Tracked, or Not?
"That is your road, monsieur. At the end of a mile a cross-road leads straight to Etienne Cordel's dwelling. You will see the house from the spot where the road branches. You will pardon us for our hasty departure, but time presses. If you put up again at the inn, we may have the pleasure of meeting you on our return."
Taking the cue from Jacques, who evidently did not intend holding a prolonged conversation, I said: "Adieu, monsieur, and a pleasant ending to your journey. You cannot mistake the way, now," and directly he had thanked us for our assistance we rode on.
"Rather an abrupt departure, Jacques," I remarked presently, feeling somewhat puzzled.
"Better that, monsieur, than wait to be asked inconvenient questions. Did you notice that slash across his doublet? He has been pretty close to a naked sword, and not long ago either! What does he want with Etienne Cordel? He looks more fitted for the camp than the law courts."
"Monsieur Cordel no doubt transacts his private business for him."
"No doubt," said Jacques, with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I did not like his appearance, and if we could spare the time I would ride back to discover what made Pierre suddenly dumb. I warrant he misliked his questioner; but if the stranger is seeking information, he can obtain all he wants from Cordel."
"You are no friend to the advocate, Jacques!"
"He is a spy, monsieur, and a maker of mischief. One of these days men will learn his true character."
"I have no liking for Cordel," I said, "but still all this has nothing to do with our errand."
"Perhaps not, monsieur; we will hope not," replied my companion, "but all the same, I wish we had started an hour earlier."
Honestly I felt rather inclined to laugh at Jacques' vague fears, for the stranger's pleasant speech and affable manner had impressed me, and I could not think of him in any other light than that of a courteous and gallant gentleman. In spite of wise saws, one is often tempted to believe that occasionally fine feathers make fine birds.
We rode on steadily, stopping for an hour or two during the hottest part of the day, and putting up late at night at a dilapidated inn in a half-deserted village. The landlord, a bent, feeble, old man, had gone to bed, but he set about preparing some supper, while, since there was no ostler, we fed and groomed the animals ourselves.
"We must start at daybreak," said Jacques, when we had finished our meal; "that will give us four hours' sleep."
"Fourteen would suit me better!" I laughed, as we followed our host to the guest-chamber, and, indeed, I was so thoroughly tired that my head scarcely touched the pillow before I was sound asleep.
It was still dark when Jacques roused me, and by dawn we were once more on the road. On this second day's journey the ravages of the late war were plainly apparent, and the sights made one's heart ache. The fields lay waste and untilled; the cattle, few in number, were mere bundles of skin and bone; the villages were half-emptied of their inhabitants, while those who remained resembled skeletons rather than human beings.
"And all this," exclaimed my companion bitterly, "is the work of the Italian woman and her friends. It is time that Frenchmen took their country into their own hands again, and out of the clutches of these foreign harpies!"
"That can be done only by another war, Jacques, and surely we have had enough of cutting one another's throats!"
"It must be either war or murder," he responded. "The Guises won't rest until they become masters. France will swim in blood one of these days. Do you know, monsieur, I am glad that Mademoiselle Jeanne is not at the castle!"
Jeanne was my sister, who, since the peace, had been living at Rochelle with an invalid aunt. She was seventeen years of age, a year older than myself, and a girl of beauty and courage.
"You are in a gloomy mood, Jacques, and fancying all kinds of dangers that are not likely to happen. Why, even the stranger we met at Le Blanc alarmed you."
"He alarms me yet," replied Jacques gravely; "he is a bird of ill omen."
"Come," I said banteringly, "let us have a canter; it will clear the cobwebs from your brain, besides helping us on our way to Saintbreuil," the little town where we intended to pass the night and to procure fresh horses. Jacques had an acquaintance at Saintbreuil—an innkeeper who secretly favoured the Cause without possessing sufficient courage to declare his opinions.
The night had grown somewhat late by the time of our arrival, but we managed to secure admittance, and Jacques had no difficulty in finding the inn—a fairly decent house in a small square.
