly, “I was quite moved by
that little tale of yours. I was certain that M. le Comte could not
doubt it.”
“Thank you, Monsieur,” I answered. “I mean to prove that it is true.”
“And I am sure you will succeed,” he said heartily. “But, my faith, how
unfortunate it was that you should happen along the Rue Gogard just
when you did! A moment earlier or later, and M. le Comte would perhaps
be in position to bring the Duc de Roquefort to his knees. Small wonder
he was vexed with you--more especially since he received that hideous
scar across the face, which will stay with him always.”
“I regret that I was such a marplot,” I said, “but I could not well do
other than I did. When a woman asks for aid----”
“And a young and pretty woman, was she not, Marsan?” queried my
companion, smiling at me broadly.
“Yes,” I admitted, “young and pretty. Do you know her, Monsieur?”
He smiled more broadly still.
“I think I can guess. Did you not hear her name?”
“The man who was with her called her Claire.”
He nodded.
“That is she. Small wonder you leaped to follow her! Claire de Brissac,
but six months out of the good sisters’ keeping, yet already the toast
of the whole valley of the Garonne. It has never been my good fortune
to meet her, but such tales as we have heard! ’Tis said Roquefort
himself is mad about her, and a month since Rumor had them wedded, but
at the last the affair hung fire--through some caprice on her part,
’tis said. She would do well to wed him while she can,” he added. “He
may not choose to call a priest the second time.”
“But her father,” I said, “her uncle--will not they protect her?”
Fronsac laughed.
“Her uncle--pouf! He is nothing--a man of words--a man of some wit
perhaps, but a man who cleans Roquefort’s shoes. He has no spirit,
not even enough to compel the girl’s obedience, else had she been
Madame la Duchesse long ere this. Her father was a man, though,--Sieur
de Brissac,--perhaps you have heard of him? He stood upright at
Roquefort’s side, eye to eye, and his daughter hath his spirit. Great
pity he is dead.
“It behooves Roquefort to marry,” continued Fronsac after a moment. “He
has no issue. His next of kin is a cousin--a Spaniard whom he hates.
He hath been married once,--a virago from Valladolid, where his cousin
also dwells. She made his life a burden, ’tis said, and with it all
gave him no children. ’Twas more than man could bear. One morning she
was found dead at the cliff-foot--an ugly story.”
I understood now why Brissac’s face had hardened when he had scented a
romance in the air. He destined the girl for other things--for a higher
place. I could not blame him, and yet--and yet....
“But what was Brissac’s business here?” I asked at length.
“There are strange rumors afoot, Marsan,” and my companion lowered
his voice and glanced about to see that no one else could hear. “It
is said that Roquefort, who, living there in the Pyrenees, is already
more than half Spanish, is trying to persuade the towns of the Midi
to revolt against the King and aid an army of invasion which Spain
will provide. Brissac, ’tis said, came to Montauban to spread the
intrigue here, where there is already a very pretty nest of heretics
and malcontents. Fortunately, M. le Comte has a friend in Roquefort’s
household--as you should know, since you brought a message from
him--and learned of Brissac’s mission. This mission, you understand,
this plan of Roquefort’s, is all in the air--there is no proof of it;
but M. le Comte believed there were in Brissac’s keeping certain papers
which would give all the proof needed. So he determined to corner
Brissac, examine his papers, and if he found the ones he sought, lay
them before the King. Besides, M. le Comte could kill two birds with
one stone--he would do his King a signal service, and by the same
stroke be rid forever of his enemy. But it was a matter which required
finesse--so he determined himself to execute the clever little coup
which you spoiled yestereve.”
“Yes, yes,” I said, understanding for the first time, and fell a moment
silent, turning over this bit of news. “Monsieur,” I asked, “what is
the cause of the feud between the houses of Cadillac and Roquefort?”
Fronsac shrugged his shoulders.
“I do not know,” he answered. “It hath been in the blood for a century.
It started, I have heard, in some absurd question of precedence. It
is the old story of the frog and the mouse who found it impossible to
dwell in peace together. If Roquefort hath sacked Cadillac, there will
be some merry work ere we return to Montauban.”
I smiled, for this was my first campaign, and it pleased me mightily.
Besides, I had not only to win my spurs, but to prove also to M. le
Comte that I was no liar.
