The Messenger of the Black Prince 8

The Messenger of the Black Prince 8

“I offer you every courtesy,” he said quietly. “It is past midnight and

no doubt you are weary from your ride. I shall light you to your room.”

 

He took the candle and went before. In a few minutes he was down again.

 

“I could not do otherwise,” he explained.

 

“He is not to be trusted, André,” I said.

 

“The man’s a rogue,” added the Count of Gramont. “If I were you, André,

I would put a guard about the house. There’s something brewing that we

have no knowledge of.”

 

“I shall have one of the servants watch in the hall upstairs,” my

brother said. “Another will stay here during the night. We must learn

what his purpose is so that we can meet the situation. In the morning if

he smiles again, I shall be like honey to him. I think that is the

better way.”

 

The old Count laughed in his throat and grunted.

 

“If this were my house,” he said, “I would make short work of him.”

 

And he made a sign that meant that he would string him to a tree.

 

We were all tired. One by one we bade each other goodnight and went to

bed.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER V

WHAT I LEARNED IN THE WOODS

 

 

The next morning when I awoke the sun was shining big and fairly warm.

The chill of the night before had yielded to a gentle breeze that blew

now steadily from the south.

 

I heard the clatter of pots and pans in the pantry below. The fresh odor

of small bacon was wafted to my nostrils. In fits and starts the low

rumble of men’s voices arose like the heaviness of distant thunder here

and there between a loud laugh that echoed high against the rafters.

 

By this I knew it was time that I was stirring. As fast as I could I

washed and dressed myself and hurried down the stairs. I laid my hand on

the latch to enter when another burst of laughter louder than the others

smote upon my ears. I thought that some travelers or friends from the

neighborhood were making a morning call, so I jerked open the door and

with a smile of greeting entered the room.

 

In the next breath I stood stock still. There were but three men at the

table—the old Count of Gramont, my brother André and the intruder of the

night before. But what struck me first was that they were in the

merriest of moods. The old Count was grinning and staring hard before

him. André with his face in his palms was smiling like a pleased child.

And De Marsac, as vivacious as a young colt, was babbling and talking

like a running brook. His face was flushed. He was waving his hands as

wildly as a windmill.

 

I never saw men so completely changed. It was all sham I knew—a kind of

play in which the one was trying to beguile the other. There was no

sincerity in their actions or their words. For a second I was amazed.

 

De Marsac must have seen the puzzled __EXPRESSION__ on my face. He leaped

from his seat and hastened towards me. With the same show of outward

delight with which you would greet an old acquaintance, he clapped my

hand in his and tucked it under his arm.

 

“A sound sleeper,” he cried. “An easy mind.” And then, as though it were

an amusing thing for a lad of my age to have a mind at all, he turned

with a knowing gesture and broke into a laugh.

 

I flushed uncomfortably. I tried to withdraw from his grasp. But the

more I pulled, the more firmly I felt the pressure of his arm. At length

the two of us reached the seat which I usually occupied. Here he let go.

As I sat down he continued to stand before me. With his hand over his

heart he bowed pretty much as he had done the night before. Then he

straightened himself again and laid his palm upon my shoulder.

 

“Here is what I call the makings of a man,” he said to the Count and

André in tones like an orator. “Strong arms. Sturdy limbs.” He let his

eye run the length of my body. “A great fighter some day—and a stubborn

one. Is it not true, Henri?”

 

I smiled a sour smile, for his mockery was all too clear. He was, to my

discomfort, treating me like a baby. He took his seat next to me. Then

he began to pile my platter high with meat and wheaten cakes and poured

a noggin full of whey. I sat there like a log, boiling within and

wishing him out of the way.

 

“We’ll be great friends yet, won’t we, Henri?” he said in a soft

sneering tone. “You know I was down to the armorer’s long before you

were out of bed. My horse has gone lame. It’ll be three or four days

before he’ll be well again. In the meantime I’m going to be your guest.”

He stopped and drummed lightly on the table. “You’ll be glad of that,

won’t you, Henri?”

 

I went on eating.

 

“I’ll be sorry,” said I, “—for the horse.”

 

At that he turned to the Count and my brother, breaking out into a loud

laugh, like a father whose child has said something unusually clever.

 

“Henri and I are going into the woods today,” he went on in the same

annoying voice. “After that we’ll pay a visit to the forge. I want to

show him my horse.” Then he added slowly, “You can ride, can’t you,

Henri?”

 

“As well as any of them,” I answered and went on hurrying through my

meal.

 

De Marsac saw that I was nettled. He dared not drive his cajolery too

far, for my brother was looking at him with half closed eyes, and the

old Count had arched one brow gazing at me to see how I was standing his

thrusts.

 

At length our visitor turned his conversation to the older men. He

chattered like a magpie. One story followed the other with flashes of

wit between. The spirit of merriment which was in the air when I entered

the room came back. I saw my chance. As quietly as I could I arose and

slipped softly out of the door.

 

With a feeling of relief I turned the corner of the house and was making

down the gravel path when I heard a crunching of the stones behind me. I

cast a glance over my shoulder. To my discomfort there was De Marsac

coming quickly after me. He had his head thrown back and with his eyes

towards the sky was whistling an air.

 

“Ah,” he exclaimed when I turned, “you are going somewhere?”

 

I stopped.

 

“To the armorer’s,” I said shortly. Then in the hope that he would leave

me to myself, “I have business there—of a private nature.”

 

My hint fell flat. In a kind of running walk he caught up to me and

said, “That’s fine. We’ll go together.”

 

I would have run away had I been able. Why was I to be bothered by a man

who was nothing but a nuisance and a pest? I tried to think of one

excuse or other to rid myself of him. None came, so for the while I made

the best of it.

 

We went on in silence. He had his head in the air looking brightly

about. I had mine down for I hated even the sight of his face. After a

little he made a jab or two but they failed. When he saw that his

nonsense was of no purpose he turned serious and prodded me with all

kinds of questions.

 

He showed an interest in the extent of our land. In a sly way he got out

of me how far it ran and what crops it bore. Then he mentioned the old

Count of Gramont and the size of his estates. He touched on the strength

of his castle on the hill—the number of men which he kept under arms—the

revenues that came from his possessions in the valley and what wealth he

was said to have.

 

You may be sure that I told him as little as I could. In some respects I

was as good a play-actor as he, for to most of his questionings I had

but one stupid answer, “I don’t know.” If it was his intention to treat

me like a dunce, I was more than willing to act the part of one.

 

Finally a fresh thought came to me. I halted of a sudden and stepped

away from him.

 

“I’ve changed my mind,” I said. “I’m not going to the armorer’s. I’m

going through the woods.”

 

He let his arms fall to his sides.

 

“—through the woods?” he asked. “Why?”

 

His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 

“I had an accident there last night,” I replied. “I should like to see

what became of a certain man.”

 

He rolled his eyes as though he was thinking—trying to measure me in his

mind.

 

“What’s your game, Henri?” he asked. His voice was low but I felt a threat lurking in it.