Book: An Enemy To The King

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Presently came the crack of an arquebus, and spattering sounds behind me
told me where the shot had struck the water. I turned to swim upon my
left side, and so I got a glimpse of the quay that I had left. By the
hurried movement of torches, I saw that the body that had gone to patrol
the river bank was returning to rejoin the other force. Of the latter,
several men were unmooring and manning a large boat. I turned on my back
to have a look at the sky. I saw that very soon a heavy mass of black
cloud would obscure the moon. At once I turned, and made towards the left
bank, as if not intending to pass the chain. I could hear the men in the
boat speaking rapidly at this, as if commenting on my change of course.
Again looking back, I saw that the boat had pushed off, and was making
towards that point on the left bank for which I seemed to be aiming. And
now I had something else to claim my attention: the sound of voices came
from the Tour de Nesle. I cast a glance thither. A troop of the watch was
out at last, having taken the alarm from the movements on the right bank.
This troop from the Tour de Nesle was moving towards the place for which
I seemed to be making; hence it was giving its attention solely to that
part of the left bank which was inside the fortifications. I felt a
thrill of exultation. The moon passed under the clouds. I changed my
course, and struck out for the chain. The light of the torches did not
reach me. Both the boat from the right bank and the watch from the Tour
de Nesle continued to move towards the same point. I approached the
chain, took a long breath, dived, felt the stifling embrace of the waters
for a season, rose to the surface, breathed the air of heaven again, and
cast a look behind. The chain stretched between me and the distant boat
and torches. I was out of Paris.

I swam on, past the mouth of the Paris moat, and then made for the left
bank. Exhaustion seized me as I laid hold of the earth, but I had
strength to clamber up. I fell into a sitting posture and rested my tired
arms and legs. What pains of cold and heat I felt I cannot describe.
Presently, with returning breath, came the strength to walk,--a strength
of which I would have to avail myself, not only that I might put distance
between myself and Paris, but also to keep my wet clothes from freezing.
I rose and started.

Choosing not to follow the left bank of the Seine, which was unknown
territory to me, I turned southeastward, in the hope of finding the road
by which I had entered Paris. To reach this, I had but to traverse the
Faubourg St. Germaine, along the line of the wall of Paris. I had already
gone some distance along the outer edge of the moat, with the sleeping
faubourg on my right, when I heard, behind me, the sound of men treading
a bridge. I looked back. The bridge was that which crossed the moat from
the Tour de Nesle.

Had the guards at last discovered my way of eluding pursuit, and was I
now being sought outside the walls? It appeared so, for, after crossing
the moat, the troop divided into two bodies, one of which went toward the
left bank below the chain, where I had landed, while the other came along
the moat after me. I began to run. The moon came out again.

"Look! he is there!" cried one of my pursuers. I heard their footsteps on
the frozen earth,--they, too, were running. But I had the advantage in
one respect: I had no weapons to impede me. The coming out of the moon
did not throw me into despair; it only increased my determination to make
good the escape I had carried so far. Though nature, herself, became the
ally of the King of France and the Duke of Guise against me, I would
elude them. I was filled with hate and resolution.

Suddenly, as I ran, it occurred to me that I was a fool to keep so near
the fortifications, for, at any of the gates, guards might emerge,
alarmed by the shouts of my pursuers; and even as I thought this, I
looked ahead and saw a number of halberdiers coming from the Porte St.
Germaine. My situation was now as it had been on the quay, with this
disadvantage, that I was seen by my enemies, and this advantage, that I
had a way of retreat open on my right; and I turned and sped along a
street of the Faubourg St. Germaine, towards the country.

It matters not how many pursue you, if you can run faster and longer
than the best of them all. Gradually, as I went, panting and plunging,
onward, heedless of every obstacle, I increased the distance between me
and the cries behind. Soon I was out of the faubourg, but I did not stop.
I do not know what ground I went over, save that I went southward, or
what village I presently went through, save that it was silent and
asleep. I came upon a good road, at last, and followed it, still running,
though a pain in my side warned me that soon I must halt. All my hunters
had abandoned the chase now but one. Every time I half turned for a
backward look, I saw this one coming after me. He had dropped his
weapons, and so had enabled himself to keep up the chase. Not being
weakened by a previous swim in the Seine, he was in better form than I,
and I knew that he would catch me in time. And what then? He was a large
fellow, but since the struggle must come, I would better let it come ere
I should be utterly exhausted. So I pretended to stagger and lurch
forward, and presently came to my knees and then prone upon the ground.
With a grunt of triumph, the man rushed up to me, caught me by the collar
of my doublet, and raised me from the ground. Hanging limp, and
apparently senseless, I put him quite off his guard.

