The day after the occurrence of the events we have just related, a group
of several persons, some on foot, and others on horseback, skirted the
edge of the sea, and seemed to direct their course toward the Gulf of La
Ciotat.
The most important personage of this little caravan was a man of
considerable corpulence, with a solemn and formal countenance, wearing a
travelling-cloak over his habit of black velvet.
He had a chain of silver around his neck, and rode a little horse with
an ambling gait.
These personages were no other than Master Isnard, recorder of the
admiralty of Toulon, and his clerk or scribe, who, mounted on an old
white mule, carried behind enormous bags filled with bundles of papers,
and two large registers in their boxes of black shagreen.
The clerk was a little middle-aged man, with a pointed nose, a pointed
chin, high cheek-bones, and sharp eyes. This nose, this chin, and these
cheek-bones, and these eyes were very red, thanks to the very keen wind
from the north.
A valet, mounted on another mule, laden with wallets, and two
halberdiers, dressed in green and orange-coloured cassocks trimmed with
white lace, accompanied the recorder and his clerk.
It was evident that the two officers of justice did not enjoy an
unmarred serenity.
Master Isnard, especially, betrayed his bad humour, from time to time,
by imprecations upon the cold, the weather, the roads, and particularly
upon his mission.
The clerk responded to these complaints with a humble and pitiful air.
“On my oath!” cried the recorder, “here I am only two days on
my circuit, and it is far from promising anything agreeable. Hm! the
nobility takes this census of arms ordered by the Marshal of Vitry very
ill; they receive us in their castles like Turks--”
“And we are happy to be received at all, Master Isnard,” said the
clerk; “the lord of Signerol shut his door in our faces, and we were
obliged to draw up our report by the light of the moon. The lord of
Saint-Yves received us reluctantly.”
“And all these resistances, open or mute, to the orders of his
Eminence, the cardinal, will be duly recorded, clerk, and bad intentions
will be punished!”
“Fortunately, the reception given by the Baron des Anbiez will
indemnify us for these tribulations, Master Isnard. They say the old
lord is the best of men. His jovial nature is as well known throughout
the country as the austerity of his brother, the commander of the black
galley, or the charity of Father Elzear of the Order of Mercy, his other
brother--”
“Hm! Raimond V. does well to be hospitable,” growled the recorder;
“he is one of those old strife-stirrers, always ready to draw his
sword against any established power; but patience, clerk, good courage,
the reign of men of peace and justice has come, thank God! All these
arrogant disputants, with long rapiers and spurs, will keep as quiet in
their strong castles as wolves in their dens, or, on my oath, we will
rase their houses to the ground and sow salt on them. However,” added
Master Isnard, as if he wanted to give himself artificial courage, “we
are always sure of the support of the cardinal; just let them touch a
hair of our heads,--why, you see, clerk, that it would be the same as
pulling a hair out of the beard of his Eminence!”
“Which would be dreadfully injurious to the said Eminence, Master
Isnard, as they say he has a regular cat’s beard,--thin and sharp.”
“You are an ass!” said the recorder, shrugging his shoulders, and
giving his horse a thrust of the spur.
The clerk lowered his head, said no more, and blew through his fingers
by way of keeping in countenance.
The little caravan followed the road for some time along the beach, the
sea on the right, and interminable rocks on the left, when they were
joined by a traveller modestly seated on a donkey.
The tawny complexion of this man, with his overcoat of leather, his red
cap, from which escaped a forest of black hair, curled and standing
on end, and a little portable forge, fastened to one side of the
pack-saddle on the back of his donkey, proved him to be one of those
strolling Bohemians who go from farm to village, offering their services
to housekeepers as repairers of household utensils.
Notwithstanding the cold, the legs and feet of this man were naked. His
delicate and nervous limbs, and his expressive face, scarcely shaded by
a black and distinctly marked beard, presented the type peculiar to the
men of his race.
His donkey was quiet and tractable, and had neither bit nor bridle,--he
guided it by means of a stick which he held to the animal’s left eye,
if he wished to go to the right, and to the right eye if he wished him
to go to the left. As he approached the recorder and his attendants, the
Bohemian took the donkey by one of his long, pendent ears, and stopped
him suddenly.
