VI
_A matter of life and death._
Nothing in life can be so sweet as freedom after captivity, safety afterdanger. When I gained the open street once more and breathed the openair, no one molesting or troubling me, I could have sung with joy. Ifairly hugged myself for my cleverness in getting out of my plight. Asfor the combat I was furthering, my only doubt about that was lest theskulking Lucas should not prove good sword enough to give trouble to M.Gervais. It was very far from my wish that he should come out of theattempt unscathed.
But as I went along and had more time to ponder the matter, other doubtsforced themselves into my reluctant mind. Put it as I pleased, theaffair smacked too much of secrecy to be quite savoury. It was curious,to say the least, that an honest encounter should require so muchplotting. Also, Lucas, coward and rascal though he might be, wasMonsieur's man, doing Monsieur's errand, and for me to mix myself up ina plot against him was scarcely in keeping with my vaunted loyalty tothe house of St. Quentin. My friend Gervais's quarrel might be just;his manner of procedure, even, might be just, and yet I have no right totake part in it.
And yet Monsieur had signified plainly enough that he was no longer mypatron. For my birth's sake I might never work against him, but I wasfree to do whatever else I chose. Monsieur himself had made it necessaryfor me to take another master, and assuredly I owed something toYeux-gris. I had reason to feel confidence in his honour; surely I mightreckon that he would not be in the affair unless it were honest. Lucaswas like enough a scoundrel of whom Monsieur would be well rid. Andlastly and finally and above all, I was sworn, so there was no useworrying about it. I had taken oath, and could not draw back.
I hurried along to the rendezvous, only pausing one moment at thestreet-corner to buy sausages hot from the brazier, which I crammed intomy mouth as I ran. But after all was there no need of haste; the littlearch, when I panted up to it, was all deserted.
No better place for a tryst could have been found in the heart of busyParis. Only the one door opened into the alley; M. de Portreuse's highgarden wall, forming the other side of the passage, was unbroken by agate, and no curious eyes from the house could look into the deep archand see the narrow nail-studded door at the back where I awaited therat-faced Martin.
I stood there long, first on one foot and then on the other, fearfulevery moment lest some one of Monsieur's true men should come along todemand my business. No one appeared, either foe or friend, for so longthat I began to think Yeux-gris had tricked me and sent me here on afool's errand, when, all at once, a low voice said close to my ear:
"What seek you here?"
I jumped on finding at my side a little, pale, sharp-faced man--the manof the vision. He had slipped through the door so suddenly and quietlythat I was once more tempted to take him for a ghost. He eyed me for abare second; then his eyes dropped before mine.
"I am come to learn the hour," said I.
"Did you not hear the chimes ring five?"
"Oh, no need for disguise. I am come from the two in the RueCoupejarrets. They bade me ask the hour."
He favoured me with another of his shifty glances.
"What hour meant they?"
I said bluntly, in a louder tone:
"The hour when M. Lucas sets out on his secret mission."
"Hush!" he cried. "Hush! Don't say names aloud--his or the other's."
"Well," I said crossly, "you have kept me waiting already more time thanI care to lose. How much longer before you will tell me what I came toknow?"
He looked at me sharply for another brief instant before his eyes slunkaway from mine.
"You should have a password."
"They gave me none. They told me to say I came from the shuttered housein the Rue Coupejarrets, and that would be enough."
"How came you into this business?"
"By a back window."
He gave me another suspicious glance, but making nothing by it, herejoined:
"Eh bien, I trust you. I will tell you."
He clutched my arm and drew me to the back of the arch, where theafternoon shadows were already gathered.
"What have you for me?" he demanded.
"Nothing. What should I have?"
"No gold?"
"No."
"He promised me ten pistoles to-day. He did not give them to you?"
"I tell you, no."
"You are a thief! You have them!"
He stepped forward menacingly; so did I. He then fell back as abruptly.
"Nay, it was a jest; I know you are honest. But he promised me tenpistoles."
"He did not give them to me," I said. "Perhaps he was not so convincedof my honesty. He will doubtless pay you afterward."
"Afterward!" he retorted in a high key. "By our Lady, he shall pay meafterward! The gutters will run gold then, will they? Pardieu! I willsee that a good stream flows my way. But one cannot play to-day withto-morrow's coin. He said I should have ten pistoles when I let him knowthe hour."
