Of all the men I ever saw this stranger struck my fancy to the highest degree. He strode into the room with as much confidence and poise as though he were the actual master of the house and we the humblest of his servants. He looked neither to the right nor the left. Yet, as he passed us, without shifting his gaze, he seemed to sweep each of us out of the corner of his eye with a glance that measured us from head to heel.
He stopped at the great oaken table and raised his hat with a sort of mincing delicacy. With a swish through the air he knocked the water from it and laid it carefully down. When he took off his cloak we saw that he carried a silver mounted sword and wore a doublet and breeches of the finest velvet ornamented about the edges with a fine lace. He curled his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. Then, with his hand over his heart and a bland smile on his face he turned and bowed with as much reverence as you would pay to a king.
“I’ll never forget this,” he said, but there his voice dropped so that the rest of it sounded like hollow mockery,“—this unexpected hospitality.”
André was the first to speak.
“It’s a sour night,” said he carefully eyeing the stranger’s wet boots and dripping clothes, “for a man to be abroad.”
The visitor gave a short laugh.
“A little warmth,” he replied with a nod towards the hearth, “would add greatly to my comfort.” He began to chafe his hands the one in the other as though he were frozen to the marrow. “Will you please bestir yourself!”
There was a ring of insolence in his tone. His words, though uttered smoothly, had a kind of sly meaning at the bottom that touched us to the quick. It was clear that he intended to nettle us. The old Lord of Gramont squared his shoulders. He let out a low quiet whistle and walked away. But André, who was quicker and more easily hurt, flushed the color of scarlet and knotted his fists.
For a moment there was empty silence. Our visitor looked at each of us in turn with the corners of his lips curved in a taunting smile. He strutted past the hearth with his spurs clanking and glanced with a sneer about the room.
“I have often heard that the cattle in Normandy were better housed than their masters,” he began. “It’s even colder here than it is out of doors.”
“That is one reason why we are so healthy,” replied my brother looking him full in the face. “And that is why we are so strong.”
The stranger broke out into a loud laugh.
“Why, man,” he exclaimed, “you have more wit than I imagined.” He bowed low again. “It is to your credit, sir.”
André yawned.
“It is indeed cold,” he said. “But your tongue has a chill all of its own. Do you know, my friend, I should have had a fire going by this time if you——” But he stopped short, knowing that as a host he should not be the first to openly offend.
But the stranger tossed back his head. He clapped my brother soundly on the shoulder.
“I shall finish it for you,” he cried. “You meant to say, ‘—if I had not come into the house.’” He flung his arm in the air in a wild gesture of mirth. “You too have a tongue in your head. To tell you truly I am amazed, for at first sight of you I thought you nothing but a country dullard!”
With that he stared brazenly into André’s face. Then with the lightness of a feather, he spun around and threw himself into one of the chairs.
My brother went as white as chalk. For a second he seemed stupefied. Then a redness swept over him. He walked deliberately to the rack that held the arms. The old Lord of Gramont halted where he had been pacing half way across the room and looked sharply back. As for me my breath stuck in my throat.
André returned bearing a naked sword in his hand.
“There is no light outside of the house,” he said. “We must finish, what we have begun, here.”
The other arose. The same taunting smile played around his mouth.
“I had not thought you would have the courage,” he remarked. And then, “Will you stain the floor of the house with your own blood?”
My brother took his position but, for a second, the old Count of Gramont interfered.
“Will you tell us your name?” he asked the stranger. “In case anything happens, it will be well to know.”
“My name?” repeated our visitor laying his finger-tips on his chest, and with the shadow of a bow. “I am called the Sieur De Marsac. To all with whom I am acquainted, a faithful servant of his Majesty, the King.”
There were no words more. The swords rang in the air. De Marsac began as though it were only a fancy play, my brother with all the seriousness of his nature. There was a difference between the two that was soon seen. Our visitor had the advantage in litheness and in trickery. André was the better in strength of wrist and in driving into his enemy with force and steadiness.
