Book: An Enemy To The King

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"Very well," I said. "If my horse only holds out, I will lead you all the
way to Gascony."

Once I let my horse eat and rest; twice I let him drink.

At nightfall, the sound of the hoofs behind me gradually died away. My
own beast was foaming and panting, so I reined in to a walk. Near Loudun,
I passed an inn whose look of comfort, I thought, would surely tempt my
tired pursuers to tarry, if, indeed, they should come so far. Some hours
later, coming to another and smaller inn, and hearing no sound of pursuit
behind me, I decided to stop for a few hours, or until the tramp of
horses' feet should disturb the silence of the night.

The inn kitchen, as I entered, was noisy with shouts and curses. One
might have expected to find a whole company of soldiers there, but to my
surprise, I saw only one man. This was a robust young fellow, with a big
round face, piercing gray eyes, fiercely up-sprouting red mustache, and a
double--pointed reddish beard. There was something irresistibly
pugnacious, and yet good-natured, in the florid face of this person. He
sat on a bench beside a table, forcibly detaining an inn maid with his
left arm, and holding a mug of wine in his right hand. Beside him, on the
bench, lay a sword, and in his belt was a pistol. He wore a brown cloth
doublet, brown breeches, and green hose.

"A thousand devils!" he roared, as I entered. "Must a fighting man stand
and beg for a kiss from a tavern wench? I don't believe in any of your
painted saints, wooden or ivory, but I swear by all of them, good-looking
girls are made to be hugged, and I was made to hug them! Here, you ten
times damned dog of a landlord, bring me another bottle of your filthy
wine, or I'll make a hole in your barrel of a body! Be quick, or I'll
roast you on your own spit, and burn down your stinking old inn!" At this
moment he saw me, as I stood in the doorway. "Come, monsieur!" he cried,
"I'm not fastidious, curse me, and you might drink with me if you were
the poxy old Pope himself! Here, wench, go and welcome the gentleman with
a kiss!" And he shoved the girl towards me and began to pound, in sheer
drunken turbulence, on the table with his mug.

I left the kitchen to this noisy guest, and took a room up-stairs, where
the landlord presently brought me light and supper.

I paid in advance for my night's lodging, and arranged to have access, at
any time during the night, to the shed in which was my horse, so that at
the least alarm I might make hasty flight. I opened my window, that the
sound of horses on the road might be audible to me from a distance.
Then, having eaten, I put out my light and lay down, in my clothes, ready
on occasion to rise and drop from the window, take horse, and be off.

From the kitchen, below, came frequent sounds emitted or caused by the
tipsy young Hercules in the brown doublet. Now he bellowed for wine, now
he thundered forth profanity, now he filled the place with the noise of
Gargantuan laughter; now he sang at the top or the depth of his big, full
voice; then could be heard the crash of furniture in collision. These
sounds continued until far into the night.

I had intended not to sleep, but to lie with ears alert. I could not yet
bring myself to feel that I was safe from pursuit. So used had I become
to a condition of flight, that I could not throw off the feeling of being
still pursued. And yet, I had hoped that Barbemouche would tire of the
chase. My plan had not been to confuse him as to my track, by taking
by-roads or skirting the towns, but merely to outrun him. Because I
wished to reach Nerac at the earliest possible moment, and because the
country was new to me and I desired not to lose my way, I had held to the
main road southward, being guided in direction by the sun or the stars.
Moreover, had I made detours, or skirted cities, Barbemouche might have
gone ahead by the main road and lain in wait further south for my coming
up, for Frolichard, the peasant, had heard me tell the woodman my
destination. So, in that first day's flight, I had trusted to the speed
of my horse, and now there was some reason to believe that Barbemouche
had abandoned pursuit, as the soldiers had done who chased me from Paris.
And yet, it seemed to me that this ugly Barbemouche was not one to give
up his chosen prey so soon.

Despite my intention, I feel asleep, and when I awoke it was daylight. I
sprang up and went cautiously down-stairs, sword in hand. But there was
no danger. Only the host and a servant were stirring in the inn. I made a
rapid breakfast, and went to see my horse fed. Before the shed, I saw the
young man who had made such drunken tumult in the kitchen the previous
night. He was just about to mount his horse; but there was now nothing of
the roysterer about his look or manner. He had restored neatness to his
attire, and his expression was sedate and humble, though strength and
sturdiness were as apparent in him as ever.

