The House of the Wolf
S >>
Stanley Weyman >> The House of the Wolf
Pages:
1 | 2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13
There could be no doubt--at any rate we had none that the assault
on the courier had taken place at the Vidame's instance. The
only wonder was that he had not simply cut his throat and taken
the letter. But looking back now it seems to me that grown men
mingled some childishness with their cruelty in those days--days
when the religious wars had aroused our worst passions. It was
not enough to kill an enemy. It pleased people to make--I speak
literally--a football of his head, to throw his heart to the
dogs. And no doubt it had fallen in with the Vidame's grim
humour that the bearer of Pavannes' first love letter should
enter his mistress's presence, bleeding and plaistered with mud.
And that the riff-raff about our own gates should have part in
the insult.
Bezers' wrath would be little abated by the issue of the affair,
or the justice I had done on one of his men. So we looked well
to bolts, and bars, and windows, although the castle is well-nigh
impregnable, the smooth rock falling twenty feet at least on
every side from the base of the walls. The gatehouse, Pavannes
had shown us, might be blown up with gunpowder indeed, but we
prepared to close the iron grating which barred the way half-way
up the ramp. This done, even if the enemy should succeed in
forcing an entrance he would only find himself caught in a trap--
in a steep, narrow way exposed to a fire from the top of the
flanking walls, as well as from the front. We had a couple of
culverins, which the Vicomte had got twenty years before, at the
time of the battle of St. Quentin. We fixed one of these at the
head of the ramp, and placed the other on the terrace, where by
moving it a few paces forward we could train it on Bezers' house,
which thus lay at our mercy.
Not that we really expected an attack. But we did not know what
to expect or what to fear. We had not ten servants, the Vicomte
having taken a score of the sturdiest lackeys and keepers to
attend him at Bayonne. And we felt immensely responsible. Our
main hope was that the Vidame would at once go on to Paris, and
postpone his vengeance. So again and again we cast longing
glances at the House of the Wolf hoping that each symptom of
bustle heralded his departure.
Consequently it was a shock to me, and a great downfall of hopes,
when Gil with a grave face came to me on the terrace and
announced that M. le Vidame was at the gate, asking to see
Mademoiselle.
"It is out of the question that he should see her," the old
servant added, scratching his head in grave perplexity.
"Most certainly. I will see him instead," I answered stoutly.
"Do you leave Francis and another at the gate, Gil. Marie, keep
within sight, lad. And let Croisette stay with me."
These preparations made--and they took up scarcely a moment--I
met the Vidame at the head of the ramp. "Mademoiselle de
Caylus," I said, bowing, "is, I regret to say, indisposed to-day,
Vidame."
"She will not see me?" he asked, eyeing me very unpleasantly.
"Her indisposition deprives her of the pleasure," I answered with
an effort. He was certainly a wonderful man, for at sight of
him, three-fourths of my courage, and all my importance, oozed
out at the heels of my boots.
"She will not see me. Very well," he replied, as if I had not
spoken. And the simple words sounded like a sentence of death.
"Then, M. Anne, I have a crow to pick with you. What
compensation do you propose to make for the death of my servant?
A decent, quiet fellow, whom you killed yesterday, poor man,
because his enthusiasm for the true faith carried him away a
little."
"Whom I killed because he drew a dagger on M. St. Croix de Caylus
at the Vicomte's gate," I answered steadily. I had thought about
this of course and was ready for it. "You are aware, M. de
Bezers," I continued, "that the Vicomte has jurisdiction
extending to life and death over all persons within the valley?"
"My household excepted," he rejoined quietly.
"Precisely; while they are within the curtilage of your house," I
retorted. "However as the punishment was summary, and the man
had no time to confess himself, I am willing to--"
"Well?"
"To pay Father Pierre to say ten masses for his soul."
The way the Vidame received this surprised me. He broke into
boisterous laughter. "By our Lady, my friend," he cried with
rough merriment, "but you are a joker! You are indeed. Masses?
Why the man was a Protestant!"
And that startled me more than anything which had gone before;
more indeed than I can explain. For it seemed to prove that this
man, laughing his unholy laugh was not like other men. He did
not pick and choose his servants for their religion. He was sure
that the Huguenot would stone his fellow at his bidding; the
Catholic cry "Vive Coligny!" I was so completely taken aback
that I found no words to answer him, and it was Croisette who
said smartly, "Then how about his enthusiasm for the true faith,
M. le Vidame?"
"The true faith," he answered--"for my servants is my faith."