The fight began with a few light thrusts and parries that on each side were only trials of the other’s skill. Then of a sudden De Marsac unleashed a savage attack. His sword came darting in like the fangs of a snake with the point directed towards André’s heart. A part of a second and it would have been too late, but my brother, who, I saw, was making sure of his defense, swung his weapon to the side and caught his enemy’s blade, steel against steel. The swords locked at the pommels like the horns of deer and for a second the two stood glaring into each other’s eyes.
It was here that André’s sturdiness showed itself, for it was a test of the one man’s brawn against the other’s. My brother’s jaws came together with determination. The veins in his neck swelled. He raised himself slowly on the balls of his feet and pressed forward with all his might. A cold look came into De Marsac’s eyes and a frown crossed his forehead. I saw him go back little by little on his heels. His arm was bending in towards his body. André took a step forward and our enemy to save himself from being thrown off his balance sprang quickly backwards.
De Marsac began anew. His smile of confidence faded into seriousness. He tried again with a few feints to find an opening in my brother’s defense. Each time he was blocked with neatness and surety. Each time he drew back with a scowl. The color in his face gave way to a pallid white. His breath came short. But there was a look of gathering hate on his countenance and a shifting expression in his eyes that roused me in alarm.
“Look out for a trick, André!”
It was foolish for me to cry out. It is no thing to do when men are in a conflict that means life or death, for in the second when he heard my voice, my brother shot a look towards me that told me as plainly as words that he knew what he was about. But I had given De Marsac his opportunity. In that brief moment when my brother’s eyes were turned, our enemy sprang forward with the quickness of a tiger. The light of the candles ran like a flash along his blade. His arm, the sleeve of black velvet and fancy lace, straightened itself in the direction of my brother’s chest.
But for the terror that I felt, I would have closed my eyes, for in the next breath I expected to see André fall. But instead he showed a nimbleness that I never dreamed was his. Like a spring he was down and up again. By the breath of a hair De Marsac’s weapon passed over his shoulder. Our enemy’s body was open for the fatal blow and my brother, heated with the conflict, wrapped his knuckles about his sword to strike his insulter to his feet.
His sword came forward. He had put one foot before the other to drive home the blow with all the might that lay in him. The point caught De Marsac in the middle of the chest as straight as ever a thrust was aimed and, I am sure with as much power behind it as any average man can put.
I expected to see our enemy crumble to the floor—dead. To our extreme amazement, as André struck, we heard a sharp click. The sword which De Marsac held, fell, to be sure, rattling to the floor. But no blood flowed, and his body, as though it had been violently pushed, or struck by a man’s fist, tumbled back. He tried to keep on his feet but was too far gone. He measured his length on the floor and in falling knocked his head against one of the legs of the long oaken table.
It was the old Count of Gramont who spoke first.
“A coat of linked mail!” he cried running over to him. “He wears a coat of mail under his velvet jerkin.”
De Marsac was stunned. The old Count caught him roughly by the shoulder and jerked him to his feet.
“A trickster!” he shouted in his face. “You are a low-born coward.”
De Marsac never uttered a word. He blinked and ran his hand over his eyes till they cleared. The old smile of cunning curled around his lips, but this time it was mingled with contempt and hate.
“You Norman dogs!” he hissed. “Do you think I would match my life with yours?”
The old man went white with anger. He held his big hand out at arm’s length. He curled it slowly into a knot of a fist and took a deep breath. With what force he could summon he whirled about and struck De Marsac a hard blow in the face. We had not expected it and I think De Marsac was taken by surprise too. His knees sagged under him and his arms fell limp at his side. He would have fallen, had not the old Count caught him again by the shoulder and pushed him into a chair.
“You are not the first of your breed that this fist has struck down,” he cried. “In the days gone by it has wielded a battle-ax that laid dozens of your countrymen low. If the time comes,” he added darkly, “it is still strong enough to match itself with another foe.”