“Can you tell me, sir,” said the Bohemian to the recorder,
respectfully, “if I am still far from La Ciotat?”
The recorder, thinking, doubtless, the man unworthy of a reply from him,
made a disdainful gesture, and said to his scribe:
“Answer him, clerk,” and rode on.
“The mouth is the mistress, the ear is the slave,” said the
Bohemian, bowing himself humbly before the clerk.
The clerk inflated his thin cheeks, assumed a haughty air, seated
himself on his mule with triumphant dignity, and said to the valet who
followed him, as he pointed to the Bohemian:
“Lackey, reply to him,” and passed on.
Little John, more compassionate, told the wanderer that he could follow
the caravan, as it was on its way to a place quite near the town of La
Ciotat.
The two halberdiers were a short distance in the rear, and, joining the
principal group, all continued to move forward on the beach. The sun
soon made its influence felt; although it was in the month of December,
its rays became so warm that Master Isnard felt the need of relieving
himself of his cloak. He tossed it to his clerk, saying:
“Are you sure, clerk, that you recognise the route to Maison-Forte,
the castle of Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez? For we are to stop first at
his dwelling. It is from that point that I will begin the census of arms
in this diocese. Eh, eh, clerk, the morning air and salt odour of the
beach gives me an appetite! They say the baron has the good cheer of an
abbé, and the hospitality of the good King René. So much the better,
on my oath! so much the better, clerk. Instead of putting up for fifteen
days at some paltry hostelry of La Ciotat, eh, eh! I will make my
winter quarters at Maison-Forte of Raimond V., and you will follow me,
clerk,” said the recorder, giving himself airs. “Instead of your
bacon with garlic and beans, and your codfish seasoned with oil for high
days, you will only have to choose between fowl, venison, and the best
fish of the gulf. Eh, eh! for a starved wretch like you, it is a rare
windfall, so, clerk, you can get a big mouthful--”
The poor scribe made no reply to these coarse pleasantries, by which he
felt humiliated, and only said to the recorder: “I recognise the road
easily, Master Isnard, because there is a post bearing the escutcheon of
Raimond V., and a milestone which marks the land belonging to the house
of Baux.”
“The lands of Baux!” cried the recorder, with indignation.
“Another one of the abuses that his Eminence will destroy, on my
oath! It is enough to make one insane to try to find his way out of-this
labyrinth of feudal privileges!” Then, passing from grave to gay, the
recorder added, with a loud laugh, “Eh, eh! it would be as difficult
a task as for you to distinguish the wine of Xeres from the wine of
Malaga, accustomed as you are to drink the second pressing of the grape
like a fish, and then taste a glass of Sauve-chrétien, to put a good
taste in your mouth.”
“And happy when this grape-water does not fail us, Master Isnard,”
said the poor clerk, with a sigh.
“Eh, eh! then the river never fails, and asses can drink at their
ease,” replied the recorder, insolently.
His unhappy victim could only hang his head in silence, while the
recorder, proud of his triumph, put his hand above his eyes, hoping
to discover the roof of Maison-Forte des Anbiez, as his appetite was
growing clamorous.
The Bohemian, who rode behind the two talkers, had heard their
conversation.
Although his features were common, they showed much penetration and
intelligence. His little, piercing, changing black eyes constantly moved
from the recorder to the clerk with an expression by turns ironical
and compassionate. When Master Isnard had finished conversation by his
coarse witticism on asses, he contracted his eyebrows into a severe
frown, and seemed about to speak, but whether he feared the recorder, or
was afraid of saying too much, he remained silent.
“Tell me, clerk,” cried the recorder, stopping short before a post,
painted with a coat of arms, which marked a division of the road, “is
not this the route to Des Anbiez?”
“Yes, Master Isnard, but we must leave the shore. This is the road to
Maison-Forte; it is about two hundred steps from here; this rock hides
it from you,” answered the clerk, as he pointed to a sort of little
promontory which thrust itself into the sea, and thus interfered with a
view of the castle.
