CHAPTER XVI. SWORDS!
La Fosse led the way with me, his arm through mine, swearing thathe would be my second. He had such a stomach for a fight, had thisirresponsible, irrepressible rhymester, that it mounted to the heightsof passion with him, and when I mentioned, in answer to a hint droppedin connection with the edict, that I had the King's sanction for thiscombat, he was nearly mad with joy.
"Blood of La Fosse!" was his oath. "The honour to stand by you shall bemine, my Bardelys! You owe it me, for am I not in part to blame forall this ado? Nay, you'll not deny me. That gentleman yonder, withthe wild-cat moustaches and a name like a Gascon oath--that cousin ofMironsac's, I mean--has the flair of a fight in his nostrils, and acraving to be in it. But you'll grant me the honour, will you not?Pardieu! It will earn me a place in history."
"Or the graveyard," quoth I, by way of cooling his ardour.
"Peste! What an augury!" Then, with a laugh: "But," he added, indicatingSaint-Eustache, "that long, lean saint--I forget of what he ispatron--hardly wears a murderous air."
To win peace from him, I promised that he should stand by me. But thefavour lost much of its value in his eyes when presently I added thatI did not wish the seconds to engage, since the matter was of so verypersonal a character.
Mironsac and Castelroux, assisted by Saint-Eustache, closed the heavyportecochere, and so shut us in from the observation of passers-by. Theclanging of those gates brought the landlord and a couple of his knaves,and we were subjected to the prayers and intercessions, to the stormingsand ravings that are ever the prelude of a stable-yard fight, but whichinvariably end, as these ended, in the landlord's withdrawal to run forhelp to the nearest corps-de-garde.
"Now, my myrmillones," cried La Fosse in bloodthirsty jubilation, "towork before the host returns."
"Po' Cap de Dieu!" growled Castelroux, "is this a time for jests, masterjoker?"
"Jests?" I heard him retorting, as he assisted me to doff my doublet."Do I jest? Diable! you Gascons are a slow-witted folk! I have a tastefor allegory, my friend, but that never yet was accounted so low a thingas jesting."
At last we were ready, and I shifted the whole of my attention to theshort, powerful figure of Chatellerault as he advanced upon me, strippedto the waist, his face set and his eyes full of stern resolve. Despitehis low stature, and the breadth of frame which argue sluggish motion,there was something very formidable about the Count. His bared arms weregreat masses of muscular flesh, and if his wrist were but half assupple as it looked powerful, that alone should render him a dangerousantagonist.
Yet I had no qualm of fear, no doubt, even, touching the issue. Not thatI was an habitual ferrailleur. As I have indicated, I had fought but oneman in all my life. Nor yet am I of those who are said to know no fearunder any circumstances. Such men are not truly brave; they are stupidand unimaginative, in proof of which I will advance the fact that youmay incite a timid man to deeds of reckless valour by drugging him withwine. But this is by the way. It may be that the very regular fencingpractice that in Paris I was wont to take may so have ordered my mindthat the fact of meeting unbaited steel had little power to move me.
Be that as it may, I engaged the Count without a tremor either of theflesh or of the spirit. I was resolved to wait and let him open theplay, that I might have an opportunity of measuring his power and seeinghow best I might dispose of him. I was determined to do him no hurt,and to leave him, as I had sworn, to the headsman; and so, either bypressure or by seizure, it was my aim to disarm him.
But on his side also he entered upon the duel with all caution andwariness. From his rage I had hoped for a wild, angry rush that shouldafford me an easy opportunity of gaining my ends with him. Not so,however. Now that he came with steel to defend his life and to seekmine, he appeared to have realized the importance of having keen wits toguide his hand; and so he put his anger from him, and emerged calm anddetermined from his whilom disorder.
Some preliminary passes we made from the first engagement in the linesof tierce, each playing warily for an opening, yet neither of us givingground or betraying haste or excitement. Now his blade slithered onmine with a ceaseless tremor; his eyes watched mine from under loweringbrows, and with knees bent he crouched like a cat making ready for aspring. Then it came. Sudden as lightning was his disengage; hedarted under my guard, then over it, then back and under it again, andstretching out in the lunge--his double-feint completed--he straightenedhis arm to drive home the botte.
But with a flying point I cleared his blade out of the line of mybody. There had been two sharp tinkles of our meeting swords, and nowChatellerault stood at his fullest stretch, the half of his steel pastand behind me, for just a fraction of time completely at my mercy. YetI was content to stand, and never move my blade from his until he hadrecovered and we were back in our first position once again.
I heard the deep bass of Castelroux's "Mordieux!" the sharp gasp offear from Saint-Eustache, who already in imagination beheld his friendstretched lifeless on the ground, and the cry of mortification from LaFosse as the Count recovered. But I heeded these things little. AsI have said, to kill the Count was not my object. It had been wise,perhaps, in Chatellerault to have appreciated that fact; but he did not.From the manner in which he now proceeded to press me, I was assuredthat he set his having recovered guard to slowness on my part, neverthinking of the speed that had been necessary to win myself such anopening as I had obtained.
