Kitabı oku: «Vayenne», sayfa 7

"Was that he? The man who brought me here?"

"You may be anxious to thank him presently. That night," the priest went on, "I went to the castle, to your cell. I should have proved you were no spy, but you had gone. For the second time this interview was delayed."

"And this third time?" queried Herrick.

"Circumstances have changed. Duke Maurice is reported dead, is believed to be dead; you have said yourself that you do not know whether he is dead or alive. At such a time events happen quickly. Preparation is already active. Felix will be Duke, and once crowned – "

"That shall not be," said Herrick.

"How will you prevent it?"

Father Bertrand snapped out the question, and leaned forward, waiting for the answer. His whole attitude had changed. There was a tenseness about him that seemed subtly to convey itself into Herrick's blood.

"Show me the way," he said, leaning forward in his turn as eagerly as the priest had done.

"There is a mirror yonder, Monsieur Herrick," said the priest, rising suddenly. "If you have forgotten what manner of man you are, look in it."

Herrick had risen as the priest rose, and almost unconsciously turned to look at his own reflection. While he did so, he heard the rattle of a curtain being sharply drawn aside, and turned to see the priest pointing to a picture which the curtain had concealed until now.

"Do you know that face?" he asked.

"Surely, my grandmother – my mother's mother," said Herrick in astonishment.

"The likeness of the face in the mirror to this face leaves no doubt of close relationship. It is a distinctive face, as sometimes happens in families; it cannot be hidden. I recognized it in an instant when I saw you at the Croix Verte. That lady, your grandmother, was sister to Robert VI. of Montvilliers. You did not know that?"

"No. I only knew that she was a foreigner, a lady of rank, who was content to become the wife of an English country gentleman."

"Were it not for the law of this land, which forbids the throne to descendants of the female line, your grandmother, or, failing her, your mother, would have been Duchess of Montvilliers. There have been times when the people have been inclined to do away with this law. There are some now who would do away with it in favor of Christine de Liancourt. I have been tempted to wish it done away with. Her determination is fixed, however; she will keep to the very letter of the law, and lest she should loom too prominently in this matter, it is her whim to use none of her many titles, but to be called simply Mademoiselle de Liancourt."

"You mean that you would plot to do away with this law now?" asked Herrick after a pause.

"The breaking of a law which has been long established, and has worked for the general good, is not wise, my son," answered Father Bertrand, going to the table and unfolding a rough pedigree chart there. "This will show my meaning clearer. Here, you see, is Robert IV., dying without issue; Charles, his brother, who predeceased him; and Marie, his sister, your grandmother. On the death of Robert the crown went to Philip I., his cousin, and at his death to his son, a dissolute man, who was deposed in favor of Robert VII., the old Duke who lies waiting burial in the castle yonder. The deposed Duke, Philip II., died suddenly in the South Tower. He had no friends to assist him to escape, and plenty of enemies to help him to his death. Robert's elder brother Charles died before Robert seized the throne, leaving one child, Christine de Liancourt. A younger brother, Conrad, died a few years since. Felix is his son."

"Had Duke Robert no claim to the throne?" asked Herrick.

"You can trace it here," said Father Bertrand, pointing the descent with his finger; "through the male line all along you note until we come to Robert II., who had many children, of whom only the eldest and youngest survived – the eldest being the ancestor of your mother, the youngest of Duke Robert. This was the Duke's claim, and putting aside the deposition of Philip II., for which the people had no quarrel with him, a righteous claim but for one fact. You see what this youngest son was called."

"Called The Bastard," Herrick read from the chart.

"Nicknamed so in his own day," said the priest. "His father's love for a young girl in his old age has entered into the regions of romance in this country. You may find ballads which it has inspired. No one has ever doubted the story until it pleased the people to forget it when they made Robert Duke. Do you understand how the matter stands?"

"The story goes back so far, it may well be forgotten," Herrick answered.

"If Maurice came to the throne, yes; but not if Felix is the heir. The law which forbids women to reign in Montvilliers, and under ordinary conditions excludes even their male descendants, has one important provision which is this: that failing a direct male heir, the son through the female line shall inherit."

