At Odds with the Regent: A Story of the Cellamare Conspiracy

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

“Adjust itself? But how?” I questioned, in amazement.

“No matter,” and Cartouche laughed, a short dry laugh. “Only, monsieur, should a rescue become necessary, you may count upon me.”

“Very well,” I said. “I shall see you again, then, if there is need,” and I turned my horse back in the direction from which I had come.

“Wait a moment, monsieur,” he called, with a good-humored chuckle, coming out of the house and putting up his pistol. “You are already on the road to Versailles. It is one of the principles of our business never to tell the truth if it can be avoided. Continue straight ahead and you will reach St. Cloud. Ten leagues farther is Versailles.”

I turned my horse about with a jerk.

“Does the road run through a wood near here?” I asked, as I took a new hold on the bridle.

“Not half a league farther on, monsieur,” he answered, in a surprised voice, and I was off before he could say more. As I glanced back over my shoulder I saw him standing there still staring after me, and then, as though struck by a sudden idea, turn and vanish within the cabin. I had need of haste, for eleven o’clock could not be far distant. But the horse Madame du Maine had provided was a good one, and I laughed as I pictured to myself how she must be tearing her hair at the thought that it was she who had given me the means of saving the regent. The moon had risen clear of the trees while I was parleying with Cartouche and flooded the country with noonday brightness. Fearing no pitfalls in this wide and level road, I spurred onward, peering ahead for the wood of which Cartouche had spoken, but of which I could see no sign. Once I thought I heard the beat of horses’ hoofs behind me, but when I turned in my saddle I saw no one, and concluded that they were merely the echo of my own. The minutes passed, and finally, to my great relief, away before me I saw that the white road seemed to disappear in the darkness, as though cut off at the entrance to a tunnel. This, then, was the wood, and with new ardor, for I had begun to fear that Cartouche had misled me, I galloped towards it. The road flew past under my horse like some gigantic ribbon, and in a moment I was in the shadow of the trees.

Here I paused. I did not know how far the wood extended, nor did I know at what point the ambush had been prepared. The only thing to be done, evidently, was to ride to the other side and stop the regent and his party before they entered it. I proceeded cautiously, the dust deadening the hoofbeats of my horse, for I did not know at what moment I myself might be greeted by a volley from the roadside. At last, far down the avenue ahead, I saw the road opening out into the plain, and at the same moment I again heard the sound of swiftly galloping horses in my rear. This time there was no mistaking the sound, and as I turned, I saw a troop of three or four just entering the wood. As I looked at them the mysterious words of Cartouche flashed into my head. Could it be that it was to him the duchess had confided the task of assassinating the regent, and that he had not suspected my purpose until too late to stop me? The thought made me drive the spurs once more into the flanks of my horse, and as I did so I heard again that clear, sharp whistle which Cartouche had used once before to summon his men to attack me. Almost before the sound had died away under the trees there came a flash of fire from the roadside, a ringing report, and my horse stumbled and nearly fell, then continued slowly onward, limping badly. I heard the horses of my pursuers rapidly drawing nearer, and even at that moment I saw ahead of me down the road another little troop approaching from the direction of Versailles, and knew it was the regent and three or four companions. Would I be in time? Would my horse carry me out of the forest? The troop behind me was dangerously near.

“Stop, monsieur!” cried a voice, which I knew to be that of Cartouche. “Stop or we fire!”

Without answering, I threw myself forward upon my horse’s neck and again drove in the spurs. I could hear the poor brute’s breath coming in gasps, and from the trembling of his body I knew he was almost done. But it was no time to spare him, and the white road gleaming in the moonlight just ahead was so near—so near.