Bardelys the Magnificent, Rafael Sabatini [best free e book reader .txt] 📗

CHAPTER XX

THE “BRAVI” AT BLAGNAC

 

I was glad to be in the open once more - glad of the movement, as I

rode at the head of my brave company along the bank of the Garonne

and in the shade of the golden, autumn-tinted trees.

 

I was in a measure angry with myself that I had driven such a bargain

with Roxalanne, in a measure angry with her that she had forced me

to it by her obstinacy. A fine gentleman I, on my soul, to have

dubbed Chatellerault a cheat for having done no worse than I had now

brought myself to do! Yet, was it so? No, I assured myself, it was

not. A thousand times no! What I had done I had done as much to

win Roxalanne to me as to win her from her own unreasonableness. In

the days to come she should thank me for my harshness, for that which

now she perhaps accounted my unfairness.

 

Then, again, would I ask myself, was I very sure of this? And so the

two questions were flung the one against the other; my conscience

divided itself into two parties, and they waged a war that filled me

with a depressing uncertainty.

 

In the end shame was overthrown, and I flung back my head with a

snort of assurance. I was doing no wrong. On the contrary, I was

doing right - both by myself and by Roxalanne. What matter that I

was really cheating her? What matter that I had said I would not

leave Lavedan until I had her promise, whilst in reality I had

hurled my threat at Saint-Eustache that I would meet him at Toulouse,

and passed my word to the Vicomtesse that I would succour her

husband?

 

I gave no thought to the hidden threat with which Saint-Eustache

had retorted that from Lavedan to Toulouse was a distance of some

twenty leagues. Had he been a man of sterner purposes I might have

been uneasy and on my guard. But Saint-Eustache pshaw!

 

It is ill to underestimate an enemy, be he never so contemptible,

and for my disdain of the Chevalier I might have paid dearly had

not Fortune - which of late had been practising singular jests upon

me after seemingly abandoning me, returned to my aid at the last

moment.

 

It was Saint-Eustache’s purpose that I should never reach Toulouse

alive, for in all the world I was the one man he feared, the one

man who would encompass his undoing and destruction by a word. And

so he had resolved and disposed that I should be removed, and to

accomplish this he had left a line of bravi along the road I was to

pass.

 

He had counted upon my lying the night in one of the intervening

towns, for the journey was over-long to be accomplished at a

stretch, and wherever I might chance to lie, there I should have to

reckon with his assassins. The nearer Toulouse - although I knew

not this - the thicker grew my danger. Into the very thick of it

I rode; in the very thick of it I lay, and all that came of it was

that I obtained possession of one more and overwhelming piece of

evidence against my murderous Chevalier. But I outrun my story.

 

It had been my purpose to change horses at Grenade, and so push on

and reach Toulouse that very night or in the early hours of the

following morning. At Grenade, however, there were no horses to be

obtained, at least not more than three, and so, leaving the greater

portion of my company behind, I set out, escorted only by Gilles

and Antoine. Night had fallen long before we reached Lespinasse,

and with it came foul weather. The wind rose from the west, grew

to the violence of a hurricane, and brought with it such a deluge

of cold, cutting rain as never had it been my ill-chance to ride

through. From Lespinasse to Fenouillet the road dips frequently,

and wherever this occurred it seemed to us that we were riding in

a torrent, our horses fetlock-deep in mud.

 

Antoine complained in groans; Gilles growled openly, and went the

length of begging me, as we rode through the ill-paved, flooded

streets of Fenouillet, to go no farther. But I was adamant in my

resolve. Soaked to the skin, my clothes hanging sodden about me,

and chilled to the marrow though I was, I set my chattering teeth,

and swore that we should not sleep until we reached Toulouse.

 

“My God,” he groaned, “and we but halfway!”

 

“Forward!” was all I answered; and so as midnight chimed we left

Fenouillet behind us, and dashed on into the open country and the

full fury of the tempest.

 

My servants came after me upon their stumbling horses, whining and

cursing by turns, and forgetting in their misery the respect that

they were accustomed to pay me. I think now that it was a providence

that guided me. Had I halted at Fenouillet, as they would have had

me do, it is odds that this chronicle would never have been penned,

for likely enough I had had my throat cut as I slept. A providence

was it also that brought my horse down within a half-mile of Blagnac,

and so badly did it founder that it might not be ridden farther.

 

The beasts my men bestrode were in little better condition, and so,

with infinite chagrin, I was forced to acknowledge defeat and to

determine that at Blagnac we should lie for the remainder of the

night. After all, it mattered little. A couple of hours’ riding

in the morning would bring us to Toulouse, and we would start

betimes.

 

I bade Gilles dismount - he had been the louder in his complainings

—and follow us afoot, bringing my horse to the Auberge de l’Etoile

at Blagnac, where he would await him. Then I mounted his jaded

beast, and, accompanied by Antoine - the last of my retainers - I

rode into Blagnac, and pulled up at the sign of the “Star.”

 

With my whip I smote the door, and I had need to smite hard if I

would be heard above the wind that shrieked and howled under the

eaves of that narrow street. Yet it almost seemed as if some one

were expected, for scarce had my knocking ceased when the door

was opened, and the landlord stood there, shading a taper with

his hand. For a moment I saw the glow of its light on his rosy,

white-bearded face, then a gust of wind extinguished it.

 

“Diable!” he swore, “an ugly night for travelling”; adding as an

afterthought, “You ride late, monsieur.”

 

“You are a man of supreme discernment, Monsieur l’Hote,” said I

testily, as I pushed him aside and stepped into the passage. “Will

you keep me in the rain till daylight whilst you perpend how late

I ride? Is your ostler abed? See to those beasts yourself, then.

Afterwards get me food - for me and for my man and beds for both

of us.”

 

“I have but one room, monsieur,” he answered respectfully. “You

shall have that, and your servant shall sleep in the hayloft.”

 

“My servant sleeps in my room, if you have but one. Set a mattress

on the floor for him. Is this a night to leave a dog to sleep in

a hayloft? I have another servant following. He will be here in a

few minutes. You must find room for him also - in the passage

outside my door, if no other accommodation be possible.”

 

“But, monsieur -” he began in a tone of protest, which I set down

to the way a landlord has of making difficulties that he shall be

the better paid for such lodging as he finds us.

 

“See to it,” I ordered peremptorily. “You shall be well paid. Now

go tend those horses.”

 

On the wall of the passage fell a warm, reddish glow from the common

room, which argued a fire, and this was too alluring to admit of my

remaining longer in discussion with him. I strode forward, therefore.

The Auberge de l’Etoile was not an imposing hostelry, nor one at

which from choice I had made a halt. This common room stank most

vilely of oil, of burning tallow - from the smoky tapers - and of I

know not what other noisome unsavourinesses.

 

As I entered, I was greeted by a resonant snore from a man seated

in a corner by the fire. His head had fallen back, displaying the

brown, sinewy neck, and he slept - or seemed to sleep - with mouth

wide open. Full length on the hearth and in the red