Chapter Thirty Two.Check!—query, mate?Feeling that the crisis had come, no sooner did Denis hear the first strokes of the second chiming of the clock, which came so opportunely upon the King’s discovery, than the lad dashed off along the passage leading towards the staircase that he would have to descend to gain the inner court and the stabling.But he had not proceeded many yards before he stopped short, startled by the thought that if he continued by this corridor he would come right upon some gentleman of the household, whose nightly duty it was to be on guard at the angle of the gallery which led towards the King’s apartments.“Oh,” he muttered beneath his breath, “I had forgotten. Carrbroke told me he would be there to-night.”There was nothing for it but to retrace his steps, pass right round two-thirds of one of the lesser courts, and get back to the corridor again beyond the range of apartments sacred to the King.Then reaching the end of the gallery, he began to hurry once more to make up for lost time, when feeling that, much as he desired to act, such hurried procedure would attract the attention of the first officer who was on guard, the lad checked his headlong steps, thrust his hands into his trunk hose, and began to walk carelessly along, catching up and humming the air which came softly from where the musicians were still playing.It was well he did, for as he turned the next corner he came upon a couple of the King’s guards upon the landing at the head of a staircase.His face was familiar to the men as one of the King’s guests, and it being right away from the royal apartments, they gave way for him to pass, and making a tremendous effort over himself, he descended very slowly and carelessly, the hardest part of all being to stop once or twice as if listening to the music, and then go on humming the air.He breathed more freely as he passed out into the courtyard and crossed it, fully expecting to encounter a guard at the archway which gave upon the next court.As he expected, there were a couple of armed men here ready to challenge him; but before they could speak he stopped short to ask whether he would find men in attendance at the stables, adding carelessly in very fair English:“I want to see how our horses are getting on.”It was so likely a mission that the principal of the two guards volunteered the information at once that some of the grooms would be sure to be there at that time for a final look round before closing for the night.“You know your way, sir?” added the man respectfully.“Oh yes, thank you,” said Denis carelessly; “I know my way.” And he walked on, panting heavily now, in spite of his slow pace. “This is the hardest work of all,” he muttered, “for I want to run—I want to run. But oh, how I do hate it all! They must be stealing the jewel now, for I can call it nothing else but a theft. How glad I am that they have sent me away, and I am not obliged to degrade myself with such a task. But yet I am helping, and seem as bad as they—but no, notasbad. Leoni says it is right, and—yes, it was stolen from us, and it is but to restore it to France—to France.”“Now for it,” he muttered, as he neared the entrance to the great stables, where to his delight he could see by the light within that the door was open and a shadow passing the lit-up entry showed him that at all events part of his task would be easy. “Now no more thinking. I am but doing my duty, and it is time to act.”Increasing his pace now, he stepped boldly into a broad shelter from which a long, dimly seen vista of horse-stalls opened out to right and left, and he was confronted at once by two of a group of men, three of whom bore lanterns, and who were coming towards him as if about to leave the place.“Here,” he cried authoritatively, as he recognised one of the grooms as being he who had their steeds in charge, “I want our horses saddled at once.”“To-night, sir?” said the man, glancing at the lad’s courtly costume in search of his boots and spurs, and seeking in vain, his eyes being only met by glistening silk and rosetted shoon.“Yes,” replied Denis haughtily; “to-night”; and then half laughingly, “It is fresh and cool and pleasant, is it not?”“Yes, sir,” said the man, “but—”“The rooms are hot and stifling to-night, and the Comte my master wishes to ride forth. You will be well rewarded for the extra trouble and—ah, here,” he continued, thrusting his hand into Leoni’s pouch, “I forgot; you will of course sit up till we return. Here is something to pay for wine.”He held out a couple of gold pieces, which, as they were taken, acted like magic, and a busy little scene of emulation ensued, every man being eager to assist in bridling and saddling the beautiful chargers that had been standing haltered in their stalls.It was hard work for Denis, whose pulses were throbbing with impatience; but he carried out his part well, patting and stroking first one and then another of the noble beasts, and talking to them the while.“It seems rather hard,” he said, speaking in the same haughty tone to the man he had before addressed; “but a good canter round the park will do them good, and their work is very easy nowadays.”The groom agreed to everything he said, for the glint of the gold placed in his hand was still before his eyes; and in a very short space of time, long as it seemed to the impatient lad, the last strap and buckle were fastened, and with a man giving final touches to glistening coat and mane, the horses were about to be led forth.“We are to take them round to the great entrance, sir?” said the chief groom.“Oh no,” replied Denis carelessly. “Just lead them into the entry; the Comte and his gentlemen are going to join me here. It is just for a quiet night ride, and—ah,” he added, with a faint gasp of relief, “here they come!” For heavy footsteps approaching hastily could be heard outside—footsteps of only one, but which the lad in his wild excitement easily magnified into those of all his friends, as he walked far more swiftly than he intended to meet the three fugitives, ready to mount and in full career leave the hospitable place behind.The words were on his lips to greet them and say, “All is ready; you can mount in here.” But they were frozen on his lips, for the light from within fell full upon a big burly form, that of an enemy who, like a flash, the lad felt, could only have come upon a mission of evil; and he stood as if turned to stone, as a familiar voice exclaimed:“Hallo, my French friend! I saw you cross the Court and come in here, and so I watched. What’s your business, pray, at this time of the night? Have you come to steal his Majesty’s steeds?”
Feeling that the crisis had come, no sooner did Denis hear the first strokes of the second chiming of the clock, which came so opportunely upon the King’s discovery, than the lad dashed off along the passage leading towards the staircase that he would have to descend to gain the inner court and the stabling.
But he had not proceeded many yards before he stopped short, startled by the thought that if he continued by this corridor he would come right upon some gentleman of the household, whose nightly duty it was to be on guard at the angle of the gallery which led towards the King’s apartments.
“Oh,” he muttered beneath his breath, “I had forgotten. Carrbroke told me he would be there to-night.”
There was nothing for it but to retrace his steps, pass right round two-thirds of one of the lesser courts, and get back to the corridor again beyond the range of apartments sacred to the King.
Then reaching the end of the gallery, he began to hurry once more to make up for lost time, when feeling that, much as he desired to act, such hurried procedure would attract the attention of the first officer who was on guard, the lad checked his headlong steps, thrust his hands into his trunk hose, and began to walk carelessly along, catching up and humming the air which came softly from where the musicians were still playing.
It was well he did, for as he turned the next corner he came upon a couple of the King’s guards upon the landing at the head of a staircase.
His face was familiar to the men as one of the King’s guests, and it being right away from the royal apartments, they gave way for him to pass, and making a tremendous effort over himself, he descended very slowly and carelessly, the hardest part of all being to stop once or twice as if listening to the music, and then go on humming the air.
He breathed more freely as he passed out into the courtyard and crossed it, fully expecting to encounter a guard at the archway which gave upon the next court.
As he expected, there were a couple of armed men here ready to challenge him; but before they could speak he stopped short to ask whether he would find men in attendance at the stables, adding carelessly in very fair English:
“I want to see how our horses are getting on.”
It was so likely a mission that the principal of the two guards volunteered the information at once that some of the grooms would be sure to be there at that time for a final look round before closing for the night.
“You know your way, sir?” added the man respectfully.
“Oh yes, thank you,” said Denis carelessly; “I know my way.” And he walked on, panting heavily now, in spite of his slow pace. “This is the hardest work of all,” he muttered, “for I want to run—I want to run. But oh, how I do hate it all! They must be stealing the jewel now, for I can call it nothing else but a theft. How glad I am that they have sent me away, and I am not obliged to degrade myself with such a task. But yet I am helping, and seem as bad as they—but no, notasbad. Leoni says it is right, and—yes, it was stolen from us, and it is but to restore it to France—to France.”
“Now for it,” he muttered, as he neared the entrance to the great stables, where to his delight he could see by the light within that the door was open and a shadow passing the lit-up entry showed him that at all events part of his task would be easy. “Now no more thinking. I am but doing my duty, and it is time to act.”
Increasing his pace now, he stepped boldly into a broad shelter from which a long, dimly seen vista of horse-stalls opened out to right and left, and he was confronted at once by two of a group of men, three of whom bore lanterns, and who were coming towards him as if about to leave the place.
“Here,” he cried authoritatively, as he recognised one of the grooms as being he who had their steeds in charge, “I want our horses saddled at once.”
“To-night, sir?” said the man, glancing at the lad’s courtly costume in search of his boots and spurs, and seeking in vain, his eyes being only met by glistening silk and rosetted shoon.
“Yes,” replied Denis haughtily; “to-night”; and then half laughingly, “It is fresh and cool and pleasant, is it not?”
“Yes, sir,” said the man, “but—”
“The rooms are hot and stifling to-night, and the Comte my master wishes to ride forth. You will be well rewarded for the extra trouble and—ah, here,” he continued, thrusting his hand into Leoni’s pouch, “I forgot; you will of course sit up till we return. Here is something to pay for wine.”
He held out a couple of gold pieces, which, as they were taken, acted like magic, and a busy little scene of emulation ensued, every man being eager to assist in bridling and saddling the beautiful chargers that had been standing haltered in their stalls.
It was hard work for Denis, whose pulses were throbbing with impatience; but he carried out his part well, patting and stroking first one and then another of the noble beasts, and talking to them the while.
“It seems rather hard,” he said, speaking in the same haughty tone to the man he had before addressed; “but a good canter round the park will do them good, and their work is very easy nowadays.”
The groom agreed to everything he said, for the glint of the gold placed in his hand was still before his eyes; and in a very short space of time, long as it seemed to the impatient lad, the last strap and buckle were fastened, and with a man giving final touches to glistening coat and mane, the horses were about to be led forth.
“We are to take them round to the great entrance, sir?” said the chief groom.
