CHAPTER XLII
ASTARTE THE SHE-WOLF
In a dark wainscoted room overlooking that branch of the Seine whichdivides the northern part of Paris from the Isle of the City, Gillesde Retz, lately Chamberlain of the King of France, sat writing. Thehotel had recently been redecorated after the sojourn of the English.Wooden pavements had again been placed in the rooms where thebarbarians had strewed their rushes and trampled upon their rottingfishbones. Noble furniture from the lathes of Poitiers, decorated withthe royal ermines of Brittany, stood about the many alcoves. The tableitself whereon the famous soldier wrote was closed in with drawers andshelves which descended to the floor and seemed to surround theoccupant like a cell.
Before de Retz stood a curious inkstand, made by some cunning jewellerout of the upper half of a human skull of small size, cut across atthe eye-holes, inverted, and set in silver with a rim of large rubies.This was filled with ink of a startling vermilion colour.
The document which Gilles de Retz was busy transcribing upon sheets ofnoble vellum in this strange ink was of an equally mysteriouscharacter. The upper part had the appearance of a charter engrossed bythe hand of some deft legal scribe, but the words which followed wereas startling as the vehicle by means of which they were made to standout from the vellum.
"Unto Barran-Sathanas; Lord most glorious and puissant in hellbeneath and in the earth above, I, his unworthy servitor Gilles deRetz, make my vows, hereby forever renouncing God, Christ, and theBlessed Saints."
To this appalling introduction succeeded many lines of close anddelicate script, interspersed with curious cabalistic signs, in whichthat of the cross reversed could frequently be detected. Gilles deRetz wrote rapidly, rising only at intervals to throw a fresh log ofwood across the vast iron dogs on either side of the wide fireplace,as the rain from the northwest beat more and more fiercely upon thesmall glazed panes of the window and howled among the innumerablegargoyles and twisted roof-stacks of the Hotel de Pornic.
Within the chamber itself, in the intervals of the storm, a lowcontinuous growling made itself evident. At first it was disregardedby the writer, but presently, by its sheer pertinacity, the sound soirritated him that he rose from his seat, and, striding to a narrowdoor covered with a heavy curtain, he threw it wide open to the wall.Then through the black oblong so made, a huge and shaggy she-wolfslouched slowly into the room.
The marshal kicked the brute impatiently with his slippered foot asshe entered, and, strange to relate, the wolf slunk past him with thecowed air of a dog conscious of having deserved punishment.
"Astarte, vilest beast," he cried, "have I not a thousand times warnedyou to be silent and wait outside when I am at work within mychamber?"
The she-wolf eyed her master as he went back towards his table. Then,seeing him lift his pen, with a sigh of content she dropped down uponthe warm hearthstone, lying with her haunches towards the blazing logsand her bristling head couched upon her paws. Her yellow shining eyesblinked sleepily and approvingly at him, while with her tongue sherasped the soft pads of her feet one by one, biting away the fur frombetween the toes with her long and gleaming teeth. Presently Astarteappeared to doze off. Her eyes were shut, her attitude relaxed. But sosoon as ever her master moved even an inch to consult a marked list ofdates which hung on a hook beside him, or leaned over to dip a quillin his scarlet ink, the flashing yellow eye and the gleam of whiteteeth underneath told that Astarte was awake and intently watchingevery movement of the worker.
Through the heavy boom of the storm without, the thresh of the rainupon the lattice casement, and the irregular whipping gusts whichshook the house, the soft wheeze of the engrossing quill could beheard, the crackle of the burning logs and the heavy regular breathingof the couchant she-wolf being the only other sounds audible withinthe apartment.
Gilles de Retz wrote on, smiling to himself as he added line afterline to his manuscript. His beard shone with a truculent blue-blacklustre. For the moment the aged look had quite gone out of his face.His cheek appeared flushed with the hues of youth and reinvigoratedhope, yet withal of a youth without innocence or charm. Rather itseemed as if fresh blood had been injected into the veins of some ageddemon, moribund and cruel, giving, instead of health or grace, only anew lease of cruelty and lust.
Presently another door opened, the main entrance of the apartment thistime, not the small private portal through which Astarte the wolf hadbeen admitted. A girl came in, thrusting aside the curtain, and, forthe space of a moment, holding it outstretched with an arm gowned inpure white before dropping it with a rustle of heavy silken fabricupon the ground.
The Marshal de Retz wrote on without appearing to be conscious of anynew presence in his private chamber. The girl stood regarding him,with eyes that blazed with an intent so deadly and a hate soall-possessing that the yellow treachery in those of Astarte theshe-wolf appeared kind and affectionate by contrast.
At the girl's entrance that shaggy beast had raised herself upon herfore paws, and presently she gave vent to a low growl, half ofdistrust and half of warning, which at once reached the ears of thebusy worker.
Gilles de Retz looked up quickly, and, catching sight of the LadySybilla, with a sweep of his hand he thrust his manuscript into anopen drawer of the escritoire.
