The man who had fallen, and who had had the forethought and courage not to utter a cry as he fell, swam vigorously toward the boat. The other lent him a hand, and despite the pitching of the boat under his feet, had the satisfaction of rescuing him safe and sound.
"What! is it you, Martin-Guerre?" said he, thinking that he recognized him in the darkness.
"It is myself, I admit, Monseigneur," said the squire.
"How came you to slip, bungler?" asked Gabriel.
"It was much better that it should have happened to me than to another," said Martin.
"Why?"
"Because anybody else would have made an outcry," replied Martin.
"Well, since you are here," said Gabriel, "help me pass this rope around that great root. I very foolishly sent Anselme ahead with the others."
"The root will not hold, Monseigneur," said Martin: "the least shock will pull it up, and the boat will be destroyed and we shall be carried away with it."
"There is nothing else to be done," rejoined Gabriel; "so let us set about it without more ado."
When they had made the boat fast as well as they could, Gabriel said to his squire,—
"Come, up with you!"
"After you, Monseigneur; otherwise who will hold the ladder?"
"Go up, I tell you!" repeated Gabriel, stamping his foot impatiently.
The time was not propitious for argument or formality. Martin-Guerre mounted as far as the excavation in the cliff, and from that elevation held the uprights of the ladder with all his strength while Gabriel ascended in his turn.
His foot was on the topmost round when a powerful wave struck the boat, broke the rope, and carried ladder and skiff out to sea.
Gabriel would have been lost save for Martin, who, at the risk of dying with him, leaned over the abyss with a motion quicker than thought, and seized his master by the collar of his doublet; then, with all the energy of despair, the brave fellow drew Gabriel up to where he was standing on the rock, as unharmed as himself.
"Now you have saved my life, my gallant Martin," said Gabriel.
"Yes; but the boat has gone," returned the squire.
"Bah! As Anselme says, it is paid for," said Gabriel, with a carelessness assumed to hide his anxiety.
"That's very well!" said the cautious Martin-Guerre, shaking his head; "but if your friend doesn't happen to be doing his turn of duty up there, or if the ladder isn't hanging from the tower, or if it breaks under our weight, or if the platform is occupied by a force stronger than ours,—why, then all chance of retreat, all hope of safety, has gone from us with that cursed boat."
"Well, so much the better," said Gabriel; "for now we must succeed or die."
"So be it!" said Martin, with heroic simplicity.
"Come!" Gabriel rejoined; "our companions ought already to be at the foot of the tower, for I can no longer hear them. Be careful about your footing this time, Martin, and never let go with one hand until you have a firm hold with the other."
"Never fear; I will do my best," said Martin.
They began the perilous ascent; and after the lapse of ten minutes, during which they had overcome innumerable difficulties and dangers, they rejoined their twelve companions, who were anxiously awaiting them, grouped together on the cliff at the foot of the Risbank fort.
The third quarter past four had come and gone. Gabriel, with inexpressible joy, spied the rope ladder hanging against the wall.
"Do you see that, my friends?" he said, in a whisper, to his little party. "We are expected up there. Thank God for it, for we can no longer look behind; the sea has carried away our boat. So, forward, my brave fellows; and may God protect us!"
"Amen!" said Lactance, solemnly.
Indeed it was necessary that these should be determined and resolute men who stood around Gabriel at this crisis; for the enterprise, which had been rash enough up to that point, seemed to become almost insane, and yet not a man stirred at the terrible news that all hope of retreat had been cut off.
Gabriel, in the gloomy light which falls even from the darkest sky, scanned their hardy features, and found them quite devoid of emotion.
They all repeated after him,—
"Forward!"
"You remember the order agreed upon," said Gabriel: "you are to go first, Yvonnet; then Martin-Guerre; then each one in his proper order until it comes my turn; and I shall be the last to mount the ladder. The ropes and knots are firmly fastened, I trust!"
"The ropes are as strong as iron, Monseigneur," said Ambrosio; "we have tried them, and they will bear thirty as safely as fourteen."
"Go on, then, brave Yvonnet!" continued Gabriel; "you have by no means the least dangerous part of the enterprise. Off you go, and be of good heart!"
"My courage never fails, Monseigneur," said Yvonnet, "especially when the drums are beating and the guns roaring; but I confess that I am no better accustomed to noiseless assaults than to swaying cordage; therefore I am very glad to go first, so as to have the others behind me."
"A very modest reason for making sure of the post of honor!" said Gabriel, who did not choose to enter upon a dangerous discussion. "Come, no more excuses! Although the wind and sea drown our words, we must act and not talk. Forward, Yvonnet! and remember that you must not stop to rest until you reach the one hundred and fiftieth round. Are you ready,—musket on your back and sword between your teeth? Look up, not down; and think of God, and not of the danger. Forward!"
Yvonnet put his foot upon the first round.
Five o'clock struck; a second night patrol passed the sentinel on the platform as he made his rounds.
Then, slowly and silently, the fourteen gallant men ventured one after the other upon that frail ladder shaking in the wind.
It was nothing so long as Gabriel, who was the last in the procession, remained within a few steps of the ground; but as they went on, and the living cluster shook from side to side more and more, the danger assumed unspeakable proportions.
It must have been a magnificent yet appalling sight to witness in the darkness and storm these fourteen apparently dumb creatures, like so many demons, scaling the black wall, at whose summit was possible death, while sure destruction awaited them at its base.
