The Black Wolf's Breed

by Harris Dickson

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE CASTLE OF CARTILLON

  Two days, four, passed. Serigny had departed for Dieppe to arm andequip le Dauphin, yet still there was no official declaration of war.I was waiting, as he had ordered, for the formal declaration, on thepublication of which I was to join him on board at once and we wouldset sail instantly for Biloxi.

  Another anxious day, during which I vacillated between an ignoble loveand a noble duty. Then, late in the evening, the whole court wasfanned into a blaze destined to spread throughout Europe and America,by the announcement that the war had been formally decided upon.

  Men may long look forward to a crushing calamity, and when it comes besurprised and unprepared. So, though I well knew I must leave Francewith all speed, and possibly never see her shores again, I put it fromme as persistently as men do the certainty of death. Every day did Iride to Sceaux, by the old wall, and catch a glimpse of her I loved.When war was at last declared there was no time for parleying withduty. My path lay straight and clear before me; yet for once asoldier's duty and a soldier's adventure gave me no pleasure. All mythoughts were otherwhere.

  Hot-foot to Sceaux again I rode on my way to Dieppe, and from the sameembrasure at the wall where my horses had trampled down the foliagemany times, I watched her coming. It was not for long. More hurriedlythan was her custom she glided, a glorified young creature, in and outamongst the shrubbery, until the envious chapel door hid her from mysight. No living thing was in view. The sound of no discordant voicebroke the holy peace of God. Temptation came never to our first erringmother in more insidious guise than this.

  Where was the harm, I reasoned, it was but for an instant's speech withher, ere the bounding seas would roll between us. So with nervoushaste I tumbled from my horse and tethered him stoutly to a tree. Overthe wall and to the chapel door took another instant, and there,inside, at the rail, she knelt. I paused, as a sinner might,hesitating to mar with heart profane the devotions of a saint. My footstruck a cracking board in the entry, and drew her glance toward me.She sprang up as I entered, with a swift cry of surprise, and, as Ifancied, some whit of gladness in the tone.

  "You, Monsieur? You here? I thought you away from Sceaux."

  "Yes, Madame, true; but I returned to speak with you before I leaveFrance forever. I came here to--to--" I could not tell her why; myheart, so full, clogged my utterance. But women ever understand.

  As I cast about me for a word, we had drawn closer, and taking the handwhich half-hid in the folds of her dress, gleamed more white and pure,I would have raised it to my lips. Even at such a time I noted thedevice upon a ring she wore, a device grown so familiar: A wolf's head,sable.

  "An old thing of my mother's," she explained, "Charles has one, and I."

  I eagerly seized upon a subject which might so naturally prolong ourinterview.

  "Aye, I know the device well; are you of the d'Artins?"

  "Yes, my mother was; there are now none of the race. The last is awanderer; I know not if he lives."

  "I know, perchance, of such a man, Madame; would you tell me more ofhim, of yourself?"

  "I never saw him, my mother's father. Her marriage displeased himgreatly. When her first child was born, a girl, she sent it to him forhis blessing. He denied it, saying he wanted no more of women. Thechild died in infancy. Of my sister's birth and mine he was nevertold. Then he went away, where, none know."

  It thrilled me with a new hope. Who could guess but my relations withColonel d'Ortez might throw me again in her way. I took her handagain, making pretence to examine the ring more curiously. She madeslight demur, and I pressed my first fervent kiss upon the hand ofwoman. Man's fortitude could stand no more. Tossing honor,discretion, duty to the winds, I folded her close, closer yet, andkissed her brow, her hair, her eyes--her lips, she struggling like afrightened nestling all the while. It was done.

  Ashamed but impenitent--it was too new, too sweet to wish undone--Iloosed her gently, and kissed her hand but once again, then left herstanding where the light from the mullioned window in halos wreathed mysaint. It was thus I ever afterward remembered her.

  She made no other sign; I withdrew swiftly as I came. From across thewall, unobserved, I watched her leave the place, downcast of eye andslow of step. In rebellious and uncertain mood I rode away.

