CHAPTER XIX
A LIFE AND DEATH STRUGGLE
IT was indeed a desperate situation in which Gerard and Gabrielle found themselves, and for a few moments Gabrielle could do no more than cling to her lover and stare at the door, overcome by terror. Then, shaking off her lethargy, she once more begged him in an impassioned whisper to fly.
“You must not ask it, Gabrielle; nor will he dare to harm either of us when I tell him I am Bourbon’s son.”
“He will; he will, I know him and you do not,” she urged strenuously. “Within the last few hours he swore to have your life, if I would not consent to marry him. If he finds us together he will have you slain before my eyes. For the love of God, fly while there is yet time.”
“Will you risk it with me?”
“Yes, yes, anything; anything rather than that he find you here,” she answered desperately.
At this moment they heard the key fitted into the lock and Pierre’s voice as he replied to the Governor’s reproaches. But before the key could be turned, Gerard dragged the pallet to the door and wedging it against an angle of the wall, improvised a barrier which jammed the door fast.
The key was turned and those outside strained to thrust the door back; and Pierre’s deep voice was heard declaring that the lock was wedged.
“Come, Gabrielle, quick.” Gerard drew her to the window and, getting out, stood upon the ladder and held his arms waiting in a fever of impatience for her to follow. She went to the window and looked out, but with a gasp of fear shrank back, appalled by the far descent, and shuddered.
“Heaven help me, Gerard, I dare not,” she cried. Her nerve failed at the look of yawning darkness, and when at the same moment a great knocking sounded against the cell door, she fell on her knees on the floor and buried her face in her hands.
“Come, Gabrielle, courage,” said Gerard. “Trust yourself to me and all will be well.”
“I cannot, I cannot, I dare not. I cannot die that way. I am a coward, Gerard. But do you go! Oh go, if you love me.”
“That I will not,” he answered and climbed back into the cell, to the dismay of Pascal and his companions who were watching below.
Then the clamour at the door ceased.
“What does it mean, Pierre?” asked the Governor.
“The lock has jammed, my lord,” was the reply. “I have known it so once or twice before and reported it. With your lordship’s leave I can get another key that may open it.”
“Quick then, man, quick. And have up some men with bars to break the lock in lest you fail.”
“His entrance will be your sentence of death, Gerard,” whispered Gabrielle. “When roused he is too recklessly desperate in his fury to let aught stand in his way.”
“He will not dare to harm me, Gabrielle,” he answered calmly.
“When he finds that I have come to rescue you, he will kill you. He would do it were it the King of France himself who stood in his way.”
They heard the Governor muttering to himself as he fumbled at the lock impatiently while awaiting Pierre’s return; and then a plan leapt into Gerard’s thoughts.
“We will see,” he said. “Quick, Gabrielle! Rouse yourself, my dearest. I have a plan that will yet save us both. Where is the knife you brought? He shall come in.”
“What would you do, Gerard?” she whispered, in a voice of awe, rising and peering into his face in the dim light.
“Not murder; but I have a plan. Stand over there in the shadow and be ready with the knife when I call to you. Give me your cloak. Quick, now, for the love of God. Seconds are priceless.”
Gabrielle slipped off the cloak and handed it to him, and stood back where he had directed.
“When I have moved the pallet stand as still as death, till I call to you.”
Making as little noise as possible he wrenched the pallet from the door and placed it ready for use again, and holding the cloak in readiness took his stand behind the door.
As he did so he heard Pierre in the distance.
The Governor tried the door again then and, finding it yield, pushed it open and entered the cell, all unsuspicious of any danger.
In a moment Gerard threw a cloak over his head and, smothering his cry of alarm in the folds of the cloak, dashed him violently to the ground. Then leaving his prisoner for a moment he thrust the bed once more against the door just in time to prevent those outside from entering, or indeed seeing what had occurred.
The Governor finding himself free, however, began to shout for help, when Gerard sprang upon him again, gripped him by the throat, and clapped a hand roughly over his mouth.
