CHAPTER XLII.
SECRETS OF THE PRISON HOUSE
"But Francis Agnew is dead! With my own eyes I saw him lie dead, in therobing-room of Professor Anatole----"
"_Row, you skulking 'Giffe'!_" cried the "comite," bringing down hiswhip upon the Abbe John's shoulders, which were bare, with a force thatconvinced him that he at least was both alive and awake.
So he kept silence and rowed in his place next the side of the vessel.And even his wonder in the matter of Claire's father could not preventhis cursing in his heart the man who had brought him to this pass--thetalkative, hospitable, and far-descended Don Sileno Lorent y Valvidia,of the Parador of the Cabeledura d'Oro in the town of Rosas.
The galley of the first class, _Conquistador_, was one of the few whichhad been left behind in the Mediterranean at the time of the GreatArmada. Most of the others had been carried northward for coast defence,and now lagged idly in port for lack of crews to navigate them. So thatit became a quaint dilemma of King Philip's how to obtain sufficientheretics for his _autos de fe_ without impoverishing too greatly hismarine.
The _Conquistador_ kept close company with the _Puerto Reale_, anotherof the same class, but with only two hundred slaves aboard to the threehundred and fifty of the _Conquistador_. The "comite," ormaster-in-charge of the slaves, walked up and down a long central bench.His whip was hardly ever idle, but it did not fall again upon Johnd'Albret--not from any pity for a newcomer, but because the ship'spurser had let out the fact that a considerable sum in gold was in hishands to the credit of the newcomer. For King Philip, though hepersecuted the heretic with fire and sword, fine, imprisonment, and thegalleys, did not allow his subordinates to interfere with his monopoly.And indeed, as the Abbe John learned, more than one officer had swungfrom the forty-foot yard of his own mainmast for intromitting wrongfullywith a prisoner's money.
As to the captains, they were for the most part impoverished grandees oryounger sons of dukes and marquises. Most were knights of Malta and soapparent bachelors, whose money would go to the Order at their death. Inthe meantime, therefore, they spent royally their revenues. The captainof the _Conquistador_ was the young Duke of Err, recently succeeded tothe ambassadorial title, and it was said of him that he counted the lifeof a galley-slave no more than that of a black-beetle beneath hisseigneurial heel.
So long as the boat remained at sea, there was no sleep for any slave.Neither, indeed, for any of the "comites" or sub-officers, whoconsequently grew snappish and drove their slaves to the very limit ofendurance, so that they might the sooner reach the harbour. Yet it wasfull morning before the awnings were spread within the roads ofBarcelona, and the Abbe John could stretch his limbs--so far, that is,as the chain allowed. He had been placed, at the request of the senioroarsman of his mess, Francis Agnew, in the easiest place, that next tothe side of the galley. Here not only was the stroke of the oarshortest, but at night, or in the intervals of sleep, the curve of theship's side made a couch, if not luxurious, at least, comparativelyspeaking, tolerable.
The "comite" hoisted his hammock across the broad _coursier_ or_estrada_ which ran the length of the ship, overlooking and separatingthe two banks of oars, and formed the only passage from the high poop tothe higher stern. It was also useful in rough seas, when the waves brokeright across the ship, and (a mere detail) over the rowers also. For theonly communication with the hold was by gangways descending from eitherend of the _coursier_.
The Abbe John heard the sound of the chief "comite's" whistle withastonishment--so varied were its tones, the quick succession of itsnotes, that the prompt understanding and obedience of the slaves andsailors, at whatever part of the deck they were placed, seemed as magicto him.
"Do as I do," said Francis Agnew, noticing his bewilderment. So the AbbeJohn halted and pulled, raised his oar level or backed water at the wordof Claire's father. And all the while he kept looking sideways at theDead-come-to-Life-again with speechless wonder and the sense of walkingin a dream. Only the sound of the "comite's" lash on his comrades' backskept him convinced of the general reality of things.
Francis Agnew was a strong and able-bodied rower, much remarked andapproved by his chiefs. At various periods of an adventurous life he hadserved on the French and other galleys, even including those of Turkey.So that all the commands and disciplines came easily to him. He had evenbeen charged with the provisioning of the rowers of the whole port side,and on occasion he could take the "comite's" whistle and pipe upon it,to the admiration of all.
Claire's father began his tale as soon as he had arranged his great greycloak of woollen stuff commodiously, and laid the pillow (which he hadby favour) close to the Abbe John's ear.
"The servants of the Sorbonne who were employed to carry my body to thevault were greedy rascals. It was their thought at first to sell my bodyto the younger surgeons for the purpose of their researching. But afterstripping me of my apparel, it chanced that they cast a bucket of waterover me to help me to 'keep'--the weather being hot in those BarricadeDays in the city of Paris."
At this moment the tread of the night-sentinel approached along the_coursier_ above their heads. The voices and whisperings ceased beforehim as by magic. It was full afternoon without, blazing under thechinked awnings. But officially it was night on board the galley. Dayclosed when the whistle of the "comite" blew. Mostly a careful captain,from motives of self-interest more than from any humanity, worked hismen in the cool times of the night. For the Mediterranean is always soluminous of itself that the merest ripple of air is sufficient to stirthe water and show the way. Moreover, in times of peace and on that safecoast galleys were rarely moored save in calm weather.
