MARLEON!
ONE man I might play even with, but not with the half dozen who sprang
to Drouet’s aid, and at the end of a moment, seeing resistance useless,
I lay still, cursing my ill-fortune. The struggle had awakened all the
men, and they crowded about us, asking many questions.
“What is this?” cried a deep voice from the door. “Fighting among
yourselves? God! But some head shall suffer!”
I recognized the voice and got slowly to my feet, as Roquefort strode
into the light cast by the fire. I looked at him in amazement, for his
eyes were bloodshot, his face haggard, his clothing stained with mud.
Plainly, M. le Comte had given him a warm argument, and he had been
hard put to it to shake him off.
“It was no quarrel, M. le Duc,” explained Drouet, “nothing but this
fellow trying to escape.”
“To escape!” cried Roquefort. “Do you tell me that you left a door for
his escape, Drouet? You value that neck of yours but lightly, then!”
“I bound him to me hand and foot, Monsieur,” said Drouet humbly. “You
know I am not a heavy sleeper. How he got loose without awakening me I
cannot imagine.”
He went to the spot where we had lain and picked up the pieces of rope.
A sharp cry escaped him as he looked at them.
“Well?” asked Roquefort angrily. “What new surprise?”
“See, Monsieur,” cried Drouet, holding out the rope-ends. “He did not
get loose of himself. Some one came, cut the ropes, and freed him.”
For a moment Roquefort gazed at the ropes without speaking, but his
face, when he raised it to mine, was terrible.
“A traitor!” he said. “A traitor here!” and he looked about him with
eyes that sent a shiver through his men. “Oh, but some one shall pay
for this! You shall tell us, Monsieur, who it was that cut your bonds
and then you will have a companion on the rack. What a death! I could
find it in my heart to pity you, Monsieur, did I not hate you so!”
He stood yet a moment looking at me, then turned away, and I heard a
murmur from the crowd at the door.
“To horse!” he cried. “Bind these two rogues to the saddle! Bring forth
the women!”
In an instant all was confusion. Drouet and another led me away, out
into the black court, through a crowd of sweating horses and cursing
men-at-arms, to the place where our mounts were stabled. Again I was
seated in the saddle, and a rope passed from ankle to ankle beneath the
horse’s belly. Drouet laughed savagely as he tied the last knot.
“There, my brave,” he said, “I’ll warrant you’ll stay with us yet a
little longer.”
I had not the heart to retort, but sat silent while the troop fell
into line again. I strained my eyes through the darkness for a glimpse
of Fronsac or the women, but saw no sign of either. At last came the
word to march, and we set off slowly through the night. No road, this
time, but what seemed rough hill-land, so slowly did we pick our way.
Drouet was in a savage mood, reflecting, doubtless, that had I escaped
he must have suffered for it, and did what he could to make my position
irksome by leading my mount over the roughest places and pricking him
suddenly from time to time.
Dawn found us in a narrow valley with a little brook singing through.
Far ahead I could see the peaks of the Pyrenees, nearer than the day
before, but still leagues away. In the midst of a little grove of trees
the word came to dismount, and the men swung themselves wearily from
the saddle. It was easy to see that they had been hard pressed. Their
horses were almost done; yes, and the stains upon their clothing were
not wholly those of the road, for some carried their arms in slings,
some had their heads bandaged, some clung to the saddle with convulsive
fingers, their lips purple, their eyes set with suffering. So there
had been a battle, and M. le Comte had won! I remembered his concern
to keep his horses fresh and looked back over the way we had come in
the wild hope that I might see him in pursuit, but I saw only the bleak
hillside, the barren rocks, the strip of woodland.
Yet Roquefort shared the same concern, for he stationed sentries on the
neighboring hilltops and gave his men but a brief half-hour to prepare
their meal and wind their horses. And here I caught a glimpse of the
agony of a soldier’s life--the wounded men groaning and cursing, the
white fear of death upon them, their lips trembling in self-pity,
receiving but scant attention, for the others were dead-weary from
their long ride. One poor fellow came suddenly to the end, and was
carried aside with little ceremony and a few rocks piled upon him.
These scoundrels looked too often in the face of death to fear it until
it came home to each one separately.
The half-hour passed and we set forward again, only this time, in the
light, I saw that Roquefort rode at the column’s head with another
man at his side. My eyes dwelt upon him idly and I wondered who this
newcomer could be. He sat his horse well and was richly dressed--so
richly that he seemed out of place in this bedraggled, road-stained
mob. They were deep in talk, and at one moment Roquefort pointed away
to the west. His companion turned his head to follow the gesture, and I
caught his profile--there was no mistaking that arched nose, that low
forehead, that cruel mouth--it was d’Aurilly!
I clutched my saddle to hold my seat, my emotion shook me so. Then he
was the traitor, after all! And the plot, of which I had caught but
a glimpse, lay before me like an open book. D’Aurilly was to have
Mademoiselle; Fronsac could eat his heart out if he chose, or swallow
his chagrin, if his gullet were big enough; with Mademoiselle for
hostage, M. le Comte could be brought to terms; and as for me----
I would not think of it! Here was I still alive and with my wits to
help me. Even at the worst there should be no tearing to pieces, no
death by inches. I would find an easier way than that. Yet I do not
deny that for an instant I found it in my heart to regret the green
fields of Marsan, to regret that I had not been content to remain there
quietly and leave these great men to find other pawns to sacrifice.