“Oh no,” replied Denis carelessly. “Just lead them into the entry; the Comte and his gentlemen are going to join me here. It is just for a quiet night ride, and—ah,” he added, with a faint gasp of relief, “here they come!” For heavy footsteps approaching hastily could be heard outside—footsteps of only one, but which the lad in his wild excitement easily magnified into those of all his friends, as he walked far more swiftly than he intended to meet the three fugitives, ready to mount and in full career leave the hospitable place behind.
The words were on his lips to greet them and say, “All is ready; you can mount in here.” But they were frozen on his lips, for the light from within fell full upon a big burly form, that of an enemy who, like a flash, the lad felt, could only have come upon a mission of evil; and he stood as if turned to stone, as a familiar voice exclaimed:
“Hallo, my French friend! I saw you cross the Court and come in here, and so I watched. What’s your business, pray, at this time of the night? Have you come to steal his Majesty’s steeds?”
Chapter Thirty Three.Leoni’s pupil.“How dare you!” cried Denis.“Oh, I’ll soon show you how I dare, my lad,” cried Sir Robert Garstang. “Here, you fellow, who gave you orders to get those horses ready?”“This gentleman, sir,” said the groom.“What, this Comte de la Seine’s page, or whatever he is? And what right has he to instruct you to get horses out at this time of night?”“I don’t know, Sir Robert. We were told to get them ready,” said the man humbly.“Ah, but this must be inquired into. There’s something wrong here, I feel sure.”“Take no notice of this man,” cried Denis, forgetting in his excitement that he must speak in English, however bad, if he wished the grooms to understand, and addressing them excitedly in French.“Bah!” cried Sir Robert, in his most bullying tones. “Take no notice of the fellow’s jabber. I order you not to let these horses go without the permission of the chamberlain or the King’s Master of the Horse.”“But they are the gentlemen’s own horses, Sir Robert,” said the man quietly, “and not the King’s.”“I don’t care,” cried the officer. “The rules are, as I know well, that no horses shall leave here without special orders after dark.”Denis grasped every word that was said, and stood literally trembling with excitement, anticipating as he did that at any moment his friends might arrive, when there would be a discovery of the attempted flight, and all would be over.In his desperation, just as his heart seemed sinking to the lowest ebb, Leoni’s words recurred to him. He had used the gold, while now, as the doctor had told him, he had his sword; and at this thought he drew in his breath through his teeth with a sharp low hiss.“You hear!” cried Sir Robert sharply. “These horses are not to leave the stable till I return with some one in authority who shall decide what is to be done. You understand me? On your lives, obey!”He swung round to stride out of the building, and then started with surprise, for the young esquire’s rapier flashed out sharply in the dull light of the lanterns, as he drew and cried sternly:“On your life, sir, stand back, and cease to interfere! I have the highest of commands for what I do.”“What!” cried Sir Robert. “Why, I have been waiting for this, to pay you back the smart you gave me—insolent French puppy that you are! Give up your sword, sir. Do you know that it is a crime to draw in the precincts of the castle? This you have done, and it is my duty as one of his Majesty’s officers to arrest you on the spot. Give up your sword, sir, at once. You are my prisoner.”“Take my sword,” cried Denis sharply, “and make me your prisoner, insolent boor, if you dare or can.”“On your head be it then,” cried Sir Robert, loosening his cloak, twisting it quickly round his left arm, and drawing his sword, while the chief groom, startled by the danger in which the young esquire stood, whispered quickly to a couple of his underlings to hurry for the guard.“Stop!” cried Sir Robert fiercely. “Let no man stir if he value his skin. I know what you would do, and that I’ll do myself when I have corrected this springald here.—Now, boy,” he roared, “your sword!”“Now, Master Leoni,” whispered the boy between his teeth, as he rapidly placed himself on guard and made a feint at the burly captain’s chest. “Take it, insolent bully!” he said sharply; and the officer in his astonishment at the suddenness of the attack, fell back a pace; but recovering himself on the instant, he crossed swords with his young adversary. Then, to the excitement and delight of the grooms, who raised their lanterns to the full extent of their arms that the combatants might see, the triangular-bladed weapons began to give forth that peculiar harsh gritting sound of two steel edges rasping together.The encounter was but short, for, relying upon the superior strength of his arm, and determined to punish his slight young adversary in revenge for the past, the captain pressed hard upon him, lunging rapidly with all the vigour he could command, his intention being to drive his antagonist backward against one or other of the walls and pin him there. But he had reckoned without his host, for though Denis was no long-practised swordsman, Leoni’s lessons had not been without their effect, and as thrust after thrust was lightly turned aside, the young esquire firmly stood his ground, merely stepping sideways and letting his adversary’s baffled blade glide by his slight form, while refraining from thrusting again and again when the burly captain had laid himself so open that he was quite at the lad’s mercy.“Oh,” growled the captain at the end of a couple of minutes’ encounter, and he drew back to rest. “That is your play, is it? You refuse to be disarmed when I have mercifully shown myself disposed to let you off without a scratch.”“Your tongue is sharper than your sword, sir,” said the boy scornfully; “and it is worse. It is poisoned, for every word you have spoken is a lie.”“What!” cried the captain, enraged by the low murmur uttered by the grooms as if endorsing the young esquire’s words. “More insolent than ever! Give up your sword, or, by Heaven, I’ll send you back to the castle upon a litter.”“Send me, then,” said the lad contemptuously, “or be prepared to go yourself.”“Bah! No more words. Come on,” cried the captain; and he prepared to attack once more.“My turn now,” whispered the boy to himself, “and it is time;” for in his excitement he fancied that he could hear steps approaching. But there was not a sound save the gritting of the rapiers and the captain’s hoarse panting breath as he uttered a loud expiration at every thrust.For in his turn, in spite of his determination to make this second encounter an attack, and force his young adversary to remain entirely on his guard, the retort had begun, and before a minute had elapsed he uttered a sharp ejaculation as he felt the sharp pain caused by the lad’s keen point ripping open his muscular right arm. Stung now with rage, hatred, and the determination to have revenge, he literally rushed at the lad, to force him down, with the natural result that he threw himself open to the point of his more skilful enemy, who chose his moment, and made one quick thrust which darted like lightning through the captain’s bull-like neck, making him utter a low, deep growl as his sword flew from his hand, and he staggered backwards into the arms of a couple of the grooms, who lowered him to the ground.“Hah!” ejaculated Denis, whose heart was beating fast, and stepping forward he stooped over his fallen adversary, raised a portion of his cloak and drew his blade through it twice over. “Stop!” he cried quickly. “What are you going to do?” His loud question was addressed to the chief groom. “No,” cried the boy sternly; “lift him in yonder,” and he pointed with his blade towards the saddle-room. “Lay him there; tear strips off his cloak, and bind up his arm and neck. The greatest help you can give him now is to stop the bleeding.”There was a tone of command in the boy’s uttered words which had the natural effect, and the men busied themselves at once with their task, taking with them their lanterns and doing at once as they had been told, while they were so intent upon their task that they did not notice that Denis had followed them, to draw to the door and slip the two bolts with which it was furnished into their sockets.Then sheathing his sword, he turned quickly to the stable, where the four chargers stood untethered, and caught his own by the bridle, to begin leading it to the door.He trusted to the nature of the horses for the result, old stable companions as they were, and it was as he expected, for the intelligent animals followed their leader quietly enough, to stand together in the entry waiting, like their master, for what might come.
“How dare you!” cried Denis.
“Oh, I’ll soon show you how I dare, my lad,” cried Sir Robert Garstang. “Here, you fellow, who gave you orders to get those horses ready?”
“This gentleman, sir,” said the groom.
“What, this Comte de la Seine’s page, or whatever he is? And what right has he to instruct you to get horses out at this time of night?”
“I don’t know, Sir Robert. We were told to get them ready,” said the man humbly.
“Ah, but this must be inquired into. There’s something wrong here, I feel sure.”
“Take no notice of this man,” cried Denis, forgetting in his excitement that he must speak in English, however bad, if he wished the grooms to understand, and addressing them excitedly in French.
“Bah!” cried Sir Robert, in his most bullying tones. “Take no notice of the fellow’s jabber. I order you not to let these horses go without the permission of the chamberlain or the King’s Master of the Horse.”
“But they are the gentlemen’s own horses, Sir Robert,” said the man quietly, “and not the King’s.”
“I don’t care,” cried the officer. “The rules are, as I know well, that no horses shall leave here without special orders after dark.”
Denis grasped every word that was said, and stood literally trembling with excitement, anticipating as he did that at any moment his friends might arrive, when there would be a discovery of the attempted flight, and all would be over.
In his desperation, just as his heart seemed sinking to the lowest ebb, Leoni’s words recurred to him. He had used the gold, while now, as the doctor had told him, he had his sword; and at this thought he drew in his breath through his teeth with a sharp low hiss.
“You hear!” cried Sir Robert sharply. “These horses are not to leave the stable till I return with some one in authority who shall decide what is to be done. You understand me? On your lives, obey!”
He swung round to stride out of the building, and then started with surprise, for the young esquire’s rapier flashed out sharply in the dull light of the lanterns, as he drew and cried sternly:
“On your life, sir, stand back, and cease to interfere! I have the highest of commands for what I do.”
“What!” cried Sir Robert. “Why, I have been waiting for this, to pay you back the smart you gave me—insolent French puppy that you are! Give up your sword, sir. Do you know that it is a crime to draw in the precincts of the castle? This you have done, and it is my duty as one of his Majesty’s officers to arrest you on the spot. Give up your sword, sir, at once. You are my prisoner.”
“Take my sword,” cried Denis sharply, “and make me your prisoner, insolent boor, if you dare or can.”
“On your head be it then,” cried Sir Robert, loosening his cloak, twisting it quickly round his left arm, and drawing his sword, while the chief groom, startled by the danger in which the young esquire stood, whispered quickly to a couple of his underlings to hurry for the guard.
“Stop!” cried Sir Robert fiercely. “Let no man stir if he value his skin. I know what you would do, and that I’ll do myself when I have corrected this springald here.—Now, boy,” he roared, “your sword!”