  Though the relish in my task was done, I made all haste toward Dieppe.Scarcely stopping for food, changing horses as often as I could, Ipushed on without adventure until I reached the Chateau Cartillon, thena formless ruin.

  Here my saddle girth broke and I was nearly thrown to the ground. Iscrambled off, walked to the little inn where I inquired how far I hadyet to go.

  "Three leagues yet to Dieppe," the host replied, "but Monsieur can notgo on to-night; he must wait the morrow; he can go with comfort in themorning."

  I sent my groom for a new girth and found it would take quite an hourto procure one from the village.

  "Probably Monsieur would visit the castle upon the hill there,"persisted the landlord, pointing across the way, "it is worth hiswhile. It is said to have been destroyed by the Great Henry in hiswars with the Duke of Mayenne. True it is that sounds of battle andscreams are yet heard there on stormy nights. Probably Monsieur wouldrest here several days----."

  I essayed to silence the fellow, for I was in no mood to listen to hischatter. Yet there was something in his eulogy of the locality, whichhe gave as a hawker crying his wares, that fixed my unwilling attention.

  "And, Monsieur, perchance you may see old mad Michel. What! you knownaught of him? Country folk do say his grandam witnessed the murder ofthe Count, and that it sent her feeble mind a-wandering. Her childthrough all her life did fancy herself the Count, and made strangespeeches to the people's fear. And now this grandson of hers has grownold in frenzy like his mother and grandam, possessed of an evil spiritwhich speaks through him betimes--it is a curse of the blood, Monsieur,a grievous curse of the blood."

  It aroused something of a curiosity within me, yet I was loath to pauseupon my journey. Forced, though, to wait an hour, I thought to walkover to the Chateau a couple of hundred yards distant. Taking a ladwho lounged about the inn, to show me the way, I sauntered up the path,pausing a while at a long-disused spring, and idly plucked an applefrom a branch which over-hung it. A little further up, and mountingthe steep acclivity, I stood within the ancient fortress.

  This castle, since rebuilded, you, my children, are of course familiarwith, for you were all born here. At that date the great central toweralone stood erect amid the universal destruction. A black wolf's headreared itself high above the portcullis. The moat was filled withdrift of crumbling years, and the walls, fallen in many places, ranhither and thither in aimless curves and angles, much as they do to-day.

  Up to this hour my chronicle has been only of such adventures as mightbefall a soldier upon any enterprise, but now a strange thing happened.Until that moment I had never seen the Chateau Cartillon, still therewas not a corner or a passage which did not seem well known to me. Myfeet fell into paths they seemed no strangers to. I seemed to knowintuitively what each building was for, and even imagined most vividlyscenes which had transpired there. The whole place had the mostintense personal interest for me, why I knew not.

  I am not superstitious, but the ruin oppressed me, made me restless anduneasy; yet I was loath to leave. The loneliness of it all filled mewith vague apprehensions as I picked my way across the grass encumberedcourt-yard toward the road again. A thousand haunting fancies of halffamiliar things thronged from out each dismantled doorway. Faces I allbut recognized peered at me through the broken casements; voices Ialmost knew called to me from many a silent corner. Yet all was still,all was solitude. Heartily shamed at my quickening step I hurried onand having consumed a quarter of my hour sat down by the springmentioned before, just beyond the castle's utmost boundary.

  The haze of late afternoon had deepened into night upon the peacefulmeado
ws and lazy sweep of river. A distant peasant's song came faintlyfrom the fields.

  While sitting there beside the spring, gazing listlessly into itsplacid depths, an uncanny figure made its way through a breach in thebastion, and stood before me. At first I confess I was startled, thewild uncouth thing, bent and decrepit, with hair of long and tangledgray, fiery sunken eyes, seemed born of another world than this. Hebent his gaze with searching scrutiny full upon me.

  The lad whispered: "It's old mad Michel; he lives up there," pointingto a tumbled down tower, "and believes himself the Count--the Count,and him long dead lying yonder in the well."

