Orrain

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"Indeed! How, monsieur?"

"Because M. de Ganache is known to be one of the fiercest of the
Huguenot leaders, and spares nothing."

"We have to thank those who made him so, monsieur; and at any rate he
has spared Razines."

I looked at her in surprise. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were
hot, and I could scarce forbear a smile at the thought that it was a
little rebel I had in my charge, and turning the talk, said:

"We may go on to the Green Man in safety, I think." And, bidding
Pierrebon give the yokel a coin, we pressed forwards. It was not,
however, without another careful scrutiny that I led the way into the
village, where we were soon within the doors of the inn. It was a poor
place, but host and hostess were kindly; and did the best they could.
In the public room was the party of travellers whom the peasant had
mentioned. They consisted of a gentleman and his wife, whose dress and
air betokened them people of rank, whilst a little apart, at the lower
end of the room, were one or two others--their servants. The glitter
of a sapphire ring on the stranger's hand attracted my attention, and
it was as if he noticed the casual glance I cast at it, for he turned
his hand so as to hide the ring. This set me observing him more
narrowly, and though it was years since I had seen him I was certain it
was the Cardinal of Chatillon. It was Odet de Coligny himself, not a
doubt of it, and the lady was the noble woman who had sacrificed so
much for his sake. He had married her--prince of the Church though he
was--and had openly thrown in his lot with those of the New Faith.

They in their turn looked at us with interest as we entered, and on
seeing mademoiselle the lady looked as if she knew her, and seemed as
if she were about to speak, but Chatillon said something in a low voice
which restrained her. On the other hand, mademoiselle seemed flurried,
and kept her face averted. I could not but think they knew each other;
but it was no time to ask questions, so I said nothing, but quietly set
about arranging for our comforts. Mademoiselle retired to her room at
once, the landlady fussing after her, and after having assisted
Pierrebon to see to the horses I myself went to rest. I must have
slept for a good four hours, and on awakening found it was high noon.
Down I came, and entering the public room of the inn found it empty. I
went on towards the stables, where Pierrebon was still asleep near the
horses. There was no sign of mademoiselle, and thinking she was still
resting I let Pierrebon alone, and returning into the inn sat near a
window, awaiting my charge's appearance. Had I been alone I would have
pressed on to Poitiers, and reached it by nightfall; but as it was it
would be better to wait till well on in the afternoon, when
mademoiselle, being refreshed, would no doubt be able to travel. We
should halt at Miribeau for the night, and make Poitiers the next day.
So I let some time go past, and then, feeling dull, called to the host,
and invited him to share a bottle of wine with me. He came, as it
seemed, somewhat unwillingly; but soon we were in talk, and, for
something to say, I inquired about the other travellers. Here his
embarrassment increased, and he stammered out that they had gone on to
Richelieu about two hours ago; and then, as if taking a sudden
resolution, fumbled in his pocket, and drew forth a letter, which he
handed to me, saying: "For you, monsieur."

I tore open the cover, and read:

"MONSIEUR,--I owe you so much that I know not how to thank you or how
to explain my leaving you as I do now. I feel sure you would like to
know that I am going of my own free will, and with friends. Monsieur,
we will meet again I know, and then, perhaps, I shall be in a position
to show you that I can be grateful. DIANE."

I read to the end without a word, and glanced at my host. He saw and
understood the question in my eyes.

"Mademoiselle gave it to me with her own hands. I--I could not prevent
her leaving," he added, with fear in his voice. The poor wretch was
almost overcome with terror at the thought that I might turn against
him in my wrath.

"Thank you; that is enough." And crushing the letter in my hand I rose
and walked out. I was hurt and indignant, but after a little I cooled
down. After all, her proper place was with her friends. I had but
helped her on her way, and there was an end of it. So I swallowed my
ill-humour as best I could, and, to his astonishment, making the
landlord of the inn a present of the horse we had taken at Le
Jaquemart, Pierrebon and I went on our way.

