Читать книгу The Leopard and the Lily - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 5

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Gilles stood in the courtyard, watching with a thoughtful face the last bales of goods carried through the gate toward the calm sea, while he talked to Kristopher Fassiferne, who leaned against the wall beside him.

Captain Kristopher was tall and well shaped, at first glance all thought him rarely handsome, but it was in expression and not in features that the claim lay. His real beauty was a pair of great blue eyes, dark and yet brilliantly changeful; for the rest he had a firm mouth and a clear freckled skin that flushed when he talked, face and neck so brown they made his bright eyes and teeth by contrast dazzling, the pleasantest of smiles and an eager frank look, a quiet manner; he looked and noticed more than he spoke, and laughed frequently.

In age he might have been thirty-five or six, his dress was a well-worn and patched leather suit, a faded scarf, and there was not a single ornament about him, except a silver ring on his left hand.

Gilles fell to pacing the courtyard with a puzzled, angry face.

"Mon cher," he said at last, stopping in front of the other. "The Sieur de Montauban dislikes me—ever since we came back from France—you and I—I've seen it still knowing how blindly François, my brother, trusts him. I was glad to think at first of this mission and escaping him a while—but—now—" Gilles crushed a paper in his hand with a laugh, "suddenly my heart misgives me."

Kristopher Fassiferne was listening, but he made no answer, and the Prince continued, still doubtfully.

"Parbleu! but—to leave him here—at my brother's ear."

"And what can he say there?" asked Kristopher, suddenly looking up with brilliant smiling eyes. "Or do, my Prince? Isn't he just a thing to be taken no heed of—and aren't you above all the meddlings of favourites?"

Gilles was silent, then a flush crept into his cheeks.

"I was thinking of Françoise," he said with shining eyes. "She is so alone—and so beautiful! Mon Dieu! did you ever see such beauty, Kristopher, mon ami?"

"It was so dark I could see nothing at all," answered Kristopher, tracing the cobbles with his sword point. "But were she just all the beauty that ever was—'tis no matter for the leaving of her an' she love you—an' what's six months, my Prince? an' she living alone an' not having even seen Sir Guy? It's trouble out of nothing you're making," and Kristopher looked up, showing his white teeth in a fascinating smile that Gilles' light-heartedness responded to at once.

"Morbleu, you are right, mon ami," he said, holding out his slender hand. "What is six months? And, praise be to St Herve, Françoise hath no riches that the Duke should want to break his promise—tell me now that you will look to her while I am away and I go happy."

"There are better men for that service, Prince," answered Kristopher Fassiferne gravely. "An' better able to please you in it, since the lady needs no watching, and it isn't a captain of mercenaries would protect her from Sir Guy if he came along, with the Duke behind him."

"Captain Kristopher," said the Prince eagerly, with wistful eyes, "you are the truest soul I ever knew—you are my only friend—there is none other I could trust—my brother, Pierre, is young yet—I will give you this letter to him—" He drew a paper from his pocket and forced it on the other, who stood silent looking at him.

"Mon Dieu! I am foolish," he continued, with a little laugh. "What can happen to her? But undertake this charge, Captain Kristopher."

"She hath guardians," was the reply. "Her uncle and her uncle's son—almost the richest men in Brittany."

"They!" cried Gilles impatiently. "They live at Chateaubriand—keeping her close in Hardouinaye—and they are men she hath been sore angered with—but I will not ask this service of you since it is distasteful, Captain Kristopher, praying to God and his saints alone to watch over Françoise de Dinan."

A squire came and touched him on the arm—the hour for his embarkation had come: the two great ships were laden, their sails spread; the wind was fair for England.

"Fare thee well, Captain Kristopher," smiled Gilles and he held out his hand.

The soldier raised his eyes and strode forward impulsively, clasping it warmly.

"I will do what you wish," he said smiling.

"Never a harm shall come to your lady, my Prince—aren't we comrades and sworn friends?"