  The boy shuddered and crossed himself.

  The old man gazed steadily at me for some moments then bowing low, hecried:

  "Hail! Son of d'Artin! Hast come to view thine own again? Let usinto the walls."

  "The old man gazed steadily at me for some moments."]

  "Let us go, Monsieur, quick," urged the lad, tugging at my coat, "it islate."

  The dusk in fact was coming on apace and climbing shadows crept roundthe grotesque masonry. Unheeding the lad's fear, I was stronglyimpelled to talk with the daft creature. It was an impulse born notwholly of idle curiosity. I felt strangely moved.

  "What do you want of me, old man?" I asked.

  "I am Henri d'Artin, by murder's hand laid low; I would tell you much."

  "Let us go, Monsieur, let us go. He speaks of unholy things," the boypleaded fearfully. Meeting no response he turned and fled down theslope, away in the twilight beneath the trees.

  "Dost hear the clanking arms, the rolling drums of war? List unto theshouts, the cries within. Dost not know it is the day after the feastof the most Blessed Saint Bartholomew?"

  The man's wild earnestness fixed a spell upon me, and to the end of hisnarrative I listened until the tale was done. I can not hope to setdown here as I heard it what the madman said, nor to have my linesbreathe forth the vigor of his speech. Carried beyond mortal energy byhis frenzy, overmastered by some mysterious Power of which we men knownaught, he threw into his strange, weird story a life and action whichentered my very soul. And as he spoke he seemed to live through thescenes that he so vividly described. It was as though some grim dramawere being enacted for my enlightenment. So well as I can tell it, thetale ran thus:

  On yestermorn my wife, my daughter and little boy, committed to thecharge of old Gaston, had driven into Rouen to spend the day. I rodealong after them to learn the news from Paris. We of the ReformedFaith hoped for great things from the meeting of our leaders with theDuke of Guise and the Queen Mother, for King Charles seemed kindlydisposed toward us. But, God of Mercy! what scenes there were inRouen; everywhere was slaughter, everywhere was murder. I found mycarriage overturned in the streets, covering the dead and mutilatedbodies of wife and daughter; the babe, unhurt and unnoticed in thecarriage, had escaped. Throughout the city were prowling bands wearingthe white cross in their caps, the white sash on their arms, whichdesignated the followers of Guise, and with cries of "Death to theHuguenots" and "No quarter to the enemies of Holy Church," they slewwithout mercy. I had now no idea but to put my boy in a place ofsafety, and with him before me rode straight for the nearest gate. Ipassed unmolested through the streets, and by avoiding the publicplaces, drawing out of the way of murdering bands, thought to evadethem and reach the river gate south of town. My whole soul revolted atleaving the bodies of wife and daughter in Rouen, but the living childmust be considered before the dead. At the turn from out the obscureRue St. Croix into the open square at Vieux Marche I heard a shout,"Here he is, this way," and saw a man at arms stationed in the squarebeckoning to his comrades who came clattering down the Rue de Crosne.This blocked the path along which I intended to leave the town.

  Riding at their head I recognized my old time enemy, my half brother,Pedro Ortez, a man of whose prowess and cruelty terrible stories weretold.

  Right willingly would I have paused to give him fight, but for thebabe. The fellow who had raised the cry now threw himself full in myway with the evident purpose of engaging me until the others came up.I made straight at him, but he stood his ground bravely, and encumberedas I was with the child, he succeeded in wounding me twice before Icould pierce him through the throat and drop him from his horse.Verily, his courage was worthy a better quarrel.

  This, in full sight of the oncoming band, fixed their attention, and,raising the shout of "Death to d'Artin," they spurred their horses to agallop. I had barely disappeared down the deserted Rue Corneille whenthey debouched into the square, spreading out and circling round ashounds hot upon a scent. Here they were at fault, not knowing whitherI had turned among so many narrow and irregular streets. Before theyfound me again I was well upon the high road to Cartillon. Thesuperior speed of my horse gave me easily the lead.