“Then, clerk, go on before,” said the recorder, checking his own
horse, and giving a blow of his switch to the scribe’s mule.
The clerk rode on in advance, and the little band ventured into a
precipitous road which wound its way across the rocks on the coast.
After a quarter of an hour’s travel, the road became level, and wooded
hills, vines, olive-trees, and sown fields succeeded the rocks. Master
Isnard at last saw, to his great joy, the imposing pile of Maison-Forte.
It stood out at the end of an immense avenue, planted with six rows of
beeches and sycamores, which conducted to the vast court of which we
have spoken.
“Eh, eh!” said the recorder, expanding his nostrils, “it is about
midday; it ought to be the dinner-hour of Raimond V., for these country
lords follow the old Provençal custom: they take four meals; every four
hours,--breakfast at eight o’clock, dine in the middle of the day,
lunch at four o’clock, and sup at eight.” “Indeed, then they must eat
nearly all day long,” said the clerk, with a sigh of envy, “for they
often sit three or four hours at table.”
“Eh, eh! you are licking your lean lips already, clerk; but do you not
see a thick smoke on the side of the kitchens?”
“Master Isnard, I do not know where the kitchens are,” said the
clerk. “I have never been inside Maison-Forte, but I do see a thick
smoke above the tower which looks toward the west.”
“And you do not detect the odour of fish-soup, or roast? On my oath,
in the house of Raimond V. it ought to be Christmas every day. Come,
can’t you scent something, man?”
The clerk held his nose in the air like a dog on the scent, and replied,
with a shake of the head: “Master, I scent nothing.”
When the recorder had arrived a few steps from the court of
Maison-Forte, he was astonished to see no one outside of this large
habitation, at an hour when domestic duties always require so much
commotion.
As we have said, the court formed a sort of parallelogram.
At the farther end of this parallelogram rose the main dwelling.
On each side could be seen its wings at right angles, and the buildings
occupied by persons in the employ of the castle.
On the first plane rose a high wall, pierced with loopholes for cannon,
in the middle of which opened a massive door. In front of this wall
stretched a wide and deep ditch, filled with water, which was crossed by
means of a movable bridge, built directly in front of the door.
The recorder and his retinue arrived at the entrance of the bridge,
where they found Master Laramée.
The majordomo, solemnly clothed in black, bore in his hand a white rod,
a distinctive mark of office.
The recorder descended from his horse with an important air, and,
turning to Laramée, said: “In the name of the king, and his Eminence,
the cardinal, I, Master Isnard, recorder, have come to take census
and catalogue of the arms and ammunition of war, retained here in
this castle of Maison-Forte, belonging to Sir Raimond V., Baron des
Anbiez.”
Then turning to his train, which the Bohemian had joined, he said:
“All of you follow me.”
Laramée made a profound bow, and with a sly expression of face said to
the recorder, as he indicated the road: “If you will follow me,
Master Recorder, I will show you our magazine of arms and artillery.”
Encouraged by this reception, Master Isnard and his retinue crossed the
bridge, leaving their horses outside, tied to the parapet, according to
the instruction of the majordomo.
As they entered the court planted with trees, the recorder said to
Laramée: “Is your master at home? We are very hungry and very
thirsty, friend.”
The majordomo looked up at the recorder, lifted his cap, and replied:
“You condescend, sir; you call me friend; you honour me too much,
Master Recorder.”
“Oh, go on! I am as kind as a prince. If the baron is not at table,
conduct me first to him; if he is at table, conduct me to him all the
sooner.”
“Monseigneur has just been served, Master Recorder. I am going to open
the door of honour for you, as is proper.”
As he said these words, Laramée disappeared through a narrow passage.
The recorder, his clerk, his valet, the Bohemian, and the two
halberdiers remained in the court, staring at the great portal of the
castle, expecting every moment to see its massive doors open for their
reception. They did not see that two men had removed the bridge, beyond
the ditch, on the side of the fields, thus cutting off all retreat from
the men of the law.