Two-Gun Bob, page 219
Without a word we mounted and followed de Valence across the court, and out into a path which led through the forest. We rode in silence, save for the clop of the hoofs on the hard soil, and the occasional creak of leather or clank of harness. We were headed westward, toward the coast, and presently the forest thinned to brush and scattered trees, and the path dwindled and vanished in a bushy maze. Here we rode no longer single file, but in a ragged clump. And I believed my opportunity had come. Whither we were riding I knew not, nor greatly cared. It must be some work of le duc d’Alençon, since his right-hand man de Valence was in command. But I did know that as long as de Valence lived, neither my life nor the life of Étienne Villiers was worth a piece of broken copper.
It was dark; the moon had not yet risen, and the stars were hidden by rolling masses of clouds, which, though neither stormy nor very black, yet blotted out the light of the heavens in their ceaseless surging from horizon to horizon. We were not following any road, but riding through the wilderness. A night wind moaned through the trees, as I edged my horse closer and closer to that of Renault de Valence, gripping my poniard beneath my cloak.
Now I was drawing up beside him, and heard him mutter to Jehan who rode knee to knee with him, “He was a fool to flout her, when she could have made him greater than the king of France. If Roger Hawksly –”
Rising in my stirrups I drove my poniard between his shoulders with all the strength of sinews nerved to desperate work. The breath went out of him in a gasp, and he pitched headlong from the saddle, and in that instant I wrenched my horse about and struck the spurs deep.
With a desperate heave and plunge he tore headlong through the shapes that hemmed us in, knocking steeds and riders aside, plunged through the bushes and was gone while they groped for their blades.
Behind me I heard startled oaths and yells, and the clank of steel, Jehan’s voice yelling curses, and de Valence’s, choking and gasping, croaking orders. I cursed my luck. Even with the impact of the blow, I had known I had failed. De Valence wore a shirt of chain mail under his doublet, even as I did. The poniard had bent almost double on it, without wounding him. It was only the terrific force of the blow which had knocked him, half stunned, from his steed. And knowing the man as I did, I knew that it was very likely he would quickly be upon my trail, unless his other business be too urgent to permit it – and urgent indeed would be the business that would interfere with de Valence’s private vengeance. Besides, if Jehan told him that “la Balafre” was a red-headed girl, he would be sure to recognize his old enemy, Agnès de Chastillon.
So I gave the horse the rein and rode at a reckless gallop over bushy expanses and through scattered woodlands, expecting each moment to hear the drum of hoofs behind me. I rode southward, toward the road where I was to meet Étienne Villiers, and came upon it more suddenly that I expected. The road ran westward to the coast, and we had been paralleling its course.
Perhaps a mile to the west stood a roadside cross of stone, where the road split, one branch running west and the other southwest, and it was there that I was to meet Étienne Villiers. It lacked some hours till midnight, and I was not minded to wait in open view until he came, lest de Valence come first. So when I came to the cross, I took refuge among the trees, which grew there in a dense clump, and set myself to wait for my companion.
The night was still, and I heard no sounds of pursuit; I hoped that if the bravos had pursued me, they had lost me in the darkness, which had been easy enough to do.
I tied my horse back among the trees, and hardly had I squatted among the shadows at the roadside when I heard the drumming of hoofs. But this noise came from the southwest, and was but a single horse. I crouched there, sword in hand, as the drumming grew louder and nearer, and presently the rising moon, peeping through the rolling clouds, disclosed a horseman galloping along the white road, his cloak billowing out behind him. And I recognized the lithe figure and feathered cap of Étienne Villiers.
II
HOW A KING’S MISTRESS KNELT TO ME
He pulled up at the cross, and swore beneath his breath, speaking softly aloud to himself, as was his custom: “Too early, by hours; well, I’ll await her here.”
“You’ll not have long to wait,” said I, stepping from the shadows.
He wheeled in his saddle, pistol in hand, then laughed and swung down to earth.
