The Path of the King Part 13

"For me, supper," and he fell with zest to the broiled fowl he had ordered. The other sent for another flask of the wine of Anjou, observing that he had a plaguy thirst.

"I think," said Gaspard, at last raising his eyes from his food, "that Paris will be unwholesome to-night for decent folk."

"There's a murrain of friars about," said Champernoun, leisurely picking his teeth.

"The place hums like a bee-hive before swarming. Better get back to your Amba.s.sador, Gawain. There's sanctuary for you under his cloak."

The Englishman made a pellet of bread and flicked it at the other's face. "I may have to box your ears, old friend. Since when have I taken to s.h.i.+rking a fracas? We were together at St. John d'Ulloa, and you should know me better."

"Are you armed?" was Gaspard's next question.

Champernoun patted his sword. "Also there are pistols in my holsters."

"You have a horse, then?"

"Stabled within twenty yards. My rascally groom carried a message to Sir Francis, and as he has been gone over an hour, I fear he may have come to an untimely end."

"Then it will be well this night for us two to hold together. I know our Paris mob and there is nothing crueller out of h.e.l.l. The pistolling of the Admiral de Coligny has given them a taste of blood, and they may have a fancy for killing Luteranos. Two such as you and I, guarding each other's backs, may see sport before morning, and haply rid the world of a few miscreants. What say you, camerado?"

"Good. But what account shall we give of ourselves if someone questions us?"

"Why, we are Spanish esquires in the train of King Philip's Mission. Our clothes are dark enough for the dons' fas.h.i.+on, and we both speak their tongue freely. Behold in me the Senor Juan Gonzalez de Mendoza, a poor knight of Castile, most earnest in the cause of Holy Church."

"And I," said the Englishman with the gusto of a boy in a game, "am named Rodriguez de Bobadilla. I knew the man, who is dead, and his brother owes me ten crowns.... But if we fall in with the Spanish Amba.s.sador's gentlemen?"

"We will outface them."

"But if they detect the imposture?"

"Why, wring their necks. You are getting as cautious as an apple-wife, Gawain."

"When I set out on a business I like to weigh it, that I may know how much is to be charged to my own wits and how much I must leave to G.o.d.

To-night it would appear that the Almighty must hold us very tight by the hand. Well, I am ready when I have I drunk another cup of wine." He drew his sword and lovingly fingered its edge, whistling all the while.

Gaspard went to the door and looked into the street. The city was still strangely quiet. No roysterers swaggered home along the pavements, no tramp of cuira.s.siers told of the pa.s.sage of a great man. But again he had the sense that hot fires were glowing under these cold ashes. The mist had lifted and the stars were clear, and over the dark ma.s.s of the Louvre a great planet burned. The air was warm and stifling, and with a gesture of impatience he slammed the door. By now he ought to have been drinking the cool night on the downs beyond Oise.

The Englishman had called for another bottle, and it was served in the empty tavern by the landlord himself. As the wine was brought in the two fell to talking Spanish, at the sound of which the man visibly started.

His furtive sulky face changed to a sly friendliness. "Your excellencies have come to town for the good work," he said, sidling and bowing.

With a more than Spanish gravity Gaspard inclined his head.

"When does it start?" he asked.

"Ah, that we common folk do not know. But there will be a signal. Father Antoine has promised us a signal. But messieurs have not badges. Perhaps they do not need them for their faces will be known. Nevertheless for better security it might be well...." He stopped with the air of a huckster crying his wares.

Gaspard spoke a word to Champernoun in Spanish. Then to the landlord: "We are strangers, so must bow to the custom of your city. Have you a man to send to the Hotel de Guise?"

"Why trouble the Duke, my lord?" was the answer. "See, I will make you badges."

He tore up a napkin, and bound two white strips crosswise on their left arms, and pinned a rag to their bonnets. "There, messieurs, you are now wearing honest colours for all to see. It is well, for presently blood will be hot and eyes blind."

Gaspard flung him a piece of gold, and he bowed himself out. "Bonne fortune, lords.h.i.+ps," were his parting words. "'Twill be a great night for our Lord Christ and our Lord King."

"And his lord the Devil," said Champernoun. "What madness has taken your good France? These are Spanish manners, and they sicken me. c.o.c.kades and signals and such-like flummery!"

The other's face had grown sober. "For certain h.e.l.l is afoot to-night.

It is the Admiral they seek. The Guisards and their reiters and a pack of 'prentices maddened by sermons. I would to G.o.d he were in the Palace with the King of Navarre and the young Conde."

"But he is well guarded. I heard that a hundred Huguenots' swords keep watch by his house."

