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

dog and slept in the blaze, and then for a couple of hours I sat opposite him, thinking. It seemed years since I had seen Zaton’s or thrown the dice. The old life, the old employments—should I ever go back to them?—seemed dim and distant. Would Cocheforet, the forest and the mountain, the grey Chateau and its mistresses, seem one day as dim? And if one bit of life could fade so quickly at the unrolling of another, and seem in a moment pale and colourless, would all life some day and somewhere, and all the things we—But enough! I was growing foolish. I sprang up and kicked the wood together, and, taking up the gun, began to pace to and fro under the cliff. Strange that a little moonlight, a few stars, a breath of solitude should carry a man back to childhood and childish things.

. . . . . .

It was three in the afternoon of the next day, and the sun lay hot on the oak groves, and the air was full of warmth as we began to climb the slope, midway up which the road to Auch shoots out of the track. The yellow bracken and the fallen leaves underfoot seemed to throw up light of themselves; and here and there a patch of ruddy beech lay like a bloodstain on the hillside. In front a herd of pigs routed among the mast, and grunted lazily; and high above us a boy lay watching them. ‘We part here,’ I said to my companion.

It was my plan to ride a little way along the road to Auch so as to blind his eyes; then, leaving my horse in the forest, I would go on foot to the Chateau. ‘The sooner the better!’ he answered with a snarl. ‘And I hope I may never see your face again, Monsieur.’

But when we came to the wooden cross at the fork of the roads, and were about to part, the boy we had seen leapt out of the fern and came to meet us.

‘Hollo!’ he cried in a sing-song tone.

‘Well,’ my companion answered, drawing rein impatiently. ‘What is it?’

‘There are soldiers in the village.’

‘Soldiers,’ Antoine cried incredulously.

‘Ay, devils on horseback,’ the lad answered, spitting on the ground. ‘Three score of them. From Auch.’

Antoine turned to me, his face transformed with fury.

‘Curse you!’ he cried. ‘This is some of your work. Now we are all undone. And my mistresses? SACRE! if I had that gun I would shoot you like a rat.’

‘Steady, fool,’ I answered roughly. ‘I know no more of this than you do.’

Which was so true that my surprise was at least as great as his, and better grounded. The Cardinal, who rarely made a change of front, had sent me hither that he might not be forced to send soldiers, and run the risk of all that might arise from such a movement. What of this invasion, then, than which nothing could be less consistent with his plans? I wondered. It was possible that the travelling merchants, before whom I had played at treason, had reported the facts; and that on this the Commandant at Auch had acted. But it seemed unlikely since he had had his orders too, and under the Cardinal’s rule there was small place for individual enterprise. Frankly I could not understand it, and found only one thing clear; I might now enter the village as I pleased.

‘I am going on to look into this,’ I said to Antoine. ‘Come, my man.’ He shrugged his shoulders, and stood still.

‘Not I!’ he answered, with an oath. ‘No soldiers for me I have lain out one night, and I can lie out another.’

I nodded indifferently, for I no longer wanted him; and we parted. After this, twenty minutes’ riding brought me to the entrance of the village, and here the change was great indeed. Not one of the ordinary dwellers in the place was to be seen: either they had shut themselves up in their hovels, or, like Antoine, they had fled to the woods. Their doors were closed, their windows shuttered. But lounging about the street were a score of dragoons, in boots and breastplates, whose short-barrelled muskets, with pouches and bandoliers attached, were piled near the inn door. In an open space, where there was a gap in the street, a long row of horses, linked head to head, stood bending their muzzles over bundles of rough forage; and on all sides the cheerful jingle of chains and bridles and the sound of coarse jokes and laughter filled the air.

As I rode up to the inn door an old sergeant, with squinting eyes and his tongue in his cheek, scanned me inquisitively, and started to cross the street to challenge me. Fortunately, at that moment the two knaves whom I had brought from Paris with me, and whom I had left at Auch to await my orders, came up. I made them a sign not to speak to me, and they passed on; but I suppose that they told the sergeant that I was not the man he wanted, for I saw no more of him.

After picketing my horse behind the inn—I could find no better stable, every place being full—I pushed my way through the group at the door, and entered. The old room, with the low, grimy roof and the reeking floor, was half full of strange figures, and for a few minutes I stood unseen in the smoke and confusion. Then the landlord came my way, and as he passed me I caught his eye. He uttered a low curse, dropped the pitcher he was carrying, and stood glaring at me like a man possessed.

The soldier whose wine he was carrying flung a crust in his face, with,—

‘Now, greasy fingers! What are you staring at?’

‘The devil!’ the landlord muttered, beginning to tremble.

‘Then let me look at him!’ the man retorted, and he turned on his stool.

He started, finding me standing over him.

‘At your service!’ I said grimly. ‘A little time and it will be the other way, my friend.