“By Saint Denis, Agnès,” said he, “I should never be surprized to find you anywhere, at any time. What, a horse? And no crow-bait, either! And a fine new cloak! By Satan, comrade, you have had luck – was it dice or the sword?”
“The sword,” I answered.
“But why are you here so early?” he asked. “What portends this?”
“That Renault de Valence is not far from us,” I answered, and heard his breath hiss between his teeth, saw his hand lock again on his pistol butt. So quickly I told him what had passed, and he shook his head.
“The Devil takes care of his own,” he muttered. “Renault is hard to kill. But listen, I have a strange tale to tell, and until it is told, this is as good a place as another. Here we can watch and listen, and death cannot steal upon us behind closed doors and through secret corridors. And when my tale is told, we must take counsel as to our next move, because we can no longer count on Roger Hawksly.
“Listen: last night, just at moonrise, I approached the small isolated bay in which I knew the Englishman lay at anchor. We rogues have ways of learning secrets, as you know, Agnès. The coast thereabouts is rugged, with cliffs and headlands and inlets. The bay in question is surrounded by trees which grow down rugged slopes to the very edge of the water. I crept through them, and saw his ship, The Resolute Friend, lying at anchor, true enough, and all on board her apparently in drunken sleep. These pirates be fools, especially the English, who keep vile watch. I could see men stretched on the deck, with broken casks near them, and judged that those who were supposed to keep watch, had drunken themselves into helplessness.
“Now as I meditated whether to hail them, or to swim out to the ship, I heard the sound of muffled oars, and saw three longboats round the headland and sweep down on the silent ship. The boats were packed with men, and I saw the glint of steel in the moon. All unseen by the sleeping pirates, they drew up alongside, and I knew not whether to shout or be still, for I thought it might be Roger and his men returning from some raid.
In the moonlight I saw them swarming up the chains – Englishmen, beyond doubt, dressed in the garb of common sailors. Then as I watched, one of the drunkards on deck stirred in his sleep, gaped, and then suddenly scrambled up, screaming a warning. Up out of the hold and out of the cabin rushed Roger Hawksly and his men, in their shirts, half asleep, grasping their weapons in bewilderment, and over the rail swarmed these newcomers, who fell on the pirates sword in hand.
“It was a massacre rather than a fight. The pirates, half asleep and evidently half drunk as well, were cut down, almost to a man. I saw their bodies hurled overboard. Some few leaped into the water and swam ashore, but most died.
“Then the victors hauled up the anchor, and some of them returning into the boats, towed The Resolute Friend out of the inlet, and watching from where I lay, I presently saw her spread her sails and stand out to sea. Presently another ship rounded the headland and followed her.
“Of the survivors of the pirate crew I know nothing, for they fled into the woods and vanished. But Roger Hawksly is no longer master of a ship, and whether he lives or died, I know not, but we must find another man who will take us to Italy.
“But herein is a mystery: some of the Englishmen who took The Resolute Friend were but rough seamen. But others were not. I understand English; I know a high-born voice when I hear it, and tarry breeches cannot always conceal rank from a sharp eye. The moon was bright as day. Agnès, those seamen were led by noblemen disguised in mean apparel.”
“Why?” I wondered.
“Aye, why! ’Tis easy to see how the trick was done. They sailed up to the headland, where they anchored, out of sight from the inlet, and sent men in boats to take their prey. But why take such a desperate chance? Luck was on their side, else Hawksly and his sea-wolves had been sober and alert, and had blown them out of the water as they came on. There is but one solution: secrecy. That likewise explains the noblemen in seamen’s shirts and breeks. For some reason someone wished to destroy the pirates swiftly, silently, and secretly. As to the reason for that, I do not know, since Hawksly was a man hated equally by the French and the English.”
“Why, as to that – hark!”
Down the road, from the east, sounded the pound of racing hoofs. Clouds had rolled again over the moon, and it was dark as Erebus.
“De Valence!” I hissed. “He is following me – and alone. Give me a pistol! He will not escape this time!”
“We had best be sure he is alone,” expostulated Étienne as he handed me a pistol.
