Kitabı oku: «The Constable De Bourbon», sayfa 8
XIII. THE MOUNTAIN HOSTELRY
Having got clear of the eastle by the stratagem just described, the fugitives, apprehensive of immediate pursuit, dashed down the mountain, and, on reaching the valley, speeded along it as fast as their horses could carry them. Nor did they slacken their pace for more than an hour. They then paused to listen, but hearing nothing behind them, they went on somewhat more leisurely. They were all well mounted, for Lallières had given them the best horses in his stables.
Hitherto no plans had been fixed. Bourbon would fain have persuaded D’Herment and his courageous sister to leave him, but they refused, D’Herment insisting upon acting as the Constable’s guide throughout the night, lest he might miss his way among the mountains, and fall into the hands of his enemies.
After some consideration it was decided that they should proceed to the Chateau de Montbrison, which could be reached by daylight, and where Bourbon might halt, if circumstances permitted, for a brief space, and then continue his course towards the south. With this design, the party journeyed throughout the night, and, after crossing a chain of mountains just as day began to dawn, came in sight of the ancient towers of Montbrison.
Bourbon’s purpose, however, of sheltering himself in the castle, was at once abandoned as he perceived a large troop of armed men, numbering three or four hundred, riding towards Montbrison through the valley. Evidently, the leader of this troop was about to take possession of the fortress, and it was fortunate for the Constable that he was outside its walls.
Under these circumstances, it would have been dangerous for D’Herment and his sister to proceed thither, so the party still kept together, but as their horses were dead beaten, it was absolutely necessary to give the wearied animals rest. The fugitives were therefore compelled to enter a small village among the mountains, where a hostelry promised them all they required.
The little inn was kept by an old couple and their son, Hugues. The latter took charge of the horses, while the old man and his wife attended to their guests, and quickly set before them the best their house afforded. Bourbon, having to support the character of a servant, went with Hugues to the stable, and, on entering it, was glad to perceive several strong horses in the stalls.
“My master wants to reach Vienne without delay, friend,” he said to Hugues, “and I am sure he would be glad to hire horses from you to proceed thither.”
“Your master shall have the horses, sir,” replied Hugues, showing by the profound respect of his manner that he had recognised the person who addressed him. “If you desire it,” he added, significantly, “I will go with you myself to Vienne.”
“I perceive you know me, friend,” rejoined Bourbon, “so I will not attempt further concealment with you. You are aware of the peril in which I am placed?”
“I am aware that ten thousand golden crowns of the sun are offered for your highness’s capture,” replied Hugues; “but were the reward ten times as great, it would not tempt me to betray you. I am sorry to see your highness here. I hoped you were already out of France.”
And he then proceeded to explain to the Constable that the whole country was alarmed by the royal proclamations, and that a large body of men had just passed through the valley from Lyons to take possession of Montbrison.
“I saw them,” replied Bourbon. “But do you think there is danger in proceeding to Vienne? I want to get across the Rhone.”
“I know not how to advise your highness,” said Hugues. “The shortest road out of France is the safest you can pursue. By the time you have breakfasted, the horses shall be ready, and you can then go whithersoever you list.”
Bourbon then returned to the hostel, and, sitting down at a table apart from the others, a modest repast was set before him by the old dame. Impatient to be gone, as soon as he had despatched his breakfast the Constable went forth again, and found that the horses were in readiness. By this time the old host had learned who was his guest, and professed as much devotion for him as his son had done.
“I only wish I could attend your highness in person,” said the old man. “But take my son with you – take my horses – and may Heaven guard you on your way!”
“I shall not forget your zeal, my good friend,” replied Bourbon, much moved; “and I trust I shall one day be able to requite you.”
During breakfast, it had been arranged that the party should now separate. D’Herment and his sister proposed to return to their château, while the Constable and Pom-perant resolved to make the best of their way to Vienne.
Hasty adieux were exchanged at the door of the little hostelry.
“Farewell, prince!” said Marcelline to Bourbon. “May you re-enter France at the head of an army! It will give me new life when I hear you have crossed the frontier.”
“Have no fear for me,” rejoined Bourbon. “Rest assured that I shall baffle my enemies. But I trust you may not suffer for your zeal in my behalf.”