CHAPTER XII

A WRITER OF COMMENTARIES

I rode sullenly on, my eyes between my horse's ears. Pierrebon, who
loved to wag his tongue, once or twice tried to open a talk, but
finding his efforts useless dropped away back. It was not possible to
go fast, as the horses were worn, and had to be saved for the stretch
of nearly six leagues that lay between us and Poitiers, which, however,
I had made up my mind to reach ere the gates were closed for the night.
Despite all our care we were delayed by Pierrebon's nag casting a shoe,
and this meant a stop for nearly an hour at a small hamlet, the name of
which I forget. At length matters were righted, and we continued our
journey. The day was hot and overcast. Towards sunset the clouds
increased, and ever and again the rumbling of thunder gave warning of
an approaching storm. We were, however, near Poitiers by this, and
could see the spires of the churches and the black mass of the city. I
drew rein for a moment to look, and almost felt as if my task were
done, when Pierrebon exclaimed:

"_Allons_, monsieur! it has come!"

And with a vengeance, too. First a few warm drops, then a blaze of
lightning, a crash of thunder, and then rain in torrents. It became
dark, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we could find our
way. But at length we reached the Pont Joubert, and passing the Chapel
of the Holy Virgin, raised in memory of the miraculous preservation of
the city during the war of the hundred years, we entered Poitiers. It
is true we had reached it, but it seemed as if our difficulties had
only begun. What with the darkness and the wind blowing the rain
straight in our faces, so that we could barely see, it would have been
hard for us to have found our way anywhere, even if we knew the city,
but neither Pierrebon nor I had been in Poitiers before. In the
basement of the guard-tower flanking the gate lights were burning, and
a group of soldiers were sitting at a table playing at dice, whilst a
few stray travellers were huddled together at the entrance, waiting,
perhaps, for the storm to pass, and continually peering out into the
darkness from their shelter, if such it could be called. I made my way
there, and had to shout twice ere I was heard, so great was the noise
of the tempest. Finally the ancient of the gate came up, and I asked
him for the nearest inn. He answered, civilly enough:

"'Tis but a little way, monsieur. Go straight down the Rue du Pigeon
Blanc, past Ste. Radegonde, and the Filles de Notre Dame, there in the
place St. Simplicien----"

"But I know nothing of Poitiers. How am I to find my way?"

To this he shrugged his shoulders and laughed; but at this juncture a
boy stepped forth out of the group at the door and offered to guide us
to the inn. This offer I accepted, and with a word of thanks to the
ancient we went on--the last thing we heard being hoarse orders shouted
out to close the gates. Our way was lit by continuous flashes of
lightning, and by one of these, lasting longer than usual, I saw on a
hill which overlooked the Church of Ste. Radegonde, her right hand
outstretched as if invoking a blessing on the city, the colossal Virgin
of Poitiers all shining with light--light that seemed to flame back
from the statue against the storm. So impressive was it that Pierrebon
crossed himself, and the boy sank on his knees in the water that hummed
along the street with an "Ave, ave!"

The sight was one I have never forgotten, and has often given me
subject for reflection, so that I am firmly convinced that even if a
God did not exist the imagination of man would conjure one up for his
worship.

It was lucky that we found a guide, for, short as the distance was, I
doubt if we would have found our way that night to the hostel of the
Elephant, for so the inn was called. Once there I gave the boy a coin,
bidding him get something to eat, for he looked as though he needed it,
and told him to wait, as I would require him shortly. I determined to
halt there until the storm had subsided a little, and inquired where
Montluc resided. He had but lately come, I was informed, and was for
the present temporarily lodged in the priory of the Capuchins. So,
taking the opportunity whilst I waited for the rain to diminish, I had
some refreshment, and attended to my arm, which was still painful. I
then made arrangements with the landlord for another horse, as nothing
would have induced me to ride my own poor beast farther that night.
This being settled, I waited for half an hour or so, when the storm
somewhat abated, though the wind was still high, and there was a sharp
drizzle. Then mounting the hired horse, and giving the boy a lantern I
had borrowed, I bade him guide me to the priory of the Capuchins.