"Captain Kristopher!" cried Gilles, his whole face clearing. "Now is my mind at ease and with a light heart I leave—swear to me by our friendship you mean this."

Kristopher Fassiferne laid his hand on the other's satin sleeve.

"I swear it," he said simply. "And you can trust me I On my honour," he added, "you leave one behind who will not forget."

Gilles of Brittany looked at him through the yellow hair and white feathers that were blown about his face.

"I am content," he said. "Take you that letter, mon ami, to my brother, Pierre—you go to Rennes?"

"Ay, to Rennes," and the soldier heaved something like a sigh. "To report myself, my Prince—and to take my commands from his Grace."

"Morbleu!" cried Gilles eagerly. "Had I half the influence Guy de Montauban has—you would be in a different position, mon cher—but go you to Pierre with that letter and remember Françoise knows you saved my life twice and that I love you—and if need be—remember your promise, Captain Kristopher."

He laid his hand on his friend's shoulder: "Wish me success, mon ami," he smiled, "for in truth, I am more than a little faint-hearted."

"Three times success," answered Kristopher. "And I have pledged my honour to look to the lady—though she wants no looking to—with a true heart and no riches to tempt the Duke—now, rest you easy, my Prince—for I've sworn."

The mist began to part and roll away, the standard of Brittany showed faintly at the mast of the ship in the offing.

"Blowing for England," said Kristopher, with a quick breath on the name. "God give you three times success, my Prince—"

Gilles grasped his hand in silence, with smiling eyes; in a moment more he had embarked. Standing silent, Captain Kristopher watched him enter the boat and near the ship—watched him on the deck, standing on the prow above the gold dragon. Then suddenly the breeze freshened, lifting the clouds like a veil, the great sails filled and the two ships began to move, long oar's splashed up wreaths of spray and scattered the sea birds till they rose and flew screaming round the masts and cordage. Gilles, waving his orange scarf, stood with uncovered head, a gallant figure—at the prow.

Kristopher's eyes never left it till the ships were lost in the gray sea mist, then he turned and went up the beach to where at a little distance some fifty men at arms were drawn up, English mercenaries under his command, newly returned from France and bound now with him for Rennes.

Captain Kristopher mounted his black horse.

"An' we get to Rennes to-night," he said, "we must be starting on the minute—give me my helmet, Robin, for we shall be riding through Koet Kandek—a very nest of robbers."

Then he turned to his men who waited wrapped in their cloaks.

"Now for Rennes," he said. "'Tis the long road—" He paused abruptly; a little group of horsemen were spurring rapidly over the short grass toward them—some ten or twelve with a tall knight leading.

"Now, who are these?" asked Kristopher.

Before there was time for an answer, the leader of the newcomers hid galloped up and reined in his horse.

"Gilles of Brittany hath sailed?" he asked, looking past Kristopher out to sea, eagerly.

"Yes, sailed and out of sight," was the answer. The other's dark face lit up; he halted and looked at Kristopher.

"You ride back to Rennes?" he asked, speaking as one used to command.

"Yes," said Kristopher, his blue eyes taking him in, keenly.

"I go that way, too," said the horseman. "I but came to see if the Prince had sailed. My name is Guy de Montauban."

He gave it with a pride amounting to arrogance; but Kristopher only inclined gravely his head.

"Are you not he whom they call Captain Kristopher," continued Guy, "and Gilles' friend?"

"I am he," answered Kristopher. "Captain Kristopher Fassiferne of the English mercenaries—will it please you, Sieur, if you come my way, we should ride on?—it grows late."

He spoke with a grave courtesy at variance with his rough dress and the rougher men he led; Montauban noticing it, looked at him, and, like everyone, was so struck with the fascination of his face as to keep his eyes there; when Kristopher, giving the signal to his men, was falling back to the head of them, he stopped him.

"Ride by me," he said. "I have to talk with you."