"Then?"

Father Bertrand glanced at the picture from which the curtain had been withdrawn, and then looked again at his visitor.

"Have I made it quite clear to Roger Herrick, the real Duke of Montvilliers?" he said slowly.

CHAPTER XII
HOW JEAN LOST HIS ENEMIES

Herrick looked from the priest to the picture, and then again at the chart lying on the table. He bent over it, his finger travelling from name to name as though he were carefully tracing the descent once more to satisfy himself that the priest was right. It was a ruse to gain time, to collect his thoughts, for they had leaped back to his mother, his youth, and his dreams. Now he understood why Vayenne had always had such a fascination for him. He was of it, a part of its life. The source of the blood that tingled in his veins lay far back in history. They were his ancestors who had kept Montvilliers inviolate as it was to-day, his fathers who had fought in the forefront of the battle, thrusting back their foes at the sword's point. Herrick did not remember his grandmother, and had only a faint recollection of his mother, who had died when he was young; but there certainly was a lady who came into his boyhood's life at intervals, and whom he remembered well. Perhaps she was a friend of his mother's or grandmother's, and he had often sat on her knee while she told him stories which stirred him, stories of Vayenne, so that the name of the city figured in his games of soldiers and doughty deeds, and sank deep down into his heart. One day he would go to Vayenne had been his determination as he dreamed lad's dreams of life and the future. That day had come. His finger had unconsciously travelled down the chart until it rested on his grandmother's name.

"There is no flaw," said Father Bertrand, and his voice made Herrick start, so lost was he in his thoughts. "This chart is no secret; it is copied from one which is common property, open to all who choose to study it, and in which every date is fully given. I am no maker and unmaker of dukes, no mere plotter for place and power. The late Duke, with all his harshness, was a just man in the main. Under his rule the country was at peace, and there was prosperity. His son, were he alive, would make but a poor ruler. Count Felix would assuredly prove a bad one. Is it not right that the reign of the usurping house should end here and now? I have only to bring this chart to date thus." And the priest took a pencil, and under the name of Herrick's grandmother drew a little vertical line, then paused, and said: "What was your mother's name?"

"Mary."

"Mary, daughter of Marie, and then Mary's son, Roger Herrick." And, perhaps unconsciously, he wrote the name more firmly and a little larger.

"And your plans, Father Bertrand?" said Herrick shortly.

"They are a tangled skein. How could they be otherwise until you came to help in the unravelling? But there are loose ends to catch hold of, and after the first few knots are unfastened, the skein is likely to fall easily apart. The Count moves swiftly; we must work swiftly too. Duke Robert is to be buried without delay. Courtiers and men of account have already been summoned from the country; and they come not only to a funeral, but to a coronation. Once Felix is crowned, it will be harder to foster a rising against him. Among those who will come to Vayenne is one Gerard de Bornais, a man of wealth, whose friendship I have. He will bring a certain retinue with him, and you shall join yourself to his company. Events must decide our actions. For the rest – "

There was a single, sharp knock upon the door, given by the same man, Herrick thought, who had brought him hither. It was evidently an understood sign, for the priest did not answer.

"For the present you must be my guest," said Father Bertrand, drawing back the curtain from another door.

"I have friends in Vayenne. I must see them," said Herrick.

"My son, there is danger for you in the streets."

"Am I virtually a prisoner then?"

"If you would oppose Count Felix by the means I have shown you, yes, for yours is too tell-tale a face to be seen at present. If you decide not to claim your rights, yonder is the door you entered by, and you are free to go."

"I will stay," said Herrick after a moment's reflection. "One friend I have whose worth I know, and who may be of value to us among the people. Will you find and bring here Jean who is called the dwarf of St. Etienne?"

"Would you put your trust in a fool!" exclaimed Father Bertrand.

"There is more wisdom, strength, and cunning in that crooked body than lies in most of your straight-limbed men. I know. He is a hater of the Count besides."

"I should advise – "

"Either he comes, or I go," said Herrick.

