CHAPTER XXX.
SACRILEGE!
M. de Montsoreau, Lieutenant-Governor of Saumur, almost rose from hisseat in his astonishment. "What! No letters?" he cried, a hand oneither arm of his chair.
The Magistrates stared, one and all. "No letters?" they muttered.
And "No letters?" the Provost chimed in more faintly.
Count Hannibal looked smiling round the Council table. He alone wasunmoved. "No," he said. "I bear none."
M. de Montsoreau, who, travel-stained and in his corselet, had thesecond place of honour at the foot of the table, frowned. "But--but,M. le Comte," he said, "my instructions from Monsieur were to proceedto carry out his Majesty's will in co-operation with you, who, Iunderstood, would bring letters _de par le Roi_."
"I had letters," Count Hannibal answered, negligently. "But on the wayI mislaid them."
"Mislaid them?" Montsoreau cried, unable to believe his ears; whilethe smaller dignitaries of the city, the magistrates and churchmen,who sat on either side of the table, gaped open-mouthed. It wasincredible! It was unbelievable! Mislay the King's letters! Who hadever heard of such a thing?
"Yes, I mislaid them. Lost them, if you like it better."
"But you jest!" the Lieutenant-Governor retorted, moving uneasily inhis chair. He was a man more highly named for address than courage;and, like most men skilled in finesse, he was prone to suspect a trap."You jest, surely, monsieur! Men do not lose his Majesty's letters, bythe way."
"When they contain his Majesty's will, no," Tavannes answered, with apeculiar smile.
"You imply, then?"
Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders but had not answered when Bigotentered and handed him his sweetmeat box; he paused to open it andselect a prune. He was long in selecting; but no change of countenanceled any of those at the table to suspect that inside the lid of thebox was a message--a scrap of paper informing him that Montsoreau hadleft fifty spears in the suburb without the Saumur gate, besides thosewhom he had brought openly into the town. Tavannes read the noteslowly while he seemed to be choosing his fruit. And then, "Imply?" heanswered. "I imply nothing, M. de Montsoreau."
"But----"
"But that sometimes his Majesty finds it prudent to give orders whichhe does not mean to be carried out. There are things which start upbefore the eye," Tavannes continued, negligently tapping the box onthe table, "and there are things which do not; sometimes the latterare the more important. You, better than I, M. de Montsoreau, knowthat the King in the Gallery at the Louvre is one, and in his closetis another."
"Yes."
"And that being so----"
"You do not mean to carry the letters into effect?"
"Had I the letters, certainly, my friend. I should be bound by them.But I took good care to lose them," Tavannes added naively. "I am nofool."
"Umph!"
"However," Count Hannibal continued, with an airy gesture, "that is myaffair. If you, M. de Montsoreau, feel inclined, in spite of theabsence of my letters, to carry yours into effect, by all means doso--after midnight of to-day."
M. de Montsoreau breathed hard. "And why," he asked, half sulkily andhalf ponderously, "after midnight only, M. le Comte?"
"Merely that I may be clear of all suspicion of having lot or part inthe matter," Count Hannibal answered pleasantly. "After midnight ofto-night by all means, do as you please. Until midnight, by yourleave, we will be quiet."
The Lieutenant-Governor moved doubtfully in his chair, the fear--whichTavannes had shrewdly instilled into his mind--that he might bedisowned if he carried out his instructions, struggling with hisavarice and his self-importance. He was rather crafty than bold; andsuch things had been, he knew. Little by little, and while he satgloomily debating, the notion of dealing with one or two and holdingthe body of the Huguenots to ransom--a notion which, in spite ofeverything, was to bear good fruit for Angers--began to form in hismind. The plan suited him: it left him free to face either way, and itwould fill his pockets more genteelly than would open robbery. On theother hand, he would offend his brother and the fanatical party, withwhom he commonly acted. They were looking to see him assert himself.They were looking to hear him declare himself. And----
Harshly Count Hannibal's voice broke in on his thoughts; harshly, asomething sinister in its tone. "Where is your brother?" he said. Andit was evident that he had not noted his absence until then. "Mylord's Vicar of all people should be here!" he continued, leaningforward and looking round the table. His brow was stormy.
Lescot squirmed under his eye, Thuriot turned pale and trembled. Itwas one of the canons of St.-Maurice who at length took on himself toanswer. "His Lordship requested, M. le Comte," he ventured, "that youwould excuse him. His duties----"
"Is he ill?"
"He----"
"Is he ill, sirrah?" Tavannes roared. And while all bowed before thelightning of his eye, no man at the table knew what had roused thesudden tempest. But Bigot knew, who stood by the door, and whose ear,keen as his master's, had caught the distant report of a musket shot."If he be not ill," Tavannes continued, rising and looking round thetable in search of signs of guilt, "and there be foul play here, andhe the player, the Bishop's own hand shall not save him! By heaven itshall not! Nor yours!" he continued, looking fiercely at Montsoreau."Nor your master's!"
