The Scourge of God: A Romance of Religious Persecution
at least. You know what he and that devil incarnate, Richelieu, did
here in the south, did at Rochelle?"
"I know," Martin replied. "Alas! all the world knows. Yet it must have
been after his time that Cyprien de Beauvilliers, as he then was, came
here."
"If he came," said Cavalier, "he came under another guise, a mask;
under another name. And it is long ago; you will never find him."
"I fear not."
"Moreover, even should you do so, of what avail to you, to him? Will
Louis disgorge the de Rochebazon wealth, will the Church of Rome
release one dernier of what she has clutched? Monsieur, you have flung
your fortune away for a shadow, a chimera, since you yourself will
never get it now. Better have taken it, have got back to your own
land, have enjoyed it in peace."
"It would have been treachery to the dead--to her who believed in me
and died deeming that I was a true child of her own faith. And," he
added, "she was a good woman in spite of that faith."
Cavalier glanced at him, then shrugged his shoulders. Yet as he turned
away he muttered:
"I begin to understand why your country is so great, so prosperous.
Understand! if all Englishmen are like you."
That conversation was not to end thus, however, with a delicate
compliment to Martin's honour, since, ere Cavalier had strode many
paces from him, he came back and, taking a seat by his side in the
great cavern where they then were, began to talk to him about the
future hopes of the Protestant cause, in Languedoc especially. "We
shall win," he said, "we shall win! What we want, which after all is
not much for Louis to grant, we must have: Freedom to worship as we
choose, freedom from paying taxes for a Church we have revolted from,
freedom to come and go out of France as we desire. Let Louis grant
that and I will place at his disposal so fine a regiment that none of
his dragoons or _chevaux-légers_ shall be our superiors. None! He
shall say to me what he said to Jean Bart, the sailor."
"What did he say to him?"
"He sent for Jean Bart one day at Versailles, received him among all
his grinning, shoulder-shrugging courtiers, and, looking on Jean and
his rough, simple comrades, said, 'Bart, _mon ami_, you have done more
for me than all my admirals.' And I love Bart for his reply when,
casting his eyes round on all the admirals and captains who stood in
the throng, he answered, '_Mon Dieu! je crois bien_. Without doubt!
That is, if these _petits crevés_ are your admirals and captains.'"
Martin smiled at the little story, then he said:
"I would to God your cause, my own faith, could prosper here. We have
gone through much stress ourselves to make it secure and safe in
England. Discarded our king, who was of the family more dearly loved
in England than any that have ever sat on her throne, yet we were
forced to do it. But the Protestants of England can make a stronger
boast than those of your land, Monsieur Cavalier. They alone have
suffered; they never retaliated as you have done."
"As we were forced to retaliate," he exclaimed, striking the table in
his excitement. "My God! think of what we have suffered. And not our
men alone, but our wives, our sisters, our old mothers. Have you ever
seen a gray-haired woman stripped and beaten in a market place? Have
you ever seen a young innocent girl stretched naked on a wheel, the
shame of her exposure even more frightful than the blows of _la
massue?_ Have you ever stood on board a galley laden with Protestant
slaves or smelled the burning flesh of old men at the stake? We have,
we of these mountain deserts, and--and--my God!" while even as he
spoke he wept, brushing the tears from his eyes fiercely, "I wonder
that that girl, Urbaine Ducaire, is still alive, Protestant though she
be. Wonder she is spared, since she is the loved treasure of that
tiger, Baville."
"Protestant though she be!" Martin repeated. "You know that? From some
surer source than the divinations, the revelations of La Grande
Marie?"
"I know it," Cavalier said, facing round suddenly on him, "I know it
now for certain. Ducaire was a Protestant living at Mont Joyre. I have
discovered all. And I curse the discovery! For otherwise we would have
repaid Baville a thousandfold for all his crimes, wrung his
heartstrings as he has wrung ours for years, slaughtered his pet lamb
as he has slaughtered hundreds of ours. But she is a Protestant,
therefore safe."
"When will you release her, let her return to him?"
"Ho! _la, la!_" the other replied. "That must be thought upon. Even
now she is a great hostage in our hands, a card that may win the
trick. And--and--you and she are very intimate; yet can I tell you
something without fear of its being repeated to her?"
"I will respect any confidence you place in me so long as it thrusts
not against her welfare."
"It will not do that. Yet listen. Ere she leaves us there is something
to be told her as regards Baville's friendship for her father,
Ducaire. And, when she has heard that, it may be she will never wish
to return to him, to set eyes on her beloved Intendant again."
"My God! What is to become of her then?"
For reply Cavalier only laughed. Then he said:
"There is always a home for any Protestant here, and she can not
complain of how we have treated her. I think myself she will elect to
stay with us, unless----"
"Unless?"
"Something more tempting offers," and again he laughed. "She might,
monsieur will understand, fall in love. With--say--some hero."
For a moment Martin wondered if Cavalier alluded to himself; in
another he _knew_ that he did so. There was no mistaking the glance in
the Camisard's eyes. But he gave him no opportunity of saying anything
further on the subject, asking instead if he might be confided in with
regard to the strange story which, when told to Urbaine, was to quench
every spark of love and affection in her heart for Baville, the man
who, with all his faults, had cherished and loved her so fondly.
