The Scourge of God: A Romance of Religious Persecution
the deep chimney to the room above a comely woman standing, the little
child clasped in her arms, her face distorted with terror, her voice
shrieking that he was a murderer, an assassin.
A comely woman then, now an old one and before him, there, in the body
of the Court.
What if she and Urbaine should meet? What if they had met?
The doomed man, the man upon whom Amédée Beauplan was about to
pronounce sentence, had said that Cavalier had discovered those who
knew her father, Urbain Ducaire. Was she one of those whom the
Camisard chief had discovered, and had she told all?
"Is he mad?" some in the Court asked again, while others answered,
"More like stricken with remorse or fear." Yet surely not the latter,
since now he repeated his last words referring to the sentence.
"Pronounce--it."
Yet with his eyes never off that woman's face.
A moment later and it was done; the sentence delivered, even as it had
been delivered again and again in Nîmes and Avignon, Montpellier and
Alais within the last few months by red-robed legal functionaries,
and, in countless bourgs and villages, by rough soldiers acting as
judges. A sentence of death by the flames before the _Beau Dieu_ of
the cathedral, to take place at the time ordered by the King's
representative, Baville. The ashes afterward to be scattered to the
winds.
Yet, as Amédée Beauplan's voice ceased, others were heard in the
Court, rising above all the noise made by the movement of the
spectators passing out into the street, by the orders shouted from
officers to men to clear that Court, and by the loud murmurings either
of approbation or disapproval which were heard.
"It will never take place," one clear, high-toned voice was heard
above all others to cry, "never. Ere it does, Nîmes shall be consumed
to ashes."
And Martin, turning as the warders prepared to take him back to his
cell, saw from whose lips that cry had come. From Cavalier, the man
dressed in russet-brown and with his features hidden by the long black
wig.
Perhaps, too, Baville suspected who might be the utterer of that
ominous threat, for now he rose from his seat once more, again he
stood erect and commanding; except for his pallor, which still
remained, he was himself as ever.
"Stop!" he cried, his voice ringing like a clarion above all the other
sounds, the shuffling of feet, the murmurings and mutterings, and the
clank of sabres; "stop and hear my words!" And seeing that all eyes
were turned toward him, he continued, his tones as firm and unshaken
as though the events of the past hour had had no actual existence:
"In this hall to-day are present--I know it well--many who are rebels
to the King's, to my authority. Men whose lives are forfeit even as
the lives of countless others have been forfeited. Enough! To-day they
are safe. This Court is open, but for to-day only. Let those rebels
therefore take heed. For so sure as there is a God above us, so sure
as I, Baville, Intendant of Languedoc and representative of his
Majesty, stand here, those rebels who are found in this city at
nightfall shall follow the same road their brethren have trod before
them. You have called me the Tiger of Languedoc, and, by the splendour
of Heaven, a tiger you shall still find me. Till rebellion is crushed
forever from out this province, so long as I live, never will I spare
one who takes up arms against the anointed King of France. Now," and
he sank back on to his chair, "begone all of you out of Nîmes.
To-night I cause a house-to-house visitation to be made--ay! a search
from room to room. Those found here die. Begone, therefore, while
there is yet time."
Then, without waiting to hear what answer might be made to his threats
by any in the crowd, he rose and, passing to the heavily curtained
door which led from out the Court, left them. Yet ere he did so, and
even while the attendants held back that curtain for him to pass
through, he paused once and, facing all there, gazed on them calmly.
A moment later he was gone; gone without hearing the curses and
objurgations muttered by many lips, the loud "Brava" which Montrevel
gave utterance to, or the little rippling laugh that issued from
Léonie Sabbat's lips as again she struck her unwilling neighbour on
the shoulder with her white hand and exclaimed, "_Avec tout, il est
superbe_."
Had she seen him, however, the instant after the heavily figured arras
had fallen behind him, she might have deemed he was less strong and
masterful than she had a moment before grudgingly allowed him to be.
For even as he passed down the passage which led to the door at which
his heavily-gilt state-coach awaited him, an exact facsimile of that
in which Le Roi Soleil himself travelled from Versailles to Marly or
from St. Germain to Fontainebleau, he walked unsteadily and his white
brow was moist and damp.
"If she should have met Urbaine," he muttered as he passed along the
passage, "or if she should meet her, and tell all!"
CHAPTER XXIX.
"HER FATHER'S MURDERER."
"I have not yet decided," Baville said that night to Beauplan as they
sat together in the new citadel, "when the sentence will be carried
out. Have my doubts as to whether I shall not release him."
"Release him!" the other echoed. "Release him! Such a thing is unheard
of. He, an Englishman, a consorter with the Camisards, a man under the
ban of Versailles! Surely you would not dare----"
"Dare!" exclaimed Baville, though very quietly, "dare! Monsieur
Beauplan, you forget yourself. Since I have ruled in Languedoc no man
has _dared_ to use that word to me before."
"Yet," said the judge, a member of an ancient family in the south, who
had always rebelled against the authority of this stranger to the
customs, as well as the _noblesse_, of Languedoc, "though none here
may question your authority, there are those in the capital who can do
so."
