The Messenger of the Black Prince

by Thomas A. H. Mawhinney

After a little I began to feel that my fear was founded on imagination, so with cautious steps I slowly ventured once more ahead. I had not gone five strides when the swish came again to my ears, this time more distinct and very near. I was about to swerve to my left to avoid the danger that might be threatening me, when a rough-looking fellow stepped out of the semi-darkness and made towards me.

As well as I could distinguish, he was of the commoner type, clad in the wooden shoes of the peasantry and with a coat and breeches of some black material almost threadbare, crumpled and soiled from being lived and slept in. His hair hung out in clumps from under the edges of an old cap and around his neck was knotted a ragged scarf.

I caught all this in a flash, you may be sure. But what attracted me most was neither his clothes nor even his threatening aspect, for I started with terror when I caught a glimpse of a dagger that he held grasped in his right hand.

I stopped and drew a long breath. But he came on with the weapon raised on a level with his shoulder, and with his heavy eyes glaring at me as though I were a wild animal that was to be stricken to death. I shifted to the one side and he shifted likewise with me. I saw him moisten his lips and half-shut his eyes. With what quickness I could, I sprang further on and dodged safe for the moment behind a tree.

“My name is La Mar!” I called. “I am Henri La Mar. I live in that house over there at the edge of the woods.” I stopped long enough for him to understand. Then, “Surely you have made a mistake,” I cried still louder. “You must be waiting here for someone else!”

He lunged stupidly after me. The breath was coming from between his lips in a kind of a wheeze. At the same time he uttered in a deep growl, “La Mar. The old Count of Gramont—the rest of them”—and something which sounded like an oath, but which I was not able to understand.

We were within five feet of each other. All the time he held the dagger on high always ready to strike. It flashed through my senses that I was dallying long enough, so with a jump I flew away from my tree and made deeper into the woods.

But it seemed that I had run into a trap. I had not gone twice the length of my body when a second fellow, dressed the same as the first, confronted me. If you had stood the two together you could not have told the one from the other. And this one, too, had a dagger like the first and stood with his legs spread out to block my way.

I was as good as dead. I came to a stop as though I had struck a stone wall and then veered over to the one side as I did before. At the same instant I bent low and ran as fast as I could in the hope that, if my assailant made a lunge at me, there might be some chance that it would only be a glancing blow and do me little harm.

I had calculated too rashly on the sloth of my enemy. Indeed he was as sure of me as a hunter is of game that is already brought to earth. As I passed, he took one leap after me. His hand came down with the speed of an arrow and the next thing I knew I felt a jar in the middle of my back that sent the stars before my eyes and flattened me on my stomach on the ground. Then a shriek echoed among the trees that sent the blood curdling through my veins and after that the woods were still again.