The Scourge of God: A Romance of Religious Persecution
now risen full moon, the sparkle of the breasts and backs and gorgets
of the dragoons as they wheeled to the left, also the glitter of
aiguillette and steel trappings. Perceived, too, that a deep silence
had fallen on all that moving mass. Even the Miquelets ceased to sing
and chatter. Nothing disturbed the silence of the night but the thud
of countless horses' hoofs, with now and again a neigh and now and
again the rattle of scabbard against charger's flank. They were in, or
near the country of the insidious, unvanquished foe. Doubtless the
order had gone forth for silence.
He must get ahead of them--reach the pass or mountain road before
them. Otherwise, what of Urbaine if they should win?
But, again, how to do it!
To the left of him, and still farther yet to the left of where the
battalions marched after wheeling, there was a stream, a branch of Le
Gardon; in summer a swift-flowing river beneath whose gliding waters
the reeds bent gracefully; now half frozen and seemingly without
current. If he could cross that, there was on the other side a wide
open plain, on which for centuries peasant landlords had been
endeavouring to cultivate grapevines, to redeem from the marshy soil
that was so common in the south some of the thousands of useless acres
which abounded. And across that plain, dotted here and there by
countless poles on which no vine had ever grown in man's memory, and
on which many sheep had browsed upon the short grass salted by the
spray (brought in from the Mediterranean on the wings of the Circius)
until the Cévenoles had descended and raided them, he might make his
way, might cut off by a short _détour_ that advancing force, get
before it to where the ascent began, be the first to reach the
mountains, the home of the outcasts.
Only he might be seen. And then--then--though the heavily accoutred
dragoons would undoubtedly not be able to leap the stream and chase
him, the balls from their musketoons and fusils would perhaps reach
him; one alone out of the number sent hurtling after him might reach
its mark. And that would be enough.
Yet all the same it should be done.
The horse he rode was a strong black, handsome creature, its nostrils
red and fiery, its eyes possessed of that backward glance which tells
the horseman ere he mounts what he is about to bestride, its legs as
thin and agile as a cat's. Well, he would see. Now for the stream,
fifteen feet across if an inch. Then he found the animal knew what was
meant even as his knee pressed beneath the holster, even as his wrist
turned inward to draw tighter the rein and as he sat down firmly in
the saddle. There was a rush upon the short, crisp grass--crisp both
from the salt of the distant sea and from the night frost--a quiver
from the body beneath him, a loosened rein now, a flight as of an
arrow, as smooth, too, and as swift. Then the animal's feet were upon
the other side; the rivulet was skimmed as though by a swallow. Over
and away, the black steed bounding like a ball beneath him.
"Thank God!" he said, "thank God!" And, ere he settled into the
saddle again, patted the firm, iron-sinewed neck beneath his hand.
Off through vine poles, over another and a smaller rivulet unseen by
him for the moment, yet clear as day to the keen eyes of the noble
creature that bore him; off now parallel with the dragoons, across the
plain--parallel with the dragoons so dangerously near! And with over
all, both them and him, a cloudless sky and a full bright moon.
Then, next, a shout from that advancing force, a hoarse clatter that
all know and recognise who have ever heard firelocks wrested quickly
from saddle-rests, white smoke curling on the night air, spits of
flame from twenty different spots near together, puffs of bullets past
his face, puffs such as the droning beetle makes as it flies by us; a
numbing shock against the saddle-flap, yet on, on, on! The horse
uninjured and still going fleet as the deer, or even fleeter still,
because of fear and nervousness. But still on, and followed by a
dropping fire that ceased almost directly. The musketoons were useless
by this time; they were out of range and he was ahead of the others.
Nothing could stop him now, the danger was past. Nothing, unless the
horse reeled in its stride, was wounded. Yet that he knew was not so,
or else that swift, even motion below him would have ceased ere this.
"Heaven be praised! Where is she?"
The night wind blew more piercingly as he felt the earth rising
beneath the steed. Far up he saw more and more plainly the burning
lights that burned near false bridges and declivities, to fall down
which meant death and destruction. The air was nipping even to those
two whose bodies were heated by their last hour's motion together. The
ascent had begun. The horse breathed more heavily now, threw out great
snorting gasps from mouth and nostrils, yet hardly halted, or only so
far as to change from canter to trot and from trot to walk. But still
went on up, until at last one of the red flambeaux on the hilltops was
winking and flickering close by.
He was near Urbaine now. Another hour and she would be in his arms.
At that moment three forms sprang lightly into the mountain road from
behind a piece of fallen rock, the moon showing that each bore in its
hand a firearm--a firearm raised and pointed at the advancing man and
horse.
"Who goes there?" one cried. "Quick, your answer, or this," and each
weapon's butt was brought to the shoulder.
"The Englishman," Martin called out in reply. "The man doomed to death
to-day at Nîmes for consorting with you."
"So! Advance, Englishman. Yet in the name of the Holy One how came you
here?"
"To seek for her who was my fellow-prisoner with you," he replied as
he got off his horse. "Is she well?"
"She is well--"
"Behind. Up there," and he cast his eyes toward the summits. "She
descends with brother Cavalier to-night."
