Lord Montagu's Page Part 41

"I do not intend to tell it anywhere, my lord," replied Edward. "I know it would be foolish, and perhaps it might be dangerous. I am not ungrateful for your condescension to me; but it is a sort of thing I should not like to sport with."

"Right," said Richelieu: "you are right. You know the fact in natural history that tigers may be tamed; but if any one suffers them, in playing with them, to draw blood, he seldom goes away as full of life as he came. I see you understand me. Now go away and sleep. Be here by daybreak to-morrow, and you shall find the pa.s.ses ready and somebody prepared to ride with you to the outposts. He will wait there four-and-twenty hours for your return. But if I should find you in Roch.e.l.le when it is taken, except in a dungeon, beware of the tiger."

Edward bowed and withdrew; but he retired not to rest. His first object was to inquire for Beaupre and Pierrot. They were not in the castle, and he had to seek them in the village below, where, after pa.s.sing through many of the wild scenes of camp-life, he found them at length in a small wooden shed, where some sort of food, such as it was, could be procured by those who had money to pay for it. Much to the surprise of good Pierrot la Grange, the young gentleman's first order, after directing his horse to be prepared half an hour before daylight, was to have his flask filled with the best brandy he could procure and brought up to his room that night.

"Has the cardinal given you leave to go into the city?" asked Jacques Beaupre, in astonishment.

"He has given me leave to try," replied Edward.

"Pray, then, let me go with you," said the good man.

"Impossible!" was the answer. "I must go alone, and take my fate alone, whatever it may be. See that the brandy be good, Pierrot, if you can find it. But be quick, for I would fain sleep before I go." And, retiring to his room in the castle, he waited till the man brought a small flat bottle well filled, and then, casting himself down upon the bed, fell sound asleep, exhausted less by fatigue than by emotions which he had felt deeply, though he had concealed them well.

CHAPTER XLI.

Two hours had not pa.s.sed after the sun's rising above the horizon when Edward Langdale stood with a small group of officers at the extreme outpost of the royal army, before what was called the Niort gate of the city of Roch.e.l.le. There was still a s.p.a.ce of about five hundred yards between him and the walls; and before him rose all those towers and pinnacles, many of which have since been destroyed, but which rendered then and still render Roch.e.l.le one of the most picturesque cities of France when seen from a distance. During the whole siege the operations, though sure and terrible, had been slow and apparently tardy. The Roch.e.l.lois had been glad to husband their powder; and it was no part of Richelieu's plan to breach the walls or to do more than hara.s.s the citizens by an occasional attack. On this morning there had been no firing on either side, and the town looked as quiet and peaceable as if there were no hostile force before it. But, as Edward Langdale and his companion, a young officer of the cardinal's guard, had ridden down from Mauze, the latter had pointed out to the young Englishman that famous d.y.k.e which, stretching across the mouth of the port, had gradually cut off the city from all communication with friends at home or allies abroad. He had, in a jesting way, too, put some questions to Edward in regard to the objects of his journey; but he obtained no information, and did not dare to press them closely.

"You had better take some more breakfast, sir," said an old officer commanding at the advance-posts. "You will get none in there; and, though we are forbidden to suffer the slightest morsel to go in, I presume that does not apply to what a man can carry in his stomach."

"I shall soon be back again if they let me in at all," answered Edward.

"Can any one give me a white flag? for I may as well not draw the fire.

That is a sort of breakfast I have no inclination for."

A small white flag was soon procured, and, leaving his horse with Pierrot and Beaupre, who had followed him down the hill, Edward set out on foot. He carried the white flag in his hand and approached the gate with a calm, steady pace. He saw some men walk quickly along the wall toward the same point to which his own course was directed; but the flag of truce was respected, and he was permitted to come within five or six yards of the heavy gate. Then, however, a voice shouted from behind a small grated wicket, "Stand back! What seek you here?"

"I seek to speak with the syndic Clement Tournon," said Edward; "and, if not with him, with Monsieur Guiton, mayor of the city."

"Stand back! You cannot enter here," said the man on the other side.