The Governor was a powerful man, and he fought with frantic efforts to free himself from Gerard’s grip. A desperate struggle in the darkness followed—Gerard bent on preventing a single cry from escaping his adversary’s lips, and the Duke writhing and straining to cast off the sinewy hands which clutched his throat and mouth, threatening to suffocate him.
The silence, broken only by the hard breathing of Gerard and the convulsive movements of the pair as they were locked in the deadly embrace, added to the weird terror of the scene.
“The knife,” whispered Gerard at length, as he felt the strength of his enemy beginning to give out; and Gabrielle, whose courage had now returned, crept across the cell as near to him as she dared, and held it out. Waiting his opportunity he released the grip on his opponent’s throat, and taking the knife held it over the weakening man’s heart.
“My lord, my lord!” called Pierre, puzzled at not finding the Governor at the door. “Where are you?”
Then the other men whom Pierre had summoned came up and spoke to him.
Tearing the cloak from the Duke’s face, Gerard let him see the gleam of the knife in the moonlight.
“My lord Duke, a single sound from your lips other than I direct, and as I am a man, the blade goes straight home to your heart.”
To further the threat he pressed the dagger until the sharp point entered the flesh; and withdrawing it, he dragged him to his feet and held him.
At Gerard’s fierce tone and menacing gesture, and still more at the slight wound inflicted, the Governor’s courage gave, and he stood trembling in deadly fear for his life.
At that moment the clamour began again at the door.
“You are in my power; but I do not seek your life unless you force me by treachery,” breathed Gerard into his ear.
“What do you want?” The harsh strident voice was feeble and husky as the question came from trembling lips.
“Send those men away, all of them. Say all is well, and bid them cease their efforts.”
Realising his helplessness and too appalled by his imminent peril to attempt treachery, he turned toward the door and called to Pierre by name. But his quavering voice was drowned by the din and clatter those outside were making.
“Louder, louder,” whispered Gerard.
“Pierre, Pierre,” called the Governor; but the call was still unheard, and with the hilt of the knife Gerard knocked angrily at the door.
The clamour ceased and all was still as the grave.
“Are you there, my lord?” asked Pierre.
“Yes, Pierre. Cease your efforts.”
“Is that really you, my lord?”
“Louder, and in your natural tone, or—” threatened Gerard.
“Who should it be, fellow? Send those men away, I say,” cried the Governor with an effort.
“It is the Governor. You are to go away,” they heard Pierre say to the others; and their footsteps were heard as they went, growing fainter until the distance swallowed them.
“Tell him to go too, but to leave the keys in the door,” prompted Gerard next.
“Are you there, Pierre?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I told you all to go away. Leave the keys.”
“You have saved your life,” said Gerard, releasing his hold; and the Governor fell prone on the prisoner’s bed, as Gerard gave a deep-drawn sigh of relief. The first part of the struggle was over and had ended in victory.
But there was yet much to do, and what course to take was a hard problem to solve.
Could Gabrielle have ventured to trust herself with him on the rope, the way would have been easy enough; but her nerve had so failed her that he feared to ask her again.
There was nothing for it, therefore, but to put a bold face on things and to find their way out together as best they could. Leave her he would not, come what might. After what had occurred, nothing should induce him to let her stay within reach of the mad fiend this Governor would be when once he was liberated from the cell.
He had prevented her being seen, it was true; but the Governor would set such inquiries on foot that her presence in that part of the Castle would be surely discovered; and what would follow the discovery no one could attempt to say.
Yet the time was pressing with cruel insistence. Any minute might bring de Proballe upon the scene with the men who were to apply the torture. And under the spur of this thought, Gerard made his plan.
With a threat to his prisoner to lie still on pain of death, he gave Gabrielle her cloak with a sign to put it on, and tearing off his coat, he whispered to her to take it, find Pierre, get Dubois liberated, and tell him to give her his monk’s garb.
“Lose not a second,” he whispered earnestly. “It may mean our lives.”
