I TASTE OF ROQUEFORT’S TEMPER
“AGAIN!” cried a rude voice, and some unseen power caught me up and
thrust me under water. It was icy cold, and I felt dimly, without
caring greatly, that I was suffocating. Then I was plucked forth
again--ah, how sweet the good air was! I drew a long breath and opened
my eyes.
The river was flowing at my feet. A sturdy knave supported me on either
side and looked questioningly at a man who stood two paces off. It was
they who had plunged me under water. Hot with rage, I tried to shake
them off, but they held me as though I were a child.
“That is better!” cried the man. “He seems to have come to his senses.
Stand him against that tree.”
They led me to the tree he pointed out and stood me up against it. I
wiped the water from my eyes and looked about me again. This time I
understood. I was a prisoner, and the man directing the affair was no
doubt the Duc de Roquefort. He came close to me where I stood, still
trembling with exhaustion.
“I suppose you see the desperate nature of your case,” he said coolly,
his deep-set eyes glittering full into mine. He had a swarthy face,
not uncomely, though lined with passion, and his eyes were like a
basilisk’s. “You will see it still more clearly when I assure you that
there is only one possible way for you to save your life--that is by
answering truthfully my questions.”
He paused a moment as though to permit his words to sink deep into my
consciousness. There was need that I should think quickly. I glanced
towards the château and saw that the gates were closed and the tower
manned. I looked at Roquefort’s troops, dismounted, lolling in the edge
of the wood along the river, waiting his pleasure. One group, however,
was still under arms, and my pulse leaped as I saw they were on guard
with Fronsac and Mademoiselle in their midst. If by some lie I could
hold Roquefort here for two hours or even less, M. le Comte might yet
be in time for rescue. I felt my captor’s eyes on mine and turned away
for fear he would read my thought.
“You understand?” he asked, after a moment.
I nodded.
“And you agree?”
“Proceed, Monsieur,” I said.
“You were with Cadillac?” he asked.
“At Montauban--yes, Monsieur.”
“Come, no lies. He is near by.”
“No nearer than Montauban, Monsieur.”
He glared at me for a moment, but my strength had come back to me, and
this time I could meet his gaze without shrinking.
“Then what do you and Fronsac here?” he demanded.
“My friend carries a message to Madame,” I answered readily, glad to
find an answer that was near the truth. “He chose me to ride hither
with him.”
He looked at me yet a moment, then turned away and gazed towards the
château, twisting his moustaches and muttering to himself.
“If I had proof--if I had proof--there would yet be time to capture the
woman too and send this pretty place up in smoke!”
He turned again to me with those snake’s eyes of his agleam.
“Is this true?” he demanded between his teeth. “Tell me again, is this
true? Think well before you answer. A lie will cost you such hours of
agony as you have never dreamed of.”
“There is M. de Fronsac,” I suggested. “Ask him also.”
He laughed harshly.
“M. de Fronsac prefers to hold his tongue,” he said. “Think you I
should otherwise have troubled to bring you back to life? Answer me. Is
this true?”
“It is true,” I repeated.
“Very good. I am going to believe you. But if I find you have betrayed
me----” A look finished the sentence, which, indeed, needed no other
ending.
I did not flinch under his gaze. Could I but keep him there until M. le
Comte laid hold of him, I need care little for his threats.
He hurried away from me and was soon preparing for the attack in a
manner which bespoke his skill in warfare. Four men were sent across
the valley to the heights beyond to watch the road by which Fronsac and
I had come, and so guard against surprise. A hundred men were massed
opposite the great gate of the château, and two parties of perhaps
fifty passed out of sight behind either wing. A moment later an order
came to the men who were guarding me, and I was led towards the group
that stood about the other prisoners.
I saw Fronsac looking towards me with joyful face, and then he stooped
and whispered a few words into the ear of Mademoiselle. What they were
I could only guess, but she arose from the log on which she had been
sitting and turned her bright face towards me. Then, for the first
time, I caught the full power of her beauty, and as I looked I did not
wonder that d’Aurilly should turn traitor or Fronsac risk his life for
her, since in their hearts there was no other face like that which
lived in mine.
“So you still live, Marsan!” cried my friend, as the group parted to
let me through. “But I am glad!” and he came towards me, holding out
his hands.
My heart warmed to him anew as I hastened forward to grasp them, but
one of the guards stepped in between.
“No talking!” he said gruffly. “It is M. le Duc’s order.”
I felt my cheek crimson at his insolence, and for an instant my hands
itched to be at his throat, but I caught Fronsac’s eyes fixed on me
warningly, and realized that no good could come of violence. So we sat
down with Roquefort’s man between us and watched the attack on the
château with feelings I need not describe.
Events had gone forward there even in the few minutes my attention had
been drawn away. The force at the main gate had armed themselves with a
great log, and, even as we turned towards them, a pistol-shot gave the
signal which put it in motion. At the same instant a great uproar arose
behind the château, proving that the attack had begun there also. The
men with the log moved slowly at first, but faster and faster as they
gathered momentum. As they neared the gate a dozen muskets were fired
from the walls, and some few of Roquefort’s men fell, but the forward
rush did not pause nor waver. Plainly the garrison of the château was
too small to make effective resistance, and my heart fell within me.