“If the king should imprison me and my brother, your highness must come and deliver us,” she replied.
“That I engage to do,” replied Bourbon.
The parting between Pomperant and Marcelline was brief, but it was evident that the former felt it deeply. The young seigneur had already become passionately enamoured of the fair damsel who had saved his life.
“Farewell, Marcelline,” he said. “We shall meet again.”
“I trust so,” she replied.
Bourbon did not attempt to mount till Pomperant was in the saddle, but as soon as his supposed master had ridden off, he followed with Hugues.
Often and often did Pomperant turn to gaze at Marcelline, till her figure was lost in the distance.
XIV. THE MILL AT SAINT-SIMPHORIEN
Compelled to avoid the public roads, the fugitives, on reaching the valley, traversed an extensive marshy plain, which would have been impassable without a guide, forded the Loire about half a league above Montrond, and after a toilsome journey through a wild and mountainous district, drew near Saint-Simphorien about an hour before midnight. As they could not put up at an auberge, Hugues proposed that they should seek a lodging at a mill which he pointed out on an eminence a short distance from the road.
“I think Maître Benoit, the miller, will take us in,” he said. “He is kind-hearted and hospitable, and his daughter Madelon is the prettiest girl in Saint-Simphorien, and as good as she is pretty.”
“You know her?” said Bourbon.
“I persuade myself I do,” replied Hugues, “I have given my heart to her keeping, and hope one day to make her my wife – that is, if we can obtain Benoit’s consent to the marriage.”
“In that case we will go to the mill,” said Bourbon. “You can answer for the miller’s daughter, if not for the miller and his wife.”
“I can answer for all three,” replied Hugues. “I will stake my life that your highness shall be safe at the mill – provided we can only get in; and what is more, we shall have a good stable for the horses.”
They then rode towards the mill. Close beside it was Benoit’s dwelling – a substantial-looking tenement, which showed he must have thriven in his trade. A little to the rear of the house were a large barn and stable.
As the party approached the miller’s abode, the alarm was given by the barking of a couple of fierce dogs in the stable-yard, and just as Hugues, who had dismounted for the purpose, was about to knock against the door with his whip, a chamber window was opened, and Benoit, thrusting forth his head, which was adorned with a tall bonnet de nuit, called out in a gruff voice:
“Hola! my masters, what do you mean by disturbing honest folk at this time of night? Go about your business.”
“Our business is to procure a lodging beneath your roof, père Benoit,” rejoined Hugues. “Don’t you know me, my good friend?”
“What! is it Hugues?” cried the miller. “What brings you here, boy, and who have you got with you?”
At this juncture, Pomperant thought proper to interpose, declaring he was a captain of the royal guard of archers, on the way to Vienne, to intercept the flight of the Constable de Bourbon.
The explanation did not appear very satisfactory to honest Benoit, for he rejoined in a sullen tone:
“Pardieu! I shan’t disturb myself for you, captain. You must go to the auberge. Good night!”
And he was about to shut the casement, when Hugues called out to him:
“Hold! père Benoit. You are mistaken. We are all friends of the Duke de Bourbon.”
“Since you give me that assurance, Hugues, I am content,” said the miller. “But no enemy of Bourbon shall set foot in my dwelling, if I can prevent it.”
“By Saint Louis! I am glad to hear you say so, good Benoit,” cried the Constable. “Admit us without fear. Bourbon has no better friend than myself.”
“That voice!” exclaimed Benoit. “Oh, if it should turn out to be the Constable in person!”
“You have not made a bad guess, père Benoit,” rejoined Hugues. “Come down as quickly as you can, and, meantime, let me have the key of the stable.”
“Here it is,” replied the miller, throwing him the key from the window. “But wait till Madelon can go with you, for the dogs are loose.”
“Oh, I’ll wait. I don’t want to be torn in pieces,” said Hugues, laughing, as he picked up the key.
Benoit then disappeared, and his voice was subsequently heard from within calling to his wife and daughter to get up immediately. Madelon was already astir, having recognised her lover’s voice, and ere many minutes opened the door, and as she held a light in her hand, it could be seen that Hugues had not overrated her beauty. Nothing daunted by the presence in which he stood, her lover clasped her in his arms, and snatched a few hasty kisses. Disengaging herself as quickly as she could from his embrace, the blushing damsel turned to the others, both of whom had dismounted and fastened their horses to a rail, and begging them to enter, ushered them into a large plainly-furnished but comfortable-looking room. At the same moment, the miller and his wife, each carrying a light, came down an oak staircase which communicated with the rooms above.