"It happened thus"--as the sentinel passed Francis Agnew took up thetale--"after the Sorbonne rascals had plashed the cool water over me, Isat up suddenly and looked about me for a sword. But, there being none,I was in their power. For ten days they kept me in hold in a secretplace among firewood, deep underground, without any loophole whatever.Twice a day they brought me food, and by the light of a candle theydressed my wounds--one of them being expert at that business, having hadpractice in the hospitals. Then when I was recovered they gave me acandle which burned two hours only. And with it also a pile of brushwoodto cut up into small pieces. This was the pleasantest part of the day tome. But they always took away the axe afterwards, bidding me push itthrough beneath the door, so that whoever came with my next meal mightsee it. Else I would get no dinner. For they feared lest I might brainone of them as he came in, and then make a rush for the passage-way. ButI knew that the doors were shut behind, so that there was no chance. Andbesides, being a Christian man, I was covenanted to fight only when Icould do so without sin, and with some chance of continuing the life somarvellously preserved to me!
"Then this Flamand, the chief of the servitors of the Sorbonne--Holtzwas his name, a huge-handed animal of monkey breed, but with cunningunder that sloping skull of his--made interest to find me a place in oneof the slow waggons which carry the king's artillery to the port ofCalais, where the new forts are. And me he laid, tied like a parcelbetween two brass guns for sieging, strapped down and gagged, feeding meat nights when the convoy halted. Also he paid the chief waggoner somuch. For he meant to sell me for a slave to the Duke of Parma, who atthat time was gathering a great fleet of galleys to destroy England. Ihad heard them arguing the matter somewhat thus:
"'Better kill him and be done,' said one; 'thus we are sure of a hundredshields for him from the lads of the beef barrel.' (So they spoke of theyoung surgeons of the Sorbonne.)
"However, the Flamand (a vantard and a bully, but very cunning) offeredto fight any man there, or any two with fists or knives or any otherweapon in their choice. And when no one took up his challenge, he criedout, 'Ho, stand back there, ye pack of cowards! This man is mine. Ahundred silver shields! What is a hundred shields, when for such a wiryfellow, albeit a little old, we will get a hundred gold pieces fromParma, if only we can get him as far as Nieuport.'
"And so t
o Parma I was given, but the galley I was first placed in metwith an English ship-of-war, and she ran us so close that we could notrow. Her prow scraped us, breaking the oars and tossing the dead about,many being slain with the bounding fragments. And I--I was in the placenext the port-hole, and I mind me I could lay my hand on the muzzle of ashotted gun. But that is the last I remember. For at that moment theEnglishman fired a broadside and swept our decks. I alone was unhurt,and after a while in the lazar-house of Vigo, I came hither in agalleasse to teach the 'comites' of the Mediterranean side the newerpractice of the fleets of the North."
He chuckled a little, his well-trained ear taking in the _diminuendo_and _crescendo_ of the sentinel's footsteps on the wooden platform abovehis head.
"But from what I saw of the English," he murmured, "I judge that beforelong there will be no need of galleys to fight Spain's battles."
In a moment John d'Albret knew that his companion had not yet heard ofthe destruction of the Great Armada. He told him.
"Glory to the God of Battles," he said, hushed and low, "to Him thepraise!"
Just then all the bells of the city began to ring, slow and measured.The sound came mellowed over the water and filtered through the stripedawnings of yellow and red.
"Some great man is dead," he said, "perhaps the King--Philip, I mean. Orelse a day of humiliation----"
"_Auto de fe!_" came along the benches in a thrilling whisper, for inspite of their fatigue few of the slaves were asleep. The afternoon wastoo hot, the glare from the water intolerable.
"Ah, well, the sooner to peace for some poor souls," said Francis theScot. Then a thought seemed to strike him. "It is not possible--no, youcannot have heard. I dare not expect it. But I had a daughter, she wasnamed Claire. They told me--that is, the Flamand Holtz, a not unkindlybrute, though he had resolved to make money out of me, dead oralive--well, he told me that one of the wisest of the professors, alearned man, had taken her under his care. They escaped together to goto his mother's house with one of the students, a cousin of the Hope ofIsrael. You never heard--no, it is not possible. Why should I dream it?"
The Abbe John's throat became suddenly dry. He gasped for a moment, butcould not speak.
"You do know--she is dead--tell me!" said Francis the Scot, shaking himroughly by the arm. And that was the single unkindness he used to theyoung man.
"No, no!" gasped John d'Albret. "She is well. I love her. I was thatthird who escaped in her company!"
"Where is she?"
"Nay, that I do not know exactly," said the Abbe John, "but it is inFrance, in a quiet province, with good folk who love her--though not asI love her. For I came hither for her sake!"
And he told the tale--how, in Jean-aux-Choux's secret _cache_ behindthe sheepfold on the hill, he had found a list of the articles fortransport to Dame Amelie's new abode, with directions to the carriers,and one or two objects of price, evidently set aside for Jean to carrythither himself upon his next visit. So far, therefore, he was assuredthat all went well.
"God is great!" said Francis the Scot aloud; and the captive Turk whorowed outside oar, catching the well-known formula, added instantly,"And Mohammed is His prophet."
But on this occasion, at least, he was mistaken. For--like many a goodproselyte who knows little of his master's doctrine yet draws convertsnotwithstanding--not Mohammed or Another, but plain, flippant,light-hearted John d'Albret was on this occasion the Prophet of theLord.
The White Plumes of Navarre: A Romance of the Wars of Religion Page 43