“Now, Master Leoni,” whispered the boy between his teeth, as he rapidly placed himself on guard and made a feint at the burly captain’s chest. “Take it, insolent bully!” he said sharply; and the officer in his astonishment at the suddenness of the attack, fell back a pace; but recovering himself on the instant, he crossed swords with his young adversary. Then, to the excitement and delight of the grooms, who raised their lanterns to the full extent of their arms that the combatants might see, the triangular-bladed weapons began to give forth that peculiar harsh gritting sound of two steel edges rasping together.
The encounter was but short, for, relying upon the superior strength of his arm, and determined to punish his slight young adversary in revenge for the past, the captain pressed hard upon him, lunging rapidly with all the vigour he could command, his intention being to drive his antagonist backward against one or other of the walls and pin him there. But he had reckoned without his host, for though Denis was no long-practised swordsman, Leoni’s lessons had not been without their effect, and as thrust after thrust was lightly turned aside, the young esquire firmly stood his ground, merely stepping sideways and letting his adversary’s baffled blade glide by his slight form, while refraining from thrusting again and again when the burly captain had laid himself so open that he was quite at the lad’s mercy.
“Oh,” growled the captain at the end of a couple of minutes’ encounter, and he drew back to rest. “That is your play, is it? You refuse to be disarmed when I have mercifully shown myself disposed to let you off without a scratch.”
“Your tongue is sharper than your sword, sir,” said the boy scornfully; “and it is worse. It is poisoned, for every word you have spoken is a lie.”
“What!” cried the captain, enraged by the low murmur uttered by the grooms as if endorsing the young esquire’s words. “More insolent than ever! Give up your sword, or, by Heaven, I’ll send you back to the castle upon a litter.”
“Send me, then,” said the lad contemptuously, “or be prepared to go yourself.”
“Bah! No more words. Come on,” cried the captain; and he prepared to attack once more.
“My turn now,” whispered the boy to himself, “and it is time;” for in his excitement he fancied that he could hear steps approaching. But there was not a sound save the gritting of the rapiers and the captain’s hoarse panting breath as he uttered a loud expiration at every thrust.
For in his turn, in spite of his determination to make this second encounter an attack, and force his young adversary to remain entirely on his guard, the retort had begun, and before a minute had elapsed he uttered a sharp ejaculation as he felt the sharp pain caused by the lad’s keen point ripping open his muscular right arm. Stung now with rage, hatred, and the determination to have revenge, he literally rushed at the lad, to force him down, with the natural result that he threw himself open to the point of his more skilful enemy, who chose his moment, and made one quick thrust which darted like lightning through the captain’s bull-like neck, making him utter a low, deep growl as his sword flew from his hand, and he staggered backwards into the arms of a couple of the grooms, who lowered him to the ground.
“Hah!” ejaculated Denis, whose heart was beating fast, and stepping forward he stooped over his fallen adversary, raised a portion of his cloak and drew his blade through it twice over. “Stop!” he cried quickly. “What are you going to do?” His loud question was addressed to the chief groom. “No,” cried the boy sternly; “lift him in yonder,” and he pointed with his blade towards the saddle-room. “Lay him there; tear strips off his cloak, and bind up his arm and neck. The greatest help you can give him now is to stop the bleeding.”
There was a tone of command in the boy’s uttered words which had the natural effect, and the men busied themselves at once with their task, taking with them their lanterns and doing at once as they had been told, while they were so intent upon their task that they did not notice that Denis had followed them, to draw to the door and slip the two bolts with which it was furnished into their sockets.
Then sheathing his sword, he turned quickly to the stable, where the four chargers stood untethered, and caught his own by the bridle, to begin leading it to the door.
He trusted to the nature of the horses for the result, old stable companions as they were, and it was as he expected, for the intelligent animals followed their leader quietly enough, to stand together in the entry waiting, like their master, for what might come.
Chapter Thirty Four.A dash for liberty.“Oh!” groaned Denis to himself, as he stood in the darkness watching the shape of the saddle-room door, marked-out as it was in lines of light from the lanterns within, listening to the low muttering of voices, and shuddering once as his wounded adversary uttered a low deep groan, which was followed directly after by an angry ejaculation as if he were enraged by the clumsy surgery of the men.“Is all this going to be in vain?” muttered the boy. “It is as if the whole business is accursed and is bound to fail.”He stood listening, and the talking went on, to be interrupted by another fierce ejaculation from the captain, who gave some order; but what it was Denis could not grasp, and he literally groaned again.“They do not come! They do not come!” he said. “It is all useless. They must have failed.”He had hardly spoken the words when he fancied he heard steps; but all was still, and then he started violently and clapped his hand to his sword, for some one tried to open the saddle-room door, then shook it, and the words of whoever it was came plainly to the lad’s cars:“I can’t, Sir Robert. He has shut us in.”“What!” came hoarsely; and at the same moment Denis’s heart leaped, for there was no mistake this time. Footsteps were rapidly approaching, whether friends’ or foes’ it was impossible to tell, and taking a step outside the door with his bridle over his arm, his horse followed him, setting in motion the other three, which, well-trained as they were, ranged up alongside upon the cobble stones before the double doors.There was no doubt now, for three figures, plainly seen by the light which shone out of the saddle-room window, came breathlessly up, and the first to speak cried in familiar tones:“My horse! Is it ready? Quick!”“Yes, Sire,” whispered Denis, and Francis uttered a quick low “Hah!” as he gathered up the reins and prepared to mount, his two companions following his example, just as the lit-up window was dashed out by some heavy blow, the glass coming tinkling down upon the stones outside, and a hoarse voice that Denis knew only too well roared out:“Guard, here! Guard! Help! In the King’s name! Guard!”As the last words came hoarsely forth on to the night air,clang, clang, clang, burst out the tocsin of the alarm bell, silencing the music in the ballroom and sending an electric thrill through every listener within the precincts of the castle; but ere the great bell had sent forth a score of vibrating notes which came quivering through the darkness and echoing from every wall, the clattering of hoofs began in obedience to the whispered commands of his Majesty of France:“Draw, draw, and all together to the gates. Then lead, Leoni, and ride hard—straight away, man, for the south.”The horses had not made a dozen strides before their sharp hoof clatterings upon the paved court gave place to the dullthud, thud, returned from gravel, while before a hundred yards had been passed over, a couple of lanterns began to dance here and there right before them, their dull yellow rays being reflected from the broad blades of halberds borne by men who were evidently forming up in obedience to a shouted order, before making for the castle.The horsemen needed no command. They knew what they had to do—to charge right through the night watch assembling from the guard-room; and this they did.There were shouts, commands to stop in the King’s name, the impact of horse and man, and the clatter and jangle of steel against steel, as the fugitives rode their opponents down, kept together, and dashed on for another hundred yards or so, and then were brought up short by that which had not entered into their calculations, for they simultaneously drew rein as Saint Simon, fully excited now, roared in a voice of thunder; “The gates are shut!”The King uttered a low gasp, and it was Leoni who said sharply:“Only the great gates. The doorway—is it right or left?”“Here,” cried Denis; “this way, Sire!” And he made a snatch at the rein of the monarch’s horse and drew back his own for him to pass, closely followed by Leoni, who was just in time to rise in his stirrups and make a thrust at a tall halberdier who had suddenly stepped forward to seize the rein of Francis’s horse.The man uttered no cry, only dropped his halberd and staggered back as Leoni passed on into the darkness, his horse running side by side with that of the King.Meanwhile—it was almost momentary—Saint Simon, who was the next to pass through the narrow pier-bound way, cried out excitedly to his young friend:“Come on, boy! It will be a ride for life.”Denis knew it, as he sat there motionless as a statue upon his horse, with his sword pointed towards the advancing enemy, a full score of them dimly seen in the gloom, who, recovering from the terrible shock they had received, came running with their clumsy partisans levelled for their charge, to take revenge upon and capture the daring unknown party which had made this desperate attack.There were men among them who were suffering from blows and from trampling hoofs, and other injuries they had received; but as they ran they recovered their well-trained formation, and with their leader dashed two and two through the narrow postern gate and along the darkened road for full a couple of hundred yards, before the stern command rang out for them to halt.As the trampling of their feet ceased to beat upon the road they stood in the silence listening to the tramp of hoofs, which grew fainter and fainter, till the last sound died away and the silence was broken by a deep groan uttered by one of the men, who now dropped out and sank upon his knees.“Who’s that?” cried the leader sharply.“Staines Dick,” was the reply.“Humph!” grunted the sergeant who had led the pursuit. “That’s two of us gone down. I saw the sentry had it as we passed out. Is there anyone among you as would like to be sergeant instead of me?”“No,” said another voice. “Why?”“Because I am Sergeant of the Guard, my lads, and I shall have to go back and meet the King.”There was a peculiar sound from the little body of men, caused by their simultaneously sharply drawing in their breath, and then silence once again, as they listened to make sure that the beating of hoofs had passed beyond their ken. Then once more the sergeant spoke out.“Halberds here,” he said sharply, “and make a litter for this poor chap. That’s right; lift him gently. Have you got it badly, lad?”“No, sergeant; only my left arm broke. It was the hoof of a horse as he galloped over me and struck me aside.”“Hah!” said the sergeant, as he marched beside the improvised litter and went on talking to his injured man. “It’s bad, my lad, bad; but it don’t mean funeral march, and between ourselves, Staines Dick. I wish I was you.”
“Oh!” groaned Denis to himself, as he stood in the darkness watching the shape of the saddle-room door, marked-out as it was in lines of light from the lanterns within, listening to the low muttering of voices, and shuddering once as his wounded adversary uttered a low deep groan, which was followed directly after by an angry ejaculation as if he were enraged by the clumsy surgery of the men.
“Is all this going to be in vain?” muttered the boy. “It is as if the whole business is accursed and is bound to fail.”
