CHAPTER XX
THE MOUNTEBANK AND THE SOLDIER
As the mountebank walked out of the apartment of the Governor'sdaughter, he drew himself up with an air of expectancy, like a manpreparing for some sudden climax. Once beyond the threshold, his eyesglanced furtively back at the closed door, and, descending the stairsto the floor below, he carried his head a little forward, as if intentto catch unwonted sound or outcry. But no raised voice or unusualnoise reached his ear, and his footsteps, as the party issued forthinto the street, responded briskly to the soldiers' pace. Still withthe same air of strained attention, now mingled with a trace ofperplexity, he followed his guard until called upon to stop.
"You are to sleep here!" As he spoke, the commandant opened the doorof what seemed a low out-building, not very far from the generalbarracks, and motioned the mountebank to enter. The latter, afterglancing quickly at the speaker and the soldiers behind, bent to stepacross the dark threshold, and, still stooping, on account of the lowroof, looked around him. By the faint glimmer of light from a lanternone of the soldiers held, the few details of that squalid place wereindistinctly revealed: A single stall whose long-eared occupant turnedits head inquiringly at the abrupt appearance of a companion lodger;bits of harness and a number of traps hanging from pegs on the wall,and, near the door, on the ground, a bundle of grass, rough fodder fromthe marshes close by the shore. This last salt-smelling heap, theofficer, peering in with a fastidious sniff, indicated.
"That's your bed! A softer one than you would have had but for theLady Elise!"
The prisoner returned no answer, and in the voice of a man whose humorwas not of the best, the commandant uttered a brief command. A momentor two the light continued to pass fitfully about the stable; then itand the moving shadows vanished; a key grated in the door, and thesound of the officer's receding footsteps was followed by thediminishing clatter of men's heels on the flagging stone. Not untilboth had fairly died away in the distance and the silence was brokenonly by certain indications of restiveness from the stall, did theprisoner move.
First, to the door, which he tried and shook; then, avoiding the pileof fodder, to the wall, where, feeling about the rough masonry with theenergy of one who knew he had no time to spare, his hands, ere long,encountered the frame of a small window. Any gratification, however,he might have experienced thereat found its offset in the subsequentdiscovery that the window had heavy iron blinds, closed and fastened,and was further guarded by a single strong bar set in the middle,dividing the one inconsiderable aperture into two spaces of impassabledimensions. But as if spurred by obstacles to greater exertions,fiercely the man grasped the metallic barrier, braced himself, and putforth his strength. In its setting of old masonry, the rod movedslightly; then more and more, and the prisoner, breathing a momenthard, girded himself anew. A wrench, a tug, and the bar, partlydisintegrated, snapped in the middle, and holding the pieces, theprisoner fell somewhat violently back. Armed now with an implementthat well might serve as a lever, he, nevertheless, paused beforeendeavoring to force the formidable fastenings of the blinds; paused totear off the tight-fitting clown's cap; to doff the costume of themountebank covering the rough, dark garments beneath, and vigorously torub his face with some mixture he took from his pocket. He had madebut a few passes to remove the distinguishing marks of paint andpigment, when a sound without, in the distance, caused him to desist.
Footsteps, that grew louder, were coming his way, and, gripping his bartighter the prisoner grimly waited; but soon his grasp relaxed. Thesound was that of a single person, who now paused before the entrance;fumbled at the lock, and, with an impatient exclamation, set somethingdown. At the same time the prisoner dropped his weapon and stooped forthe discarded garments; in the dark, they escaped him and he was stillsearching, when the bolt, springing sharply back, caused him tostraighten.
"Are you there, Monsieur Mountebank?" The door swung open; anuncertain light cast sickly rays once more within, and beneath thelantern, raised above his head, innocent of the danger he had justescaped, the round visage of the good-natured soldier who had escortedthe mountebank to the _auberge des voleurs_ looked amicably andinquiringly into the darksome hovel.
"Yes; what do you want?" the answer came more curt than courteous.
"What do I want?" the fellow repeated with a broad smile. "Now that'sgood! Perhaps it would be more to the point to ask what do you want?And here," indicating a loaf and jug in his hand, "I've got them,though why the commandant should have cared, and ordered them brought--"
"He did?" said the prisoner, with a flash of quick surprise. "Well,I'm not hungry, but you can leave them."
"Not hungry?" And the soldier, who seemed a little the worse forliquor, but more friendly in consequence, walked in. "I don't wonder,though," he went on, closing the door, hanging his lantern above andplacing the jug on the ground; "in such a foul hole! What you need,comrade, is company, and," touching significantly his breast,"something warmer than flows from the spring of St. Aubert."
"I tell you," began the mountebank, when the soldier, staring, got afair look at the other for the first time and started back.
"Eh? What's this?"
"Oh, I took them off! You don't suppose I'd sleep in my white clothesin such a dirty--"
"Right you are, comrade!" returned the other, seating himself beforethe door on a three-legged stool he found in a corner. "But for themoment you gave me a start. I thought you some other person."
"What--person?"