“Monsieur,” I said, “permit me to assure you that you will have no
cause to watch me. I am too anxious to see this expedition through. My
honor is at stake, and I mean to prove that it is not I but another who
is the traitor. But tell me something of the Vicomte d’Aurilly. How
comes he in this household?”
I could feel my companion’s eyes searching my face, but I did not meet
his gaze, fearing that he might read my thought.
“The Vicomte d’Aurilly,” he said quietly at last, “belongs to one of
the oldest families of the Basses Pyrenees. Unhappily, the fortunes of
his house have declined greatly, but this has not lessened his pride,
as you may have perceived. He is in this household because he is a
suitor for the hand of Mademoiselle Valérie, only daughter of M. le
Comte.”
For a moment I saw my theory falling into bits. If d’Aurilly were
a suitor for Mademoiselle, why should he seek to betray her into
Roquefort’s hands?
“Only,” added my companion, in a lower tone and with a certain look
that drew from me a second glance, “I believe he is an unsuccessful
suitor. It is said that M. le Comte had the goodness to consult his
daughter in the matter and that she would have none of it.”
Well, that was different--that gave me the key to d’Aurilly’s motive!
There was a tone in my companion’s voice which drew my eyes again to
his face--he was staring at the table before him, distraught, seeing
nothing. It seemed to me that I could read his secret, and of a sudden
I determined to tell him my theory. I glanced around and saw that the
room was almost empty.
“M. de Fronsac,” I began, “for what I am about to tell you I have no
proof, yet I believe myself not far beside the mark. And first let me
assure you on my honor that I am what I claim to be, Paul de Marsan,
liege to M. le Comte, and that I brought a message to him. That message
was stolen from me, as you have heard. I believe, Monsieur, that
d’Aurilly was the thief.”
My companion started round upon me, all his blood in his face.
“I believe, furthermore,” I added, “that it was d’Aurilly who informed
Roquefort of the defenceless condition of Cadillac. Perhaps he hath
determined that if he cannot get Mademoiselle in one way, he will get
her in another.”
Fronsac sat for a moment looking at me, his eyes dark, his brows
knitted.
“Soul of God!” he breathed at last. “If you should be right! How M. le
Comte’s wrath would search him out and consume him! Yet, if he succeed,
he will have Mademoiselle Valérie for hostage--he could dictate terms.
What a plot--the more one thinks of it, the prettier it grows!” Then he
turned to me suddenly. “M. de Marsan,” he said impetuously, “we must be
friends. We two, alone, must set about the unveiling of this scoundrel.”
He held out his hand with frank earnestness, and I grasped it warmly.
“Nothing would please me more, Monsieur,” I said with a great
lightening of the heart. “I covet you for a friend.”
“And I you.”
I looked into his eyes and read truth and manhood there. So it was
settled.
I could see that he was in a fever of impatience to be off, and just as
I pushed my platter from me, the call to horse sounded from without.
When M. le Comte said twenty minutes, he meant twenty minutes and not
an instant more. And woe to all laggards! So we hurried down into the
court, where there was a great tangle of men and beasts. Through this
we pushed, my companion leading the way, to the place where our horses,
which he had ordered from the stables, awaited us. My mount was a
great, mettlesome sorrel, and I looked him over with exultation, for we
had none such in our stable at Marsan.
A moment later M. le Comte himself strode down the steps into the
court, his face still bandaged, and gave the signal to mount. We sprang
to saddle on the instant, and it was wonderful to see how that mob
resolved itself into a little army. Out through the gate we swung,
three hundred strong, the standards--azure; on a bend or a laurel-tree
sinople--floating gayly in front.
The great gate clanged shut behind us, and I saw that even a small
garrison could hold the place, so admirably was it fitted for defence.
The sun was shining from a sky unclouded, and we made a brave show as
we clattered through the narrow streets of the town, the crowd looking
on from either side. Some of them cheered, but the most were silent and
gazed at us with no friendly eyes, and I saw that, even in Montauban,
M. le Comte’s couch was not an easy one. At last we were out in the
open country and struck into a gait which soon left the walls far
behind.
I glanced back for a last look at the town, and saw M. le Comte riding
moodily along near the rear of the column. To his left rode Sieur
Letourge, to his right d’Aurilly.