The Trampling of the Lilies

by Rafael Sabatini

  CHAPTER XIV. THE COURIER

  It was well for La Boulaye that he had tethered his horse to a treebefore approaching the coach. That solitary beast standing by theroadside in the deepening gloom attracted the attention of hisfollowers, when--a half-hour or so later--they rode that way, making forLiege, as La Boulaye had bidden them.

  At their approach the animal neighed, and Garin, hearing the sound,reined in and peered forward into the gloom, to descry the horse's headand back outlined above the blur of the hedge. His men halted behind himwhilst he approached the riderless beast and made--as well as he couldin the darkness--an examination of the saddle. One holster he foundempty, at which he concluded that the rider, whoever he had been, hadmet with trouble; from the other he drew a heavy pistol, which, however,gave him no clue.

  "Get down," he ordered his men, "and search the roads hereabouts. I'llwager a horse to a horseshoe that you will find a body somewhere."

  He was obeyed, and presently a cry from one of the searchers announced adiscovery. It was succeeded by another exclamation.

  "Sacre nom!" swore the trooper. "It is the Citizen-deputy!"

  In an instant Garin had leapt to the ground and with the others crowdingabout him, their bridles over their arms and their horses in a bunchbehind them, he was bending under the dripping hedge to examine the bodythat lay supine in the sodden road. A vigorous oath escaped him when heassured himself that it was indeed La Boulaye.

  "Is he dead?" cried the men in chorus.

  "No--not dead" grumbled the corporal. "But there is a lump on his browthe size of an egg, and God knows how long he has been lying here inthis bed of mud."

  They had no restoratives, and the only thing was to convey him to thenearest habitation and demand shelter. They held a short council on thematter, and in the end Garin bade four of them take him up and carry himin a cloak. Some two miles back they had passed a house, and thither thecorporal now bade them retrace their steps. They made an odd procession;first went two mounted troopers leading the horses of the others, thenthe four on foot, carrying the Deputy in a cloak, and lastly, Garinriding in the rear.

  In this manner they went back along the dark road, and for close upon ahalf-hour--for their progress was slow--they trudged along in silence.At last there was a short exclamation from one of the riders, as halfa mile away an illuminated window beamed invitingly. Encouraged by it,they quickened their steps a little. But almost at the same time LaBoulaye stirred on the cloak, and the men who carried him heard himspeak. At first it was an incoherent mutter, then his words came moredistinctly.

  "Hold! Where are you carrying me? Who the devil are you?"

  It was Garin's voice that came instantly to reassure him. Caron essayedto sit up, but finding it impracticable, he shortly bade his men set himdown. They halted. Garin dismounted and came to the Deputy's side, andit was found that his condition was none so grave after all, for he wasable to stand unaided. When, however, he attempted to walk, he reeled,and would of a certainty have fallen, but that Garin put out his arm tosupport him.

  "Steady there, Citizen," the corporal admonished him.

  "Get my horse!" he commanded briefly.

  "But, name of a name! you are not fit to ride," Garin protested.

  La Boulaye, however, would listen to no reason. With the recovery of hisfaculties came the consideration of how miserably Suzanne had duped him,and of how she had dealt with him when he had overtaken her. He burnednow to be avenged, and at all costs he would ride after and recaptureher. He announced, therefore, to the corporal that they must push onto Liege. Garin gasped at his obstinacy, and would have sought to havedissuaded him, but that La Boulaye turned on him with a fierceness thatsilenced his expostulations.

  It was left to Nature to enforce what Garin could not achieve. When LaBoulaye came to attempt to mount he found it impossible. He was stiffand numb from his long exposure in the rain, and when he moved with anyvigour his head swam dizzily and throbbed with pain.

  At last he was forced to realise--with inward girding--that he mustrelinquish his determination, and he acknowledged himself ready to takethe corporal's advice and make for the house whose lighted window shonelike a beacon in the darkness that had descended. He even allowedthem to prevail upon him to lie down in the cloak again, and thus theycarried him the remainder of the way. In his heart he still bore thehope that short rest, restoratives, and fresh clothes would fit him forthe pursuit once more, and that if he set out within the next few hourshe might yet come up with Mademoiselle before she had passed beyond hisreach. Should the morning still find him unequal to the task of goingafter her, he would despatch Garin and his men.

  At last they reached the cottage--it was little more--and Garin rappedon the door with his whip. It was opened by a woman, who told them, inanswer to the corporal's request for shelter, that her husband was fromhome, and that she had no accommodation for them. It would seem thatthe woman had housed soldiers of the Republic before, and that herexperiences had not been of a nature calculated to encourage her in thepractice. But La Boulaye now staggered forward and promised her generouspayment if she would receive them.

  "Payment?" she cried. "In worthless assignats that nobody will take fromme. I know the ways of you."

