Bardelys the Magnificent - Rafael Sabatini (affordable ebook reader .txt) 📗

glare of the

burning logs lay what at first glance I took to be a heap of rags,

but which closer scrutiny showed me to be another man, seemingly

asleep also.

 

I flung my sodden castor on the table; I dropped my drenched cloak

on the ground, and stepped with heavy tread and a noisy rattle of

spurs across the floor. Yet my ragged gentleman slept on. I

touched him lightly with my whip.

 

“Hold, mon bonhomme!” I cried to him. Still he did not move, whereat

I lost patience and caught him a kick full in the side, so choicely

aimed that first it doubled him up, then brought him into a sitting

posture, with the snarl of a cross-grained dog that has been rudely

aroused.

 

From out of an evil, dirty countenance a pair of gloomy, bloodshot

eyes scowled threateningly upon me. The man on the chair awoke at

the same instant, and sat forward.

 

“Eh bien?” said I to my friend on the hearth: “Will you stir

yourself?”

 

“For whom?” he growled. “Is not the Etoile as much for me as for

you, whoever you may be?”

 

“We have paid our lodging, pardieu!” swore he of the chair.

 

“My masters,” said I grimly, “if you have not eyes to see my sodden

condition, and if you therefore have not the grace to move that I

may approach the fire; I’ll see to it that you spend the night not

only a l’Etoile, but a la belle etoile.” With which pleasantry,

and a touch of the foot, I moved my friend aside. My tone was not

nice, nor do I generally have the air of promising more than I can

fulfil.

 

They were growling together in a corner when Antoine came to draw

off my doublet and my boots. They were still growling when Gilles

joined us presently, although at his coming they paused to take his

measure with their eyes. For Gilles was something of a giant, and

men were wont to turn their heads - aye, and women too - to admire

his fine proportions. We supped - so vilely that I have not the

heart to tell you what we ate - and, having supped, I bade my host

light me to my chamber. As for my men, I had determined that they

should spend the night in the common room, where there was a fire,

and where - notwithstanding the company of those two ruffians, into

whose presence I had not troubled to inquire - they would doubtless

be better than elsewhere in that poor hostelry.

 

In gathering up my cloak and doublet and other effects to bear them

off to the kitchen, the host would have possessed himself also of

my sword. But with a laugh I took it from him, remarking that it

required no drying.

 

As we mounted the stairs, I heard something above me that sounded

like the creaking of a door. The host heard it also, for he stood

suddenly still, his glance very questioning.

 

“What was that?” said he.

 

“The wind, I should say,” I answered idly; and my answer seemed to

reassure him, for with a “Ah, yes - the wind,” he went on.

 

Now, for all that I am far from being a man of tremors or unwarranted

fears, to tell the truth the hostelry of the “Star” was beginning to

fret my nerves. I could scarce have told you why had you asked me,

as I sat upon the bed after mine host had left me, and turned my

thoughts to it. It was none of the trivial incidents that had marked

my coming; but it was, I think, the combination of them all. First

there was the host’s desire to separate me from my men by suggesting

that they should sleep in the hayloft. Clearly unnecessary, when he

was not averse to turning his common room into a dormitory. There

was his very evident relief when, after announcing that I would have

them sleep one in my room and one in the passage by my door, I

consented to their spending the night below; there was the presence

of those two very ill-looking cutthroats; there was the attempt to

carry off my sword; and, lastly, there was that creaking door and

the host’s note of alarm.

 

What was that?

 

I stood up suddenly. Had my fancy, dwelling upon that very incident,

tricked me into believing that a door had creaked again? I listened,

but a silence followed, broken only by a drone of voices ascending

from the common room. As I had assured the host upon the stairs,

so I now assured myself that it was the wind, the signboard of the

inn, perhaps, swaying in the storm.

 

And then, when I had almost dismissed my doubts, and was about to

divest myself of my remaining clothes, I saw something at which I

thanked Heaven that I had not allowed the landlord to carry off my

rapier. My eyes were on the door, and, as I gazed, I beheld the

slow raising of the latch. It was no delusion; my wits were keen

and my eyes sharp; there was no fear to make me see things that

were not. Softly I stepped to the bed-rail where I had hung my

sword by the baldrick, and as softly I unsheathed it. The door

was pushed open, and I caught the advance of a stealthy step. A

naked foot shot past the edge of the door into my room, and for a

second I thought of pinning it to the ground with my rapier; then

came a leg, then a half-dressed body surmounted by a face - the

face of Rodenard!

 

At sight of it, amazement and a hundred suspicions crossed my mind.

How, in God’s name, came he here, and for what purpose did he steal

so into my chamber?

 

But my suspicions perished even as they were begotten. There was

so momentous, so alarmingly warning a look on his face as he

whispered the one word “Monseigneur!” that clearly if danger there

was to me it was not from him.

 

“What the devil—” I began.