Then a thought seemed to strike him. "What is more." he
continued slowly, "that it is the true and only faith for all,
thousands will learn before the world is ten days older. Bear my
words in mind, boy! They will come back to you. And now hear
me," he went on in his usual tone, "I am anxious to accommodate a
neighbour. It goes without saying that I would not think of
putting you, M. Anne, to any trouble for the sake of that rascal
of mine. But my people will expect something. Let the plaguy
fellow who caused all this disturbance be given up to me, that I
may hang him; and let us cry quits."
"That is impossible!" I answered coolly. I had no need to ask
what he meant. Give up Pavannes' messenger indeed! Never!
He regarded me--unmoved by my refusal--with a smile under which I
chafed, while I was impotent to resent it. "Do not build too
much on a single blow, young gentleman," he said, shaking his
head waggishly. "I had fought a dozen times when I was your age.
However, I understand that you refuse to give me satisfaction?"
"In the mode you mention, certainly," I replied. "But--"
"Bah!" he exclaimed with a sneer, "business first and pleasure
afterwards! Bezers will obtain satisfaction in his own way, I
promise you that! And at his own time. And it will not be on
unfledged bantlings like you. But what is this for?" And he
rudely kicked the culverin which apparently he had not noticed
before, "So! so! understand," he continued, casting a sharp
glance at one and another of us. "You looked to be besieged!
Why you, booby, there is the shoot of your kitchen midden, twenty
feet above the roof of old Fretis' store! And open, I will be
sworn! Do you think that I should have come this way while there
was a ladder in Caylus! Did you take the wolf for a sheep?"
With that he turned on his heel, swaggering away in the full
enjoyment of his triumph. For a triumph it was. We stood
stunned; ashamed to look one another in the face. Of course the
shoot was open. We remembered now that it was, and we were so
sorely mortified by his knowledge and our folly, that I failed in
my courtesy, and did not see him to the gate, as I should have
done. We paid for that later.
"He is the devil in person!" I exclaimed angrily, shaking my
fist at the House of the Wolf, as I strode up and down
impatiently. "I hate him worse!"
"So do I!" said Croisette, mildly. "But that he hates us is a
matter of more importance. At any rate we will close the shoot."
"Wait a moment!" I replied, as after another volley of
complaints directed at our visitor, the lad was moving off to see
to it. "What is going on down there?"
"Upon my word, I believe he is leaving us!" Croisette rejoined
sharply.
For there was a noise of hoofs below us, clattering on the
pavement. Half-a-dozen horsemen were issuing from the House of
the Wolf, the ring of their bridles and the sound of their
careless voices coming up to us through the clear morning air
Bezers' valet, whom we knew by sight, was the last of them. He
had a pair of great saddle-bags before him, and at sight of these
we uttered a glad exclamation. "He is going!" I murmured,
hardly able to believe my eyes. "He is going after all!"
"Wait!" Croisette answered drily.
But I was right. We had not to wait long. He WAS going. In
another moment he came out himself, riding a strong iron-grey
horse: and we could see that he had holsters to his saddle. His
steward was running beside him, to take I suppose his last
orders. A cripple, whom the bustle had attracted from his usual
haunt, the church porch, held up his hand for alms. The Vidame
as he passed, cut him savagely across the face with his whip, and
cursed him audibly.
"May the devil take him!" exclaimed Croisette in just rage. But
I said nothing, remembering that the cripple was a particular pet
of Catherine's. I thought instead of an occasion, not so very
long ago, when the Vicomte being at home, we had had a great
hawking party. Bezers and Catherine had ridden up the street
together, and Catherine giving the cripple a piece of money,
Bezers had flung to him all his share of the game. And my heart
sank.
Only for a moment, however. The man was gone; or was going at
any rate. We stood silent and motionless, all watching, until,
after what seemed a long interval, the little party of seven
became visible on the white road far below us--to the northward,
and moving in that direction. Still we watched them, muttering a
word to one another, now and again, until presently the riders
slackened their pace, and began to ascend the winding track that
led to the hills and Cahors; and to Paris also, if one went far
enough.
Then at length with a loud "Whoop!" we dashed across the
terrace, Croisette leading, and so through the courtyard to the
parlour; where we arrived breathless. "He is off!" Croisette
cried shrilly. "He has started for Paris! And bad luck go with
him!" And we all flung up our caps and shouted.