He stood listening, and the talking went on, to be interrupted by another fierce ejaculation from the captain, who gave some order; but what it was Denis could not grasp, and he literally groaned again.
“They do not come! They do not come!” he said. “It is all useless. They must have failed.”
He had hardly spoken the words when he fancied he heard steps; but all was still, and then he started violently and clapped his hand to his sword, for some one tried to open the saddle-room door, then shook it, and the words of whoever it was came plainly to the lad’s cars:
“I can’t, Sir Robert. He has shut us in.”
“What!” came hoarsely; and at the same moment Denis’s heart leaped, for there was no mistake this time. Footsteps were rapidly approaching, whether friends’ or foes’ it was impossible to tell, and taking a step outside the door with his bridle over his arm, his horse followed him, setting in motion the other three, which, well-trained as they were, ranged up alongside upon the cobble stones before the double doors.
There was no doubt now, for three figures, plainly seen by the light which shone out of the saddle-room window, came breathlessly up, and the first to speak cried in familiar tones:
“My horse! Is it ready? Quick!”
“Yes, Sire,” whispered Denis, and Francis uttered a quick low “Hah!” as he gathered up the reins and prepared to mount, his two companions following his example, just as the lit-up window was dashed out by some heavy blow, the glass coming tinkling down upon the stones outside, and a hoarse voice that Denis knew only too well roared out:
“Guard, here! Guard! Help! In the King’s name! Guard!”
As the last words came hoarsely forth on to the night air,clang, clang, clang, burst out the tocsin of the alarm bell, silencing the music in the ballroom and sending an electric thrill through every listener within the precincts of the castle; but ere the great bell had sent forth a score of vibrating notes which came quivering through the darkness and echoing from every wall, the clattering of hoofs began in obedience to the whispered commands of his Majesty of France:
“Draw, draw, and all together to the gates. Then lead, Leoni, and ride hard—straight away, man, for the south.”
The horses had not made a dozen strides before their sharp hoof clatterings upon the paved court gave place to the dullthud, thud, returned from gravel, while before a hundred yards had been passed over, a couple of lanterns began to dance here and there right before them, their dull yellow rays being reflected from the broad blades of halberds borne by men who were evidently forming up in obedience to a shouted order, before making for the castle.
The horsemen needed no command. They knew what they had to do—to charge right through the night watch assembling from the guard-room; and this they did.
There were shouts, commands to stop in the King’s name, the impact of horse and man, and the clatter and jangle of steel against steel, as the fugitives rode their opponents down, kept together, and dashed on for another hundred yards or so, and then were brought up short by that which had not entered into their calculations, for they simultaneously drew rein as Saint Simon, fully excited now, roared in a voice of thunder; “The gates are shut!”
The King uttered a low gasp, and it was Leoni who said sharply:
“Only the great gates. The doorway—is it right or left?”
“Here,” cried Denis; “this way, Sire!” And he made a snatch at the rein of the monarch’s horse and drew back his own for him to pass, closely followed by Leoni, who was just in time to rise in his stirrups and make a thrust at a tall halberdier who had suddenly stepped forward to seize the rein of Francis’s horse.
The man uttered no cry, only dropped his halberd and staggered back as Leoni passed on into the darkness, his horse running side by side with that of the King.
Meanwhile—it was almost momentary—Saint Simon, who was the next to pass through the narrow pier-bound way, cried out excitedly to his young friend:
“Come on, boy! It will be a ride for life.”
Denis knew it, as he sat there motionless as a statue upon his horse, with his sword pointed towards the advancing enemy, a full score of them dimly seen in the gloom, who, recovering from the terrible shock they had received, came running with their clumsy partisans levelled for their charge, to take revenge upon and capture the daring unknown party which had made this desperate attack.
There were men among them who were suffering from blows and from trampling hoofs, and other injuries they had received; but as they ran they recovered their well-trained formation, and with their leader dashed two and two through the narrow postern gate and along the darkened road for full a couple of hundred yards, before the stern command rang out for them to halt.
As the trampling of their feet ceased to beat upon the road they stood in the silence listening to the tramp of hoofs, which grew fainter and fainter, till the last sound died away and the silence was broken by a deep groan uttered by one of the men, who now dropped out and sank upon his knees.
“Who’s that?” cried the leader sharply.
“Staines Dick,” was the reply.
“Humph!” grunted the sergeant who had led the pursuit. “That’s two of us gone down. I saw the sentry had it as we passed out. Is there anyone among you as would like to be sergeant instead of me?”
“No,” said another voice. “Why?”
“Because I am Sergeant of the Guard, my lads, and I shall have to go back and meet the King.”
There was a peculiar sound from the little body of men, caused by their simultaneously sharply drawing in their breath, and then silence once again, as they listened to make sure that the beating of hoofs had passed beyond their ken. Then once more the sergeant spoke out.
“Halberds here,” he said sharply, “and make a litter for this poor chap. That’s right; lift him gently. Have you got it badly, lad?”
“No, sergeant; only my left arm broke. It was the hoof of a horse as he galloped over me and struck me aside.”
“Hah!” said the sergeant, as he marched beside the improvised litter and went on talking to his injured man. “It’s bad, my lad, bad; but it don’t mean funeral march, and between ourselves, Staines Dick. I wish I was you.”
Chapter Thirty Five.Bluff Hal rages.“I don’t understand this, Hurst. I don’t understand it a bit. One moment I feel that he is no Comte, at another that there may be something in what you say. But just now I can think of nothing but de la Seine not being in his room. Bah! He cannot have taken to flight, thinking that I have discovered who he is; but we must find out that.”At this moment the King was passing along the centre of the gallery devoted to the priceless treasures of his collection, to which Carrbroke had so proudly directed the young French visitor’s attention, when his foot came suddenly in contact with something which he sent flying along the polished oaken boards, the object making a musical metallic sound.“What’s that?” cried the King sharply; and the chamberlain started forward into the gloom close beneath one of the windows, to pick up after a moment’s search what proved on being held up to the light to be a beautiful little golden cup covered with suchrepousséwork as would most likely have been placed there by some Italian artist of the Benvenuto Cellini type.A faint cry of wonder escaped the chamberlain’s lips.“A golden cup!” exclaimed the King, as he leaned over to gaze at the little object. “How comes that there? Why, Hurst, that littletazzashould be in the big cabinet yonder, where the French jewel lies. Quick! Here.”The King turned sharply and hurried back to the centre of the gallery where the great cabinet stood, to find it on the two sides he examined perfectly intact; but the other two sides of the big ornamental piece of furniture fell to the chamberlain’s examination, and he was so startled by the discovery he made that he remained silent and stood there with his lips compressed.“Nothing here, Hurst,” cried the King, in less excited tones. “It must have been my fancy; it cannot be the cup I mean. You see nothing?”“Will your Majesty look here?” said the chamberlain gravely.“Hah!” cried the King, and he joined his follower on the other side, to utter an ejaculation full of the rage he felt, for dim as the gallery was, light enough came through the window opposite to which the cabinet stood to show that one of the doors had been wrenched open; some of the drawers within were half unclosed, while several little objects that had evidently been dropped in haste were upon the floor.“Robbery! Pillage!” cried the King angrily. “They must have been disturbed in their act of plunder, whoever it was, and—and—hah!” he raged out, as he snatched up a case that was lying open. “Look here, Hurst; this tells the tale. Do you know it?”“No, Sire.”“You see it is empty.”“Yes, Sire.”“I could gage my life that within the last hour it held that fateful gem won by the Kings of England, the jewel from the French crown. Now, man, who is the robber? Speak!”“Ah!” half whispered the chamberlain. “Your Majesty is right. This disappearance is accounted for at once. It must have been—”“The Comte de la Seine!” raged out the King. “Stolen not only from my own palace, but out of my own private apartments, where I am supposed to be guarded night and day. Hurst,” he continued grimly. “I am afraid some one is going to die on account of this. But the robbers cannot have gone far. They must be somewhere about.”“Yes, Sire. There are guards everywhere, and the gates are closed. They must be in the castle still.”“Then this be my task,” cried the King, “to hunt the cunning schemers down. This way first. There should be two guards at the head of the south staircase—if they are not asleep.”In his excitement the King drew his sword and led the way to where the two officers were on duty, ready to challenge and answer frankly that only one person had passed there, and that the young esquire in the Comte de la Seine’s suite.“Bah! We are on the wrong track,” said the King angrily. “They would not come this way. That boy was probably sent to take the guards’ attention while the deed was done. Come back, Hurst; this way. You men arrest anybody who tries to pass you, no matter who it may be. Now, Hurst, quick, for the game is afoot and we must run it down.”He hurriedly led the way back along the gallery, past the broken cabinet without giving it a moment’s concern, and when nearing the private corridor the King stopped short, to clutch his follower by the breast with his left hand.“Hurst,” he whispered hoarsely, the deep tones of his voice betraying the rage burning in his breast—“Hurst, have we been betrayed?”“Surely not, your Majesty. Your people are too loyal for that.”“But the French are very cunning, man, and gold, even if it is foreign, will sometimes work its way.”“Your Majesty speaks in riddles,” said the chamberlain nervously, for his master still clutched him by the breast, and the sword was trembling in his hand as if he were about to use it upon a prisoner he had taken himself.“Riddles!” cried the King. “When we are searching for that vile culprit whom I believed to be still in the place, and who has not passed the guards at either end of these galleries? That boy Carrbroke: he told us that no one had passed by him.”“Yes, your Majesty; but still I do not understand your drift.”“Man, have you no brains to think? Is there not another way from here?”“Hah!” cried the chamberlain in a hoarse whisper. “The secret passage!”“Yes,” said the King, in a low, deep voice. “Some one—if they have not watched and discovered for themselves—must have betrayed its existence, known only to me and you. But maybe it has acted like a trap—the outer door is locked, and a stranger would not be likely to find the key.”“Oh,” whispered the chamberlain, “it is possible, Sire. I will call the guard.”“No,” said the King, with an angry hiss in his voice. “You can use your sword, Hurst?”