He took to pacing once more up and down the hall. André walked quietly to the rack and put his sword away. When he came back he picked up De Marsac’s weapon where it had fallen and handed it to him.
“You will have no further need of this,” he said in an even tone, “—at least while you are here.”
Of the four of us in that room it was De Marsac who first regained his poise. The sting of the rebukes which had been flung into his face soon faded away. He arose without a look at any of us and took his coat over his arm. Then he put his hat upon his head and snapped his sword back into its scabbard. Without a word he walked towards the door and as he went I thought I saw his former jauntiness returning.
“Gentlemen,” he said with his fingers on the latch and in a voice of sneering mockery. “You have won tonight, for it is difficult for a man to fight two against one. There will come another meeting when there will be fairer odds. At that time I promise you a different ending to the story.”
None of us answered. He closed the door behind him quietly and with no show of anger passed out of the house.
I breathed a long sigh.
“I’m glad he’s gone,” I said.
My brother and the old Count exchanged glances.
“There’s something back of that fellow,” said André. “We must be on our guard for I think we shall hear from him again.”
We sat for almost an hour. None of us stirred except André who busied himself in making a fire. When the blaze had spread warmth about the room he came and sat down with us again. A tiny spot of blood was oozing through the bandages.
“It’s from the exertion,” he explained with a smile. “I wonder if the fellow who attacked us on the road was a hireling of De Marsac?”
At that the dogs began barking and yelping as they did before. The old Count of Gramont started to the door, but before he reached it, it flew wide open. It was De Marsac who burst into the room. He must have fallen into the mud for his velvet breeches were splattered with clay. A wild look shone from his eyes and he was of the color of death.
“An attack has been made upon my life!” he cried.
We rose from our seats.
“I was making down the road towards the armorer’s where I left my horse. I was set upon by a band of men. Look here!” he exclaimed and drew an arrow from under his cloak. “But for the coat of mail I was wearing this would have gone through my heart!”
“Have you enemies in the neighborhood?” demanded the old Count.
“There are enemies following me,” declared De Marsac. “There is one who would snap out my life as you would snap a piece of straw. But this is not his work. This is the work of another.” Terrified, he looked around the room. “Have you ever heard of the ‘Will-o’-the-Wisp’?” he asked.
“No. Who is he?” we cried together.
“A highwayman,” he answered. “—a bold desperate highwayman. For a month at a time he terrifies the countryside. Then he disappears. Miles and miles away he is heard from again. He is seldom seen. He works alone. It is his disguises that trick people. He can masquerade as a nobleman, a beggar, a soldier—anything.”
He flung himself into a chair but was up in a flash again.
“Gentlemen, we have had our little dispute,” he said hurriedly. “It is all over now and done with. You see I cannot venture out into the night without fear for my life. In the name of your hospitality I am going to ask you to let me rest here until the morning.”
The old Count looked warningly at my brother and silently shook his head ‘no.’ But André, who was easily touched on the softer side, arose and bowed.
“I offer you every courtesy,” he said quietly. “It is past midnight and no doubt you are weary from your ride. I shall light you to your room.”
He took the candle and went before. In a few minutes he was down again.
“I could not do otherwise,” he explained.
“He is not to be trusted, André,” I said.
“The man’s a rogue,” added the Count of Gramont. “If I were you, André, I would put a guard about the house. There’s something brewing that we have no knowledge of.”
“I shall have one of the servants watch in the hall upstairs,” my brother said. “Another will stay here during the night. We must learn what his purpose is so that we can meet the situation. In the morning if he smiles again, I shall be like honey to him. I think that is the better way.”
The old Count laughed in his throat and grunted.
“If this were my house,” he said, “I would make short work of him.”
And he made a sign that meant that he would string him to a tree.
We were all tired. One by one we bade each other goodnight and went to bed.
The next morning when I awoke the sun was shining big and fairly warm. The chill of the night before had yielded to a gentle breeze that blew now steadily from the south.
