Orrain
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S. Levett Yeats >> Orrain
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"Monsieur is hungry?"
"Famished."
"And thirsty?"
"Well, I have drank a little"--and I glanced at the streamlet--"but a
cup of d'Arbois now, or even some white Rochecorbon, would be nectar.
Confound my stupidity at losing the way! We should have been at Marcay
hours ago; but--what the devil----"
In effect I might well have exclaimed, for Pierrebon had opened the
valise and taken therefrom a bulging wallet; and as I watched him with
astonished eyes he rapidly unpacked it, pulling forth a cold chicken,
some Mayence ham, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine, which last he
put down with a little flourish, saying as he did so: "'Tis red Joue,
monsieur. Not so good as d'Arbois, nor so bad as Rochecorbon."
But I had already attacked the fowl, and answered, with my mouth full:
"Pierrebon, this is the best service you have ever rendered. Open the
wine, and sit down and eat. _Corbleu_! but I will dub you knight, and
you shall bear arms for this--a trussed capon on a field vert."
And then there was a silence, for, with the feast before us, time spent
in talking was time wasted. Finally, the capon disappeared, the last
slice of ham was divided with the edge of my dagger, the last drop
drained from the bottle, and restful and contented we lay back in the
shade; and Pierrebon slept, whilst I slipped into a waking dream. How
long this lasted I know not; but I came to myself with a start, and
looked around me.
The shadow had shifted, leaving Pierrebon asleep in the sunshine, his
red face looking straight up at the blue sky. The horses too were
asleep in the purple loosestrife, and there was an intense peace over
all things. There as I lay, listening to the splashing of the water
and the song of the birds, a line of deer came out to drink, and,
catching sight of us, stopped and gazed, until a sudden panic took a
little speckled fawn, and it dashed away madly through the thicket,
followed by its mother and a cluster of startled doe, the stag going
last at a slow trot.
I rose to my feet and saw how long the shadows were. In truth, it was
time to be up and moving. So, arousing Pierrebon, we were soon mounted
and jogging through the woods, with our backs to the west. We made
good way now, for the nags were refreshed; yet we knew not where the
night would bring us, for we were wholly lost.
Farther and farther we rode into the woods, holding desperately on to a
faint track that wound and twisted through the endless aisles of the
forest. As the hour grew later the sky overhead changed from blue to
crimson and gold, and the sunset, stabbing through the lace-work of
branches overhead, cast ruddy lights on the trees, deepening the
shadows, and giving a ghostly distance to objects around, so that we
seemed in a fairy realm of enchantment.
As the sunset began to fade, and the red and gold overhead changed
softly to purple and grey, over which the silver light of the moon
would soon be cast, we decreased our speed, and now, riding side by
side, peered anxiously into the wood for some sign of a human
habitation; but there was none to be seen.
We rode in silence, for Pierrebon, to say truth, was uneasy at the
uncanny stillness, and that awe with which Nature in her lonely
grandeur inspires the dullest of mortals had begun to fill us. And so
no word was spoken.
In and out the track wound, until at last it brought us to the very
heart of the forest, where the shadows lay black and deep. Around us
on every side the huge and aged trees, stretching in long lines of
receding obscurity, stood like a phantom army of giants guarding some
dreadful secret of the past. Twisted, distorted, and bent, with hairy,
moss-grown trunks from which the decaying bark peeled like the
mouldering cement on some old and forgotten ruin, the kings of the
forest stood silent and grim, their branches stretched out in grisly
menace--giant arms that threatened death to all who approached.
Deeper and yet more deep we rode into the gloom, though the sunset yet
clung in a girdle of fire round the horizon, casting red blades of
light between the tree trunks; and Pierrebon's cheek grew pale, for
goblin and gnome and fay lived to him, and even I, who did not believe,
felt if my sword played freely in my sheath. And then I tried to sing.
But so dismal were the echoes, so lowering the aspect of the mighty
trees, that seemed, in the quaking shadows, to be instinct with life
and motion, that "The Three Cavaliers" died away at the first verse;
and then, from the woods in front of us, rang out a scream for help, so
shrill and sharp in its agony that it froze the blood in our veins.
"'Tis a spirit!" gasped Pierrebon, with pale lips, and half pulled his
horse round; but even as he did so the shriek rang out again--a woman's
voice--and high and shrill in its octave of suffering. It was enough
for me, and, sword in hand, I galloped for the sound.
A few strides of the good beast, a leap over a fallen tree trunk, and
in a wide clearing I saw before me a deed of shame.
