My Sword's My Fortune Part 33

This suggestion met with a torrent of applause, and the ruffians offered no further resistance to the soldiers, who, forming in a body, marched me downstairs into the court where they had left their horses.

I was immediately placed on one and firmly bound; the troopers mounted, the officer issued his orders, and we set off accompanied by the mob.

The city was in a state of seething excitement, which increased wherever our procession came in view. The people, pouring from the houses in thousands, blocked the roads until they became almost impa.s.sable, and the leader of the hors.e.m.e.n was in despair. Every one wished to see the wretch who had murdered Conde, and numbers shook their fists at me and cried, "Kill the a.s.sa.s.sin!"

Some, however, regarded me as a martyr, and angry cries against the soldiers, mingled with shouts of "Down with Conde!" began to be heard.

At one spot in particular a determined rush was made by a number of burly ruffians directed by a little man from the window of a corner house. I recognised my late gaoler, Pillot, and was glad that he had escaped, though much afraid that his attempted rescue would only make the authorities more certain of my guilt.

Two or three soldiers were knocked over, but the rush was stayed, and after this the friends of De Retz, for such I concluded them to be, confined their attention chiefly to threats. Still the danger of an outbreak was considerable, and the officer in charge, fearful of the consequences, decided to convey me to the Bastille.

By riding through the less frequented streets, and breaking into a trot wherever such a course was possible, we gradually drew ahead of our undesirable escort, and at length turned into the famous avenue.

Throughout the journey I had anxiously scanned the faces of the mult.i.tude, hoping to see Raoul, or D'Arcy, or my English friend, John Humphreys. But I had not recognised a single acquaintance, and now my heart sank as we halted before the first ma.s.sive gate, guarded by sentries.

As soon as the drawbridge was lowered, we crossed to the court where the Governor's house was situated, and the officer, dismounting, entered, reappearing in a few minutes with the order for my admission into the fortress. Escorted by two prison officials, I walked up the narrow avenue to the second drawbridge, pa.s.sed the guard-house, and stood in the wide court, while the ponderous gates clanged behind me, as if shutting out all hope.

"La Calotte de la Baziniere," said one, and the other, bidding me follow, ascended to the highest storey of the nearest tower, and unlocked the door of a room into which I entered--a prisoner of the Bastille!

The turnkey swung his lantern around, hoped--rather sarcastically to my thinking--that I should be comfortable, relocked the door, then the outer door, and I was left, not simply alone and in darkness, but beyond the reach of human hearing. Stumbling across the room, I lay down on a mattress and endeavoured to account for the events of the last two days.

From a few words let fall by the officer, it appeared that some one had killed, or attempted to kill, the prince, and I had been arrested as the a.s.sa.s.sin. That the plot was hatched by the Abbe's party I had learned from Pillot, though, as it afterwards appeared, no one intended anything more serious than kidnapping Conde and shutting him up in a safe place.

Now, in an enterprise of this daring nature, the actual leader was likely to be my cousin Henri, and working from this I began to piece together a very tolerable story, which after events proved not to have been far wrong. My previous adventures had proved how easy it was to mistake me for my cousin, and on this point the conspiracy hinged. If the plot succeeded, well and good; if not, it was necessary to show that the Abbe's party had nothing to do with the affair.

I was well known as a devoted _Masarin_, and it was no secret that the Cardinal, though banished, still communicated with his friends in the capital. What more likely then, than that the attempt on Conde's life was made by _Masarins_? And if so, who more likely to lead it than the penniless youth who had refused point-blank to join any of the other parties? Mazarin, it would be a.s.serted, must have left me in Paris for this very purpose.

Then again the crafty plotters had so arranged that everything would fit neatly into place. It could easily be proved that I had suddenly disappeared and remained in hiding till the appointed night, when, having failed in my object, I had hurriedly and secretly left the city.

This, I concluded, was the outline of the plot, but De Retz and my cousin had not made allowance for the cowardly treachery of Maubranne and Peleton.

These worthies, by both of whom I had the honour of being much hated, had worked out a different, and to them, a much more satisfactory ending. If Conde's a.s.sa.s.sin could be caught, red-handed as it were, and slain by the angry people, there would be an end to the business.

For this purpose they had conducted the mob to my prison, but the speedy arrival of the soldiers had upset their plans; Maubranne was dead, and I lay on a mattress in La Calotte de la Baziniere.

"_Peste!_" I exclaimed irritably, "I have intrigued myself into an ugly mess. This comes of being too clever. What will they do with me, I wonder?"

The situation was indeed serious. With the exception of Raoul, D'Arcy, and John Humphreys, I had no friends, and these three could do little.

De Retz would naturally use all his powerful influence to prove my guilt, and as likely as not I should be condemned without a trial. As far as I could judge the future did not look particularly bright.

As soon as dawn came straggling through the window I rose and peered about me. The room arched to support the roof, and only in the middle was it possible to stand upright. It contained but one window, having, both outside and inside, double iron gratings. The furniture consisted of a worm-eaten chair, a table with a leg broken, an empty jug, a mattress, and two flagstones on which in cold weather a fire could be built.

