The Messenger of the Black Prince 22

The Messenger of the Black Prince 22

CHAPTER XVI

THE SCRIVENER TURNS TRAITOR

 

 

I stumbled along over the uneven ground with my captor at my back. By

the time we reached the road it was pitch dark. The trees grew on either

side of us like a great dark wall. There was no light save the

glimmering of the new moon and an occasional star or two.

 

For the first half hour I was as docile as a lamb, for I was shaken by

the unexplained loss of the scrivener and by the seriousness of my own

plight. My captor never uttered a word. Indeed I would not have been

aware of his presence had it not been for the crunching of the stones

under his feet and a cautioning pinch on the arm when I lagged in my

gait.

 

But I soon found a ray of hope in my situation and new and daring

thoughts popped up in my mind. It was easily two miles to the inn. We

were utterly alone. The thought of what would happen to me once I fell

into De Marsac’s power strengthened my resolution. I was determined, if

I could ferret out a means, that I would escape and take my chances

again in the woods.

 

I tossed the question about in my brain. The night was warm for the

season of the year. I had on a heavy jerkin of deer-hide that was

beginning to be uncomfortable. If I took it off, I should certainly find

relief. I drew one arm out slowly with a grunt to let my captor know

that I was suffering from the heat. Then I had it entirely free. I

rolled it up into folds as though I was going to tuck it under my arm.

When I had it ready, I wheeled on my heel and with a swift swing hurled

it with all my strength into his face!

 

I started to run. In that one moment of his confusion I had to make the

best of my opportunity. In three strides I had gotten a start. My feet

flew over the hard ground as they never flew before. A certain joy

filled my heart that I was on my way to freedom. A few more strides and

I was headed for the trees. It was my only salvation, for once I could

lose myself in the darkness of the woods my captor would have his own

trouble in finding me.

 

I jumped over the ditch that lined the road with the swiftness of a

hare. I was making good headway up the side of the bank when my feet

were suddenly entangled and I fell my whole length on the sod. It was

the coat that I had thrown into my captor’s face. He was more alert than

I had reckoned. He must have recovered instantly from his surprise and

have started after me. With an aim that was as accurate as it was quick

he was able to enmesh my feet as I ran.

 

He was upon me like a cat. With a jerk at my collar he landed me on my

feet. Then with a shove so violent that his fist dug into my ribs he

urged me on ahead.

 

“One trick more,” he growled, “and it will be the end of you.”

 

I took the affair evenly enough. It was a chance in which I failed. But,

even at that, I was resolved that at the next opportunity, I would try

again.

 

Throughout the length of that march I tormented him to the full. At

times I walked as fast as my legs could carry me, thinking to wear him

out. I expected him to catch me again by the collar and command me to go

more slowly, but I met only with disappointment. Every time I turned he

was at my heels breathing as smoothly as if he were sitting in a chair.

Then I lagged. I drew my feet after me as though they were a weight. I

zigzagged from one side of the road to the other. I stopped to pick up a

stick that lay in my path and took to swishing the weeds along the edges

of the highway. In a word I tried all manner of nonsense to worry and

anger him with the notion that at the end he would call me to account. I

had hopes that in case he fell into a quarrel with me, it would come to

an open fight in which I was sure I would have as great advantage as he.

 

My pranks came suddenly to an end. I had forgotten the dagger which I

still had concealed in my shirt. Surely I could make use of it, even if

my captor had his bow and arrows, if I chose a moment when he was off

his guard.

 

I steadied myself and walked along in the middle of the road. I glanced

over my shoulder and at the same time felt for the weapon. The haft was

near my hand. In a second I could draw it forth and take my enemy by

surprise. Slowly and more slowly I advanced. I did not turn again but

listened intently for the crunching of the stones under his feet. By the

sound I could measure the distance between him and me. When he came near

enough I could——

 

“Do you want to die?” His voice came like a sound from the tomb. So

surprised was I that I wheeled about.

 

“—die?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”

 

“Get that thought out of your head!” he commanded.

 

My hopes fell. I knew now for the first time that I had a man of more

than usual insight and cunning to deal with. If I were to try any

further tricks, they must be managed with the utmost skill and daring.

