CHAPTER XXIV
AN ENCOUNTER AT THE BRIDGE
Some part of the interview with the commandant which had resulted intheir release the jester told his companion as they sped down thesloping plain in the early silvery light which transformed thedew-drops and grassy moisture into veils of mist. Behind them thechateau was slowly fading from view; the town had already disappeared.Around them the singing of the birds, the cooing of the cushat dovesand the buzzing of the bees, mingled in dreamy cadence. On each sidestretched the plain which, washed by recent heavy rains, was nowspangled with new-grown flowers; here, far apart in sequestered beauty;there, clustering companionably in a mass of color.
"Upon the strength of the letter from the emperor, the vicomte took theresponsibility of allowing us to depart," explained the fool. "In ithis Majesty referred to his message to the king, to the part played byhim who took the place of the duke, and what he was pleased to term myservices to Francis and himself."
So much the _plaisant_ related, but he did not add that the commandant,with Triboulet's words in mind, had at first demurred about permittingthe jestress to go. "_Vrai Dieu_!" that person had exclaimed. "Ifwhat the dwarf said be true? To cross the king!--and yet," he hadadded cynically, "it sounds most unlike. Did Aladdin flee from thegenii of the lamp? Such a magician is Francis. Chateaux,gardens--'tis clearly an invention of Triboulet's!" And the fallacy ofthis conclusion the duke's _plaisant_ had not sought to demonstrate.
Without question, the young girl listened, but when he had finished herfeatures hardened. Intuitively she divined a gap in the narrative;herself! From the dwarf's slur to Caillette's gentle look of surpriseconstituted a natural span for reflection. And the duke's fool, seeingher face turn cold, attributed it, perhaps, to another reason. Herstory recurred to him; she was no longer a nameless jestress; animmeasurable distance separated a mere _plaisant_ from the survivor ofone of the noblest, if most unfortunate, families of France. She hadnot answered the night before when he had addressed her as the daughterof the constable; motionless as a statue had she gazed after him; and,remembering the manner of their parting, he now looked at her curiously.
"All's well that ends well," he said, "but I must crave indulgence,Lady Jacqueline, for having brought you into such peril."
She flushed. "Do you persist in that foolishness?" she returnedquickly.
"Do you deny the right to be so called?"
"Did I not tell you--the constable's daughter is dead?"
"To the world! But to the fool--may he not serve her?"
His face was expectant; his voice, light yet earnest. Her answer washalf-sad, half-bright, as though her tragedy, like those acted dramas,had its less somber lines. And in the stage versions of those dark,mournful pieces were not the softer bits introduced with cap and bell?The fool's stick and the solemn march of irresistible and loweringdestiny went hand in hand. Everywhere the tinkle of the tiny bells.
"Poor service!" she retorted. "A discredited mistress!"
"One I am minded for," he replied, a sudden flash in his eyes.
She looked away; her lips curved.
"For how long?" she said, half-mockingly, and touched her horse beforehe could reply.
What words had her action checked on his lips? A moment was hedisconcerted, then riding after her, he smiled, thinking how once hehad carelessly passed her by; how he had looked upon her but as awilful child.
A child, forsooth! His pulses throbbed fast. Life had grown strangelysweet, as though from her look, when she had stood on the stairs, hehad drawn new zest. To serve her seemed a happiness that drowned allother ills; a selfish bond of subordination. Her misfortunes dignifiedher; her worn gown was dearer in his eyes than courtly splendor; thedisorder of her hair more becoming than nets of gold and coifs ofjewels. He forgot their danger; the broad plain lay like a pleasuregarden before them; fairer in natural beauty than Francis' conventionalparks.
And she, too, had ceased to remember the dwarf's words, for the joy ofyouth is strong, and the sunshine and air were rarely intoxicating.There was a stirring rhythm in the movement of the steeds; noiselesslytheir hoofs beat upon the soft earth and tender mosses. The rainswhich elsewhere had flooded the lowlands here but enlivened the vernalfreshness of the scene. The air was full of floating thistle-down; acloud of insects dancing in the light, parted to let them pass.
At the sight of a bush, white with flowers, she uttered an exclamationof pleasure, and broke off a branch covered with fragrant blossoms, asthey rode by. Out of the depths of this store-house of sweets aplundering humming-bird flashed and vanished, a jewel from nature'scrown! She held the branch to her face and he glanced at her covertly;she was all jestress again. The cadence of that measured motion shapeditself to an ancient lyric in keeping with the song of birds, the bluesky, and the wild roses.
"Hark! hark! Pretty lark! Little heedest thou my pain."
He bent his head listening; he could scarcely hear the words. Was it asense of new security that moved her; the reaction of their narrowescape; the knowledge they were leaving the chateau and all dangerbehind them?