  I soon overtook Gaston, drawn aside in the bushes, wounded andbleeding, waiting for me. At first I upbraided him fiercely, but afrightful gash across his head, dabbling his gray hairs in blood,stopped my wrath. On the ride home he told me of the day's disaster.Pedro Ortez and his cut-throats had set upon them in the name of thechurch. He was soon cut down and left upon the street, recoveringconsciousness only to find his murdered mistress lying dead beside him.He had then crawled away to warn me, for the whole object of Ortezseemed to be to take my life.

  Gaston's distress was pitiful; as his mute eyes now and again soughtmine, I could not find it in my heart to censure him. Having distancedmy poorly mounted pursuers I stopped to water my horse at the springbefore riding the few hundred yards to the gates of Cartillon. Whileyet waiting by the spring I was horrified to see men struggling on topof the great tower. Their fight was brief and decisive. Two of them,one being Maurice my most trusted man at arms, were thrown violently tothe courtyard below. Of the others some were killed, some overpoweredand carried below again.

  All of this took only an instant, for it appeared but the end of adesperate encounter which had been raging elsewhere. The time,however, was long enough for me to see that those of the larger partywore the white sash and cross which distinguished my assailants inRouen.

  "God in heaven, what murder's work have we at Cartillon?" I cried aloudin my misery. Then one who could answer came running toward me fromthe castle, gashed, with snapped sword in hand.

  "Oh, master, master, the Catholics, the Catholics," was all he couldspeak out before he fell a senseless mass at my horse's feet.

  Cartillon was not now a refuge.

  Immediately the distant sound of hoof beats came loud and louder yet,from the direction of Rouen. Ortez was coming.

  "Quick, Gaston, we must fly."

  My overtaxed horse failed me now. Pulling the rein he only sank slowlyto his knees, and after a few spasmodic twitches, stiffened out foreverupon the rocky road. I stood erect a moment, child in arms,irresolute. There was short shrift to think. My blood rebelled atflight.

  "Here, Gaston, take the boy; hide in the wood. Carry him to the Abbotof Vaux, and conjure the good priest, by our fathers' love and ours, tosave my baby."

  Gaston had hardly passed from sight among the trees before a dozenwell-armed horsemen, bearing the same white cross in their caps,spurred round a curve in the forest road, coming suddenly upon mebeside my fallen steed. Sword in hand, I fronted them, determined,come what would, to fly no further. The evil face of Ortez shone withgratification at so unexpectedly finding me alone.

  "Now, yield thee, sirrah," he cried, as his men surrounded me. A quicksword thrust through the body of his horse, brought him to the ground.

  "Not yet, thou slayer of women; here, upon equal footing, thy lifeshall pay for those of wife and child."

  I verily believed the Almighty vengeance was in my blade, and doubt notI should have slain him despite his troopers but for a crushing pikeblow over the head, so swiftly did it all come about.

  My brain reeled; the sword dropped clanging from my nerveless hand.When I recovered, I found myself bound upon a h
orse behind one of themen.

  "On with him, men, to Cartillon; there we rest this night in the King'sname."

  In this wise we rode along; Ortez openly exultant, I silent andscornful.

  "Aha, my fine brother," he spoke low at my saddle, "thy father's sonhas thee in his power now. And shall I not revenge upon thee the wrongour father did my mother for thine? Didst know the story?"

  I made no reply, but he went on unmindful.

  "To _my_ mother he gave his love but dared not give his name; to thymother he gave his name but could never give his love. So thou art theproud Lord of Cartillon, and I the outcast soldier of fortune, thenameless adventurer, slayer of women--what thou wilt. But things arechanged now. Before many hours I will be the Count d'Artin, and thou adishonored corpse, sweet brother."

  "Thou! _Thou_ my brother?"

  I turned upon him a look of incredulous contempt, yet, for I had heardsome such tale of my father's youth, I asked:

  "Thy mother was--?"

  "Nanon Esculas, whom thy father abducted in Spain to desert in France."

