Agrippa Pavanes swung round and faced us, his hand on his sword-hilt.

"I am in charge of this gate at present, and I will act as I think best. I may not be able to read or write, but if you do not be off I will make a full stop on you with the point of my sword," he snarled.

Affairs were getting serious. Nor do I know what might have happened, but at this juncture a head appeared at a window in one of the flanking towers of the gate, and an angry and a sleepy voice asked what was the matter below.

"It is I, Crequy," began De Lorgnac, and the other exclaimed:

"You! What in the--saints' name--brings you here, De Lorgnac, at this hour of the night, or rather morning? Is it not enough that I am banished here to keep watch over this infernal gate? And now you----"

"Come, Crequy; this is a matter of urgency. There is a letter here from the Queen which must reach the King before the _pet.i.t couvert_, and your lieutenant will not let the messenger pa.s.s through the gates."

"He is quite right! But a letter from the Queen, did you say?"

"Yes; and to the King in person. Come down, and see for yourself."

"Not I; I am in my shirt, and my health is delicate. Send up the letter. Pavanes, do me the favour to bring it up."

I handed the letter to Agrippa, who took it up, with very much the surly air of a dog walking away with a bone. A moment after he too appeared at the window with his light, and Crequy examined the letter and the seals.

"'Tis right, Pavanes," we heard him say; "'tis the Queen's own hand and seal. Let the messenger through." And leaning out of the window he repeated the same to us.

De Lorgnac thanked him, regretting, at the same time, the necessity he had of arousing him; and Crequy swore back, in mock tones of injury, that he would have a special cell built for disturbers of his rest, and, wishing us the day, retired abruptly.

Agrippa carried out his orders with an ill grace, and made no answer to my thanks; so, bidding farewell to De Lorgnac, I put spurs to my horse, and, followed by Pierrebon, rode out of Paris.

CHAPTER VI

SIMON AND I MEET AGAIN

The stars were yet shining as we skirted the heights of Charenton, but it was day when we saw Villaneuve St. Georges on its wooded hill.

Here, where the Yeres wound between banks covered with willows and poplars, I first drew rein, and taking the King's letter from my pocket tore it into a hundred fragments. Some I let drift down the stream, and the remainder I scattered to the winds. I may say at once that this was in accordance with the Queen's instructions. The letter was merely intended to enable me to free the gates, and after that it was to be destroyed. It had served its purpose, and now went its way.

Needless to add, I had no intention to touch at Fontainebleau or disturb the _pet.i.t couvert_ of the King. At Melun, therefore, where horse and man were refreshed, I crossed the bridge, and took the road to Etampes. Half way, where the little town of Alais lies on the Essonne, I turned due south, and entered the Orleannois by Malesherbes.

There was many a league yet between me and Montluc, and though I had to ride hard I had yet to husband the horses, lest they should break down, or in case of emergency.

By avoiding the main roads and large towns and keeping to by-paths I lessened the chance of danger as much as possible. At Candes, which lies at the junction of the Loire and the Vienne, I heard that the Guidon of Montpensier was hard at hand, and, knowing well the reputation of this person, I bade Pierrebon saddle up, and we started without a meal, though we had ridden far and fast. In a short time we entered the forest of Fontevrault, and my spirits rose high at the thought that in a brief s.p.a.ce I would be in Poitiers, where Montluc lay, and my mission accomplished.

So far so good; but towards midday I began to feel the need of rest, and splashing across a ford of the Negron I called a halt on the opposite bank and looked around me; whilst Pierrebon, who was a little stiff, jumped from his hackney, and began to mop his brow and stretch his legs.

We were in the heart of the forest, and to the north, south, east, and west of us there was nothing but trees and dense underwood, with here and there a long, shimmering glade or an open s.p.a.ce, through which a small streamlet hummed, its banks gay with flowers.

But I confess that at the moment I had no eyes for the scene--for the yellow mary-buds, the blue of the wild hyacinth, or the white stars of the wind-flowers; for leaf and shade, and all the enchantment of the woodland. In brief, I was famished, and would have given a gold Henri to have seen a signboard swinging in the air. And, besides, it was dawning upon me that somehow we had missed the track.

"Pierrebon," I said, "do you know how far it is to Marcay?"

Pierrebon shook his head dolefully, saying as he did so that he did not even know where we were.

"Then, my friend, we are lost in Fontevrault Forest."

Pierrebon made no answer to this, but mounted his hackney. And, touching my nag with the spur, we cantered along a lean glade, trusting that the track which ran along it would hap to be the right one. Now and again as we sped onwards a startled deer would break cover and rush through brake and bramble, and once an evil-tempered old boar, feeding under an older oak, glared savagely at us as we pa.s.sed, grinding his tusks in senseless rage till the foam flecked his brindled sides.

We were in the deeps of the forest now, and, high noon as it was, it was grey as twilight. Here, as we eased up for a moment, a dog-wolf crossed our path, and with snarling lip and shining fangs slunk into the thorn. Oh, for a leash of hounds now! But on we went, catching a glimpse of a grim head peering after us through the thorn--a head with blazing, angry eyes, that almost seemed to speak. It was lucky it was not winter-tide, or that gentleman there would not be alone, but, with a hundred or so of his fellows, would have made rare sport with us, according to his lights.