"Will you cause the mayor to be informed," said Edward, "that Master Edward Langdale, an English gentleman well known in Roch.e.l.le, stands without and desires admittance, if it be but for an hour?"

The man grumbled something which Edward did not hear, and there seemed to be a consultation held within, at the end of which the same voice told him to keep on the other side of the drawbridge while they informed the mayor. The young gentleman accordingly retired, and seated himself on a large stone at the end of the bridge, where for nearly an hour he had nothing to occupy him but his own thoughts, with every now and then a puff of smoke from one of the royalist batteries, which had lately begun firing, and one gun replying from the walls. It seemed all child's play, however; and he soon ceased to think of the matter at all. His mind then turned to his own position and the curious fact of Richelieu having suffered him to visit Roch.e.l.le with so very little opposition. He could not but ask himself how much the gold cup had to do with the minister's acquiescence; but, as he reflected more deeply upon the cardinal's character and upon various incidents which had come to his knowledge, he concluded in his own mind that Richelieu might be well pleased to make another effort to open a communication with the citizens without compromising his own dignity. The position of the besieging force, he thought, might not be so good as it appeared. The d.y.k.e, on which so much depended, and which he had had no means of examining closely, might not be sufficiently solid to resist the action of the sea and winds. The English armament might be, to Richelieu's knowledge, of a more formidable character and more advanced state of preparation than was admitted; and all these circ.u.mstances might render the speedy capture of Roch.e.l.le upon any terms absolutely necessary.

In little more than an hour, the same voice he had heard before called him up to the gate, and the wicket was partly opened to give him admittance under the archway, where he found five or six men with halberds on their shoulders and otherwise well armed, while a young man bearing the appearance of an officer advanced to meet him. The steel caps of the soldiers in some degree concealed their faces; but the broad-brimmed, plumed hat of the young officer served in no degree to hide the gaunt, pallid features, the high cheek-bones, the fallen-in cheeks, the hollow eyes, and the strong marking of the temples, which told a sad tale of the ravages of famine, even amongst the higher and more wealthy cla.s.ses of the town. A feeling of delicacy made Edward withdraw his eyes after one hasty glance at the young gentleman's countenance; and, as the other paused without speaking for a moment, he said, "May I ask, sir, if any one has conveyed my message to the syndic Clement Tournon or to the mayor?"

"Monsieur Tournon is ill in his own house," replied the young officer: "but Monsieur Guiton, the mayor, has come down to a house near this gate, and will receive you there, as it might be inconvenient to invite you to the town-house, for fear of any disturbance."

"I am ready to wait upon him," replied Edward, "wherever he pleases."

"I am sorry to say," replied the young officer, "that even for so short a distance you must give up your arms and suffer your eyes to be bandaged."

"I have no arms," replied Edward, "as you may see. I purposely came without. As to bandaging my eyes, do as you please. I am no spy nor agent of the French Government." He pulled off his hat as he spoke, bending down his head for the handkerchief to be tied over his eyes; and, as soon as that somewhat disagreeable operation was performed, the young officer took him by the hand, and, with one of the soldiers following, led him into Roch.e.l.le. When they had pa.s.sed on perhaps a hundred yards, Edward received a painful intimation of the state of the city. As they seemed to turn into another street, the young officer caught him by the arm and pulled him sharply aside, saying to the soldier, "Have that body removed. These sights serve to scare the people and make them clamorous."

"I don't think she is dead yet," said the soldier.

"Then have her carried to the hospital as quickly as possible. Don't let her lie there and die."

He then led Edward on, and in two or three minutes more stopped at the door of a house and entered what seemed a small pa.s.sage, where he removed the handkerchief from Edward's eyes. "Monsieur Guiton is here,"

he said, opening a door where, in a little room and at a small table, was seated a man of middle age with a dagger by his side and a sword lying on the table. His form seemed once to have been exceedingly powerful and his face firm and resolute; but there was that gaunt and worn expression in every line which Edward had seen in the countenance of his guide.

