CHAPTER XVII
OBSCURI SOLA SUB NOCTE
When Gabriel returned to his seat after escorting Monsieur de Guise to the door, he made a sign to Martin-Guerre, who at once left his occupation and went out, seeming to need no further instructions.
The squire came back after about fifteen minutes, accompanied by a pale, emaciated individual, whose clothes were almost falling from his body.
Martin approached his master, who was again absorbed in thought. The other occupants of the tent were playing or sleeping, as their fancy dictated.
"Monseigneur," said Martin-Guerre, "this is our man."
"Oh, yes!" said Gabriel; "so you are Anselme the fisherman, of whom Martin-Guerre has spoken to me?" he added, turning to the new-comer.
"Yes, Monseigneur, I am Anselme the fisherman," was the reply.
"Do you know the service in which we desire your aid?" asked Vicomte d'Exmès.
"Your squire has told me, Monseigneur; and I am ready."
"Martin-Guerre ought also to have told you," continued Gabriel, "that in this expedition your life will be in danger as will our own."
"Oh," rejoined the fisherman, "he had no need to tell me that; for I knew it as well as he, or even better."
"And still you came?" said Gabriel.
"Here I am, at your service," Anselme replied.
"Very good, my friend; it is the deed of a noble heart."
"Or of a hopeless existence," was the response.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Gabriel.
"Why, by our Lady!" said Anselme. "Every day I take my life in my hand for the sake of bringing home a few fish, and very often I come home empty-handed. So there is very little merit in risking my tanned skin for you to-day, when you promise, whether I live or die, to care for the future welfare of my wife and my three children."
"Very true," said Gabriel; "but the danger that you face every day is uncertain, and hidden from you in a measure. You never go to sea during a gale. But this time the risk is perceptible and unmistakable."
"Indeed," replied the fisherman, "it is perfectly certain that one must be a madman or a saint, to venture upon the water on such a night as this. But that is your affair; and it is not for me to find fault, if you choose to do it. You have paid me in advance for my boat and my body. But you will owe the Holy Virgin a fine candle of pure wax if we arrive safe and sound."
"Even when we have arrived, Anselme," Gabriel resumed, "your labors are not at an end. Having rowed us safely across, you will be called upon to fight, and do a soldier's work after having done duty as a sailor. Don't forget that you are about to incur dangers of two sorts."
"It's all right," said Anselme; "but don't be too discouraging in what you say. Your orders shall be obeyed. You guarantee the lives of those who are dear to me, and I give you mine. The bargain is struck, and let us say no more about it."
"You are a brave fellow!" said Gabriel. "As to your wife and children, let your mind be quite easy; for they shall want for nothing. I have written to my agent Elyot my wishes on that point; and Monsieur le Duc de Guise will himself see that they are carried out."
"That is more than you were called upon to do," said the fisherman; "and you are more generous than a king. I will play no tricks with you. You need only have given me sufficient money to relieve me from embarrassment during these hard times, and I would have expected nothing further. But if I am satisfied with you, I hope that you will not be disappointed in me."
"Let us see," said Gabriel; "will your boat hold fourteen?"
"She has held twenty, Monseigneur."
"You will need strong arms to help you row, will you not?"
"Yes, indeed," said Anselme; "for I shall have my hands full with the helm and the sail, if we can carry sail."
"We have three men," said Martin-Guerre,—"Ambrosio, Pilletrousse, and Landry,—who can row as if they had never done anything else in their lives, and I myself can swim with a pair of oars as easily as with my arms."
"Well, well," said Anselme, joyously, "I shall quite have the appearance of a smart sea-captain with so many fine fellows in my crew! There is one point on which Master Martin has thus far left me in ignorance, and that is the precise spot where we are to land."
"The Risbank fort," Gabriel replied.
"The Risbank fort! Did you say the Risbank fort?" cried the stupefied fisherman.
"Certainly I did," said Gabriel; "what objection have you to offer to that?"
"Oh, nothing," rejoined Anselme, "except that it is hardly possible to land at that point, and that I personally have never cast anchor there. It's nothing but rocks."
"Do you refuse to guide us?" asked Gabriel.
"My faith! no; I will do my best, though I am but little acquainted with that part of the coast. My father, who like myself was born a fisherman, used to say; 'We must not try to lord it over fish or customers.' I will take you to the Risbank fort if I can. A nice little trip we shall have!"
"At what hour must we be ready to start?" asked Gabriel.
"You want to reach there at four, I believe?" returned Anselme.
"Between four and five; no later."
"Very well! from the point where we must embark so as not to be seen and arouse suspicion, we must reckon upon two hours of sailing; the most important thing is not to tire ourselves unnecessarily on the water. From here to the creek is about an hour's march."
"Then we should leave the camp about one hour after midnight?" said Gabriel.
"That will be about right," Anselme replied.
"Well, then, I will go and tell my men," said Gabriel. "Do so, Monseigneur," said the fisherman. "I will ask your leave to lie down with them and sleep until one o'clock. I have said farewell at home; the boat is already carefully hidden and safely moored, so that I have nothing to call me away."