"No one in particular. You might," unbuttoning his coat to draw fortha bottle, "have been any one! But I dare say you have had them off inworse places than this--which, after all, is not bad, compared to someof the rooms for guests at the Mount!"
"You mean?" The mountebank looked first at the closed blinds; then atthe door, and a sudden determination came to his eyes.
"Those especially prepared for the followers of the Black Seigneur,taken prisoners near Casque, for example!"
"They are dungeons?"
"With Jacques for keeper! The little sexton, we call him, because theprisoners go generally from the cells to the pit, and the quicklime isthe hunchback's graveyard!"
"This Jacques--" A growing impatience shone ominously from theprisoner's glance; his attention, that of a man straining to catch someexpected sound without, focused itself on the speaker. "ThisJacques--what sort of quarters has he?"
"Oh, he lives anywhere; everywhere! Sometimes at the thieves' inn;again in one of the storehouses near the wheel. They say, though, heis not a great hand to sleep, but passes most of his time like a cat,prowling in and out the black passages and tunnels of the Mount. But,"abruptly breaking off, "the play--that's what I want to know about!The end! How did it end?"
"I'm in no mood for talking."
"Take the bottle, an' it'll loosen your tongue!"
"No."
"What! you refuse?"
"Yes."
"Then," philosophically, "must I drink alone."
"Not here!"
"Eh?"
"Will you get out, or--" and the mountebank stepped toward the otherwith apparently undisguised intention.
"So that's your game?" Quickly the soldier sprang to his feet. "Imust teach you a little politeness, my friend--how we deal with uncivilpeople in the army!" And throwing off his coat, as ready for a bout atfisticuffs as for an encounter of words, the soldier confronted theclown. "When I'm done, you'll sing that song of the stick out of theother side of the mouth, and think your wicked peasant received acoddling from his master in comparison!"
But the mountebank did not answer--with words--and the soldier wasstill threatening, and painting dire prophetic pictures of what heintended doing, when a strong arm closed about him; fingers like irongripped his throat, and, for some moments thereafter, although ofunusual size and vigor, the man was more concerned in keeping his feetthan in searching his vocabulary for picturesque imagery. Then, inspite of his struggles and best endeavors t
o free himself, he felt hishead forced backwards; the grasp on his neck tightened. Still he couldnot shake off that deadly hold, and, aware that consciousness wasgradually leaving him, his efforts relaxed. After that, for aninterval, he remembered nothing; but with returning realization and avague sense of stiffness in his throat, in a rough sort of way wasprepared to accept defeat; acknowledge the other's supremacy, and sealthat acknowledgment over the bottle.
Only the mountebank afforded him no opportunity thus to toast the "bestman"; with a long strap of leather snatched from one of the pegs, hehad already bound the hands and feet of his bulky antagonist, and wasjust rising to survey his handiwork, when the other opened his eyes.
"Here! What do you mean?" exclaimed the soldier, when even the powervocally to express further surprise or indignation was denied him, inconsequence of something soft being thrust between his teeth; and mute,helpless, he could but express in looks the disgusted inquiry his lipsrefused to frame.
"No! it's no joke," answered the mountebank, rapidly passing an end ofthe strap, binding the soldier, about a post of the stall and securingit, sailor-wise. "A poor return for hospitality, yet needs must, whenthe devil drives!" quickly seizing a handful of marsh grass from theground and rubbing it over his face. "Anyhow, you'll be none the worseon the morrow," stepping toward the lantern, "while I--who can say? Helaughs best--" About to blow out the flame, he stopped, attracted bysomething his foot had thrust aside; a garment; the soldier's! Amoment he surveyed it; stooped; picked it up. "Unless I am mistaken,"casting aside his own coat, slipping on that of the soldier, and thendonning the latter's cap, which had fallen in the struggle, "we areabout of a size. And this sword," unfastening the belt from theprostrate jailer, "should go with the coat." A moment his words,tense, reckless, continued to vibrate in the soldier's ears, then:"I'll leave you the lantern!" And darkness fell over the place.
Boldly, a little uncertainly, as the soldier had walked, themountebank, now, to all appearance, a man of the ranks in the serviceof his Excellency, the Governor, strode down the wide, stone-paved wayseparating the outhouses and a number of desultory ancient structuresfrom the officers' quarters, hard against the ramparts. In the sky'sdome the stars still shone, although a small mottled patch of cloudobscured the moon; on either side no lights appeared in windows, andfriendly shadows favored him, until he approached at the end of the waythe broad, open entrance between the soldiers' barracks and theofficers' row. There, set in the stone above the key of the time-wornarch, flared a smoky lamp, dimly revealing the surrounding details; butthe young man did not stop; had drawn quite close to the medievalstructure, when unexpectedly another tread, on the soldiers' side ofthe entrance, mingled with his own; rang for a moment in unison; thenjingled out of time. He who approached came to a sudden standstill;cast a quick glance over his shoulder, only to be brought to an abruptrealization that it was now too late to retreat. A black silhouette,suddenly precipitated across the pavement, preceded a dark figure thatstepped quickly out and barred the way, while at the same time, avoice, loud and incisive, challenged.