"Ah, Sybilla," he said, leaning back in his chair with an air of easyfamiliarity, "you are more sparing of your visits to me than of yore.To what do I owe the pleasure and honour of this one?"
The girl eyed him long before answering. She stood statue-still by thecurtain at the entrance of the apartment, ignoring the chair which themarshal had offered her with a bow and a courteous wave of his hand.
"I have come," she made answer at last, in the deep even tones whichshe had used before the council of the traitors at Stirling, "todemand from you, Messire Gilles de Retz, what you mean to do with thelittle Margaret Douglas and her companion, whom you wickedlykidnapped from their own country and have brought with you in yourtrain to France?"
"I have satisfaction in informing you," replied the marshal, suavely,"that it is my purpose to dispose of both these agreeable young ladiesentirely according to my own pleasure."
The girl caught at her breast with her hand, as if to stay a suddenspasm of pain.
"Not at Tiffauges--" she gasped, "not at Champtoce?"
The marshal leaned back, enjoying her terror, as one tastes in slowsips a rare brand of wine. He found the flavour of her fearsdelicious.
"No, Sybilla," he replied at last, "neither at Champtoce nor yet atTiffauges--for the present, that is, unless some of your Scottishfriends come over to rescue them out of my hands."
"How, then, do you intend to dispose of them?" she urged.
"I shall send them to your puking sister and her child, hiding theirheads and sewing their samplers at Machecoul. What more can you ask?Surely the young and fair are safe in such worthy society, even ifthey may chance to find it a little dull."
"How can I believe him, or know that for once he will forego hispurposes of hell?" Sybilla murmured, half to herself.
The Marshal de Retz smiled, if indeed the contraction of muscles whichrevealed a line of white teeth can be called by that name. In thesense in which Astarte would have smiled upon a defenceless sheepfold,so Gilles de Retz might have been said to smile at his visitor.
"You may believe me, sweet Lady Sybilla," said the marshal, "becausethere is one vice which it is needless for me to practise in yourpresence, that of uncandour. I give you my word that unless yourfriends come worrying me from the land of Scots, the maids shall notdie. Perhaps it were better to warn any visitors that even atMachecoul we are accustomed to deal with such cases. Is it not so,Astarte?"
At the sound of her name the huge wolf rose slowly, and, walking toher master's knee, she nosed upon him like a favourite hound.
"And if your intent be not that which causes fear to haunt theprecincts of your palaces like a night-devouring beast, and makes yourname an execration throughout Brittany and the Vendee,
why have youcarried the little child and the other pretty fool forth from theircountry? Was it not enough that you should slay the brothers?Wherefore was it necessary utterly to cut off the race of theDouglases?"
"Sybilla, dear sister of my sainted Catherine," purred the marshal,"it is your privilege that you should speak freely. When it ispleasing to me I may even answer you. It pleases me now, listen--youknow of my devotion to science. You are not ignorant at what cost, atwhat vast sacrifices, I have in secret pushed my researches beyond thevery confines of knowledge. The powers of the underworlds arerevealing themselves to me, and to me alone. Evil and good alike shallbe mine. I alone will pluck the blossom of fire, and tear from helland hell's master their cherished mystery."
He paused as if mentally to recount his triumphs, and then continued.
"But at the moment of success I am crossed by a prejudice. Theignorant people clamour against my life--_canaille_! I regard themnot. But nevertheless their foolish prejudices reach other ears.Hearken!"
And like a showman he beckoned Sybilla to the window. A low roar ofhuman voices, fitful yet sustained, made itself distinctly audibleabove the shriller hooting of the tempest.
"Open the window!" he commanded, standing behind the curtain.
The girl unhasped the brazen hook and looked out. Beneath her a littlecrowd of poor people had collected about a woman who was beating withbleeding hands upon the shut door of the Hotel de Pornic.
"Justice! justice!" cried the woman, her hands clasped and her longblack hair streaming down her shoulders, "give me my child, my littlePierre. Yester-eve he was enticed into the monster's den by hisservant Poitou, and I shall never see him more! Give me my boy,murderer! Restore me my son!"
And the answering roar of the people's voices rose through the openwindow to the ears of the marshal. "Give the woman her son, Gilles deRetz!"
At that moment the woman caught sight of Sybilla. Instantly shechanged her tone from entreaty to fierce denunciation.
"Behold the witch, friends, let us tear her to pieces. She is keptyoung and beautiful by drinking the blood of children. Throw thyselfdown, Jezebel, that the dogs may eat thee in the streets."
And a shout went up from the populace as Sybilla shut to the window,shuddering at the horrors which surrounded her.
The Marshal de Retz had not moved, watching her face without regardingthe noise outside. Now he went back to his chair, and bending hisslender white fingers together, he looked up at her.
Presently he struck a silver bell by his side three times, and themellow sound pervaded the house.
Poitou appeared instantly at the inner door through which the she-wolfhad entered.
"How does it go?" asked the marshal, with his usual careless easygrace.
