Sword Woman and Other Historical Adventures

I was to meet Etienne Villiers, and came upon it more suddenly that I expected. The road ran westward to the coast, and we had been paralleling its course.

Perhaps a mile to the west stood a roadside cross of stone, where the road split, one branch running west and the other southwest, and it was there that I was to meet Etienne Villiers. It lacked some hours till midnight, and I was not minded to wait in open view until he came, lest de Valence come first. So when I came to the cross, I took refuge among the trees, which grew there in a dense clump, and set myself to wait for my companion.

The night was still, and I heard no sounds of pursuit; I hoped that if the bravos had pursued me, they had lost me in the darkness, which had been easy enough to do.

I tied my horse back among the trees, and hardly had I squatted among the shadows at the roadside when I heard the drumming of hoofs. But this noise came from the southwest, and was but a single horse. I crouched there, sword in hand, as the drumming grew louder and nearer, and presently the rising moon, peeping through the rolling clouds, disclosed a horseman galloping along the white road, his cloak billowing out behind him. And I recognized the lithe figure and feathered cap of Etienne Villiers.

II HOW A KING’S MISTRESS KNELT TO ME

He pulled up at the cross, and swore beneath his breath, speaking softly aloud to himself, as was his custom: “Too early, by hours; well, I’ll await her here.”

“You’ll not have long to wait,” said I, stepping from the shadows.

He wheeled in his saddle, pistol in hand, then laughed and swung down to earth.

“By Saint Denis, Agnes,” said he, “I should never be surprized to find you anywhere, at any time. What, a horse? And no crow-bait, either! And a fine new cloak! By Satan, comrade, you have had luck – was it dice or the sword?”

“The sword,” I answered.

“But why are you here so early?” he asked. “What portends this?”

“That Renault de Valence is not far from us,” I answered, and heard his breath hiss between his teeth, saw his hand lock again on his pistol butt. So quickly I told him what had passed, and he shook his head.

“The Devil takes care of his own,” he muttered. “Renault is hard to kill. But listen, I have a strange tale to tell, and until it is told, this is as good a place as another. Here we can watch and listen, and death cannot steal upon us behind closed doors and through secret corridors. And when my tale is told, we must take counsel as to our next move, because we can no longer count on Roger Hawksly.

“Listen: last night, just at moonrise, I approached the small isolated bay in which I knew the Englishman lay at anchor. We rogues have ways of learning secrets, as you know, Agnes. The coast thereabouts is rugged, with cliffs and headlands and inlets. The bay in question is surrounded by trees which grow down rugged slopes to the very edge of the water. I crept through them, and saw his ship, The Resolute Friend, lying at anchor, true enough, and all on board her apparently in drunken sleep. These pirates be fools, especially the English, who keep vile watch. I could see men stretched on the deck, with broken casks near them, and judged that those who were supposed to keep watch, had drunken themselves into helplessness.

“Now as I meditated whether to hail them, or to swim out to the ship, I heard the sound of muffled oars, and saw three longboats round the headland and sweep down on the silent ship. The boats were packed with men, and I saw the glint of steel in the moon. All unseen by the sleeping pirates, they drew up alongside, and I knew not whether to shout or be still, for I thought it might be Roger and his men returning from some raid.

“In the moonlight I saw them swarming up the chains – Englishmen, beyond doubt, dressed in the garb of common sailors. Then as I watched, one of the drunkards on deck stirred in his sleep, gaped, and then suddenly scrambled up, screaming a warning. Up out of the hold and out of the cabin rushed Roger Hawksly and his men, in their shirts, half asleep, grasping their weapons in bewilderment, and over the rail swarmed these newcomers, who fell on the pirates sword in hand.

“It was a massacre rather than a fight. The pirates, half asleep and evidently half drunk as well, were cut down, almost to a man. I saw their bodies hurled overboard. Some few leaped into the water and swam ashore, but most died.

“Then the victors hauled up the anchor, and some of them returning into the boats, towed The Resolute Friend out of the inlet, and watching from where I lay, I presently saw her spread her sails and stand out to sea. Presently another ship rounded the headland and followed her.

“Of the survivors of the pirate crew I know nothing, for they fled into the woods and vanished. But Roger Hawksly is no longer master of a ship, and whether he lives or died, I know not, but we must find another man who will take us to Italy.

“But herein is a mystery: some of the Englishmen who took The Resolute Friend were but rough seamen. But others were not. I understand English; I know a high-born voice when I hear it, and tarry breeches cannot always conceal rank from a sharp eye. The moon was bright as day. Agnes, those seamen were led by noblemen disguised in mean apparel.”

“Why?” I wondered.

“Aye, why! ’Tis easy to see how the trick was done. They sailed up to the headland, where they anchored, out of sight from the inlet, and sent men in boats to take their prey. But why take such a desperate chance? Luck was on their side, else Hawksly and his sea-wolves had been sober and alert, and had blown them out of the water as they came on. There is but one solution: secrecy. That likewise explains the noblemen in seamen’s shirts and breeks. For some reason someone wished to destroy the pirates swiftly, silently, and secretly. As to the reason for that, I do not know, since Hawksly was a man hated equally by the French and the English.”

“Why, as to that – hark!”

Down the road, from the east, sounded the pound of racing hoofs. Clouds had rolled again over the moon, and it was dark as Erebus.

“De Valence!” I hissed. “He is following me – and alone. Give me a pistol! He will not escape this time!”

“We had best be sure he is alone,” expostulated Etienne as he handed me a pistol.

“He’s alone,” I snarled. “ ’Tis but one rider – but if the Devil himself rode with him – ha! ”

A flying shape loomed out of the night; at that instant a single moonbeam cut through the clouds and faintly illumined the racing horse and its rider. And I fired pointblank.

The great horse reared and plunged headlong, and a piteous cry cut the night. It was echoed by Etienne. He had seen, as had I, in the flash of the shot, a woman clinging to the reins of the flying steed.

We ran forward, seeing a slender figure stirring on the ground beside the steed – a figure which knelt and lifted helpless arms, whimpering in fright.

“Are you hurt?” gasped Etienne. “My God, Agnes, you’ve killed a woman – ”

“I struck the horse,” I answered. “He threw up his head just as I fired. Here, let me see to her!”

Bending over her, I lifted her face, a pallid oval in the darkness. Under my hard fingers her garments and flesh felt soft and wondrous fine.

“Are you hurt badly, wench?” I demanded.

But at the sound of my voice she gave a gasping cry and threw her arms about my knees.

“Oh, you too are a woman! Have mercy! Do not hurt me! Please – ”

“Cease these whimperings, wench,” I ordered impatiently. “Here is naught to hurt you. Are your bones broken by reason of the fall?”

“Nay, I am only bruised and shaken. But oh, my poor horse – ”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I do not slay animals willingly. I was aiming at his rider.”

“But why should you murder me?” she wailed. “I know you not – ”

“I am Agnes de Chastillon,” I answered, “whom some men call Dark Agnes de la Fere. Who are you?”

I had lifted her to her feet and released her, and now as she stood before us, the moon broke suddenly through