CHAPTER XVIII. THE TRIAL
The next day Roland, who had been unable to sleep till about two in themorning, woke about seven. Collecting his scattered wits, he recalledwhat had passed between Sir John and himself the night before, and wasastonished that the Englishman had not wakened him. He dressed hastilyand went to Sir John's room at the risk of rousing him from his firstsleep.
He knocked at the door. Sir John made no answer. Roland knocked again,louder this time. The same silence. This time some uneasiness mingledwith Roland's curiosity. The key was on the outside; the young officeropened the door, and cast a rapid glance around the room. Sir Johnwas not there; he had not returned. The bed was undisturbed. What hadhappened?
There was not an instant to lose, and we may be sure that, with thatrapidity of decision we know in Roland, he lost not an instant. Herushed to his room, finished dressing, put his hunting knife into hisbelt, slung his rifle over his shoulder and went out. No one was yetawake except the chambermaid. Roland met her on the stairs.
"Tell Madame de Montrevel," said he, "that I have gone into the forestof Seillon with my gun. She must not worry if Sir John and I are not ontime for breakfast."
Then he darted rapidly away. Ten minutes later he reached the windowwhere he had left Sir John the night before. He listened, not a soundcame from within; the huntsman's ear could detect the morning woodlandsounds, but no others. Roland climbed through the window with hiscustomary agility, and rushed through the choir into the sacristy.
One look sufficed to show him that not only the choir but the entirechapel was empty. Had the spectres led the Englishman along the reverseof the way he had come himself? Possibly. Roland passed rapidly behindthe altar, into the vaults, where he found the gate open. He entered thesubterranean cemetery. Darkness hid its depths. He called Sir John threetimes. No one answered.
He reached the second gate; it was open like the first. He entered thevaulted passage; only, as it would be impossible to use his gun in suchdarkness, he slung it over his shoulder and drew out his hunting-knife.Feeling his way, he continued to advance without meeting anybody, butthe further he went the deeper became the darkness, which indicated thatthe stone in the cistern was closed. He reached the steps, and mountedthem until his head touched the revolving stone; then he made an effort,and the block turned. Roland saw daylight and leaped into the cistern.The door into the orchard stood open. Roland passed through it, crossedthat portion of the orchard which lay between the cistern and thecorridor at the other end of which he had fired upon the phantom. Hepassed along the corridor and entered the refectory. The refectory wasempty.
Again, as in the funereal passageway, Roland called three times. Thewondering echo, which seemed to have forgotten the tones of the humanvoice, answered stammering. It was improbable that Sir John had comethis way; it was necessary to go back. Roland retraced his steps, andfound himself in the choir again. That was where Sir John had intendedto spend the night, and there some trace of him must be found.
Roland advanced only a short distance, and then a cry escaped him. Alarge spot of blood lay at his feet, staining the pavement. On the otherside of the choir, a dozen feet from the blood, was another stain, notless large, nor less red, nor less recent. It seemed to make a pendantfor the first.
One of these stains was to the right, the other to the left of that sortof pedestal intended, as we have said, to support the eagle lectern--thepedestal which Sir John had selected for his place of waiting. Rolandwent up to it. It was drenched with blood! Evidently the drama had takenplace on that spot; a drama which, if all the signs were true, must havebeen terrible.
Roland, in his double capacity of huntsman and soldier, was keen ata quest. He could calculate the amount of blood lost by a man who wasdead, or by one who was only wounded. That night three men had fallen,either dead or wounded. What were the probabilities?
The two stains in the choir to the right and left of the pedestal wereprobably the blood of Sir John's two antagonists. That on the pedestalwas probably his own. Attacked on both sides, right and left, he hadfired with both hands, killing or wounding a man with each shot. Hencethese two bloodstains which reddened the pavement. He himself must havebeen struck down beside the pedestal, on which his blood had spurted.
After a few seconds of examination, Roland was as sure of this as if hehad witnessed the struggle with his own eyes. Now, what had been donewith the bodies? He cared little enough about two of them; but he wasdetermined to know what had become of that of Sir John.
A track of blood started from the pedestal and led straight to the door.Sir John's body had been carried outside. Roland shook the massive door.It was only latched, and opened at the first pressure. Outside thesill the tracks of blood still continued. Roland could see throughthe underbrush the path by which the body had been carried. The brokenbranches, the trampled grass, led Roland to the edge of the wood on theroad leading from Pont d'Ain to Bourg. There the body, living or dead,seemed to have been laid on the bank of the ditch. Beyond that no traceswhatever.