"Stand up!" he cried. "Stomach of the Pope! Have I come so far only to
take a dead man back?"

While he was trying to make me stand, I suddenly gathered all my energy
into my right arm and gave him a quick blow in the pit of the stomach.
With a fearful howl, he let me go and fell upon his knees. A blow in the
face then made him drop as limp as I had pretended to be; and I resumed
my flight, this time at a more leisurely pace.

And now all my physical powers seemed to be leaving me. Pains racked my
head, and I seemed at one time to freeze and burn all over, at another
time to freeze in one part and burn in another. I ached in my muscles, my
bones, my stomach. At every step, I felt that it was vastly difficult to
take another, that it would be ineffably sweet to sink down upon the
earth and rest. Yet I knew that one taste of that sweetness meant death,
and I was determined not to lose a life that had been saved from so great
peril by so great effort. Despite all the soldiers at their command, the
King of France and the Duke of Guise should not have their will with me.
At last,--I know not how far from Paris,--I came to an inn. There were
still a few crowns in my pocket. Forgetting the danger from which I had
fled, not thinking that it might overtake me here, feeling only the need
of immediate shelter and rest, I pounded on the door until I got
admittance. I have never had any but the vaguest recollection of my
installation at that inn, so near to insensibility I was when I fell
against its door. I have a dim memory of having exchanged a few words
with a sleepy, stolid host; of being glad of the darkness of the night,
for it prevented him from noticing my wet, frozen, begrimed, bedraggled,
half-dead condition; of my bargaining for the sole occupancy of a room;
of his leading me up a winding stairway to a chamber; of my plunging from
the threshold to the bed as soon as the door was opened. I slept for
several hours. When I awoke, it was about noon, and I was very hungry and
thirsty. My clothes had dried upon me, and I essayed to put them into a
fairly presentable condition. I found within my doublet the four letters,
which had been first soaked and then stiffened. The now useless one
addressed to the Abbot Foulon, I destroyed; then I went down to the
kitchen, and saw, with relief, that it was empty. I ate and drank
hurriedly but ravenously. Again the fear of capture, the impulse to put
Paris further and further behind, awoke in me. I bought a peasant's cap
from the landlord, telling him that the wind had blown my hat into the
river the previous night, and set forth. It was my intention to walk to
La Tournoire, that my money might last. Afoot I could the better turn
from the road and conceal myself in woods or fields, at any intimation
of pursuit. At La Tournoire, I would newly equip myself with clothes,
weapons, horse, and money; and thence I would ride to Angers, and finally
away, southward, to Nerac.

It was a fine, sunlit day when I stepped from the inn to take the road
going southward. I had not gone four steps when I heard horses coming
from the north. I sought the shelter of a shed at the side of the inn.
There was a crack between two boards of this shed, through which I could
look. The horses came into sight, ten of them. The riders were
brown-faced men, all armed with swords and pistols, and most of them
having arquebusses slung over their backs. Their leader was a large,
broad, black-bearded man, with a very ugly red face, deeply scarred on
the forehead, and with fierce black eyes. He and his men rode up to the
inn, beat on the door, and, when the host came, ordered each a
stirrup-cup. When the landlord brought the wine, the leader asked him
some questions in a low tone. The landlord answered stupidly, shaking his
head, and the horsemen turned to resume their journey. Just as they did
so, there rode up, from the south, a merry-looking young cavalier
followed by two mounted servants. This newcomer gaily hailed the
ill-looking leader of the troop from the north with the words:

"Ah, M. Barbemouche, whither bound, with your back towards Paris?"

"For Anjou, M. de Berquin," growled the leader.

"What!" said the other, with a grin. "Have you left the Duke of Guise to
take service with the Duke of Anjou?"

"No, M. le Vicomte," said the leader. "It is neither for nor against the
Duke of Anjou that we go into his province. It is to catch a rascal who
may be now on the way to hide on his estate there, and whom my master,
the Duke of Guise, would like to see back in Paris."