"Who are you, sir?" said the mayor; "and what is the motive of so rare a thing as the visit of a stranger to the town of Roch.e.l.le?"

"My name is Edward Langdale," replied the young Englishman,--"a poor follower of my Lord Montagu, who once bore letters from his Grace of Buckingham to the city of Roch.e.l.le."

"Ay, I remember," said the mayor, thoughtfully: "you were roughly used, if I remember right. But now, sir, to your business."

"It is in a great degree personal," replied Edward; "but, as it is private, I would rather speak to you alone."

"Leave us," said the mayor, addressing the young officer, who at once quitted the room and closed the door. "Now, sir," continued Guiton, "I am ready to hear. But be brief, I pray you. Occupation here is more plenty than time, and time more plenty than provisions. Therefore I cannot offer you refreshment nor show you much courtesy."

"I require neither, sir," answered Edward. "My business refers to Monsieur Clement Tournon. He is aged,--infirm; and I have with some difficulty obtained from the Cardinal de Richelieu permission and a pa.s.s for him to quit Roch.e.l.le."

"Ha!" said the mayor. "Ha! This is strange, young gentleman! You must be in mighty favor! Why, sir, he has driven back women and children and old men--all starving--from the French lines into this city of famine! You, an Englishman, an enemy,--he show such favor to you! Pah! There must be something under this. Have you no message for me?"

"No distinct message, sir," replied Edward: "the cardinal indeed said, in terms so vague that I cannot and will not counsel any reliance upon them, that if Roch.e.l.le would submit she should have favorable terms,--as favorable as even I could expect. But I am not his messenger, sir.

Neither is there any thing that I know under the plain fact which I have stated."

"Let me see your pa.s.s," said Guiton, abruptly. Edward handed it to him, and he examined it minutely. "'Edward Langdale and one companion,--to wit, the syndic Clement Tournon'!" he said. "Well, this is marvellous strange! I cannot let this pa.s.s without some further knowledge of so unaccountable a matter."

"Well, Monsieur Guiton," answered Edward, firmly, "pray remember that I, comparatively, a stranger to him, have perilled much to aid and rescue a man who once showed me kindness, nursed me like a father when I was sick, and trusted me as he would his son when I had recovered; and that it is you--his ancient friend, as I am told--who keep him here to die of famine or of sickness when he can be of no further service either with hand or head. I have done my duty. Probably you think you are doing yours."

The mayor waved his hand. "Not so many words," he said. "Can you give me any explanation of this strange matter?"

"None," replied Edward, boldly.

"Does Clement Tournon wish to leave the city?" demanded the mayor again.

"I do not know," replied the young Englishman. "He is old, infirm, and, I am told, sick. I have had no communication with him. But he knows that he can be of no further service in Roch.e.l.le, or I believe he would remain in it till the last man died and the last tower fell."

"He is sick," said the mayor, "of a very common disease here. But yet we are not so badly off that we cannot maintain the city till the English fleet arrives."

"The d.y.k.e!" said Edward, emphatically.

"Oh," replied Guiton, with a scoffing and unnatural-sounding laugh, "the first storm, such as I have seen many, will sweep that d.y.k.e away."

"But, if it stands fourteen days," said Edward, "will you not have a storm within these walls which will sweep away the people of Roch.e.l.le?"

Guiton covered his eyes with his hands and remained silent.

"But I have nothing to do with these things, sir," said Edward. "It was only to give aid, to give safety, to a friend, an old n.o.ble-minded man who befriended me when I had need of friendship, that I came into Roch.e.l.le at all. May I ask what is this sickness that you speak of so lightly?"

"Famine, sir! famine!" said Guiton, sharply. "An ounce of meat,--G.o.d knows of what kind,--two ounces of dried peas, and a draught of cold water, is but a meagre diet for old men and babes. We strong men can bear it; but there be some who are foolish enough to die rather than endure it a little longer."

"And have you the heart, sir," asked Edward, with some indignation in his tone, "to refuse the means of escape offered to an old man, and that man Clement Tournon, and to speak lightly of his sufferings,--his martyrdom, I might say?"