There was a man lying dead on the ground. There was a white-robed
woman, screaming and struggling as two men tried to force her on to a
horse; whilst another man, mounted on a white horse, with a white mask
on his face, was urging them on to their work, and a long sword
glittered in his hand.
I stayed not for a second, but, galloping straight on, made so sudden
an assault that one of the knaves was down and twisting on the grass
like a snake with a broken back, and the other had fled with a howl
into the forest almost before my coming was realised.
But as the horse carried me on I felt a felon blow graze my cap, and I
had but time to half turn and parry another when I found myself face to
face with the masked man.
Even as the sparks flew from our swords, and I felt that I had met a
master of fence, I knew it was Simon despite his mask. There lived not
a man like him. Tall and thin, with long, bird-like limbs and a
stooping back, with the features concealed by the white mask all but
the eyes, which glittered like those of an angry asp, he seemed more
spirit than man; and I felt as if I were crossing blade with some
uncanny phantom of the woods rather than a thing of flesh and blood, as
after a fierce bout we circled round, watching each other warily.
"So, brother, we meet at last," I said. But he made no answer, though
his eyes flashed evilly as he came on again with a swift, lightning
attack that chance alone enabled me to avoid. And then my life was on
my wrist and eye; but I kept it, and began to slowly force him back.
God forgive me! he was my brother; but he would have slain me there
like a mad dog--and life is dear. He never said a word until he was
being driven back, and then an oath broke from him.
'Tis an ill thing to swear with a sword in one's hand. That oath gave
me strength and cooled me to ice.
"Come!" I said, "you would not slay your heir; or are you going to make
room for me, Simon?" And my sword point ripped his doublet.
The answer was a thrust that ripped my coat in turn, and then followed
the rasp of our blades. It was almost dark above us now, but a lance
height from the ground the horizon was still flaming red. We could
barely see each other's blades, but guided ourselves by the little
circles of light the sword points made as they flashed hither and
thither, seeking for an opening, to slip forward like a snake's tongue.
Twice had I been touched. The first time it was a parry _en prime_
that saved me; the second time Simon had hit me on my bridle arm. It
was only a touch; but I felt the warm blood on my sleeve, and Simon
laughed like a devil.
But he mistook his man. Collecting all my strength I made so furious
an attack that I slowly drove him against the belting of trees, and
then there was a lightning thrust in tierce, a quick parry, and a
return over Simon's heart, but the point of my blade glanced from a
steel vest he wore. In glancing, however, it slipped upwards, and
catching the mask almost rent it from my brother's face, leaving it
half hanging, and almost blinding him.
In my fury I followed up the thrust with another, but with the skill
that was his alone he partly parried it, though my blade found his
sword arm, just above the elbow joint; but as Simon's now useless hand
fell to his side he saw his defeat, and, with matchless presence of
mind, drove his spurs into his horse, and dashing off at full speed was
lost to view in a moment.
It was useless to follow, though I rode a few yards after him, and
then, restraining myself, I pulled round and came back. Then I heard a
voice thank me, and Pierrebon appeared at my horse's head, as though he
had dropped from the clouds, and as I dismounted he burst forth: "Now,
praise to St. Hugo of Orrain! We have defeated the bandits."
CHAPTER VII
DIANE
Man of the world and of many experiences as I was; old courtier, who
had seen the fairest of my land in the galleries of the Tournelles, or
the salons of the Louvre, I confess that I had never seen so graceful a
figure, or heard so sweet a voice as that which thanked me now. As for
her, when I stepped up, my sword still in my hand, some thought that
she had only escaped the beak of the vulture to feel the talons of the
hawk made her shrink back into silence.
I felt this, and, bowing, said gravely: "There is no danger now,
mademoiselle. I doubt if our friends will return; but I fear it is far
to any refuge to-night."
My words had effect. She was brave enough, and she answered:
"We are not far from the Mable, monsieur!"
"From the Mable! Then Marcay is behind?"
"About six miles."
"Ah! I thought we had overridden ourselves. And Richelieu is at hand?"
"'Tis but a bare league."
"Then in two hours at most we will be there. You will, of course, ride
my horse, and Pierrebon and I will share the other."
"Thank you!" she said simply. And then with an effort, as she pointed
before her: "Monsieur, there is a man lying there who gave up his life
for me. I cannot leave him thus."
And Pierrebon answered: "There are two, lady. I have covered them with
their cloaks, for they are both dead."
"A moment," I said, and I too went and looked at the twain.