"You quickly learn the part you are to play. You command, I obey. Jean shall be found." And the priest smiled, and led the way into another room. "I will return to you as soon as possible. In the meanwhile Mercier shall attend to your wants. You have forgiven him for attacking you in the Rue de la Grosse Horloge?"

"Indeed, I have not."

"I petition that you do," said Father Bertrand. "I know him. He will be useful to us. A duke should grant so humble a petition when it is the first made to him."

"Send this Mercier. I will not harm him," said Herrick. "If I can mount the throne as easily as I grant the petition, we have no very thorny path to travel."

The dwarf, however, was not to be found that day, although Father Bertrand looked for him in St. Etienne and Mercier sought him at all the haunts he knew of. Jean remained in the house by the wall, and that night again crossed the river to make inquiry of the farmer. A wagoner was at the farm that night, and chancing to hear that he had been to Vayenne that day, Jean questioned him.

"Ay; sure they were on the lookout at the gate," he answered, "but I had seen no soldier or priest, as I told them."

He was an honest fellow, and remembering the coins in his pocket, held his tongue.

It was toward dusk the next day that Jean entered St. Etienne. Lights were burning dimly in one of the chapels where vespers were being said, and as he stood in the shadows of one of the great pillars, Father Bertrand, who was about to leave the church, saw him.

"Jean, there is a friend of yours at my house who wishes to see you."

"What friend? I have hundreds in Vayenne."

"The one who broke from the South Tower."

"What does he in your house, father?"

"For the present he hides, and waits for you. Go to him at once."

The dwarf shuffled down the long aisle. In the porch he paused, half expecting the priest to follow him. Was this a trap? Had Jean known of any way in which his capture could help Father Bertrand, he certainly would not have gone; and as it was, he stood before the small door in the Rue St. Romain for some time before he knocked. The door was opened almost immediately, and the man in the cassock stood back to let him enter, which Jean did, one hand upon his knife under the folds of his loose tunic.

The man closed the door, and bade the dwarf follow him. He led him upstairs, and at the end of a passage knocked at a door. The dwarf entered the room, and waited until the man had closed the door again and the sound of his retreating footsteps had ceased. Then he looked at Herrick, who had risen from his chair.

"They don't lock you in?" he said in astonishment.

"No."

"Why stay then?"

"I asked them to bring you here that I might tell you what has happened," said Herrick.

"Strange happenings, surely, to bring you to this place, friend Roger!" And as Herrick sat down again, Jean doubled his legs under him and squatted on the floor.

Herrick told him all that had occurred to the time Mercier had met him and brought him to the Rue St. Romain.

"Then the pale scholar is not dead," said Jean. "In Vayenne they believe he is."

"He was not dead when the robbers carried him away, and they would certainly do their best to keep him alive. How he will fare with those to whom he is sold I cannot say."

Jean expressed no opinion.

"And now, friend Roger, what happens now? You have come to tell the truth to the Count, and have fallen into the fox's hole on the way."

"Wait, Jean; let us consider the position for a moment. Had I gone boldly to the castle, what would my fate have been, do you suppose?"

"A dangle at the end of a rope over the great gate as likely as not," the dwarf answered.

"Exactly – and perhaps without a chance of seeing Count Felix at all," said Herrick. "Now Father Bertrand has promised to get me into the castle in the suite of one De Bornais, who comes to the Duke's funeral. In this way I shall attract no attention, and shall be ready when the moment for action arrives."

"What action?"

"That must depend on circumstances; but it shall be some action that shall prevent Count Felix being crowned Duke of Montvilliers."

"Friend Roger, you have proved yourself a brave man, but here is a task that would make a body of giants ponder and turn pale."

"Since we parted across the river yonder, I have learned strange things, Jean; so strange that I dare not speak of them yet. They will stir the very heart of Vayenne, and the Count himself shall be afraid."

"From whence heard you these things? From Father Bertrand?"

"Partly."

Jean shook his head.

"The fox enters the poultry run with a smile on his face and an air of harmlessness, but he brings death and destruction all the same."

"Listen, Jean. I am not trusting Father Bertrand without knowing that what he says is true," said Herrick earnestly. "Now I want to know who are my friends, whom I can trust; so I sent for you."