He opened the cell door, saw her speed away on her errand, and turned to finish his preparations.
Hauling in the rope ladder, lest it should be seen and rouse suspicions, he cut the ropes, and having bound the Governor securely hand and foot, improvised a gag with part of the bedclothes.
He had just finished his task, working with desperate haste, when he heard a heavy footstep in the corridor. Fearing it might be de Proballe, he seized the knife and stood in readiness behind the door.
With intense relief he saw Pierre’s bearded face. In silence Gerard pointed to where the Governor, thus bound and gagged, lay in a corner of the cell, and then donned the monk’s gabardine which Pierre had brought. In this guise he left the cell, locking the door and taking the key with him, and followed Pierre along the gloomy corridor.
“They are close here, monsieur, watching,” whispered Pierre; and a moment later they came upon Dubois and Gabrielle.
A hurried consultation followed as to the least hazardous means of getting out of the Castle. Gabrielle was for going to the apartments of the Duchess; but Gerard, all unwilling that she should remain a minute longer than was necessary, would not consent.
“No, we must get you beyond this Tiger’s reach, at any hazard. What say you, Dubois?”
But Dubois having heard the Governor was a prisoner, had another and much bolder scheme.
“I am with mademoiselle, so far as staying here,” he said. “I would take the bold line, my lord. Keep the Governor a prisoner; let me collect our men together, declare yourself openly, and by a bold stroke seize the Castle itself in the name of your father. At best we should have half the garrison on our side; and at worst should only have to hold this part of the Castle for some two days. With our hundred men we could maintain it against half an army, especially with the army disorganized and leaderless. Mademoiselle could remain with the Duchess in perfect safety, because the Governor would be in our hands.”
“It is like you, Dubois, and might succeed; but I see a thousand difficulties.”
“There are difficulties every way; but as I told you to-day, I know the disaffection among the men here; and the difficulties stoutly faced would yield.”
Gerard thought earnestly a moment and then shook his head.
“The hazard is too great. If we can but once reach the courtyard, Pascal is there with a force enough to get us through the breach in the wall I noticed to-day; and we can then leave the city. Can you guide us by a safe way to the courtyard, Pierre?”
“It may be done, my lord; but ’tis now close on the hour for the change of guard.”
“Then I decide for that,” broke in Gerard. “Lead the way.”
“It is full of risks, my lord. There is an iron door on every landing, and a sentry posted at each.”
“Go you on ahead then; and if any difficulty is made about our passing, leave it to us to force the way.”
They started at once—Pierre some little distance in front, Dubois next, and Gerard with Gabrielle following. The stairway, narrow and pitch dark, wound down the western tower of the prison fortress; and the light from the lantern which Pierre carried scarcely reached those above.
Not a word further was spoken, and each of the three trod as lightly as the broken uneven stairs would allow.
Soon they saw Pierre’s light stop and heard some one speak to him.
“Who goes? Is that you, Pierre?”
“Who else, Armand?” was the gruff reply. Then a faint chink of something falling on the stone and an exclamation from Pierre. “Diable! I’ve dropped my key. Lend me your eyes, Armand.”
A musket was set down; and a moment later the sound of a heavy blow and a low groan, at which Gabrielle caught her breath and shuddered.
“Quick, my lord,” called Pierre; and running down they found him bending over the unconscious form of the sentry. “There was no other way,” he said. “He would have fired his musket and roused every guard in the Castle had he caught sight of you.”
“’Twas cleverly done,” said Dubois. “Make sure of him;” and he picked up the soldier’s musket, glad to get a weapon so easily.
“Not cleverly; treacherously, monsieur,” replied Pierre regretfully; “but there was nothing else for it;” and he opened the iron door for them to pass.
“You will have to leave with us now, Pierre,” said Gerard.
“Pray Heaven we are as lucky at the next gate,” he answered, and again went on ahead.
Fortune was with them at the next gate. The sentry was asleep, and Pierre opened the gate and let them through.