“In your Majesty’s service at any time,” replied the chamberlain.“And I am not a child with mine,” said the King. “Hurst, man, your suspicions are right. This French visitor is no paltry Comte. There is the look of the Valois in his countenance. What if the great object of his visit here was to steal that gem taken from his land by conquest? Hurst, I should like to take this man redhanded myself. We are two, and possibly he is alone, for he would not trust such a task as this to other hands. We heard just now that his page, esquire, or whatever he is, had been sent away.”“Yes, Sire. But he will be desperate. Your Majesty’s safety must not be risked. I implore you, let me call the guard.”“Well, as you will,” said the King.—“No, it would only be to reveal that secret place to the common herd. No one shall know it but ourselves. But stop; there is some one close at hand whom I dare trust. Old Sir John Carrbroke’s son. He will be trusty as his father was to me, and to my father in his time. Fetch him here.”The chamberlain hurried off, while the King followed slowly, sword in hand, till he was opposite to the concealed door, where he stood fast to wait; but an ejaculation uttered by Lord Hurst took him to the latter’s side.“Traitor!” cried the King angrily. “No, sleeper.” And in his rage he drew back his arm as if to thrust at the youth who was lying upon the heavy couch.“No sleeper, your Majesty,” cried the chamberlain, bending over Carrbroke, to raise his eyelids one by one. “Pah!” he ejaculated. “The odour is quite strong. The poor lad has been drugged by some pungent medicament.” And then as he drew back his hand he took a kerchief from his pouch to wipe his hands. “The noisome poison is still wet upon his face.”“Thank Heaven!” said the King. “It was a mercy I did not strike and slay a faithful soul. Come, then, Hurst; but draw and defend me if there is need. Now then, back to the arras, and let us see.”“The passage is all black darkness, Sire,” whispered the chamberlain; and the King pointed with his sword to the nearest sconce.“Bring a light,” he said laconically.The next minute they were opposite the secret door, which the King unfastened, and was about to raise the arras when the chamberlain pressed forward.“I will go first, your Majesty,” he said.“After your King, sir. Yours the task to light me on the way.”A word of opposition was upon his follower’s lips, but the King stooped hastily, raised the arras well on high, and signed to the chamberlain to hold it up and cast the light into the narrow way he was about to traverse.Then with one heavy thrust he threw open the door, and without a moment’s hesitation passed in with his sword advanced, to be followed quickly by the chamberlain, who raised the light above his head, to throw the King’s shadow right before him, so that his mock semblance, looking black, solid, and grotesquely dwarfed, moved on in front till it struck against the angle of the wall where the passage turned sharply to the left.Here with sword advanced the chamberlain approached as closely as he could, fully expecting attack from a hiding foe; but the King passed boldly on, with his shadow before him, till the next angle was reached, their footsteps sounding hollow, dull, and strange in the confined space.The King walked onward like one well accustomed to traverse the place, and in another few minutes the great candle his follower bore was casting the dwarf shadow upon the heavy door that blocked the end.“A false clue, Hurst,” said the King gruffly. “The secret of this place is still our own.—No, by my faith!” he almost roared. “The light, man—lower—and look here!”For there, plain to see, was the ring of a heavy key in the lock of the massive door, and as the King seized the latch and raised it with a click, the door swung inward easily upon its well-oiled hinges, followed by a puff of the soft night air, which would have extinguished the light had not the King hastily closed the door again.“Gone, and by this way!” he growled, as he turned the key, sending the bolt with a sharp snap into the socket. Then with a sharp tug he drew out the shining wards and signed to his follower to return.Lord Hurst uttered a low sigh of relief, for he felt that the King had escaped a terrible danger, the loss of the jewel being as nothing to his life.He backed slowly, lighting the way, till they were about half-a-dozen yards from the door, when he stopped short and raised the light on a level with a little horizontal niche close to the roof of the passage, into which the King thrust the key.“There has been treachery here, Hurst,” he said sombrely, “for a stranger would not be likely to have found that key. Simple hiding-places are often the most safe. But there,” he growled, with a suppressed oath; “back into the corridor, but extinguish that light before you raise the arras, and make sure that we are alone.”The order was obeyed, the chamberlain cautiously listening, before going down upon one knee to raise the tapestry a few inches from the floor and make sure that Carrbroke was the only occupant of the great gallery, then creeping quickly out, holding the hangings upward for the King to pass, and securing the door.“Now,” cried the King furiously, as he brought one foot down with a heavy stamp, “the villains may be still within the grounds. Guard! Guard!” he roared, with a voice almost as deep as that of a raging bull; and as footsteps were almost directly heard, the enraged monarch turned upon his chamberlain and furiously bade him have the soldiery summoned and the place well searched, while many minutes had not elapsed before the alarm bell was sending its vibrating notes with a deep hum through the night air, and room and corridor echoed with the sounds of excited voices and trampling feet.It was in the midst of the orders that were being given by King and courtier that the clashing sound of arms and shouts of angry men came from the gate and guard-room, to be followed by the news of the encounter and the visitors’ escape.And then it was as if a storm was raging through the castle, set in agitation by the bluff King, who played the part of thunder god himself, ending by stamping and raging about the outer court animadverting upon the sluggishness of his guards, till the strong body of horsemen who formed his bodyguard of mounted archers stood drawn up, ready, with their arms and armour flashing in the light of scores of flambeaux, waiting for the final order thundered forth at last by the King himself, to spare not their spurs, but ride due south and bring back the culprits alive or dead.
“I don’t understand this, Hurst. I don’t understand it a bit. One moment I feel that he is no Comte, at another that there may be something in what you say. But just now I can think of nothing but de la Seine not being in his room. Bah! He cannot have taken to flight, thinking that I have discovered who he is; but we must find out that.”
At this moment the King was passing along the centre of the gallery devoted to the priceless treasures of his collection, to which Carrbroke had so proudly directed the young French visitor’s attention, when his foot came suddenly in contact with something which he sent flying along the polished oaken boards, the object making a musical metallic sound.
“What’s that?” cried the King sharply; and the chamberlain started forward into the gloom close beneath one of the windows, to pick up after a moment’s search what proved on being held up to the light to be a beautiful little golden cup covered with suchrepousséwork as would most likely have been placed there by some Italian artist of the Benvenuto Cellini type.
A faint cry of wonder escaped the chamberlain’s lips.
“A golden cup!” exclaimed the King, as he leaned over to gaze at the little object. “How comes that there? Why, Hurst, that littletazzashould be in the big cabinet yonder, where the French jewel lies. Quick! Here.”
The King turned sharply and hurried back to the centre of the gallery where the great cabinet stood, to find it on the two sides he examined perfectly intact; but the other two sides of the big ornamental piece of furniture fell to the chamberlain’s examination, and he was so startled by the discovery he made that he remained silent and stood there with his lips compressed.
“Nothing here, Hurst,” cried the King, in less excited tones. “It must have been my fancy; it cannot be the cup I mean. You see nothing?”
“Will your Majesty look here?” said the chamberlain gravely.
“Hah!” cried the King, and he joined his follower on the other side, to utter an ejaculation full of the rage he felt, for dim as the gallery was, light enough came through the window opposite to which the cabinet stood to show that one of the doors had been wrenched open; some of the drawers within were half unclosed, while several little objects that had evidently been dropped in haste were upon the floor.
“Robbery! Pillage!” cried the King angrily. “They must have been disturbed in their act of plunder, whoever it was, and—and—hah!” he raged out, as he snatched up a case that was lying open. “Look here, Hurst; this tells the tale. Do you know it?”
“No, Sire.”
“You see it is empty.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I could gage my life that within the last hour it held that fateful gem won by the Kings of England, the jewel from the French crown. Now, man, who is the robber? Speak!”
“Ah!” half whispered the chamberlain. “Your Majesty is right. This disappearance is accounted for at once. It must have been—”
“The Comte de la Seine!” raged out the King. “Stolen not only from my own palace, but out of my own private apartments, where I am supposed to be guarded night and day. Hurst,” he continued grimly. “I am afraid some one is going to die on account of this. But the robbers cannot have gone far. They must be somewhere about.”
“Yes, Sire. There are guards everywhere, and the gates are closed. They must be in the castle still.”
“Then this be my task,” cried the King, “to hunt the cunning schemers down. This way first. There should be two guards at the head of the south staircase—if they are not asleep.”
In his excitement the King drew his sword and led the way to where the two officers were on duty, ready to challenge and answer frankly that only one person had passed there, and that the young esquire in the Comte de la Seine’s suite.
“Bah! We are on the wrong track,” said the King angrily. “They would not come this way. That boy was probably sent to take the guards’ attention while the deed was done. Come back, Hurst; this way. You men arrest anybody who tries to pass you, no matter who it may be. Now, Hurst, quick, for the game is afoot and we must run it down.”
He hurriedly led the way back along the gallery, past the broken cabinet without giving it a moment’s concern, and when nearing the private corridor the King stopped short, to clutch his follower by the breast with his left hand.
“Hurst,” he whispered hoarsely, the deep tones of his voice betraying the rage burning in his breast—“Hurst, have we been betrayed?”
“Surely not, your Majesty. Your people are too loyal for that.”
“But the French are very cunning, man, and gold, even if it is foreign, will sometimes work its way.”
“Your Majesty speaks in riddles,” said the chamberlain nervously, for his master still clutched him by the breast, and the sword was trembling in his hand as if he were about to use it upon a prisoner he had taken himself.
“Riddles!” cried the King. “When we are searching for that vile culprit whom I believed to be still in the place, and who has not passed the guards at either end of these galleries? That boy Carrbroke: he told us that no one had passed by him.”
“Yes, your Majesty; but still I do not understand your drift.”
“Man, have you no brains to think? Is there not another way from here?”
“Hah!” cried the chamberlain in a hoarse whisper. “The secret passage!”
