Читать книгу Cardillac - Robert Barr - Страница 6

Table of Contents

Cardillac, alertly on his guard, walked cautiously the length of the lane and satisfied himself that no one else was lurking within its limits. He scrutinised the one door on the left-hand side that led to the palace grounds, and also examined with care the half-dozen or more entrances that communicated with the smaller houses ranged along the right-hand side. The alley was not as dark as he had expected, for the numerous lights in the upper stories of the rear of the palace threw a dim radiance upon the uneven cobble-stones that paved the farther side of the narrow thoroughfare, which in some measure mitigated the obscurity of that portion of the lane which ran along the foot of the palace wall.

Into the embrasure formed by one of the recessed doorways on the right-hand side Cardillac felt his way with noiseless care. Silently he tried the door itself, but found it barred or locked. He now placed his back against it, assured that if any treachery were intended, the door could not be opened suddenly without his shoulders giving him some hint of the unfastening within. Stealthily he drew his sword from its scabbard, placing the latter under his left arm, holding the blade in a horizontal position ready for instant attack or defence. In the gloom of his ambush, he was invisible to any passer-by, yet his eyes, now accustomed to the murk, could see the postern door dimly on the opposite side of the way. His only danger, as he fancied, was that some person with a key might attempt to enter from the lane the house at his back, and the young man smiled grimly as he thought of that person's astonishment as he met the point of a sword.

The stillness was complete; all Paris seemed to be asleep, and one by one the lights in the upper stories of the great building opposite him were going out. He stood there rigid, scarcely venturing to breathe deeply, and in his suspense it appeared that time had stopped, or else the guardians of it in the various church steeples had forgotten to mark its passing by the ringing of their bells.

Finally, however, the half-hour struck, and promptly to the moment the postern gate opened. The watcher recognised Tresor as he stepped across the threshold, looking up and down the lane. The old man made a slight motion with one hand, and Cardillac distinctly heard him whisper:

"Sir, the way is clear."

A cloaked figure stepped out into the lane.

"God be with you!" ejaculated the pious Tresor, in accents of the deepest respect.

The man in the cloak made no answer to the well-wishing so fervently expressed, but keeping close to the wall, surrounded by its shadow, he moved off in the direction from which Cardillac had entered the lane.

This impatient young man emerged from under the porch, stepped across into the shadow, and followed swiftly but cautiously. Tresor had withdrawn into the grounds of the palace; the door was closed, but the old man put his eye to the little wicket in the panel, and if Cardillac could have seen his face, he must have noticed that humble and ingratiating smile with which the man of Avignon had so often illumined his unimpassioned conversation of that afternoon.

Too intent on following the movements of his quarry to care who smiled and who did not, Cardillac kept the cloak in sight. It led him through devious and deserted ways, hitherto unknown to him. The man in front was evidently determined to avoid all public thoroughfares, preferring to run the risk of encounters with dangerous marauders who might be prowling about these dark, unpopular thoroughfares. Cardillac still carried his scabbard under his arm, so that it could not clatter upon the cobble-stones and give warning to the pedestrian in advance. It was evident that the latter was doing the same, or, a most unlikely supposition, was unarmed, for he traversed the deserted streets with the silence of a ghost. Seeing the way in front broaden somewhat at a place where a lamp hanging from an ornamental wrought-iron bracket fixed to the wall formed an oasis of light in a desert of darkness, Cardillac strode rapidly forward, and overtook the pursued directly under the lamp, which cast its rays impartially on each of them.

"Son of a corn-chandler!" he cried. "Low-born scion of an ignoble race! I would bestow a favour upon you. Although a sword in the hand of a king may confer nobility on even the vilest, yet this blade in the hands of a gentleman, when run through your body, will give you a better death than your origin deserves. Do not thank me, sir, but stand on guard!"

This speech, which Cardillac had spent the evening in composing, proved too long for the occasion. It rolled from his tongue with all the fluency of his eloquent Gascony, but his antagonist answered not a word. The stranger turned to the right-about-face with the celerity of a soldier at the word of command. His sword was in his right hand, and his sheath fell with a metallic clank upon the stones. Without a sound he immediately thrust forth with the venom of a viper.