"A fine morning," I said, as the inn-servant brought out my own horse.

"Yes, monsieur," said the young man, in a very respectful tone. "A
sunrise like this is a gift from the good God."

"Yet you look pensive."

"It is because I know how little I deserve such mercy as to live on such
a day," answered the man, gravely; and he bowed politely, and rode
southward.

This devoutness and humility impressed me as being strangely out of
harmony with the profanity and turbulence of the night before, yet the
one seemed no less genuine than the other.

My horse fed, I mounted and rode after the sturdy youth.

Not far from Mirebeau, happening to turn my head towards the north, I
saw, in the distance, a group of horsemen approaching at a steady gallop.
From having looked back at this group many times during the preceding
day, I had stamped certain of its figures on my memory, and I now
recognized it as Barbemouche and his party.

"Another day of it," I said, to myself, and spurred my horse to a gallop.

An increase in their own pace told me that they in turn had
recognized me.

"This grows monotonous," I mused. "If there were only fewer of them, or
more of me, I would make a stand."

Presently I came up with the young man in the brown doublet. He stared at
me with a look of inquiry as I passed at such speed; then he looked back
and saw the distant horsemen coming on at equal speed. He appeared to
realize the situation at a glance. Without a word, he gave his own horse
a touch of the spur, with the manifest intention of keeping my company in
my flight.

"You have a good horse," I said to him, at the same time watching him out
of the corner of my eye, seeking some indication that might show whether,
on occasion, he would stand as my friend or my enemy.

"Better than yours, I fear, monsieur," he replied.

"Mine has been hard run," I said, lightly.

Presently he looked back, and said:

"Ah, the devil! Your friends, back there, are sending out an advance
guard. Three of them are making a race of it, to see which shall have the
honor of first joining you."

I looked back. It was true; three of them were bearing down with
great speed, evidently on fresh horses. Barbemouche remained back
with the rest.

I urged on my horse.

"It is useless, monsieur," said the young man at my side. "Your beast is
no match for theirs. Besides, you will not find a better place to make a
stand than the bridge yonder." And he pointed ahead to a bridge that
crossed a narrow stream that lay between high banks.

"What, face ten men?" I said.

"There are only three. The thing may be over before the others come up."

I laughed. "Well, admitting that, three against one--" I began.

"Oh, there will be two of us," replied the other.

My heart gave a joyous bound, but I said, "I cannot expect you to risk
your life in my quarrel."

And he answered, "By God! I myself have a quarrel with every man that
wears on his hat the white cross of the Guises!" His grey eyes flashed,
his face became red with wrath. "Let us stop, monsieur."

We stopped and turned our horses on the narrow bridge. We both drew sword
and waited. My new-found ally threw back his hat, and I saw across his
forehead a deep red scar, which I had not before noticed.

The three men rode up to the attack. They all stopped suddenly before
they reached the bridge.

"Give up your sword and come with us, monsieur," cried one of them to me.

I said nothing. "Go to hell!" roared my companion. And with that he
charged with the fury of a wild beast, riding between two of the
horsemen, and thrusting his sword through the eye and into the brain of
one before either could make the least show of defence. His horse coming
to a quick stop, he drew his weapon out of the slain man's head and
turned on the other. While there was some violent fencing between the
two, and while the dead man's horse reared, and so rid itself of its
bleeding burden, the third horseman urged his horse towards me. I turned
the point of his rapier, whereupon he immediately backed, and then came
for me again just as I charged on him. Each was too quick to meet the
other's steel with steel. His sword passed under my right arm and my
sword under his right arm, and we found ourselves linked together, arm to
arm. I saw him reach with his left hand for his dagger, and I grew sick
at the thought that I had no similar weapon with which to make matters
even. He plucked the dagger from his belt, and raised it to plunge it
into my back; but his wrist was caught in a clutch of iron. My man in the
brown doublet, in backing his horse to make another charge on his still
remaining opponent, had seen my antagonist's motion, and now, with a
twist of his vigorous fingers, caused the dagger to fall from a limp arm.
Then my comrade returned to meet his own enemy, and I was again on equal
terms with mine. We broke away from each other. I was the quicker to
right myself, and a moment later he fell sidewise from his horse, pierced
through the right lung.