"Indeed? Who is it that has given the Duke of Guise so great a desire for
his company?"

"The Sieur de la Tournoire," replied Barbemouche. "Have you met him on
the road?"

"I have never heard of him, before," said the young cavalier,
indifferently; and he rode on northward, while Barbemouche and his men
silently took the opposite direction.

He had never heard of me, as he said, nor I of him; yet he was to know
much of me at a time to come, was the Vicomte de Berquin; and so was
Barbemouche, the scowling man who was now riding towards Anjou in
search of me.




CHAPTER VI.

HOW HE FLED SOUTHWARD


When one is pursued, one's best course is to pursue the pursuer. So, when
M. Barbemouche and his troop of Guisards had gone some distance down the
road, I came forth from the shed and followed them, afoot, keeping well
to the roadside, ready to vanish, should any of them turn back. It was
evident that Barbemouche had little or no hope of catching me on the
road. His plan was to surprise me at my château, or to lie there in wait
for me. He had not shown any persistence in questioning the landlord. The
latter, through laziness or sheer stupidity, or a fear of incurring blame
for having sheltered a fugitive, had not given him any information that
might lead him to suspect that the man he was seeking was so near. So I
could follow, in comparative safety, into Anjou.

Their horses constantly increased the distance between the Guise
man-hunters and me, their desired prey. In a few hours they were out of
sight. Thus they would arrive at La Tournoire long before I could. Not
finding me there, they would probably put the servants under restraint,
and wait in ambush for me. Several days of such waiting, I said to
myself, would exhaust their patience; thereupon, they would give up the
hope of my seeking refuge at La Tournoire, and would return to their
master. My best course, therefore, would be to take my time on the road,
to be on the alert on coming near La Tournoire, and to lie in hiding
until I should be assured of their departure. In order to consume as much
time as I could, and to wear out the enemy's patience without putting my
own to the test, I decided to go first to Angers, deliver Marguerite's
letters to Monsieur and Bussy d'Amboise, and then make for La Tournoire.
Therefore, when, after a few days of walking, I came to LeMans, I did not
turn southward, towards La Tournoire, but followed the Sarthe
southwestward to Angers.

On this journey, I skirted Rambouillet, Anneau, and the other towns in my
way, and avoided large inns, for fear of coming up with the Guise party.
I made my money serve, too, by purchasing cheaply the hospitality of
farmers and woodmen. My youth had withstood well the experiences
attending my escape from Paris, and enabled me to fare on the coarse food
of the peasantry. There was plenty of healthy blood in my veins to keep
me warm. Outside of my doublet, my shoulders had no covering but the
light mantle, of which I was now glad that I had been unable to rid
myself in my swim down the Seine. People who saw me, with my rumpled
clothes and shapeless ruff and peasant's cap, probably took me for a
younger son who had endured hard fortune.

Such was my condition when I reached Angers and presented myself at the
gate of the château wherein the Duke of Anjou had taken residence. There
were many soldiers in and about the town, and horsemen were arriving and
departing. I might not easily have obtained audience of the Duke, had not
Bussy d'Amboise ridden up at the head of a small troop of horse, while I
was waiting at the gate. I called out his name, and he recognized me,
showing surprise at my appearance. I gave him his letter, and he had me
conducted to the Duke, who was striding up and down the hall of the
château. His mind was evidently preoccupied, perhaps already with fears
as to the outcome of his rebellious step, and he did not look at me when
he took the letter. His face brightened, though, when he saw the
inscription in Marguerite's handwriting, and he went, immediately, to a
window to read the letter. Bussy d'Amboise, who had dismounted and come
in with me, now beckoned me to follow him, and when we were outside, he
offered to supply me with a horse, money and arms, proposing that I enter
the service of the Duke of Anjou. But I told him that I was bound for
Gascony, and when he still offered me some equipment, I protested that I
would refurnish myself at my own château; so he let me go my way. I could
see that he was in haste to break the seal of Marguerite's letter.