For a way the road ran along the sea like a white ribbon, fringed either side with salt-dried, shaking grass and scattered with dead sea weed, ancient and colourless, that crackled beneath the horses' hoofs.

"You were with the Prince in France?" asked Guy and he looked at his companion furtively. "He trusts you, Messire?"

Kristopher laughed, glancing round. "What are you wanting to find out, Sir Guy?" he said. "Isn't this a clumsy way of beginning? An' well may you save your pains, for half I know and half I guess."

Montauban stared at him with a faint flush on his thin face.

"What do you know?"

The road was rough and Kristopher stopped to tighten his reins before he answered. When he looked up the laugh had gone from his face.

"I know you have somewhat against the Prince," he said with angry eyes.

Guy did not answer and for some way they rode in silence, through the lands of Koet Kandek—desolate, forlorn, with no sign of living plant or flower to right or left.

Suddenly Guy turned to his companion: "Seeing you are his friend, the Prince bath not done much for you," he said. "Leaving you still leader of hired soldiers—find you fortune slow in coming, Captain?"

"Fortune?" said Kristopher, speaking as if roused from thoughts of other things. "That, Messire, I have long given up the seeking of, and it's a save of heartache!"

"A soldier without ambition!" said Montauban. "What use is your sword if not as a lever to rise with?"

"It earns me bread," said Kristopher, with defiant eyes. "It gets me a living and keeps me from sinking to some valet's place—it's a leader of mercenaries you're talking to, Sir Guy, an' no knight errant, and it's just for the living I get, I serve, and not for glory."

Guy glanced at him furtively.

"Lord Verdun of Valence," he said softly. "Is all your ambition quite dead?"

"St George!" cried Kristopher, and his clear skin flushed scarlet. "You know that?"

"That and more," was the answer. "I know why you keep your name hid, Lord Verdun, and why you ride here now, a hired soldier."

The colour faded from Kristopher's face.

"How came you to know?" he said, staring at Guy, who leaned nearer.

"I met one who knew you at the court of England, when you were high in power," he answered, keeping his eyes on the other. "Before—you were banished."

Kristopher's face showed white as linen in the dusk. He laughed bitterly.

"Well?" he asked defiantly.

"Is it true?" questioned Guy, as if astonished. "You are he who was banished from England as a traitor—for selling your country to the French—five years ago?"

Kristopher clinched his hands tight upon his bridle and kept his gaze fixed before him.

"Yes," he said, "It's true. I am he."

"Ah!" cried Guy triumphantly. "I will give you back the place that you have lost, Lord Verdun."

Kristopher turned fiercely with flaming eyes.

"That name's dead," he said, "and on all this earth there is no man can give me back what I have lost."

"Leave the name then," said Guy easily. "Listen to me, Captain Kristopher."

"I am Prince Gilles' friend," cried Kristopher, "and I will hear naught against him."

"Is your honour grown so nice of late?" asked Guy calmly. "You sold your country—couldn't you sell your friend, Captain Kristopher?"

"Dear Lord!" said Kristopher under his breath through set teeth; then he was silent and Montauban spoke again.

"Gilles leaves his betrothed behind," said Guy de Montauban, "fair and penniless—Françoise de Dinan—a heartless lady and an ambitious, who cares for him no more than she would for any man who brought her rank—are you listening?"

Kristopher was silent, motionless, looking in front of him.

"Françoise de Dinan will be my wife," continued Guy. "And Gilles stays in England till she is wedded."

Kristopher turned as if about to break out passionately but still remained silent.

"There is nothing to hinder me," continued Guy. "I can do anything with the Duke—easily enough will he take back his promise."

"And the lady?" said Kristopher hoarsely. "The lady?"

"Cares nothing for anyone—and now—is the richest heiress in Brittany or France."

Kristopher stared blankly.