  "Not in assignats," La Boulaye promised her, "but in coin."

  And having mollified her somewhat with that assurance, he proceededto urge her to admit them. Yonder was a shed where the horses could bestabled for the night. But still the woman demurred.

  "I lack the room," she said, with some firmness.

  "But at least," put in Garin, "you could house the Citizen here. He hasbeen hurt, and he is scarcely able to stand. Come, woman, if you willconsent to that, we others can lie with the horses in the shed."

  This in the end they gained by renewed promises of good payment. Shebrewed a broth for them, and for La Boulaye she found a suit of herabsent husband's clothes, whilst his own wet garments were spread to drybefore the fire. Some brandy, too, she found and brought him, and thedraught did much to restore him.

  When they had supped, Garin and the troopers withdrew to the outhouse,leaving La Boulaye in sole possession of the cottage hearth. And there,in a suit of the absent farmer's grey homespun, his legs encased incoarse woollen stockings and sabots upon his feet, sat the young Deputyalone with his unpleasant thoughts. The woman had brought him a pipe,and, although the habit was foreign to him as a rule, he had lightedit and found the smoking somewhat soothing. Ruefully he passed his handacross his bandaged brow, and in pondering over all that had taken placesince yesternight at Boisvert, his cheeks grew flushed at once withanger and with shame.

  "To have been so duped!"

  And now--his mind growing clearer as he recovered in vigour--it occurredto him that by to-morrow it would be too late to give pursuit. Once shecrossed the Sambre at Liege, or elsewhere, who could tell him by whatroad she would elect to continue her journey? He had not sufficient menat his disposal to send out parties along each of the possible roads.That her ultimate destination was Treves he knew. But once there she wasbeyond his reach, at safety from the talons of the French Republic.

  He sat on and thought, what time his brows came closer together and histeeth fastened viciously upon the stem of the pipe. By the table sat thewoman, knitting industriously, and ever and anon glancing inquiry at herstern, thoughtful guest, and the click of her needles was the only soundthat disturbed the stillness of the room. Outside the wind was wailinglike the damned, and the rain which had recommenced with new vigour,rattled noisily upon the panes.

  Suddenly above the din of the elements a shout sounded in the night. TheDeputy raised his head, and glanced towards the woman. A moment laterthey heard the gate creak, and steps upon the path that led to thecottage door.

  "Your husband?" inquired La Boulaye.

  "No, monsieur. He has gone to Liege, and will not return untilto-morrow. I do not know who it can be."

  There was alarm on her face, which La Boulaye now set himself to
allay.

  "At least you are well protected, Citoyenne. My men are close at hand,and we can summon them if there be the need."

  Reassured she rose, and at the same moment a knock sounded on the door.She went to open it, and from his seat by the hearth La Boulaye heard agentle, mincing voice that was oddly familiar to him.

  "Madame," it said, "we are two poor, lost wayfarers, and we craveshelter for the night. We will pay you handsomely."

  "I am desolated that I have no room, Messieur," she answered, withcourteous firmness.

  "Pardi!" interpolated another voice. "We need no room. A bundle of strawand a corner is all we seek. Of your charity, Madame, is this a night onwhich to leave a dog out of doors?"

  A light of recollection leaped suddenly to La Boulaye's eyes, and with asudden gasp he stooped to the hearth.

  "But I cannot, Messieurs," the woman was saying, when the second voiceinterrupted her.

  "I see your husband by the fire, Madame. Let us hear what he has tosay."

  The woman coloured to the roots of her hair. She stepped back a pace,and was about to answer them when, chancing to glance in La Boulaye'sdirection, she paused. He had risen, and was standing with his back tothe fire. There was a black smudge across his face, which seemed to actas a mask, and his dark eyes glowed with an intensity of meaning whicharrested her attention, and silenced the answer which was rising to herlips.

  In the brief pause the new-comers had crossed the threshold, and stoodwithin the rustic chamber. The first of these was he whose gentle voiceLa Boulaye had recognised--old M. des Cadoux, the friend of the Marquisde Bellecour. His companion, to the Deputy's vast surprise, was noneother than the bearded courier who had that morning delivered him atBoisvert the letter from Robespierre. What did these two together, andupon such manifest terms of equality? That, it should be his business todiscover.

  "Come in, Messieurs," he bade them, assuming the role of host. "We areunused to strangers, and Mathilde there is timid of robbers. Draw nearthe fire and dry yourselves. We will do the best we can for you. We arepoor people, Messieurs; very poor."

  "I have already said that we will pay you handsomely my friend," quothDes Cadoux, coming forward with his companion. "Do your best for us andyou shall not regret it. Have you aught to eat in the house?"