My failure to run him through in that moment of jeopardy inspiredhim with a contempt of my swordplay. This he now made plain by therecklessness with which he fenced, in his haste to have done ere wemight chance to be interrupted. Of this recklessness I suddenly availedmyself to make an attempt at disarming him. I turned aside a viciousthrust by a close--a dangerously close--parry, and whilst in the act ofencircling his blade I sought by pressure to carry it out of his hand. Iwas within an ace of succeeding, yet he avoided me, and doubled back.
He realized then, perhaps, that I was not quite so contemptible anantagonist as he had been imagining, and he went back to his earlier andmore cautious tactics. Then I changed my plans. I simulated an attack,and drove him hard for some moments. Strong he was, but there wereadvantages of reach and suppleness with me, and even these advantagesapart, had I aimed at his life, I could have made short work of him. Butthe game I played was fraught with perils to myself, and once I wasin deadly danger, and as near death from the sword as a man may go andlive. My attack had lured him, as I desired that it should, into makinga riposte. He did so, and as his blade twisted round mine and cameslithering at me, I again carried it off by encircling it, and again Iexerted pressure to deprive him of it. But this time I was farther fromsuccess than before. He laughed at the attempt, as with a suddennessthat I had been far from expecting he disengaged again, and his pointdarted like a snake upwards at my throat.
I parried that thrust, but I only parried it when it was within somethree inches of my neck, and even as I turned it aside it missed me asnarrowly as it might without tearing my skin. The imminence of theperil had been such that, as we mutually recovered, I found a cold sweatbathing me.
After that, I resolved to abandon the attempt to disarm him by pressure,and I turned my attention to drawing him into a position that might lenditself to seizure. But even as I was making up my mind to this--we wereengaged in sixte at the time--I saw a sudden chance. His point was heldlow while he watched me; so low that his arm was uncovered and my pointwas in line with it. To see the opening, to estimate it, and to take myresolve was all the work of a fraction of a second. The next instant Ihad straightened my elbow, my blade shot out in a lightning stroke andtransfixed his sword-arm.
There was a yell of pain, followed by a deep growl of fury, as, woundedbut not vanquished, the enraged Count caught his falling sword in hisleft hand, and whilst my own blade was held tight in the bone of hisright arm, he sought to run me through. I leapt quickly aside, and then,before he could renew the attempt, my friends had fallen upon him andwrenched
his sword from his hand and mine from his arm.
It would ill have become me to taunt a man in his sorry condition, elsemight I now have explained to him what I had meant when I had promisedto leave him for the headsman even though I did consent to fight him.
Mironsac, Castelroux, and La Fosse stood babbling around me, but I paidno heed either to Castelroux's patois or to La Fosse's misquotations ofclassic authors. The combat had been protracted, and the methods I hadpursued had been of a very exhausting nature. I leaned now against theporte-cochere, and mopped myself vigorously. Then Saint-Eustache, whowas engaged in binding up his principal's arm, called to La Fosse.
I followed my second with my eyes as he went across to Chatellerault.The Count stood white, his lips compressed, no doubt from the pain hisarm was causing him. Then his voice floated across to me as he addressedLa Fosse.
"You will do me the favour, monsieur, to inform your friend that thiswas no first blood combat, but one a outrance. I fence as well with myleft arm as with my right, and if Monsieur de Bardelys will do me thehonour to engage again, I shall esteem it."
La Fosse bowed and came over with the message that already we had heard.
"I fought," said I in answer, "in a spirit very different from that bywhich Monsieur de Chatellerault appears to have been actuated. He madeit incumbent upon me to afford proof of my courage. That proof I haveafforded; I decline to do more. Moreover, as Monsieur de Chatelleraulthimself must perceive, the light is failing us, and in a few minutes itwill be too dark for sword-play."
"In a few minutes there will be need for none, monsieur," shoutedChatellerault, to save time. He was boastful to the end.
"Here, monsieur, in any case, come those who will resolve the question,"I answered, pointing to the door of the inn.
As I spoke, the landlord stepped into the yard, followed by an officerand a half-dozen soldiers. These were no ordinary keepers of the peace,but musketeers of the guard, and at sight of them I knew that theirbusiness was not to interrupt a duel, but to arrest my erstwhileopponent upon a much graver charge.
The officer advanced straight to Chatellerault.
"In the King's name, Monsieur le Comte," said he. "I demand your sword."
It may be that at bottom I was still a man of soft heart, unfeelingcynic though they accounted me; for upon remarking the misery andgloom that spread upon Chatellerault's face I was sorry for him,notwithstanding the much that he had schemed against me. Of whathis fate would be he could have no shadow of doubt. He knew--nonebetter--how truly the King loved me, and how he would punish suchan attempt as had been made upon my life, to say nothing of theprostitution of justice of which he had been guilty, and for which alonehe had earned the penalty of death.
He stood a moment with bent head, the pain of his arm possibly forgottenin the agony of his spirit. Then, straightening himself suddenly, witha proud, half scornful air, he looked the officer straight between theeyes.