I had gone two leagues or more northward from Angers, and was about to
turn eastward toward La Tournoire, when I saw a long and brilliant
cortege approaching from the direction of Paris. Several men-at-arms
were at the head, then came a magnificent litter, then a number of
mounted ladies and gentlemen, followed by a host of lackeys, a number of
mules with baggage, and another body of soldiers. This procession was
winding down the opposite hillside. The head of it was already crossing
the bridge over a stream that coursed through the valley toward the
Sarthe. Slowly it came along the yellow road, the soldiers and gentlemen
holding themselves erect on their reined-in horses, the ladies chatting
or laughing, and looking about the country, the wind stirring the plumes
and trappings, the sunlight sparkling on the armor and halberds of the
guards, the sword-hilts of the gentlemen, the jewels and rich stuffs
which shone in the attire of the riders. There were velvet cloaks and
gowns; satin and silk doublets, breeches, and hose; there were cloth of
gold and cloth of silver. Here and there the cavalcade passed clumps of
trees that lined the road, and it was then like pictures you have seen
in tapestry.

Concealment had lately become an instinctive act with me, and I now
sought refuge in the midst of some evergreen bushes, at a little distance
from the road, from which I could view the cavalcade as it passed. On it
came, the riders throwing back their shoulders as they filled their lungs
with the bracing country air. The day was a mild one for the time of
year, and the curtains of the litter were open. Inside sat a number of
ladies. With a start, I recognized two of the faces. One was Mlle.
d'Arency's; the other was the Queen-mother's. Mlle. d'Arency was
narrating something, with a derisive smile, to Catherine, who listened
with the slightest expression of amusement on her serene face.

Catherine was going to try to persuade her son, the Duke of Anjou, to
give up his insurrectionary designs and return to the court of his
brother. I guessed this much, as I lay hidden in the bushes, and I
heartily wished her failure. As for Mlle. d'Arency, I have no words for
the bitterness of my thoughts regarding her. I grated my teeth together
as I recalled how even circumstance itself had aided her. She could have
had no assurance that in the combat planned by her I should kill De
Noyard, or that he would not kill me, and yet what she had desired had
occurred. When the troop had passed, I arose and started for La
Tournoire. It seemed to me that a sufficient number of days had now
passed to tire the patience of Barbemouche, and that I might now visit my
château for the short time necessary.

Nevertheless, it was with great caution that I approached the
neighborhood in which all my life, until my departure for Paris, had been
passed. At each bend of the road, I stopped and listened before going on.
When I entered a piece of woods, I searched, with my eyes, each side of
the road ahead, for a possible ambush. When I approached the top of a
hill, it was with my ears on the alert for the sound of horsemen or of
human feet, and, when I reached the crest, I found some spot where, lying
on my stomach or crouching behind underbrush, I could survey the lowland
ahead. And so, meeting no indication of peril, treading familiar and
beloved ground, I at last reached the hill-top from which I would have my
long-expected view of La Tournoire. It was just sunset; with beating
heart, I hastened forward, risking something in my eagerness to look
again upon the home of my fathers. I gazed down, ready to feast my eyes
on the dear old tower, the peaceful garden, the--

And I saw only a smouldering pile of ruins, not one stone of my château
left upon another, save a part of the stables, before which, heeding the
desolation no more than crows are repelled by the sight of a dead body,
sat M. Barbemouche and two of his men throwing dice. Only one tree was
left in the garden, and from one of its limbs hung the body of a man,
through which a sword was thrust. By the white hair of the head, I knew
the body was that of old Michel.

So this was the beginning of the revenge of the Duke of Guise upon a poor
gentleman for having eluded him; thus he demonstrated that a follower of
his might not be slain with impunity. And the Duke must have had the
assurance of the King that this deed would be upheld; nay, probably the
King, in his design of currying favor with his powerful subject, had
previously sanctioned this act, or even suggested it, that the Duke might
have no ground for suspecting him of protecting me.

Grief at the sight of the home of my youth, the house of my ancestors,
laid low, gave way to rage at the powerful ones to whom that sight was
due,--the Duke who despoiled me, the King who had not protected me, the
Queen as whose unknowing tool I had made myself liable to this outrage.
As I stood on that hill-top, in the dusk, and looked down on the ruins of
my château, I declared myself, until death, the enemy to that Queen, that
Duke, and that King,--most of all to that King; for, having saved the
life of his favorite, having taken humble service in his Guards, and
having received from him a hinted promise of advancement, I had the
right to expect from him a protection such as he gave every day to
worthless brawlers.