At the one hundred and fiftieth round Yvonnet stopped, and all the others did the same. It was agreed beforehand that they should halt at that point long enough for each to say twoPatersand twoAves.
When Martin-Guerre had finished his devotions, he was amazed to see that Yvonnet did not stir. He thought he must have missed his count, and reproving himself for his haste, he began conscientiously a thirdPaterand a thirdAve.
But still Yvonnet remained motionless. Then—although they were only about a hundred feet from the platform, and it was dangerous to speak—Martin-Guerre struck Yvonnet's legs, and said to him,—
"Go on, pray."
"No, I cannot," said Yvonnet, in a stifled voice.
"You can't, villain! Why not?" asked Martin, shuddering.
"I am dizzy," said Yvonnet.
A cold perspiration broke out in beads on Martin's forehead.
It was a moment before he could make up his mind what to do. If Yvonnet should have the vertigo and fall, they would all be carried down with him; to descend was no less hazardous. Martin felt himself to be incapable of assuming any responsibility whatever at such a terrible crisis. He leaned over to Anselme, who was next behind him, and said,—
"Yvonnet is dizzy."
Anselme shuddered as Martin had done, and repeated the same words to his neighbor, Scharfenstein; and so the word was passed down the ladder, each one in turn removing his sword from between his teeth long enough to say to the man next below,—
"Yvonnet is dizzy."
At last the dreadful intelligence reached the ears of Gabriel, who turned pale and trembled as the others had done when he heard it.
It was a moment of fearful suffering,—a supreme crisis. Gabriel saw that he was threatened by three distinct dangers. Beneath his feet, the roaring sea seemed to be calling to its prey with its mighty voice. Before him twelve terrified men, unable to move either forward or back, barred the road to the third source of danger,—the English pikes and arquebuses which were perhaps waiting for them to show their heads above the battlements.
On all sides, terror and death seemed to threaten the poor beings upon that vibrating ladder.
Fortunately, Gabriel was not the man to waste precious time in hesitating even between two formidable perils, and he made up his mind in an instant.
He never stopped to wonder whether his grasp might not fail, and his brains be dashed out on the rocks below. Clinging closely to the rope that formed one side of the ladder, he raised himself by his hands alone, and passed by the twelve men in front of him one after another.
Thanks to his enormous strength of muscle, as well as of soul, he reached Yvonnet without accident, and was at last able to place his feet beside those of Martin-Guerre.
"Will you go on or not?" said he to Yvonnet, in sharp and commanding tones.
"I am—dizzy," replied the poor wretch, whose teeth were chattering and his hair standing on end.
"Will you go on?" repeated Gabriel.
"Impossible!" said Yvonnet. "I feel as if my feet and hands were leaving the rounds to which they are clinging. I am going to fall."
"We will see," said Gabriel.
He pulled himself up as far as Yvonnet's waist, and pricked him in the back with the point of his sword.
"Can you feel the point of my sword?" he asked.
"Yes, Monseigneur! Oh, mercy! I am afraid. Mercy!"
"The blade is sharp and keen," continued Gabriel, with marvelloussang-froid. "At the least backward movement on your part it will bury itself in your body. Now listen, Yvonnet; Martin-Guerre will pass in front of you and I shall remain behind. If you do not follow Martin-Guerre,—mark well what I say: if you show one symptom of flinching, I swear by God above that you shall not fall and drag others down with you, for I will nail you to the wall with my sword, and hold you there until they have all passed over your body."
"Oh, mercy, Monseigneur! I will obey!" cried Yvonnet, cured of one fright by a greater one.
"Martin," said Vicomte d'Exmès, "you heard what I said. Pass him and go on."
Martin-Guerre in his turn executed the evolution which he had seen his master perform, and assumed the first place.
"Forward!" said Gabriel.
Martin went bravely up, and Yvonnet, menaced by Gabriel, who carried his sword in his right hand and used only his left to assist his feet in the ascent, forgot his vertigo, and followed the squire.
Thus the fourteen men ascended the last one hundred and fifty rounds of the ladder. "Parbleu!" thought Martin-Guerre, whose good humor came back to him as he saw the space which separated him from the summit of the tower growing ever less. "Parbleu! Monseigneur discovered a sovereign cure for the vertigo."
He had just finished that pleasant reflection, when his head reached the level of the edge of the platform.
"Is it you?" asked a voice unknown to Martin.
"Parbleu!" the squire replied in an unembarrassed tone.
"It is quite time," rejoined the sentinel, "In less than five minutes the patrol will be making their third round."
"Good! we will be ready for them," said Martin-Guerre.
As he spoke he triumphantly placed one knee upon the ledge of stone.
"Ah!" cried the sentinel, suddenly, trying to get a better view of him in the darkness; "what is your name?"
"Why! Martin-Guerre—"
He did not finish what he was saying, for Pierre Peuquoy (it was no other than he) gave him no time to put the other knee beside its fellow, but giving him a violent push with both hands, hurled him headlong into the abyss.
"Holy Jesus!" was all that poor Martin-Guerre said.
Then he fell without a sound, concentrating all his energies in a sublime effort to change the course of his fall so as not to endanger the safety of his companions and his master.
Yvonnet, who followed him, and who recovered all his courage and boldness as soon as he felt the solid rock beneath his feet, leaped upon the platform, followed by Gabriel and all the others.
