CHAPTER XXVI
AT THE CITY GATES
GERARD’S judgment that the unexpected position at Malincourt would be found much too formidable to be dismissed with a curse and a threat was quite correct.
The Governor was furiously angry, and as sternly resolved as ever to carry his purpose through; nothing should be suffered to come between him and it; but the last few hours had revealed certain obstacles to the importance of which even his selfish rage could not blind him.
He had had convincing proof that in threatening Gabrielle he would provoke far greater and more dangerous antagonism than any he had yet encountered at any time of his government.
The first sign of this had come from the Duchess herself. She had sent for him soon after Lucette had left the Castle, and after avowing her share in procuring Gerard’s escape, had met his storm of invective with a stubborn resistance culminating in a solemn declaration that if harm was done to a hair of Gabrielle’s head, she would have herself carried in her bed out into the streets of Morvaix and denounce him and his acts to the citizens, and if that did not avail she would take the matter, if it cost her her life, to the King of France himself.
He had laughed at her threats, but they had gone home, none the less, and had rendered him ill at ease.
More was to come, however. Babillon was right in saying the city was roused by the news that Gabrielle was a fugitive from the Castle troops. She was beloved in Morvaix by people of every class, rich and poor alike; and hundreds of them were ready to spend their lives in her defence.
Those who had not had personal experience of her innumerable acts of charity and kindness were bound to the House of Malincourt by ties of allegiance which had stood the test of many years of turbulence and crisis. In former troubles their attitude had been decided by that of the Maison, and when Malincourt had stood aloof in any quarrel, they had been neutral. And now every member of every family was stirred to the depths by the report of her danger.
The Governor’s agents in the city had brought him word of this, and the citizens themselves had been to the Castle to seek assurances of her safety from the Governor. Hot words had passed on both sides, but the Governor had found it discreet to appease them by giving the assurances of her safety and explaining that the object of the pursuit was merely a prisoner, a murderer, who had escaped from the Castle.
Hints had been given him, too, discreetly and almost timorously, by some of his officers that the concern on Gabrielle’s account was not confined to the city, but had also spread to such of the troops as were Morvaix men, and that reliance upon them in any attack upon her could not be fully placed.
Considerations of this disquieting character could not but produce an effect even upon the iron of his will, but he still saw a way to gain his end without open conflict with the forces supporting the Malincourt influence. He could coerce Gabrielle through her lover. If Gerard could be recaptured he would have once more the means of secretly compelling the consent which it might be dangerous to force from her by open violence. She would consent to be his wife to save Gerard.
And here it was that he found the position at Malincourt so disconcerting. He did not doubt that Gabrielle was in the Maison with Gerard and he had gone there anticipating no more opposition to his entry than the presence of a large body of troops could at once remove. But instead of that, he found the maison barred against him and held by a force which his soldier’s eye showed him was both powerful and ably disposed for purposes of defence.
That he could carry the place with the resources at his command was not, of course, open to question; although there would be a stout resistance involving bloodshed and the loss of many lives on both sides. It was not this which made him hesitate. But to batter the maison to pieces and burn it while Gabrielle was inside with the defenders, was at once to subject her to imminent personal danger and to rouse every one of her supporters in the city to active interference.
There was another course open, however: to starve those in Malincourt to surrender. It involved delay, always distasteful to his impetuous overbearing will, but it was less dangerous and in the end would be equally effective. Thus he decided to adopt it, and at the same time to keep up a sufficient show of force to intimidate those in Malincourt. He could easily surround the house so that not a soul could leave it, and by an occasional feint could harry those defending it and thus hasten their submission.
First, however, he would make sure that Gabrielle was really in Malincourt, and at the end of the hour of grace he had allowed, he caused another summons for admission to be made, and when as before Pascal appeared in answer to it, he demanded to speak with Gabrielle.
She came at once, with Gerard at her side, and very proud and defiant she looked.
“I wish you to understand the nature of the resistance you are offering to me, mademoiselle, and the consequences,” began the Governor.
“I understand it perfectly, my lord,” she answered resolutely.
“You are harbouring at Malincourt a prisoner of mine, and this neither the laws of France nor I myself can permit.”
“There is no one in Malincourt, my lord, who can rightly be termed your prisoner. Whom do you mean?”