The young man was taken completely by surprise. He had struck a pose picturesque to behold, had there been any onlookers—a pose well suited to the words he employed; but to avoid that vivid thrust he was compelled to abandon this attitude with such haste that legs and scabbard became intermixed, and he fell backwards just in time to escape being impaled through the breast.

Nimble as a wildcat, Cardillac scrambled to hands and knees, unhooking as he did so the scabbard from his belt, and flinging it clattering behind him on the stones. Erect once more, he tore the throat fastenings from his cloak, and allowed it to drop from him. Then he felt the red-hot sting of a gigantic wasp in his left arm between the shoulder and the elbow. The second onslaught of his adversary had not proved so futile as the first.

"Ventre Saint Gris!" cried the young man, once more springing back as the other pressed him. "You've done just what Tresor said you would."

This remark seemed to increase his enemy's fury, but Cardillac's legs were now firmly supporting his lithe body, unencumbered with cloak or scabbard, and the third angry lunge was easily parried.

"Stand back," he cried joyfully, "until I get the light in your face. I am going to reoccupy the ground I so hastily abandoned. Back, I say! Give way!" and as the other did not, he pricked him in the shoulder.

The man, who had not spoken since the encounter began, retreated a step.

"Another, if you please," demanded Cardillac, somewhat breathlessly, but with politeness.

That which the man with his back to the light refused to do voluntarily he, for the second time, did under compulsion. Another prick of the sword point, which made him wince, caused him to take the step backward that had been required of him. Cardillac was playing with him, and seemed determined to convince his victim of the contest's hopelessness ere he brought it to a termination.

"I beg of you, sir, to favour me by taking a third step to the rear," panted the young man. "You must admit that my proposal is quite a fair one, which is to distribute the light above us into two equal shares. Your face is still covered with darkness, while mine is in plain sight. I am convinced that another retreating step will give me the equality which I lost when you treacherously set upon me after I gave you the warning to be on guard."

For the first time the defeated man spoke.

"You talk of treachery, you dog, and servant of a dog!" he gasped, and bitter as were his words, his voice showed him to be approaching the last stages of exhaustion.

"Your language, sir, betrays your humble origin, but I will not cavil at it. The immediate point at issue between us is the third step backwards. Take it, I beg of you, otherwise it is your throat you must guard; and remember that an incision there is a much more delicate operation than a touch on either shoulder."

"Stop! A parley; a parley! I wish a word with you, sir!"

"Not so!" cried Cardillac. "A parley is all to my disadvantage, as well you know. The watch may interrupt us at any moment. Besides, you did me the honour to run me through the arm, and my sleeve is filled with blood. I have, therefore, on two counts not a moment to spare; to keep my promise to you, and run my blade through your treacherous heart."

"For the second time you speak of treachery. You are a cut-throat, or a cut-purse, which?"

"Neither, sir, but a more honourable adversary than you deserve. I implore you, sir, to compliment me by defending yourself with greater skill than you are doing. You seem determined to put upon me the taint of assassin that hangs over you. You are as helpless, sir, as if you were unarmed. I do not wish to kill you as you killed Concini."

As he spoke, the other's sword dropped ringing to the cobble-stones. The man spread out his empty arms.

"I do not understand your language, sir, but finish your work as quickly as you please, and get back for your hire. Allow me one offer, however, that may reach your covetous or necessitous soul. I will take your own word for the amount, and pay you within half an hour double the sum that Luynes gives you for my murder. Furthermore, within the half hour I shall supply you with one of the fastest horses in France. It is not yet midnight, and before daybreak you will have outdistanced all possible pursuers, and be free from the vengeance of Luynes. Once beyond Loches you are safe, if you take to the west.

"I do not underestimate the service I ask of you, nor the danger to which you would be committing yourself if you accept my offer; therefore double, treble or quadruple the sum I will pay you. Of course you make an enemy of Luynes, that treacherous hound, who dare not face his foes, but must use the musket or the blade of an assassin. But if you join the ranks of his enemies, I will give you letters to Epernon in Loches. You must keep to the north side of the Loire, make a wide circuit around Blois, cross the river between there and Tours, for in either town Luynes is strong; but once the river is crossed, make direct for Loches, and you are safe."