  "My heart sank; I had seen the woman, and knew her son for one of themost courageous and unprincipled adventurers who hung about the Courtand held their swords for hire. When the noisy troop rode up to thegates of Cartillon their leader paused, a head appeared upon thebattlements.

  "Guise," cried Ortez, giving the watchword of that day of slaughter.The drawbridge lowered, and open swung the gates.

  "Welcome to Cartillon, d'Artin," Ortez bowed. "Here at last we findrest and refreshment. Let a feast be spread in the great hall, ransackthe place for good cheer. We've done brave work this glorious day, mylads, and a merry ending we'll have before the night is gone."

  Everywhere in the courtyard were evidences of bloody conflict. Singly,in groups and in hideous crimson-splashed piles lay Catholics andHuguenots together, peaceful enough in death.

  "By my faith, and a gallant set of gentlemen we have here," laughedOrtez. "What think you, brother mine?"

  And even as he spoke he leaned from his saddle to strike down a halfdying wretch who lifted his head from among the slain.

  "Perez," he called to his sergeant riding behind him, "dispose of thesebodies. Throw the heretic dogs into the old well yonder. Give ourmartyred friends Christian burial."

  He sat his horse idly toying with his dagger, and forced me to watch myservants, the wounded and the dead, being cast into the yawningdarkness of the well.

  "God's blood! here is our sweet young Philip. What, not yet dead!Why, it matters not, cast him in." This in answer to a questioninglook from the more merciful Perez.

  The men at arms had extricated from a heap of slain the limp body of myyoungest brother, a boy of twenty, his pallid face gaping open from acut across the cheek. He lifted his eyes languidly to mine.

  "Oh brother, you are come. Some water, water," he murmured.

  "Throw him in, men," Ortez interrupted.

  Perez yet hesitated.

  "Shall we not first dispatch him, sire?"

  "No, I would not harm my gentle brother; throw him in. Be not slowabout it either, thou chicken-hearted bullies; pitch him in."

  The men started to obey this savage order.

  "Hound of hell!" I screamed, tortured beyond endurance, and strugglingat my bonds.

  Ortez slapped me in the face with his gauntlet, then laying his handupon my shoulder said with assumed gentleness:

  "Calm yourself, my dear brother; think of your unbandaged wounds; theymay bleed afresh."

  Philip was conscious as the men bore him to the edge of the well, butpowerless to resist four stout fellows who cast him headlong amongstthe dead and dying to mingle his groans and blood with theirs. Oh,that God should permit to men such deeds, and grant that men shouldwitness them! When the last body had been disposed of, Ortez led theway to the banquet hall, inviting all his rabble to join the feast.The banquet hall, used as it was to scenes of turbulence, never perhapshad looked upon such a throng as that. I occupied the head of my owntable, strapped helpless in my seat. On either side were vacantchairs. Ortez sat at the foot. Between, the soldiery rangedthemselves as they pleased. One of the troopers coming in late wouldhave taken his place beside me, but his Captain stopped him:

  "Not there, Gardier; we have other and fairer guests for whom thoseseats are kept."

  Almost as he spoke the chairs on either side of me were slipped away,and after awhile as silently returned to their places.

  Sacrament of passion! In one of them was bound the mutilated corpse ofmy queenly wife, her fingers hacked off and her ears torn out for thegems which had decked them. Upon my left sat little Celia. But forone lurid stripe of crimson across her girlish breast she might wellhave been asleep, so lightly death had touched her. Behind them I sawa tall, gaunt woman, wearing a man's helm and carrying a pike. Shedirected the men. This was a woman's hellish work.

  Ortez rose with studied politeness:

  "Your wife and child, d'Artin; our charming family reunion would beincomplete without them." And the woman laughed aloud.

  My brain burned; something seemed to strain and give way. I lost allsense of pain, all capacity to suffer. How long this lasted I knownot. When the revelry was at its height, when the wine had dulledevery human instinct of these rough "Soldiers of the Church," Ortezraised his voice above the tumult; he knew his men were in the humorfor a diversion he was about to propose.

