right to impose a tax on salt; but Harcourt was Hugues' cousin, and the Sieur d'Arques, being somewhat of an epicurean disposition, esteemed the dessert accorded his kinsman unpalatable.
There was no cause for great surprise to d'Andreghen, then, to find that the letter Hugues had written was meant for Edward, the Black Prince of England, now at Bordeaux, where he held the French King, whom the Prince had captured at Poictiers, as a prisoner; for this prince, though he had no particular love for a rogue, yet knew how to make use of one when kingcraft demanded it,—and, as he afterward made use of Pedro the Castilian, he was now prepared to make use of Hugues, who hung like a ripe pear ready to drop into Prince Edward's mouth. 'For,' as the Sieur d'Arques pointed out in his letter, 'I am by nature inclined to favor you brave English, and so, beyond doubt, is the good God. And I will deliver Arques to you; and thus and thus you may take Normandy and the major portion of France; and thus and thus will I do, and thus and thus must you reward me.'
Said d'Andreghen, 'I will hang him at dawn; and thus and thus may the devil do with his soul!'
Then with his company d'Andreghen rode to Arques. A herald declared to the men of that place how the matter stood, and bade Hugues come forth and dance upon nothing. The Sieur d'Arques spat curses, like a cat driven into a corner, and wished to fight, but the greater part of his garrison were not willing to do so in such a cause: and so d'Andreghen took him and carried him off.
In anger having sworn by the Blood of Christ to hang Hugues d'Arques to a certain tree, d'Andreghen had no choice in calm but to abide by his oath. This day being the Sabbath, he deferred the matter; but the Marshal promised to see to it that when morning broke the Sieur d'Arques should dangle side by side with his messenger.
Thus far the Vicomte de Puysange. He concluded his narrative with a dry chuckle. 'And I think we are very well rid of him, Adhelmar. Holy Maclou! that I should have taken the traitor for a true man, though! He would sell France, you observe,—chaffered, they tell me, like a pedlar over the price of Normandy. Heh, the huckster, the triple-damned Jew!'
'And Melite?' asked Adhelmar, after a little.
Again Reinault shrugged. 'In the White Turret,' he said; then, with a short laugh: 'Oy Dieus, yes! The girl has been caterwauling for this shabby rogue all day. She would have me—me, the King's man, look you!—save Hugues at the peril of my seignory! And I protest to you, by the most high and pious Saint Nicolas the Confessor,' Reinault swore, 'that sooner than see this huckster go unpunished, I would lock Hell's gate on him with my own hands!'
For a moment Adhelmar stood with his jaws puffed out, as if in thought, and then he laughed like a wolf. Afterward he went to the White Turret, leaving Reinault smiling over his wine.
4.
He found Melite alone. She had robed herself in black, and had gathered her gold hair about her face like a heavy veil, and sat weeping into it for the plight of Hugues d'Arques.
'Melite!' cried Adhelmar; 'Melite!' The Demoiselle de Puysange rose with a start, and, seeing him standing in the doorway, ran to him, incompetent little hands fluttering before her like frightened doves. She was very tired, by that day-long arguing with her brother's notions about honor and knightly faith and such foolish matters, and to her weariness Adhelmar seemed strength incarnate; surely he, if any one, could aid Hugues and bring him safe out of the grim marshal's claws. For the moment, perhaps, she had forgotten the feud which existed between Adhelmar and the Sieur d'Arques; but in any event, I am convinced, she knew that Adhelmar could refuse her nothing. So she ran toward him, her cheeks flushing arbutus-like, and she was smiling through her tears.
Oh, thought Adhelmar, were it not very easy to leave Hugues to the dog's death he merits and to take this woman for my own? For I know that she loves me a little. And thinking of this, he kissed her, quietly, as one might comfort a sobbing child; afterward he held her in his arms for a moment, wondering vaguely at the pliant thickness of her hair and the sweet scent of it. Then he put her from him gently, and swore in his soul that Hugues must die, so that this woman might be Adhelmar's.
