under sentence of death?”
“He was meat for the hangman, not the private citizen,” answered Tristan.
“Listen,” said Stuart. “He was slain by footpads, who then attacked Agnes who chanced to be traversing the alley at the time. I came to her aid, and we slew two of the rogues. Did you not find their bodies, with masks to their heads to prove their trades?”
“We saw no such thing,” answered Tristan. “Nor were you seen thereabouts, so your testimony is without value. This woman here saw Agnes de La Fere pursue Pelligny into the alley and there stab him. So I am forced to take her to the prison.”
“I know well why you wish to arrest me, Tristan,” I said coolly, approaching him with an easy tread. “I had not been in Chartres a day before you sought to make me your mistress. Now you take this revenge upon me. Fool! I am mistress only to Death!”
“Enough of this idle talk,” ordered Tristan curtly. “Seize her, men!” It was his last command on earth, for my sword was through him before he could lift his hand. The guard closed in on me with a yell, and as I thrust and parried, John Stuart sprang to my side and in an instant the inn was a madhouse, with stamping boots, clanging blades and the curses and yells of slaughter. Then we broke through, leaving the floor strewn with corpses, and gained the street. As we broke through the door I saw the wench they had brought to testify against me cowering behind an overturned settle and I grasped her thick yellow locks and dragged her with me into the street.
“Down that alley,” gasped Stuart. “Other guardsmen will be here anon. “Saint Andrew, Agnes, will you burden yourself with that big hussy? We must take to our heels!”
“I have a score to settle with her,” I gritted, for all my hot blood was roused. I hauled her along with us until we made a turn in the alley and halted for breath.
“Watch the street,” I bade him, and then turning to the cowering wench, I said in calm fury: “Margot, if an open enemy deserves a thrust of steel, what fate doth a traitress deserve? Not four days agone I saved you from a beating at the hands of a drunken soldier, and gave you money because your tears touched my foolish compassion. By Saint Trignan, I have a mind to cut the head from your fair shoulders!’
“Oh, Agnes,” she sobbed, falling on her knees, and clasping my legs. “Have Mercy! I – ”
“I’ll spare your worthless life,” I said angrily, beginning to unsling my sword belt. “But I mean to turn up your petticoats and whip you as no beadle ever did.”
“Nay, Agnes!” she wailed. “First hear me! I did not lie! It is true that I saw you and the Scotsman coming from the alley with naked swords in your hands. But the watch said merely that three bodies were lying in the alley, and two were masked, showing they were thieves. Tristan said whoever slew them did a good night’s work, and asked me if I had seen any coming from the alley. So I thought no harm, and replied that I had seen you and the Scotsman John Stuart. But when I spoke your name, he smiled and told his men that he had his reasons for desiring to get Agnes de La Fere in a dungeon, helpless and unarmed; and bade them do as he told them. So he told me that my testimony about you would be accepted, but the rest, about John Stuart, and the two thieves he would not accept. And he threatened me so terribly that I dared not defy him.”
“The foul dog,” I muttered. “Well, there is a new captain of the watch in hell tonight.”
“But you said
She shook her head.
“I saw the bodies. There were but three. Pelligny lay deep in the alley, fully clad, the other two around the crook, and the larger was naked.”
“Eh?” ejaculated Stuart. “By Heaven, that Italian! I have but now remembered! On, to the house of Francoise de Bretagny!”
“Why there?” I demanded.
“When the Italian in the inn drew his cloak about him to depart,” answered Stuart, “I glimpsed on his breast a fragment of golden chain and a great red jewel – I believe the very jewel Pelligny grasped in his hand when we found him. I believe that man is a friend of Costranno’s, a magician come to take vengeance on Francoise de Bretagny! Come!”
He set impetuously off up the alley, and I followed him, while the girl Margot scurried away in another direction, evidently glad to get off with a whole skin.
“As that Italian drew his cloak about him, I glimpsed his left hand –
“What madness is this?” I muttered.
“Aye, and I glimpsed that cursed red jewel glinting on his bosom. Hark, Agnes, suppose that Costranno knew the secret of bringing corpses back to life. Suppose that the jewel held the secret; that after Pelligny and the others cut him down from the gibbet, they were bringing him to his house to restore life to him, when they were apprehended by those rogues. You dropped the jewel on his bosom. Doubtless the incantations had already been made. Moreover that alley, men tell me is paved with stones from an ancient heathen temple that once stood in a grove outside the city, in the days before Rome.
“If such a man were brought back to life, he would remember slowly. But he would seek vengeance. And it was the testimony of Francoise de Bretagny which hanged Costranno!”
To her house we went swiftly, and found a servant lying in the court strangled, with the marks on his throat of a hand lacking the middle finger. We found another servant who had gone mad from seeing the dead man approach Francoise de Bretagny’s chamber and bear her away in her night shift. We followed down a long flight of stairs the existence of which the girl had known nothing, and came into a mysterious crypt. On a stone dais lay Francoise de Bretagny, naked, and Costranno was raising an seven sided slab of stone in the floor, revealing a black gaping hole in the light of a torch which burned in a niche.
I fought Costranno, while Stuart raved and cursed because he could not come at him. I passed my sword thrice through the undeadman’s body without harming him and only my mail shirt beneath my doublet saved me from his terrific thrusts. At last I struck his head from his body and body and head pitched into the black aperture. Taking the torch, I looked down, and a black arm shot out of the darkness and closed on my doublet, striving to drag me into the hole. I struck down with my torch and the thing let go. I had only a glimpse of a distorted apish black thing falling, and the torch fell, dwindling to a speck of light far below, like a meteor. We replaced the slab and carried Francoise out of the crypt, and into the house above, assured of her protection from the watch of the town.
HOWARD’S JOURNEY Historical Influences to Historical Triumphs by Howard Andrew Jones
Pound for pound Robert E. Howard’s historical fiction more than holds its weight against Howard’s other genre and series work. Over just a few years Howard fashioned a grander helping of these stories than many historical writers craft over a lifetime of effort, surpassing them not only in word count but in quality.
It should not be assumed, though, that he wrote any of his stories in a vacuum, nor that when he first sat down to draft historical fiction he immediately typed works of genius. Professional author though he was, Howard still had to find his comfort level with the genre. He did so in part by being familiar with both history and the writers who brought it to life before him.
All writers are influenced by other storytellers, finding in some traits or themes that they wish to emulate and in others pitfalls they wish to avoid. Usually writers imitate scenes or characters; sometimes they use plot structures or character types as models to work from; and sometimes they find inspiration at the foot of the storyteller then strike off on their own path.