"You are quite right, Anselme," said Gabriel; "lie down for awhile, for you will have enough to tire you before this night is over. Martin-Guerre, you may tell your companions now."
"Ho, there, you fellows! You gamblers and sleepy heads!" cried Martin-Guerre.
"What is it? What's the matter?" they cried, rising and drawing near.
"Thank Monseigneur; for there is a special expedition on foot for one o'clock," said Martin.
"Good! very good! splendid!" was the hearty chorus of the veterans.
Even Malemort added his joyful shout to these unequivocal demonstrations of satisfaction.
But at that very moment four of Ambroise Paré's assistants appeared to carry the wounded man to the hospital.
Malemort was loud in his protestations.
But notwithstanding his cries and struggles, they put him upon a litter and held him there. In vain did he pour most bitter reproaches upon his comrades, even calling them deserters and traitors, since they were despicable enough to go into battle without him. No notice was taken of his epithets; and he was carried off cursing and swearing.
"How," said Martin-Guerre, "we must make our final arrangements, and assign to every man the part he is to play and his position."
"What sort of job have we on hand?" asked Pilletrousse.
"Oh, a sort of assault," replied Martin.
"Then I will be the first one to scale the wall!" cried Yvonnet.
"Very well," said the squire.
"No, that isn't fair!" exclaimed Ambrosio. "Yvonnet always monopolizes the first place in times of danger. Really, it seems as if he thinks of nobody but himself."
"Let him have his way," said Gabriel, interposing. "In the hazardous ascent that we are about to make, the foremost will be the least exposed, I imagine. As a proof of my belief, I propose myself to be the last to ascend."
"Then Yvonnet will be cheated," cried Ambrosio, laughing.
Martin-Guerre assigned to each man his place in the order of march, as well as his number in the boat and in the assault. Ambrosio, Pilletrousse, and Landry were notified that they would have to row. In fact, everything that could be was arranged beforehand, so as to avoid confusion and misunderstanding as far as possible.
Lactance took Martin-Guerre aside for a moment.
"Pardon me," said he; "but do you imagine there is any killing to be done?"
"I am not sure; but it is very possible," Martin replied.
"Thanks," returned Lactance; "in that case I think I will say my prayers and do penance in advance for three or four dead men and as many wounded."
When everything was settled, Gabriel advised his men to obtain an hour or two of sleep. He undertook to awaken them himself when it was time.
"Yes, I shall be glad to get a little sleep," said Yvonnet; "for my poor nerves are terribly excited this evening, and I need above all things to be cool and fresh when I am fighting."
In a few moments not a sound was to be heard within the tent save the regular breathing of the veterans and the monotonous Pater nosters of Lactance.
Soon the last-mentioned noise also ceased, for drowsiness had at last overcome Lactance, and he too was asleep.
Gabriel alone was awake and deep in thought.
Toward one o'clock he awoke his men one by one. They all rose and equipped themselves in silence. Then they went softly from the tent and left the camp.
At the words, 'Calais and Charles,' uttered in a low voice by Gabriel, the sentinels allowed them to pass unquestioned.
The little band, under the guidance of Anselme the fisherman, took its way through the fields, along the shore. Not a word was uttered. Nothing was to be heard save the moaning of the wind, and the melancholy voice of the sea in the distance.
It was a dark and stormy night. Not a soul was to be seen along the road traversed by our adventurers. Even if they had met any one, it was more than probable that they would have passed unnoticed; but had they been seen, they would certainly have been mistaken for phantoms at that hour and in such darkness.
Within the city, there was also one man who at that hour was still awake.
It was Lord Wentworth, the governor, although, relying upon the reinforcements for which he had sent to Dover as being sure to arrive on the morrow, he had retired to his own house, hoping to obtain some rest.
He had not slept, in truth, for three days, exposing himself continually, it must be said, at the points of greatest danger with untiring gallantry, and was always to be found wherever his presence was required.
On the evening of January 4 he had paid a visit to the breach of the Old Château, had personally posted the sentinels, and had reviewed the civic militia, who were intrusted with the simple duty of defending the Risbank fort.
But notwithstanding his intense weariness, and although everything was secure and quiet, he could not sleep.
A vague dread, absurd but not to be driven away, kept his eyes wide open as he lay on his bed.
Yet all his precautions were well taken; the enemy could not possibly venture upon a night attack, relying upon so trifling a breach as that in the Old Château. As for the other points, they would protect themselves with the aid of the swamp and the ocean.
Lord Wentworth said all this to himself a thousand times, and yet he could not sleep.
He seemed to feel something floating in the night air about the city which told him of a terrible danger from an invisible foe.
In his disordered fancy that enemy was not Maréchal Strozzi, nor the Duc de Nevers; it was not even the great François do Guise.
What! Could it be that it was his former prisoner, whom his bitter enmity had enabled him to recognize several times in the distance from the summit of the fortifications? Was it really that madman. Vicomte d'Exmès, Madame de Castro's lover?
What a ridiculous adversary for the governor of Calais in his strong city, still so impregnably guarded!
However, Lord Wentworth, whatever the reason may have been, could neither overcome this indefinable dread nor explain it.
But he felt its presence, and he could not sleep.