'You will save him?' Melite asked, and raised her face to his. There was that in her eyes which caused Adhelmar to muse for a little on the nature of women's love, and, subsequently, to laugh harshly and make vehement utterance.
'Yes!' said Adhelmar.
He demanded how many of Hugues' men were about. Some twenty of them had come to Puysange, Melite said, in the hope that Reinault might aid them to save their master. She protested that her brother was a coward for not doing so; but Adhelmar, having his own opinion on this subject, and thinking in his heart that Hugues' skin might easily be ripped off him without spilling a pint of honest blood, said, simply: 'Twenty and twenty is two-score. It is not a large armament, but it may serve.'
He told her his plan was to fall suddenly upon d'Andreghen and his men that night, and in the tumult to steal Hugues away; whereafter, as Adhelmar pointed out, Hugues might readily take ship for England, and leave the marshal to blaspheme Fortune in Normandy, and the French King to gnaw at his chains in Bordeaux, while Hugues toasts his shins in comfort at London. Adhelmar admitted that the plan was a mad one, but added, reasonably enough, that needs must when the devil drives. And so firm was his confidence, so cheery his laugh—he managed to laugh somehow, though it was a stiff piece of work,—that Melite began to be comforted somewhat, and bade him go and Godspeed.
So then Adhelmar left her. In the main hall he found the vicomte still sitting over his wine of Anjou.
'Cousin,' said Adhelmar, 'I must ride hence to-night.'
Reinault stared at him: a mastering wonder woke in Reinault's face. 'Ta, ta, ta!' he clicked his tongue, very softly. Afterward he sprang to his feet and clutched Adhelmar by both arms. 'No, no!' Reinault cried. 'No, Adhelmar, you must not try that! It is death, lad,—sure death! It means hanging, boy!' the vicomte pleaded, for, hard man that he was, he loved Adhelmar.
'That is likely enough,' Adhelmar conceded.
'They will hang you,'' Reinault said again: 'd'Andreghen and the Count Dauphin of Vienna will hang you as blithely as they would Iscariot.'
'That, too,' said Adhelmar, 'is likely enough, if I remain in France.'
'Oy Dieus! will you flee to England, then?' the vicomte scoffed, bitterly. 'Has King Edward not sworn to hang you these eight years past? Was it not you, then, cousin, who took Almerigo di Pavia, that Lombard knave whom he made governor of Calais,—was it not you, then, who delivered Edward's loved Almerigo to Geoffrey de Chargny, who had him broken on the wheel? Eh, holy Maclou! but you will get hearty welcome and a chaplain and a rope in England.'
Adhelmar admitted that this was true. 'Still,' said he, 'I must ride hence to-night.'
'For her?' Reinault asked, and jerked his thumb upward.
'Yes,' said Adhelmar,—'for her.'
Reinault stared in his face for a while. 'You are a fool, Adhelmar,' said he, at last, 'but you are a brave man, and you love as becomes a chevalier. It is a great pity that a flibbertigibbet wench with a tow-head should be the death of you. For my part, I am the King's vassal; I shall not break faith with him; but you are my guest and my kinsman. For that reason I am going to bed, and I shall sleep very soundly. It is likely I shall hear nothing of the night's doings,—ohime, no! not if you murder d'Andreghen in the court-yard!' Reinault ended, and smiled, somewhat sadly.
Afterward he took Adhelmar's hand and said: 'Farewell, lord Adhelmar! O true knight, sturdy and bold! terrible and merciless toward your enemies, gentle and simple toward your friends, farewell!'
He kissed Adhelmar on either cheek and left him. In those days men encountered death with very little ado.
Then Adhelmar rode off in the rain with thirty-four armed followers. Riding thus, he reflected upon the nature of women and upon his love for the Demoiselle de Puysange; and, to himself, he swore gloomily that if she had a mind to Hugues she must have Hugues, come what might. Having reached this conclusion, Adhelmar wheeled upon his men, and cursed them for tavern-idlers and laggards and flea-hearted snails, and bade them spur.
Melite, at her window, heard them depart, and heard the noise of their going lapse into the bland monotony
