THE RIDE TO CADILLAC
M. LE COMTE’S château of Cadillac stood upon the east bank of the
Garonne, some ten leagues to the south of Montauban. My father had
taken me thither once, when I was a mere boy,--what business called him
there I do not know,--and I remember quite clearly the great house,
with its high, graceful central tower, its broad wings, and the pretty
park in front, sloping sweetly down to the river’s edge. It beseemed
me at the time that the palace of the King of France must be less
beautiful; but, alas, one’s eyes grow more critical with age!
Our road for a time lay through the wide valley of the river, and as
we swung onward I sat erect in the saddle and drank in great draughts
of the cool air--so sweet, so pure, such as one finds only here in
Gascony. It was good to be alive, in such gallant company, with promise
of hard blows and, perchance, glory at the end. I stole a glance at
Fronsac, not doubting that he shared my exultation, and was astonished
to see him riding with rein loose and head bent and eye lack-lustre.
He surprised my glance and smiled as he looked at me.
“The question, my friend,” he said, “is, shall we be in time?”
I did not answer. I confess I did not wish the adventure to end so
speedily and tamely. Besides, I had a great desire to see for myself
the Duc de Roquefort’s stronghold in the Pyrenees, for I had heard it
was worth seeing.
“When was it you left Marsan?” he asked after a moment.
“At midnight on the twenty-fourth.”
“And this is the twenty-seventh. On the morning of the twenty-fifth,
doubtless, the Duc de Roquefort left his seat at Marleon and started
for M. le Comte’s château. By pushing his horses he might have reached
Caumont that night. By evening of yesterday he should have been at
Drovet, and he may get to the château by noon to-day. If he has carried
out this programme, we shall be too late.”
“But, Monsieur,” I protested, “it may be that he did not set out from
Marleon until the twenty-sixth, or some accident may have happened to
delay him. Besides, he could not have gone by the direct route, since
he was penetrating the country of M. le Comte’s allies. He must keep
his march secret, or run the risk of being taken prisoner. It is only
by great diligence that he could reach the château to-day.”
“True,” assented my companion gloomily, “yet the Duc de Roquefort
is always diligent--else he would not have dared undertake this
expedition. He is a great gambler, ready to stake his head on the turn
of a card. Some day he will lose, but it seems this time that he must
win.”
“Grant that he does reach the château at noon to-day,” I said, “still,
even with only thirty men, Madame la Comtesse should be able to hold
out against him for some hours--and five or six hours are all that we
shall need.”
“True,” and my companion nodded again, “Madame is not the woman to
yield the château without a struggle. But what if she be surprised,
if she be not expecting an assault, if the gates be open--what then,
Monsieur?”
“Then,” I cried boldly, “we will spur after them, even to their castle
in the Pyrenees! M. le Comte himself hath said it!”
But Fronsac shook his head.
“You have never visited Marleon, have you, M. de Marsan?” he asked.
“No, Monsieur, I have never been farther south than Lembeye.”
“The castle of M. de Roquefort stands on a height above the town,
and is approached only by a steep and narrow road, where two men can
scarcely walk abreast. The Duc du Poitiers, with an army of three
thousand men, once assaulted it in vain. It will not soon yield to
force.”
“If not to force, then to stratagem!” I cried.
“Quite right,” chuckled a low voice behind us. “If not to force, then
to stratagem! Well said!”
I turned with a start to see that it was the Sieur Letourge, who had
ridden close to us without our perceiving it, and who had overheard my
last words.
“M. de Fronsac,” he continued, bowing, and urging his horse nose to
nose with mine, “M. le Comte wishes to speak with you. Do you fall back
and join him. I will endeavor to entertain our friend here,” and he
nodded to me.
Fronsac obeyed without a word, and for some moments my new companion
and I rode side by side in silence. I glanced at him narrowly from
time to time, for this was the first that I had seen him in the light
of day and close at hand. A tall, raw-boned man, whose hair was turning
gray, and whose stern face, with its arched nose, deep-set eyes, firm
mouth, and aggressive chin, told of the will which would never accept
defeat. Not a pleasant face, perhaps, yet a strong one, an honest
one, and one which drew my eyes to it by a kind of fascination. This
was the man, as I well knew, who for some score of years had been the
right hand of M. le Comte and who had done more than any other to
confirm his rule over his great estates, to win for him friends and
allies the length and breadth of the Midi, and to impress his enemies,
the Duc de Roquefort among the number, with a hearty respect for his
heavy fist--his heavy fist, that is, the two or three hundred reckless
rogues whom he held in leash and let loose from time to time to punish
some contumacious lordling or frighten into subjection a rebellious
peasantry. Ah, how the peasants hated him,--this man, Letourge, who
had pulled himself up from among them by sheer strength of will and
straightway forgot his kinship with them! He could not serve two
masters, so he served M. le Comte, and served him well.
He caught my glance, and smiled grimly as he looked into my eyes.
“You were talking of storming Roquefort’s castle at Marleon?” he asked.
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“’Twill be no easy task.”
“But it may not be needful. We may reach the château in time.”
He shook his head, as Fronsac had done.
“Had we set out last night,” he said. “Had we permitted you to deliver
your message straightway! I can see now that I played the fool. Yet the
sight of you there in M. le Comte’s ante-chamber took my wits away. You
spoke a true word, M. de Marsan, when you told me I should regret my
wrath.”
I looked at him eagerly.
“Then you too believe my story, M. Letourge?” I asked quickly.
He gave me one look from under his eyebrows.