A man passed just then, coming from the direction of the Chateau desNoires-Fontaines. Roland went up to him.
"Have you seen anything on the road? Did you meet any one?" he inquired.
"Yes," replied the man, "I saw two peasants carrying a body on alitter."
"Ah!" cried Roland, "was it that of a living man?"
"The man was pale and motionless; he looked as if he were dead."
"Was the blood flowing?"
"I saw some drops on the road."
"In that case, he is living."
Then taking a louis from his pocket he said: "There's a louis for you.Run for Dr. Milliet at Bourg; tell him to get a horse and come at fullspeed to the Chateau des Noires-Fontaines. You can add that there is aman there in danger of dying."
While the peasant, stimulated by the reward, made all haste to Bourg,Roland, leaping along on his vigorous legs, was hurrying to the chateau.
And now, as our readers are, in all probability, as curious as Rolandto know what had happened to Sir John, we shall give an account of theevents of the night.
A few minutes before eleven, Sir John, as we have seen, entered what wasusually known as La Correrie, or the pavilion of the Chartreuse, whichwas nothing more than a chapel erected in the woods. From the sacristyhe entered the choir. It was empty and seemed solitary. A ratherbrilliant moon, veiled from time to time by a cloud, sent its bluishrays through the stained glass, cracked and broken, of the pointedwindows. Sir John advanced to the middle of the choir, where he pausedand remained standing beside the pedestal.
The minutes slipped away. But this time it was not the convent clockwhich marked the time, it was the church at Peronnaz; that is to say,the nearest village to the chapel where Sir John was watching.
Everything happened up to midnight just as it had to Roland. Sir Johnheard only the vague rustling and passing noises of the night.
Midnight sounded; it was the moment he awaited with impatience, for itwas then that something would happen, if anything was to happen. As thelast stroke died away he thought he heard footsteps underground, and sawa light appear behind the iron gate leading to the mortuary vault. Hiswhole attention was fixed on that spot.
A monk emerged from the passage, his hood brought low over his eyes, andcarrying a torch in his hand. He wore the dress of a Chartreux. A secondone followed, then a third. Sir John counted twelve. They separatedbefore the altar. There were twelve stalls in the choir; six to theright of Sir John, six to his left. The twelve monks silently took theirplaces in the twelve stalls. Each one placed his torch in a hole madefor that purpose in the oaken desk, and waited.
A thirteenth monk appeared and took his stand before the altar.
None of the monks affected the fantastic behavior of ghosts or shades;they all belonged undoubtedly to the earth, and were living men.
Sir John, a pistol in each hand, stood leaning against the pedestalin the middle of the choir, and watched with the utmost coolness
thismanoeuvre which tended to surround him. The monks were standing, likehim, erect and silent.
The monk at the altar broke the silence.
"Brothers," he asked, "why are the Avengers assembled?"
"To judge a blasphemer!" replied the monks.
"What crime has this blasphemer committed?" continued the interlocutor.
"He has tried to discover the secrets of the Companions of Jehu."
"What penalty has he incurred?"
"Death."
The monk at the altar waited, apparently, to give time for the sentencewhich had just been pronounced to reach the heart of him whom itconcerned. Then turning to the Englishman, who continued as calm as ifhe were at a comedy, he said: "Sir John Tanlay, you are a foreigner andan Englishman--a double reason why you should leave the Companions ofJehu to fight their own battles with the government, whose downfall theyhave sworn. You failed in wisdom, you yielded to idle curiosity; insteadof keeping away, you have entered the lion's den, and the lion will rendyou."
Then after an instant's silence, during which he seemed to await theEnglishman's reply, he resumed, seeing that he remained silent: "SirJohn Tanlay, you are condemned to death. Prepare to die!"
"Ah! I see that I have fallen into the hands of a band of thieves. Ifso, I can buy myself off with a ransom." Then turning to the monk at thealtar he asked, "How much do you demand, captain?"
A threatening murmur greeted these insolent words. The monk at the altarstretched out his hand.