"Robert de Dinan is dead," whispered Guy, in an excitement he could not repress. "And his son—I was at Chateaubriand, the Sieur de Dinan and his son were drowned—gone down in a storm—all were lost and among them these two—the lords of Dinan—and so Gilles' betrothed is the richest marriage in France. You see now, Captain Kristopher?"

"I see," answered Kristopher, without turning his head. "God help Prince Gilles!"

"You help me, Captain Kristopher," said Guy, and he put out his thin hand, touching the other's arm. "Help me win the lady and her fortune, help me keep Gilles in England—and Lord Verdun of Valence may make his fortune yet."

Kristopher shuddered, looking steadily in front of him.

"You have no scruples?" asked Montauban, scornful at sight of the other's face. "A man who betrayed his country may well betray his friend—what did the French pay you? I will double it, Captain Kristopher."

Kristopher shook him off passionately.

"Get you gone, Sieur," he said, with wild wide-open eyes. "I will ride to Rennes alone, not in the company of such as you—get you gone!"

It was raining fast, a blinding drizzle; Guy drew his cloak closer round him with an angry laugh.

"I am Guy de Montauban," he said. "These words come ill from an outcast!"

At this Kristopher looked him straight in the eyes, then he laughed, so suddenly that Guy was taken aback.

"I will give you others then," he flashed. "You're a poor, mean knave, Sieur, and not worth the snap of an honest man's fingers, and Gilles left me in charge of the lady—and she'll be true for all that it's you are the Duke's favourite—an outcast, say you?—I' faith, you talk of what you know nothing of—there never was a Verdun yet who smirched his name, an' given I'm the last of them there never will be."

Kristopher had a pleasant and soft way of speaking, a certain charm of words and voice that fascinated; that fascinated Guy now, spite of the fire and anger in Kristopher's tones.

He looked at him curiously.

"You have a tongue should have kept you your position," he said, "and an insolence I will remember at a more fitting time. Throw aside your chance as you will! I will wed the lady without you."

"Never," said Kristopher fiercely. "Never as I live! It's the Prince himself trusted me."

"Which is the greater fool—the Prince or you?" sneered Guy. "The Prince who thinks Françoise de Dinan loves him and makes a friendship with such as you—or you—to talk to me—like this?"

But Kristopher was suddenly swaying on his saddle, in a perfect frenzy of fury, and Montauban drew back from the bared recklessness of his eyes.

"Fool, say you, Sieur!" he cried. "Sure you're the fool—and a mean, pitiable fool, an' might a gentleman soil his hands a-breaking your neck it's I would do it—you, a carrier of scandal and a picker up of lies, getting great by another man's favour—proud blood I come of—an' never yet did I pledge my honour for nothing—and I pledged it to Prince Gilles—"

"You!" interrupted Guy, white with rage. "Your honour!"

"And has never an innocent man been banished before this?" flashed Kristopher. "Look at me and say I was a traitor!"

"It is your trade to lie and show a frank face," said Montauban, scornfully. He drew a whistle from his belt. "You think more is to be made by the Prince than by me," he added. "Fool, I have all Brittany behind me—in a month Françoise de Dinan will be my wife."

"Not in a year—or thrice three years," said Kristopher proudly. "An' thanking God I'll be for a woman's true heart that'll defeat your plots and your guiles."

Montauban laughed softly.

"Maybe her heart will change with her fortunes—maybe she will forget Prince Gilles."

"And I will remind her," said Kristopher. "Were to-morrow the blessed judgment day tonight I'd spend in the Prince's service."

They had gained a little clearing of crumbling earth through which a sunken stream ran muddily, the banks were grown with strange weeds of sickly hues and fungi of unwholesome tints, poisonously brilliant. Until now both leaders had been too angrily absorbed to heed their way, but Guy blew his whistle and summoned up his men.

"My thanks for the lifting of your company," said Kristopher and his eyes showed like jewels in his flushed face. "Pleasanter the road will be without a knave's converse." Then he laughed, showing his white teeth. "I' faith, little you gained that time, like the Devil in the fairy tale, you went a-fishing with a broken net and it's not the fish will cry over it—"

And Kristopher Fassiferne laughed again, and cantered back to his own band, leaving Guy looking after him through the rain and the gathering dark.