"A quiet room, Edouard, and some supper," said my companion to the host, "and serve us yourself. There is no need that all Saintbreuil should learn of our being here. And be quick, for we are tired and hungry, and there is business to transact."
The landlord, a nervous-looking fellow, took us quickly to a chamber at the farther end of the house, and in a short time we were sitting down to a well-spread table.
"Is the town quiet?" asked Jacques presently.
"Quiet, but uneasy. The citizens are afraid of they know not what. There is a whisper that the peace will be broken."
"Humph! there is more than a whisper in some parts; but listen to me, Edouard; monsieur and I are travelling fast. We have nearly foundered our animals, and yet it is necessary to push on again directly the gates are opened. You must procure us fresh horses, the best that can be got."
"And the two in the stables?"
"Can go in exchange."
"You will have to pay heavily."
"Of course we shall, my dear Edouard, but monsieur is prepared to open his purse. Get them into the stable to-night, and call us at daybreak."
"Can you trust him to procure really good animals?" I asked, when the man had gone out.
"There are few keener judges of horseflesh than Edouard, monsieur; and now let us to bed."
Jacques had lost his gloomy fit; there seemed little likelihood of danger, and I slept soundly till wakened by our host. Dressing hastily we went straight to the stables, and were more than satisfied with our new animals. They were beautiful creatures, shaped for both speed and endurance, and I did not grudge the money the landlord had spent.
"They should carry us to our journey's end," said Jacques in a whisper; "the sight of them gives me fresh courage. I care not a rap of the fingers now for our chance acquaintance!"
"The cavalier seems to have turned your brain!" I laughed.
"Maybe 'twas only an idle fancy, but I mistrusted the fellow. Perhaps you will laugh, but I thought he might be one of those who attacked Monsieur Devine."
"Well?" I said, startled by this statement, and yet puzzled to understand how it affected us.
"If so, he must be trying to obtain possession of the papers. He would follow the wounded man, and suddenly lose him. He failed to get any information from old Pierre, and he learned little from us; but the advocate would tell him everything."
"What could Cordel tell?" I asked, still puzzled.
"That your father, monsieur, is the chief person in the district—that he is of the Religion—that the wounded messenger might have found shelter in the castle."
"Yes, the advocate would certainly mention that."
"The stranger would speak of us, too, and the lawyer, recognizing the description, would inform him who we were. That would arouse his suspicions, for you must admit that we chose a strange hour to ride."
"And you think he would follow us?"
"That is what I feared. He is splendidly mounted, and could easily overtake us; but now," and Jacques laughed, "the case is different."
"Even should he come up with us," I said, "he is but one against two, and we can both handle a sword!"
My companion shrugged his shoulders. "What chance should we have in Saintbreuil, monsieur? A word to a king's officer, and we should either be dead, or in prison."
"Faith," I said laughing, though not with much heartiness, "you draw a lively picture! Once outside these walls, I shall not care to venture into a town again until we reach Tanlay."
"With these horses there should be no need."
The officer of the guard gazed at us suspiciously. "You travel early, monsieur!" he remarked.
"Too early for comfort!" I replied, "but I must reach Nevers before Marshal Tavannes leaves. He does not like idle excuses."
"You are right, monsieur!" replied the man, with an instant change of expression, "one does not play tricks with the marshal. But I did not know he was at Nevers."
"'Tis but a flying visit, I believe."
"Well, a pleasant journey to you. Have a care, though, if you ride late; the country is infested with brigands."
Thanking him for his advice I followed after Jacques, who had taken advantage of the conversation to ride on.
"I thought the officer might take a fancy to ask me some questions, and I am not so intimately acquainted as you with the doings of the king's general!" he said with a chuckle. "'Twas a bold stroke, monsieur, but it paid."
"Yes," I said, "it paid. And now let us push forward."
Strangely enough, now that Jacques had recovered his composure I began to feel nervous, and more than once caught myself glancing round as if half expecting to see a body of pursuers on our track. However, we proceeded all day without adventure, slept for two or three hours at a village inn, and resumed our journey in high spirits.
"We should reach the Loire by midday," remarked Jacques. "Shall we go into the town and cross by the bridge, or try for a ford? There is one a little to the north."