On we went, the wind and rain in our faces. By good luck the lantern
held out, though its light was not much better than that of a glowworm.
We picked our way through narrow streets swimming with water, past
gutters babbling like mountain streams, and made a snail's progress
through that infernal night. Now and again a broad sheet of lightning
blazed athwart the darkness, showing the black and uneasy clouds
overhead, and giving a momentary glimpse of tall, ghostly towers, of
gabled roofs and pointed windows, and of houses that seemed to lean
forward and form arcades, below which the crooked, glistening streets
wound. As we were passing a large church--I found out later that it
was St. Croix--the bells began to sound compline, and then from every
steeple and spire in the city the chime was echoed, and borne across
the night in strange sweetness by the storm. My little guide made his
way bravely, and at length--it seemed an age--we reached the priory of
the Capuchins. Lights were burning everywhere, and there was a huge
log fire spluttering at the gate, which was still open. The arched
passage beyond the gate, which led to the forecourt, was full of men,
not hooded Capuchins, but men-at-arms, and it was easy to see that the
priory had been turned into a camp. I explained that I bore despatches
from Paris for M. de Montluc, and the words acted like magic. I was
told to leave my horse to the boy, and was led along the galleries that
bounded the cloisters of the forecourt. They were full of men, but all
orderly and quiet, as may be imagined with Montluc at hand. At length
we reached the hall, and there I was asked to wait until the General
was informed of my arrival. All dripping and wet as I was, and
unheeding the glances cast at me by those who were there, I sat down on
a bench near the fireplace, in which, on account of the damp, a fire
had been lit, and glowered into the flames, the blue smoke rising in
little columns from my drenched clothes. No one spoke to me, nor did I
address anyone, and I was struck by the extraordinary silence that was
preserved. Men spoke in whispers, and even when a man-at-arms passed,
his step was as light as that of a monk.

"Monsieur," said a voice, "will you have the goodness to follow me?"

I looked up, and saw an officer wearing the red and white sash of
Randan's Light Horse, my old comrades, and the sight of the colours
after so many years affected me to such a degree that at first I was
unable to move, and the officer had to repeat his request. Then I
arose, and followed him up what seemed an interminable stair. At last
we halted before a door, and here to the knock we heard a sharp
"Enter." Stepping in, I found myself before Montluc, and apologised
for appearing in the drenched condition I was in. He took no notice of
me, however, but kept walking up and down the cabinet like a tiger. He
was in demi-mail, the collar of the Order at his neck, and as he paced
the room with a halting step I observed with interest and respect the
great soldier who in forty years of glorious service had but twice seen
the Court. His defence of Siena was still ringing through Europe; but
back upon that one saw the field of Pavia, the campaign in Naples, the
defence of Marseilles, the siege of Perpignan, and the glorious
campaign of Italy, which ended in the crown of Cerisolles, and where,
but for him, the day was lost. I had served at Cerisolles myself; but
though I had seen Montluc I had never known him. Years had, however,
seemed to make no impression upon him; and, tall and lean, with long
grey moustaches, and glittering, grey-green eyes, he looked like a
fierce and starving cat as he restlessly limped to and fro.

At last he suddenly stopped, and, resting a hand on the hip broken at
Chieri, asked me abruptly:

"I am told you have brought despatches from Paris?"

"Monsieur!" And taking out the packet I had been entrusted with I
handed it to him.

He received it in silence, and sitting down at a table littered with
papers examined the seals. Then drawing his poniard he was about to
cut open the packet when he arrested himself, saying:

"I see it is from the Queen."

"Monsieur, it was given to me by her Majesty herself, and when you have
read it I have a message for you."

"The Queen must trust you."

"She has in this case, monsieur."

He smiled grimly, and opened the packet. As he read his face assumed
so malign and fierce an aspect that I had little difficulty in
persuading myself of the truth of the stories of savage cruelty that I
had heard of him. When he had finished he set down the paper, and
asked calmly enough:

"Your message, monsieur?"

I told him, he taking it down word for word, and placing the paper
carefully in a drawer, out of which he drew a parchment roll.

"You see this, monsieur? It is my patent as lieutenant of the South.
After nearly forty years of service it was given to me. I have held it
a month--and now--it is waste-paper." And with that he flung it into
the drawer, which he shut with a clash.

"They have need of me in Italy again, they say; and when I am gone,
mark my words, these psalm-singing Huguenots, these Chrysostoms, whom I
have made skip like the hills in their own hymn, will be in Poitiers in
a week." And he laughed harshly as he went on: "They fear I shall turn
against them, and throw in my lot with these others--I--Blaise de
Montluc! Tell them I am a soldier of my King, that I am but a poor
gentleman of the South, who when his time is done will hang up his
sword in his Chateau of Estillac, and die there, unless God answers his
prayer and lets him die on the field."

I saw before me the sudden breaking of great hopes, and, as I then
thought, the ruin of a great career, and stammered out: "Monsieur, you
will soon be back."

He smiled, and then, as if pushing all aside from his mind: "This will
at any rate make a chapter of my commentaries. I am writing them in
the style of Caesar, whom I hope to surpass in this. At present, I
have carried them as far as the sieges of Parma and La Mirandole by the
armies of the Holy Father and the Emperor." With this he pointed at a
pile of manuscript that lay on the table, as he added, with true Gascon
conceit: "It is better that they who make history should write it
rather than leave it to some scoundrel clerk, as I hear Vieilleville is
doing."