But no answer, such as we expected, came from the women folk.
When we picked up our caps, and looked at Catherine, feeling
rather foolish, she was staring at us with a white face and great
scornful eyes. "Fools!" she said. "Fools!"
And that was all. But it was enough to take me aback. I had
looked to see her face lighten at our news; instead it wore an
expression I had never seen on it before. Catherine, so kind and
gentle, calling us fools! And without cause! I did not
understand it. I turned confusedly to Croisette. He was looking
at her, and I saw that he was frightened. As for Madame Claude,
she was crying in the corner. A presentiment of evil made my
heart sink like lead. What had happened?
"Fools!" my cousin repeated with exceeding bitterness, her foot
tapping the parquet unceasingly. "Do you think he would have
stooped to avenge himself on YOU? On you! Or that he could hurt
me one hundredth part as much here as--as--" She broke off
stammering. Her scorn faltered for an instant. "Bah! he is a
man! He knows!" she exclaimed superbly, her chin in the air,
"but you are boys. You do not understand!"
I looked amazedly at this angry woman. I had a difficulty in
associating her with my cousin. As for Croisette, he stepped
forward abruptly, and picked up a white object which was lying at
her feet.
"Yes, read it!" she cried, "read it! Ah!" and she clenched her
little hand, and in her passion struck the oak table beside her,
so that a stain of blood sprang out on her knuckles. "Why did you
not kill him? Why did you not do it when you had the chance?
You were three to one," she hissed. "You had him in your power!
You could have killed him, and you did not! Now he will kill
me!"
Madame Claude muttered something tearfully; something about
Pavannes and the saints. I looked over Croisette's shoulder, and
read the letter. It began abruptly without any term of address,
and ran thus, "I have a mission in Paris, Mademoiselle, which
admits of no delay, your mission, as well as my own--to see
Pavannes. You have won his heart. It is yours, and I will bring
it you, or his right hand in token that he has yielded up his
claim to yours. And to this I pledge myself."
The thing bore no signature. It was written in some red fluid--
blood perhaps--a mean and sorry trick! On the outside was
scrawled a direction to Mademoiselle de Caylus. And the packet
was sealed with the Vidame's crest, a wolf's head.
"The coward! the miserable coward!" Croisette cried. He was
the first to read the meaning of the thing. And his eyes were
full of tears--tears of rage.
For me I was angry exceedingly. My veins seemed full of fire, as
I comprehended the mean cruelty which could thus torture a girl.
"Who delivered this?" I thundered. "Who gave it to
Mademoiselle? How did it reach her hands? Speak, some one!"
A maid, whimpering in the background, said that Francis had given
it to her to hand to Mademoiselle.
I ground my teeth together, while Marie, unbidden, left the room
to seek Francis--and a stirrup leather. The Vidame had brought
the note in his pocket no doubt, rightly expecting that he would
not get an audience of my cousin. Returning to the gate alone he
had seen his opportunity, and given the note to Francis, probably
with a small fee to secure its transmission.
Croisette and I looked at one another, apprehending all this.
"He will sleep at Cahors to-night," I said sullenly.
The lad shook his head and answered in a low voice, "I am afraid
not. His horses are fresh. I think he will push on. He always
travels quickly. And now you know--"
I nodded, understanding only too well.
Catherine had flung herself into a chair. Her arms lay nerveless
on the table. Her face was hidden in them. But now, overhearing
us, or stung by some fresh thought, she sprang to her feet in
anguish. Her face twitched, her form seemed to stiffen as she
drew herself up like one in physical pain. "Oh, I cannot bear
it!" she cried to us in dreadful tones. "Oh, will no one do
anything? I will go to him! I will tell him I will give him up!
I will do whatever he wishes if he will only spare him!"
Croisette went from the room crying. It was a dreadful sight for
us--this girl in agony. And it was impossible to reassure her!
Not one of us doubted the horrible meaning of the note, its
covert threat. Civil wars and religious hatred, and I fancy
Italian modes of thought, had for the time changed our countrymen
to beasts. Far more dreadful things were done then than this
which Bezers threatened--even if he meant it literally--far more
dreadful things were suffered. But in the fiendish ingenuity of
his vengeance on her, the helpless, loving woman, I thought Raoul
de Bezers stood alone. Alas! it fares ill with the butterfly
when the cat has struck it down. Ill indeed!