  The woman was standing by the wall, her face expressing bewilderment andsuspicion. Suspicious she was, yet that glance of La Boulaye's had ruledher strangely, and she was content to now await developments.

  "We will see what we can do," answered La Boulaye, as he made room forthem by the hearth. "Come, Mathilde, let us try what the larder willyield."

  "I am afraid that Madame still mistrusts us," deplored Des Cadoux.

  La Boulaye laughed for answer as he gently but firmly drew her towardsthe door leading to the interior of the house. He held it for her topass, what time his eyes were set in an intent but puzzled glance uponthe courier. There was something about the man that was not whollystrange to La Boulaye. That morning, when he had spoken in the gruffaccents of one of the rabble, no suspicion had entered the Deputy'smind that he was other than he seemed, for all that he now recalled howTardivet had found the fellow's patriotism a little too patriotic. Nowthat he spoke in the voice that was naturally usual to him, it seemed toLa Boulaye that it contained a note that he had heard before.

  Still puzzled, he passed out of the room to be questioned sharply by thewoman of the house touching his motives for passing himself off as herhusband and inviting the new-comers to enter.

  "I promise you their stay will be a very brief one," he answered. "Ihave suspicions to verify the ends to serve, as you shall see. Willyou do me the favour to go out by the back and call my men? Tell thecorporal to make his way to the front of the house, and to hold himselfin readiness to enter the moment I call him."

  "What are you about to do?" she asked and the face, as he saw it by thelight of the candle she held, wore an expression of sullen disapproval.

  He reassured her that there would be no bloodshed, and suggested thatthe men were dangerous characters whom it might be ill for her toentertain. And so at last he won his way, and she went to do his errand,whilst he reentered the kitchen.

  He found Des Cadoux by the fire, intent upon drying as much of himselfas possible. The younger man had seized upon the bottle of brandy thathad been left on the table, and was in the act of filling himself asecond glass. Nothing could be further from the mind of either thana suspicion of the identity of this rustically-clad and grimy-facedfellow.

  "Mathilde will be here in a moment," said Caron deferentially. "She isseeking something for you."

  Had he told them precisely what she was seeking they had been, possibly,less at ease.

  "Let her hasten," cried the courier, "for I am famished."

  "Have patience, Anatole," murmured the ever-gentle Cadoux. "The goodwoman did not expect us."

  Anatole! The name buzzed through Caron's brain. To whom did it belong?He knew of someone who bore it. Yet question himself though he might,he could at the moment find no answer. And then the courier created adiversion by addressing him.

  "Fill yourself a glass, mon bonhomme," said he. "I have a toast foryou."

  "For me, Monsieur," cried La Boulaye, with surprised humility. "It weretoo great an honour."

  "Do as you are bidden, man," returned this very peremptory courier."There; now let us see how your favour runs. Cry 'Long Live the King!'"

  Holding the brandy-glass, which the man had forced upon him, La Boulayeeyed him whimsically for a second.

  "There is no toast I would more gladly drink," said he at last, "if Iconsidered it availing. But--alas--you propose it over-late."

  "Diable! What may you mean?"

  "Why, that since the King is dead, it shall profit us little to cry,'Long Live the King!'"

  "The King, Monsieur, never dies," said Cadoux sententiously.

  "Since you put it so, Monsieur," answered La Boulaye, as if convinced,"I'll honour the toast." And with the cry they asked of him he drainedhis glass.

  "And so, my honest fellow," said Des Cadoux, producing his eternalsnuff-box, "it seems that you are a Royalist. We did but test you withthat toast, my friend."

  "What should a poor fellow know of politics, Messieurs?" he deprecated."These are odd times. I doubt me the world has never seen their like. Noman may safely know his neighbour. Now you, sir," he pursued, turningto the younger man, "you have the air of a sans-culotte, yet from yourspeech you seem an honest enough gentleman."

  The fellow laughed with unction.

  "The air of a sans-culotte?" he cried. "My faith, yes. So much so, thatthis morning I imposed myself as a courier from Paris upon no lessan astute sleuth-hound of the Convention than the Citizen-deputy LaBoulaye."

  "Is it possible?" cried Caron, his eyes opening wide in wonder. "Buthow, Monsieurs? For surely a courier must bear letters, and--"

  "So did I, so did I, my friend," the other interrupted, with vain glory."I knocked a patriotic courier over the head to obtain them. He wasgenuine, that other courier, and I passed myself out of France with hispapers."

  "Monsieur is amusing himself at the expense of my credulity," La Boulayecomplained.

  "My good man, I am telling you facts," the other insisted.

  "But how could such a thing be accomplished?" asked Caron, seatinghimself at the table, and resting his chin upon his hand, his gaze sofull of admiration as to seem awestruck.

  "How? I will tell you. I am from Artois."

  "You'll be repeating that charming story once too often," Des Cadouxcautioned him.