What if I had done wrong in keeping Roquefort here? What if M. le Comte
should, after all, arrive too late? You can guess the agony of the
thought!
On and on swept the rush, and the log was hurled against the gate
with a tremendous crash. In a moment it was caught up again like a
wisp of straw, borne backward, and hurled forward. I saw a group of
the assailants linger at the gate, then suddenly scurry away from it.
There came a flash of flame, a roar, and a great cloud of smoke whirled
skyward.
“A petard!” cried Fronsac. “They have fired a petard!”
As the smoke passed, we saw that one of the gates had been blown
inward, but the other still hung by its bars. With a cheer, the
assailants rushed forward. It was over then! I had lost M. le Comte his
wife and his château! Now, indeed, would he have cause to hate me!
But of a sudden the four sentries burst out of the wood at the
hill-crest like men possessed and scoured down into the valley. I saw
Roquefort exchange a hurried word with them, give a quick order, then
spur towards us, and as he neared us I marked how rage distorted his
face and made it hideous.
“Bring up a dozen horses--the freshest!” he cried to the guard, and
as the men hastened away he turned to me. “Monsieur,” he said in a
voice that chilled me, “I warned you of your fate should you betray me,
but it seems you did not heed the warning. You counted, perhaps, on a
rescue. But you will never see Cadillac again,--oh, how I shall pay you
for this!”
His eyes were glaring into mine, bloodshot, venomous, and I confess
that at the bottom of my soul I feared him. Yet still I managed to
achieve a smile.
“We shall see, M. le Duc,” I said.
He seemed choked with rage and answered only by an angry gesture of
the arm which hastened up the horses. In a moment Fronsac and I were
bound to two of them and Mademoiselle strapped to a pillion behind a
brawny soldier. I was hot with rage at the roughness with which they
treated her, and I saw Fronsac straining at his bonds, his face livid.
But in a breath we were off, the three of us with our little escort,
at first under the trees along the river, then up the slope beyond. As
we reached the crest, I looked back and saw Roquefort marshalling his
forces at the edge of the wood to cover our retreat, and beyond, along
the road, I fancied I caught a glimpse of M. le Comte’s troops, but we
were deep among the trees again before I could make sure.
Down the hill we went at a pace which, tied to the saddle as I was,
seemed doubly foolhardy. Plainly our escort had their orders, and
feared death less than the displeasure of their master. Evening was at
hand, and under the great trees it was soon so dark that the man before
me, leading my horse, seemed but a shadow. Yet they appeared well
acquainted with the ground, and there was not a moment’s slackening of
our speed.
At last we emerged from the forest into a rough road, and for a moment
the brightness seemed almost that of noonday, so great was the contrast
with the gloom of the woods. A wide and fertile plain lay before us,
and away to the south I could see a range of mountains faintly outlined
against the sky, and I knew they were the Pyrenees.
The road led us southward along a river, which I guessed was the
Ariege. But though the land seemed fertile and promising, there
were few houses--only a narrow peasant’s hut here and there, more
squalid than any I had ever seen in our good Marsan country. So when,
presently, there appeared ahead, standing just at the edge of the
road, a building of more than usual size, I looked at it with no little
interest. As we neared it, I saw standing before the door two horses
with women’s equipage, and of a sudden the leader of our troop put his
fingers to his mouth and blew a shrill blast.
Almost on the instant the door opened and two women came out, attended
by a little, fat man, evidently the keeper of the house. They stood
looking at us for a moment, then turned to mount their horses. There
seemed something strangely familiar about one of the figures. As she
stood, I could not see her face, for she wore a hood pulled over her
head and a cloak wrapped about her to protect her from the cold--then,
with a start, I recognized the cloak. It was mine--the one I had
dropped in the hallway of the house in the Rue Gogard. And with
fast-beating heart I knew that it was Claire who wore it!
Some exclamation must have escaped me, for the fellow at my right asked
me roughly what the matter was. I did not answer, and we rode on in
silence. In a moment we had pulled up before the house, and our leader
rode ahead to exchange a word with the women. Then he came back again
and ordered forward the horse on which Mademoiselle was mounted. She
was unstrapped and assisted to alight, then led into the inn, doubtless
for refreshment.
But I was not thinking of her, I was watching Claire--the poise of her
figure, her superb grace in the saddle. Slowly she reined her horse
around until she faced us, and I saw her examining the members of the
troop. With feverish lips, I watched her eyes as they went from face to
face--and in a moment I was looking straight into them, with the blood
bounding to my temples.
For a breath she held me so, then turned her eyes away, slowly,
indifferently, without a sign that she had known me!
And of a sudden I found myself shivering with cold, and remembered, for
the first time that afternoon, that my clothing was still dripping with
the water of the river.