"I cannot mend that. It lies between you and him. I have not seen orheard of any money."
Martin edged up close to the door of retreat and waxed defiant.
"Then all I have to say is, he may go whistle for his news."
Now, had I but thought of it, here was an easy road out of a badbusiness. If Martin would not tell the hour of rendezvous, Lucas wassaved, Monsieur's interests not endangered, yet at the same time I wasnot forsworn. But touch pitch and be defiled. You cannot go hand andglove with villains and remain an honest man. I returned directly:
"As you choose. But M. Gervais carries a long sword."
He started at that and made no instant reply, seeming to be balancingconsiderations. Then he gave his decision.
"I will tell you. But your M. Gervais is wrong if he thinks I can beslighted and robbed of my dues. I know enough to make trouble for him,and I know where to take my knowledge. He will not find it easy to shutmy mouth afterward, except with good broad gold pieces."
"Enfin, are you telling me the hour?" I said impatiently. I was ill atease; my only wish was to get the errand done and be gone.
He laid a hand on my shoulder and made me bend to him, and even thenspoke so low I could scarce catch the words.
"They have fixed positively on to-night. They will leave by this doorand take the route I described last night to M. Gervais. They will startas soon as the streets are quiet, sometime between ten and eleven. Theymust allow an hour to reach the gate, and the man goes off at twelve. Inall likelihood they will not set out before a quarter of eleven; M. leDuc does not care to be recognized."
So they planned to kill Lucas at Monsieur's side? Yeux-gris had notdared to tell me that. But he had looked me straight in the face andsworn on the cross no harm was meant to M. le Duc. Natheless, the thinglooked ugly. My heart leaped up at the next words:
"Also Vigo will go."
"Vigo!"
"Not so loud! You will have the guard on us! Yes, he is to go. At firstMonsieur did not tell even him, he desired to keep this visit to theking so secret. But this morning he took Vigo into his confidence, andnothing would serve the man but to go. He watches over Monsieur like ahen over a chick."
"Then it will be three to three," I said. I thought of Gervais,Yeux-gris, and Pontou, for of course I would take no part in it.
"Three to two; Lucas will not fight."
Lucas must be a poltroon, indeed!
"But Vigo and Monsieur--" I began.
"Aye, they are quick enough with their swords. Your side must bequicker, that's all. If you are sudden enough you can easily kill theduke before he can draw."
Talk of words like thunderbolts! All the thunder of heaven could nothave whelmed me like those words. Yeux-gris and his oaths! It _was_ theduke, after all!
I could not speak. I looked I know not how. But it was dusky in thearch.
"It sounds simple," he went on. "But, three of you as you are, you willhave trouble with Vigo. That is all. I have told you all. I must getback before I a
m missed. Good luck to the enterprise."
Still I stood like a block of wood.
"Tell M. Gervais to remember me," he said, and opening the door, passedin. I heard him lock and bolt it after him, and his footsteps hurryingdown the passageway.
Then I came to myself and sprang to the door and beat upon it furiously.But if he heard he was afraid to respond. After a futile moment thatseemed an hour I rushed out of the arch and around to the great gate.
The grilles were closed as before, but the sentry's face, luckily, wasstrange to me.
"Open! open!" I shouted, breathless. "I must see M. le Duc!"
"Who are you?" he demanded, staring.
"My name is Broux. I have news for M. le Duc. Let me in. It is a matterof life and death."
"Why, I suppose, then, I must let you in," that good fellow answered,drawing back the bolts. "But you must wait here till--"
The gate was open. I took base advantage of him by sliding under his armand shooting across the court up the steps to the house. The door stoodopen, and a couple of lackeys lounged on a bench in the hall.
"M. le Duc!" I cried. "I must see him."
They jumped up, the picture of bewilderment.
"Who are you? How came you here?" cried the quicker-tongued of the two.
"The sentry opened for me. Where am I to find M. le Duc? I must see him!I have news!"
"M. le Duc sees no one to-day," the second lackey announced pompously.
"But I must see him, I tell you," I repeated. I had completely lost whatlittle head I ever had; it seemed to me that if I could not see M. leDuc on the instant I should find him weltering in his gore. "I must seehim," I cried, parrot-like. "It is a matter of life and death."