Feeling that disguise was unnecessary, and that he could safely trust the worthy miller, Bourbon had re moved his hood, and no sooner did Benoit look upon him than he exclaimed:
“Ay, there stands the Duke de Bourbon. I knew his voice the moment I heard it. Look, wife, ‘tis he! – ‘tis his highness!”
So saying, he threw himself at the Constable’s feet, and his dame followed his example. So demonstrative were they in their devotion, that Bourbon could scarcely persuade them to rise. When they regained their feet, Madelon came forward to pay him like homage.
“No, no, that must not be, my pretty damsel,” said Bourbon, checking her. And he added, with a smile, “Go with Hugues to the stable. He needs your protection from the dogs.”
“Ay, take a lantern and go with him, Madelon,” said her father. “Show him where to find food for the horses.”
As the young couple departed, the miller’s wife, Margot, a comely, middle-aged woman, threw a heap of wood on the hearth, and in a few minutes a blazing fire cast a cheerful glow around. While she was thus employed, an active-looking female servant, about Madelon’s age, and not without some pretension to good looks, tripped down the staircase, and hastened to spread a snow-white cloth upon the table, and make other preparations for supper. Babet, for so she was named, took Bourbon for a serving-man, and would have assigned him a place at the lower end of the table, but her mistress soon set this matter right, and ere long the two fugitives were seated opposite each other, discussing a very substantial repast.
By this time Madelon and Hugues had returned from the stables, and the young man took his seat at a respectful distance from his superiors. Before he had finished his supper, Babet, who had gone up-stairs with her mistress, came down again, and made the satisfactory announcement that chambers were ready for the guests, whereupon Bourbon and Pomperant immediately arose, and prepared to retire, intimating their intention of departing an hour before dawn.
The females having likewise retired, Benoit and Hugues drew near the fire, and fell fast asleep, but they were speedily roused from their slumbers by the fierce barking of the dogs. Both started to their feet in great alarm, as the trampling of horses, mingled with the clank of arms, was heard outside, and left no doubt that a troop of cavalry was at hand.
Without a moment’s delay, Benoit extinguished the lamp which unluckily had been left burning on the table, and rushed up the staircase to warn the fugitives.
In another minute a loud knocking was heard at the door, and an authoritative voice demanded immediate admittance. Hugues, however, made no reply, but reconnoitring the party through the window, perceived that it consisted of some twenty mounted men-at-arms, whose leader was knocking against the door with the handle of his sword.
“Unfasten the door instantly, I say,” cried this personage, “or my men shall burst it open. Some one must be astir, for a light has just been extinguished.”
“I knew that cursed light had betrayed us,” groaned Hugues. “If the saints do not help us now, Bourbon will certainly be captured!”
Just then the creaking of a window on the upper floor was heard, and a voice, which Hugues recognised as that of the miller, called out, “Who are you, and what is the meaning of this disturbance?”
“I am the Seigneur Perot de Warthy,” returned the officer. “I am in quest of the traitor and rebel, Charles de Bourbon. I have tracked him to this neighbourhood, and shall search the house to see if he is concealed within it.”
“Mercy on us! what is to be done?” ejaculated Hugues.
“You must look for the Constable de Bourbon elsewhere,” replied Benoit, in a surly tone. “You won’t find him here.”
“I am by no means sure of that,” rejoined Warthy. “Are you the miller?”
“I am Benoit, the miller, at your service.”
“Then listen to me, Maître Benoit,” continued Warthy, “and give heed to what I say. By harbouring Bourbon you incur the punishment of death, and if he is concealed within your house, and you do not at once deliver him up, I will hang you at your own threshold.”
“I have nothing to fear on that score,” returned the miller, resolutely.
“Bravely answered!” exclaimed Hugues. “My father-in-law that is to be is a true man. But I am afraid his courage will be severely tried anon.”
