The Abbess Of Vlaye

  CHAPTER VIII.

  FATHER ANGEL.

  As he groped his way towards the door, he came into contact withRoger, who was also making for it. Roger gripped him and tried to holdhim. "Is there no other way?" the lad muttered. The situation appalledhim. "No other way? You are no match for him!"

  "That we shall see!" the stranger retorted curtly.

  "Then I shall help you!" the lad declared.

  "Would you take on another of them?" the stranger answered eagerly."But no, you are over young for it! You are over young by your voice."Then, as the key grated in the lock, "Stand at my back if you will,"he continued, "and if they--would play me foul, it may serve. But Ishall give him brief occasion! You will see a pretty thing, my lad."

  Crash! The door was forced open, letting a flood of smoky light intothe dark place. He who had opened the door, Ampoule himself, strodeback, when he had done it, across the wooden bridge, and flinging ahoarse taunt, a "Come if you dare!" over his shoulder, swaggered tothe farther end of the hollow space which the men had formed byranging themselves in three lines; the bridge and moat forming thefourth. One in every three or four held up a blazing firebrand,plucked from the flames; the light of which, falling on theintervening space, rendered it as clear as in the day.

  The stranger, a little to Roger's surprise, but less to the surpriseof Ampoule's comrades, did not obey the summons with much alacrity. Hewaited in the doorway, accustoming his eyes to the light, and the lad,whose heart overflowed with pity and apprehension--for he could notthink his ally a match for Ampoule's skill and strength--had time tomark the weird mingling of glare and shadow, and to wonder if thislurid space encircled by unreal buildings were indeed the peacefulcourtyard which he had known from childhood. Meanwhile Ampoule waiteddisdainfully at the other end of the lists, and as one who scarcelyexpected his adversary to appear made his blade whistle in the air.Or, in turn, to show how lightly he held the situation, he aimedplayful thrusts at the legs of the man who stood nearest, and whoskipped to escape them.

  "Must we fetch you out, dirty rogue?" he cried, after a minute ofthis. "Or----"

  "Oh, _tace_! _tace!_" the stranger answered in a peevish tone. Heshowed himself on the drawbridge, and with an air of great cautionbegan to cross it. He still wore his mask. "You are more anxious thanmost to reach the end of your life," he continued in the samequerulous tone. "You are ready?"

  "Ready, when you please!" Ampoule retorted fuming. "It is not I----"

  "Who hang back?" the stranger answered. As he spoke he stepped fromthe end of the bridge like a man stepping into cold water. He evenseemed to hold himself ready to flee if attacked too suddenly. "Butyou are sure you are ready now?" he queried. "Quite ready? Do not letme"--with a backward glance--"take you by surprise!"

  Ampoule began to think that it would not be without trouble he woulddraw his adversary within reach. The duels of those days, be itremembered, were not formal. Often men fought without seconds;sometimes in full armour, sometimes in their shirts. Advantages thatwould now be deemed dishonourable were taken by the most punctilious.So, to lure on his man and show his own contempt for the affair,Ampoule tossed up his sword, and caught it again by the hilt. "I'mready!" he said. He came forward three paces, and again tossing up hissword, recovered it.

  But the masked man seemed to be unwilling to quit the shelter of thedrawbridge; so unwilling that Roger, who had taken up his position onthe bridge behind him, felt his cheek grow hot. His ally had provedhimself such a master of tongue fence as he had never imagined. Washe, ready as he had been to provoke the quarrel, of those who blenchwhen the time comes to make good the taunt?

  It seemed so. For the stranger still hung undecided, a foot as it wereeither way. "You are sure that I should not now take you by surprise?"he babbled, venturing at length a couple of paces in the direction ofthe foe--but glancing behind between his steps.

  "I am quite sure," Ampoule answered scornfully, "that I see before mea poltroon and a coward!"