 

We went on. The moon rose higher in the heavens. The trees waved their

long branches over our heads. The road twisted and turned like a snake.

One scheme after another came into my head, but I cast them all aside,

for with his alertness and the quickness of his mind my captor had a

hold on me as firm as chains.

 

Of a sudden the road bent. As we turned the corner the dull light from

the windows of the inn shone before us. To make sure that I would not

make a final break for freedom, the fellow behind me grasped me by the

arm.

 

In a few steps we were at the inn door. It was standing open. The old

dust-covered lanthorn was hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the

room, sputtering forth its uncertain yellow light. To my dismay I saw De

Marsac sitting directly under it at the table. He seemed impatient for

he was twisting his mustache with the thumb and forefinger of one hand

and drumming nervously with the other.

 

My captor had just shoved me across the threshold. He opened his mouth

to speak when two fellows in the garb of common soldiers brushed roughly

past. Their faces were white from fear, and from the way they were

breathing I judged that they had been running. They threw themselves at

De Marsac’s feet.

 

“My lord!” they cried. “The highwayman of Tours is running wild in the

forest! He has shot three of your men already. If you will——”

 

My captor broke him off. He advanced with his chest thrown out and his

head high in the air.

 

“The highwayman of Tours is dead!” he growled in a voice deep in his

throat. “I shot him with my own hand. His body lies under a tree about a

league to the south on the left of the road. To prove it, here is the

boy who accompanied him.” He stopped for a moment and gazed proudly at

De Marsac. “My lord,” he went on, “the fifty crowns that you have

offered as a reward is mine!”

 

De Marsac rose slowly from his seat. He stuffed his hands in his pockets

and let his eye roam over me. He smacked his lips and smiled, as though

I was a tender morsel he was about to devour.

 

“I was glad you weren’t hanged this morning,” he said with a sly leer.

“If you had died, my scheme would have gone astray. I’m going to care

for you now like a bird in a cage. I’m going to send you down the river

to a safe, snug place where you will come to no harm.” He rubbed his

hands together like a merchant who has just made a clever deal. “When

your brother sees fit to surrender his estates, I shall give you back to

him. Till then——” He raised his arm and snapped his fingers in the air.

 

He turned to the fellow who had taken me and clapped him on the back.

 

“You have earned every groat of your reward, my man,” he said, and drew

from an inside pocket a leather purse. “I am proud of you.” Then he

counted out upon the table the fifty crowns in glittering pieces of

gold.

 

My captor was beside himself from joy and bashfulness—joy, that he had

been the lucky one to effect my capture, bashful, that he was made so

much of by so great a person as De Marsac. He wanted to mutter a word of

thanks, but he choked in trying it, so that all he could do was to hang

his head and turn his face aside.

 

But after he had put the money in his jerkin, he took me by the arm and

led me to a place at the far end of the room. By merest chance it was

the very seat I had occupied the night before.

 

“You have been the means of making me a rich man, lad,” he puffed as he

sat down. “And I’m going to feast you to your heart’s content for it.”

 

The landlord came—the same wiry hatchet-faced fellow who had taken my

dagger. Not a sign of recognition showed on his face. As though he had

never laid eyes on me before, he bowed graciously to us, asked us what

we would eat and was off.

 

While we sat waiting, I ran my eyes searchingly around the room. In the

semidarkness of the old lanthorn, I noticed De Marsac sitting over his

supper with the same smile upon his face. Soldiers came in and out, some

of them to bring reports to their master, others to snatch a bite and to

make off again.

 

I rested my gaze upon my captor. The cap was still drawn down half way

over his eyes. The flaring red scarf hung about his neck, reaching well

up under his chin. A scowl crossed my brow. I fastened a look on him

that was filled with hate and chagrin. His two beady eyes twinkled their

strange light into mine as though they were laughing at me. The corners

of his lips curled slightly up in amusement. Then he winked slyly at me

as though there was something I ought to understand.

 

I grew interested. As though he were a curiosity, I began to examine him

more closely. The shine of those eyes and the slight arch of his nose

seemed strangely familiar to me.

 

“You like to eat, don’t you?” he asked, but in a low tone and in a voice

that was different from the heavy growl that he had used on our way to

the inn.