"You are mistaken, Sir John. We are not a band of thieves," said he in atone as calm and composed as Sir John's, "and the proof is, that if youhave money or jewels upon you, you need only give me your instructions,and they will be remitted either to your family or the person whom youdesignate."
"And what guarantee shall I have that my last wishes will be carriedout?"
"My word."
"The word of the leader of assassins! I don't trust it."
"This time, as before, you are mistaken, Sir John. I am no more theleader of assassins than I am a captain of thieves."
"Who are you, then?"
"The elect of celestial vengeance. I am the envoy of Jehu, King ofIsrael, who was anointed by the prophet Elisha to destroy the house ofAhab."
"If you are what you say, why do you veil your faces? Why do you weararmor under your robes? The elect strike openly; they risk death ingiving death. Throw back your hoods, show me your naked breasts, and Iwill admit that you are what you pretend to be."
"Brothers, you have heard him," said the monk at the altar.
Then, stripping off his gown, he opened his coat, waistcoat and evenhis shirt. Each monk did the same, and stood with face exposed andbared breast. They were all handsome young men, of whom the eldest wasapparently not more than thirty-five. Their dress was elegant, but,strange fact, none was armed. They were judges and nothing more.
"Be satisfied, Sir John Tanlay," said the monk at the altar. "You willdie, but in dying, you can, as you wished just now, recognize and killyour judges. Sir John, you have five minutes to prepare your soul fordeath!"
Sir John, instead of profiting by this permission to think of hiseternal salvation, coolly cocked his pistols to see that the triggerswere all right, and passed a ramrod down the barrels to make sure thatthe balls were there. Then, without waiting for the five minutes toexpire, he said: "Gentlemen, I am ready. Are you?"
The young men looked at each other; then, on a sign from their chief,they walked straight to Sir John, and surrounded him on all sides. Themonk at the altar stood immovable, commanding with his eye the scenethat was about to take place.
Sir John had only two pistols, consequently he could only kill two men.He selected his victims and fired. Two Companions of Jehu rolled uponthe pavement, which they reddened with their blood. The others, as ifnothing had happened, still advanced with outstretched hands uponSir John. Sir John seized his pistols by the muzzle, using them likehammers. He was vigorous and the struggle was long. For ten minutes,a confused group tussled in the centre of the choir; then this violentcommotion ceased, and the Companions of Jehu drew away to right andleft, and regained their stalls, leaving Sir John bound with theirgirdles and lying upon the pedestal in the choir.
"Have you commended your soul to God?" asked the monk at the altar.
"Yes, assassin," answered Sir John; "you may strike."
The monk took a dagger from the altar, advanced with uplifted arm, and,standing over Sir John, levelled the dagger at his breast: "Sir JohnTanlay," he said, "you are a brave man, and doubtless a man of honor.Swear that you will never breathe a syllable of what you have seen;swear that under no circumstances, whatever they may be, you willrecognize us, and we will spare your life."
"As soon as I leave here," replied Sir John, "I shall denounce you. Themoment I am free I will trail you down."
"Swear," repeated the monk a second time.
"No," said Sir John.
"Swear," said the monk for the third time.
"Never," replied Sir John.
"Then die, since you will it!"
And he drove his dagger up to the hilt in Sir John's breast; who,whether by force of will, or because the blow killed him at once,did not even sigh. Then the monk in a loud sonorous voice, like a manconscious of having done his duty, exclaimed: "Justice is done!"
Then he returned to the altar, leaving the dagger in the wound and said:"Brothers, you are invited to the ball of the Victims, which takes placein Paris on the 21st of January next, at No. 35 Rue du Bac, in memory ofthe death of King Louis XVI."
So saying, he re-entered the subterranean passage, followed by theremaining ten monks, each bearing his torch in his hand. Two torchesremained to light the three bodies.
A moment later four serving brothers entered, and raised first thebodies of the two monks, which they carried into the vault. Then theyreturned, lifted that of Sir John, placed it on a stretcher, and carriedit out of the chapel by the entrance door, which they closed after them.Two of the monks walked in front of the stretcher, carrying the twotorches left in the chapel.
And now, if our readers ask why there was this difference between thetreatment received by Roland and that administered to Sir John, whythis mansuetude toward one and this rigor toward the other, we reply:Remember that Morgan enjoined on his brethren the safety of Amelie'sbrother, and thus safeguarded, under no circumstances could Roland dieby the hand of a Companion of Jehu.