“He’s alone,” I snarled. “’Tis but one rider – but if the Devil himself rode with him – ha!”
A flying shape loomed out of the night; at that instant a single moonbeam cut through the clouds and faintly illumined the racing horse and its rider. And I fired pointblank.
The great horse reared and plunged headlong, and a piteous cry cut the night. It was echoed by Étienne. He had seen, as had I, in the flash of the shot, a woman clinging to the reins of the flying steed.
We ran forward, seeing a slender figure stirring on the ground beside the steed – a figure which knelt and lifted helpless arms, whimpering in fright.
“Are you hurt?” gasped Étienne. “My God, Agnès, you’ve killed a woman –”
“I struck the horse,” I answered. “He threw up his head just as I fired. Here, let me see to her!”
Bending over her, I lifted her face, a pallid oval in the darkness. Under my hard fingers her garments and flesh felt soft and wondrous fine.
“Are you hurt badly, wench?” I demanded.
But at the sound of my voice she gave a gasping cry and threw her arms about my knees.
“Oh, you too are a woman! Have mercy! Do not hurt me! Please –”
“Cease these whimperings, wench,” I ordered impatiently. “Here is naught to hurt you. Are your bones broken by reason of the fall?”
“Nay, I am only bruised and shaken. But oh, my poor horse –”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I do not slay animals willingly. I was aiming at his rider.”
“But why should you murder me?” she wailed. “I know you not –”
“I am Agnès de Chastillon,” I answered, “whom some men call Dark Agnès de la Fère. Who are you?”
I had lifted her to her feet and released her, and now as she stood before us, the moon broke suddenly through the clouds and flooded the road with silvery light. I looked in amaze at the richness of our captive’s garments, and the beauty of her oval face, framed in a glory of hair that was like dark foam; her dark eyes glowed like black jewels in the moonlight. And from Étienne came a strangled cry.
“My lady!” He doffed his feathered cap, and dropped to his knee. “Kneel, Agnès, kneel, girl! It is Françoise de Foix!”
“Why should an honest woman kneel to a royal strumpet?” I demanded, thrusting my thumbs into my girdle and bracing my legs wide as I faced her.
Étienne was stricken dumb, and the girl seemed to wince at my peasant candor.
“Rise, I beg of you,” she said humbly to Étienne, and he did so, cap in hand.
“But this was most unwise, my lady!” said he. “To have come alone and at night –”
“Oh,” she cried suddenly, catching at her temples, as if reminded of her mission. “Even now they may be slaying him! Oh, sir, if you be a man, aid me!”
She seized Étienne by the doublet and shook him in the agony of her insistence.
“Listen,” she begged, though Étienne was listening with all his ears. “I came here tonight, alone, as you see, to endeavor to right a wrong, and to save a life.
“You know me as Françoise de Foix, the mistress of the king –”
“I have seen you at court, where I was not always a stranger,” said Étienne, speaking with a strange difficulty. “I know you for the most beautiful woman in all France.”
“I thank you, my friend,” she said, still clinging to him. “But the world sees little of what goes on behind the palace doors. Men say I twist the king about my finger, God help me – but I swear I am but a pawn in a game I do not understand – the slave of a greater will than that of François.”
“Louise de Savoie,” muttered Étienne.
“Aye, who through me, rules her son, and through him, all France. It was she who made me what I am. Else I had been, not the mistress of a king, but the honest wife of some honest man.
“Listen, my friend, oh listen and believe me! Tonight a man is riding toward the coast, and death! And the letter which lured him there was written by me! Oh, I am a hateful thing, to thus serve one who – who loves me –
“But I am not my own mistress. I am the slave of Louise de Savoie. What she bids me do, that I do, or else I smart for it. She dominates me and I dare not resist her. This – this man was in Alençon, when he received the letter begging him to meet me at a certain tavern near the coast. Only for me would he have gone, for he well knows of his powerful enemies. But me he trusts – oh God pity me!”
She sobbed hysterically for an instant, while I watched in wonder, for I could never weep, my whole life.