I backed my horse to the middle of the bridge, and was joined by my
stalwart friend, who had done for his second man with a dagger thrust
in the side.

"Whew!" he panted, holding his dripping weapons on either side of him, so
as not to get any more blood on his clothes. Then a grin of satisfaction
appeared on his perspiring face, and he said:

"Three Guisards less to shout '_Vive la messe_.' It's a pity we haven't
time to exchange horses with these dead whelps of hell. But the others
are coming up, and we ought to rest awhile."

We sheathed our weapons and spurred on our horses, again southward.
Looking back, soon, we saw that the other pursuers, on coming up to their
dead comrades, had chosen first to look after the belongings of the
latter rather than to avenge their deaths. And while Barbemouche and his
men, of whom there were now six, tarried over the dead bodies, we made
such good speed that at last we were out of sight of them.

My first use of my returned breath was to thank my stalwart ally.

He received my gratitude with great modesty, said that the Lord had
guided his arm in the fight, and expressed himself with a humility that
was in complete contrast to the lion-like fury shown by him in the
combat. Judging him, from his phrases, to be a Huguenot, I asked whether
he was one, by birth, as I was.

"By birth, from my mother," he replied. "My father was a Catholic, and in
order to win my mother, he pretended to have joined the reformers. That
deceit was the least of his many rascally deeds. He was one of the chosen
instruments of the devil,--a violent, roystering cut-throat, but a good
soldier, as was shown in Italy and at St. Quentin, Calais, Jarnac, and
elsewhere. My mother, though only the daughter of an armorer's workman,
was, in goodness, an angel. I thank God that she sometimes has the upper
hand in me, although too often it is my father that prevails in me." He
sighed heavily, and looked remorseful.

In subsequent talk, as we rode, I learned that he was a soldier who had
learned war, when a boy, under Coligny. He had fought at his father's
side against Italians, Spanish, and English, and against his father in
civil war. His father had died of a knife-wound, received, not in battle,
but from a comrade in a quarrel about a woman, during the sacking of a
town. His mother, when the news of the fate of her unworthy spouse
reached the village where she lived, died of grief. The son was now
returning from that village, which was near Orleans, and whither he had
been on a visit to his relations, to Gascony, where he had been employed
as a soldier in the small army with which Henri of Navarre made shift to
garrison his towns.

I told him that I hoped to find a place in that little army.

"You do well, monsieur," said the young soldier, whose intelligence and
native dignity made him, despite his peasant origin, one with whom a
gentleman might converse. "Some day they will learn in France of what
stuff the little Bearnaise King is made. I have stood watching him when
he little supposed that a common soldier might take note of such things,
and I have seen on his face the sign of great intentions. More goes on
under that black hair than people guess at,--he can do more than drink
and hunt and make love and jest and swear."

He was in no haste to reach Gascony, he said, and so he intended to visit
a former comrade who dwelt in a village some leagues from my road. In the
afternoon, coming to the by-road which led to this place, he left me,
with the words:

"My name is Blaise Tripault, and should it happen that you ever enroll a
company for the King of Navarre--"

"The first name on my list shall be Blaise Tripault," I replied, smiling,
and rode on, alone.

Whenever I heard riders behind me, I looked back. At evening I reached an
eminence which gave a good view of the country through which I had
passed. Two groups of horsemen were visible. One of these consisted of
seven men. The chief figure was a burly one which I could not mistake,--
that of Barbemouche.

"_Peste_!" I muttered, frowning. "So they are following me into Poitou!
Am I never to have any rest?"

I took similar precautions that night to those which I had taken the
night before. The next day, about noon, emerging out of a valley, I saw
my pursuers on the top of the hill at my rear. Plainly, they intended to
follow me to the end of the earth. I hoped they would stop in Poitiers
and get drunk, but they tarried there no more than I. And so it was,
later, at Civray and at Angoulême.

Every day I got one or two glimpses of this persistent pack of hounds.
Every night I used like measures to make sudden flight possible. One
night the sound for which I kept my ears expectant reached them,--the
sound of horses' hoofs on the hard road. I dropped from the open window
of the inn at which I was, led out my horse from the shed, and made off,
southward. The noise made by their own horses prevented my pursuers from
hearing that made by mine. Presently the clatter abruptly ceased,
whereupon I knew that they had stopped at the inn which I had left. My
relief at this was offset by chagrin at a discovery made by me at the
same moment: I had left my bag of golden crowns in the inn chamber. I
dared not now go back for them. Well, Nerac could not be far away, now. I
had traversed a good part of Guienne. The Dordogne was behind me.