“The man who stands at your side, at whose escape from my prison you connived.”
“You mean the Lord Gerard de Bourbon. It is by his commands that the doors of Malincourt are closed against you. And they will remain closed, my lord.”
“They cannot remain closed against the forces at my disposal.”
“If you as Governor of Morvaix think you dare to use violence against the son of your Suzerain, the great Duke de Bourbon, you must act as you will.”
“I demand that that man be given up to me.”
“And I decline to listen to a demand I deem infamous.”
“I wish no harm to come to you, mademoiselle, and if you will give him up, I will at once withdraw my troops from Malincourt.”
“No harm can come to me, my lord Duke. I am with those who know how to protect me.”
“The blood of those who may suffer if you drive me to use force will be upon your head. I have told you you can go free.”
“The blood of the Bourbon soldiers here will be shed freely in defence of their master, and for the rest the responsibility is yours, my lord, not mine.”
“I give you this last chance to avoid a conflict.”
Gerard whispered to her before she answered.
“You ask me to surrender, and I am authorized by my Lord Gerard de Bourbon to answer you thus. Cry a truce for forty-eight hours and we will come to you voluntarily to the Castle.”
“I will not give you forty-eight seconds,” was the angry reply, and with that the Governor turned away.
He rapidly completed his dispositions for the feinted attack which commenced almost immediately. It was delivered with much show of force from four different points round the house, and was accompanied by a great deal of musketry firing on both sides. But this, owing to the darkness, did little or no harm to either party.
The result satisfied the Governor that there really was a considerable body of men opposed to him, and he drew off his troops and surrounded the maison, and left instructions with the officer in command to keep up the pretence of an attack and to make one or two demonstrations during the night. Then he rode back to the Castle, carrying with him the conviction that in a day or two at most Gerard would be again in his hands.
Inside Malincourt a very different view of the position was taken. The attack was regarded as the proof of the Governor’s intention to make good his threat to storm the maison and burn it; while the ease with which it was beaten off only served to rouse the suspicion that it was no more than the preface to a much more serious effort.
“His object is to test our strength,” said Gerard to Pascal, “and to see whether we really are in any force. We may look for the real fighting later. If we had known, we would have saved our powder.”
“We could ill spare it. Slight as the thing was, it has made grievous inroads on our supply.”
“We need not be anxious. It will last out till morning, and then we shall go. They are likely to try and harry us through the night, so that we must be on our guard, but the real attack will be delivered in daylight, and before it comes we must be out of the house. We have gained our end, the delay of a night, and for to-morrow we can safely trust ourselves to the burghers.”
“I would rather have trusted to these walls if only Babillon could have got up with the arms.”
“But he cannot, in the face of the soldiery round the house.”
“There is the secret passage. I could go and find him and guide him by that way.”
“But the risk, man. If a suspicion were roused we should have the one chance of escape stopped. Not for an armoury full of guns and powder would I have that way discovered.”
“True enough; it is perhaps too great a risk,” agreed Pascal.
“My plan is this,” explained Gerard. “We will hold the maison through the night—unless I am wrong and we are to be driven from it by force—and in the morning we will slip away secretly, Lucette and you accompanying us, and make first for the gates to leave the city with the pass we took from the spy, and if we fail we shall place ourselves in the hands of the burghers.”
“And the men here?”
“Must remain until the last possible moment as a ruse. D’Artois will stay in command, and every show of continued resistance must be maintained. You’ll see my thought. The Governor knows we are here and thinks he has us safely caged. In that belief the restrictions about passing in and out of the city will probably be relaxed; the search parties will be recalled from the city, and I am mistaken if a bold front and a slight disguise will not be all that is necessary for us to get away. Then by nightfall we shall be back with the troops to read this Governor a lesson.”
“D’Artois had better continue the resistance here?”
“Only in form, of course. No lives need be thrown away. The only need is to blind the Castle people. But when the attack grows serious he can either surrender or escape by the same means we shall use, the men scattering and resuming the monkish disguise. Even if they are captured and taken to the Castle nothing will be done to them before we are back with d’Alembert.”
They were still discussing their plans when the second feint was made by the Castle troops, and the ease with which this was also repulsed confirmed Gerard in his belief that the night would see no serious attack, and when matters had quieted down and the last shot had been fired, he prevailed upon Gabrielle and Lucette to attempt to get some sleep. They should be roused at the first sign of any real danger, but what they had to do during the coming day made it imperative that they should at least lie down, even if sleep were impossible.