"The ford will suit our purpose," I said, "and I hardly care about trusting myself in the town."
There still wanted two hours to noon when, coming to a grassy and tree-shaded plateau through which ran a sparkling stream, Jacques proposed that we should rest the horses. So we dismounted, gave them a drink, fastened them to a tree, and lay down beside them.
"Monsieur might be able to sleep," suggested Jacques. "I will watch, but we cannot afford more than an hour."
"We will take turns," I said.
"Not at all, monsieur. I do not feel sleepy. I will waken you in good time."
Feeling refreshed by the short rest I was just remounting when a rough, sturdy-looking fellow came along, riding a powerful horse.
"Good-day, messieurs," he said, glancing at us, I thought, very keenly; "am I on the right track for Nevers?"
"Yes," I answered rather curtly.
"Perhaps monsieur is himself going there? I am a stranger in these parts."
"No," I replied, "we are not going to the town, but you cannot miss the way."
He hung about for some time, trying to make conversation, but presently rode on, and a bend in the road hid him from our view.
"An ugly customer to meet on a dark night, Jacques," I remarked.
"Let us push on, monsieur; that fellow meant us no good. Did you notice his speech?"
"I did; he comes from our own neighbourhood. It is possible he has seen us before."
"And what of that?"
"Nothing, except that it is curious," and Jacques quickened his pace.
At the end of a quarter of a mile a cross-road to the left led to the river, and along this track we travelled. It was very narrow, so narrow, indeed, that we were forced to ride in single file, Jacques going before. The stranger had disappeared; no one was in sight; the countryside seemed deserted.
"Do you know where the ford is situated?" I asked.
"I have a fairly good notion. Ah, what is that?" and he reined up sharply.
From our position we could just catch a glimpse of several horsemen riding swiftly along the bank of the river. They were out of sight in a few minutes, and we proceeded in a somewhat uncomfortable frame of mind.
"They can have nothing to do with us, Jacques," I said cheerily.
"No, monsieur, nothing," he replied.
"How much farther do we go before descending?"
"About a quarter of a mile."
"Once across the river we shall be in no danger at all."
"None at all, monsieur."
"A plague on you, Jacques!" I cried, "can't you make some sensible remark?"
"I was but agreeing with monsieur."
We had gone about four hundred yards when the track began to descend in winding fashion toward the water. My companion was still in front, and I noticed he had loosened his sword. I had done the same, and in addition had seen that my pistols were in order. Somehow, a strange sense of approaching peril, for which I could not account, hung about me.
"There is the ford," said Jacques, drawing rein, and pointing straight ahead of him. "That is where we must cross."
"Yes," I said.
"But I cannot see the horsemen, and they should be visible from here. It is very absurd, of course, but still, I would advise monsieur to look to his pistols."
"I am ready, Jacques."
"Come, then, and if I say 'Gallop!' stretch your horse to his utmost."
He advanced carefully, I following, and watching him intently. Presently, without turning round, he said: "It is as I thought; the horsemen are there; we cannot get through without a fight."
"Then we must fight, Jacques; it is impossible to turn back. They will not expect a rush, and we may catch them off their guard. But it will be amusing if they turn out to be simply peaceful travellers."
"Amusing and satisfactory, monsieur. Are you ready? We will ride abreast at the bottom; it will give us greater strength."
Jacques was a splendid horseman, and he had taught me to ride almost from the first day I could sit a horse's back. From him, too, as well as from my father, I had learned how to use a sword, though my weapon had never yet been drawn in actual conflict, and even now I hoped against hope that the horsemen below were not waiting for us.
But if Jacques' view were correct, then we must fight. Because of the trust reposed in me, I could not yield; either I must win a way through, or leave my dead body there on the bank.
My companion's voice recalled me to action. "Fire your pistol directly we come within range," he said, "and then lay on with the sword."
"But we must give them warning, Jacques!"
"It is needless; they have seen us, and are preparing. Corbleu! it is as I thought! See, there is the man who overtook us in the village. Monsieur, there is no escape; it is a fight to the death!"
"I am ready!"