"Maybe. But we of the religion are too bold and too trustful. We are not match for the Guises and their Italian tricks. I think we will go to Coligny's lodgings. Mounted, for a man on a horse has an advantage if the mob are out!"

The two left the tavern, both sniffing the air as if they found it tainted. The streets were filling now, and men were running as if to a rendezvous, running hot-foot without speech and without lights. Most wore white crosses on their left sleeve. The horses waited, already saddled, in stables not a furlong apart, and it was the work of a minute to bridle and mount. The two as if by a common impulse halted their beasts at the mouth of the Rue du Coq, and listened. The city was quiet on the surface, but there was a low deep undercurrent of sound, like the soft purring of a lion before he roars. The sky was bright with stars.

There was no moon, but over the Isle was a faint tremulous glow.

"It is long past midnight," said Gaspard; "in a little it will be dawn."

Suddenly a shot cracked out. It was so sharp a sound among the m.u.f.fled noises that it stung the ear like a whip-lash. It came from the dark ma.s.s of the Louvre, from somewhere beyond the Grand Jardin. It was followed instantly by a hubbub far down the Rue St. Honore and a glare kindled where that street joined the Rue d'Arbre Sec.

"That way lies the Admiral," Gaspard cried. "I go to him," and he clapped spurs to his horse.

But as his beast leapt forward another sound broke out, coming apparently from above their heads. It was the clanging of a great bell.

There is no music so dominant as bells. Their voice occupies sky as well as earth, and they overwhelm the senses, so that a man's blood must keep pace with their beat. They can suit every part, jangling in wild joy, or copying the slow pace of sorrow, or pealing in ordered rhythm, blithe but with a warning of mortality in their cadence. But this bell played dance music. It summoned to an infernal jig. Blood and fever were in its broken fall, hate and madness and death.

Gaspard checked his plunging horse. "By G.o.d, it is from St. Germains l'Auxerrois! The Palace church. The King is in it. It is a plot against our faith. They have got the pick of us in their trap and would make an end of us."

From every house and entry men and women and priests were pouring to swell the army that pressed roaring eastwards. No one heeded the two as they sat their horses like rocks in the middle of a torrent.

"The Admiral is gone," said Gaspard with a sob in his voice. "Our few hundred spears cannot stand against the King's army. It remains for us to die with him."

Champernoun was cursing steadily in a mixture of English and Spanish, good mouth-filling oaths delivered without heat. "Die we doubtless shall, but not before we have trounced this b.l.o.o.d.y rabble."

Still Gaspard did not move. "After to-night there will be no gentlemen left in France, for we of the religion had all the breeding." Then he laughed bitterly. "I mind Ribaut's last words, when Menendez slew him.

'We are of earth,' says he, 'and to earth we must return, and twenty years more or less can matter little!' That is our case to-night, old friend."

"Maybe," said the Englishman. "But why talk of dying? You and I are Spanish caballeros. Walsingham told me that the King hated that nation, and that the Queen-mother loved it not, but it would appear that now we are very popular in Paris."

"Nay, nay, this is no time to play the Nicodemite. It is the hour for public confession. I'm off to the dead Admiral to avenge him on his a.s.sa.s.sins."

"Softly, Gaspard. You and I are old companions in war, and we do not ride against a stone wall if there be a gate. It was not thus that Gourgues avenged Ribaut at St. John's. Let us thank G.o.d that we hold a master card in this game. We are two foxes in a flock of angry roosters, and by the Lord's grace we will take our toll of them. Cunning, my friend. A stratagem of war! We stand outside this welter and, having only the cold pa.s.sion of revenge, can think coolly. G.o.d's truth, man, have we fought the Indian and the Spaniard for nothing? Wily is the word. Are we two gentlemen, who fear G.o.d, to be worsted by a rabble of Papegots and Marannes?"

It was the word "Marannes," or, as we say, "halfcastes," which brought conviction to Gaspard. Suddenly he saw his enemies as less formidable, as something contemptible--things of a lower breed, dupers who might themselves be duped.

"Faith, Gawain, you are the true campaigner. Let us forward, and trust to Heaven to show us a road."

They galloped down the Rue St. Honore, finding an open s.p.a.ce in the cobbles of the centre, but at the turning into the Rue d'Arbre Sec they met a block. A great throng with torches was coming in on the right from the direction of the Bourbon and d'Alencon hotels. Yet by pressing their horses with whip and spur, and by that awe which the two tall dark cavaliers inspired even in a mob which had lost its wits, they managed to make their way to the entrance of the Rue de Bethisy. There they came suddenly upon quiet.