"There are. But you are not of the number. Monsieur Beauplan, I have
nothing more to say. I wish you a good-night."
"I understand," Beauplan replied, "understand very well. And your
conduct is natural; also natural that there should be an exchange of
prisoners, that your child's release should depend upon his. Yet
beware, Monsieur l'Intendant! I was at Versailles two months ago, as
you know, and--and--they said----" and he hesitated a moment while a
slight smile came into his face.
"What did they say?"
"That not only might a substitute he sent in place of Montrevel, but
of----"
"Baville! Is that it?"
"It is that."
"The substitute to be, perhaps, Amédée Beauplan."
"Nay, that is impossible, as you are aware. In Languedoc none can rule
as Intendant who are of the province. Yet I warn you, if you set free
this man even in the desire to obtain the freedom of Urbaine Ducaire,
neither Chamillart nor Madame de Maintenon will forgive."
"You mean well, doubtless," Baville replied, "yet I shall act as I see
best. Beauplan, you have children of your own, also a high post. If
the life of one of your girls were balanced against that post, which
should you prefer to protect?"
To this the judge made no answer, leaving the Intendant alone a moment
afterward. Yet, as he sought his own great sumptuous coach, he
acknowledged that, much as he detested Baville, what he was
undoubtedly about to do was natural.
Left alone, the other took from his pocket a paper and glanced at it
as, before the judge had appeared in his room, he had glanced at it a
dozen times--a paper on which were written only a few words. They ran:
"Urbaine Ducaire will be restored unharmed to none other than the
Englishman sentenced to death to-day. If he dies she dies too. Nothing
can save her, even though she is a Huguenot. Decide, therefore, and
decide quickly." And it was signed "Jean Cavalier."
"So," he mused, "he was in the Court to-day, or sent this message by
one of his followers, knowing well what the sentence would be. Yet the
decision was made ere this paper was smuggled in here, God knows how!
It needed not this to determine me."
He struck upon the bell by his side as he thus reflected, and, on the
servant appearing in answer to it, he asked:
"How came this paper here which I found upon my table?" and he touched
with his finger the letter from Cavalier.
"It was left, monsieur, by a woman."
"A woman! Of what description?"
"Old, monsieur, gray and worn. She said, monsieur, that it was of the
first importance. A matter of life and death."
Again, as the lackey spoke, there came that feeling to the other's
heart of icy coldness, the feeling of utter despair which had seized
upon him earlier, as he saw her face in Court. For he never doubted
that the bearer of the missive was the same woman who appeared as a
spectre before him at the trial--the woman who could tell Urbaine all.
"Where have they disposed the man who was tried and sentenced to-day?"
he asked next.
"In the same room he has occupied since he was brought here,
monsieur."
"So! Let him be brought to this room. I have to speak with him."
"Here, monsieur!" the man exclaimed with an air of astonishment which
he could not repress.
"Here."
Ten minutes later and Martin was before him, he having been conducted
from the wing of the citadel in which he was confined to the adjacent
one in which Baville's set of apartments were.
His escort consisted of two warders who were of the _milice_; nor was
there any need that he should have more to guard him, for his hands
were manacled with great steel gyves, the lower ends of which were
attached by ring bolts to his legs above his knees. Yet, since they
could have had no idea that there was any possibility of one so
fettered as he escaping from their custody, the careful manner in
which these men stood by their prisoner could have been but assumed
with a view to finding favour with the ruler of the province.
As Martin confronted the other, their eyes met in one swift glance;
then Baville's were quickly lowered. Before that man, the man whom
Urbaine loved, the man who had saved her life, who could restore her
once more to his arms--if, knowing what she might know, she would ever
return to them--the all-powerful Intendant felt himself abased.
"Who," he said, addressing the warders, "has the key of those irons?"
"I, monsieur," one answered.
"Remove them."
"Monsieur!"
"Do as I bid you."
With a glance at his comrade (the fellow said afterward that the
Intendant had gone mad) the one thus addressed did as he was ordered.
A moment later and Martin and Baville were alone, the warders
dismissed with a curt word, and hurrying off to tell their mates and
comrades that the rebellion must be over since the trial of the
morning could have been but a farce.
Then Baville rose and, standing before Martin, said:
"You see, I keep my promise. You are free."
"Free! To do what? Rejoin Urbaine?"
"Ay, to rejoin Urbaine. For that alone, upon one stipulation."
"What is the stipulation?"
"That--that--she and I meet again!"
"Meet again! Why not?"
Instead of replying to this question Baville asked Martin another.
"Was," he demanded, speaking swiftly, "Cavalier in Court to-day,
dressed in a russet suit, disguised in a long black wig?"
"Yes," the other replied, "he was there."
"And the woman with him, old, gray-haired, is she one of the dwellers
in the mountains, one of his band?"
"Nay. Her I have never seen."
"She can not then have met, have come into contact with Urbaine?"
"How can I say? It is a week since I left Urbaine there, safe with him
in those mountains. Since then many things have happened, among others
the horrors of Mercier's mill."
"It was not my doing," Baville answered hotly. "Not mine; Montrevel is
alone answerable for that. I was away at the beginning, on my road