  "Now comrades," he said, "for the crowning joy of this most blessedday, now for our last sacred duty to Mother Church."

  He came round the table and taking a cord from the hands of one of hismen he threw the noose over my head. With feet bound together, handsfree, I stood amongst them, this throng of butchers, each with thewhite Cross of Christ in his cap, the white scarf of Guise upon hisarm, drunk and eager for blood.

  "Henri Francois Placide d'Artin, what hast thou to say why we shall notdeclare thy blood attainted, thy name dishonored, thy estate forfeited,why we shall not hang thee for a Huguenot dog, traitor to King andchurch? Speak."

  All the defiance of my race burned fearless in my eyes; I felt my faceflush an instant at the shame of such a death, but replied as steadilyas might be:

  "Not a word to you, thou infamous one, thou base-born coward, murdererof the helpless; not to you!"

  The cool, polite manner of Ortez fell from him like a mask. He seizedthe cord with his own hand, jerking me prone upon the floor andcommenced to drag me from the hall. A dozen willing hands lent aid. Iclutched instinctively at everything which came in my way, being tornfrom each hold by the ruthless villains at the rope.

  Desperate, I grasped the leg of a trooper, but a savage kick in theface wrenched him free, and down the stair they started for the opencourt. At the end of the cord came tumbling, rolling, bumping down thestone steps this almost senseless heap which was yet a man.

  Arrived beside the well, whose great overhanging sweep offered aconvenient scaffold, Ortez paused to look at his victim. My breathcame slow, I could hardly hear their words.

  "Think you his senses will return?"

  "Possibly, sire," replied the man to whom this was addressed.

  "Then we will wait; my sweet brother would weep to miss so brave aspectacle as his own hanging."

  He sat there upon the edge of the well, whence came the groans of thedying, the hot, fresh odors of the dead, and waited, fiendish in thepatient ferocity of his more than mortal hate.

  After a little I opened my eyes and stared about me, scarcelycomprehending where I was or what had happened. Ortez called upon hismen to raise me. Being placed erect the cord was drawn just tautenough to sustain me standing. Now the ghastly woman I had seen in thehall pushed her way through the crowd.

  "Her son," she hissed, and savagely struck me in the mouth until bloodfollowed the blow. The cord instantly tightened and I felt myselfswing across the well. First only a dizziness and a parched mouth.Then the tumultuous blood surged to my throat, beating, st
ruggling,gurgling like some pent-up mountain stream against the rocks. I threwboth hands up to grasp the rope--heard a laugh, not a human laugh, yetit sounded so far, so very far away, away back upon the earth.

  A gigantic merciful hand seemed to take my head within its gripe andpress out all the pain.

  Fiery circles swam before my eyes; great crimson blotches floated aboutin restless clouds of flame; then dreams, dreams, long deliciousdreams. And out of endless years of rhythmic music, the laughter oflow-voiced women, and many colored lights, came at length oblivion.

  Thus the tale ended. It was the same I had heard in far awayLouisiana, told again with all the grim earnestness of desperate truth.

  I stood now in the great courtyard again, beside the ancient well,drinking eagerly every inspired syllable. When the speaker had done,he shrank back into the darkness, and was gone.

  It was as though I witnessed in my own person the wretched death ofHenri d'Artin, and stood within his castle's court when the ruthlessdeed was done. Verily man knoweth not the rebellious vagaries of anunhinged brain; knoweth not what be but unmeaning phantasies, or whatbe solemn revelations from the very lips of God.

  In the deep gloom the ruined castle loomed darkly, a ghastly monumentof evil deeds. I looked about for the madman but saw him not. Theweirdness of the place, the horror of its secret, crept into my blood.I became afraid. Down the bleak road I picked my way, glancingfearsomely over my shoulder. I fain would have fled as had the lad.

  I found my horse re-equipped. Still shuddering I mounted, scarcedaring to look backwards at the cursed pile. Then, with the madman'sstory surging in my brain, I dug savage spurs into my steed andgalloped desperately onward through the night.