The Scourge of God: A Romance of Religious Persecution
force and check it, or part of it. How many strong are they, do you
suppose?"
"At least a thousand. Perhaps more. Composed of dragoons,
_chevaux-légers_, and Miquelets. Can you cope with those?"
"If we are united, yes. But Roland is away, ahead, with half our men;
yet, stay. We have to meet at the Tour de Bellot. If we can join them
before these soldiers reach that, then we can win. If not, if they
catch Roland's force alone, then God help Roland!"
As he spoke, from afar off there came a sound that none in all the
vast band which had descended from the mountains could have mistaken,
unless it were Urbaine alone. A sound deep, muffled, roaring. That of
cannons firing. Heard first down in the valley, then reverberating
high up amid the clouds that capped the summits of the cold mountain
tops.
"You hear?" he said. "You hear? We must on at once. On, on! What will
you do with the lady? She is yours now. You see, I remembered my
promise. I was bringing her to you, knowing full well that either by
threats or siege we would have you out of the hands of Baville. Yet I
thought not you could have been free to-night, so soon."
"My place is by her side forever now. Where she is, there am I."
"Be it so. Will you go back with her? Yet I know not, if they gain the
passes, the caverns will be surrounded and--and--if they succeed we
shall not be there to help or succour. God, he knows what is best!"
"Can they do that, gain the summits?"
"Scarce can I say. Yet now at last I fear. The prophets see visions,
speak of rebuffs at last. The _extasées_, the woman seers, the female
children--all foretell disaster. Even I, who have ere now believed
that I could read the future, am shaken, not in my courage, but my
hopes."
His last words were lost, or almost lost, in the dead muffled roar
that rose once more from far down in the valley, and as the sound was
heard again Cavalier started.
"We must not tarry, even for her. Decide, therefore, and decide
quickly," while, as he spoke, he gave orders briefly to all who
surrounded them and commanded that they should be transmitted along
the line of Camisards which stretched far behind and up to where the
great plateau was.
"I have decided," Martin answered. "That firing is some distance off,
some five or six miles at least. At the foot of the mountains there
are many side-paths leading east and west. I can convey her by one of
those to some haven of shelter, out of harm. Let us accompany you to
the valley; then, Cavalier, we part."
"Do as you will," the other answered. "I gave you my word that all
should be as you desired when you returned from Cette. I keep it to
the last. We part to-night forever. Remember me in years to come as
one who was an honourable man."
Then, as though he wished no more said, he gave another order for the
band under his command to set forth again upon its descent, and,
quitting Martin, went forward and placed himself at its head.
And now Martin took his place by the side of her he loved, walking by
the little mule, holding her hand in his beneath the richly-furred
cloak. Also he told her what was decided on as best for her safety.
Once, too, he asked, after he had informed her of the arranged plan:
"You do not fear? Are content?"
"Content! To be with you!"
And the glance that rested on him, and plainly to be seen beneath the
ray of the moon, told more than further words could have done.
"We shall be together forever and always now," he continued, speaking
clearly though low, so that she might catch his words above the deep
thud of the Camisards' tread as they swept down the mountain road.
Above, too, the roar of the cannon that grew louder as they approached
nearer and nearer to the spot whence it proceeded. "Forever and
always, once we are across the frontier and in the Duke of Savoy's
dominions. Man and wife, _ma mie_, in a week's time if we escape
to-night. Will that suffice?"
And once more she answered with a glance.
They were descending fast now toward the plain, yet, as they neared
it, it almost seemed as though the booming of the cannon grew less
continuous, as if the pauses were longer between each roar. What did
it mean? the Camisards asked each other. Was the cannon becoming
silent because Julien and his detachments had been caught in some
trap, or had the royalist troops been driven back again as they had
been so often driven back before? Were the outcasts, the _attroupés_,
again successful, still invincible? Above all else, above that thud of
mountaineers' heavy feet and the clatter of musketoon and fusil
shifted from shoulder to shoulder; above, too, sword scabbards
clanging on the ground, Cavalier's voice arose now.
"Down to meet them!" he cried. "Down! Down! Faster and faster, to join
Roland and sweep the tyrant's soldier from out our land, or perish
beneath their glaives. On, my brethren, on!" and as he spoke the tramp
of the men was swifter and heavier, the march of the band more
swinging.
The plain was reached. They poured out upon it, no longer a long, thin
line, but a compact body now which marched not only on the straight,
white road that gleamed a thread beneath the moon's rays, but spread
itself over the sodden marshy lands bordering that road; went on swift
and fast, while as they almost ran they saw to the priming of their
firelocks, and buckled rough goatskin baudriers and bandoleers,
wrenched from many a dying royalist, tighter round them, and loosened
swords and knives in their sheaths.
Yet, as they went, the firing ceased or rather rolled farther away
from them, sounded now as if coming from where, beneath the moonlit
sky, the cathedral spire of Nîmes lifted its head. Surely, all
thought, the enemy must be driven back. Otherwise the booming of the
cannon would not have ceased altogether; at least would not become
more distant, farther off.