Pierre Peuquoy made no further opposition. He remained standing as if turned to stone, and unconscious of what was passing.
"Wretch!" cried Gabriel, seizing him by the arm, and shaking him; what insane fury has taken possession of you "What has Martin-Guerre done to you?"
"To me, nothing," replied the armorer in a dull voice. "But to Babette, my sister!"
"Ah, I had forgotten!" cried Gabriel in alarm. "Poor Martin! But it was not he! May he not be saved even yet?"
"Be saved after a fall of more than two hundred and fifty feet upon a rock!" exclaimed Pierre Peuquoy with a harsh laugh. "Come, Monsieur le Vicomte, you would be better employed just now in thinking about taking measures to save yourself and your companions."
"My companions, yes, and my father and Diane," said the young man to himself, recalled by these words to the duties and the risks of his situation; "but still," he continued aloud, "my poor Martin!"
"This is no time to bemoan the villain's fate," Pierre Peuquoy interposed.
"Villain! he was innocent, I tell you, and I will prove it to you. But this is not the time; you are right. Are you still inclined to aid us?" Gabriel asked the armorer, rather bluntly.
"I am devoted to France and to you," replied Pierre. "Very well," said Gabriel. "What remains for us to do now?"
"The night patrol will soon pass," replied the burgher; "we must choke and gag the four men who compose it. But," he added hurriedly, "it is too late to surprise them. Here they are!"
Just as Pierre spoke, the urban patrol actually came out upon the platform by an interior staircase. If they gave the alarm, all might be lost.
Luckily the two Scharfensteins, uncle and nephew, who were of a very inquisitive and prying nature, were prowling around on that side. The men of the patrol had no time to utter a sound. An enormous hand closing the mouth of each one of them from behind, threw them violently upon their backs as well.
Pilletrousse and two others ran to them, and the four bewildered militiamen were easily gagged and disarmed.
"Well done!" said Pierre Peuquoy. "Now, Monseigneur, we must make sure of the other sentinels, and then make a bold descent upon the guard-house. We have two posts to carry. But have no fear of being overborne by numbers. More than half of the city militia, having been influenced by Jean and myself, are for the French cause heart and soul, and only await the proper moment to show their devotion. I will go down first to notify our friends of your success; meanwhile you can look after the sentinels. When I return, my words will already have accomplished three fourths of the task."
"Ah, I would thank you, Peuquoy," said Gabriel, "if Martin-Guerre's death,—and yet from your standpoint you did only what was just."
"Once more, Monsieur d'Exmès, I beg you to leave that to God and my conscience," replied the stern burgher. "I acquit you of blame. Now act your part while I fulfil mine."
Everything happened almost precisely as Pierre had foreseen. The sentinels belonged to the French faction in a large majority of instances. One who undertook to resist was soon bound and rendered incapable of doing any harm. When the armorer returned, accompanied by Jean Peuquoy and a few sure friends, the whole summit of the Risbank fort was already in Vicomte d'Exmès hands.
It remained now to overthrow thecorps-de-gardewith the reinforcement brought by the Peuquoys. Gabriel did not hesitate to go down at once.
Advantage was skilfully taken of the first moment of surprise and uncertainty.
At that early hour, most of those who remained firm in the cause of England, either by birth or interest, were still asleep in perfect security upon their camp beds. Before they were fairly awake, so to speak, hands were at their throats.
The tumult, for it was not a battle, lasted only a few moments. The friends of Peuquoy shouted, "Vive la France! Vive Henri II.!" The non-combatants, and those who were indifferent, lost no time in arraying themselves, as they always do, under the successful banner. Those who made a show of resistance were soon compelled to yield to superior numbers. There were, in all, only two men killed and five wounded, and only three shots were fired. The devout Lactance was unfortunate enough to have two of the wounded and one of the slain to his credit. Luckily he had time to spare!
It was not six o'clock when every part of the Risbank fort was in the power of the French. The disaffected and the suspected were securely confined, and all the rest of the city guard surrounded Gabriel and hailed him as a liberator.
Thus was carried, almost without a blow, and in less than an hour, by an extraordinary and superhuman achievement, this fort which the English had never dreamed of fortifying, because the sea alone seemed to be such an impregnable defence to it,—a fort, which was nevertheless the key to the harbor of Calais, yes, to Calais itself.
The whole transaction was accomplished so quickly and quietly that the entire fort was taken, and new sentinels stationed by Gabriel, and a new countersign given out, before anything of it was known in the city.
"However, so long as Calais itself has not surrendered," said Pierre Peuquoy to Gabriel, "I do not consider that our task is done. So, Monsieur d'Exmès. I am of opinion that you had best keep Jean and half of our men here to make good the fort, and leave me and the other half to go into the city. We may do the French better service there than here, in case of need, by some useful diversion. After Jean's ropes, it will be well to make use of Pierre's arms."
"Are you not afraid," said Gabriel, "that Lord Wentworth, in his rage, may do you an ill turn?"
"Never fear," replied Pierre; "I will resort to a little artifice, which will be justifiable warfare with those who have been our oppressors for two centuries. If necessary, I will accuse Jean of having betrayed us. We were surprised by a superior force, and compelled, in spite of our resistance, to surrender at discretion. Those of us who refused to recognize your victory were driven out of the fort. Lord Wentworth's affairs are at so serious a pass that he must at least pretend to believe us, and be grateful to us."