The Lieutenant-Governor sprang to his feet. "M. le Comte," hestammered, "I do not understand this language! Nor this heat, whichmay be real or not! All I say is, if there be foul play here----"
"If!" Tavannes retorted. "At least, if there be, there be gibbets too!And I see necks!" he added, leaning forward. "Necks!" And then, with alook of flame, "Let no man leave this table until I return," he cried,"or he will have to deal with me. Nay," he continued, changing histone abruptly, as the prudence which never entirely left him--andperhaps the remembrance of the other's fifty spearmen--sobered him inthe midst of his rage, "I am hasty. I mean not you, M. de Montsoreau!Ride where you will, ride with me if you will--and I will thank you.Only remember, until midnight Angers is mine!"
He was still speaking when he moved from the table, and, leaving allstaring after him, strode down the room. An instant he paused on thethreshold and looked back; then he passed out, and clattered down thestone stairs. His horse and riders were waiting, but, his foot in thestirrup, he stayed for a word with Bigot. "Is it so?" he growled.
The Norman did not speak, but pointed towards the Place Ste.-Croix,whence an occasional shot made answer for him.
In those days the streets of the Black City were narrow and crooked,overhung by timber houses and hampered by booths; nor could Tavannesfrom the old Town Hall--now abandoned--see the Place Ste.-Croix. Butthat he could cure. He struck spurs to his horse, and, followed by histen horsemen, he clattered noisily down the paved street. A dozengroups hurrying the same way sprang panic-stricken to the walls, orsaved themselves in doorways. He was up with them, he was beyond them!Another hundred yards, and he would see the Place.
And then, with a cry of rage, he drew rein a little, discovering whatwas before him. In the narrow gut of the way a great black banner,borne on two poles, was lurching towards him. It was moving in the vanof a dark procession of priests, who, with their attendants and acrowd of devout, filled the street from wall to wall. They werechanting one of the penitential psalms, but not so loudly as to drownthe uproar in the Place beyond them.
They made no way, and Count Hannibal swore furiously, suspectingtreachery. But he was no madman, and at the moment the leastreflection would have sent him about to seek another road.Unfortunately, as he hesitated a man sprang with a gesture of warningto his horse's head and seized it; and Tavannes, mistaking the motiveof the act, lost his self-control. He struck the fellow down, and witha reckless word rode headlong into the procession, shouting to theblack robes to make way, make way! A cry, nay, a very shriek ofhorror, answered him and rent the air. And in a minute the thing wasdone. Too late, as the Bishop's Vicar, struck by
his horse, fellscreaming under its hoofs--too late, as the consecrated vessels whichhe had been bearing rolled in the mud, Tavannes saw that they bore thecanopy and the Host!
He knew what he had done, then. Before his horse's iron shoes struckthe ground again, his face--even his face--had lost its colour. But heknew also that to hesitate now, to pause now, was to be torn inpieces; for his riders, seeing that which the banner had veiled fromhim, had not followed him, and he was alone, in the middle ofbrandished fists and weapons. He hesitated not a moment. Drawing apistol he spurred onwards, his horse plunging wildly among theshrieking priests; and though a hundred hands, hands of acolytes,hands of shaven monks, clutched at his bridle or gripped his boot,he got clear of them. Clear, carrying with him the memory of oneface seen an instant amid the crowd, one face seen, to be everremembered--the face of Father Pezelay, white, evil, scarred,distorted by wicked triumph.
Behind him, the thunder of "Sacrilege! Sacrilege!" rose to heaven, andmen were gathering. In front the crowd which skirmished about the innwas less dense, and, ignorant of the thing that had happened in thenarrow street, made ready way for him, the boldest recoiling beforethe look on his face. Some who stood nearest to the inn, and had begunto hurl stones at the window and to beat on the doors--which had onlythe minute before closed on Badelon and his prisoners--supposed thathe had his riders behind him; and these fled apace. But he knew bettereven than they the value of time; he pushed his horse up to the gates,and hammered them with his boot while he kept his pistol-hand towardsthe Place and the cathedral, watching for the transformation which heknew would come!
And come it did; on a sudden, in a twinkling! A white-faced monk,frenzy in his eyes, appeared in the midst of the crowd. He stood andtore his garments before the people, and, stooping, threw dust on hishead. A second and a third followed his example; then from a thousandthroats the cry of "Sacrilege! Sacrilege!" rolled up, while clerksflew wildly hither and thither shrieking the tale, and priests deniedthe Sacraments to Angers until it should purge itself of the evilthing.
By that time Count Hannibal had saved himself behind the great gates,by the skin of his teeth. The gates had opened to him in time. Butnone knew better than he that Angers had no gates thick enough, norwalls of a height, to save him for many hours from the storm he hadlet loose!
Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France Page 45