“Yes,” said the King, in a low, deep voice. “Some one—if they have not watched and discovered for themselves—must have betrayed its existence, known only to me and you. But maybe it has acted like a trap—the outer door is locked, and a stranger would not be likely to find the key.”
“Oh,” whispered the chamberlain, “it is possible, Sire. I will call the guard.”
“No,” said the King, with an angry hiss in his voice. “You can use your sword, Hurst?”
“In your Majesty’s service at any time,” replied the chamberlain.
“And I am not a child with mine,” said the King. “Hurst, man, your suspicions are right. This French visitor is no paltry Comte. There is the look of the Valois in his countenance. What if the great object of his visit here was to steal that gem taken from his land by conquest? Hurst, I should like to take this man redhanded myself. We are two, and possibly he is alone, for he would not trust such a task as this to other hands. We heard just now that his page, esquire, or whatever he is, had been sent away.”
“Yes, Sire. But he will be desperate. Your Majesty’s safety must not be risked. I implore you, let me call the guard.”
“Well, as you will,” said the King.—“No, it would only be to reveal that secret place to the common herd. No one shall know it but ourselves. But stop; there is some one close at hand whom I dare trust. Old Sir John Carrbroke’s son. He will be trusty as his father was to me, and to my father in his time. Fetch him here.”
The chamberlain hurried off, while the King followed slowly, sword in hand, till he was opposite to the concealed door, where he stood fast to wait; but an ejaculation uttered by Lord Hurst took him to the latter’s side.
“Traitor!” cried the King angrily. “No, sleeper.” And in his rage he drew back his arm as if to thrust at the youth who was lying upon the heavy couch.
“No sleeper, your Majesty,” cried the chamberlain, bending over Carrbroke, to raise his eyelids one by one. “Pah!” he ejaculated. “The odour is quite strong. The poor lad has been drugged by some pungent medicament.” And then as he drew back his hand he took a kerchief from his pouch to wipe his hands. “The noisome poison is still wet upon his face.”
“Thank Heaven!” said the King. “It was a mercy I did not strike and slay a faithful soul. Come, then, Hurst; but draw and defend me if there is need. Now then, back to the arras, and let us see.”
“The passage is all black darkness, Sire,” whispered the chamberlain; and the King pointed with his sword to the nearest sconce.
“Bring a light,” he said laconically.
The next minute they were opposite the secret door, which the King unfastened, and was about to raise the arras when the chamberlain pressed forward.
“I will go first, your Majesty,” he said.
“After your King, sir. Yours the task to light me on the way.”
A word of opposition was upon his follower’s lips, but the King stooped hastily, raised the arras well on high, and signed to the chamberlain to hold it up and cast the light into the narrow way he was about to traverse.
Then with one heavy thrust he threw open the door, and without a moment’s hesitation passed in with his sword advanced, to be followed quickly by the chamberlain, who raised the light above his head, to throw the King’s shadow right before him, so that his mock semblance, looking black, solid, and grotesquely dwarfed, moved on in front till it struck against the angle of the wall where the passage turned sharply to the left.
Here with sword advanced the chamberlain approached as closely as he could, fully expecting attack from a hiding foe; but the King passed boldly on, with his shadow before him, till the next angle was reached, their footsteps sounding hollow, dull, and strange in the confined space.
The King walked onward like one well accustomed to traverse the place, and in another few minutes the great candle his follower bore was casting the dwarf shadow upon the heavy door that blocked the end.
“A false clue, Hurst,” said the King gruffly. “The secret of this place is still our own.—No, by my faith!” he almost roared. “The light, man—lower—and look here!”
For there, plain to see, was the ring of a heavy key in the lock of the massive door, and as the King seized the latch and raised it with a click, the door swung inward easily upon its well-oiled hinges, followed by a puff of the soft night air, which would have extinguished the light had not the King hastily closed the door again.
“Gone, and by this way!” he growled, as he turned the key, sending the bolt with a sharp snap into the socket. Then with a sharp tug he drew out the shining wards and signed to his follower to return.
Lord Hurst uttered a low sigh of relief, for he felt that the King had escaped a terrible danger, the loss of the jewel being as nothing to his life.
He backed slowly, lighting the way, till they were about half-a-dozen yards from the door, when he stopped short and raised the light on a level with a little horizontal niche close to the roof of the passage, into which the King thrust the key.
“There has been treachery here, Hurst,” he said sombrely, “for a stranger would not be likely to have found that key. Simple hiding-places are often the most safe. But there,” he growled, with a suppressed oath; “back into the corridor, but extinguish that light before you raise the arras, and make sure that we are alone.”
The order was obeyed, the chamberlain cautiously listening, before going down upon one knee to raise the tapestry a few inches from the floor and make sure that Carrbroke was the only occupant of the great gallery, then creeping quickly out, holding the hangings upward for the King to pass, and securing the door.
“Now,” cried the King furiously, as he brought one foot down with a heavy stamp, “the villains may be still within the grounds. Guard! Guard!” he roared, with a voice almost as deep as that of a raging bull; and as footsteps were almost directly heard, the enraged monarch turned upon his chamberlain and furiously bade him have the soldiery summoned and the place well searched, while many minutes had not elapsed before the alarm bell was sending its vibrating notes with a deep hum through the night air, and room and corridor echoed with the sounds of excited voices and trampling feet.
It was in the midst of the orders that were being given by King and courtier that the clashing sound of arms and shouts of angry men came from the gate and guard-room, to be followed by the news of the encounter and the visitors’ escape.
And then it was as if a storm was raging through the castle, set in agitation by the bluff King, who played the part of thunder god himself, ending by stamping and raging about the outer court animadverting upon the sluggishness of his guards, till the strong body of horsemen who formed his bodyguard of mounted archers stood drawn up, ready, with their arms and armour flashing in the light of scores of flambeaux, waiting for the final order thundered forth at last by the King himself, to spare not their spurs, but ride due south and bring back the culprits alive or dead.
Chapter Thirty Six.Somebody’s wound.As if to aid the fugitives’ escape, the moon, which had been shining brightly the greater part of the evening, had become overclouded almost from the minute they set off, and headed by the King, who bent low over the pommel of his saddle, and at the start had seemed to drive his spurs into his horse’s flanks, the little party tore over the darkened road at a furious pace, no one uttering a word.The King led; that was sufficient for two of the party, who set their teeth and gave the horses their heads, merely taking care to rein up slightly as every now and then they came upon some terribly untended piece of the road.“The King leads,” thought the two young men, “and all we have to do is to keep close at his heels, ready if wanted, and for France.”Saint Simon was one who thought little and said less. They had had an exciting charge, mastered those who opposed them, behaved like gentlemen of France, and that was enough.But as Denis galloped on with the wind coming cool and pleasant to cheeks fevered by the excitement that he had passed through, picture after picture flitted through his brain, dominated by that in the stable entry when he had felt his rapier glide through his adversary’s neck.Had he killed this man? something seemed to ask him again and again.Then came the strong feeling of dissatisfaction as imaginary pictures took the others’ place, illustrating the breaking open of the cabinet and the stealing of the jewel—imaginary so far as he was concerned, for no communication as to this having been accomplished had been made to him. But he took it all for granted, and though he had taken no active part in the theft—for theft his conscience persisted in calling it—the base action pressed upon him more and more, in spite of his combating it with declarations that it was an act of warfare to regain the King’s own, and that it was for France.At last as they galloped on with their horses following their natural instinct and keeping closely together as in a knot, the trouble, the worry became almost unbearable.“Oh, if something fresh would only happen—something exciting!” Denis muttered. “I could then bear it better.”At last a thought flashed through his brain, and he started, rose a little in his stirrups, and began looking about him.“Are we going right?” he said to himself, and he looked straight ahead now—beyond Francis, who was slightly in advance, he being on the King’s left, while Leoni’s horse galloped level with his own, the beautiful animal’s head being almost within touch of the King’s saddle upon the right.But all was dark and cloudy, and he could make out nothing.“The King leads,” he muttered, “and what the King does is right.”Thinking this to himself, Denis rode on, perfectly unconscious of the fact that he who rode on his right was vastly troubled too, and regardless of everything else kept one eye fixed upon his liege, for he had noticed that Francis was not riding according to his wont.He was generally upright in his saddle, and he had never seen him bend low before like this.At first he comforted himself with the thought that it was all due to excitement and the dread of being captured after this nefarious act; for gloze it over as he would, the subtle Franco-Italian knew in his heart that though it might be for reasons of State, and to ensure the stability and future of his King, the scheme was vile. Then, too, there was all that had taken place that night, the peculiar semi-trance-like state in which the King had seemed to be plunged. There was the draught, too, that had been taken, and its effects before he had grasped the King’s wrist and had led him, a passive instrument in his hands, to where the cabinet stood in the obscurity of the gallery, and had him standing there, participator of that which had followed, but in a half unconscious condition the while.Once or twice after coming to the conclusion, and owning to himself that the state of Francis was due entirely to the draught he had administered, Leoni started nervously in his saddle, for the King had suddenly given a lurch as if partly unseated; but he regained his balance on the instant, and muttered angrily at his horse for stumbling.They rode on now at a hand gallop, their horses’ hoofs beating heavily upon the road, but not drowning the King’s voice, as every now and then he made his horse lay back its ears to listen to the rider’s words, which at times came angrily and fast. But they were incoherent and strange, and it was only now and then that Leoni, on his right, and Denis, on his left, caught their import, always something about the hunt and losing their quarry.It was just after one of these mutterings that the clouds were swept from the face of the moon, passing onward like a vast black velvet curtain edged with silver, and leaving visible a third, later on a half, of the vast arch overhead, studded here and there with stars whose lustre was paled by the effulgent moon.And now it was that, after studying the sky overhead for some minutes to make sure, Denis could control himself no longer, and involuntarily exclaimed; “Are we going right?”