And impossible it was for all in the maison. A most vigilant watch had to be kept, and Gerard and Pascal were constantly moving from point to point, that no single precaution should be slackened and not a movement of the troops outside pass unobserved.
So matters remained until the dawn. When the light broke at length, the great strength of the Castle force was immediately apparent, spreading as it did all round the maison in imposing numbers that filled Gabrielle and Lucette with consternation.
Gabrielle was for instant flight, indeed, but Gerard decided for some further delay.
“We have to wait until the Governor shall have had time to give fresh instructions to the captains of the city gates, or we cannot get through.”
Then Lucette suggested a serious objection.
“Gabrielle is so well known that she will be recognized at the gates, and although she might pass, any one with her would be at once suspected and stopped.”
“I am hoping that the gates will be open to all,” replied Gerard, “and that no one will be stopped. But she will be disguised. We shall all be, in fact—Pascal and I as monks.”
“But if they are not open?”
“Then we have this pass of Dauban’s and the disguises.”
“Monks do not act as cavaliers to ladies, monsieur,” objected Lucette, and despite the gravity of the situation they smiled.
“There is M. de Proballe’s wardrobe,” suggested Gabrielle.
“Aye, we might pass for rogues, Gerard,” laughed Pascal. “But for my part, I’d rather take the risk and play monk.”
“May I suggest?” asked Lucette. “A plain burgher’s or merchant’s dress would be safest, with the monks’ gabardines carried for use in case of need. And these could easily be furnished here in the maison.”
“We must have weapons, Lucette,” said Gerard.
“They could be covered with wrappings to look like staves or some part of your merchandise. There is no difficulty there, surely. The real difficulty is Gabrielle’s face, I fear.”
“I like the plan,” was Pascal’s emphatic verdict. “But I would have a change in it. Let Mademoiselle Lucette and myself, if she will trust herself to me, try to leave the city first. If we are turned back, or even held by the guard, it will be no grievous matter; and you and mademoiselle can see how it fares with us. If we have to show the pass to get through, we can go a short distance and I can return on the plea that something has been forgotten, and can hand it to you.”
This scheme was discussed at length to be finally adopted, and Gabrielle and Lucette were left to settle the best device they could fashion to conceal what Lucette had termed the real difficulty—Gabrielle’s face.
Lucette solved the problem by means of a large hooded cloak, such as was not uncommonly worn by the burghers’ and merchants’ wives in travelling. Drawn over the head and low down over the brow, it fastened under the chin, but a little alteration by Lucette’s deft fingers so arranged it that much of the lower part of the face was also hidden, and when she was ready to start, both Gerard and Pascal smiled at the little device.
“A burgher’s spouse to the life,” exclaimed Pascal, whose irrepressible spirits were as high as if they were all bent on a picnic. “And on the pillion no one will know miladi of Malincourt!”
“If Babillon can get us the horses, that is,” said Gerard, for they were first to make for Babillon’s house.
“Crowns are crowns in Morvaix, Gerard, and speak the same language as everywhere else; and if he cannot, I will. Shall we start?”
“We have told d’Artois everything?”
“Oh, yes. I supplemented what you said with an hour’s lecture.”
“Pray God we get away and do not find the Castle men have spread out too far.”
“I have made sure of that,” answered Pascal. “I’ve been out to look for myself.”
“Come then,” and they started.
“I would poor Denys could be with us,” said Gabrielle.
“I have seen him and told him all,” replied Lucette. “He is much better, but knows he has not strength enough for this.”
Gerard was very grave and anxious in his concern for Gabrielle, and as they passed through the chapel, down into the crypt and along the dark, mouldy, gloomy passage, scarce a word was spoken. But as soon as they emerged into the fresh air, Pascal, who had gone on first to make sure no one was about, began to talk. He walked with Lucette, Gerard and Gabrielle being ahead.
“We mustn’t look like a funeral procession, mademoiselle.”
“If you were as anxious for me as M. Gerard is for Gabrielle, you too might be solemn, monsieur.”
He glanced at her and smiled.
“Hadn’t we better settle the parts we mean to play?”
“What are they?”