Yet, after all, this was life, this was living, and only the night
before I had looked into a pair of eyes and fancied I saw love there.
Was not that worth something?
What need to tell more of the journey? Day and night we pushed on,
until our horses stumbled under us, over hill, through valley, avoiding
the roads, seeking hidden ways, where M. le Comte would not think to
follow. And always my guard was about me, until at last I came to see
that Roquefort was taking no chance of losing me--no chance of missing
his vengeance. The women were kept to the rear of the column; Fronsac I
seldom saw; d’Aurilly passed me by with a sneering smile that turned me
hot for murder. Well that I was young and strong, with a boy’s hopeful
heart, else had despair weighed me down!
’Tis true, Drouet relaxed a little as we journeyed forward and
exchanged a word with me now and then, pointing out the features of
the country through which we rode or telling some little story of his
numberless campaigns with Roquefort. Gruesome stories they were, most
of them, of murder, outrage, robbery, for Roquefort’s men were not
troubled by nice consciences and took, without questioning, all that
came to their nets. Nor did their leader concern himself about them, so
they went willingly on his business and fought his battles for him.
At noon of the third day we came to Marleon.
“You were asking about the castle,” said Drouet suddenly. “Behold it.”
I looked with all my eyes, but saw only the tumbled roofs of the little
town.
“You look too low,” he said. “Higher, on the cliff behind the town.”
Then I descried it, and my heart grew cold as I looked at it. Two
hundred feet or more the cliff sprang upward, straight as a house’s
wall and near as smooth--so smooth that no tree nor shrub caught
foothold on it. And just at the summit stood the castle, frowning down
upon the village like some tireless, merciless watch-dog.
“But to get to it,” I ventured, after a moment. “It seems to have been
built only for the birds.”
“You will see,” and Drouet laughed meaningly. “I advise you to look
well at the way, Monsieur; you may never have occasion to use it a
second time.”
I rode on without replying. What good to bandy words with this
scoundrel? But as we drew nearer to the place my heart fell more and
more. It might defy the king’s army.
The road turned abruptly to the right of the town, and then in again
behind a little spur of the mountain. Here the ascent began, and the
way at once became so narrow that two horses could not go abreast. On
either hand towered the crags, whence a dozen ambushed men might easily
pick off a thousand. In and out the path wound and ever upward, until,
at last, it stopped before a great gate, barred heavily with iron. I
saw how adroitly the path was fashioned, so that not more than two
men at a time could approach the gate. A horn sounded, our force was
evidently scrutinized with care from within, and then the gate creaked
back upon its hinges. In a moment we were in the court, and the word
was given to dismount.
“Follow me, Monsieur,” said Drouet, without giving me a moment to look
about me or to exchange a glance with my friends. “We have an apartment
awaiting you.”
I followed him silently, but my heart cleared somewhat when I saw him
begin to mount a narrow stair. I had feared that I was to be buried
in some dungeon underground,--anything were better than that,--to be
shut away from the pure air and bright sunshine! So it was even with
a certain cheerfulness that I went up the stair behind him. Up, up
we went steadily, until at last I saw we had reached the top. Drouet
paused before a little door secured by three bolts sunk deep into
the masonry. He threw them back slowly, one by one, that I might
contemplate their strength, then pulled the door open.
“Enter,” he said, and I stooped and stepped within.
He stood looking after me a moment, then swung the door shut, and
I heard him throwing the bolts into place with the same malicious
deliberation. Then all was still.
I was in the topmost chamber of the tower looking towards the
east--over the town and out across the plain. It was a little room,
with walls of great stones there could be no removing, but there was a
small window, too narrow, indeed, to permit the passage of my body, and
barred with heavy iron, yet wide enough to admit a breath of fresh air
and a stream of sunshine. I went to it and stood looking far out across
the valley. The fields, the houses, the strip of woods along a little
river were cameoed by the bright sunshine and the clear, pure air of
the south. But my thoughts were heavy ones, and kept my eyes from
perceiving the full beauty of the scene.
As I stood looking so, my eyes caught the movement of a body of men
along a road afar off. I watched them listlessly at first, thinking
them some mob of peasants en route to a market or merry-making, but
as they drew nearer I saw that they were mounted, and then the
sunlight was caught on glittering armor, on burnished hilts and
gleaming spear-points. It was a troop of men armed cap-à-pie--and my
heart leaped at the sudden thought that this might be M. le Comte
himself--too late by an hour!
Breathlessly I watched them as they drew nearer--I could see that they
numbered some three hundred, that they were well mounted and well
accoutred. Some of the people of Marleon came out to look at them, and
then, after a glance, went hastily in again, closing the gates behind
them. I could see them running through the streets, and a noise of many
voices floated upward to me, confused and indistinct. Plainly there was
something about this troop of horse which caused the good people of the
town much uneasiness.
The troop came on slowly and with a certain impressiveness. Just at
the city wall they stopped, and then there came mounting to my ears a
trumpet’s clear note of defiance. A pennant was thrown out upon the
breeze,--it hung a moment limp, then the wind caught its folds and
stretched it so that all might see--azure; on a bend or, a laurel-tree
sinople,--the arms of Cadillac!