 

But at the sound of my voice the alarm grew in his eyes.

 

“Sh!” he whispered, his finger on his lips. “Be silent, monseigneur,

for Heaven’s sake!”

 

Very softly he closed the door; softly, yet painfully, he hobbled

forward to my side.

 

“There is a plot to murder you, monseigneur,” he whispered.

 

“What! Here at Blagnac?”

 

He nodded fearfully.

 

“Bah!” I laughed. “You rave, man. Who was to know that I was to

come this way? And who is there to plot against my life?”

 

“Monsieur de Saint-Eustache.” he answered.

 

“And for the rest, as to expecting you here, they did not, but they

were prepared against the remote chance of your coming. From what

I have gathered, there is not a hostelry betwixt this and Lavedan

at which the Chevalier has not left his cutthroats with the promise

of enormous reward to the men who shall kill you.”

 

I caught my breath at that. My doubts vanished.

 

“Tell me what you know,” said I. “Be brief.”

 

Thereupon this faithful dog, whom I had so sorely beaten but four

nights ago, told me how, upon finding himself able to walk once

more, he had gone to seek me out, that he might implore me to

forgive him and not cast him off altogether, after a lifetime

spent in the service of my father and of myself.

 

He had discovered from Monsieur de Castelroux that I was gone to

Lavedan, and he determined to follow me thither. He had no horse

and little money, and so he had set out afoot that very day, and

dragged himself as far as Blagnac, where, however, his strength had

given out, and he was forced to halt. A providence it seemed that

this had so befallen. For here at the Etoile he had that evening

overheard Saint-Eustache in conversation with those two bravi below

stairs. It would seem from what he had said that at every hostelry

from Grenade to Toulouse - at which it was conceivable that I might

spend the night - the Chevalier had made a similar provision.

 

At Blagnac, if I got so far without halting, I must arrive very

late, and therefore the Chevalier had bidden his men await me until

daylight. He did not believe, however, that I should travel so far,

for he had seen to it that I should find no horses at the posthouses.

But it was just possible that I might, nevertheless, push on, and

Saint-Eustache would let no possibility be overlooked. Here at

Blagnac the landlord, Rodenard informed me, was also in

Saint-Eustache’s pay. Their intention was to stab me as I slept.

 

“Monseigneur,” he ended, “knowing what danger awaited you along the

road, I have sat up all night, praying God and His saints that you

might come this far, and that thus I might warn you. Had I been

less bruised and sore, I had got myself a horse and ridden out to

meet you; as it was, I could but hope and pray that you would reach

Blagnac, and that—”

 

I gathered him into my arms at that, but my embrace drew a groan

from him, for the poor, faithful knave was very sore.

 

“My poor Ganymede!” I murmured, and I was more truly moved to

sympathy, I think, than ever I had been in all my selfish life.

Hearing his sobriquet, a look of hope gleamed suddenly in his eye.

 

“You will take me back, monseigneur?” he pleaded. “You will take

me back, will you not? I swear that I will never let my tongue—”

 

“Sh, my good Ganymede. Not only will I take you back, but I shall

strive to make amends for my brutality. Come, my friend, you shall

have twenty golden Louis to buy unguents for your poor shoulders.”

 

“Monseigneur is very good,” he murmured, whereupon I would have

embraced him again but that he shivered and drew back.

 

“No, no, monseigneur,” he whispered fearfully. “It is a great

honour, but it - it pains me to be touched.”

 

“Then take the will for the deed. And now for these gentlemen below

stairs.” I rose and moved to the door.

 

“Order Gilles to beat their brains out,” was Ganymede’s merciful

suggestion.

 

I shook my head. “We might be detained for doing murder. We have

no proof yet of their intentions - I think - ” An idea flashed

suddenly across my mind. “Go back to your room, Ganymede,” I bade

him. “Lock yourself in, and do not stir until I call you. I do

not wish their suspicions aroused.”

 

I opened the door, and as Ganymede obediently slipped past me and

vanished down the passage “Monsieur l’Hote,” I called. “Ho, there,

Gilles!”

 

“Monsieur,” answered the landlord.

 

“Monseigneur,” replied Gilles; and there came a stir below.

 

“Is aught amiss?” the landlord questioned, a note of concern in his

voice.

 

“Amiss?” I echoed peevishly, mincing my words as I uttered them.

“Pardi! Must I be put to it to undress myself, whilst those two

lazy dogs of mine are snoring beneath me? Come up this instant,

Gilles. And,” I added as an afterthought, “you had best sleep here

in my room.”

 

“At once, monseigneur,” answered he, but I caught the faintest

tinge of surprise in his accents, for never yet had it fallen to

the lot of sturdy, clumsy Gilles to assist me at my toilet.

 

The landlord muttered something, and I heard Gilles whispering his

reply. Then the stairs creaked under his heavy tread.

 

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