I heard the clatter of pots and pans in the pantry below. The fresh odor of small bacon was wafted to my nostrils. In fits and starts the low rumble of men’s voices arose like the heaviness of distant thunder here and there between a loud laugh that echoed high against the rafters.
By this I knew it was time that I was stirring. As fast as I could I washed and dressed myself and hurried down the stairs. I laid my hand on the latch to enter when another burst of laughter louder than the others smote upon my ears. I thought that some travelers or friends from the neighborhood were making a morning call, so I jerked open the door and with a smile of greeting entered the room.
In the next breath I stood stock still. There were but three men at the table—the old Count of Gramont, my brother André and the intruder of the night before. But what struck me first was that they were in the merriest of moods. The old Count was grinning and staring hard before him. André with his face in his palms was smiling like a pleased child. And De Marsac, as vivacious as a young colt, was babbling and talking like a running brook. His face was flushed. He was waving his hands as wildly as a windmill.
I never saw men so completely changed. It was all sham I knew—a kind of play in which the one was trying to beguile the other. There was no sincerity in their actions or their words. For a second I was amazed.
De Marsac must have seen the puzzled expression on my face. He leaped from his seat and hastened towards me. With the same show of outward delight with which you would greet an old acquaintance, he clapped my hand in his and tucked it under his arm.
“A sound sleeper,” he cried. “An easy mind.” And then, as though it were an amusing thing for a lad of my age to have a mind at all, he turned with a knowing gesture and broke into a laugh.
I flushed uncomfortably. I tried to withdraw from his grasp. But the more I pulled, the more firmly I felt the pressure of his arm. At length the two of us reached the seat which I usually occupied. Here he let go. As I sat down he continued to stand before me. With his hand over his heart he bowed pretty much as he had done the night before. Then he straightened himself again and laid his palm upon my shoulder.
“Here is what I call the makings of a man,” he said to the Count and André in tones like an orator. “Strong arms. Sturdy limbs.” He let his eye run the length of my body. “A great fighter some day—and a stubborn one. Is it not true, Henri?”
I smiled a sour smile, for his mockery was all too clear. He was, to my discomfort, treating me like a baby. He took his seat next to me. Then he began to pile my platter high with meat and wheaten cakes and poured a noggin full of whey. I sat there like a log, boiling within and wishing him out of the way.
“We’ll be great friends yet, won’t we, Henri?” he said in a soft sneering tone. “You know I was down to the armorer’s long before you were out of bed. My horse has gone lame. It’ll be three or four days before he’ll be well again. In the meantime I’m going to be your guest.” He stopped and drummed lightly on the table. “You’ll be glad of that, won’t you, Henri?”
I went on eating.
“I’ll be sorry,” said I, “—for the horse.”
At that he turned to the Count and my brother, breaking out into a loud laugh, like a father whose child has said something unusually clever.
“Henri and I are going into the woods today,” he went on in the same annoying voice. “After that we’ll pay a visit to the forge. I want to show him my horse.” Then he added slowly, “You can ride, can’t you, Henri?”
“As well as any of them,” I answered and went on hurrying through my meal.
De Marsac saw that I was nettled. He dared not drive his cajolery too far, for my brother was looking at him with half closed eyes, and the old Count had arched one brow gazing at me to see how I was standing his thrusts.
At length our visitor turned his conversation to the older men. He chattered like a magpie. One story followed the other with flashes of wit between. The spirit of merriment which was in the air when I entered the room came back. I saw my chance. As quietly as I could I arose and slipped softly out of the door.
With a feeling of relief I turned the corner of the house and was making down the gravel path when I heard a crunching of the stones behind me. I cast a glance over my shoulder. To my discomfort there was De Marsac coming quickly after me. He had his head thrown back and with his eyes towards the sky was whistling an air.
“Ah,” he exclaimed when I turned, “you are going somewhere?”
I stopped.
“To the armorer’s,” I said shortly. Then in the hope that he would leave me to myself, “I have business there—of a private nature.”