“It is a plot of Louise,” she said. “Once she loved this man, but he scorned her, and she plots his ruin. Already she has shorn him of titles and honor; now she would rob him of life itself.
“At the tavern of the Hawk he will be met, not by my miserable self, but by a band of hired bravos, who will slay his servants and take him captive and deliver him to the pirate Roger Hawksly, who has been paid well to dispose of him forever.”
“Why so much planning and elaborate work?” I demanded. “Surely a dagger in the back would do the job as well.”
“Not even Louise dares discovery,” she answered. “The – the man is too powerful –”
“There is only one man in France whom Louise hates so fiercely,” said Étienne, looking full into Françoise’s eyes. She bowed her head, then lifted it and returned the look with her lustrous dark eyes.
“Aye!” she said simply.
“A blow to France,” muttered Étienne, “if he should fall – but my lady, Roger Hawksly will not be there to receive him.” And he swiftly related what he had seen on the coast.
“Then the bravos will slay him themselves,” she said with a shudder. “They will never dare let him go. They are led by Jehan, the right hand man of Louise –”
“And by Renault de Valence,” muttered Étienne. “I see it all now; you were with that band, Agnès. I wonder if d’Alençon knows of the plot.”
“No,” answered Françoise. “But Louise plans to raise him to the rank of her victim; so she uses his most trusted man, Renault de Valence, for her schemes. But oh, we waste time! Please will you not aid him? Ride with me to the tavern of the Hawk. Perchance we may rescue him – may reach him in time to get him away before they arrive. I stole away, and have ridden all night at top speed – please, please aid me!”
“Françoise de Foix has never to ask twice of Étienne Villiers,” said Étienne, in that strange unnatural voice, standing in the moonlight, cap in hand. Perhaps it was the moon, but a strange expression was on his face, softening the lines of cynicism and wild living, and making him seem another and nobler man.
“And you, mademoiselle!” The court beauty turned to me, with her arms outstretched. “You would not kneel to me, Dark Agnès; look, I kneel to you!”
And so she did – down in the dust on her knees, her white hands clasped and her dark eyes sparkling with tears.
“Get up, girl,” I said awkwardly, ashamed for some obscure reason. “Kneel not to me. I’ll do all I can. I know nothing of court intrigues and what you have said buzzes in my skull until I am dizzy, but what we can do, that we will do!”
With a sob she rose and threw both her soft arms about my neck and kissed me on the lips, so I was further ashamed. It was the first time I remembered anyone ever kissing me.
“Come,” I said roughly. “We waste time.”
Étienne lifted the girl into his saddle and swung up behind her, and I mounted the great black horse.
“What do you plan?” he asked me.
“I have no plan. We must be guided by the circumstances which confront us. Let us ride as swiftly as may be for the inn of the Hawk. If Renault wasted much time in looking for me – as doubtless he did – he and his bravos may not yet have reached the tavern. If they have – well, we are but two swords, but we can but do our best.”
And so I fell to recharging the pistol I had taken from Étienne, and a tedious task it was, in the darkness, and riding hard. So what speech passed between Étienne and Françoise de Foix I know not, but the murmur of their voices reached me from time to time, and in his voice was an unfamiliar softness – strange in a rogue like Étienne Villiers.
So we came at last upon the tavern of the Hawk, which loomed stark against the night, dark save for a single lanthorn in the common room. Silence reigned utterly, and there was the scent of fresh-spilled blood –
In the road before the tavern lay a man in the livery of a lackey, his white staring face turned to the stars, and dabbled with blood. Near the door lay a shape in a black cloak, and the fragments of a black mask, soaked in blood, lay beside it, with a feathered hat. But the features of the man were but a ghastly mask of hacked and slashed flesh, unrecognizable.
Just inside the door lay another lackey, his brains oozing from his crushed head, a broken sword still gripped in his hand. Inside the tavern was a waste of broken settles and smashed tables, with great gouts of blood fouling the floor. A third lackey lay huddled in the corner, his blood-stained doublet showing a dozen sword-thrusts. Over all hung silence like a pall.