There was no mistake. For these two the trees and the sky, the good
and the bad of the world had ceased to be; and as I pulled their cloaks
over their faces I muttered to myself, with a remembrance of the course
of "The Philosophy":
"_Maximum vitae bonum mors_."
Then I came back to the lady's side. "Mademoiselle, for these two
lying there, the honest man and the knave, what can be done at present
has been done. Come, I pray you! It grows late."
"Oh, but I cannot!" And she too went forward to where the long dark
things lay stretched out on the sward, and shrinking, she looked, and
then on a sudden she sank on her knees, and prayed, and because,
whatever had happened, I had never lost my faith in God, without whom
we are nothing, I knelt too, and Pierrebon with me, and in our own way
we each sought comfort. After a while mademoiselle rose again, and
with a voice half choked with tears, said:
"Monsieur, I am ready."
We placed her on my brown horse, which Pierrebon led, I riding his, and
so we took our way in silence--a silence now and again broken by a sob
from the girl. I said nothing, deeming it wiser to let her be with her
thoughts; but as we came to the skirts of the wood I spoke:
"Mademoiselle, I promise you that I will see to the Christian burial of
your friend."
And then she wept unrestrainedly. To tell the truth, I knew not what
to do, and Pierrebon kept his head well to the front, looking neither
to the right nor to the left. In sheer desperation I asked her not to
weep, whereat she wept the more; and then I touched her shoulder with
my hand, as one would caress a child; but she shook me off, turning a
face that seemed scared with terror to me, and I could only stammer out
an apology, and remain silent. At last the violence of her grief
abated, and I ventured to ask who the dead man was.
"He," she answered sadly, "was a trusted servant, and he was taking me
home. His name was Olivet."
"Will not mademoiselle do me the honour to give me her name as well? I
am called Bertrand Broussel."
She looked up as I spoke, and a nervous laugh escaped her.
"I am glad I know your name, monsieur; it is one I shall always think
upon with gratitude. As for me, I--I am called Diane. I am the niece
of Cujus the furrier, a citizen of Tours, who is as a father to me. I
was going to rejoin him from Saumur when all this happened."
"Have you any friends near, where I can leave you?"
"Oh yes! Near Richelieu I have friends; and, once in the house of the
Bailiff of Muisson, I would be safe."
"I will see you there, with your permission."
"Thank you! And I want to tell you how this happened. I was going
back home from Saumur, under the charge of Olivet, and we halted at
Marcay to rest. About a half-hour after leaving Marcay we were set
upon and taken prisoners by the men from whom you have saved me.
"Where they were taking us I cannot tell. As evening came I heard your
voice singing, and, screaming for help, I slipped from my saddle, with
the intention of running towards you. Olivet made a brave effort to
help me--but----" And it was only with an effort that she prevented
another breakdown.
"Have you any idea who these men are?"
She remained silent, as if collecting her thoughts. And I went on:
"I ask because I recognised one--the leader."
"Ah, monsieur, I feared to mention his name. He is a great noble, and
he--he--but I cannot tell you." And she stopped, with a little shiver.
"You need not, madame. He is Simon, Vidame d'Orrain."
"Yes," she said, and our talk stopped. My cheeks were burning at the
thought of Simon's deed of shame, and I put this down to the long score
I had against him. And so on we rode, until we passed the skirts of
the forest, though still keeping to its edge, and came to a stretch of
moorland, beyond which was a series of small hills. We could now hear
water running like a mill-race, and from the hills there glinted the
lights of a large village.
"That is Richelieu, monsieur," exclaimed mademoiselle, "and the water
that we hear is the Mable."
"See there, monsieur!" Pierrebon suddenly cut in, as he arrested
mademoiselle's horse, and pointed to his right, where on the edge of
the forest we saw lights at the windows of a low-lying, irregular
building half concealed amidst trees. "See there!" continued
Pierrebon; "that is a house where at least we shall be able to sup and
get a guide."
"A guide," I exclaimed, "with Richelieu before us!"
"Listen to the Mable," urged Pierrebon; "is there a bridge? If not we
must ford it; and they say the river is deep and dangerous; but perhaps
mademoiselle knows the ford?"
"Indeed I do not."
Considering all things, I came to the conclusion that Pierrebon was
right, and that it would be wiser to seek the house. As we approached
it, mademoiselle said:
"It may be the hunting-lodge of Le Jaquemart, belonging to the Sieur de
Richelieu."
"Well, we will know soon," I said, and urged Pierrebon to quicken his
pace. There was but a bare quarter mile of moorland, covered with
yellow broom and purple thistle, to be passed, and then we came up to
the house. As we did so we perceived that it was surrounded by a high
stone wall, and mademoiselle exclaimed positively:
"It is Le Jaquemart; but it is strange it is occupied, for the Sieur de
Richelieu is in Italy."