"From whom do you come?"
"That's my affair. Enough that I come with news of the highest moment.You will be sorry if I you do not get me quickly to M. le Duc."
They looked at each other, somewhat impressed.
"I will go for M. Constant," said the one who had spoken first.
Constant was Master of the Household; M. le Duc had inherited him withthe estate and kept him in his place for old time's sake. He was old,fussy, and self-important, and withal no friend to me.
"I had rather you fetched Vigo," I said.
"Oh, Vigo will not come. He is with Monsieur. If I bring M. Constant, itis the best I can do for you."
I had recovered myself sufficiently by this time to remember the natureof lackeys, and gave the messenger the last silver piece I had in theworld. He regarded it contemptuously, but pocketed it and departed inleisurely fashion up the stairs.
The other was not too grand to cross-examine me.
"What sort of news have you? Do you come from the king?" he asked in alowered voice.
"No."
"From M. de Valere?"
"No."
"Then who the devil are you?"
"Felix Broux of St. Quentin."
"Ah, St. Quentin," he said, as if he found that rather tame. "You bringnews from there?"
"No, I do not. Think you I shall tell you? This news is for Monsieur."
"It won't reach Monsieur unless you learn politeness toward thegentlemen of his household," he retorted.
We were getting into a lively quarrel when Constant appeared on thestairway--Constant and the lackey who had fetched him, and two morelackeys, and a page, all of whom had somehow scented that something wasin the wind. They came flocking about us as I said:
"Ah, M. Constant! You know me, Felix Broux of St. Quentin. I must see M.le Duc."
Constant's face of surprise at me changed to one of malice. Down at St.Quentin he had suffered much from us pages, as a slow, peevish olddotard must. I had played many a prank on him, but I had not thought hewould revenge himself at such time as this. He looked at me with aspiteful grin, and said to the men:
"He lies. I do not know him. I never saw him."
"Never saw me, Felix Broux!" I cried, completely taken aback.
"No," maintained Constant. "You are an impostor."
"Impostor! Nonsense!" I cried out. "Constant, you know me as well as youknow yourself. I say I must see the duke; his life is in danger!"
Constant was paying off old scores with interest.
"An impostor," he yelled shrilly, "or else a madman--or an assassin."
"That is the truth," said some one, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder.
I turned; two men of the guard had come up, my friend of just now and myfoe of the morning. It was the latter who held me and said:
"This is the very rascal who sprang on Monsieur's coach-step in themorning. M. Lucas threw him off, else he might have stabbed Monsieur. Wewere fools enough to let him go free. But this time he shall not get offso easy."
"I am innocent of all thought of harm," I cried. "I am M. le Duc's loyalservant. I meant no harm this morning, and I mean none now. I am here tosave Monsieur's life."
"He is here to kill Monsieur; he is an assassin!" screamed Constant."Flog him, men; he will own the truth then!"
"I am no assassin!" I shouted, struggling in their grasp. "Let me go,villains, let me go! I tell you, Monsieur's life is at stake--Monsieur'svery life, I tell you!"
They paid me no heed. Not one of them--save hat lying knaveConstant--knew me as other than the shabby fellow who had actedsuspiciously in the morning. They were dragging me to the door in spiteof my shouts and struggles, when suddenly a ringing voice spoke fromabove:
"What is this rumpus? Who talks of Monsieur's life?"
The guards halted dead, and I cried out joyfully:
"Vigo!"
"Yes, I am Vigo," the big man answered, striding down the stairs. "Whoare you?"
I wanted to shout, "Felix Broux, Monsieur's page," but a sort ofnightmare dread came over me lest Vigo, too, should disclaim me, and myvoice stuck in my throat.
"Whoever you are, you will be taught not to make a racket in M. le Duc'shall. By the saints! it's the boy Felix."
At the friendliness in his voice the guards dropped their hands from me.
"M. Vigo," I said, "I have news for Monsieur of the gravest moment. I amcome on a matter of life and death. And I am stopped in the hall bylackeys."
He looked at me sternly.
"This is not one of your fooleries, Felix?"
"No, M. Vigo."
"Come with me."
The Helmet of Navarre Page 7