Raoul once told me of a man who had escaped from the Bastille, but I fancy he could not have been lodged in my cell. I could tell by the window that the walls were tremendously thick, while the door was of iron, and fastened on the outside by ma.s.sive bolts. Still I was not altogether discouraged, and, dragging the table beneath the aperture, I climbed to the top. Cras.h.!.+ I had forgotten the broken leg, and fell to the ground, wrecking the table and giving myself a considerable shock.

After that I lay down again on the mattress till about nine o'clock, as near as I could judge, when there was a noise outside as of bolts being withdrawn, and the turnkey entered the room with my breakfast. He was a short, st.u.r.dy man, somewhat after the build of Pierre, but with a more intelligent face.

"Monsieur has met with an accident?" he said, gazing with a grin at the ruined table.

"I knocked the wretched thing over."

"Ah, it was not meant for monsieur's weight," he laughed, and putting the breakfast on the ground, contrived to prop the table up.

"There," he exclaimed triumphantly, "now it will serve, but I would advise monsieur not to place it in a draught, it may catch cold."

Guessing that he understood what had happened, I said, "I wished to get a view of the scenery; there is little to look at inside. The Bastille, or at least the prisoner's part of it, is not pretty."

"It is strong, monsieur, and one cannot have everything. Has monsieur learned that the prince was not hurt."

"No," I cried briskly, "tell me all about it."

"There is not much to tell beyond the fact that monsieur missed his aim."

"What! Do you really believe it was I who shot at Conde?"

"Monsieur is certainly very young for such a deed," he replied, shaking his head solemnly, and with this evasive answer he took his departure, bolting and barring the door behind him.

In the evening he returned, but this time I had no word with him, as he was accompanied by the officer of the rounds and several soldiers. The officer gave me a casual glance, searched the cell carefully--though what he expected to find I cannot imagine--shrugged his shoulders, ordered the turnkey to fasten the door, and presently I heard the tramp of their feet along the corridor.

Several weary days dragged by in this manner. The turnkey regularly brought my meals, and sometimes in the morning stayed for a few minutes' gossip, but with this exception I was left alone.

One morning, contrary to the usual custom, he was attended by four soldiers, who stood at attention while I ate my breakfast. As soon as the meal was finished, the gaoler directed me to follow him, and, escorted by the soldiers, I descended the ma.s.sive staircase shut in on each storey by ponderous double doors, crossed the wide court, ascended another staircase, and so into a large room known as the Council Chamber.

Here four men sat at a table, and one--an ugly, weazened fellow dressed as a councillor--ordered me to stand before them. Then the soldiers retired well out of earshot, and the examination began. First of all the councillor asked a number of questions concerning my age, name, family, and estate, one of his colleagues writing down the answers as I gave them. Then followed a long harangue on the infamy of my crime, after which the speaker implored me to make a full confession, and to throw myself on Conde's mercy.

"Not," he exclaimed, "that we require your confession; these proofs are too clear," and, noticing my start of surprise, added coolly, "listen, and then say if I am not right."

Turning the papers slowly over one by one he read the heads of a ma.s.s of evidence which his agents had collected, evidence so clear and convincing that, on hearing it, I almost believed myself guilty. It began by describing me as a penniless lad, who, having come to Paris to seek my fortune, had taken service with Mazarin as a secret agent; and all my doings with the Cardinal were carefully noted down.

For this I was prepared, but the next paragraph brought the blood to my face with a rush. It stated that, having discovered Madame Coutance was a friend of Conde, I had struck up an acquaintances.h.i.+p with her for the purpose of worming out the secrets of his party.

"That is false!" I cried hotly.

"Softly, my friend, softly!" exclaimed the weazened little councillor, "we will hear your remarks at another time and in another place," and he continued calmly with his reading.

The third stage showed how cleverly the conspirators had laid their plans. Numerous witnesses had met me going towards that part of the town where I was afterwards discovered in hiding, and they all affirmed that I acted as if not wis.h.i.+ng to be recognised. This, of course, I could not deny, as many people must have noticed me when chasing the crafty Francois.

"We are ready to prove these things against you, monsieur, and more also," said the councillor. "For instance, there are the names of two men who saw you take a prominent part in the attack on the carriage and afterwards run away. Now, will you confess?"

"I am innocent, monsieur."

"What an absurdity! Must we then put you to the question?"

"It is needless, monsieur; I am speaking the truth."

"You are obstinate," he exclaimed, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his little eyes, "but a turn or two on the rack will alter that. Come now, will you deny that you are a spy of Mazarin's?"

"Certainly, monsieur. It is true that I am in the Cardinal's service, but I have heard no word from him since he left Paris."

"Are you acquainted with Madame Coutance?"

"Yes, she is a friend of mine."

"Good! I thought we should arrive at the truth. Now, will you explain how you came to be in the house where the soldiers found you?"