I was glad that I had taken better care of the letter from Marguerite to
her husband than I had taken of my crowns. Fortunately it had not left
my doublet. I felt that my future depended on the delivery of that
letter. There could be no doubt that Marguerite had recommended me in it
with a favor that would obtain for me both protection and employment from
the King of Navarre.

Daylight came, and with it hunger. I stopped at an inn, and was about to
dismount, when I remembered that I had no money.

I could do without food for a time, but my horse could not. I told the
landlord,--a short, heavy, square-faced, small-eyed man,--that I would,
later, send him payment for a breakfast. He looked at me with a
contempt that even a peasant dare show to a gentleman, when the
gentleman has no money.

"Very well, then," I said. "I will leave you security."

He looked more respectful at this, and made a quick examination of me
with his eyes.

"Unless you have some jewelry about you," he said, "your sword is the
only thing that I would accept."

"You clod," I exclaimed, in a rage. "I ought to give you my sword through
the body."

"A gentleman ought not to demand, for nothing, that which a poor man
makes his living by selling," answered the host, turning to go in.

I looked down at my horse, which had already shown an endurance beyond
its stock, and which now turned its eyes, hungrily, towards the inn
stable. At the same time I thought I heard the sound of hoofs, away
northward. After all, the delivery of the letter depended more on the
horse than on my sword, for one horse is more likely to beat seven horses
than one sword to beat seven swords.

To try whether it were possible, I made one movement, as if to hand over
the weapon. But my arm refused. As well try to pluck the heart out of my
body, and give it to the dog's keeping. Rather kill the man on his own
threshold and, like a brigand, help myself. But I chose to be merciful.

"Be quick, then," I said. "Bring me some wine, and feed my horse as it
stands here. I could take, for nothing, what you ask such high
security for."

"And I have three strong sons," said the innkeeper, impudently. But he
brought the wine, and ordered one of his sons to bring oats for the
horse. So we made our breakfast there, horse and man, standing before the
inn door. When the animal had licked up the last grain, I suddenly hurled
the heavy wine-mug at the innkeeper's head, wheeled my horse about, and
galloped off, shouting back to the half-stunned rascal, "Your three sons
must be swift, as well as strong, to take my sword." And I rode on,
southward.

"Will the Guisards follow me over this river, also?" I asked myself, as
I crossed the Garonne.

In the afternoon, I stopped for another look backward. There was not a
soul to be seen on the road.

"Adieu, M. Barbemouche!" I said. "I believe you have grown tired of
me at last."

At that instant a group appeared at the distant turn of the road. I
counted them. Seven! And they were coming on at the speed of the wind.

I patted my horse on his quivering neck. "Come, old comrade," I said.
"Now for one last, long race. In your legs lies my future."

He obeyed the spur, and his increased pace revealed a slight lameness,
which had not before been perceptible.

"We have only to reach some Gascon town," I said to him. "The soldiers
of the King of Navarre will protect the bearer of a letter to him from
their Queen."

I turned in my saddle, and looked back. They were gaining ground.

"They know that this is their last chance," I said. "We are near the
country held by the King of Navarre, and so they make a last effort
before giving up the chase. On, my staunch fellow! You shall have fine
trappings, and shall fare as well as your master, for this!"

The animal maintained its pace as if it understood; but it panted
heavily and foamed, its eyes took on a wild look, and its lameness
increased.

"They are coming nearer, there is no doubt of it!" I told myself. "Have I
escaped from the Louvre and from Paris, led my enemies a chase through
five provinces, to be taken when refuge is at last in sight? Shall
Marguerite's letter to Henri of Navarre fall into the hands of those who
wish him no good?"

Tears gushed from my eyes as I thought of the cruelty of destiny, which
had sustained me so far in order to betray me at the end. I took the
letter from my doublet, and held it ready to tear into pieces should I
indeed be caught. Although Marguerite was thought to have secrets with
the Duke of Guise, it was likely that she would not wish him to know what
she might write to her husband, whose political ally she always was.

And now my horse dropped its head lower at each bound forward. The seven
horses behind showed no sign of tiring.