"You desire my sword, monsieur?" he inquired.
The musketeer bowed respectfully.
"Saint-Eustache, will you do me the favour to give it to me?"
And while the Chevalier picked up the rapier from the ground where ithad been flung, that man waited with an outward calm for which at themoment I admired him, as we must ever admire a tranquil bearing in onesmitten by a great adversity. And than this I can conceive fewgreater. He had played for much, and he had lost everything. Ignominy,degradation, and the block were all that impended for him in this world,and they were very imminent.
He took the sword from the Chevalier. He held it for a second by thehilt, like one in thought, like one who is resolving upon something,whilst the musketeer awaited his good pleasure with that deference whichall gentle minds must accord to the unfortunate.
Still holding his rapier, he raised his eyes for a second and let themrest on me with a grim malevolence. Then he uttered a short laugh, and,shrugging his shoulders, he transferred his grip to the blade, as ifabout to offer the hilt to the officer. Holding it so, halfway betwixtpoint and quillons, he stepped suddenly back, and before any there couldput forth a hand to stay him, he had set the pummel on the ground andthe point at his breast, and so dropped upon it and impaled himself.
A cry went up from every throat, and we sprang towards him. He rolledover on his side, and with a grin of exquisite pain, yet in words ofunconquerable derision "You may have my sword now, Monsieur l'Officier,"he said, and sank back, swooning.
With an oath, the musketeer stepped forward. He obeyed Chatellerault tothe letter, by kneeling beside him and carefully withdrawing the sword.Then he ordered a couple of his men to take up the body.
"Is he dead?" asked some one; and some one else replied, "Not yet, buthe soon will be."
Two of the musketeers bore him into the inn and laid him on the floor ofthe very room in which, an hour or so ago, he had driven a bargain withRoxalanne. A cloak rolled into a pillow was thrust under his head,and there we left him in charge of his captors, the landlord,Saint-Eustache, and La Fosse the latter inspired, I doubt not, by thatmorbidity which is so often a feature of the poetic mind, and whichimpelled him now to witness the death-agony of my Lord of Chatellerault.
Myself, having resumed my garments, I disposed myself to repair at onceto the Hotel de l'Epee, there to seek Roxalanne, that I might set herfears and sorrows at rest, and that I might at last make my confession.
As we stepped out into the street, where the dusk was now thickening,I turned to Castelroux to inquire how Saint-Eustache came intoChatellerault's company.
"He is of the family of the Iscariot, I should opine," answered theGascon. "As soon as he had news that Chatellerault was come to Languedocas the King's Commissioner, he repaired to him to offer his servicesin the work of bringing rebels to justice. He urged that his thoroughacquaintance with the province should render him of value to the King,as also that he had had particular opportunities of becoming acquaintedwith many treasonable dealings on the part of men whom the State was farfrom suspecting."
"Mort Dieu!" I cried, "I had suspected something of such a nature. Youdo well to call him of the family of the Iscariot. He is more so thanyou imagine: I have knowledge of this--ample knowledge. He wasuntil lately a rebel himself, and himself a follower of Gastond'Orleans--though of a lukewarm quality. What reasons have driven him tosuch work, do you know?"
"The same reason that impelled his forefather, Judas of old. The desireto enrich himself. For every hitherto unsuspected rebel that shall bebrought to justice and whose treason shall be proven by his agency, heclaims the half of that rebel's confiscated estates."
"Diable!" I exclaimed. "And does the Keeper of the Seals sanction this?"
"Sanction it? Saint-Eustache holds a commission, has a free hand and acompany of horse to follow him in his rebel-hunting."
"Has he done much so far?" was my next question.
"He has reduced half a dozen noblemen and their families. The wealth hemust thereby have amassed should be very considerable, indeed."
"To-morrow, Castelroux, I will see the King in connection with thispretty gentleman, and not only shall we find him a dungeon deep anddank, but we shall see that he disgorges his blood-money."
"If you can prove his treason you will be doing blessed work," returnedCastelroux. "Until tomorrow, then, for here is the Hotel de l'Epee."
From the broad doorway of an imposing building a warm glow of lightissued out and spread itself fanwise across the ill-paved street.In this--like bats about a lamp--flitted the black figures of gapingurchins and other stragglers, and into this I now passed, having takenleave of my companions.
I mounted the steps and I was about to cross the threshold, whensuddenly above a burst of laughter that greeted my ears I caught thesound of a singularly familiar voice. This seemed raised at present toaddress such company as might be within. One moment of doubt had I--forit was a month since last I had heard those soft, unctuous accents.Then I was assured that the voice I heard was, indeed, the voice ofmy stewar
d Ganymede. Castelroux's messenger had found him at last, itseemed, and had brought him to Toulouse.
I was moved to spring into the room and greet that old retainer forwhom, despite the gross and sensuous ways that with advancing years wereclaiming him more and more, I had a deep attachment. But even as I wason the point of entering, not only his voice, but the very words thathe was uttering floated out to my ears, and they were of a quality thatheld me there to play the hidden listener for the second time in my lifein one and the same day.