“Are you going to open the door, rascal, or must I break it down?” roared Warthy. “I have been trifled with long enough.”
“Have a moment’s patience and I will let you in,” returned Benoit.
“Be speedy, then,” said Warthy. “Surround the house,” he added to his men, “and see that no one gets out at the back.”
The trampling of horses, accompanied by the clanking of arms, proved that this order was promptly obeyed.
“Bourbon’s only chance is gone,” ejaculated Hugues.
As the exclamation was made, the miller, followed by Bourbon and Pomperant, both with their swords drawn, descended to the room. Madelon came down quickly after them.
“Pass out at this window, monseigneur,” said Benoit, in a low voice to the Constable, moving towards the back of the room. “You may gain the wood at the foot of the hill.”
“Have a care,” whispered Hugues. “The house is surrounded by soldiers.”
“Open the window at once,” said Bourbon. “I will cut my way through them.”
“Give me a sword, père Benoit,” said Hugues.
“Here is one,” rejoined Madelon, unhooking a weapon from the wall, and presenting it to him.
“Stay a moment, monseigneur,” said Benoit. “A plan occurs to me. I should have thought of it before, but I am so bewildered. Underneath this room there is a vault where I store my corn before grinding it. Will it please you to hide there?”
“If the retreat should be discovered, we shall be caught like rats in a trap, and can offer no defence,” objected Bourbon.
“My father has not explained that there is a communication between the vault and the mill,” interposed Madelon. “Your highness can get out that way, should it be necessary.”
“The entrance to the vault is there – under the staircase,” urged the miller. “Madelon will conduct your highness. Lift the trap, girl – lift it quickly,” he added to his daughter.
The trap-door was soon opened by Madelon, who descended by means of a ladder into the vault, and was instantly followed by the fugitives, the trap-door being shut by Hugues, who went down last.
Scarcely had they disappeared, when the outer door was burst open with a tremendous crash, and Warthy, sword in hand, and followed by four men-at-arms, rushed into the house. Alarmed by the noise, Margot and Babet hurried down the staircase, bearing lights, both screaming loudly as they perceived Benoit upon his knees before Warthy, who held a sword to his throat. Flying towards them, and kneeling to Warthy, Margot besought him, in piteous terms, to spare her husband’s life.
“Harm him not, and I will tell all,” she cried, almost frightened out of her wits.
“Speak out then at once, woman,” said Warthy. “Where is the traitor Bourbon hidden?”
“Hold your tongue, wife, I command you,” said the stout-hearted miller.
“But I can’t stand by and see your throat cut, Benoit,” she rejoined. “I must speak.”
“Certainly you must, unless you desire to become a widow,” said Warthy. “You may as well confess that Bourbon is here. Your looks betray you. He cannot escape, for the house is surrounded, and I don’t mean to leave a hole or corner unvisited. Where is the traitor, I say?”
“Where is he, Benoit?” she cried, appealing to her husband. “For my sake, don’t sacrifice yourself.”
“Woman, you have lost your senses,” said the miller, angrily. “What do I know about the Duke de Bourbon?”
“You know a great deal more than you appear inclined to tell, rascal,” rejoined Warthy. “But I will have the truth from you. I give you five minutes for consideration,” he added, releasing him, “and if at the end of that time Bourbon be not forthcoming, I will execute my threat, and hang you at your own door.”
Without another word, he took the light which Margot had set down upon the table, and, signing to two of his men to follow him, ascended the staircase. In less than five minutes he came down again, his countenance betraying anger and disappointment.
“Well, have you found him?” inquired Benoit, who had not been allowed to exchange a word with his wife during Warthy’s absence.
“Not yet, but I soon shall,” replied Warthy. “He has only just left his couch. Now, madame,” he continued, in a stern tone, to Margot, “do you desire to see your husband hanged?”
“Oh no, monseigneur! I would rather you hanged me than Benoit.”
“Nonsense! I don’t hang women. Speak! or my men will take your husband forth. Where is Bourbon hidden?”
“I can’t tell,” she sobbed. “But if he is hidden anywhere, it must be in – in – the vault.”
“A plague upon your mischievous tongue!” cried her husband, reproachfully.
“Don’t blame me, Benoit,” she cried. “I couldn’t bear to see you hanged.”