  The word was still on his lips, when like a tiger-cat, like that whichin all the world is most swift to move, like, if you will, the wildboar that will charge an army, the mask darted rather than ran uponhis opponent. But at the same time with an incredible lightness.Before Ampoule could place himself in the best posture, before hecould bring his sword-point to the level, or deal one of those famous"_estramacons_" which he had been wasting on the empty air, the otherwas within his guard, they were at close quarters, the advantage ofthe bigger man's length of arm was gone. How it went after that, whostruck, who parried, not the most experienced eye could see. So quickon one another, so furious, so passionate were the half-dozen blowsthe masked man dealt, that the clearest vision failed to follow them.It was as if a wild cat, having itself nine lives, had launched itselfat Ampoule's throat, and gripped, and stabbed, and struck, and in tenseconds borne him to the ground, falling itself with him. But whereasin one second the masked man was up again and on his guard, Ampoulerose not. A few twitches of the limbs, a stifled groan, an arm flungwide, a gasp, and as he had seen many another pass, through the gateby which he had sent not a few, Ampoule passed himself. Of so thin atexture is the web of life, and so slight the thing that suffices totear it. Had the masked stranger ridden another road that night, hadhe been a little later, had he been a little sooner; had the trooperrefrained from his jest or the men from the wine-pot, had Roger kepthis distance, or the arrow-slit looked another way--had any one ofthese chance occasions fallen other than it fell, Ampoule had lived,and others perchance had died by his hand!

  All passed, it has been said, with incredible swiftness; the attack sofurious, the end a lightning-stroke. Roger on the bridge awoke from adoubt of his ally's courage to see a whirl, a blow, a fall; and thenon the ground ill-lighted and indistinct--for half the men had droppedtheir lights in their excitement--he saw a grim picture, a man dying,and another crouching a pace from him, watching with shortened pointand bent knees for a possible uprising.

  But none came; Ampoule had lived. And presently, still watchingcautiously, the mask raised himself and dropped his point. A shiver, agroan passed round the square. A single man swore aloud. Finally threeor four, shaking off the stupor of amazement, moved forwards, and withtheir eyes assured themselves that their officer was dead.

  At that Roger, still looking on as one fascinated, shook himselfawake, in fear for his principal. He expected that an attack would bemade on the masked man. None was made, however, no one raised hand orvoice. But as he moved towards him, to support him were it needful,the unexpected happened. The unknown tottered a pace or two, leant amoment on his sword-point, swayed, and slowly sank down on the ground.

  With a cry of despair Roger sprang to him, and by the gloomy light ofthe three brands which still remained ablaze, he saw that blood waswelling fast from a wound in the masked man's shoulder. Ampoule hadpassed, but not without his toll.

  Roger forgot the danger. Kneeling, following his instinct, he took thefainting man's head on his shoulder. But he was helpless in hisignorance; he knew not how to aid him. And it was one of the troopers,late his enemies, who, kneeling beside him, quickly and deftly cutaway the breast of the injured man's shirt, and with a piece of linen,doubled and redoubled, staunched the flow of blood. The others stoodround the while, one or two lending a light, their fellows looking onin silence. Roger, even in his distress, wondered at their attitude.It would not have surprised him if the men had fallen on the strangerand killed him out of hand. Instead they bent over the wounded manwith looks of curiosity; with looks gloomy indeed, but in which aweand admiration had their part. Presently at his back a man muttered.

  "The devil, or a Joyeuse!" he said. "No other, I'll be sworn!"

  No one answered, but the man who was dressing the wound lifted theunknown's hand and silently showed a ring set with stones that even bythat flickering and doubtful light dazzled the eye. They were stonessuch as Roger had never seen, and he fancied that they must be o
finestimable value.

  "Ay, ay!" the man who had spoken muttered. "I thought it was so when Isaw him join! I mind his brother, the day he died, taking two of hisown men so, and--pouf! I saw him drown an hour after, and he took thewater just so, cursing and swearing; but the Tarn was too strong forhim."

  "That was Duke Antony?" a second whispered.

  "Antony Scipio."

  "I never saw him," the second speaker answered softly. "Duke Anne atCoutras--I saw him die; and des Ageaux, that is now Governor ofPerigord, got just such a wound as that in trying to save him."

  "Pouf! All the world knew _him!_" he who had first spoken rejoinedwith the scorn of superior knowledge. "But"--to the man who wasbinding up the hurt, and who had all but finished his task--"you hadbetter look and make sure that we shall not have our trouble fornothing."