  "Pish, you timorous one!" he laughed, and resumed his tale. "I am fromArtois, then. I have some property there, and it lately came to my earsthat this assembly of curs they call the Convention had determined tomake an end of me. But before they could carry out their design, thosesons of dogs, my tenants, incited by the choice examples set themby other tenantry, made a descent on my Chateau one night, and didthemselves the pleasure of burn
ing it to the ground. By a miracle Iescaped with my life and lay hidden for three weeks in the house of anold peasant who had remained faithful. In that time I let my beardgrow, and trained my hair into a patriotic unkemptness. Then, in filthygarments, like any true Republican, I set out to cross the frontier. AsI approached it, I was filled with fears that I might not win across,and then, in the moment of my doubtings, I came upon that most opportuneof couriers. I had the notion to change places with him, and I did. Hewas the bearer of a letter to the Deputy La Boulaye, of whom you mayhave heard, and this letter I opened to discover that it charged him toeffect my arrest."

  If La Boulaye was startled, his face never betrayed it, not by so muchas the quiver of an eyelid. He sat on, his jaw in his palm, his eyesadmiringly bent upon the speaker.

  "You may judge of my honesty, and of how fully sensible I was ofthe trust I had undertaken, when I tell you that with my own handI delivered the letter this morning to that animal La Boulaye atBoisvert." He seemed to swell with pride in his achievement. "Diable!"he continued. "Mine was a fine piece of acting. I would you could haveseen me play the part of the patriot. Think of the irony of it! I wonout of France with the very papers ordering my arrest. Ma foi! Youshould have seen me befool that dirt of a deputy! It was a performanceworthy of Talma himself." And he looked from Cadoux to La Boulaye forapplause.

  "I doubt not," said the Deputy coldly. "It must have been worthwitnessing. But does it not seem a pity to spoil everything and toneutralise so wonderful an achievement for the mere sake of boasting ofit to a poor, ignorant peasant, Monsieur le Vicomte Anatole d'Ombreval?"

  With a sudden cry, the pseudo courier leapt to his feet, whilst DesCadoux turned on the stool he occupied to stare alarmedly at thespeaker.

  "Name of God! Who are you?" demanded Ombreval advancing a step.

  With his sleeve La Boulaye rubbed part of the disfiguring smear from hisface as he stood up and made answer coolly:

  "I am that dirt of a Deputy whom you befooled at Boisvert." Then,raising his voice, "Garin!" he shouted, and immediately the door openedand the soldiers filed in.

  Ombreval stood like a statue, thunderstruck with amazement at thismost unlooked-for turning of the tables, his face ashen, his weak mouthfallen open and his eyes fearful.

  Des Cadoux, who had also risen, seemed to take in the situation at aglance. Like a well-bred gamester who knows how to lose with a goodgrace the old gentleman laughed drily to himself as he tapped hissnuff-box.

  "We are delightfully taken, cher Vicomte," he murmured, applying thetobacco to his nostril as he spoke. "It's odds you won't be able torepeat that pretty story to any more of your friends. I warned you thatyou inclined to relate it too often."

  With a sudden oath, Ombreval--moved to valour by the blind rage thatpossessed him--sprang at La Boulaye. But, as suddenly, Garin caught hisarms from behind and held him fast.

  "Remove them both," La Boulaye commanded. "Place them in safety for thenight, and see that they do not escape you, Garin, as you value yourneck."

  Des Coudax shut his snuff-box with a snap.

  "For my part, I am ready, Monsieur--your pardon--Citizen," he said, "andI shall give you no trouble. But since I am not, I take it, included inthe orders you have received, I have a proposal to make which may provemutually convenient."

  "Pray make it, Citizen," said La Boulaye.

  "It occurs to me that it may occasion you some measure of annoyance tocarry me all the way to Paris--and certainly, for my part, I shouldmuch prefer not to undertake the journey. For one thing, it will befatiguing, for another, I have no desire to look upon the next worldthrough the little window of the guillotine. I wish, then, to propose,Citizen," pursued the old nobleman, nonchalantly dusting some fragmentsof tobacco from his cravat, "that you deal with me out of hand."

  "How, Citizen?" inquired La Boulaye.

  "Why, your men, I take it are tolerable marksmen. I think that it mightprove more convenient to both of us if you were to have me shot as soonas there is light enough."

  La Boulaye's eyes rested in almost imperceptible kindness upon DesCadoux. Here, at least, was an aristocrat with a spirit to be admiredand emulated.

  "You are choosing the lesser of two evils, Citizen," said the Deputy.

  "Precisely," answered Des Cadoux.

  "But possibly, Citizen, it may be yours to avoid both. You shall hearfrom me in the morning. I beg that you will sleep tranquilly in themeantime. Garin, remove the prisoners."