The Messenger of the Black Prince 21

The Messenger of the Black Prince 21

It was bright day when I awoke. The scrivener was about whistling with

the merriment of a lark. He had a fire going in a crevice between two

craggy rocks and on it was the remains of the meat which he had brought

from the inn the night before. I fell to with a good appetite. When I

arose to brush the crumbs from my clothes, he took to walking about with

his hands behind him, lost in study with his brow wrinkled, frowning and

talking to himself, as though he was trying to solve a riddle. Then

suddenly he halted before me.

 

“We’ve got to get away from here,” he said. “It’s a wasps’ nest. They’re

searching the woods. If we stay, we’ll be shot down like dogs.”

 

I looked at him.

 

“Lead,” said I, “and I’ll follow.”

 

We went off among the thickest of the trees and over ground that was

almost impassible for jutting rocks. We made no speed for at every dozen

steps the scrivener stopped and peered around. The woods were as silent

as a grave with only the faintest breeze blowing in our faces that

ruffled the leaves and sighed gently over our heads.

 

Now and then he stooped to examine the ground for signs of footsteps or

of human visitation, that is, in places where there was clay or soil. On

and on we went, slowly. I for my part had a stifling fear in my heart

that boded no good; the scrivener as quiet and preoccupied as I had as

yet seen him.

 

By noon we had covered the length of the whole range of hills. We were

come into a deep valley with a little stream winding through it. The

place was dank with moisture and very dark, for the trees were well

watered and the soil lost much of its rockiness. With cautious steps we

went ahead. We stumbled over projecting roots and long spindling weeds.

A hare started out of the underbrush and nearly frightened me to death.

Not a sound did we make save the laboring of our breaths and an

occasional rattle when the toe of a boot caught against a scattered

stone.

 

We were on the edge of the forest. For a moment the scrivener hesitated

and gazed thoughtfully around. He touched me on the arm and with his

finger bade me look ahead. The direction in which he pointed was between

an opening among the trees. I peered carefully but at first saw nothing.

Then, as my eyes got more accustomed to the distance, I was able to make

out a thin curl of white smoke rising in the air. When it reached a

level with the tops of the trees it scattered and disappeared in the

sky.

 

“We can go no further,” the scrivener said. “The whole side of the

valley is filled with men.”

 

“—searching for us?” I asked.

 

“Yes,” he answered with a nod of his head.

 

I knew that they were lying there to block us off. My thoughts turned

this way and that. I looked at my companion for some sign or other but

his face was set with the seriousness of a stone.

 

“Do you think it so fine now to be in danger?” I cast at him.

 

A hard smile caught at the corners of his mouth.

 

“Have I shown fear?” he demanded.

 

“They’re drawing a ring around us,” I said. “We’ll starve in the woods

in a day or two. We’ll be as weak as cats. Then they’ll close in.”

 

The scrivener gave a twang to his bow-string. The old spirit of his

flashed out for a second and he grinned.

 

“I wish they would close in now,” he replied. “They know the mettle of

the highwayman of Tours. They know how I can strike when they least

expect it. Pshaw!” He spat contemptuously on the ground. “They have all

the same feeling—if they harm a hair of my head, they will die like

dogs!”

 

“If you’re not afraid, master scrivener,” I went on, “why are you so

serious?”

 

He spun around like a top.

 

“Serious!” he exclaimed. “Do you think a man ought not to plan? Why,

lad, I’m scheming as hard as I can to pull you out of this difficulty.”

 

“—me!” I cried.

 

He shot a look at me.

 

“Do you think I care for myself?” he answered. “Why, lad, if I were

alone, I would be on my way by this and as free as a bird in the air.”

 

I considered for a moment.

 

“Why have you stuck to me at all, master scrivener?” I asked slyly. “Is

there a purpose to it?”

 

He examined me suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. He rolled his

forehead upwards and set his mouth to whistle a tune. I realized that he

was going to evade my question as he did before.

 

“Scrivener,” I began deliberately, “why don’t you lay aside the mask?

You know you are leading me as you would a dog upon a string. Can’t you

be frank enough to tell me why?”