“At last we have got the truth,” muttered Warthy. “I knew the woman wouldn’t hold out. Show me the Way to the vault, madame.”
“I forbid you,” said Benoit, authoritatively.
“Take care what you are about, sirrah,” cried Warthy; “you will only make your own position worse. Now, madame!”
At this moment the trap-door, which had been elevated a few inches so as to allow the person beneath it to overhear what was going on in the room, suddenly fell with a clap, that attracted the attention of Warthy.
Snatching up the light, he flew in the direction of the noise, and instantly detected the trap-door. “Soh! I have found it!” he exclaimed. “Here is the entrance to the vault. Open this trap-door,” he added to his men.
The order being promptly obeyed, Madelon was discovered standing on the upper steps of the ladder.
“A woman!” exclaimed Warthy, surprised. “And, by my faith, a very pretty one, too! Take care, mademoiselle! My men are coming down into the vault to look for your companions.”
“Let me come up first,” she rejoined, placing herself in the mouth of the trap, so as to obstruct the descent of the soldiers. “It will be useless for you to search the vault. You will find no one there.”
“I shan’t take your word for that, mademoiselle,” rejoined Warthy. “Make way. My men must go down.”
Madelon was obliged to obey, and the four soldiers instantly descended.
In another minute, Warthy, who was listening anxiously, heard shouts and the noise of a struggle within the vault, and he called to know whether Bourbon had been captured.
“Yes, we’ve caught him,” replied a soldier from below.
“Well done, my brave fellows!” cried Warthy. “You shall be handsomely rewarded. Bring him up at once.”
“Fear nothing, father,” said Madelon, noticing the miller’s consternation. “It is not the Constable.”
“Heaven be praised for that!” exclaimed Benoit.
A man-at-arms now ascended from the vault. After him came the captive, and then the three other soldiers.
“Why, this is not Bourbon!” cried Warthy, regarding the prisoner.
“I told your men so, captain,” replied Hugues – for it was he – “but they wouldn’t believe me.”
“Go down again instantly, and make further search,” roared Warthy. “He is there.”
“There was no one in the vault but this man, whom we took to be Bourbon in disguise,” replied one of the soldiers.
“Has the vault an outlet?” demanded Warthy.
“Oh yes,” returned the soldier, “there is a door at the farther end, but it is locked.”
“Then I have lost my prize,” cried Warthy. “He has escaped. You shall be hanged, rascal, for assisting the traitor,” he added, furiously, to Hugues.
“Give me my life, captain, and I’ll tell you where to find him,” rejoined the prisoner.
“If you utter a word, you need think no more of me, Hugues,” said Madelon.
“Heed her not, fellow,” said Warthy. “Better lose your mistress than your life.”
“I am quite of your opinion, captain,” rejoined Hugues. “I don’t like the thought of a halter. On the understanding, then, that I am to be spared – ”
“Recollect what the consequences will be,” interrupted Madelon.
“Avoid the rope, if you are wise,” said Warthy.
“I mean to do so, captain,” replied Hugues. “His highness the Constable and his companion have taken refuge in the mill.”
“Miserable craven!” exclaimed Madelon, scornfully. “Hanging is too good for you.”
“If you have misinformed me, you know the fate that awaits you,” said Warthy to Hugues. “To the mill!”
Just as he was about to quit the house, a sudden glare filled the room, rendering every object as visible as it would have been in broad day. No doubt could exist as to the cause of this illumination.
“Gracious Heavens! the mill is on fire!” exclaimed Benoit.
The shouts of the men-at-arms outside confirmed the truth of the ejaculation, and the guard stationed at the door vociferated, “The mill is on fire, captain!”
“Take care no one escapes from it,” roared Warthy, in reply.
“Powers of mercy! what an accident!” exclaimed Hugues, his countenance reflecting the horror depicted on the faces of all around. “The Constable de Bourbon will be burnt to death!”
“No, no, he won’t,” cried Warthy, who remained perfectly calm, even at this exciting moment. “But he will be forced out of his hiding-place.”
On this he quitted the house with his men, leaving a guard outside the door.
No sooner was he gone than Hugues went up to the miller, who looked almost stupified, and clapping him on the shoulder, said, with a grin, “I set the mill on fire, père Benoit.”