“Well, to begin with, we’d better stop this ‘monsieur’ and ‘mademoiselle’ to each other. My name, as you know, is Pascal, and yours is Lucette, and they are neither of them names to be ashamed of. What say you—Lucette?”
“Just as you wish—Pascal,” and she copied his pause and tone, and laughed.
“Good. Now we must be something to each other, because we may be asked. Strangers don’t go riding about together as we have to; and we’re not strangers either.”
“I am beginning to know something of you, at any rate.”
“And an excellent education I hope you find it. Now, what do you say to brother and sister?”
“We might have to quarrel with one another in that case, or at least be discourteous. Is that what you wish—Pascal?”
“That’s an excellent imitation of a sister’s manner—Lucette. But as we don’t want to quarrel, and I am plain burgher and you Madame Burgher, we might be husband and wife.”
“It would be a loveless marriage, wouldn’t it?”
“I’ve heard of them before,” he laughed drily. “But it would certainly be a marriage of convenience.”
“And many of those are but little more acting than this. But I think in such a case I should be a scold.”
“I am afraid you would, but as my back will be to you when you’re on the pillion, I don’t know that that will matter. How clear the roads are,” he said, breaking into earnestness for a moment. His eyes had been cast sharply in all directions, despite his laughing manner and words.
“Do you think we shall get through? Poor Gabrielle is so anxious.”
“Aye, that’s one of the troubles. She’s too anxious to play her part well, I fear. She’s not like—Madame Burgher.”
“Nor is M. Gerard like—Monsieur Burgher.”
“Well, let us hope the husband and wife will get their two charges safely through. We shall reach Babillon’s, at any rate,” he said soon afterwards, as they came in sight of the house. “I pray we shall find better luck than last time.”
But they did not. The house was closed, and when they knocked and Babillon’s wife admitted them, it was to say that her husband had not been home all night.
“It’s not a serious matter,” said Pascal, making light of it, as he did of all difficulties. “Wait here, and I’ll go and find a couple of horses somewhere.”
“But Babillon could have given us news of how matters stand at the gates and a hundred other things,” replied Gerard uneasily.
“All of which we shall now have to find out for ourselves instead,” and learning where he was likely to procure horses, Pascal went off on his search. He was soon back, riding one horse and leading another.
“The city is much quieter this morning. I had a talk with the man where I got these,” he reported, “and he says all the soldiers who were searching the city have been recalled to the Castle.”
“And about the gates?”
“He knew nothing, and I could ask no more than a general question, or I might have stirred suspicion. Now, Madame Burgher,” he said to Lucette, and there was some laughing between them over settling her in the pillion. But Gerard was in no mood to see any objects for jesting, and Gabrielle was so pale and anxious that Lucette declared it was a good thing indeed no more of her features could be seen.
“Now for a bold face on things and a laugh if you can, Lucette,” cried Pascal, “and we’ll soon see whether an honest burgher and his wife cannot ride abroad together in this uncomfortable fashion on a fine July morning.”
They rode slowly toward the city gate, Gerard and Gabrielle following some distance behind. Pascal laughed and gestured over his shoulder to Lucette, until coming in sight of the gate he said exultantly—
“God be thanked, it’s open, Lucette. We shan’t be husband and wife much longer, if all goes well.”
“A thought which seems to give you consummate relief,” she answered.
“Aye, the responsibilities of a husband weigh heavily on me, good wife—as heavily, maybe, as the double burden on this good patient beast. Good morning, monsieur,” he broke off, as a soldier stepped in the way and held up his hand. But Pascal made no effort to check the horse, and was passing on with a nod and a smile when the man laid a hand on the bridle and brought the horse to a stop.
“What is it, monsieur?” asked Pascal. “Cannot an honest man and his wife pass on his business?”
“Yes, monsieur. All those who are known to us can pass. Dismount, if you please, and come to the officer of the gate.”
Pascal mumbled something in a discontented tone and then dismounted.
He gave Lucette one glance with an ominous lift of the eyebrows. She understood the look—that the check was a very ugly one—but with an admirably feigned air of extreme vexation, she exclaimed—
“How you bungle things, Pascal. To bring me out like this! One might as well have a wooden head for a husband.”
“Peace, scold, peace. It is no fault of mine,” he answered crossly.
And the soldier smiled.