Still we went on through the endless woods, which closed in deeper and deeper around us, until at last the track died utterly away in the tanglewood, and the horses began to give sign that they were beaten.

I saw that it was necessary to rest the beasts, and as I came to this conclusion we came upon a little natural clearing, where, around a clump of enormous elms, the turf was green as emerald and spangled with a hundred flowers. Immediately behind the trees the ground rose, forming a low hill covered with wild juniper and white thorn, and a little stream bustled by it, whilst from the leafy shades above the voices of many birds warbled sweet and low.

There was no need to tighten rein. The horses seemed to know of their own accord that they were to stop, and five minutes later they were cropping the rich forage; whilst I, stretched on the turf, my back against a tree, was resting with a sense of repose that would have been delicious except for the pangs of hunger gnawing at me in a manner that would take no denial.

"_Hein_," I grumbled to myself, "nothing to eat but gra.s.s! If I were the good King Nebuchadnezzar, now, I might do very well; but as it is----" And then I heard a chuckle, and saw Pierrebon fumbling with the valise. He cast a sly look at me, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Monsieur is hungry?"

"Famished."

"And thirsty?"

"Well, I have drank a little"--and I glanced at the streamlet--"but a cup of d'Arbois now, or even some white Rochecorbon, would be nectar.

Confound my stupidity at losing the way! We should have been at Marcay hours ago; but--what the devil----"

In effect I might well have exclaimed, for Pierrebon had opened the valise and taken therefrom a bulging wallet; and as I watched him with astonished eyes he rapidly unpacked it, pulling forth a cold chicken, some Mayence ham, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine, which last he put down with a little flourish, saying as he did so: "'Tis red Joue, monsieur. Not so good as d'Arbois, nor so bad as Rochecorbon."

But I had already attacked the fowl, and answered, with my mouth full:

"Pierrebon, this is the best service you have ever rendered. Open the wine, and sit down and eat. _Corbleu_! but I will dub you knight, and you shall bear arms for this--a trussed capon on a field vert."

And then there was a silence, for, with the feast before us, time spent in talking was time wasted. Finally, the capon disappeared, the last slice of ham was divided with the edge of my dagger, the last drop drained from the bottle, and restful and contented we lay back in the shade; and Pierrebon slept, whilst I slipped into a waking dream. How long this lasted I know not; but I came to myself with a start, and looked around me.

The shadow had shifted, leaving Pierrebon asleep in the sunshine, his red face looking straight up at the blue sky. The horses too were asleep in the purple loosestrife, and there was an intense peace over all things. There as I lay, listening to the splashing of the water and the song of the birds, a line of deer came out to drink, and, catching sight of us, stopped and gazed, until a sudden panic took a little speckled fawn, and it dashed away madly through the thicket, followed by its mother and a cl.u.s.ter of startled doe, the stag going last at a slow trot.

I rose to my feet and saw how long the shadows were. In truth, it was time to be up and moving. So, arousing Pierrebon, we were soon mounted and jogging through the woods, with our backs to the west. We made good way now, for the nags were refreshed; yet we knew not where the night would bring us, for we were wholly lost.

Farther and farther we rode into the woods, holding desperately on to a faint track that wound and twisted through the endless aisles of the forest. As the hour grew later the sky overhead changed from blue to crimson and gold, and the sunset, stabbing through the lace-work of branches overhead, cast ruddy lights on the trees, deepening the shadows, and giving a ghostly distance to objects around, so that we seemed in a fairy realm of enchantment.

As the sunset began to fade, and the red and gold overhead changed softly to purple and grey, over which the silver light of the moon would soon be cast, we decreased our speed, and now, riding side by side, peered anxiously into the wood for some sign of a human habitation; but there was none to be seen.

We rode in silence, for Pierrebon, to say truth, was uneasy at the uncanny stillness, and that awe with which Nature in her lonely grandeur inspires the dullest of mortals had begun to fill us. And so no word was spoken.

In and out the track wound, until at last it brought us to the very heart of the forest, where the shadows lay black and deep. Around us on every side the huge and aged trees, stretching in long lines of receding obscurity, stood like a phantom army of giants guarding some dreadful secret of the past. Twisted, distorted, and bent, with hairy, moss-grown trunks from which the decaying bark peeled like the mouldering cement on some old and forgotten ruin, the kings of the forest stood silent and grim, their branches stretched out in grisly menace--giant arms that threatened death to all who approached.

Deeper and yet more deep we rode into the gloom, though the sunset yet clung in a girdle of fire round the horizon, casting red blades of light between the tree trunks; and Pierrebon's cheek grew pale, for goblin and gnome and fay lived to him, and even I, who did not believe, felt if my sword played freely in my sheath. And then I tried to sing.

But so dismal were the echoes, so lowering the aspect of the mighty trees, that seemed, in the quaking shadows, to be instinct with life and motion, that "The Three Cavaliers" died away at the first verse; and then, from the woods in front of us, rang out a scream for help, so shrill and sharp in its agony that it froze the blood in our veins.

"'Tis a spirit!" gasped Pierrebon, with pale lips, and half pulled his horse round; but even as he did so the shriek rang out again--a woman's voice--and high and shrill in its octave of suffering. It was enough for me, and, sword in hand, I galloped for the sound.