"Not well," said Poitou, shaking his head; "that is, rightly up to apoint, and then--all wrong!"
For the first time the countenance of the marshal appeared troubled.
"And I was sure of success this time. We must try them younger. It isall so near, yet, strangely it escapes us. Well, Poitou, I shall comein a little when I have finished with this lady. Tell De Sille toexpect me."
Poitou bowed respectfully and was withdrawing, too well trained tosmile or even lift his eyes to where Sybilla stood by the window.
His master appeared to recollect himself.
"A moment, Poitou--there are some troublesome people of the cityrabble at the door. Bid the guard turn out, and thrust them away. Tellthem to strike not too gently with the flats of their swords and thebutts of their spears."
Gilles de Retz listened for some time after the disappearance of hisfamiliar. Presently the low droning note of popular execrationchanged into sharper exclamations of hatred, mingled with cries ofpain.
Then the marshal smiled, and rubbed his hands lightly one over theother.
"That's my good lads," he said; "hear the rattle of the spear-hiltsupon the paving-stones? They are bringing the butts into closeacquaintance with certain very ill-shod feet. Ah, now they are gone!"
The marshal took a long breath and went on, half to himself and halfto Sybilla.
"But I own it is all most inconvenient," he said, thoughtfully. "Herein Paris, in King Charles's country, it does not so greatly matter.For the affair in Scotland has set me right with the King and inespecial with the Dauphin. By the death of the Douglases I have givenback the duchy of Touraine to the kings of France after threegenerations. I have therefore well earned the right to be allowed toseek knowledge in mine own way."
"The service of the devil is a poor way to knowledge," said the girl.
"Ah, there it is," said the marshal, raising his hand with gentledeprecation, "even you, who are so highly privileged, are not whollysuperior to vulgar prejudice. I keep a college of priests for theservice of God and the Virgin. They have done me but little good.Surely therefore I may be allowed a little service of That Other, whohas afforded me such exquisite pleasure and aided me so much. TheMaster of Evil knows all things, and he can help whom he will to thesecrets of wealth, of power, and of eternal youth."
"Have you gained any of these by the aid of that Master whom youserve?" asked the Lady Sybilla, with great quiet in her voice.
"Nay, not yet," cried the marshal, moved for the first time, "notyet--perhaps because I have sought too eagerly and hotly. But I am nowat least within sight of the wondrous goal. See," he added, withgenuine excitement labouring in his voice, "see--I am still a youngman, yet though I, Gilles de Retz, was born to the princeliest fortunein France, and by marriage added another, they have both been spentwell nigh to the last stiver in learning the hidden secrets of theuniverse. I am still a young man, I say, but look at my whiteninghair, count the deep wrinkles on my forehead, consider my witheredcheek. Have I not tasted all agonies, renounced all delights, and castaside all scruples that I might win back my youth, and with it theknowledge of good and evil?"
Sybilla went to the door and stood again by the curtain.
"Then you swear by your own God that you will let no evil befall theScottish maids?" she said.
"I have told you already--let that suffice!" he replied with suddencoldness; "you know that, like the Master whom I serve, I can keep myword. I will not harm them, so long as their Scottish kinsfolk comenot hither meddling with my purposes. I have enough of meddlers inFrance without adding outlanders thereto! I cannot keep a new andpermanent danger at grass within my gates."
The Lady Sybilla passed through the portal by which she had entered,without adieu or leave-taking of any kind. Gilles de Retz rose as soonas the curtain had fallen, and shook himself with a yawn, like onewho has got through a troublesome necessary duty. Then he walked tothe window and looked out. The woman had come back and was kneelingbefore the Hotel de Pornic.
A BRIGHT LIGHT AS OF A FURNACE BURNT UP BEFORE HIM, ANDTHE HEAT WAS OVERPOWERING AS IT RUSHED LIKE A RUDDY TIDE-RACE AGAINSTHIS FACE.]
At sight of him she cried with sudden shrillness, "My lord, my greatlord, give me back my child--my little Pierre. He is my heart's heart.My lord, he never did you any harm in all his innocent life!"
The Marshal de Retz shut the window with a shrug of protest againstthe vulgarity of prejudice. He did not notice four men in the garb ofpilgrims who stood in the dark of a doorway opposite.
"This is both unnecessary and excessively discomposing," he muttered;"I fear Poitou has not been judicious enough in his selections."
He turned towards the private door, and as he did so Astarte theshe-wolf rose and silently followed him with her head drooped forward.He went along a dark passage and pushed open a little iron door. Abright light as of a furnace burnt up before him, and the heat wasoverpowering as it rushed like a ruddy tide-race against his face.
"Well, Poitou, does it go better?" he said cheerfully, "or must we trythem of the other sex and somewhat younger, as I at first proposed?"
He let the door slip back, and the action of a powerful spring shutout Astarte. Whereat she sat down on her haunches in the dark of thepassage, a
nd showed her gleaming teeth in a grin, as, with cockedears, she listened to the sounds from within the secret laboratory ofthe Marshal de Retz.