“You did!” exclaimed the miller; “a nice piece of work you’ve done. And you make a joke of it, rascal – you laugh.”
“Laugh! to be sure. And so will you, père Benoit, when you know why I set it on fire.”
“Mother of Heaven! how it burns!” exclaimed Margot, as the glare momentarily increased in brilliancy, and the roaring of the flames and the crackling of the timber could be distinctly heard.
“My poor old mill!” cried Benoit, in a despairing voice. “I shall never behold it again!”
“Cheer up, father,” said Madelon. “I told Hugues to set fire to it – indeed, I helped him.”
“What! you have assisted to make me a beggar, and then bid me cheer up!” cried the miller.
“The loss of the mill won’t make you a beggar, father. I know better than that,” she rejoined. “I felt sure you wouldn’t mind any sacrifice to save the Duke de Bourbon.”
“That I shouldn’t!” exclaimed Benoit. “But how will the burning of my mill save him? Mercy on us! how the flames roar!”
“I like to hear them roar,” said Madelon. “And I’m glad the fire burns so furiously. It will distract the soldiers, and enable the Constable and the Seigneur Pom-perant to get off unobserved.”
“Heavens! they are not in the mill?” exclaimed Margot.
“No, they are at the stable, I hope, by this time,” rejoined Madelon. “How lucky it was, Hugues, that I shut up the dogs!”
“If we can only get out the horses, all will be well,” he replied. “I must be off to the stable. Good night, père Benoit! I hope soon to bring you good tidings.”
“You can get away safely now,” said Madelon, cautiously opening the back window. “There is no one here now, and the smoke will hide you.”
Despite the danger, Hugues snatched a parting kiss from his charmer’s lips, and then sprang through the window.
The burning mill formed a magnificent spectacle, being now wrapped in flames from top to bottom, while blazing flakes fell from the sails. Having highly combustible material to deal with, the fire had made rapid progress. Fortunately the dense volume of smoke that arose from the blazing structure was carried by the wind in the direction of the stable, and the vapour served to screen Hugues from the observation of the men-at-arms, who were all collected round the mill. Amongst them Hugues descried Warthy, and heard him exclaim, in a loud and angry voice, that he was certain Bourbon was not in the mill.
“Had he and his companion been there, they must have come forth,” he said. “They would never submit to be roasted alive.”
Not a moment was to be lost. Hugues hurried off to the stable, and was rejoiced to find, on reaching it, that Bourbon and Pomperant were already mounted. His own horse was also in readiness, and he was no sooner in the saddle than the party galloped off.
They had not ridden far, however, when a loud shout, proceeding from the scene of the conflagration, proclaimed that their flight was discovered. Warthy and his men were starting in pursuit.
Sounds also arose from the little town of Saint-Simphorien, proving that its inhabitants had been roused from their slumbers by the alarm of fire, while the loud clangour of a church bell, violently rung, broke the stillness of the night.
“Poor Benoit will have plenty of help in case his house should catch fire,” remarked Hugues. “All the good folks of Saint-Simphorien will be with him presently.”
“Fail not to tell him I will rebuild his mill,” said Bourbon.
“Your highness need not trouble yourself on that score,” rejoined Hugues. “Benoit is rich enough to rebuild the mill himself. He will think nothing of the loss, provided your highness escapes.”
“We must spur our horses sharply, if we would escape,” cried Pomperant, looking back. “Warthy and his men are better mounted than we are, and are gaining upon us.”
“But they won’t catch us,” rejoined Hugues. “We shall reach yonder thicket before them, and then we are safe.”
“By Saint Denis, it galls me to the quick to fly thus before such caitiffs!” cried Bourbon. “Let us wait for them. That villain Warthy shall pay for his temerity.”
“He shall pay for it, but not now,” rejoined Pomperont. “On – on – for Heaven’s sake! I implore your highness not to risk your life in a miserable encounter. Consider that a kingdom is at stake.”
“Right,” rejoined the Constable. “En avant!”
And dashing his spurs rowel-deep into his horse, he galloped swiftly on, the others keeping close beside him.
In a few minutes more the party reached the thicket in safety, and, guided by Hugues, plunged unhesitatingly into its depths.