He seemed to have forgotten his misfortune in the contemplation of his
writing, and on my applauding his sentiment, he, looking at my arm,
which was still in its sling, asked how I had hurt it. I told him
briefly, and he listened in silence, until I gave him information of De
Ganache and the Huguenots at Richelieu. Then he stopped me.

"Are you sure they were there last night?"

"Yes, and probably till late to-day."

"Then we will have most of them here as our guests, monsieur, in a
couple of days at the latest. I want De Ganache badly, and would like
much to finish with him ere they finish with me."

I thought of Diane, and in my heart sent up a prayer that, on this
occasion at least, the Huguenots might escape Montluc's claws; and the
General went on:

"I see, monsieur, the Queen has recommended you as one to be trusted
entirely--and the Queen is not easily deceived. You are, she says, a
citizen of Paris, and have borne arms--where?"

"In the Milanese, monsieur. I was at Cerisolles with Monsieur
d'Enghien."

"Good! And after that?"

"I did not serve, monsieur."

We looked hard at each other, and a dry but not unkindly smile sat on
his lips.

"Would you care to see Italy again?"

"If the Queen has no further need for me I am ready."

"We will leave it so, then. In the meantime, you may, perhaps, have a
little commission to execute for me, or rather for the Queen. That
will keep you employed until you finally decide. It may need using
your sword. Does your wound trouble you?"

"It will be healed in less than a week."

"Well, go now and rest. You are being lodged here, of course?"

"I have secured a lodging at the Elephant, monsieur."

"Then to-morrow you must come here. I will see to that, for I like to
lay hands on a man when I want him." And with this he struck a gong,
and the officer who had brought me in appeared.

"Sarlaboux," said the General, "let Monsieur Broussel be conducted
safely to his inn, and see that no harm befalls him."

I was about to take my leave when Montluc stopped me.

"A word!-- That little story of yours in connection with your wound,
monsieur, has interested me. I will give it a place in my
commentaries." And he took up his pen as I retired, followed by
Sarlaboux.

I may add that, many years after, it was my good fortune to see a copy
of the old Marshal's commentaries, which had been made for his brother,
Monseigneur the Bishop of Valence. By some strange chance, for he
rarely forgot anything, he had omitted my story, nor was there any
mention of the secret communication I made to him; and, perhaps, this
was due to design. He was a great soldier and a great man, whose life
may be summed up in the motto of his house: _Deo duce, ferro comite_.

CHAPTER XIII

THE TOUR DE L'OISEAU

"Thirty-three Henris, of which two are bad, these I have set
aside--seven sols, and nine deniers, making in all thirty-one Henris,
seven sols, and nine coppers of good money--and this is all, monsieur."

It was touching the afternoon, and I was going over the present state
of my affairs with Pierrebon. I looked at the small heaps of coin he
had sorted out carefully on the table before me, and then rising walked
to my window and gazed out. The storm of last night had passed, and
Poitiers lay before me, all wet and glistening in warm sunlight. I was
not, however, interested in the landscape but in the hard fact that
thirty-one Henris, in round figures, would not carry me far in what I
had before me. After a minute or so I came back again, and looked at
the money and then at Pierrebon. It was a hopeless sum.

"It is correct, monsieur," he said; "and, of course, we have the
horses."

"I know that; but what I am thinking of is that it is not enough. In
short, I know not how long it will be before I can communicate with
Olden Hoorn at Antwerp; and more money is needed, for there is work
before us, Pierrebon."

The honest fellow's eyes lit. "How many times have I not said the good
days would come back, monsieur? All the years can never be famine
years, and we will have our hotel in the Rue de Bourgogne again, and
twenty gentlemen at our heels when we go to the Louvre; and if money is
needed now, monsieur, we have it."

"Where? I do not see it." And I laughed.

For answer Pierrebon unclasped his belt. Then taking his poniard he
ripped up an inch or so of leather on the inner side and took therefrom
a piece of paper carefully folded. This he handed to me, saying:

"Open it carefully, monsieur."