"Thank God, I kept my sword! I can kill one of them, at least!"

I no longer looked back. Blindly forward I went, impelled only to defer
the end to the last possible moment. God knew what might yet intervene.

Suddenly my horse gave a snort of pain, stumbled blindly, and fell to his
knees. He slid forward a short distance, carried on by his impetus, and
then turned over on his side, and lay quivering. I had taken my feet from
the stirrups at his stumble, so that I now stood over his body.

I heard the loud clank of the hoofs behind. I stepped over the horse, and
drew my sword. A short distance ahead was a clump of scrubby pines; there
I would turn and make my stand.

Then was the time when I might have torn up the letter, had I not
suddenly forgotten my intention. I held it clutched in my hand,
mechanically, as I ran. I was conscious of only one thing,--that death
was bearing down on me. The sound of the horses' footfalls filled my
ears. Louder and louder came that sound, drowning even the quick panting
of my breath. Again came that aching in the side, that intolerable pain
which I had felt in my flight from Paris.

I pressed my hand to my side, and plunged forward. Suddenly the road
seemed to rise and strike me in the face. I had fallen prostrate, and now
lay half-stunned on the earth. I had just time to turn over on my back,
that I might face my pursuers, when the foremost horse came up.

"Well, my man," cried the rider, in a quick, nervous voice, as I looked
stupidly up at his short, sturdy figure, hooked nose, keen eyes, black
hair and beard, and shrewd, good-natured face, "did you think the devil
was after you, that you ran so hard? _Ventre Saint Gris_! You would make
an excellent courier."

"I am a courier," I answered, trying to rise. "I ran so fast that I might
soon reach Nerac with this letter for your majesty."

And I held the letter out to King Henri of Navarre.




CHAPTER VII.

HOW HE ANNOYED MONSIEUR DE LA CHATRE


I had never seen Henri of Navarre, before, but had often heard him
described, and no other man exactly fitted his description. His favorite
oath confirmed my recognition.

He took the letter, saying, "It looks as if it had been through fire
and flood"

"I had to swim the Seine with it," I said.

He read it, sitting on his horse in the middle of the road, I standing
beside the horse, the other six riders eyeing me curiously.

Having finished it, he looked at me with some interest and approval. "And
what made you run from us?" he asked.

"Sire, there were seven horsemen left in the party that has been chasing
me for some days past. Counting seven in your group, I too quickly
assumed that it was the same."

The King of Navarre laughed, and ordered one of the lackeys to give me
his horse and proceed afoot to the nearest town. When I was mounted, he
asked me to ride beside him.

"The speed at which you rode excited our curiosity," he explained, "and
that is why we gave chase."

I learned, later, that Henri and three of his gentlemen, with three
valets, had been inspecting the defences of one of his Gascon towns, and
were now returning to Nerac. He sometimes traversed those parts of his
French provinces where his authority as governor was recognized, without
any state, and often without a guard.

In reply to his questions, I said that I preferred a military position to
a civil one, but confessed my inexperience. He told me that I might serve
as ensign in one of his regiments, at Nerac, until I should acquire some
knowledge of military affairs, when he would give me a captain's
commission, and I might enlist a company.

I told him of the destruction of my château, and the loss of my money. He
thereupon required me to accept the horse on which I rode, and a purse
which one of the valets handed over to me. As he then beckoned one of his
gentlemen to his side, I fell back. We entered Nerac in the evening. As
soon as the gate was passed, the King and his followers turned towards
the château, and I took the main street to an inn.

The King of Navarre kept his promises. I had been ensign for only a few
months, stationed at Nerac, when he sent for me, and informed me that he
intended to augment his army, and that he would maintain a company of my
raising. He caused a captain's commission to be given to me before I left
the château. I walked thence, down the avenue of fine trees, which were
now in full leaf, before the château, debating with myself the
possibility of easily raising a company. When I reached the square before
the inn, I heard from within a human roar which had a familiar sound.
Entering, I found that it proceeded from the stentorian lungs of Blaise
Tripault, the young soldier who had aided my flight to Gascony by killing
two Guisards in my defence. He was sitting at a table, very drunk.

"Ah, Blaise Tripault," I cried, "I see that your father prevails
in you now!"

He recognized me, threw his bottle of wine out of the open window, and
made an attempt at sobriety.

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