During this appeal, which was jerked forth in detached phrases, as if the speaker's breath were well-nigh exhausted, the unarmed man stepped back two paces, and the light fell on his face. It showed Cardillac the pallid, haggard countenance of one at least fifty years of age. No disguise that a young man could have used was sufficiently subtle to simulate the expression of age, fatigue and anxiety that met the Gascon's gaze, as he stood there with sword lowered until its point touched the ground.

"There is a mistake here," he cried, "and treachery to us both, as I surmise. I am no assassin, nor the tool of an assassin, unless it be unconsciously. My name is Cardillac of Gascony. Whom have I been fighting?"

"I am the Duke de Montreuil."

"But you came from the palace of Luynes at half-past ten to-night. Tresor saw you out by the postern door, and he blessed you with his benediction."

"That is true. Luynes has done me a foul wrong. He has placed me in a position out of which I seem unable to extricate myself. My appointment with him to-night was for the purpose of making terms with him, but his conditions are such that I could not accept them. The emissary of Luynes assured me safe conduct if I came in secret, unattended, entering and leaving by the back door. When you accosted and attacked me, I did him and you the injustice of thinking the encounter a planned assassination."

"I am not so sure that you are wrong," returned Cardillac, who had unfastened the cuff of his left sleeve, and, with a motion of the arm that caused him to grimace with pain, scattered the blood in crimson drops upon the pavement. "Tresor told me this afternoon that Luynes would leave the postern gate alone at half-past ten. He knew that the Dictator had insulted me, and that I desired nothing on earth so much as to meet him sword in hand. He made this meeting inevitable by assuring me, with that crafty smile of his, that Luynes would spare my life by running me through the arm. I have proved myself but a country imbecile in the hands of such a knave."

Cardillac staggered a little from weakness caused by hunger and loss of blood.

"You must come with me. It is but a step now to my house. My physician will attend to your wound."

"No, no, 'tis but a scratch."

"I think," said the duke, "that my sword passed through your arm."

"It is nothing, I assure you. You merely proved yourself a rough surgeon, my lord, and your diagnosis was right. I needed a little blood-letting. 'Twill do me good. All that remains is for me to beg your pardon, and take myself off to my lodgings. I hope to make sure of Monsieur de Luynes on the next occasion."

The nobleman thought his mind and body were beginning to wander, and that the young man was losing his grip on each.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, approaching him.

"My scabbard. I thought I had set it down here somewhere."

"'Tis there behind you, also your cloak."

The duke picked up his own discarded sword, and watched the young fellow narrowly, proffering no assistance. He was evidently still far from sure of him.

Cardillac attempted to secure his scabbard, but, stooping, fell forward on one knee. With a slight laugh, he made the pretence that this altitude was intended, as, with uncertain hand, and a large consumption of time, he hooked the scabbard to the belt. Without getting up, he reached for his cloak, then, with a sigh, rolled over upon it, and lay there.

The duke strode forward, and knelt by the side of the unconscious man. The hanging lamp shone down upon a youthful face of ghastly pallor; the parted lips were blue, the teeth clenched as if in agony when oblivion overtook him. His lordship brought forth a small flask, but, before attempting to administer the stimulant, became aware of a sound that startled him.

He sprang once more to his feet, concealed the flask, and listened. Up the narrow lane came the measured tramp of men. He turned as if to leave Cardillac to his fate—to the fate brought on by his own hot-blooded impetuosity; but marching men were coming down from the other end of the lane also, the two parties converging upon him. There flashed upon the nobleman's mind the King's recent edict against duels.

"Mille diables! Trapped, as I am a sinner!" muttered the duke. "Luynes has laid his plans well. If one treachery failed, the next was to succeed."

He wiped his red blade on the fallen man's cloak, thrust the sword into its sheath, and stood there awaiting the meeting of the two companies.

"I arrest you in the King's name!" cried the approaching officer loudly. "Attempt no resistance."

There were a dozen uniformed men in each squad. They came to a simultaneous halt, leaving between them a lamp-lit square of cobbled pavement, in the centre of which one man lay prone and bleeding, while the other stood beside him.