CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.
SOMEBODY'S WOUND.
As if to aid the fugitives' escape, the moon, which had been shiningbrightly the greater part of the evening, had become overclouded almostfrom the minute they set off, and headed by the King, who bent low overthe pommel of his saddle, and at the start had seemed to drive his spursinto his horse's flanks, the little party tore over the darkened road ata furious pace, no one uttering a word.
The King led; that was sufficient for two of the party, who set theirteeth and gave the horses their heads, merely taking care to rein upslightly as every now and then they came upon some terribly untendedpiece of the road.
"The King leads," thought the two young men, "and all we have to do isto keep close at his heels, ready if wanted, and for France."
Saint Simon was one who thought little and said less. They had had anexciting charge, mastered those who opposed them, behaved like gentlemenof France, and that was enough.
But as Denis galloped on with the wind coming cool and pleasant tocheeks fevered by the excitement that he had passed through, pictureafter picture flitted through his brain, dominated by that in the stableentry when he had felt his rapier glide through his adversary's neck.
Had he killed this man? something seemed to ask him again and again.
Then came the strong feeling of dissatisfaction as imaginary picturestook the others' place, illustrating the breaking open of the cabinetand the stealing of the jewel--imaginary so far as he was concerned, forno communication as to this having been accomplished had been made tohim. But he took it all for granted, and though he had taken no activepart in the theft--for theft his conscience persisted in calling it--thebase action pressed upon him more and more, in spite of his combating itwith declarations that it was an act of warfare to regain the King'sown, and that it was for France.
At last as they galloped on with their horses following their naturalinstinct and keeping closely together as in a knot, the trouble, theworry became almost unbearable.
"Oh, if something fresh would only happen--something exciting!" Denismuttered. "I could then bear it better."
At last a thought flashed through his brain, and he started, rose alittle in his stirrups, and began looking about him.
"Are we going right?" he said to himself, and he looked straight aheadnow--beyond Francis, who was slightly in advance, he being on the King'sleft, while Leoni's horse galloped level with his own, the beautifulanimal's head being almost within touch of the King's saddle upon theright.
But all was dark and cloudy, and he could make out nothing.
"The King leads," he muttered, "and what the King does is right."
Thinking this to himself, Denis rode on, perfectly unconscious of thefact that he who rode on his right was vastly troubled too, andregardless of everything else kept one eye fixed upon his liege, for hehad noticed that Francis was not riding according to his wont.
He was generally upright in his saddle, and he had never seen him bendlow before like this.
At first he comforted himself with the thought that it was all due toexcitement and the dread of being captured after this nefarious act; forgloze it over as he would, the subtle Franco-Italian knew in his heartthat though it might be for reasons of State, and to ensure thestability and future of his King, the scheme was vile. Then, too, therewas all that had taken place that night, the peculiar semi-trance-likestate in which the King had seemed to be plunged. There was thedraught, too, that had been taken, and its effects before he had graspedthe King's wrist and had led him, a passive instrument in his hands, towhere the cabinet stood in the obscurity of the gallery, and had himstanding there, participator of that which had followed, but in a halfunconscious condition the while.
Once or twice after coming to the conclusion, and owning to himself thatthe state of Francis was due entirely to the draught he hadadministered, Leoni started nervously in his saddle, for the King hadsuddenly given a lurch as if partly unseated; but he regained hisbalance on the instant, and muttered angrily at his horse for stumbling.
They rode on now at a hand gallop, their horses' hoofs beating heavilyupon the road, but not drowning the King's voice, as every now and thenhe made his horse lay back its ears to listen to the rider's words,which at times came angrily and fast. But they were incoherent andstrange, and it was only now and then that Leoni, on his right, andDenis, on his left, caught their import, always something about the huntand losing their quarry.
It was just after one of these mutterings that the clouds were sweptfrom the face of the moon, passing onward like a vast black velvetcurtain edged with silver, and leaving visible a third, later on a half,of the vast arch overhead, studded here and there with stars whoselustre was paled by the effulgent moon.