"So be it! Go down into Calais," rejoined Gabriel, "for I see that you are as clever as you are brave. And it is certain that you can assist me, if I should decide to make a sortie."
"Oh, don't risk that, I beg you!" said Pierre, "you are not in sufficient numbers, and you have little to gain and everything to lose by a sortie. Here in your tower, behind these good walls, you occupy an impregnable position. Pray remain here. If you take the offensive, Lord Wentworth may very possibly retake the fort; and after having accomplished so much it would be a great shame to lose its manifest advantages."
"But do you propose," rejoined Gabriel, "that I should remain idle here with my sword in its scabbard while Monsieur de Guise and all our troops are fighting and risking their lives?"
"Their lives are their own, Monseigneur, but the Risbank fort belongs to France," replied the prudent burgher. "But listen; when I consider that the favorable moment has arrived, and that only one last decisive blow is needed to tear Calais from the hands of the English, I will cause those whom I have with me, and all the inhabitants who share my opinions, to rise as one man. Then, when everything is ripe for victory, you may make a sortie, to give the finishing blow and open the city to the Duc de Guise."
"But who will let me know when I may venture?" asked Gabriel.
"Give me the horn which I presented to you," said Pierre, "whose note served to make your coming known to me. When you hear its sound once more, go forth without fear, and share in the triumph you have so nobly prepared."
Gabriel thanked Pierre heartily, helped him select the men who were to go with him into the city to assist the French troops in case of need, and graciously accompanied them as far as the gate of the fort, out of which they were to pretend they had been driven in disgrace.
By the time this was done it was half past seven, and the first streaks of dawn were visible in the sky.
Gabriel desired to make sure personally that the French standards which were to bring peace to the mind of Monsieur de Guise and strike terror to the English men-of-war were hoisted over the fort. Consequently he ascended to the platform which had been the scene of the main events of that glorious but fateful morning.
With pallid cheeks he drew near the spot at which the rope ladder had been attached, and whence poor Martin-Guerre had been hurled, the victim of a fatal mistake.
Shudderingly he leaned over the abyss, expecting to see the mutilated corpse of his faithful squire on the rocks below.
At first he failed to espy him, and his eye glanced hither and thither in surprise, mingled with a faint hope.
A leaden spout, by which the rain-water from the tower was carried off, had stopped the body midway in its terrible fall; and there Gabriel saw it hanging, motionless and doubled up over the spout.
At first sight he thought that life was extinct, but he desired to pay the last tokens of respect in any event.
Pilletrousse, whom Martin-Guerre had always been fond of, was looking on weeping, and his devotion to his friend seconded his master's pious reflections. He fastened himself securely to the rope ladder, and ventured down into the abyss.
When he reascended, bringing with him, after much labor, the body of his friend, they saw that Martin was still breathing.
A surgeon who was at hand announced that life was not extinct; in fact, Martin regained consciousness to some extent.
But he came back to greater suffering, for he was in a sad plight. He had a broken arm and a crushed thigh.
The surgeon could set the arm without difficulty, but he judged it necessary to amputate the leg, and did not dare to undertake so difficult an operation alone.
More than ever Gabriel deplored that though a victor, he was confined to the Risbank fort. The delay, which had been trying enough before, now became almost intolerable.
If only he could get word to expert Ambroise Paré, Martin-Guerre might be saved.
The Duc de Guise, upon reflection, could not bring himself to believe in the success of so foolhardy an enterprise; nevertheless, he determined to see with his own eyes whether Vicomte d'Exmès had or had not achieved his end. In such straits as those to which he was reduced, one can but hope even for the impossible.
So, before eight o'clock, with but very few attendants, he was already on the cliff Gabriel had pointed out to him, from which the Risbank fort could be seen with a telescope.
At the first glance that he cast in the direction of the fort he uttered a triumphant cry.
He could not be mistaken; he clearly recognized the standard of France. His companions agreed that it was no delusion, and shared his delight.
"My brave Gabriel!" he cried. "He has really been successful in his prodigious undertaking. Has he not shown himself to be a greater man than I, who doubted its practicability? Now, thanks to him, we can prepare for the capture of Calais, and make sure of it at our leisure. Let the reinforcements come from England, and Gabriel will take it upon himself to give them a hearty welcome."
"Monseigneur, it is as if your words had summoned them," said one of the duke's aids, who turned the glass seaward at this moment. "Look, Monseigneur, are not those English sail on the horizon?"
The duke took the glass, and carefully scanned the wide expanse of the channel.
"Yes; our English friends are really there," he said. "The deuce take me! they have not lost any time; I hardly expected them so soon. Do you know that if we had made our contemplated attack upon the Old Château at this time, the sudden arrival of these reinforcements would have been an extremely bad thing for us? So much the more cause have we for gratitude to Monsieur d'Exmès. Not only does he put victory within our power, but he has saved us from the disgrace of defeat as well. However, we have no need to hurry now; so let us see how the new-comers will act, and, on the other hand, how the young governor of the Risbank fort will behave toward them."
It was broad daylight by the time the English ships arrived within range of the fort.
The French flag burst upon their sight in the first rays of dawn like a menacing apparition; and as if to impress the unexpected sight the more forcibly upon them, Gabriel saluted them with three or four cannon balls.
That removed every shadow of doubt. It was really the standard of France which was floating over the English fort. Of course, then, the city as well as the tower must be in the power of the besiegers; and the reinforcements, though despatched in all haste, had arrived too late.