“Naught but luck put the sot Crateau on guard to-night of all nights,” he said. “If the Governor hears of it his head will ache no more with liquor. There is but one more gate, my lord, and there we may have trouble; but once passed, a few steps only remain till we reach the courtyard.”
They continued the descent as rapidly as practicable until Pierre stopped them.
“I think you had better come on with me, monsieur,” he said to Dubois; “and leave my lord and mademoiselle to follow when we have seen the way is clear.”
The two went down together, and Gerard felt in the darkness for Gabrielle’s hand.
“You are not frightened, Gabrielle?” he whispered.
“I am with you,” she answered, pressing to his side.
“You are trembling, sweetheart.”
“It is for you, dearest. If we were but free of this dreadful place!”
“Courage, dear one; all will come right.”
“Pray God it may,” she said fervently. “What peril I have caused you.”
“Nay, it is I who have brought you to this pass. But you may trust Dubois to carry us through.”
“It is you I trust, Gerard. Ah! something is happening!”
Pierre was right in anticipating trouble. As they neared the gate they heard the voices of several men.
“Assembling for the change of guard, monsieur,” he whispered to Dubois. “They will let me pass, and I shall say you are one of the new officers who joined the Castle force recently.”
“I am one, Pierre.”
“I thought as much,” was the pithy reply. “Some of your men may be amongst them. But I know not what to do.”
“Put a bold face on it and leave it to me,” said Dubois; and the next moment they found themselves among half a dozen men clustered by the gate. “It is a fine prison, friend Pierre, but I don’t envy you your warding,” said Dubois aloud, in an easy tone, as he reached the bottom. “And these men, who are they—the guard?”
At the sound of his voice the soldiers looked round, and two of them drew themselves up instantly and saluted. With intense satisfaction Dubois recognized them as his own men, returned the salute, and addressed them.
“On guard, Vauchamp, and you, Dentelle, learning your new duties? Good. Open the gate, Pierre.”
“Who is this, Pierre?” demanded the sergeant in command.
“What, don’t you know your own officers, Vauban?” returned Pierre, in a surly tone. “Out of the way and let me obey my orders.”
“Not so fast, surly-tongue,” growled the man angrily. “No one passes here.”
“Surly-tongue yourself, you uncivil beast,” returned Pierre, and as if with sudden passion, he dealt him a blow on the head which sent him reeling to one side, and thrust the key in the lock.
Recovering his surprise and furious at the blow, the man sprang at Pierre to be met with the butt end of Dubois’ musket full in the face.
“Back, you mutinous dog,” cried Dubois, in a voice of command, as the man fell stunned and bleeding. “Is this the way you Castle men treat your officers? You know better at least,” he said to his own men. “See that there’s no more of this mutiny. Bring down the visitors, Pierre.”
But there was no need to fetch them, for Gerard at the first sound of trouble had hurried down with Gabrielle.
The sergeant’s men, taken by surprise stood in doubt what to do; but as two of their new comrades had recognized Dubois for an officer and sided with him, and being as they saw outnumbered, they offered no resistance, and the little party were through the gate, and the gate itself was locked before their surprise had passed.
The stairway now was broader and led straight to the open doorway, which let out upon the courtyard; and they were hurrying down, Gerard and Gabrielle leading, when the figures of two men showed in the doorway, and Gabrielle clutched Gerard’s arm in sudden fear.
“De Proballe,” she whispered, shrinking against the wall.
At the same moment there came the sound of shots and angry voices in the courtyard, and all the evidences of a fierce battle.
“It is the guard changing, my lord,” said Pierre. “They have discovered something wrong.”
“They have run up against Pascal’s force,” he replied. “Dubois, we must clear that doorway; or we shall be caught like rats in a hole.”
“I’ll do it,” answered Dubois sternly, gripping his weapon.
“Stay, monsieur, by your leave. I have a thought,” urged Pierre; and without waiting to explain what it was he ran on down the stairway to de Proballe.