And now they were near the Tour de Bellot, the rendezvous, the spot
where Roland was to have joined forces with them, if all was well. So
near that the solitary and lofty structure--once the round tower of an
ancient feudal castle that had stood many a siege in days as far off
as those of the Albigensian crusade, but on to which, in later years,
had been built a farmhouse, now a ruin also--could be seen rising
clear and pointed to the heavens; clearer than the more distant spire
of Nîmes itself.
And Roland was not there, nor any of his force. One glance showed
that, long ere they reached it, the battle which had been going on for
now more than two hours was farther off than they had at first
supposed.
The place was deserted, except for the shepherd who dwelt within it, a
man holding the creed of the outcasts, one who had also at that time
two sons in their ranks.
"Where is Roland?" demanded Cavalier of this man as they all streamed
into the place, leaping over the stone walls which surrounded the
pasturage and rushing hastily into grange and granary, there to snatch
some rest, even though but half an hour's, ere they might have to set
forth again. "Where? Where?"
"Forward toward Nîmes," the fellow answered, speaking stolidly and, as
it seemed to Martin, who stood by, stupidly; "toward Nîmes. He has
driven them back."
"God be praised!" exclaimed Cavalier and many who stood around. Then
the former asked: "And followed them toward Nîmes? Is that so?"
"Nay, I know not," the other replied, seeming even more stupid than
before. "I know not. They are not here. The battle was afar. I did but
hear it."
"We can do nothing as yet," Cavalier said, "nothing. Can but wait and
abide events. Yet 'tis strange, strange that of all his force he could
not send back one messenger to tell me of his doings, his whereabouts.
Our rendezvous was to be ten of the clock; 'tis past that now.
Strange!" he repeated, "strange!" And his eyes followed the shepherd
searchingly as he moved about preparing rough, coarse food for as many
of the band as he could supply. He had been warned that the descent
was to be made that night from the mountains, and also to prepare as
much bread and wine as possible; and now he produced all that he had,
he said, been able to obtain without arousing suspicions.
At this time Martin was standing beside Urbaine, she having been
placed in a rude armchair possessing neither pillow nor covering,
which had been set in front of the fire for her; and to them Cavalier
now addressed himself, saying:
"For you to go forward now would be madness; nay, madness even to quit
this house and seek any road either to right or left. For--for--Heaven
forgive me if I am wrong, yet I misdoubt me of this man, one of us as
he is and the father of two others."
"I have Baville's pass; they would respect that. Would not harm her.
Even though the men in command have never seen her, they would
understand. And--and--it is imperative that I convey her across the
frontier to Savoy without loss of time." Then, drawing the banished
chief away from the close neighbourhood of Urbaine, he said in a lower
tone, "He dreads that she should learn from any here that he caused
her father, Urbain Ducaire's death!"
With a swift glance the other looked up into Martin's face, far above
his own; looked up with a glance that was almost a mocking one.
"He dreads that, does he?" Cavalier replied. "_Malheureusement pour
lui!_ he dreads too late. He should have taken steps bef----"
"What?"
"She knows it."
"Great God! 'Tis from that her fresh sorrow springs. How--how did
she----?"
But ere he could finish his question there came an interruption which
prevented it from ever being answered.
Across the broken flags of the farmhouse kitchen there came a man, one
of the prophets, known as _Le Léopard_, because of his fierce staring
eyes, a man in whose belt there was a long knife, the hilt of which he
fingered savagely, and on whose back was strapped a long military
carabine, another spoil of the enemy. And, reaching Cavalier's side,
he muttered hoarsely from beneath his ragged, dishevelled mustache:
"We are betrayed. There has been no battle. Roland is not within
leagues of this spot. The cannon was a snare, a lure. And--and--come
forth into the moonlight and see what is without."
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH.
From that old, dismantled farmhouse, built on to the tower, there
sloped down, toward where a small stream ran some four hundred yards
away, a long stretch of bare land, covered sometimes in the summer
heat by short, coarse grass, while in the winter time it was, if any
of it were left uneaten by the sheep, frost-bound or snow-covered. It
was so now on this clear, cold winter night, its surface being dotted
by innumerable folds and pens into which those sheep had once been
driven, but which, since the mountaineers had been forced into
revolution and had raided the place, were empty. They were so on this
night, of sheep. Yet not of other living things, unless the moon
played strange tricks with the eyes of those regarding the pens.
Instead, were being filled rapidly with human forms creeping like
Indians or painted snakes toward them, wriggling their bodies beneath
the hurdles they were composed of, entering by that way into the
ready-found ambush--the forms of the Miquelets, the most hated by the
Camisards of all the troops which had been sent against them; the men
whose extermination was more vowed and determined than the
extermination of either dragoon, _chevau-léger_, or _milice_.
"You see?" whispered Le Leopard to Cavalier and Montbonneux as they
stood together sheltering themselves from observation behind the great
stone posts of the farmhouse's antique stoop, "you see? They first,
then next the cavalry. Observe, beyond the stream; look through the
trunks of the trees across it. The moon sparkles on breast and back