"No, monsieur," Cavalier replied. "That can not be--as yet. Later you
will doubtless know all, know the reason why Urbaine Ducaire should
change her love for him to an undying hate. Meanwhile I have to ask a
favour of you."
"A favour? What is there in my power to do?"
"This: The power to help us end this war--you, a Protestant, an
Englishman."
"I can not understand. God knows I desire nothing better."
"_Soit!_ Then aid us. Thus: The English agent is at Nîmes, disguised.
He passes under the name of Flottard, and has plans for the use of
your admiral, who will bring his fleet to Cette or Toulon when the
time is ripe. Unfortunately, however, this man, this _soi-disant_
Flottard, has not the French very clearly. As for us--poor weavers,
carders, husbandmen--what should we know of other tongues? We can not
speak a word of your language. Monsieur Martin, you are a Protestant,
an Englishman. Before God I think you English the greatest of all.
Help us, help us to be free without more bloodshed, to worship the
Almighty as we see fit, to bow our necks no more before the Scourge of
God. Help us! Help us!" he repeated, "us of your own faith."
Stirred to the heart's core by the man's appeal, though he scarce
needed such impulse, every fibre in him, every drop of blood in his
veins, tingling for those of his own faith, of his own loved religion,
he answered quietly, saying again:
"What I can do I will," and adding, also quietly, "or die in the
attempt."
CHAPTER XXII.
I LOVE YOU.
Urbaine and Martin sat together on that night which followed the sunny
afternoon when they had been alone together on the promontory, in one
of the smaller caverns that opened out of the large one--a cavern
which, of late, Cavalier had used as that in which they ate their
meals--Roland, who shared with him the position of chief of the
Camisards (and indeed claimed to be the absolute chief), being rarely
in this part of the mountains. To-night, however, Cavalier was absent
too, he having gone on one of those terribly dangerous visits to the
valleys which he periodically made, sometimes to spy into what the
following of Baville were doing, or what the king's troops; or to head
some sanguinary raid upon a place where arms or ammunition, food or
clothes, were likely to be obtained.
But to-night he had gone forth on a different mission: to precede
Martin on his way to Nîmes, to see if all the mountain passes were
free of their enemies and, should such be the case, to conduct him
into the city, there to have an interview with the English agent.
Therefore Urbaine and Martin were alone together, save for the
Camisard woman who waited upon them at their meal, and who did not
obtrude herself more than was necessary into the cavern they were in.
As with the larger one and with those which each of them used as their
sleeping apartment, its furnishing and surroundings would have created
intense astonishment to any of the outside world who should have been
able to observe it. Hung with skins in some places, with rich and
costly tapestry and arras in others, all of which were the results of
successful forays upon châteaux and _manoirs_ which, a few hours after
the raids, were nothing but smoking ruins, the onlooker might well
have believed that, instead of a natural vault originally fashioned by
Nature's own hands, he stood within the hall of some ancient feudal
castle, such as the De Rohans or the Ruvignys had once possessed in
the vicinity. Also he might have thought that the table at which those
two sat was one prepared for the reception of guests at Versailles.
A table covered with the whitest napery, on which sparkled many pieces
of the prized _vaisselles_ of the _noblesse_ and the _haut-monde_, so
prized, indeed, that laws and edicts had been passed preventing the
sale of such things or their transposition from one family to another;
adorned as well with _verres-fins_, and with silver-handled knives and
silver forks. Also for provisions there were upon this table a
_poularde_ and the remains of a choice ham, a bottle of Ginestoux and
another of Lunel, a silver basketful of delicate, white chipped bread,
and a crystal bowl of mountain fruit. Yet the glass and the silver
bore no two crests alike. The arms that were broidered on the napery
represented still a third family. All was spoil torn from half a dozen
ruined and sacked mansions.
"I pray God, mademoiselle," Martin said, after having in vain pressed
his companion to eat more than the shred of _poularde_ she had trifled
with, and to drink at least one glass of the Ginestoux, "that this
task on which I go may end all your grief. You know that Cavalier
promises on my return, our object accomplished, to allow me to take
you away from here, to return you in safety to your father's--to M.
Baville's arms."
"Yes," she answered, looking up at him, "yes, to return me to my
father's arms."
"You will pray, therefore, for my success? It means all you can most
desire, all that you can hope for till these troubles are past. Once
back in his house, no further harm can come near you; you are safe
with him. Nay, even though he were in danger through any further
success of theirs, you are still safe. They deem you one of
themselves."
"I will pray," she said, "for your success, your prosperity, now and
forever--for all that you may undertake. Yet--yet--do you know?--I
have almost ceased to pray at all now."
"Oh, oh, God forbid!" he exclaimed, his heart wrung by her words.
"To whom am I to pray? What am I, how am I to approach Him? If I am a
Protestant I must pray for his, my father's, downfall; if a Catholic,
for the destruction of what I----" She did not finish her sentence,
but added instead: "Best never utter prayer at all; forget that from