“Surely,” he answered. “Babes scarce out of leading-strings do not lie
so glibly. They seem ready, though, to run to the aid of the first
woman they hear squawking!”
I flushed at his tone, but checked the retort which sprang to my lips.
After all, I had doubtless much to learn.
“But though we may not reach Cadillac in time, we may yet win the
race,” he added. “You have noted, perhaps, that we are saving the
horses. Should we push forward at full speed to Cadillac, that would be
the end--we could go no farther. As it is, we are starting on a long
journey, and Roquefort may be hard put to it ere he gets back again
behind his battlements at Marleon.”
He fell silent again, looking so stern and inflexible that I had not
the heart to address him. Yet it seemed to me that M. le Comte was
in error. Even if the whole force were not sent forward, it would be
wise, I thought, to send a small party at full speed to attempt to warn
Madame. But this was my first campaign, so why should I venture to
advise?
At last I heard the gallop of a horse’s feet behind us, and Fronsac
rode up, his eyes agleam with excitement.
“Such fortune!” he cried, as he pulled up his horse beside mine. “Do
you know to what M. le Comte has consented, my friend? It is that you
and I shall ride on together, full speed, to Cadillac.”
It was my thought; I was not a fool, after all!
“You forget,” interrupted Letourge dryly, “that M. de Marsan is a
prisoner.”
“And in my charge,” said Fronsac proudly. “M. le Comte entrusts him to
me. I will answer for him.”
“Thank you, Monsieur,” I said, my face aglow with pleasure. “I shall
not forget your kindness. When do we set out?”
“At once!” cried Fronsac, and clapped spur to flank.
With a last glance at Letourge, who was looking at us with amused eyes,
I sped after him, and in a moment we were past the troop and with only
the open road before us. Neck and neck we went for half an hour or
more, my heart bounding at the rapid motion, and then we drew rein to
give our mounts a breathing-spell.
“What a chance!” cried my companion, lifting his hat and wiping the
sweat from his brow. “Do you know, Marsan, there is an adventure before
us? I believe we shall reach the château ahead of Roquefort and his
rascals!”
“I trust so,” I said. “It would be a privilege to be in time to warn
Madame.”
“And Mademoiselle,” he added.
“Of course, and Mademoiselle,” I assented, smiling to myself.
“Then come!” he cried, “spur on again!”
And spur on again we did, under the trees of the river road, down to
the ford and across, then straight over-country as the river bent away
eastward, the peasants’ huts flying past us and the workers in the
fields straightening themselves with cracking joints to get a glimpse
of us. An hour of this riding, and we were back at the river’s bank,
where we stopped to wind and water our horses. Then across the river
again, with Brassu on our left, and only two leagues to go. But noon
was long since past, and I saw Fronsac, with anxious eyes, mark the
declining sun. Still on and on we went, and I could feel my mount
trembling between my knees. Plainly there was no question here of
sparing horses.
“Around that bend, up the hill beyond, and we are there!” cried my
companion at last. “Look to your pistols!”
I drew them from their holsters, one after the other, and assured
myself that they were primed and ready for service.
In a moment we were around the bend of the road, and before us lay a
long, gentle slope. Up this we spurred, and there beneath us in the
valley stood the château, peaceful and smiling under the bright sun of
the Midi. I could see half a dozen lacqueys lolling about the great
gate. But it was not at them I looked. It was at a gleam of arms and
warlike equipage which was just topping the opposite slope, and my
heart leaped, for I knew that it must be the force of Roquefort.
There was a thrill in that moment worth a year of life. How my blood
sang!
But no pausing there! Again the spur, and down the slope we rushed, our
mounts responding gamely with a last burst of speed. Roquefort’s men
must have seen us in the same instant and understood our mission, for
they came tearing down the other slope to head us off. The cries, the
beat of horses’ hoofs, the rattle of arms, reached to the château. At a
glance, I saw the lacqueys laboring at the great gates--we should be in
time--the château was safe--we would win the race!
Then, of a sudden, came a shrill, frenzied cry from my companion, and
he jerked his horse about and galloped full course towards the river.
For an instant I thought him seized with sudden madness, but as my
eyes followed him I saw a sight which made my heart stand still.
Almost on the river bank an arbor had been built, and at its door a
girl was standing. I saw at a glance her beauty and the richness of her
dress. It must be Mademoiselle--it could be no other! In a flash, I too
had pulled my horse around and galloped after my companion. Thank God,
there was not far to go!
“This way, this way, Valérie!” cried Fronsac, standing up in his
stirrups, frenzied with excitement.
She stood for an instant confused, uncertain, looking at him. Then she
sped towards him, her face alight.
I thought for a breath that he must ride her down, but he jerked
his horse back upon its haunches, leaned down, and swung her to the
saddle before him. She threw her arms about him and laid her head upon
his breast. I felt my eyes grow wet with sudden tears as I saw the
tenderness of that gesture.
It seemed given in the face of death, for down the hillside at us
thundered Roquefort’s rascals. There was no escape--yet a man must not
die unavenged, and I snatched my pistols out and fired at the leaders.
I saw one of them grimace in agony; down he came, headlong; a horse
stumbled and fell, throwing another off its feet. I tried to pull my
mount aside, but in an instant the flood of cursing men and tangled,
kicking beasts had overwhelmed me and borne me down, then caught me up
again and hurled me down the hill. I caught a glimpse of my companion
standing at bay, his back to the river, his fair burden still in his
arms, still gazing up into his face--what an instant for a man to die!
Then the flood was over me again and crushed the light away.