And now it was that, after studying the sky overhead for some minutes tomake sure, Denis could control himself no longer, and involuntarilyexclaimed; "Are we going right?"
"What!" cried Leoni sharply, for the King paid no heed, but galloped on,muttering to himself the while.
"Are we going right?" repeated the lad.
"What do you mean, boy?"
"The road is straight, sir, and we are riding to the north. Should wenot be making for the south?"
"Are you mad, boy? What do you mean?"
"Look, sir--the stars. That must be the Bear."
Leoni was silent for a few moments, breathing heavily the while, as theyrode steadily on. Then the doctor's voice came in a low angry hiss:
"Yes, boy," he said, and his voice sounded like a harsh whisper, "we areupon the wrong road; but the Count led, and I thought of nothing butmaking our escape."
"Are we to rein in, sir? Will you not tell him at once?" whisperedDenis, leaning towards him as near as he could get.
"No; we can do nothing now but gallop on. There is certainly pursuitgoing on hot foot behind us--somewhere," he added, after a slight pause;"and perhaps it is in the Count's wisdom that he has chosen this way,for if we were beyond earshot when pursuit commenced, the guard wouldnaturally divine that we should be making for some southern port.Perhaps all is working for the best."
"Ah!" ejaculated Denis excitedly, for Francis reeled again in hissaddle, this time towards his young esquire, who spurred his steed levelwith the King's just in time to save him from falling headlong to theground.
"Ah!" he muttered angrily. "This horse is going lame, and we shall belast. Poor broken beast, I have ridden him too hard, and--I like itnot; I like it not."
"Master Leoni!" cried Denis excitedly, as the King recovered himselfonce more. "The Comte, sir--the Comte!"
"I know. I saw. Keep as you are now, as close as you can ride. I'llkeep level on the other side. We must reach water somehow, and I willgive him to drink. It is the excitement. He is ill."
"No, no, sir!" cried Denis wildly. "He is wounded."
"What!" shouted Leoni.
"My hand and sleeve are wet with blood. Look, sir, look!" For the moonwas shining brightly down upon them now. "A horrible cut upon hisbrow!"
"Halt!" cried Leoni; and at the command the horses stopped so suddenlythat but for the hands of his followers the King would have been thrownupon his horse's neck.
"Are we to get him down?" panted Denis.
"No," said Leoni, cool and stern as if, in spite of the emergency,danger was afar. "Support him that side." And letting his horse's reinfall upon the neck he drew his little _flacon_ from the breast of hisdoublet, unscrewed the top, and passing his arm round the King'sshoulders, the head fell back, and the doctor pressed the neck of thelittle flask between his lips, while Francis yawned slightly, and a fewdrops trickled over his dry hot tongue. A few drops--no more--and thenthe top was screwed on the flask, it was returned to its owner's breast,and he busily examined the King's forehead, after drawing back theplumed cap which had been dragged down over his eyes.
"A cut from sword or axe," muttered Leoni. "It must have been given byone of those halberdiers. He has borne it bravel
y, gentlemen, and likea king. Hah! My handkerchief!"
He snatched it out, just as it was, folded like a pad. "Now then, ascarf," he said. "Yours, Denis. I will unfasten it myself. You, SaintSimon, ride back a hundred yards and listen. Make out if you canwhether we are pursued."
Saint Simon turned off and rode back without a word, while Leoni hastilyunfastened and drew off the young esquire's silken scarf, and said withhis white teeth glistening in a sardonic smile in the bright moonlight:
"Why, Denis, boy, you will be honoured to-night. You must save thisscarf as an heirloom, for when you get it back it will be deeply stainedwith the royal blood of France."
"Hist!" whispered the lad, flushing. "The Comte will hear."
"Perhaps," said Leoni coolly; "but he will not understand. Ah, that isbetter: raise his head a little.--Stand still, horse!" he cried angrily;and then, as Denis raised the King's head a trifle, the whitehandkerchief was bound tightly over the wound, and the scarf adjusted sothat it retained it in its place and formed into a turban-like cover,while the King's jewelled cap was secured by its strap to theembroidered baldric he wore.