CHAPTER III. RENE DE LESPERON
That very day I set out. For since the King was opposed to the affair,and knowing the drastic measures by which he was wont to enforce what hedesired, I realized that did I linger he might find a way definitely toprevent my going.
I travelled in a coach, attended by two lacqueys and a score ofmen-at-arms in my own livery, all commanded by Ganymede. My intendanthimself came in another coach with my wardrobe and travellingnecessaries. We were a fine and almost regal cortege as we passed downthe rue de l'Enfer and quitted Paris by the Orleans gate, taking theroad south. So fine a cortege, indeed, that it entered my mind. HisMajesty would come to hear of it, and, knowing my destination, sendafter me to bring me back. To evade such a possibility, I ordereda divergence to be made, and we struck east and into Touraine. AtPont-le-Duc, near Tours, I had a cousin in the Vicomte d'Amaral, and athis chateau I arrived on the third day after quitting Paris.
Since that was the last place where they would seek me, if to seek methey were inclined, I elected to remain my cousin's guest for fifteendays. And whilst I was there we had news of trouble in the South andof a rising in Languedoc under the Duc de Montmorency. Thus was it thatwhen I came to take my leave of Amaral, he, knowing that Languedoc wasmy destination, sought ardently to keep me with him until we shouldlearn that peace and order were restored in the province. But I held thetrouble lightly, and insisted upon going.
Resolutely, then, if by slow stages, we pursued our journey, and cameat last to Montauban. There we lay a night at the Auberge de Navarre,intending to push on to Lavedan upon the morrow. My father had been onmore than friendly terms with the Vicomte de Lavedan, and upon this Ibuilt my hopes of a cordial welcome and an invitation to delay for a fewdays the journey to Toulouse, upon which I should represent myself asbound.
Thus, then, stood my plans. And they remained unaltered for all thatupon the morrow there were wild rumours in the air of Montauban. Therewere tellings of a battle fought the day before at Castelnaudary, ofthe defeat of Monsieur's partisans, of the utter rout of Gonzalo deCordova's Spanish tatterdemalions, and of the capture of Montmorency,who was sorely wounded--some said with twenty and some with thirtywounds--and little like to live. Sorrow and discontent stalked abroad inLanguedoc that day, for they believed that it was against the Cardinal,who sought to strip them of so many privileges, that Gaston d'Orleanshad set up his standard.
That those rumours of battle and defeat were true we had ample proofsome few hours later, when a company of dragoons in buff and steel rodeinto the courtyard of the Auberge de Navarre, headed by a young spark ofan officer, who confirmed the rumour and set the number ofMontmorency's wounds at seventeen. He was lying, the officer told us, atCastelnaudary, and his duchess was hastening to him from Beziers. Poorwoman! She was destined to nurse him back to life and vigour only thathe might take his trial at Toulouse and pay with his head the price ofhis rebellion.
Ganymede who, through the luxurious habits of his more recent yearshad--for all his fine swagger--developed a marked distaste for warfareand excitement, besought me to take thought for my safety and to liequietly at Montauban until the province should be more settled.
"The place is a hotbed of rebellion," he urged. "If these Chouans butlearn that we are from Paris and of the King's party, we shall have ourthroats slit, as I live. There is not a peasant in all this countrysideindeed, scarce a man of any sort but is a red-hot Orleanist,anti-Cardinalist, and friend of the Devil. Bethink you, monseigneur, topush on at the present is to court murder."
"Why, then, we will court murder," said I coldly. "Give the word tosaddle."
I asked him at the moment of setting out did he know the road toLavedan, to which the lying poltroon made answer that he did. In hisyouth he may have known it, and the countryside may have undergone sincethen such changes as bewildered him. Or it may be that fear dulled hiswits, and lured him into taking what may have seemed the safer ratherthan the likelier road. But this I know, that as night was fallingmy carriage halted with a lurch, and as I put forth my head I wasconfronted by my trembling intendant, his great fat face gleamingwhitely in the gloom above the lawn collar on his doublet.
"Why do we halt, Ganymede?" quoth I.
"Monseigneur," he faltered, his trembling increasing as he spoke, andhis eyes meeting mine in a look of pitiful contrition, "I fear we arelost."
"Lost?" I echoed. "Of what do you talk? Am I to sleep in the coach?"
"Alas, monseigneur, I have done my best--"
"Why, then, God keep us from your worst," I snapped. "Open me thisdoor."
I stepped down and looked about me, and, by my faith, a more desolatespot to lose us in my henchman could not have contrived had he been atpains to do so. A bleak, barren landscape--such as I could hardly havecredited was to be found in all that fair province--unfolded itself,looking now more bleak, perhaps, by virtue of the dim evening mist thathovered over it. Yonder, to the right, a dull russet patch of sky markedthe west, and then in front of us I made out the hazy outline of thePyrenees. At sight of them, I swung round and gripped my henchman by theshoulder.
"A fine trusty servant thou!" I cried. "Boaster! Had you told us thatage and fat living had so stunted your wits as to have extinguishedmemory, I had taken a guide at Montauban to show us the way. Yet,here, with the sun and the Pyrenees to guide you, even had you no otherknowledge, you lose yourself!"
"Monseigneur," he whimpered, "I was choosing my way by the sun and themountains, and it was thus that I came to this impasse. For you may see,yourself, that the road ends here abruptly."
"Ganymede," said I slowly, "when we return to Paris--if you do notdie of fright 'twixt this and then--I'll find a place for you in thekitchens. God send you may make a better scullion than a follower!"Then, vaulting over the wall, "Attend me, some half-dozen of you," Icommanded, and stepped out briskly towards the barn.