  The trooper nodded and began to feel for the fastening of the mask,which was of strong silk on a stiff frame. Roger raised his hand toprevent him, but as quickly repressed the impulse. The men were savingthe man's life, and had a right to learn who he was. Besides, sooneror later, the thing must come off.

  Its removal was not easy. But at length the man found the catch, itgave way, and the morsel of black fell and disclosed the pale,handsome face of an effeminate, fair-haired man of about thirty. "Ay,it is he! It is he, sure enough!" went around the circle, with hereand there an oath of astonishment.

  "Has any one a mouthful of Armagnac?" the impromptu surgeon asked."No, not wine. There now, gently between his lips. When he hasswallowed a little we must lift him into the house. He will do well, Ithink."

  "But," Roger asked, after in vain interrogating their faces with hiseyes, "who is it? Who it is, if you please? You know him?"

  "Ay, we know him," the trooper answered sententiously. And, rising tohis feet, he looked about him. "Best close that gate," he said,raising his voice. "If his people be on his track, as is likely, andcome on us before we can make it clear, it may be awkward! See to it,some of you. And do you, Jasper, take horse and tell the Captain, andget his orders."

  Two or three of the men, whom the event had most sobered, strodeacross the court to do his bidding. Roger looked from one to anotherof those who remained. "But who is he?" he asked. His curiosity waspiqued, the more sharply as it was evident that the presence of thisman who lay before him, wounded and unconscious, altered, in somefashion, the whole position.

  "Who is he?" the former spokesman answered roughly. "Father Angel, tobe sure! You have heard of him, I suppose, young sir?"

  "Father Angel?" Roger repeated incredulously. "A priest? Impossible!"

  "Well, a monk."

  "A monk?"

  "Ay, and a marshal for the matter of that!" the trooper rejoinedimpatiently. "Here, lift him, you! Gently, gently! Man, it is the Dukeof Joyeuse," he continued, addressing Roger. "You have heard of him, Itake it? Now, step together, men, and you won't shake him! We must layhim in the dining-hall. He will do well there." And again to Roger,who walked with him behind the bearers, "If you don't believe me, seehere," he said. "Tis plain enough still!" And taking a burningsplinter of wood from one of the others he held it so that the lightfell on the crown of the wounded man's head. There discernible amidthe long fair hair was the pale shadow of a tonsure.

  "Father Angel?" Roger repeated in wonder, as the men bearing theirburden stepped slowly and warily on to the bridge.

  "Ay, no other! And riding on what mad errand God knows! It was anunlucky one for Ampoule. But they are all mad in that house! Coutrassaw the end of one brother, Villemar of another; there are but thisone and the Cardinal left! Look your fill," he continued, as the menunder his direction carried their burden up the three or four stepsthat led from the outer hall--where the fire Ampoule had knockedtogether still burned on the dogs--to the dining-hall. "Monk andMarshal, Duke and Capuchin, angel and devil, you'll never see the likeagain!"

  Probably his words were not far from the mark. Anne, the eldest of thefour brothers, by whom and by whose interest with King Henry the Thirdthe house had risen from mediocrity to greatness, from respectabilityto fame, had fallen at Coutras encircled by the old nobility whom hehad led to defeat. His brother, Antony Scipio, young as he was, hadtaken charge for the League in Languedoc, had pitted himself againstthe experience of Montmorency, and for a time had carried it. But hisminor successes had ended in a crushing defeat at Villemar on theTarn, and he had drowned his chagrin in its icy waters, cursing andswearing, says the old chronicler, to the last. The event had drawnfrom his monastery the singular man on whom Roger now looked, Henry,third of the brothers, third Duke of the name, the fame of whose pietywithin the cloister was only surpassed by that of his excesses in theworld; who added to an emotional temperament and its sister gift ofeloquence the feverish energy and headlong courage of his race.Snatching the sword fallen from his brother's hands, in five andtwenty months he had used it with such effect as to win from the Kingthe baton of a marshal as the price of his obedience.

