"I must be careful," Martin had muttered to himself, as he drew rein and moved his horse on to the short crisp grass that bordered the road, "or I shall be among them. Where do they go to?"
Yet, careful as he was, he still determined to follow in their train, to observe what road they took when farther on in their march, for he knew, from having been much in the neighbourhood a year before, and ere he had set out for Switzerland on his first quest for Cyprien de Rochebazon, that ere long they must take one route of two. If that to the left, which branched off near Anduse, their destination would be undoubtedly the mountains; if they kept straight on, then Alais was their destination. And if the latter, they would not hinder him. He was soon to know, however, where that destination lay.
High above the chatter of the Miquelets and their repulsive chants--on one subject alone, that of slaughter, rapine, and plunder combined--high above also the jangle of the bridles, bridoons, steel bits, and the hoofs of the dragoons and chevaux-légers ahead, the orders were borne on the crisp icy air: the orders to wheel to the left--to the mountains.
Therefore an attack was intended there, or what, as Julien had himself termed it, when planning that which was now to be carried out, une battue.
That it would be successful Martin doubted. Never yet had the royalists forced their way far up those passes, never yet had they been able to possess themselves of one square yard of ground above the level of the valley. And he recalled the treacherous drawbridges constructed over ravines and gullies, as well as the other traps, which he had seen and had pointed out to him as he descended from the Cévennes to meet Cavalier. He doubted if now this enlarged attack would be any more successful than former and less well-arranged attacks had been.
Yet Urbaine was there. That unnerved him, caused him to shudder. For if at last, if now, at this time, success should come to these troops, as both Julien and Montrevel had sworn it should come eventually, what then of her! Those in command might not know, or, knowing, not choose to believe that she was Baville's cherished idol. And to think of his beloved one in the power of those fiends, the Miquelets, was enough to cause his heart to cease beating.
Or, better still, to beat more fiercely with a firm determination of seeking her than even he had experienced an hour before; the determination to get to where she was before these heavily accoutred soldiers could do so, if they ever got there at all; to join her, save her, protect her. But how to do it! How! How!
How to get ahead of this band; how gain the ascent before them, warn the Camisards. Above all--ay, that was it--above all, how save the girl he worshipped and adored! That, or one other thing: die in the attempt.
He knew a moment later that the turn was made toward the mountains. From beneath the tree where he had halted he saw, in the rays of the now risen full moon, the sparkle of the breasts and backs and gorgets of the dragoons as they wheeled to the left, also the glitter of aiguillette and steel trappings. Perceived, too, that a deep silence had fallen on all that moving mass. Even the Miquelets ceased to sing and chatter. Nothing disturbed the silence of the night but the thud of countless horses' hoofs, with now and again a neigh and now and again the rattle of scabbard against charger's flank. They were in, or near the country of the insidious, unvanquished foe. Doubtless the order had gone forth for silence.
He must get ahead of them--reach the pass or mountain road before them. Otherwise, what of Urbaine if they should win?