My hint fell flat. In a kind of running walk he caught up to me and said, “That’s fine. We’ll go together.”
I would have run away had I been able. Why was I to be bothered by a man who was nothing but a nuisance and a pest? I tried to think of one excuse or other to rid myself of him. None came, so for the while I made the best of it.
We went on in silence. He had his head in the air looking brightly about. I had mine down for I hated even the sight of his face. After a little he made a jab or two but they failed. When he saw that his nonsense was of no purpose he turned serious and prodded me with all kinds of questions.
He showed an interest in the extent of our land. In a sly way he got out of me how far it ran and what crops it bore. Then he mentioned the old Count of Gramont and the size of his estates. He touched on the strength of his castle on the hill—the number of men which he kept under arms—the revenues that came from his possessions in the valley and what wealth he was said to have.
You may be sure that I told him as little as I could. In some respects I was as good a play-actor as he, for to most of his questionings I had but one stupid answer, “I don’t know.” If it was his intention to treat me like a dunce, I was more than willing to act the part of one.
Finally a fresh thought came to me. I halted of a sudden and stepped away from him.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I said. “I’m not going to the armorer’s. I’m going through the woods.”
He let his arms fall to his sides.
“—through the woods?” he asked. “Why?”
His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I had an accident there last night,” I replied. “I should like to see what became of a certain man.”
He rolled his eyes as though he was thinking—trying to measure me in his mind.
“What’s your game, Henri?” he asked. His voice was low but I felt a threat lurking in it.
I began to explain.
“You see, as I was coming home last night, I happened upon two men who were quarreling in the woods,” said I, watching his face closely.
“Yes,” he answered.
“The one got the better of the other,” I went on, “and the man who lost was tied by the victor to a tree.”
He did not change his expression, but looked steadily into my eyes.
“Dead?” he demanded.
“No. Alive.”
The breath came back to him. He tried not to show it but a faint smile of satisfaction played around his mouth.
“I understand you now, Henri,” he went on. “You have a good heart. If he is still there, you want to set him free.”
With that he clapped my arm under his as he had done just before breakfast. With a little more hurry than was necessary he made with me towards the woods.
I led him to the spot where I thought the man was lashed to the tree. But the only trace of him we found was a length of rope. It was frayed and worn at the ends. No doubt he had set himself free by hours of rubbing against the rough bark. The ground about the trunk was stamped and torn as though by the marching of a hundred feet.
“The villain’s gone,” I remarked.
“Why do you call him a villain?” De Marsac came back at me with his soft sneer.
“Because, Sieur De Marsac,” said I with more boldness than caution, “he tried to take my life.”
De Marsac whistled.
“And he failed?” he said. His voice flattened as though it was a thing he regretted. Then he came close to me. “Do you know, Henri,” he continued in the same slow tone, “any of us might be killed without a moment’s warning. There is a man following me at this very minute who is thirsting for my life.”
“It might be the same fellow,” I suggested craftily.
“No,” he said, “your fellow is an ordinary lout—stupid. He has made a mess of his work. The man who is following me is far deadlier. He never misses—and never fails.”
I drew cautiously away, for De Marsac’s words and the snake-like subtlety of them threw me on my guard.
“What do you mean,” said I, “when you say that ‘he has made a mess of his work’? Is it your opinion that I really ought to have been killed?”
His eyes sharpened. Like a man ready to strike a blow his face grew red with anger and he shifted forward.
“You are a smart lad, Henri,” he said drawing his eyes together till they were almost closed, “but you should be taught to speak more respectfully to your betters.”
I hardly knew what to say. There was no good in the man. He was underhand in his actions. He had something up his sleeve that he was going to have out with me. It struck me that the sooner it was over the better.
“You are not plain enough, Sieur De Marsac,” I said, “for me to answer you.” Then rashness got the upper hand of me and I burst out, “Why did you follow me this morning, anyway?”