After a few moments of surprised irresolution, the English ships were seen to be standing off toward Dover again.
They had on board a sufficient force to relieve Calais, but not to recapture the city.
"Thank God!" cried the Duc de Guise, in an ecstasy of delight. "Think of this Gabriel! He knows how to maintain his conquests as well as to conquer; he has put Calais in our grasp, and it only remains for us to close our hands upon the fair city."
He leaped upon his horse, and galloped joyfully back to camp to urge on the siege-operations.
Human events have almost invariably two sides; and the very same occurrences which bring laughter and delight to the hearts of some, make others weep. At the moment when the Duc de Guise was thus clapping his hands for joy, Lord Wentworth was tearing his hair.
After a sleepless night, as we have seen, and excited by presentiments of evil, Lord Wentworth had finally fallen asleep toward morning, and was just leaving his bed-chamber when the pretended fugitives from the Risbank fort were bringing the fatal news into the city, Pierre Peuquoy at their head.
The governor was almost the last person to hear it.
In his pain and indignation he could not believe his ears, and ordered that the leader of the fugitives should be brought before him.
Pierre Peuquoy was at once escorted into the governor's presence; he came in looking decidedly chopfallen, and with a bearing well suited to the occasion.
The cunning burgher, as if still under the influence of the fright he had had, told of the night assault, and described thethree hundredsavage adventurers who had scaled the Risbank fort, assisted, no doubt, by treachery within the walls, which he, Pierre Peuquoy, had not had time to unearth.
"Who commanded these three hundred men?" asked Lord Wentworth.
"Mon Dieu! Your late prisoner, Monsieur d'Exmès," was the armorer's ingenuous reply.
"Oh, my dreams have come true!" cried the governor.
Then, with a threatening frown, suddenly remembering what he was not likely to forget,—
"Why, this Monsieur d'Exmès," said he to Pierre, "was your guest, if I mistake not, during his stay in Calais?"
"Yes, Monseigneur," replied Pierre, without embarrassment. "In fact I have reason to believe—why should I conceal it?—that my cousin Jean, the weaver, has had a larger share in this business than he ought to have had."
Lord Wentworth fixed a piercing glance upon the sturdy burgher; but he looked Lord Wentworth fearlessly in the eye.
As Pierre had imagined would be the case, the governor was too sensible of his own weakness, and too well aware of Peuquoy's influence in the city, to allow his suspicions to appear.
After having put some few questions to him, the governor dismissed him with gloomy but friendly words.
Left alone, Lord Wentworth gave way to overwhelming despondency.
What could he do? The city, defended only by its weak garrison, henceforth shut off from all hope of succor by land or sea, and hemmed in between the Nieullay fort on one side and the Risbank fort on the other, both of which threatened instead of defending it,—the city could hold out but very few days longer; in fact, it might be only a few hours.
A terrible state of affairs, indeed, for the haughty pride of Lord Wentworth!
"No matter!" he said beneath his breath, still pale with astonishment and rage,—"no matter! I will make them pay dear for their triumph. Calais is theirs now only too inevitably; but I will at all events hold out to the bitter end, and will sell them their priceless conquest at the price of as many dead bodies as possible. And as for the lover of beauteous Diane de Castro—"
He checked himself, while a hellish thought caused his sombre features to light up with a joyous gleam.
"As for the lover of the fair Diane," he resumed, with a sort of satisfaction, "if I bury myself, as I ought and will, under the ruins of Calais, we will try and see to it, at least, that he has not any reason to rejoice too heartily at our death; his suffering and vanquished rival has in store for him a fearful surprise, and let him beware!"
Thereupon he rushed from the house to encourage his troops and make his dispositions.
Soothed and hardened at once in a measure by reflecting on some evil project, he exhibited such imperturbablesang-froidthat his very despair inspired hope in more than one doubting heart.
It is no part of the plan of this book to relate the story of the siege of Calais in all its details. François de Rabutin, in his "Guerres de Belgique," gives them in all their prolixity.
The days of the 5th and 6th of January were passed in equally energetic efforts on the one side and the other. Miners and soldiers on both sides did their duty with like courage and heroic obstinacy.
But the superb resistance of Lord Wentworth was rendered hopeless by the great superiority of the force opposed to him; Maréchal Strozzi, who had charge of the operations, seemed to divine all the means of defence and every movement of the English as if the ramparts of Calais had been transparent.
"The enemy must have a plan of the city in their possession," thought Lord Wentworth.
We know who had furnished the Duc de Guise with that plan.
Thus it was that Vicomte d'Exmès, though he was absent, though he was unemployed at the moment, was still useful to his associates; and as Monsieur de Guise remarked in his just gratitude, his beneficial influence had its due effect even from afar.
Nevertheless, the inactive and helpless part that he was forced to play weighed heavily upon the fiery youth. Practically imprisoned in the stronghold he had conquered, he had to occupy his energy in the duty of keeping watch, which was altogether too simple a matter and too easily performed for him.
When he had made the rounds every hour with the watchful vigilance which he had learned during the defence of St. Quentin, he would generally take his place by Martin-Guerre's bedside to comfort and encourage him.
The brave squire endured his suffering with marvellous patience and steadfastness, but he could not get over his surprise and sorrowful indignation at the wicked treatment which Pierre Peuquoy had felt called upon to inflict upon him.