“What!” cried Leoni sharply, for the King paid no heed, but galloped on, muttering to himself the while.“Are we going right?” repeated the lad.“What do you mean, boy?”“The road is straight, sir, and we are riding to the north. Should we not be making for the south?”“Are you mad, boy? What do you mean?”“Look, sir—the stars. That must be the Bear.”Leoni was silent for a few moments, breathing heavily the while, as they rode steadily on. Then the doctor’s voice came in a low angry hiss:“Yes, boy,” he said, and his voice sounded like a harsh whisper, “we are upon the wrong road; but the Count led, and I thought of nothing but making our escape.”“Are we to rein in, sir? Will you not tell him at once?” whispered Denis, leaning towards him as near as he could get.“No; we can do nothing now but gallop on. There is certainly pursuit going on hot foot behind us—somewhere,” he added, after a slight pause; “and perhaps it is in the Count’s wisdom that he has chosen this way, for if we were beyond earshot when pursuit commenced, the guard would naturally divine that we should be making for some southern port. Perhaps all is working for the best.”“Ah!” ejaculated Denis excitedly, for Francis reeled again in his saddle, this time towards his young esquire, who spurred his steed level with the King’s just in time to save him from falling headlong to the ground.“Ah!” he muttered angrily. “This horse is going lame, and we shall be last. Poor broken beast, I have ridden him too hard, and—I like it not; I like it not.”“Master Leoni!” cried Denis excitedly, as the King recovered himself once more. “The Comte, sir—the Comte!”“I know. I saw. Keep as you are now, as close as you can ride. I’ll keep level on the other side. We must reach water somehow, and I will give him to drink. It is the excitement. He is ill.”“No, no, sir!” cried Denis wildly. “He is wounded.”“What!” shouted Leoni.“My hand and sleeve are wet with blood. Look, sir, look!” For the moon was shining brightly down upon them now. “A horrible cut upon his brow!”“Halt!” cried Leoni; and at the command the horses stopped so suddenly that but for the hands of his followers the King would have been thrown upon his horse’s neck.“Are we to get him down?” panted Denis.“No,” said Leoni, cool and stern as if, in spite of the emergency, danger was afar. “Support him that side.” And letting his horse’s rein fall upon the neck he drew his littleflaconfrom the breast of his doublet, unscrewed the top, and passing his arm round the King’s shoulders, the head fell back, and the doctor pressed the neck of the little flask between his lips, while Francis yawned slightly, and a few drops trickled over his dry hot tongue. A few drops—no more—and then the top was screwed on the flask, it was returned to its owner’s breast, and he busily examined the King’s forehead, after drawing back the plumed cap which had been dragged down over his eyes.“A cut from sword or axe,” muttered Leoni. “It must have been given by one of those halberdiers. He has borne it bravely, gentlemen, and like a king. Hah! My handkerchief!”He snatched it out, just as it was, folded like a pad. “Now then, a scarf,” he said. “Yours, Denis. I will unfasten it myself. You, Saint Simon, ride back a hundred yards and listen. Make out if you can whether we are pursued.”Saint Simon turned off and rode back without a word, while Leoni hastily unfastened and drew off the young esquire’s silken scarf, and said with his white teeth glistening in a sardonic smile in the bright moonlight:“Why, Denis, boy, you will be honoured to-night. You must save this scarf as an heirloom, for when you get it back it will be deeply stained with the royal blood of France.”“Hist!” whispered the lad, flushing. “The Comte will hear.”“Perhaps,” said Leoni coolly; “but he will not understand. Ah, that is better: raise his head a little.—Stand still, horse!” he cried angrily; and then, as Denis raised the King’s head a trifle, the white handkerchief was bound tightly over the wound, and the scarf adjusted so that it retained it in its place and formed into a turban-like cover, while the King’s jewelled cap was secured by its strap to the embroidered baldric he wore.
As if to aid the fugitives’ escape, the moon, which had been shining brightly the greater part of the evening, had become overclouded almost from the minute they set off, and headed by the King, who bent low over the pommel of his saddle, and at the start had seemed to drive his spurs into his horse’s flanks, the little party tore over the darkened road at a furious pace, no one uttering a word.
The King led; that was sufficient for two of the party, who set their teeth and gave the horses their heads, merely taking care to rein up slightly as every now and then they came upon some terribly untended piece of the road.
“The King leads,” thought the two young men, “and all we have to do is to keep close at his heels, ready if wanted, and for France.”
Saint Simon was one who thought little and said less. They had had an exciting charge, mastered those who opposed them, behaved like gentlemen of France, and that was enough.
But as Denis galloped on with the wind coming cool and pleasant to cheeks fevered by the excitement that he had passed through, picture after picture flitted through his brain, dominated by that in the stable entry when he had felt his rapier glide through his adversary’s neck.
Had he killed this man? something seemed to ask him again and again.
Then came the strong feeling of dissatisfaction as imaginary pictures took the others’ place, illustrating the breaking open of the cabinet and the stealing of the jewel—imaginary so far as he was concerned, for no communication as to this having been accomplished had been made to him. But he took it all for granted, and though he had taken no active part in the theft—for theft his conscience persisted in calling it—the base action pressed upon him more and more, in spite of his combating it with declarations that it was an act of warfare to regain the King’s own, and that it was for France.
At last as they galloped on with their horses following their natural instinct and keeping closely together as in a knot, the trouble, the worry became almost unbearable.
“Oh, if something fresh would only happen—something exciting!” Denis muttered. “I could then bear it better.”
At last a thought flashed through his brain, and he started, rose a little in his stirrups, and began looking about him.
“Are we going right?” he said to himself, and he looked straight ahead now—beyond Francis, who was slightly in advance, he being on the King’s left, while Leoni’s horse galloped level with his own, the beautiful animal’s head being almost within touch of the King’s saddle upon the right.
But all was dark and cloudy, and he could make out nothing.
“The King leads,” he muttered, “and what the King does is right.”
Thinking this to himself, Denis rode on, perfectly unconscious of the fact that he who rode on his right was vastly troubled too, and regardless of everything else kept one eye fixed upon his liege, for he had noticed that Francis was not riding according to his wont.
He was generally upright in his saddle, and he had never seen him bend low before like this.
At first he comforted himself with the thought that it was all due to excitement and the dread of being captured after this nefarious act; for gloze it over as he would, the subtle Franco-Italian knew in his heart that though it might be for reasons of State, and to ensure the stability and future of his King, the scheme was vile. Then, too, there was all that had taken place that night, the peculiar semi-trance-like state in which the King had seemed to be plunged. There was the draught, too, that had been taken, and its effects before he had grasped the King’s wrist and had led him, a passive instrument in his hands, to where the cabinet stood in the obscurity of the gallery, and had him standing there, participator of that which had followed, but in a half unconscious condition the while.
Once or twice after coming to the conclusion, and owning to himself that the state of Francis was due entirely to the draught he had administered, Leoni started nervously in his saddle, for the King had suddenly given a lurch as if partly unseated; but he regained his balance on the instant, and muttered angrily at his horse for stumbling.
They rode on now at a hand gallop, their horses’ hoofs beating heavily upon the road, but not drowning the King’s voice, as every now and then he made his horse lay back its ears to listen to the rider’s words, which at times came angrily and fast. But they were incoherent and strange, and it was only now and then that Leoni, on his right, and Denis, on his left, caught their import, always something about the hunt and losing their quarry.
It was just after one of these mutterings that the clouds were swept from the face of the moon, passing onward like a vast black velvet curtain edged with silver, and leaving visible a third, later on a half, of the vast arch overhead, studded here and there with stars whose lustre was paled by the effulgent moon.
And now it was that, after studying the sky overhead for some minutes to make sure, Denis could control himself no longer, and involuntarily exclaimed; “Are we going right?”
“What!” cried Leoni sharply, for the King paid no heed, but galloped on, muttering to himself the while.
“Are we going right?” repeated the lad.
“What do you mean, boy?”
“The road is straight, sir, and we are riding to the north. Should we not be making for the south?”
“Are you mad, boy? What do you mean?”
“Look, sir—the stars. That must be the Bear.”
Leoni was silent for a few moments, breathing heavily the while, as they rode steadily on. Then the doctor’s voice came in a low angry hiss:
“Yes, boy,” he said, and his voice sounded like a harsh whisper, “we are upon the wrong road; but the Count led, and I thought of nothing but making our escape.”
“Are we to rein in, sir? Will you not tell him at once?” whispered Denis, leaning towards him as near as he could get.
“No; we can do nothing now but gallop on. There is certainly pursuit going on hot foot behind us—somewhere,” he added, after a slight pause; “and perhaps it is in the Count’s wisdom that he has chosen this way, for if we were beyond earshot when pursuit commenced, the guard would naturally divine that we should be making for some southern port. Perhaps all is working for the best.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Denis excitedly, for Francis reeled again in his saddle, this time towards his young esquire, who spurred his steed level with the King’s just in time to save him from falling headlong to the ground.
“Ah!” he muttered angrily. “This horse is going lame, and we shall be last. Poor broken beast, I have ridden him too hard, and—I like it not; I like it not.”
“Master Leoni!” cried Denis excitedly, as the King recovered himself once more. “The Comte, sir—the Comte!”
“I know. I saw. Keep as you are now, as close as you can ride. I’ll keep level on the other side. We must reach water somehow, and I will give him to drink. It is the excitement. He is ill.”
“No, no, sir!” cried Denis wildly. “He is wounded.”
“What!” shouted Leoni.
“My hand and sleeve are wet with blood. Look, sir, look!” For the moon was shining brightly down upon them now. “A horrible cut upon his brow!”
“Halt!” cried Leoni; and at the command the horses stopped so suddenly that but for the hands of his followers the King would have been thrown upon his horse’s neck.
“Are we to get him down?” panted Denis.