I did so, and found I had in my hand a diamond of some value. I looked
at it in astonishment, and then at Pierrebon. He read my glance, and
began hastily:

"Do not refuse, monsieur, for it came to me from you, as all that I
have has come. When we left Antwerp I had a hundred and fifty livres,
amassed in your service. Thirty I brought away in cash, and with a
hundred and twenty I purchased this stone from Olden Hoorn himself. It
is worth a hundred, I dare say, and, as money is needed now, 'tis
better to use our own than to go a-borrowing."

It was impossible to refuse this faithful friend, and the diamond was
transferred to me. I may mention that I had declined all offers of
money made to me by the Queen and Le Brusquet, for I had a mind to work
out my way without any such obligation. It was, however, a different
matter with Pierrebon, and when the time came he lost nothing by his
fidelity.

Matters being so far arranged we left the Elephant and betook ourselves
to the priory of the Capuchins, as M. de Montluc wished. On arrival
there I found that the General had set forth at dawn, with a hundred
lances and the Light Horse, and that two or three days might elapse ere
he returned. He had, however, left particular instructions about me,
and I found myself comfortably enough lodged. My first task was to
make arrangements for Masses for the soul of the dead Olivet, and for
the erection of a small cross to his memory in the Church of Ste.
Radegonde. Thus having fulfilled my promise to mademoiselle I spent
the next day or so in resting my arm, which grew rapidly better, and in
replacing sundry articles of apparel both for Pierrebon and myself.
All this made so considerable a gulf in the thirty-one Henris that I
resolved to transmute the diamond into gold.

I consulted Sarlaboux, who, to his disgust, had been left behind in
Poitiers. He looked at the diamond, and said he would buy it for a
hundred and twenty livres; but protested, with oaths, that he had but
ten crowns in the world, and would, therefore, not be able to pay me at
once. This I could not agree to; and I was very nearly involved in a
quarrel, as he thought that a slight was being put upon his parole.
The affair, however, passed off. Finally, I decided on the advice of a
new acquaintance of mine--a Capuchin named Grigolet--to seek the Jews'
quarter, where at any rate I would receive gold and not promises to
pay. This Capuchin, who was a jovial soul, obligingly said he would
accompany me, as he himself had a little business there, in connection
with the conversion of a young Jewess, whose eyes, he said in
confidence, were brighter than any diamond. I accepted the holy man's
aid, and we set forth, he showing me many places of interest on our way.

We left the priory by the western postern and went up the Rue des Trois
Piliers. The three pillars, which give its name to the street, mark
the boundary between the jurisdiction of the Chapter of St. Hilaire and
the town of Poitiers. They are set in the city wall, a few yards
apart, and the statue on the first pillar is that of the Emperor
Gallienus. On reaching the head of the road we turned up a narrow
alley, and found ourselves in the vast enclosure of the old arena--far
larger than those of Nimes and Aries in that it was capable of seating
fifty thousand persons, and was served for entrance or exit by a
hundred and twenty-four vomitories. Through this immense and deserted
ruin we passed, gaining the Rue d'Evreux by one of the entrances, in
the archway of which an inn was built. Then, passing the Colleges of
Ste. Marthe and Puygarreau, we took the Rue du Chat Rouge, and finally
came before the ogive arch, which formed the entrance to the Rue de
Penthievre, where the Jews were compelled to live and transact their
business. A similar arch and gate shut in the other end of the street,
and guards were at each gate. During the day these unfortunate people
were allowed to go into the city at their own risk; but by nightfall,
at the sound of the _couvre feu_, every one of them had to be within
his street, under heavy pains and penalties, which were rigorously
exacted.

On entering we found ourselves in a small and narrow street crowded
with people in yellow and grey gaberdines. All around us were dark
faces, bright black eyes, and hooked noses. Children swarmed, and lay
about in the filth and ordure of the pavement. My companion drew forth
a small flagon of scent, with which he liberally besprinkled both
himself and me, and picking our way with care we found ourselves before
the shop of Nathan the Jew. Here, whilst the Capuchin went farther on
to see his Jewess, I haggled with Nathan for an hour or more over the
price of the diamond, but could not persuade him to give more than
fifteen livres. This was absurd, and I was about to turn away in
disgust when the Capuchin returned. The bargaining was now taken up by
a master, and the short of it was that we made our way out of the Jews'
quarter with sixty-three livres in my purse. Three of these I gave
Grigole for his good offices, and on approaching the Rue d'Evreux the
holy man disappeared into an auberge, doubtless with a view to meditate
on further arguments for the conversion of his Miriam, whilst I
returned alone to the priory.

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