  "M. de Joyeuse!" Roger muttered, as he watched them lay theunconscious man on an improvised couch in the corner. "M. de Joyeuse?It seems incredible!"

  "There is nothing credible about them," the man answered darkly. "Theold fool who keeps the gate here would try the belief of most with hisfables. But he'll never put the handle to their hatchet," with a nodof meaning. "Yet to listen to him, Charlemagne and the twelve were noton a level with his master--once! But where are you going, young sir?"in an altered tone.

  "To tell the Vicomte what has occurred," Roger answered, his hand onthe latch of the inner door--the door that led to the stairs and theupper rooms.

  "By your leave!"

  "I don't understand."

  "By your leave, I say!" the trooper answered more sharply, and in atwinkling he had intervened, turned the key in the lock and withdrawnit. "I am sorry, young sir," he continued, coolly facing about again,"but until we know what is to do, and what the Captain's ordersare--he has a trump card in his hand now, or I am mistaken--I mustkeep you here, by your leave."

  "Against my leave!"

  "As you please for that."

  "I should have though that you had had enough of keeping people!"Roger retorted angrily.

  "May-be Ampoule has," the man answered with a faint sneer. "I'll seeif I have not better luck. Come, young sir," he continued withgood-humour, "you cannot say that I have been aught but gentle so far.You've fared better with me, ay, a _mort_ better, than you'd havefared if the Captain had been here. But I don't want to have to hurtyou if it comes to blows upstairs. You are safer here looking afterthe Duke. And trust me, you'll thank me, some day."

  Roger glared at him in resentment. He felt that he who lay helpless inthe corner would have known how to deal with the man and thesituation; but, for himself, he did not. To attempt force was out ofthe question, and the trooper had withdrawn and closed the door,leaving Roger alone with the patient, before the idea of briberyoccurred to the lad. It was as well perhaps; for what was there atVilleneuve, what had they in that poverty-stricken home of such avalue as to outweigh the wrath of Vlaye? Or to corrupt men who hadseen, without daring to touch, a ring worth a King's ransom?

  Nothing, for certain, which it was in Roger's power to give. Moreover,the situation, though full of peril, seemed less desperate. The Duke'sact, if it had wrought no more, had sobered the men, and his presence,wounded as he was, was a factor Roger could not estimate. The respectwith which the men treated him when he lay at their mercy, and theircare to do the best for him, to say nothing of the feelings of awe andadmiration in which they held him--these things promised well. Thequestion was, how would his presence affect M. de Vlaye? And hispursuit of the Countess?

  Roger had no notion. The possession of the person of a prince whoruled a great part of Languedoc might touch the Captain of Vlaye--aminnow by comparison, but in his own water--in a number of ways. Itmight strengthen him in his present design, or it might turn him fromit by opening some new prospect to his ambition. Again, M. de Vlayemight treat the Du
ke in one of several modes; as an enemy, as afriend, as a hostage. He might use the occasion well or ill. He mightwork on fears or gratitude. All to Roger was dark and uncertain; asdark as the courtyard, where the flames of the huge fire had sunk low,and men by the dull glow of the red embers were removing in a cloakthe body of the unfortunate Ampoule. Ay, and as uncertain as thebreathing of the wounded man in the corner, which now seemed to stop,and now hurried weakly on.

  Roger paced the room. He did not know for certain what had become ofthe Countess, or of his sister, or of his father. He took it forgranted that they had sought the greater safety of the upper rooms. Hehad himself, earlier in the evening, suggested that if the worstthreatened they might retreat to the tower chamber, and there defendthemselves; but the Vicomte had pooh-poohed the suggestion, and thoughBonne, who persisted in expecting help from outside, had supported it,the plan had been given up. Still they were gone, and they could haveretired no other way. He listened at the locked door, hoping to hearfeet on the stairs; for they must be anxious about him. But all wasstill. His sister, the Countess, the Vicomte, might have melted intothe air--as far as he was concerned.

  And this, anxious as he was for them, vexed him. He had failed! Thelong silence that had brooded over the decaying house, the dull lifeagainst which he and his brother had fretted, were come to an end witha vengeance. But what use had he made of the opportunity? When heshould have been playing the hero upstairs, when he should have beenthe head and front of the defence, directing all, inspiring all, helay here in a locked room like a naughty child who must be shieldedfrom harm.