He only stood glaring at me. His lips tightened. A wicked glint gathered in his eyes and he stepped in towards me. I was now truly alarmed. I looked from one side of me to the other for a way of escape. I saw him finger at his belt for his dagger. His answer came like a thunderbolt.
“—to finish the bungling of last night!” he hissed.
I was entirely on the defensive for I had no weapons. As he reached out to grasp me, I sprang to one side. Then I turned to run for it. We were somewhat aside of the path and the underbrush was matted and tangled. I made a leap, thinking to get as far from him as possible. My foot caught in a weed or trailing vine which held it as though it were tied there.
In the next second my legs were knocked from under me. I fell forward on my hands and face. Then I got another jolt as though someone were thumping me on the side and shoulders with a heavy log. I could not see, for the undergrowth was sharp and I was forced to close my eyes. A deep grunt and a squeal started near me. A brushing of the weeds and vines followed. Terror crept into my soul for I realized that it was an animal which I had startled and disturbed.
My heart was jumping like a hammer. I rose on one elbow and looked fearfully around. To my amazement and horror, as I scrambled to my feet, I saw a wild boar with its snout to the ground make its way through the underbrush and disappear deeper into the woods.
Then came another surprise. De Marsac was standing as white as a corpse. He seemed to have forgotten me entirely. His eyes were fastened on the direction which the boar had taken. His whole body was moving nervously as though he were greatly excited. From what I had noticed before I knew a fresh thought had started in his mind. Like a flash he was over helping me to my feet.
“Henri,” he called. “You can thank me for saving your life! If I hadn’t warned you in time, you would have been gored to death!”
I made no reply for the thoughts were scared out of me.
“We’ll go home now, Henri,” De Marsac said in a trembling voice.
I went along with him. From the time we left the woods he spoke not a word to me nor did he seem conscious of my presence. There was something brewing in his mind. He continually snapped his fingers as though he was impatient. He muttered under his breath and shook his head in approval of what was stirring in his thoughts.
Once I heard him mumble, “The wild boar. The very thing. We’ll hunt the wild boar.” Again, when he appeared forgetful that I was there, he growled, “It will be an easier way—when we hunt the wild boar.” He laughed confidently to himself. “We’ll start tomorrow—at dawn.” When we came to the gravel path that led to the house, he clapped me on the shoulder.
“Tomorrow will be my lucky day—eh, Henri?” he said.
We reached home in the early afternoon. It was then that I got a clearer vision of De Marsac’s duplicity and of the game that he was playing. No sooner had we laid eyes upon my brother and the Count, when he began to tell of our adventure in the woods in the most excited fashion. He drew a most vivid picture of the danger I had been in. He painted himself in the rôle of my rescuer. His voice took on a high tremulous tone as though he too had suffered from the shock and were really alarmed at my nearness to death. Every now and then he turned to me to bear him out in this or that assertion but went rapidly on again before I had time to utter a sound. He clapped me on the back. He tugged me by the elbow. He looked beamingly into my face. To see and hear him you would have thought that I was lucky to be alive and you would have considered him the bravest man in the world.
At last with a fine frenzy he concluded.
“We must track this monster to his lair,” he shouted. “We must drive him to his death.”
I was like a fish floundering on dry land. To me this man was all fraud and froth. I looked appealingly towards my brother with the hope that he would see beneath it all.
The old Count rose and stretched himself.
“André,” he said with a sly wink, “it’ll be a fine day’s sport. What do you say?”
“We shall have everything ready by the morning, Sieur De Marsac,” he said dryly. Then he turned to the old Count and said, “We must drive this monster to its doom.”
With that he grinned and walked away.
That was final, I knew. I went off to the barn and busied myself during the afternoon with odds and ends that interested me. The day passed and the night came. We lighted the candles. Until the time for bed we sat in the great hall exchanging worthless gossip.