“No,” said Leoni, cool and stern as if, in spite of the emergency, danger was afar. “Support him that side.” And letting his horse’s rein fall upon the neck he drew his littleflaconfrom the breast of his doublet, unscrewed the top, and passing his arm round the King’s shoulders, the head fell back, and the doctor pressed the neck of the little flask between his lips, while Francis yawned slightly, and a few drops trickled over his dry hot tongue. A few drops—no more—and then the top was screwed on the flask, it was returned to its owner’s breast, and he busily examined the King’s forehead, after drawing back the plumed cap which had been dragged down over his eyes.
“A cut from sword or axe,” muttered Leoni. “It must have been given by one of those halberdiers. He has borne it bravely, gentlemen, and like a king. Hah! My handkerchief!”
He snatched it out, just as it was, folded like a pad. “Now then, a scarf,” he said. “Yours, Denis. I will unfasten it myself. You, Saint Simon, ride back a hundred yards and listen. Make out if you can whether we are pursued.”
Saint Simon turned off and rode back without a word, while Leoni hastily unfastened and drew off the young esquire’s silken scarf, and said with his white teeth glistening in a sardonic smile in the bright moonlight:
“Why, Denis, boy, you will be honoured to-night. You must save this scarf as an heirloom, for when you get it back it will be deeply stained with the royal blood of France.”
“Hist!” whispered the lad, flushing. “The Comte will hear.”
“Perhaps,” said Leoni coolly; “but he will not understand. Ah, that is better: raise his head a little.—Stand still, horse!” he cried angrily; and then, as Denis raised the King’s head a trifle, the white handkerchief was bound tightly over the wound, and the scarf adjusted so that it retained it in its place and formed into a turban-like cover, while the King’s jewelled cap was secured by its strap to the embroidered baldric he wore.
Chapter Thirty Seven.An awkward halt.Meanwhile the strong medicament administered by Leoni had had its effect, giving the sufferer temporary energy and to some extent restoring the reeling senses, so that by the time theal frescosurgery was at an end, Francis began to speak with a fair amount of coherence.“Who’s this?” he said. “You, Leoni? Thanks, man. How cool and fresh the night air feels! Have I been hurt? Yes, I remember. That caitiff dog of an Englishman struck me with his partisan, and I had no time to reach him and pay him back. Thanks, doctor. Yes, I am better now. But on, on, on!” he panted, with a sudden return of the slight delirium from which he had suffered. “An end to all this. Fontainebleau! Can we reach there to-night?”“No, sir,” replied Leoni soothingly, as with his hand upon the King’s rein he led his horse at a walk. “But we are well on the way for the palace. That’s right. That’s right. I am weary of this playing Comte, and all it means. But we shall be late, Leoni; we shall be late. They will have laid the hounds upon the boar’s track. He will have broken cover, and I shall not be there with my spear.”“We will go faster soon, sir,” said Leoni encouragingly; but he did not attempt to increase their speed, continuing at a walk and suddenly drawing rein to speak to Denis.“Saint Simon,” he said—“I had forgotten him.”“Coming on about a hundred yards behind,” whispered Denis. “He thinks we are not followed.”“Hah!” exclaimed Leoni. “You ride on first. I will follow with the Comte. He will take up all my attention now.”“Is he much hurt?” whispered Denis anxiously.“No; an ugly cut to the bone, but nothing to fear. Forward, boy, and keep a sharp look-out for the first road that bears off to the left. That will be the way—anywhere will be right that takes us beyond pursuit.”Denis obeyed and rode on, looking vainly for the road he sought, but finding instead several leading in the opposite direction, while at every turning he checked his horse to wait till the rest came up, for their progress was necessarily slow.The night glided drearily on, with the paces of the horses at a slow walk growing monotonous in the extreme; and for some time past the excitement of the flight had been giving place to the first approaches of a drowsiness that was rapidly becoming invincible, when with a faint cry of joy the lad noticed, as he looked off to his right, that the faint soft light was beginning to appear in the east, becoming soon a long, low pearly band which grew broader and broader, while the stars that had brightened for a time when the moon went down began to pale.The patches of woodland back from the road, which had been black and sombre, began to turn grey, leaves grew distinct, and before long high-up in the zenith the sky was flecked with a few tiny clouds of a soft rosy orange which gradually brightened till they glowed like fire, and then died out, leaving nothing but the clear sky, darkened in the west, but growing lighter till the eastern horizon was reached, where, plain to see, were the rapid advances of the coming day.The birds, too, were beginning to make their pipings heard, and all at once, as if wakened by the footsteps of the horses, a lark sprang up, to begin circling round higher and higher, carolling its joyous song, and with it raising the spirits of the young esquire, as he felt that they were free once more, and at all events taking the first steps homeward and backward to the sea, which still lay between him and the rest and peace for which he longed.It was horrible, he felt, that the King should have been injured in this ill-starred expedition; but now it was to be at an end, and as the lad thought this in the dewy freshness and cool air of the hour before sunrise, he began to enjoy the beauty of the pleasant woodland country through which their horses paced. But he looked back from time to time, to see Francis more upright in his saddle, with Leoni riding knee to knee, and Saint Simon grave and silent fifty yards behind.Still they passed nothing but some foot-track or rugged lane—nothing in the way of a high-road—and the lad was about to draw rein at last to seek counsel as to their further proceedings, when at a turn of the lane he caught sight of a spreading clump of trees and what seemed to be a village green, about which clustered a few humble cottages, and an inn whose sign projected from a tree trunk that overhung the road.Denis checked his horse now and waited till the others closed up.“Shall I see if the people are awake,” said the lad, “and ask them of our way?”“No,” replied Leoni coldly. “Ask nothing; but go and summon the people. Ah, there is some one stirring there! Look—coming out from the door. Ride on and tell him we want rest and refreshment—a chamber, too, for a gentleman who has had a fall from his horse. Denis, boy, we are in a perilous strait. I dare not let the King go further until he has had some hours of rest and sleep.”
Meanwhile the strong medicament administered by Leoni had had its effect, giving the sufferer temporary energy and to some extent restoring the reeling senses, so that by the time theal frescosurgery was at an end, Francis began to speak with a fair amount of coherence.
“Who’s this?” he said. “You, Leoni? Thanks, man. How cool and fresh the night air feels! Have I been hurt? Yes, I remember. That caitiff dog of an Englishman struck me with his partisan, and I had no time to reach him and pay him back. Thanks, doctor. Yes, I am better now. But on, on, on!” he panted, with a sudden return of the slight delirium from which he had suffered. “An end to all this. Fontainebleau! Can we reach there to-night?”
“No, sir,” replied Leoni soothingly, as with his hand upon the King’s rein he led his horse at a walk. “But we are well on the way for the palace. That’s right. That’s right. I am weary of this playing Comte, and all it means. But we shall be late, Leoni; we shall be late. They will have laid the hounds upon the boar’s track. He will have broken cover, and I shall not be there with my spear.”
“We will go faster soon, sir,” said Leoni encouragingly; but he did not attempt to increase their speed, continuing at a walk and suddenly drawing rein to speak to Denis.
“Saint Simon,” he said—“I had forgotten him.”
“Coming on about a hundred yards behind,” whispered Denis. “He thinks we are not followed.”
“Hah!” exclaimed Leoni. “You ride on first. I will follow with the Comte. He will take up all my attention now.”
“Is he much hurt?” whispered Denis anxiously.
“No; an ugly cut to the bone, but nothing to fear. Forward, boy, and keep a sharp look-out for the first road that bears off to the left. That will be the way—anywhere will be right that takes us beyond pursuit.”
Denis obeyed and rode on, looking vainly for the road he sought, but finding instead several leading in the opposite direction, while at every turning he checked his horse to wait till the rest came up, for their progress was necessarily slow.
The night glided drearily on, with the paces of the horses at a slow walk growing monotonous in the extreme; and for some time past the excitement of the flight had been giving place to the first approaches of a drowsiness that was rapidly becoming invincible, when with a faint cry of joy the lad noticed, as he looked off to his right, that the faint soft light was beginning to appear in the east, becoming soon a long, low pearly band which grew broader and broader, while the stars that had brightened for a time when the moon went down began to pale.
The patches of woodland back from the road, which had been black and sombre, began to turn grey, leaves grew distinct, and before long high-up in the zenith the sky was flecked with a few tiny clouds of a soft rosy orange which gradually brightened till they glowed like fire, and then died out, leaving nothing but the clear sky, darkened in the west, but growing lighter till the eastern horizon was reached, where, plain to see, were the rapid advances of the coming day.
The birds, too, were beginning to make their pipings heard, and all at once, as if wakened by the footsteps of the horses, a lark sprang up, to begin circling round higher and higher, carolling its joyous song, and with it raising the spirits of the young esquire, as he felt that they were free once more, and at all events taking the first steps homeward and backward to the sea, which still lay between him and the rest and peace for which he longed.
It was horrible, he felt, that the King should have been injured in this ill-starred expedition; but now it was to be at an end, and as the lad thought this in the dewy freshness and cool air of the hour before sunrise, he began to enjoy the beauty of the pleasant woodland country through which their horses paced. But he looked back from time to time, to see Francis more upright in his saddle, with Leoni riding knee to knee, and Saint Simon grave and silent fifty yards behind.
Still they passed nothing but some foot-track or rugged lane—nothing in the way of a high-road—and the lad was about to draw rein at last to seek counsel as to their further proceedings, when at a turn of the lane he caught sight of a spreading clump of trees and what seemed to be a village green, about which clustered a few humble cottages, and an inn whose sign projected from a tree trunk that overhung the road.
Denis checked his horse now and waited till the others closed up.
“Shall I see if the people are awake,” said the lad, “and ask them of our way?”
“No,” replied Leoni coldly. “Ask nothing; but go and summon the people. Ah, there is some one stirring there! Look—coming out from the door. Ride on and tell him we want rest and refreshment—a chamber, too, for a gentleman who has had a fall from his horse. Denis, boy, we are in a perilous strait. I dare not let the King go further until he has had some hours of rest and sleep.”