"_Bien_," I thought to myself, "the furrier's niece knows all about the
Sieurs de Richelieu!" And then aloud: "Perhaps he has returned with
Montluc, mademoiselle; or it may be that friends of his hunt the
forest."
"M. de Parthenay is near Loudon."
I made no answer, for at this moment we reined up before the gate, and
glanced at the massive, studded portal, and the old wall, with its soft
crowning of ivy on the top, and grey-green, moss-covered sides, where
the yellow wall-pepper and white serpyllum pushed between the crevices
of the stonework. And as we looked we heard from within a peal of loud
laughter, a woman's voice mingling with the deeper tones of that of a
man. As the laughter ceased Pierrebon exclaimed:
"They are gay within, monsieur!" And then, on a sign from me, he
knocked long and loudly.
"Enough, enough! You would waken the dead."
"One more, monsieur!" And Pierrebon, who already smelt his supper,
brought the brass lion's head of the knocker with such force against
the studded door that it might have been heard a quarter mile away.
From within came a shrill whistle, and a voice called out, with a
foreign accent: "The gate, Piero! Who is it? Someone knocks."
"And will knock again soon if you do not make haste," grumbled
Pierrebon; whilst I pricked up my ears, and glanced at mademoiselle,
and saw her drooping in her saddle. Now we heard a heavy, lurching
step on the other side of the gate, a sliding panel covering a Judas
Hole was drawn back, a man's face appeared dimly, and a voice asked in
halting French:
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Supper and a guide," began Pierrebon; but dismounting I put him aside,
and said:
"We are three travellers, one of whom is a lady. We have lost our way,
and seek but a guide to the ford."
As I spoke the man on the other side of the gate raised a dark lantern
he had hitherto held low in his hand, and flashed it through the
opening, whilst he peered at us.
"Only three?" he asked.
"And one a lady," I answered; whilst Pierrebon let his tongue wag: "Oh,
the mole! To want a lantern in this moonlight!" And following his
words came the voice from the house, asking again in Italian:
"What is the matter, Piero?"
To which Piero answered: "I come, signor," and with a brief "Wait!" to
us, swung round on his heel and went back, Pierrebon, as he looked at
the retreating figure through the grille, saying, "By St. Hugo!
monsieur, we might be a party of the Guidon's Free Riders, or Captain
Loup and his gang!" But, paying no heed to his words, I turned to
mademoiselle.
"I like not this place. We had better take our chance of finding the
ford. Come!"
At this Pierrebon, with the freedom of an old servant, began to
protest, and mademoiselle aided him.
"Oh, monsieur, could we not rest here for a little?"
"We may rest here for ever if we do," I said a little sharply. "Come!"
My words had, perhaps, too much of command in their tone, for she
answered back coldly: "I intend to rest here, monsieur; you may go on
if you like."
At this I said nothing more, and let her have her way, but gave
Pierrebon a warning grip of the arm to be careful. Pierrebon nodded in
comprehension. He was no fool, though many thought him so, and though
if his betters drew steel he as a rule let matters lie with them, yet
he could be dangerous--a thing which people found out sometimes when it
was a trifle late.
We had to wait a space, then we heard the woman's voice laughing once
more within. Something in its hard, clear tones jarred upon me, and I
glanced at mademoiselle, but she kept her face aside. But now we heard
returning footsteps, the grating of a bolt drawn back, the turning of a
key, and then the gate opened; whilst Piero, a huge figure, stood
before us, swinging his lantern, and beside him another man, armed with
an arquebus, the fuse burning like a glow-worm.
"Enter," said Piero; "the signor will receive you."
"_Facilis est descensus Averni_," I murmured to myself, and led the
way, and the gate was shut behind us. Before us lay a short drive
bordered with tall poplars, and on either hand a tangle of a garden
that had run to a wilderness. As we rode up a woman's figure appeared
at an open window, but stepped back at once, and I asked Piero, in his
own Italian:
"Has Monsieur de Richelieu returned?"
The giant answered gruffly: "I know not, signor. He who is within is
the Captain Torquato Trotto."
"Torquato Trotto! I know not the name."
And Piero made no answer, for we had now come to the door of the house.
Here I helped mademoiselle to alight, whilst Pierrebon took charge of
the horses, and mademoiselle and I entered the house. At the same time
a man came running down the stairs to meet us. As his eyes fell on us
a slight exclamation of surprise broke from him; but he checked it on
the instant, and advanced, saying in French:
"You are very welcome, madame and monsieur, I do assure you--very
welcome."