As the weather-beaten old door creaked upon its rusty hinges, we weregreeted by a groan from within, and with it the soft rustle of strawthat is being moved. Surprised, I halted, and waited whilst one of mymen kindled a light in the lanthorn that he carried.
By its rays we beheld a pitiable sight in a corner of that building. Aman, quite young and of a tall and vigorous frame, lay stretched uponthe straw. He was fully dressed even to his great riding-boots, andfrom the loose manner in which his back-and-breast hung now upon him,it would seem as if he had been making shift to divest himself of hisarmour, but had lacked the strength to complete the task. Beside himlay a feathered headpiece and a sword attached to a richly broideredbaldrick. All about him the straw was clotted with brown, viscouspatches of blood. The doublet which had been of sky-blue velvet was allsodden and stained, and inspection showed us that he had been wounded inthe right side, between the straps of his breastplate.
As we stood about him now, a silent, pitying group, appearing fantastic,perhaps, by the dim light of that single lanthorn, he attempted to raisehis head, and then with a groan he dropped it back upon the straw thatpillowed it. From out of a face white, as in death, and drawn withhaggard lines of pain, a pair of great lustrous blue eyes were turnedupon us, abject and pitiful as the gaze of a dumb beast that is strickenmortally.
It needed no acuteness to apprehend that we had before us one ofyesterday's defeated warriors; one who had spent his last strength increeping hither to get his dying done in peace. Lest our presenceshould add fear to the agony already upon him, I knelt beside him in theblood-smeared straw, and, raising his head, I pillowed it upon my arm.
"Have no fear," said I reassuringly. "We are friends. Do youunderstand?"
The faint smile that played for a second on his lips and lighted hiscountenance would have told me that he understood, even had I not caughthis words, faint as a sigh "Merci, monsieur." He nestled his head intothe crook of my arm. "Water--for the love of God!" he gasped, to add ina groan, "Je me meurs, monsieur."
Assisted by a couple of knaves, Ganymede went about attending to therebel at once. Handling hi
m as carefully as might be, to avoid givinghim unnecessary pain they removed his back-and-breast, which was flungwith a clatter into one of the corners of the barn. Then, whilst one ofthem gently drew off his boots, Rodenard, with the lanthorn close besidehim, cut away the fellow's doublet, and laid bare the oozing sword-woundthat gaped in his mangled side. He whispered an order to Gilles, whowent swiftly off to the coach in quest of something that he had askedfor; then he sat on his heels and waited, his hand upon the man's pulse,his eyes on his face.
I stooped until my lips were on a level with my intendant's ear.
"How is it with him?" I inquired.
"Dying," whispered Rodenard in answer. "He has lost too much blood, andhe is probably bleeding inwardly as well. There is no hope of his life,but he may linger thus some little while, sinking gradually, and we canat least mitigate the suffering of his last moments."
When presently the men returned with the things that Ganymede had askedfor, he mixed some pungent liquid with water, and, whilst a servant heldthe bowl, he carefully sponged the rebel's wound. This and a cordialthat he had given him to drink seemed to revive him and to afford himease. His breathing was no longer marked by any rasping sound, and hiseyes seemed to burn more intelligently.
"I am dying--is it not so?" he asked, and Ganymede bowed his head insilence. The poor fellow sighed. "Raise me," he begged, and when thisservice had been done him, his eyes wandered round until they found me.Then "Monsieur," he said, "will you do me a last favour?"
"Assuredly, my poor friend," I answered, going down on my knees besidehim.
"You--you were not for the Duke?" he inquired, eyeing me more keenly.
"No, monsieur. But do not let that disturb you; I have no interest inthis rising and I have taken no side. I am from Paris, on a journeyof--of pleasure. My name is Bardelys--Marcel de Bardelys."
"Bardelys the Magnificent?" he questioned, and I could not repress asmile.
"I am that overrated man."
"But then you are for the King!" And a note of disappointment creptinto his voice. Before I could make him any answer, he had resumed. "Nomatter; Marcel de Bardelys is a gentleman, and party signifies littlewhen a man is dying. I am Rene de Lesperon, of Lesperon in Gascony," hepursued. "Will you send word to my sister afterwards?"
I bowed my head without speaking.
"She is the only relative I have, monsieur. But"--and his tone grewwistful--"there is one other to whom I would have you bear a message."He raised his hand by a painful effort to the level of his breast.Strength failed him, and he sank back. "I cannot, monsieur," he said ina tone of pathetic apology. "See; there is a chain about my neck witha locket. Take it from me. Take it now, monsieur. There are some papersalso, monsieur. Take all. I want to see them safely in your keeping."
I did his bidding, and from the breast of his doublet I drew some looseletters and a locket which held the miniature of a woman's face.
"I want you to deliver all to her, monsieur."
"It shall be done," I answered, deeply moved.
"Hold it--hold it up," he begged, his voice weakening. "Let me beholdthe face."
Long his eyes rested on the likeness I held before him. At last, as onein a dream--
"Well-beloved," he sighed. "Bien aimee!" And down his grey, haggardcheeks the tears came slowly. "Forgive this weakness, monsieur," hewhispered brokenly. "We were to have been wed in a month, had I lived."He ended with a sob, and when next he spoke it was more labouredly, asthough that sob had robbed him of the half of what vitality remained."Tell her, monsieur, that my dying thoughts were of her. Tell--tellher--I--"
"Her name?" I cried, fearing he would sink before I learned it. "Tell meher name."
He looked at me with eyes that were growing glassy and vacant. Then heseemed to brace himself and to rally for a second.
"Her name?" he mused, in a far-off manner. "She is--Ma-de-moiselle de------"
His head rolled on the suddenly relaxed neck. He collapsed intoRodenard's arms.
"Is he dead?" I asked.
Rodenard nodded in silence.