"The only friend you have in Vayenne," said Jean.

"You forget Mademoiselle de Liancourt and Captain Lemasle."

"Who are not in Vayenne, friend Roger, however friendly they may be. There are orders to arrest Captain Lemasle."

"Treachery must be met with cunning, and the time is short," said Herrick. "By this they are no doubt safe within the city. I will tell you the whole story soon, but there is no time now; there is work to do to-night."

Jean shook his head, one eye shut the while.

"Cannot you trust me?" Herrick asked.

"Not your wisdom. You talk of using cunning, but many as wise a man as you are has thought himself cunning, and been the victim all the time. I have no relish for pulling an oar in the same boat with Father Bertrand. I've been in Vayenne longer than you have, friend Roger, and know him better than you do."

"Listen, Jean. It is Father Bertrand who has told things to me, not I to him," said Herrick. "He does not know the whole story of the attack in the forest as I have told it to you; he does not know what has happened to Duke Maurice, nor of Mademoiselle, nor of Captain Lemasle. He knows nothing of what I want you to do to-night."

The dwarf was on his feet in an instant.

"Good, friend Roger, good! I see the smile of the fox on your face now. What is the work? I am content to hear the rest of your story another time."

"Do you know the house of the Countess Elisabeth?" asked Herrick.

"The outside of it."

"You must get in on some pretext, and see Mademoiselle de Liancourt."

"Faith! She has chosen as strange a hiding-place as you have."

"It was of her own choosing," said Herrick. "See her. Say you come from me. Say that she must remain in hiding until I send to her again; that Count Felix must be allowed to believe that Duke Maurice is dead. Tell her that since leaving her in the forest I have learned that which makes me certain that Count Felix will never be crowned. Can you remember the message?"

Jean repeated it, marking each item off on his fingers.

"And what have I to say to Captain Lemasle?" he asked.

"Tell him to wait for a message from me," said Herrick.

"You must have impressed him greatly, friend Roger, to command him in this fashion. He's a man more easily led than driven."

"And one thing more," said Herrick, who was too busy thinking of all it was necessary to tell to notice the dwarf's comment. "You will not say where I am. They do not know what has happened since I left them. They might not understand my being in Father Bertrand's house."

"Then we are all in the dark until it pleases friend Roger to open the door," said Jean. "Well, since you undertake giants' work, it is hardly strange you should set about it in queer fashion. For all our sakes I pray your wisdom is as great as your courage."

At Herrick's summons the man in the cassock came and took Jean to the street door again, closing it gently behind him without a word.

It was quite dark now, and the dim lamps at intervals only served to cast deep, gloomy shadows across the Rue St. Romain. The dwarf stood still for some moments, looking up and down the street, and his sharp eyes searched the shadows. He was not certain, but one particular spot did not satisfy him; he thought a man stood there. He expected to be watched and followed, for he had little faith in Father Bertrand. Jean was even surprised with himself for believing Roger Herrick so easily, for he placed small reliance on any man's disinterestedness. He moved away slowly, and was soon aware that he had not been mistaken, that he was being followed.

"He must know Vayenne well if he hopes to keep me in sight," chuckled the dwarf to himself as he turned sharply into a narrow alley and began the task of losing his enemy. For half an hour he dodged round corners, up dark alleys, and across small streets, returning at the end of that time to a spot close to the Rue St. Romain; and he chuckled to think of the dance he had led his follower.

Mercier did know Vayenne well, however, he was perhaps the very last man in the city to be deceived by such tactics, and no sooner had the dwarf set out on a more direct route, than he came from a turning and went after him.

Jean was crossing one of the larger streets, which was well lighted, on his way to the Place Beauvoisin, when half a dozen soldiers suddenly caught sight of him.

"Well met, Jean," cried one, grasping his arm. "Where have you been roosting? The Count has been sending everywhere to find you to-day and yesterday."

"For what?"

"Nobody knows why – maybe to make a captain of you. But this we know, that he's promised silver enough to the man that finds you to pay for a merry night at the tavern. So you must come with us."