"With Cavalier to-night! Is he back already?"
"Ay, he is back, three hours ago. Now, to-night, he descends. Nîmes is
doomed. You would have been rescued by the morning. It was brother
Cavalier's second plan. He warned the tyrant, Baville, to free you at
pain of the girl's death, but _tout de même_, he meant to have you out
himself. Yet," he repeated, "Nîmes is doomed."
"But why, why, since I am free?"
"To repay the slaughter at the mill. Ho! Doubt not! That goes not
unrewarded. Nîmes first, then Alais, then Montpellier. 'An eye for an
eye, a tooth for a tooth.' It is our holy shibboleth."
"It can never be----"
"Never be! Why not?" asked the man who alone had spoken among the
three. "Why not? What shall prevent the Lord's children from
outrooting their persecutors? Why not? You are on our side. Is it not
so?" and he looked menacingly at Martin.
"You do not know," the latter replied. "Advancing here not two hours
behind me there comes a vast body of royalist soldiers in two
battalions. Among them the Miquelets. And, though they may never scale
your mountain passes, never reach the plateau, yet surely they will
bar your way to Nîmes. Even though your full force descend, they will
outnumber you."
The man, whom Martin remembered well when he was a prisoner in the
caverns and whom he had heard addressed as Montbonneux, pondered a
moment; then he said suddenly, with a slight laugh:
"Perhaps they will reach the plateau. Perhaps we shall not bar their
way. One catches the rat by leaving the trap-door open, not by
shutting it," and as he spoke his companions laughed too, while as
they did so Martin again remembered the _oubliettes_ and snares
prepared for any who might wander up into the gloomy refuges of the
_attroupés_.
Ere he could reply, however, or announce his intention of proceeding
to where Urbaine might be ere setting forth with Cavalier, there rose
a sound close to them. A sound borne on the night wind toward where
they were, a sound that told him and them that down from their
mountain home were coming the Camisards. A chant that, rising above
all else; spoke of revenge decided on, of fierce unsparing
retaliation:
"Quand tu te léveras, oh, notre Roi celeste!
Pour délivrer enfin les élus d'ici-bas,
Le vent de ton tonnerre à nos tyrans funeste
En Balaiera le reste
Au gouffres du trépas.
Venge--Venge----"
"Tis he, Cavalier," the man Montbonneux exclaimed, "'tis he who
comes."
CHAPTER XXXI.
BETRAYED.
They had met again. Were together, never more to part unless parted by
one thing, Death! Death that was imminent at any moment, that might
overtake them that very night, or to-morrow, or the next day; for
Cavalier was on his way down to the plains to make those reprisals of
which Montbonneux had spoken. God only knew what might be the end of
all.
She, riding on the captured little mule and enveloped in costly
furs--as usual, part of a spoil of a successful foray made by the
Camisards on a more or less unprotected _manoir_--had seen him as the
large body of Cavalier's followers had rounded a point in the mountain
pass, and, springing from the animal's back, had thrown herself into
his outstretched arms, unheeding those who came behind her and the
Cévenole chief, thinking of naught at the moment but that he was safe
and with her again, deeming all else insignificant beside that one
supreme mercy vouchsafed by God. For she knew in what awful danger he
had stood not many hours before; knew that, not more for the purpose
of exacting vengeance than for that of rescuing him, was this descent
from the mountains being made. And now he was safe, by her side again.
He drew her apart from where Cavalier stood with all his followers
behind him; drew her apart and whispered words of love and
thankfulness at seeing her once more. Then suddenly, observing on the
fair young face and in the clear, pure eyes a look that he had never
seen before, he murmured:
"What--what is it, Urbaine, my sweet?"
But she would not answer him, only contenting herself with saying,
"Not now, not now," while even as she did so he saw beneath the light
of the full moon that her eyes were full of tears. Felt, too, the warm
hand which he held quiver in his grasp.
And as he noticed those symptoms of unhappiness he wondered if she had
learned while among these Camisards that secret which one at least of
them knew--that secret which, to prevent her from ever learning, had
caused Baville to bid him fly with her out of France, away, anywhere,
so that she might never know it. Never know that her father's death
lay at his door.
"Come," said Cavalier, approaching them and speaking very quietly,
after having carried on a hurried conversation for some moments with
Montbonneux and the other two men, "come, we must move forward. Thank
God, you are free, out of the tiger's claws; for your sake and ours as
well, if what my followers report of the news you bring is true. _Is_
it?" and he looked piercingly at the other in the moonbeam's light.
"It is true if they have told you that a large force is making its way
toward these mountains. They must have left Nîmes some time before me,
since I followed them a considerable distance before coming up with
their rear, and I have outstripped them by perhaps two hours, though
not longer, I think."
Then he told Cavalier that Baville had himself released him.
"Baville released you! Because of my threat?"
"Because of----" yet since Urbaine was by his side he paused and told
no more, or only with a look which Cavalier understood sufficiently
well, for he also now knew of the Intendant's part in the death of
Urbain Ducaire, understood that his love for Urbaine had grown out of
his remorse.
"Come," he said shortly, after meditating for a moment with his eyes
fixed on the ground, "come, we must go forward now. Best meet this