At a steady pace the fifty mercenaries turned on the road to Rennes; all the laugh had gone from their leader's face. He crushed his gloves together in his hands and shuddered violently, looking ahead with straining eyes.

"Sweet St Kate!" he murmured once, "have pity on me!" Then again with a little gasp, "Sweet Lord—help me!"

It rained steadily, incessantly: men and horses were soaked through, the water was running off Kristopher's cap and streaming down his faded scarlet cloak—to right and left—before and behind—gray—nothing but gray—Montauban was quickly lost to sight, not a bird or a flower—nothing but weeds, dead and wet, straight and spiked, and broken boughs, bare trees, and flat dull blue rocks—and ahead, to the side of the road a great wood, dense even now, though the trees were leafless. At a gallop they were sweeping past, when Kristopher reined up his horse suddenly, and his followers stopped—fearfully.

"What was that?" said Captain Kristopher.

The men listened in a strained silence.

Only the drip of the rain and the pant of the streaming horses.

Kristopher turned in the saddle and looked toward the dark forest, rising lonesome and eerie with a white ribbon of a road twisting into it.

"'Twas nothing," said Robin.

"Hush," said Kristopher.

From the direction of the wood came a long, low cry rising slowly and dying away.

"Is it a human voice?" asked Kristopher.

"Dear Lord! No!" cried Robin, crossing himself. "'Tis the ghost of the unblessed!"

Suddenly the cry was repeated, and Kristopher flung himself from his horse.

"It is some one in distress!" he said, "an' a woman!"

Shrill it came again through the damp evening air. It was nearly dark and the men looked askance at the dim trees and the lone path through them, but Kristopher ran swiftly toward the wood and entered it. Presently the long, low wail rose again now—and Kristopher turned to motion his men up, only to find he could no longer see them. The undergrowth was dense and thick and for a moment he stood irresolute—then at another sound—the low baying of dogs, plunged through the dead leaves and suddenly found himself on a well-worn road, evidently running straight through the forest.

And down it came a single horseman followed by a pack of white dogs, glimmering, visible.

Kristopher, hidden in the dead foliage and the trunks, paused, half believing he looked on something unearthly.

But there came laughter and voices that were very human, as the cry he had heard was answered, and other horses and riders came through the trees, as if meeting and welcoming the first-comer.

Some of the advancing party carried lanterns, among them was a woman who rode first, next to the horseman Who led the dogs.

Her lantern showed a striped orange cloak and a sharp pretty face that teased Kristopher with a sense of being familiar; she was talking to her companion, who wiped his sword and laughed.

As they came nearer, Kristopher saw his face thrown up in the circle of the lantern light, a handsome, indolent face, the handsomest and most unpleasant he thought he had ever seen.

He was near a giant in size, this rider, but his face was framed in long curls like a woman's, and he wore not armour, but velvet and jewels.

As Kristopher gazed they swept past him, riding faster, but though they were gone quickly he caught the name the woman gave her companion when she spoke:

"Enguerrand."

At their heels the dogs hurried, and a few men, fierce, ill-clad, then the forest swallowed them up again and Kristopher stood alone, cursing himself for the utter folly of dashing away from his men.

He made no doubt they were wandering robbers or pillaging soldiers, returning to one of the vast châteaux thereabouts, and, as he pushed on resolutely down the well-worn paths, would have banished them from his thoughts, had not the woman's face haunted him, still with that sense of a likeness to some other face.

There was no hope of finding his men that night. Kristopher, grown weary, hardly cared, they would find their way to Rennes alone as he must.

Suddenly the road grew wider and stopped before a cluster of houses. In a moment more Kristopher could distinguish a sign hanging from the nearest, and making his way to the door knocked on it loudly.