 

At these words he leaped in the air. He let out one long breath of

surprise and threw his arms towards the sky.

 

“Listen to him, will you!” he cried as though he were speaking with some

one invisible. “Harken to his nonsense! Has there ever been——”

 

He stopped as suddenly as he began. His arms dropped to his side. He put

his finger over his mouth to caution me to silence and gazed intently

far over my shoulder. Then he backed away towards the trunk of the

nearest tree.

 

“Pist!” he exclaimed under his breath. “Don’t move!”

 

I had no time to judge whether it was one of his pranks or not, whether

it was an attempt to turn a conversation that was distasteful to him. A

click at my feet threw a cloud of dust in my face and sprinkled me with

a shower of small stones. I looked and there standing before me was an

arrow a yard long with its point buried deep in the earth.

 

In spite of the warning I jumped up. At the same time another arrow sped

past me so near and with such speed that I felt the breeze fan my

cheeks. I made a leap to get within the protection of a tree when I

glanced to the side and saw the scrivener lay an arrow in his bow. The

string gave a twang. He followed the missile with his eyes. A slow

pleased smile spread over his countenance and he turned to me.

 

“He has shot his last shot,” he said.

 

“Do you know who it was?” I asked.

 

“Stay where you are,” he cautioned, “If you are threatened, run for it

as fast as you can.”

 

He disappeared among the trees. As for me, I had not seen the man who

sent the arrow at all, nor was I even able to figure the exact place

from which it had come. I took my bow in my hands to have it ready. I

listened with all my ears for the slightest sound. I kept turning this

way and that. Minute after minute passed in the utter silence of those

woods. I expected the scrivener to return at almost any second. I took

to pacing up and down. A nervousness stirred within me for I was growing

conscious that I was next to helpless against the odds that surrounded

me. Where had the scrivener gone and what was detaining him?

 

I waited. The time went by so slowly that it seemed an age. My heart

beat off the seconds as though it were counting out the span of my life.

My head was now in this direction, now in that, for the fear of a

surprise was strong in my mind.

 

Then a thought struck me. Perhaps he was more in need of me than I was

of him. Maybe the man who shot the arrow was only a decoy to lead him

into a trap. Could it be possible that he had been captured and killed

while I was loitering there in idleness?

 

My mind was running on with one thought chasing the other. My nerves

were jumping like strings. I grasped the bow in my hand and began to

run. I took the same course as the scrivener. With all my speed I leaped

over roots of trees, rocks and what lay in my path. I covered twice the

space that an arrow could fly. I went out of my course and made a wide

circle through the woods. I wound in and about here and there so that

finally I returned to the spot from which I had set out. Not a sound did

I hear. Not a trace of a human being did I discover. It was as though I

were standing in the emptiness of a desert.

 

I sat down on a rock to think the matter over. The more I pondered, the

deeper the mystery became. To add to my concern the sun was sending

slanting rays from the west. By that I was sure that in another half

hour it would be dark and in that sea of enemies I would have to shift

for myself.

 

I resolved that I would make one more search. I got to my feet with much

misgiving and bent my steps once again through the woods. I had not gone

ten paces when I came across a dark body huddled up against the root of

a tree. It was in a spot where the shadows were thickest and I had to

peer closely to observe it.

 

Then I received a shock that went through me like the stab of a dagger,

for there face down in the grass lay the scrivener. In the middle of his

back stuck an arrow. He must have been dragged from the place where he

was killed, for his shoes were gone and his coat was ripped and torn

under the arm-pits, and the old hat which he wore was crushed down over

his head as though his murderer had flattened it.

 

With a gulp in my throat as big as an apple I stooped and shook him by

the arm. He was stone dead for he moved with the heaviness of a log.

Then I arose and took my hat in my hands to mutter a prayer. In the next

second a hand as hard as iron and as strong as a vise was laid on my

shoulder. I turned my head. In the growing darkness I looked into a face

that was frowning as black as night. The fellow was of about the same

size as myself. He had on a coat and trousers such as the soldiers wear

only they were threadbare and very ragged. A rough cap was pulled down

over his eyes and a loose scarf was wound about his throat and came up