"Hark! hark! Pretty lark!--"
Boom! Far in the distance sounded the discharge of a cannon--its ironvoice the antithesis to the poet's dainty pastoral. As the reportreverberated over the valley, from the grass innumerable insects arose;the din died away; the disturbed earth-dwellers sank back to earthagain. The song ceased from the young girl's lips, and, gazing quicklyback, she could just distinguish, above one of the parapets of thechateau, a wreath, already nearly dissolved in the blue of the sky.The jester, who had also turned in his saddle, met her look of inquiry.
"It sounds like a signal of some kind--a salute, perhaps," he said.
"Or a call to arms?" she suggested, and he made no answer. "Itmeans--pursuit!"
Silent they rode on, but more rapidly. With pale face and composedmien she kept by his side; her resolute expression reassured him, whileher glance said: "Do not fear for me." Gradually had they beendescending from the higher slopes of the country of which thechateau-mount was the loftiest point and now were passing through thelower stretches of land.
Here, the highway ran above fields, inundated by recent rains, andmarshes converted into shining lakes. Out of the water uprose a groveof trees, spectral-like; screaming wild-fowl skimmed the surface, orcircled above. The pastoral peace of the meadows, garden of the wildflower and home of the song-bird, was replaced by a waste of desolationand wilderness. Long they dashed on through the loneliness of thatland; a depressing flight--but more depressing than the abandoned andforlorn aspect of the scene was the consciousness that their steeds hadbecome road-worn and were unable to respond. Long, long, theycontinued this pace, a strained period of suspense, and then the fooldrew rein.
"Look, Jacqueline," he said. "The river!"
Before them, fed by the rivulets from the distant hills, the foamingcurrent threatened to overflow its banks. Already the rising waterstouched the flimsy wooden structure that spanned the torrent.Contemplatively he regarded it, and then placing his hand for a momenton hers, said encouragingly:
"Perhaps, after all, we are borrowing trouble?"
She shook her head. "If I could but think it," she answered.Something seemed to rise in her throat. "A moment I forgot, and--wasnot unhappy! But now I feel as though the end was closing about us."
He tightened his grasp. "You are worn with fatigue; fanciful!" hereplied.
"The end!" she repeated, passionately. "Yes; the end!" And threw offhis hand. "Look!"
He followed her eyes. "Waving plumes!" he cried. "And drawing nearer!Come, Jacqueline! let us ride on!"
"How?" she answered, in a lifeless tone. "The bridge will not hold."
For answer he turned his horse to it; proceeded slowly across. Itwavered and bent; her wide-opened eyes followed him; once she liftedher hand to her breast, and then became conscious he stood on theopposite bank, calling her to follow. She
started; a strange smile wason her lips, and touching her horse sharply, she obeyed.
"Is it to death he has called me?" she asked herself.
In her ears sounded the swash and eddying of the current; she closedher eyes to keep from falling, when she felt a hand on the bridle, andin a moment had reached the opposite shore. The jester made no motionto remount, but remained at her horse's head, closely surveying theroad they had traveled.
"Must we go on?" she said, mechanically.
"Only one of them can cross at a time," he answered, without stirring."It is better to meet them here."
"Oh," she spoke up, "if the waters would only rise a little more andcarry away the bridge."
He glanced quickly around him, weighing the slender chance for successif he made that last desperate stand, and then, grasping a loose plank,began using it as a lever against one of the weakened supports of thebridge. Soon the beam gave way, and the structure, now held but at themiddle and one side, had already begun to sag, when from around thecurve of the highway appeared Louis of Hochfels, and a dozen of hisfollowers.
The free baron rode to the brim of the torrent, regarded the flood andthe bridge, and stopped. He was mounted on a black Spanish barb whoseglistening sides were flecked with foam; a cloak of cloth of gold fellfrom his brawny shoulders; his heavy, red face looked out from beneatha sombrero, fringed with the same metal. A gleam of grim recollectionshone from his bloodshot eyes as they rested on the fool.
"Oh, there you are!" he shouted, with savage satisfaction. "Out of thefrying-pan into the fire! Or rather--for you escaped the fagots atNotre Dame--out of the fire into the frying-pan!"
Above the tumult of the torrent his stentorian tones were plainlyheard. Without response, the jester inserted the plank between thestructure and the middle support. The other, perceiving his purpose,uttered an execration that was drowned by the current, and irresolutelyregarded the means of communication between the two shores, obviouslyundetermined about trusting his great bulk to that fragile intermedium.Here was a temporary check on which he had not calculated. But if hedemurred about crossing himself, the free baron did not long displaythe same infirmity of purpose regarding his followers.
"Over with you!" he cried angrily to them. "The lightest first! Fiftypistoles to the first across!" And then, calling out to the fool: "Inhalf an hour, you, my fine wit-cracker, shall be hanging from a branch.As for the maid, she is a witch, I am told--we will test her withdrowning."