The perfect candor of his anger and his surprise when he talked upon that obscure subject, was in itself sufficient to have scattered any suspicions that Gabriel might still have retained as to Martin's good faith.
Thereupon he decided to tell Martin-Guerre his own story, according to what he presumed to be the true state of the case, judging from appearances and from his conjectures. It was now very evident to him that some villain had availed himself of a marvellous resemblance to Martin, to commit in his name all sorts of scandalous and infamous deeds, of which he was not anxious to accept the consequences, and also, doubtless, to reap the full benefit of all the advantages and privileges which he had been able to divert from his double to himself.
This revelation Gabriel took care to make in presence of Jean Peuquoy. Jean was grieved and terrified in his honest heart at the consequences of the fatal error. But he was especially disturbed as to the person who was guilty of all these crimes. Who was the miserable wretch? Was he married also? Where was he hiding himself?
Martin-Guerre, for his part, was terribly alarmed at the mere idea of such an entanglement. While he was more than overjoyed to have his conscience relieved of such a load of misdeeds of which he had borne the blame so long, he was in despair at the thought that his name had been assumed, and his good fame dragged in the mire by such a villain. And then who could tell to what lengths the scoundrel might still be going under cover of that name, even at the very moment when Martin was lying helpless on his bed of suffering!
The episode of Babette Peuquoy especially caused poor Martin's heart to overflow with sorrow and compassion. Oh, indeed, now he could find excuses for Pierre's seeming brutality! He not only forgave him, but applauded him for what he did. Certainly, it was very well of him thus to avenge his honor so basely outraged! It was Martin-Guerre's turn now to console and reassure poor bewildered Jean Peuquoy.
The good squire, in his applause of Babette's brother, forgot only one thing,—that it was he who was suffering instead of the real culprit. When Gabriel smilingly reminded him of that, "Oh, well, never mind!" said Martin-Guerre. "I am still thankful for my accident; for if I survive, my poor lame leg, or better still, its stump, will serve to distinguish me from the impostor and traitor."
But alas! this doubtful consolation with which Martin buoyed up his hopes was very problematical; for would he survive? The surgeon of the city guard would not promise it; speedy assistance from a master hand was of the utmost importance, and two days would soon have passed, during which poor Martin-Guerre's alarming state had been relieved only by inadequate dressing.
This was by no means the least of Gabriel's reasons for impatience; and many a time, both night and day, he rose and listened intently for that blast of the horn which was at last to relieve him from his enforced idleness.
It was not till the evening of January 6th that Gabriel, who had already been in possession of the Risbank fort for thirty-six hours, thought that he could distinguish a greater uproar than usual in the direction of the city, and unaccustomed shrieks of triumph or distress.
The French, after a most bitter struggle, had made their way victoriously into the Old Château.
Calais could not now hold out more than twenty-four hours.
Nevertheless, the whole of the seventh was passed in superhuman efforts on the part of the English to retake so vital a position, and to maintain themselves in the last posts which they still possessed.
But Monsieur de Guise, far from allowing the enemy to regain an inch of ground, was gaining slowly but surely upon him; so that it soon became clear that the morrow would see Calais no longer under English rule.
It was three in the afternoon. Lord Wentworth, who had taken no heed to himself for seven days, and who had been always in the front rank, dealing out death and defying it, considered that the physical strength and moral courage of his men would hardly hold out two hours longer.
Then he summoned Lord Derby.
"How long do you think," he asked, "that we can still hold out?"
"Not more than three hours, I fear," said Lord Derby, sadly.
"But you can promise that it will be two, can you not?" rejoined the governor.
"Except for some unforeseen occurrence, I can," said Lord Derby, measuring with his eye the distance still to be passed by the French.
"Very well, my friend," said Lord Wentworth, "I place the command in your hands and withdraw. If the English, two hours hence,—but not a moment sooner, you understand,—if, two hours hence, our people have no longer any possible hope, as is only too probable, then I allow you, nay, I command you, the better to relieve you from responsibility, to sound the retreat and capitulate."
"In two hours; very well, my Lord," said Lord Derby.
Lord Wentworth then advised his lieutenant as to the terms he might demand, which would doubtless be granted by the Duc de Guise.
"But," said Lord Derby, "you have forgotten yourself in these conditions, my Lord. Shall I not also ask Monsieur de Guise to hold you to ransom?"
A dull light shone on Lord Wentworth's gloomy features.
"No, no," he replied, with a peculiar smile; "do not worry about me, my friend. I have assured myself of all that I need,—yes, of all that I desire even."
"But—" Lord Derby was beginning to remonstrate.
"Enough!" said the governor, authoritatively. "Do only what I tell you, nothing more. Adieu. You will bear witness for me in England that I did all that human mind and hand could do to defend my city, and yielded only to fate? And now it is for you to hold out till the last moment, but be sparing of English honor and English blood, Derby. This is my last word. Adieu."
Without staying to say or hear more, Lord Wentworth, having grasped Lord Derby's hand, left the field of battle, and withdrew alone to his own deserted house, giving the most strict and explicit orders that no one should be allowed to follow him on any pretext.
He was sure that he had at least two hours before him.
Lord Wentworth believed himself to be sure of two things: in the first place, that two full hours would elapse before Calais would capitulate, and that Lord Derby would demand at least five hours before delivering up the city; in the second place, he was confident that he should find his house entirely unoccupied, for he had taken the precaution to send off all his people to the breach in the morning. André, Madame de Castro's French page, had been imprisoned by his orders; so that Diane must be alone in the mansion, except for one or two of her women.
