Under the Red Robe, Stanley John Weyman [pdf to ebook reader txt] 📗

Both were armed, and Clon was booted. His mate rode barefoot, with a rusty spur strapped to one heel.

The moment I saw them a sure and certain fear crept into my mind: it was that which made me shiver. But I did not speak to them. I went in again and closed the door behind me. The landlord was putting on his boots.

‘What does this mean?’ I said hoarsely—though I had a clear prescience of what was coming. ‘Why are these men here?’

‘Orders,’ he answered laconically.

‘Whose orders?’ I retorted.

‘Whose?’ he answered bluntly. ‘Well, Monsieur, that is my business. Enough that we mean to see you out of the country, and out of harm’s way.’

‘But if I will not go?’ I cried.

‘Monsieur will go,’ he answered coolly. ‘There are no strangers in the village to-day,’ he added, with a significant smile.

‘Do you mean to kidnap me?’ I replied, in a rage.

But behind the rage was something else—I will not call it terror, for the brave feel no terror but it was near akin to it. I had had to do with rough men all my life, but there was a grimness and truculence in the aspect of these three that shook me. When I thought of the dark paths and narrow lanes and cliff sides we must traverse, whichever road we took, I trembled.

‘Kidnap you, Monsieur?’ he answered, with an every-day air. ‘That is as you please to call it. One thing is certain, however,’ he continued, maliciously touching an arquebuss which he had brought out, and set upright against a chair while I was at the door; if you attempt the slightest resistance, we shall know how to put an end to it, either here or on the road.’

I drew a deep breath, the very imminence of the danger restoring me to the use of my faculties. I changed my tone and laughed aloud.

‘So that is your plan, is it?’ I said. ‘The sooner we start the better, then. And the sooner I see Auch and your back turned, the more I shall be pleased.’

He rose. ‘After you, Monsieur,’ he said.

I could not restrain a slight shiver. His new-born politeness alarmed me more than his threats. I knew the man and his ways, and I was sure that it boded ill to me.

But I had no pistols, and only my sword and knife, and I knew that resistance at this point must be worse than vain. I went out jauntily, therefore, the landlord coming after me with my saddle and bags.

The street was empty, save for the two waiting horsemen who sat in their saddles looking doggedly before them, The sun had not yet risen, the air was raw. The sky was grey, cloudy, and cold. My thoughts flew back to the morning on which I had found the sachet—at that very spot, almost at that very hour, and for a moment I grew warm again at the thought of the little packet I carried in my boot. But the landlord’s dry manner, the sullen silence of his two companions, whose eyes steadily refused to meet mine, chilled me again. For an instant the impulse to refuse to mount, to refuse to go, was almost irresistible; then, knowing the madness of such a course, which might, and probably would, give the men the chance they desired, I crushed it down and went slowly to my stirrup.

‘I wonder you do not want my sword,’ I said by way of sarcasm, as I swung myself up.

‘We are not afraid of it,’ the innkeeper answered gravely. ‘You may keep it—for the present.’

I made no answer—what answer had I to make?—and we rode at a footpace down the street; he and I leading, Clon and the shock-headed man bringing up the rear. The leisurely mode of our departure, the absence of hurry or even haste, the men’s indifference whether they were seen, or what was thought, all served to sink my spirits and deepen my sense of peril. I felt that they suspected me, that they more than half guessed the nature of my errand at Cocheforet, and that they were not minded to be bound by Mademoiselle’s orders. In particular, I augured the worst from Clon’s appearance. His lean malevolent face and sunken eyes, his very dumbness chilled me. Mercy had no place there.

We rode soberly, so that nearly half an hour elapsed before we gained the brow from which I had taken my first look at Cocheforet. Among the dwarf oaks whence I had viewed the valley we paused to breathe our horses, and the strange feelings with which I looked back on the scene may be imagined. But I had short time for indulging in sentiment or recollections. A curt word, and we were moving again.

A quarter of a mile farther on, the road to Auch dipped into the valley. When we were already half way down this descent the innkeeper suddenly stretched out his hand and caught my rein.

‘This way!’ he said.

I saw that he would have me turn into a by-path leading south-westwards—a mere track, faint and little trodden and encroached on by trees, which led I knew not whither. I checked my horse.

‘Why?’ I said rebelliously. ‘Do you think I do not know the road? The road we are in is the way to Auch.’

‘To Auch—yes,’ he answered bluntly. ‘But we are not going to Auch,’

‘Whither then?’ I said angrily.

‘You will see presently,’ he replied with an ugly smile.

‘Yes, but I will know now!’ I retorted, passion getting the better of me. ‘I have come so far with you. You will find it more easy to take me farther if you tell me your plans.’

‘You are a fool!’ he cried with a snarl.

‘Not so,’ I answered. ‘I ask only to know whither I am going.’

‘Into Spain,’ he said. ‘Will that satisfy you?’

‘And what will you do with me there?’ I asked, my heart giving a great bound.

‘Hand you over to some friends of ours,’ he answered curtly, ‘if you behave yourself. If not, there is a shorter way, and one that will save us some travelling. Make up your mind, Monsieur. Which shall it be?’