“They fell on the gentleman and his servants,” she blubbered. “The gentleman who had arrived earlier this night and who sat silently at his wine, and seemed in doubt and meditation. As the masked men entered he sprang up and cried out that he was betrayed – ”
“Oh!” It was a cry of agony from Francoise de Foix. She clasped her hands and writhed as in agony.
“Then there was fighting and slaying and death,” wailed the wench. “They slew the gentleman’s servants, and him they bound and dragged away – ”
“Was it he who so disfigured the bravo who lies outside the door?” I demanded.
“Nay, he slew him with a pistol ball. The leader of the masks, the tall man who wore a chain-mail shirt under his doublet – he hacked the dead man’s face with his sword – ”
“Aye,” I muttered. “De Valence would not wish to leave him to be identified.”
“And this same man, before he left, passed his sword through each of the dying lackeys to make sure they were dead,” she sobbed in terror. “I hid under the settle and watched, for I was too frightened to run, as did the innkeeper and the other servants.”
“In which direction did they go?” I demanded, shaking the wretched girl in my intensity.
“That – that way!” she gasped, pointing. “Down the old road to the coast.”
“Did you overhear anything that might give a clue as to their destination?”
“No – no – they spoke little, and I so frightened.”
“Hoofs of the devil, girl!” I exclaimed in a fury. “Such work is never done in silence. Think hard – remember something they said, before I turn you across my knee.”
“All I remember,” she gasped, “is that the tall leader said to the poor gentleman, once they had him bound – doffing his helmet in a sweeping bow – ‘My lord,’ quoth he mockingly, ‘your ship awaits you!’ ”
“Sure they would put him aboard ship,” exclaimed Etienne. “And the nearest place a ship would put in is Corsair Cove! Come! They cannot be far ahead of us. If they followed the old road – as they would be likely to do, not knowing the country as I do – it will take them half an hour longer to reach the cove than it will take us, following a short cut of which I know.”
“Come then!” cried Francoise, revived anew by the hope of action. And a few moments later, we were riding through the shadows for the coast. We followed a dim path, its mouth hidden by dense bushes, which wound along a rocky ridge, descending seaward amid boulders and gnarled trees.
So we came into a cove, surrounded by rugged slopes, thickly treed, and through the trees we saw the glimmer of water, and the shimmer of the furtive moon on broad sails. And leaving our horses, and Francoise with them, we crept forward, Etienne and I, and presently looked out upon an open beach, lighted by the moon which at the time shone out through the curling clouds.
Under the shadow of the trees stood a group of black and sombre figures, and out of a boat, just drawn up on the beach (we could still see the foam floating on the water that had swirled in her wake) trooped a score of men in seamen’s garb. Out in the deeper water rode a ship, the moonlight glinting on her gilt-work and spreading courses, and Etienne swore softly.
“That’s
We saw a man pushed forward by the masked bravos – a man tall and well-formed, who, even in torn shirt and blood-stained, with his arms bound behind him, had the bearing of a leader among men.
“Saint Denis,” breathed Etienne. “It is he, right enough.”
“Who?” I demanded. “Who is this fellow we must risk our lives to rescue?”
“Charles,” he began, then broke off: “Listen!”
We had wriggled nearer, and Renault de Valence’s voice came plainly to us.
“Nay, that was not in the bargain. I know you not. Let Roger Hawksly, your captain, come ashore. I wish to be sure he knows his instructions.”
“Captain Hawksly cannot be disturbed,” answered one of the seamen in accented French; he was a tall man who bore himself proudly. “There is no need to fear; yonder is
I was staring in fascination, having never seen Englishmen before. These were all tall men and stalwart, with goodly swords buckled at their hips, and steel glinting under their doublets. Never saw I such proud-seeming sailormen, or seamen so well armed. They had seized the man Etienne called Charles, and were haling him to the boat – which task seemed to be supervised by a tall portly man in a red cloak.
“Aye,” said Renault, “yonder lies
“Enough!” exclaimed the other arrogantly. “I tell you Hawksly cannot come. You do not know me – ”
But de Valence, who had been listening closely to the other’s voice, cried out sharply and fiercely.
“Nay, by God, I think I
“So!” exclaimed de Valence. “You would take my prisoner – but not to slay – nay, to hold as a club over the head of Francois! Rogue I may be, but traitor to my king – never!”
And snatching forth a pistol he fired point-blank, not at the lord, but at the prisoner Charles.
But the Englishman knocked up his arm, and the ball went wide.
The next instant all was turmoil and confusion, as Renault’s bravos rushed in in response to his shouts, and the Englishmen met them hand to hand. I saw the blades glimmer and flash in the moonlight as Renault and the English lord fought, and suddenly Renault’s sword was dyed red and the Englishman was down, gasping out his life on the sand.
Now I saw that the men who had been haling along the prisoner Charles had hastened into the fray, leaving him in the hands of the portly man in the red cloak who was dragging him, despite his struggles, toward the boat drawn up on the beach. Now I heard the clack of oarlocks, and looking toward the ship, saw three other boats putting towards shore.
But even as I looked, I was whispering to Etienne, and we broke cover and ran silently across the stretch of white sand, toward the struggling pair near the beach. All about us raged the fight as the bravos, outnumbered but dangerous as wolves, slashed and parried and thrust with the reckless Englishmen.
Even as we came into the fray, an Englishman rushed at each of us. Etienne fired and missed – for moonlight is deceptive – and the next instant was fighting sword to sword. I did not fire until my muzzle almost touched my enemy’s bosom, and when I pulled the trigger, the heavy ball tore through the chain-mail beneath his doublet like paper, and the lifted sword fell harmless into the sand.
A few more strides brought me up with Charles and his captor, but even as I reached them, one was before me. While men fought and slew and cursed madly, de Valence had never lost sight of his objective. Realizing that he could not retake his prisoner, he was determined on slaying him.
Now he had cut his way through the melee, and ran with grim purpose across the sands, his sword dripping in his hand. Running up to the prisoner, he cut murderously at his unprotected head. The stroke was parried, awkwardly, by the portly man in the red cloak, who began bawling for aid in a gasping, short-winded voice which went unheeded in the uproar of the melee. So ineptly had he parried that the sword was beaten out of his hand. But before de Valence could strike again, I came silently and swiftly up from the side, and thrust at him with all my strength, meaning to spit him through the neck, above the gorget. But again luck betrayed me; my foot slipped in the sand, and the point rasped harmlessly along his mail.
Instantly he turned and recognized me. He had lost his mask, and his eyes danced with a sort of reckless madness in the moonlight.
“By God!” he cried, with a wild laugh. “It is the red-haired sword-wench!”
Even as he spoke he parried my whistling blade, and with no further words, we set to work, slashing and thrusting. He drew blood from my sword-hand, and from my thigh, but I smote him with such fury that my edge bit through his morion and into the scalp beneath, so that blood ran from under his burganet and trickled down his face. Another such stroke had finished him, but he, casting a quick glance aside, saw that most of his bravos were