In truth he did find everything deserted as the abode of the dead, as he went into the house; while Calais, like a body from which the life-blood is ebbing away, was gathering all her force for a final struggle at the spot where fighting was in progress.
Lord Wentworth, gloomy, savage, and in a measure drunken with despair, went directly to the apartments occupied by Madame de Castro.
He did not send in his name, as his custom had been, but entered brusquely, like a master, the room where she was sitting with one of the maids who had been furnished her.
Without any salutation to the wondering Diane, he said imperiously to the maid,—
"Leave the room at once! The French will be in the city this evening, and I have neither the time nor the power to protect you. Go and find your father; your place is with him. Go at once, and tell the two or three women who are left in the house that I wish them to do the same without loss of time."
"But, my Lord—" the maid remonstrated.
"Ah!" returned the governor, stamping his foot angrily; "did you not hear what I said? I wish it!"
"But, my Lord—" Diane began.
"I have said, 'I wish it!' Madame," replied Lord Wentworth, with a gesture of inflexible determination. The maid left the room in terror.
"Truly, I should not have known you, my Lord," said Diane, after an agonizing silence.
"It is because you have never before seen me in the guise of a vanquished man, Madame," rejoined Lord Wentworth, with a bitter smile. "You have been a farseeing prophet of ruin and disaster for me; and I was in truth an insensate fool not to believe you. I am beaten, absolutely beaten, beyond resource and beyond hope. So you may rejoice."
"Is the success of the French at this point really beyond question?" asked Diane, who could with difficulty conceal her pleasure.
"How can it be otherwise, Madame? The Nieullay and Risbank forts and the Old Château are in their power. They have the city between three fires, and Calais is theirs beyond cavil. So you may rejoice."
"Oh!" Diane rejoined, "with such a foe as you, my Lord, victory is never certain; and in spite of myself,—yes, I confess, and you will understand me,—in spite of myself I still am incredulous."
"But Madame," cried Lord Wentworth, "do you not see that I have left the field; that after having taken part in the battle to the very last, I could not make up my mind to witness the final catastrophe, and that is why I am here? Lord Derby will surrender in an hour and a half. In that time, Madame, the French will enter Calais in triumph, and Vicomte d'Exmès with them. So you may rejoice."
"You say that in such a strange way, my Lord, that I do not know whether I ought to believe you or not," said Diane, who was beginning to hope nevertheless; so that her expression and her involuntary smile were illumined by the thought of deliverance.
"In order to persuade you, then, Madame," rejoined Lord Wentworth,—"for I mean to persuade you,—I will adopt another manner of speaking, and I will say to you: Madame, in an hour and a half the French will enter the city in triumph, and Vicomte d'Exmès with them. Tremble!"
"What do you mean?" cried Diane, as the color fled from her cheeks.
"What! Am I not sufficiently explicit?" said Lord Wentworth, approaching Diane with a laugh of sinister meaning. "I say to you: In an hour and a half, Madame, our rôles will be changed,—you will be free, and I a prisoner; Vicomte d'Exmès will come to restore you to liberty and love and happiness, and to cast me into a dungeon. Tremble!"
"Why, pray, should I tremble?" Diane responded, retreating as far as the walls would allow from the sombre yet burning gaze of this man.
"Mon Dieu! it is very easy to understand," said Lord Wentworth. "At this moment I am master; but in an hour and a half I shall be a slave,—in an hour and a quarter rather, for the minutes are flying. In an hour and a quarter I shall be in your power; now you are in mine. In an hour Vicomte d'Exmès will be here; but now I am here. So rejoice and tremble, Madame!"
"My Lord, my Lord!" cried poor Diane, repulsing Lord Wentworth, with rapidly beating heart. "What do you want of me?"
"What do I want of you!—of you!" said the governor in a hollow voice.
"Don't come near me, or I will cry out; I will call for help, and dishonor you, villain!" exclaimed Diane, in an ecstasy of terror.
"Cry out and call for help as much as you choose; it's all the same to me," Lord Wentworth rejoined with ominous tranquillity. "The house is deserted, and so are the streets; no one will answer your cries for at least an hour. Look! I have not even taken the trouble to close the doors and windows, so sure am I that no one will come in less than an hour."
"But they will at the end of that time," Diane retorted; "and then I will accuse and denounce you, and my deliverers will kill you."
"No," said Lord Wentworth, coldly, "for it is I who will kill myself. Do you imagine that I have any desire to survive the fall of Calais? In an hour I shall kill myself; I have made up my mind beyond recall. But before that I choose to give full play to my passion, and to satisfy my vengeance and my love in this last supreme hour. Come, my fair one, your resistance and your contempt are out of season now,—for I no longer beg, but command; I no longer implore, but demand."
"And I die!" cried Diane, drawing a knife from her bosom.
Before she had time to strike, Lord Wentworth sprang toward her, seized her weak little hands in his powerful ones, tore the knife from her grasp, and threw it far away.
"Not yet!" he cried, with a smile of terrible import; "I do not choose, Madame, that you should turn your hand against yourself yet. Afterward you may do as you choose; and if you prefer to die with me rather than live with him, you will be quite at liberty to do so. But this last hour,—for there is only an hour left now,—this last hour of your life belongs to me; I have but this hour in which to make amends to myself for the eternity of hell to come hereafter; so be very sure that I will not renounce my right."