At nightfall, I went to the hovel of a woodman, on whose fidelity I knew
I could depend. At my call, he opened the door of his little hut, and
received me with surprise and joy. With him was a peasant named
Frolichard.

"Then you are alive, monsieur?" cried the woodman, closing the door after
me, and making for me a seat on his rude bed.

"As you see," I replied. "I have come to pass the night in your hut.
To-morrow I shall be off for the south."

"Alas, you have seen what they have done! I knew nothing of it until
Michel was dead, and the servants came fleeing through the woods. They
have gone, I know not where, and the tenants, too. All but Frolichard. As
yet, the soldiers have not found this hut."

By questioning him, I learned that M. Barbemouche had denounced me as a
heretic and a traitor (I could see how my desertion from the French
Guards might be taken as implying intended rebellion and treason), and
had told Michel that my possessions were confiscated. What authority he
pretended to have, I could not learn. It was probably in wrath at not
finding me that he had caused the destruction of my château, to make
sure that it might not in any circumstances shelter me again.

I well knew that, whatever my rights might be, my safety lay far from La
Tournoire; and so did my means of retaliation.

"If I had but a horse and a sword left!" I said.

"There is a horse which I have been using, in my shed," replied the
forester; "and I made one of the servants leave here the swords that he
was carrying away in his flight. Moreover, he had filled a bag with
crowns from Michel's strong box. So you need not leave entirely
unprovided."

I thanked the faithful fellow as he brought forth the swords and the
little bag of gold pieces from under his bed, and then I lay down to
sleep. The peasant Frolichard was already dozing in a corner by the fire.

I was awakened suddenly by a shake of the shoulder. The woodman stood by
the bed, with every sign of alarm on his face.

"Monsieur," he whispered, "I fear you would best eat and begone. That
cursed rascal, Frolichard, left while I was asleep. I am sure that the
devil has been too much for him. He has probably gone to tell the
soldiers that you are here. Eat, monsieur!"

I sprang up, and saw that the forester had already prepared some
porridge for me.

"It is nearly dawn," he added, as I looked around I swallowed a few
mouthfuls of the porridge, and chose the better one of the swords. Then I
took up the little bag of golden crowns, and went out to mount horse. The
animal that the woodman held for me was a sorry one, the ugliest and
oldest of my stable.

Yet I rode blithely through the woods, happy to have again a horse
under me, and a sword at my side. I knew that the forester could take
care of himself as long as there should remain woods to hunt in or
streams to fish in.

When I reached, the road it was daylight. I made for the hill-top, and
stopped for a last look at my fields. I did not have to hesitate as to my
course. In my doublet was Marguerite's letter, to be borne to the King of
Navarre. Yet there was another reason why I should not attach myself to
the Duke of Anjou, although he was already in rebellion against the King:
the look on his face, when I saw him at Angers, had convinced me that he
would not hold out. Should Catherine not win him back to allegiance, his
own weakness would. I would place my hopes in the future of Henri of
Navarre. Nothing could, as yet, be predicted with assurance concerning
this Prince, who, being the head of the house of Bourbon, which
constituted the younger branch of the Royalty of France, was the highest,
by blood, of the really Huguenot leaders. Some, however, whispered that
there was more in him than appeared in his amours and his adventures of
the chase.

I was just about to turn my horse's head towards the south, when a man
came out of my half-ruined stable and looked up at me. Instantly he
called to some one in the stable, and two or three other soldiers came
out. I recognized the burly form of one of these as that of Barbemouche.
Another figure, a limp and cringing one, was that of Frolichard the
peasant. Barbemouche gave some orders, and two or three brought horses
out of the stable. I knew what all this meant.

I turned my horse, and galloped off towards the south. In a few moments I
heard the footfalls of galloping horses behind me. Again I was the object
of a chase.

When I had gone some distance, I looked back and saw my hunters coming,
ten of them, down the hillside behind me. But the morning was bracing,
and my horse had more life in him than at first sight appeared. I put
another hill behind me, but in time my followers appeared at its crest.
Now they gained on me, now I seemed to leave them further behind. All day
this race continued. I bore directly southward, and hence passed far east
of Angers. I soon made up my mind that M. Barbemouche was a man of
persistence. I did not stop anywhere for food or drink. Neither did M.
Barbemouche. I crossed the Loire at Saumur. So did he.

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