  A movement on the part of the sick man cut short his thoughts. TheDuke was making futile attempts to raise himself on his elbow."Ageaux! Des Ageaux!" he muttered. "You are satisfied now! I struckhim fairly."

  Roger hurried to him and leant over him. "Lie still and do not speak,"he said, hoping to soothe him.

  "We are quits now," the Duke whispered. "We are quits now. Say so,man!" he continued querulously. "I tell you Vlaye will trouble you nomore. I struck him fairly in the throat."

  "Yes, yes," Roger replied. It was evident that the Duke was ramblingin his mind, and took him for some one else. "We are quits now."

  "Quits," the wounded man muttered, as if he found some magic in thewords. And he drowsed off again into the half-sleep, half-swoon ofexhaustion.

  Roger could make nothing of it, except that the Duke had Vlaye in hismind, and fancied that it was he whom he had killed. But des Ageaux,whom he fancied he was addressing? Roger knew him by name and that hewas Governor of Perigord, a man of name and position beyond his rank.But how came he in this galley? Oh, yes. He remembered now. His namehad been mentioned in connection with the death of the eldest Joyeuseat Coutras.

  Roger snuffed the candles, and mixing a little wine with water, put itby the Duke's side. Then he wandered to the locked door, and againlistened fruitlessly. Thence, for he could not rest, he went to thewindow, where he pressed his forehead against the cool glass. The firehad sunk lower; it was now no more than an angry eye glowing in thedarkness. He could discern little by its light. No one moved, thecourtyard seemed as vacant and deserted as the house. Or no. In thedirection of the gate he caught the glint of a lanthorn and themovement of several figures, revealed for an instant and as suddenlyobscured. He continued to watch the place where the light hadvanished, and presently out of the obscurity grew a black mass thatslowly took the form of a number of men crossing the court in a silentbody, five or six abreast. The tramp of their feet, inaudible on thesoil, rumbled hollowly as they mounted the bridge, which creakedbeneath them. He caught the gleam of weapons, heard a low order given,fell back from the window. He had little doubt what they were about todo.

  He was right. The heavy, noisy entry into the outer hall had scarcelyprepared him before the door was thrown open and they filed into theroom in which he stood.

  What could he do? Resistance was out of the question. "What is it?" heasked, making a show of confronting them.

  "No matter, young sir," the man who had before taken charge answeredgruffly. "Stand you on one side and no harm will happen to you."

  "But----"

  "Stand back! Stand back!" the man answered sternly. "We are on noboy's errand!" Then to his party, "Bring the lights," he continued,and advancing to the inner door he unlocked it. "Who has the hammer?Good, do you come first with me. And let the last two stand here andkeep the door."

  He went through without more words, and disappeared up the staircase,followed by his men in single file. The two last remained on guard atthe door, and they and Roger waited in the semi-darkness listening tothe lumbering tread of the troopers as they stumbled on the woodenstairs, or their weapons clanged against the wall. Roger clenched hishands hard, vowing vengeance; but what could he do? And he had oneconsolation. Ampoule's death had sobered the men. They would executetheir orders, but the fear of outrage and excess which had dwelt onhis mind earlier in the evening no longer seemed serious.

  The sound of the men's feet on the stairs had ceased; he guessed thatthey were searching the rooms overhead. A moment later their movementsmade this clear. He heard their returning footsteps and their raisedvoices in the upper passage. They seemed to confer, and to halt for aminute undecided. Then a door, doubtless the one which led to theroof, was tried, and tried again. But in vain, for the next moment avoice cried harshly, "Open! Open!" and after an interval a crash,twice repeated, proclaimed that the hammer was being brought into use.A scrambling of hasty feet followed, and then silence--doubtless theywere crossing the roof--and then a pistol shot! One pistol shot!

  Roger glared at the men who had been left with him. They opened thedoor more widely, and stepping through seemed to listen. For a momentthe wild notion of locking the door on them, of locking the door onall, occurred to Roger. But he discarded it.