He attempted to lay hold of her. Thereupon fainting, and feeling that her strength was forsaking her, she threw herself at his feet.
"Mercy, my Lord!" she cried, "mercy, I ask mercy and forgiveness on my knees! By the memory of your mother, remember that you are a gentleman."
"A gentleman!" retorted Lord Wentworth, shaking his head; "yes, I was a gentleman, and I so bore myself, I think, so long as I triumphed and hoped,—yes, so long as I lived. But now I am no longer a gentleman; I am simply a man,—a man who is about to die, and proposes first to be revenged."
He raised Madame de Castro, kneeling at his feet, and held her close in a passionate embrace. She tried to pray, or to cry out, but she could not.
At this moment a great uproar was heard in the street.
"Ah!" Diane succeeded in ejaculating, her eye kindling once more with a ray of hope.
"Good!" said Wentworth, with a demoniac laugh; "it seems that the people are beginning to plunder on their own account while waiting for the enemy. So be it! They are doing quite right, upon my word! It is for the governor to set the example."
"Mercy!" she managed to say once more.
"No, no!" was Lord Wentworth's response. "You are too beautiful."
She swooned.
But the governor had not even had time to kiss Diane's colorless lips, when the uproar came nearer.
Vicomte d'Exmès, the two Peuquoys, and three or four French archers burst violently through the doorway and appeared upon the threshold.
Gabriel fairly leaped upon Lord Wentworth, sword in hand, with a terrible cry.
"Villain!"
Lord Wentworth, with clenched teeth, also seized his sword which was lying upon a chair.
"Stand back!" said Gabriel to his companions, who were about to intervene. "It is my pleasure to punish the infamous scoundrel with my own hand."
Without another sound the two adversaries furiously crossed weapons.
Pierre and Jean Peuquoy and their companions took up positions so as to give them ample space, and remained silent but by no means indifferent spectators of this deadly combat.
Diane was still lying unconscious upon the couch.
Let us tell in a few words how this providential succor had come to the defenceless prisoner so much sooner than Lord Wentworth had anticipated.
Pierre Peuquoy, during the two preceding days, had, as he had promised Gabriel, aroused and armed all those who were in secret devoted to the French cause. The ultimate victory being no longer doubtful, this class had naturally become much more numerous. They were for the most part circumspect and cautious burghers, who were unanimous in thinking that since they no longer had any means of offering resistance, the best course was to arrange for capitulation on the most favorable terms that could be obtained.
The armorer, who did not want to strike the final blow until it was perfectly safe to do so, waited until his strength was sufficiently great, and the siege far enough advanced, to run no risk of uselessly exposing the lives of those who relied on him. As soon as the Old Château was taken, he determined to act. But it took him some time to assemble his fellow-conspirators, who were scattered all over the city; and it was just as Lord Wentworth left the breach, that the movement within the city made itself felt.
But it was the more irresistible in proportion as it had been slow of development.
In the first place, the penetrating blast of Pierre Peuquoy's horn had brought, as if by magic, Vicomte d'Exmès, Jean, and half of their men, rushing out of the Risbank fort. The feeble detachment which kept the walls at that point was speedily disarmed, and the gate opened to the French.
Thereupon the whole Peuquoy faction, increased by this reinforcement, and emboldened by their first easily won success, hastened to the breach, where Lord Derby was trying to make as gallant a struggle as possible.
When this sort of revolt thus left Lord Wentworth's lieutenant between two fires, what was there for him to do? The French flag had already been brought into Calais by Vicomte d'Exmès. The city militia had risen, and were threatening to open the gates to the besiegers. Lord Derby preferred to yield at once. It was only to anticipate the governor's orders by a few moments, and to avoid another hour and a half of profitless resistance, even if this resistance should not become impossible, which would make the defeat no less complete, and might lead to more cruel reprisals.
Lord Derby sent a flag of truce to the Duc de Guise.
That was all that Gabriel and the Peuquoys asked for the nonce. They remarked the absence of Lord Wentworth, and were alarmed at it. So they left, where a few dropping shots were still to be heard, and spurred on by a presentiment of evil, they hastened to the governor's residence, with two or three trusty soldiers.
All the doors were open, and they found no difficulty in making their way to Madame de Castro's apartments, whither Gabriel hurried them on.
It was full time; and the sword of Diane's lover came most opportunely to protect the daughter of Henri II. from a most base and cowardly assault.
The duel between Gabriel and the governor was of short duration. The two combatants seemed to be equally expert swordsmen. Both showed equal coolness in a like state of fury. Their blades were entwined together like two serpents, and crossed and recrossed with the rapidity of lightning.
However, after two minutes fencing, Lord Wentworth's sword was struck from his hand by a vigorous counter on Gabriel's part.
In crouching to avoid the stroke, Lord Wentworth slipped upon the floor and fell.
Anger, scorn, hatred, and all the violent emotions which were struggling in Gabriel's heart left no room for generosity. There was no quarter for such a foe. In an instant he was upon him, with his sword at his breast.
There was not one of those who were present at the scene, inflamed as they were with indignation so lately aroused, who would have cared to stay the avenging hand.
But Diane de Castro while the fight was in progress had had time to recover from her swoon.
As she raised her heavy eyelids she saw and understood all, and rushed between Gabriel and Lord Wentworth.