"That's certain," answered one of his companions, taking Jean's other arm.

Why should he be sought for? The wounded sentry must have gathered some of his scattered wits and remembered something of the spy's escape from the South Tower.

"The Count honors me," he said; "and if he makes a captain of me, we'll have merry times. I'll come with you; but at the top of the street yonder is the Barbe Noire, where is good liquor, and I have the wherewithal to pay. What say you? The Count is in no such hurry that he cannot wait another hour after waiting two days."

"The Barbe Noire let it be," they cried; and with Jean in their midst, they went up the street, Mercier following them.

But they drank no ale or wine at the Barbe Noire that night. Within a hundred yards of it there was a side street leading to the old markets, around which there was a perfect network of alleys and byways. As they came abreast of this street, the dwarf suddenly wrenched his arms free, dropped to the ground, and catching one of the soldiers by the legs, pitched him over his back among his comrades, and in a moment was rushing along the side street. In anticipation of the drink, and believing that the dwarf had no desire to get away from them, the soldiers were unprepared for this manœuvre, and were utterly taken by surprise; so that the dwarf had travelled some distance before they took up the pursuit. For the second time that night Jean's ingenuity was taxed to lose his enemies.

The pursuit was not long confined to the soldiers. Mercier was the first to join in it, and then some idlers about the corners of the old markets began to run, until presently a mob of forty or fifty were making the streets echo with their hurrying feet.

Jean had not enough advantage in the race to enable him to deliberate which way he should take. He had no desire to draw his pursuers into the Place Beauvoisin where, even if he succeeded in eluding them, they might watch for a long time, and prevent his gaining entrance to the Countess Elisabeth's house. But presently there seemed no other way for him to take with any reasonable hope of safety. He entered the square by a narrow thoroughfare close to the high wall which surrounded the house, and had a moment's respite before the crowd turned the corner. Adjoining the high wall there was a lower one, surrounding a yard. To run across the square and escape by the other entrance would carry him into well-lighted streets, where a hundred others might join in the chase, and where he was almost certain to be captured. His decision was taken in an instant. With a spring, such as some great ape might make, he was upon this lower wall, and another bound took him to the top of the high wall. No light shone upon it, and he lay down along it full length upon his stomach. A moment later, the crowd was rushing past underneath him.

A pause was made when no one was seen flying across the square, and a dozen voices began to shout advice. He had done this! He had done that! He had never entered the square! He had managed to cross it before they had got in! It was a babel of tongues, everybody shouting, no one listening.

Jean had seen no one as he sprang on to the wall, but the crowd saw a man in the square, and rushed toward him.

"Which way did he go?" they cried.

Jean ventured to raise his head a little. He could not hear the man's answer, but since the crowd did not rush back to the wall, he concluded that either the man had not noticed him, or had no intention of betraying him.

There was a moment's silence, and then a voice cried out:

"We've lost the little game, but we catch the larger. It's Lemasle, and there's an order for his arrest!"

In an instant there was a struggling mass of humanity. So closely and so suddenly was Lemasle pressed, that there was no opportunity to use any weapon. The dwarf ached to go to his assistance, but that would have meant the capture of both of them. That would be worse than useless. So Jean remained motionless on the wall.

Lemasle said not a word. He struck out right and left for a few moments, and one or two had reason enough to regret that they had ever joined in the chase; but numbers overpowered him. Then as they succeeded in binding his arms, he laughed.

"Tell me," he said, "whom were you hunting when you chanced upon me?"

"That devil of St. Etienne," said a soldier, with an oath.

"Such a devil plays the saint sometimes, and perhaps he'll tell all my friends where I am. Faith! half the city should be knocking at the castle for my release before noon to-morrow."

"Maybe you'll swing an hour or two earlier, and then they can have your body," said one of the soldiers brutally. He had felt the weight of the captain's arm a few moments earlier.

Lemasle had raised his voice, speaking clearly and distinctly. He had not seen Jean, but he guessed that he was not far off, and would perchance hear him.

The dwarf lay motionless as the crowd passed along under the wall, and he understood.