Tempted by their leader's offer, one of the troopers, a lank,muscular-looking fellow, at once drove the spurs into his horse. Backand forth moved the lever in the hands of the jester; the soldier wasmidway on the bridge, when it sank suddenly to one side. A moment itacted as a dam, then bridge, horse and rider were swept away with acrash and carried downward with the driving flood. Vainly the troopersought to turn his steed toward the shore; the debris from thestructure soon swept him from his saddle. Striking out strongly, hesucceeded in catching a trailing branch from a tree on the bank, butthe torrent gripped his body fiercely, and, after a desperate struggle,tore him away.
As his helpless follower disappeared, the free baron gave a briefcommand, and he and his troops posted rapidly down the bank. The younggirl breathed a sigh of relief; her eyes were yet full of awe from thedeath struggle she had witnessed. Fascinated, her gaze had rested onthe drowning wretch; the pale face, the look of terror; but now she wascalled to a realization of their own situation by the abrupt departureof the squad on the opposite shore.
"They have gone," she cried, in surprise, as the party vanished amongthe trees.
"But not far." The jester's glance was bent down the stream. "See,where the torrent broadens. They expect to find a fording place."
Once more they set forth; he knowing full well that the free baron andhis men, accustomed to the mountain torrents, unbridled by the meltingsnows, would, in all likelihood, soon find a way to cross the freshet.His mind misgave him that he had loosened the bridge at all. Would itnot have been better to force the conflict there, when he had theadvantage of position? But right or wrong, he had made his choice andmust abide by it.
To add to his discomfiture, his horse, which at first had lagged, nowbegan to limp, and, as they proceeded, this lameness became moreapparent. With a twinge of heart, he plied the spur more strongly, andthe willing but broken creature responded as best it could. Again ithastened its pace, seeming in a measure to recover strength andendurance, then, without warning, lurched, fell to its knees andquickly rolled over on its side. Jacqueline glanced back; the animallay motionless; the rider was vainly endeavoring to rise. Pale withapprehension she returned, and, dismounting, stood at the head of theprostrate animal. Determinedly the jester struggled, the perspirationstanding on his brow in beads. At length, breathing hard, he restedhis head on his elbow.
"Here am I caught to stay, Jacqueline!" he said. "The horse is dead.But you--you must still go on."
With clasped hands she stood looking down at him. She scarcely knewwhat he was saying; her mind seemed in a stupor; with apathetic eyesshe gazed down the road. But the accident had happened in a littlehollow, so that the outlook in either direction along the highway wasrestricted.
"My emperor is both chivalrous and noble," continued the _plaisant_,quickly. "Go to him. You must not wait here longer. I did not tellyou, but I think the free baron will have no difficulty in crossing.You have no time to lose. Go; and--good-by!"
"But--he had a long way to ride--even if he could cross," she saidslowly, passing her hand over her brow.
"Jacqueline!" he cried out, impatiently.
She made no motion to leave, and, reading in her face herdetermination, angered by his own helplessness, he strove violently torelease himself, until wrenching his foot in his frantic efforts, hesank back with a groan. At that sound of pain, wrung from him in spiteof his fortitude, all her seeming apathy vanished. With a low cry, shedropped on her knees in the road and swiftly took his head in her arms.
It was he, not the young girl, who spoke first. He forgot allperil--hers and his. He only knew her warm, young arms were about him;that her heart was throbbing wildly.
"Jacqueline!" he cried, passionately. "Jacqueline!" And threw an armabout her, drawing her closer, closer.
Did she hear him? She did not reply. Nor did she release him. Shedid not even look down. But he felt her bosom rising and fallingfaster than its wont.
"Jacqueline," he repeated, "are you listening?"
She stirred slightly; the pallor left her face. In her gaze shone alight difficult to divine--pity, tenderness, a warmer passion? Wherehad he seen it before? In the cell when he lay injured; in his wakingdreams? It seemed the sudden dawn of the full beauty of her eyes; ahalf-remembered impression which now became real. Yet even as shelooked down his face changed; his eager glance grew dark; he listenedintently.
The sound of horses' hoofs beat upon the air.
"Jacqueline!--go!--there is yet time!"
Abruptly she arose. He held out his hand for a last quick pressure; aGod-speed to this stanch maid-comrade of the motley.
"God keep you, mistress!"
Standing in the road, gazing up the hollow, she neither saw his handnor caught his words of farewell. An expression of bewilderment hadoverspread her features; quickly she glanced in the opposite direction.
"See! see!" she exclaimed, excitedly.
But he was past response; overcome by pain, in a last desperate attemptto regain his feet, he had lost consciousness. As he fell back, abovethe hill in the direction she was looking, appeared the black plumes ofa band of horsemen.
"No; they are not--"
Her glance rested on the jester, lying there motionless, and hasteningto his side, she lifted his head and placed it in her lap. So thetroopers of the Emperor Charles--a small squad of outriders--found hersitting in the road, her hair disordered about her, her face the whiteragainst that black shroud.
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