"Ride on with speed, Alain Fanchonic," he cried authoritatively; "spare not thy steed, but ride for thy life, or rather for hers whom thou lovest; save thy mistress, ere it be too late."
Without hesitation, the man plunged his spurs into the good horse's sides, quickly disappearing amongst the trees; and Father Ambrose was left alone beside his unconsious enemy, struck down in the hour of his vengeance by what, to the simple faith of the priest, was nothing less than the finger of the Eternal Judge.
CHAPTER XXIII
It was a great day in the little town of Martigue, for they were out of the world, here on the borders of the forest of Arteze, and life was inclined to grow monotonous. True, there were the festivals and such-like mild excitements; but they could not bear comparison with the burning of a witch in the marketplace. And she was no ordinary witch, see you, but a beautiful and high-born demoiselle, whose evil practices no one had even dreamt of till they had been brought to light in so wonderful a manner. And she had murdered her own brother! Was it to be conceived? But it was terrible!—nevertheless, very interesting. Some said they did not believe it, and, that the new Sieur de Mereac was a foul fiend himself, and Pierre the fool his attendant imp; but these were only the foolish ones, for had it not been quickly proved, and beyond all doubt, that this beautiful young witch had ofttimes attended Satanic meetings yonder in the forest, and had been seen dancing with the Brown Friar himself, whilst she and her dread partner chanted incantations so deadly that it was a wonder that all in the Château de Mereac had not fallen under their spell instead of only the unfortunate young Sieur?
It had been easy work, that condemnation of so terrible a malefactor; there had been no need of search or torture to prove the guilt both of mistress and maid. Justice moves quickly when there is a powerful arm behind to arrange the machinery, and Guillaume de Coray was already looked upon as Sieur de Mereac, seeing that Yvon was reported to have died in agonies, shrieking for vengeance against his guilty sister. And vengeance he should have; the good folk of Martigue and Mereac were determined on that, promising themselves a day's holiday and enjoyment into the bargain.
That the day itself should be so tempestuous was but another proof of the witches' guilt and malevolence; clearly it had been raised by demon power to arrest the course of justice. But justice should not be arrested. Pile high the faggots!—yes! higher,—higher! Parbleu! what a blaze there would be!—how they would shriek and curse!—how they would writhe and groan! The prospect, appealing to the savagery of ignorant natures, thrilled all with pleasurable excitement and delight. Some wondered if the fiend himself would appear to carry his devotees away; others looked forward to hearing hideous confessions wrung from writhing lips by the torture of the flames. Altogether there were few to pity two young and beautiful girls who were going forth to die a cruel death, so fiercely ran the passions and superstitions of the peasantry of the age. Yet there were those in the little town whose hearts beat in the agony of horror and suspense, and whose eyes were turned, not on the grim spectacle preparing in the market-place, but upon the wild heath which stretched away westwards, half hidden by the blinding rain and wind.
Close to the gates stood Job Alloadec and a small knot of men of Mereac who were loyal to their unfortunate young mistress. Even if the help for which they looked came not, Gwennola de Mereac and Marie his sister should not die alone that day in the market-place,—so Job had sworn, with hands held fast in the hands of those who promised to stand side by side with him. But out yonder, through the mist and rain, a man rode hastily along the road to Rennes. The peasants tramping towards Martigue wondered amongst themselves as they watched him gallop by. It was urgent business, they said one to another, which sent a man away from Martigue that day! and therewith they fell afresh to speculations on what would occur when the witches of Mereac met their doom. But on galloped the horseman, with spurs in his horse's flanks and his mouth tight set as if he rode on a matter of life and death. Yes! and life and death it was to be for some that day in the little town behind him.
The hour of noon was approaching, already a bell tolled forth from the church close by, and in the market-place the people thronged so closely that they trod one on another in their eagerness to behold. By the gate Job Alloadec and his men waited, with an eye towards the market-place as the minutes crept by. In their prison cell two girls knelt in prayer. Marie was weeping, her head resting on her mistress's shoulder; but Gwennola was calm, a shadowy smile even seemed to flicker around her mouth as she raised her face towards the faint light which struggled in through the narrow slit above them.
The tolling bell, the roar of the crowd, came faintly to them, and sent fresh shudderings through Marie's frame.
"Courage, child," whispered Gwennola; "remember we are innocent, and the Holy Mother will not forsake us even in this our extremity. For myself I have no fears; if death indeed be our lot, grace shall be sent to strengthen us for the trial, and I will pray to die as Gwennola de Mereac should die, defying her accusers to the last. But I have hope so strong within my breast that it seemeth I can take little thought for death. Dry then those tears, my Marie; look into my eyes and fear not;—I tell thee it is life, not death, before us."