Madame Claude rose and put her arms round the girl, dismissing me
by a gesture. I went out, passing through two or three scared
servants, and made at once for the terrace. I felt as if I could
only breathe there. I found Marie and St. Croix together,
silent, the marks of tears on their faces. Our eyes met and they
told one tale.
We all spoke at the same time. "When?" we said. But the others
looked to me for an answer.
I was somewhat sobered by that, and paused to consider before I
replied. "At daybreak to-morrow," I decided presently. "It is
an hour after noon already. We want money, and the horses are
out. It will take an hour to bring them in. After that we might
still reach Cahors to-night, perhaps; but more haste less speed
you know. At daybreak to-morrow we will start."
They nodded assent.
It was a great thing we meditated. No less than to go to Paris--
the unknown city so far beyond the hills--and seek out M. de
Pavannes, and warn him. It would be a race between the Vidame
and ourselves; a race for the life of Kit's suitor. Could we
reach Paris first, or even within twenty-four hours of Bezers'
arrival, we should in all probability be in time, and be able to
put Pavannes on his guard. It had been the first thought of all
of us, to take such men as we could get together and fall upon
Bezers wherever we found him, making it our simple object to kill
him. But the lackeys M. le Vicomte had left with us, the times
being peaceful and the neighbours friendly, were poor-spirited
fellows. Bezers' handful, on the contrary, were reckless Swiss
riders--like master, like men. We decided that it would be wiser
simply to warn Pavannes, and then stand by him if necessary.
We might have despatched a messenger. But our servants--Gil
excepted, and he was too old to bear the journey--were ignorant
of Paris. Nor could any one of them be trusted with a mission so
delicate. We thought of Pavannes' courier indeed. But he was a
Rochellois, and a stranger to the capital. There was nothing for
it but to go ourselves.
Yet we did not determine on this adventure with light hearts, I
remember. Paris loomed big and awesome in the eyes of all of us.
The glamour of the court rather frightened than allured us. We
felt that shrinking from contact with the world which a country
life engenders, as well as that dread of seeming unlike other
people which is peculiar to youth. It was a great plunge, and a
dangerous which we meditated. And we trembled. If we had known
more--especially of the future--we should have trembled more.
But we were young, and with our fears mingled a delicious
excitement. We were going on an adventure of knight errantry in
which we might win our spurs. We were going to see the world and
play men's parts in it! to save a friend and make our mistress
happy!
We gave our orders. But we said nothing to Catherine or Madame
Claude; merely bidding Gil tell them after our departure. We
arranged for the immediate despatch of a message to the Vicomte
at Bayonne, and charged Gil until he should hear from him to keep
the gates closed, and look well to the shoot of the kitchen
midden. Then, when all was ready, we went to our pallets, but it
was with hearts throbbing with excitement and wakeful eyes.
"Anne! Anne!" said Croisette, rising on his elbow and speaking
to me some three hours later, "what do you think the Vidame meant
this morning when he said that about the ten days?"
"What about the ten days?" I asked peevishly. He had roused me
just when I was at last falling asleep.
"About the world seeing that his was the true faith--in ten
days?"
"I am sure I do not know. For goodness' sake let us go to
sleep," I replied. For I had no patience with Croisette, talking
such nonsense, when we had our own business to think about.
CHAPTER III.
THE ROAD TO PARIS.
The sun had not yet risen above the hills when we three with a
single servant behind us drew rein at the end of the valley; and
easing our horses on the ascent, turned in the saddle to take a
last look at Caylus--at the huddled grey town, and the towers
above it. A little thoughtful we all were, I think. The times
were rough and our errand was serious. But youth and early
morning are fine dispellers of care; and once on the uplands we
trotted gaily forward, now passing through wide glades in the
sparse oak forest, where the trees all leaned one way, now over
bare, wind-swept downs; or once and again descending into a
chalky bottom, where the stream bubbled through deep beds of
fern, and a lonely farmhouse nestled amid orchards.
Four hours' riding, and we saw below us Cahors, filling the bend
of the river. We cantered over the Vallandre Bridge, which there
crosses the Lot, and so to my uncle's house of call in the
square. Here we ordered breakfast, and announced with pride that
we were going to Paris.
Our host raised his hands. "Now there!" he exclaimed, regret in
his voice. "And if you had arrived yesterday you could have
travelled up with the Vidame de Bezers! And you a small party--
saving your lordships' presence--and the roads but so-so!"