I dragged myself upstairs first, tired and weary. But I managed to keep awake until I heard the others follow one by one. When I thought them fast asleep, I crept noiselessly into André’s room and sat softly down on the side of his bed. To my surprise he had not closed his eyes.
“I was expecting you, Henri,” he said.
“I came to speak to you about De Marsac,” I began. “Don’t you think he is bent on harm?”
“Are you worried?” he asked.
“I have good reason to be,” I replied. “It was only by a lucky chance that I was not killed today.”
He sat bolt upright in the bed and took me by the arm.
“By him?” he demanded.
“Yes.” And I told him of the happenings in the woods.
“That is going too far,” he said. “Tomorrow must be his last day among us. He must forth from the house.”
“Why does he linger here, André?” I asked. “Do you know?”
“I can only guess,” he answered.
“It is to get possession of our estate,” I ventured, “—ours and the estate of the Count of Gramont. There is a plot hatching. The men who set upon me in the woods are in it. And I believe that De Marsac is the leader.”
“I rather thought,” said he, “that he was an agent of the King.”
“He is that and more too,” I replied. “André, you may take my word for it. De Marsac wants this place for himself.”
He made no answer. We sat there in the dark for a long time. At length he laid his hand upon my shoulder.
“Henri,” he said, “we must give the matter deep thought. But this I promise you, come what may, after the boar hunt tomorrow I shall drive this schemer from the house.”
With that I went slowly to my room. My sleep was fitful. All night long I dreamed the wildest dreams so that when morning came I was not half rested. I leaped from my bed with my heart thumping, for there below I heard the cocks crowing in the yard. There was a clamor of men shouting to each other. The horses’ hoofs clattered on the ground. There was the clang of steel against steel. The animals snorted as they sensed the excitement in the air. And above all I heard André’s voice shout a command. I knew that it was high time for me to be about and stirring.
I slipped down the stairs fastening my belt as I went. In less time than it takes to tell I was across the yard and was leading out the roan which I had always claimed as my own.
We were divided into two parties. I was to accompany the one led by the Count of Gramont, while André, with De Marsac, was to take the other. Our enemy was in high spirits. He had borrowed one of André’s horses and to display himself made it cavort and caper about with the glee of a child. I fastened a look on him. I am sure I felt nothing but contempt for a man so vain. I let my eye run from his hat with the feather in it to the spurs upon his boots. The rest of us wore tight-fitting jerkins of smooth leather, but he had on his long black cloak. It struck me as being quite strange. I was beginning to wonder if he had a motive for it when I saw that it was another trick of his, for beneath the skirts I discovered that he had brought along with him his sword!
I did not think twice. I slipped from my horse and ran into the hall. In a second I was back again with the weapon which my brother had used only two nights before. I went to André where he was among the others and tugged at his sleeve.
“Take this,” I urged. “Later on I’ll tell you the reason why.”
With that I was on my horse again. A long loud blast of the horn and we were off. André and De Marsac swerved far to the west. The Count of Gramont and our followers turned towards the south.
We were soon in the woods. The dogs ran hither and thither searching for a scent. We rode where the trees were furthest apart lest the branches that hung low might knock us from our saddles. Here and there the ground was soggy, but for the most part we were not troubled with our footing for we followed a road that the woodsmen had made, rough, irregular, to be sure, but known to me and my companions.
Deeper and deeper we went into the forest. The smell of moss rose to my nostrils and the odor of logs, rotted on the damp ground. The dogs spread out more and more like a fan, with their noses to the earth, eager and tense.
Presently one of them raised his head in the air. He let out a long quivering bark that echoed strangely through the woods. Then the others followed. The whole pack jumped and yelped as though they had suddenly gone mad, and ran heedlessly forward. I was in need of no one to tell me that they had caught the scent and were flying after their prey.
Then, after another short while, the sound of a horn floated high through the branches of the trees. It seemed very far away. We rode on and on. The heat of the excitement was showing in our faces. The horses, too, snorted as though they were conscious of the strain.