And he bowed before us, courteously enough; but I caught the veiled
mockery in his voice, and as I took the speaker in I thought he was
bravo to his finger-tips.
"Monsieur," I said, "I thank you. We but crave permission to rest a
while, and seek a guide to the ford of the Mable, for we have to be at
Richelieu to-night."
"We will do what we can for you, monsieur. Be pleased to ascend. I
will be with you in a moment. I have but a word to say to my man here.
Excuse me!"
CHAPTER VIII
THE ACTS OF PIERREBON
Leaving us to find our way upstairs Torquato Trotto went out into the
porch where Piero the giant stood, cast a glance at the retreating
figure of Pierrebon, who was leading the horses away, looked over his
shoulder like a cat, and, gripping Piero by the arm, shook with
laughter.
"_Maledetto_!" exclaimed Piero, who was of an evil temper, as he freed
himself from Trotto's clutches, and looked at the swaying figure before
him. "Loose hold, signor! Have you been bitten by a tarantula?"
"Oh! I could sing, I could shout, I could dance. Man! that is the
very girl we want; and Monsieur the Vidame, who lies within, twisting
in his chair, will pay a thousand fat, gold Henris for her when he
knows. Ho! it will be rare news for him!"
"Are you sure?"
"As I live. Did I not watch her for a whole week at Saumur? 'Tis well
we have not Aramon and the rest with us. The fewer there are the
larger the shares. Can Malsain deal with the lackey?"
Piero grinned for reply.
"Well! let him be his care, and you had better stay at hand here. Give
me the key of the gate, and, remember, a hundred crowns apiece to you
and Malsain for this. And now for a word in the Vidame's ear."
With this he turned back into the house, leaving Piero looking after
him.
"A hun--dred crowns apiece! _Diavolo_! Captain Torquato! If I knew
the money was here I would make the whole thousand mine; and then--hey
for Rome again! But a hundred crowns are a hundred crowns, and fill a
purse rarely. Well, I go to warn Malsain!"
And the giant went slowly off, regretting in his heart what might have
been.
In the meantime we found ourselves on a landing before an open door,
disclosing a room brightly lit. There was a glimpse too of a table
laid for supper, and near the table stood a tall woman, with black hair
that hung to her waist, with bare rounded arms and painted cheeks, and
a face that was beautiful still, though she had come to be what she was.
She was holding a cup of red wine in her hand, but stopped in the act
of lifting it to her lips as she caught sight of us, and setting down
the wine untasted advanced, saying:
"Enter, I pray you. La Marmotte bids you welcome."
"I thank you, madame," I replied bowing, with many misgivings in my
heart, and inwardly cursing the folly that had made me yield and enter
this house. But who is there who does not make mistakes?--and I for
one have never set claim to be infallible. I was wrong, and I admit
it--that is enough.
And so we went in, and for the first time there was light enough to see
mademoiselle's face, and as I looked there came to me a sting of regret
for the days that would never return. It was as if some devil had
flashed before me a mirror in which the past was reflected; and,
believe me, when one has lived and regretted it is not necessary to be
in love for such a lightning flash of bitter memory to come to a man
when he sees beside him the purity of innocence.
And so it was too with La Marmotte, who had turned to us with a light
laugh, and lighter words to her lips; but laugh and words died away as
she met the girl's look, and--I could read her like an open
page--awakened memory took the woman back to the time when she herself
was as the girl before her. And so, because there were yet undefiled
wells of good in her soul, there came upon her an unwonted timidity,
and it was with a respectful hesitation that she pressed upon us seats
and refreshment. But even as she did so her eyes met mine with a
half-imploring, half-defiant glance. She felt that I knew, though I
thanked her for her courtesy as if she were a princess of the land.
Mademoiselle sank weariedly into a chair; whilst La Marmotte, with all
the silent notes in her heart touched in some undefinable way, hovered
over her, fearing to approach her, and yet feeling as if she must.
For me, I remained standing, softly rubbing my wounded arm, over which
I had drawn my cloak, and looking around me here, there, and
everywhere, for I knew we were in a trap, and trapped by my own folly.
As I looked I saw something white showing beneath the cushions of a
settle, and taking the cup of wine that La Marmotte handed to me I
moved thereto, and, sitting down, looked more closely. It was a white
mask. Softly drawing it forth, and, unobserved, slipping it into the
pocket of my cloak, I saw in doing so that it was stained with fresh
blood, and then I knew we were in the house of death.
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