“Through Raoul’s lands? Humph!”
“Margot, ye rave!” Jeanne cried. “It is impossible!”
“Nay.” The pointed chin was determined. “Naught is impossible. I will go to Arnaud de Larousie. Thou dost know, Jeannette, that he will do—what I wish.”
“At a price, perhaps,” Jeanne said meaningly.
Margaret’s face quivered, and was still again.
“I would pay that price. He is a good man.”
“All to sate thy vengeance?”
“To set my land free from the English tyrant.”
“Thou wouldst never, never reach Vazincourt.”
“That will I. But, Jeanne, petite Jeanne, if thou dost indeed love me, thou wilt return to Belrémy.”
“If thou art determined to go, naught shall part us. I swear it.”
Ranaud picked up his tankard.
“Here’s to thine emprise, lady!” he said, and drank deeply.
A soft light came into Margaret’s eyes.
“Thou good fellow! I owe thee more than I can hope to pay, Gaston, but one day, when I rule again in Belrémy, come to me, and thou shalt have all that I can give thee.”
“A murrain on what ye can give me!” growled Ranaud. “Ye have given me adventure, and I am ever one for that.” He chuckled, and slapped his thigh.
“I have brought thee out of thy way, good fellow. But here we part company, and I shall not forget.”
He drank again, and passed the back of his hand across his mouth.
“I come with ye,” he announced doggedly. “A pretty thing it would be for ye to travel through Raoul’s lands alone.”
“Ah!” Margaret caught his hand impulsively. “No, no, my friend! I could not permit it! I’ll not have your blood on my head. But I thank you! Oh, I thank you a thousand times!”
“My blood be upon mine own head. I am no puny weakling. I ask but a little fighting, and I am satisfied. I come, willy-nilly.”
“My friend, I—I cannot take thee.” Margaret flushed. “I brought—could bring—but little money, and—and—I have not enough—”
“I’ve money enough, and what I cannot buy I steal. The reckoning shall come later. Come with ye I will. … And that is my last word!” he roared suddenly.
Margaret laughed, and a sparkle came into her eyes. Up she sprang, and seized the tankard.
“Then here’s to our emprise, our glorious emprise!” she cried, and drank deep.
“And here’s to a right brave lady,” Ranaud said, and stood to drink his toast.
XI
How the Lady Margaret Fell Into the Hands of Raoul the Terrible
They plodded valiantly on, over fields and through woods, and to help their tired feet onward, they sang a little, cheerily, Ranaud in a deep bass which seemed to come from a bottomless cavern within him, Margaret in a full contralto, and Jeanne in a small, weary soprano, which made itself heard spasmodically. They eschewed high roads, for they were in Raoul’s land, and the fame of his infamy had spread far and wide. Two days since they had left Turincel, but they went slower now, and sometimes Ranaud carried Jeanne in his great arms. The spring had gone out of Margaret’s step, and her feet were blistered and raw. Yet she made no complaint, but bit her lips when they walked over rough ground, so that her companions should not suspect. They visited no inns, but had furnished themselves with provisions at Turincel. The first night they had sheltered in a disused hut, but the second night had found them sleeping out in the open, wrapped about in their cloaks, and thanking God for the milder weather. Stiff and sore had the two girls been in the morning, but Ranaud showed no signs of fatigue or discomfort. Now they were tramping steadily eastward, hoping to leave Raoul the Terrible’s land behind them by nightfall.
“Bad land,” Ranaud remarked presently, breaking off in the middle of his song. “Drunken roysterers. Like master, like man. All goes to ruin while Raoul feeds his pleasure. Pah!”
“Hast ever seen him?” Jeanne asked.
“Ay, once. A pig of a man, with flabby cheeks. A frog, a toad, a rat, a spider! Vermin!”
“Why, thou art very bitter!” Margaret said, and looked up to see him scowl.
“I’ve reason.”
“What was thy reason, Gaston?”
“A girl,” he growled. “My girl. Lascivious beast! May his bones rot in hell!”
“Amen,” said Margaret. “Ah, a stream! Needs must I bathe my feet.”
“Oh, water!” Jeanne limped forward thankfully.
They stayed by the stream awhile, resting, but presently Jeanne saw red berries growing nearby, and went to pluck some, singing softly to herself. Margaret stayed by the stream, lying flat upon the ground, arms crooked behind her head, half-dozing. Jeanne’s voice came to them.
“Oh, such pretty, pretty berries! See!”
Margaret raised herself upon her elbow, smiling, for Jeanne had made herself a wreath of berries, and entwined them in her long plaits. In her russet dress, berry-hung, and her red mouth laughing, she was very beautiful, like some woodland elf. Margaret clapped her hands lightly, applauding her.
“Wait, I will fetch thee some!” Jeanne cried, and dived into the bushes.
Again Margaret fell to drowsing, lulled to sleep by the sound of Gaston’s low humming. How long she stayed thus she did not know, but suddenly she was roused by the sound of horses’ hoofs, and a scream. In a flash she was on her feet, and Ranaud too. Once more the scream rang out, and it was Jeanne’s voice.
Ranaud crashed into the bushes through which Jeanne had gone, Margaret at his heels, dagger in hand. They came out upon a clearing, and away to the right, down a cutting saw men and horses.
Quarterstaff gripped firmly, Ranaud thundered down upon this group, and as they drew near to it, panted over his shoulder to Margaret.
“Raoul! Raoul! The devil hunts!”
Into the midst of the group they rushed, striking right and left. A squat man with a white face and loose cheeks sat upon a black mare, and held Jeanne before him, across his saddlebow. He gave a quick order, and some half-a-dozen men closed in upon Ranaud, swords drawn. Someone from behind her wrenched her quarterstaff from the Countess, and flung steel-like arms about her, bearing her