The blast of the horn came again. This time it seemed nearer and more prolonged, with a quivering at the end that sounded like jubilation.
“They’ve stirred the boar,” the old Count said to me, turning in his saddle, and with a motion of his hand he gave the signal to one of his followers to answer with a returning blast.
We were in the very thick of the woods. We had left the path and were in places where the underbrush was dense. The trees, too, seemed larger and of greater girth. Now and then a bird circled over our heads and flew chattering about us.
A quarter of an hour passed, with the horn sounding now and then to give us the direction. The dogs were running with their tongues hanging wet and red from their mouths. The going was getting more and more difficult.
Suddenly a blast, so loud that it shook us in our saddles, resounded in our ears. The shouts of men came to us through the trees. The barking of the dogs, sharp like the cracking of a whip, cut in between.
Before we knew it we were out in the open. That is we came to a place where few trees grew. All was covered with a soft marsh that was like ooze under the horses’ feet. The weeds and vines were waist high and so knotted and enmeshed that we must go carefully through them.
The shouts came again. This time they were so near that I was able to distinguish the words. I looked ahead to catch a glimpse of André and his men. I saw the brush part at a spot not far away. Then, to my amazement, I heard the angry snort of a boar and, directly following, the long hairy back of the animal burst upon my vision.
I reined in my horse. The old Count of Gramont (who was to the fore of me) caught his spear by the haft. The dogs came pouring into the opening like rain. One of them ventured in close to the boar and in the next second was sent yelping back with a wound in his shoulder where he had been pierced by a white tusk.
The animal was foaming at the mouth from frenzy. He knew that he was beset by enemies on all sides. He lowered his head till it touched the ground and made a mad plunge forward.
At the same moment I saw André appear through the trees. At his side rode De Marsac. They let out a shout and looked swiftly over to us. The old Count and I raised our spears on high. I knew that in a moment the boar was doomed, for between us there was little chance of his escape.
While I leaned back to get the greatest force behind my blow, I caught sight of my brother and our enemy opposite. A smile started on my face but it died away again. Both men whipped their spears aloft. Without a moment’s delay they whirled sidewise in their saddles. Their arms shot back and then forward again. The bright steel darted through the air like long glistening threads. They crossed in their flight as shears are crossed when you open them, and flitted onward. At the same time I let mine go too and fixed my eyes upon the boar.
Only one of the spears struck, but it was hurled with such force that it caught the boar in the middle of the back and pierced clean to the region of his heart. While it was in full career, it faltered in its plunge. Stumbling, it dug its tusks into the earth. Then it rolled over, kicking among the underbrush, and stretched out dead.
You must remember that all this happened in a very brief time. A feeling of triumph ran along every nerve. I turned towards the old Count with my face beaming with delight, when I saw him swaying unsteadily in his seat. He had gone ashen pale. The spear had dropped from his hand and his fingers were clutching at the empty air. Then, unable to steady himself any longer, he leaned far to the one side and tumbled headlong from his saddle.
On the instant I forgot all about the boar. I was down from my horse like a flash and at his side. To my horror the fresh blood was flowing in a steady stream from a wide-open gash in his chest. I raised his head and laid it in the hollow of my bended arm and looked around appealingly for help. His lips moved as though he would speak. But no words came. His eye-lids quivered. Then, with a gasp, he fell back.
In the meantime André and De Marsac were at my side. My brother stooped down and spoke to the old Count. That other stood aloof. His glance was turned half-way towards us and half-way towards the woods. The faintest trace of a smile flickered on his face and his eyes beamed as though with inward satisfaction.
“Is he dead?” he demanded finally.
I laid the old Count gently down. André and I stood for a moment with our heads bowed to breathe a prayer.
“He has been killed!” replied my brother with anger and bitterness bursting his heart.
To our amazement De Marsac stepped forward and touched André on the arm.
“You will have to answer for this deed with your life, André La Mar,” he said coldly. “You are the murderer of one of the foremost barons of Normandy!”