"But the Vidame was riding with only half-a-dozen attendants
also!" I answered, flicking my boot in a careless way.
The landlord shook his head. "Ah, M. le Vidame knows the world!"
he answered shrewdly. "He is not to be taken off his guard, not
he! One of his men whispered me that twenty staunch fellows
would join him at Chateauroux. They say the wars are over, but"
--and the good man, shrugging his shoulders, cast an expressive
glance at some fine flitches of bacon which were hanging in his
chimney. "However, your lordships know better than I do," he
added briskly. "I am a poor man. I only wish to live at peace
with my neighbours, whether they go to mass or sermon."
This was a sentiment so common in those days and so heartily
echoed by most men of substance both in town and country, that we
did not stay to assent to it; but having received from the worthy
fellow a token which would insure our obtaining fresh cattle at
Limoges, we took to the road again, refreshed in body, and with
some food for thought.
Five-and-twenty attendants were more than even such a man as
Bezers, who had many enemies, travelled with in those days;
unless accompanied by ladies. That the Vidame had provided such
a reinforcement seemed to point to a wider scheme than the one
with which we had credited him. But we could not guess what his
plans were; since he must have ordered his people before he heard
of Catherine's engagement. Either his jealousy therefore had put
him on the alert earlier, or his threatened attack on Pavannes
was only part of a larger plot. In either case our errand seemed
more urgent, but scarcely more hopeful.
The varied sights and sounds however of the road--many of them
new to us--kept us from dwelling over much on this. Our eyes
were young, and whether it was a pretty girl lingering behind a
troop of gipsies, or a pair of strollers from Valencia
--JONGLEURS they still called themselves--singing in the old
dialect of Provence, or a Norman horse-dealer with his string of
cattle tied head and tail, or the Puy de Dome to the eastward
over the Auvergne hills, or a tattered old soldier wounded in the
wars--fighting for either side, according as their lordships
inclined--we were pleased with all.
Yet we never forgot our errand. We never I think rose in the
morning--too often stiff and sore--without thinking "To-day or
to-morrow or the next day--" as the case might be--"we shall make
all right for Kit!" For Kit! Perhaps it was the purest
enthusiasm we were ever to feel, the least selfish aim we were
ever to pursue. For Kit!
Meanwhile we met few travellers of rank on the road. Half the
nobility of France were still in Paris enjoying the festivities
which were being held to mark the royal marriage. We obtained
horses where we needed them without difficulty. And though we
had heard much of the dangers of the way, infested as it was said
to be by disbanded troopers, we were not once stopped or annoyed.
But it is not my intention to chronicle all the events of this my
first journey, though I dwell on them with pleasure; or to say
what I thought of the towns, all new and strange to me, through
which we passed. Enough that we went by way of Limoges,
Chateauroux and Orleans, and that at Chateauroux we learned the
failure of one hope we had formed. We had thought that Bezers
when joined there by his troopers would not be able to get
relays; and that on this account we might by travelling post
overtake him; and possibly slip by him between that place and
Paris. But we learned at Chateauroux that his troop had received
fresh orders to go to Orleans and await him there; the result
being that he was able to push forward with relays so far. He
was evidently in hot haste. For leaving there with his horses
fresh he passed through Angerville, forty miles short of Paris,
at noon, whereas we reached it on the evening of the same day--
the sixth after leaving Caylus.
We rode into the yard of the inn--a large place, seeming larger
in the dusk--so tired that we could scarcely slip from our
saddles. Jean, our servant, took the four horses, and led them
across to the stables, the poor beasts hanging their heads, and
following meekly. We stood a moment stamping our feet, and
stretching our legs. The place seemed in a bustle, the clatter
of pans and dishes proceeding from the windows over the entrance,
with a glow of light and the sound of feet hurrying in the
passages. There were men too, half-a-dozen or so standing at the
doors of the stables, while others leaned from the windows. One
or two lanthorns just kindled glimmered here and there in the
semi-darkness; and in a corner two smiths were shoeing a horse.
We were turning from all this to go in, when we heard Jean's
voice raised in altercation, and thinking our rustic servant had
fallen into trouble, we walked across to the stables near which
he and the horses were still lingering. "Well, what is it?" I
said sharply.
"They say that there is no room for the horses," Jean answered
querulously, scratching his head; half sullen, half cowed, a
country servant all over.
Pages:
1 | 2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13