and thus it was that amory de catinat and amos green saw from their dungeon window the midnight carriage which discharged its prisoner before their eyes. hence, too, came that ominous planking and that strange procession in the early morning. and thus it also happened that they found themselves looking down upon francoise de montespan as she was led to her death, and that they heard that last piteous cry for aid at the instant when the heavy hand of the ruffian with the axe fell upon her shoulder, and she was forced down upon her knees beside the block. she shrank screaming from the dreadful, red-stained, greasy billet of wood, but the butcher heaved up his weapon, and the seigneur had taken a step forward with hand outstretched to seize the long auburn hair and to drag the dainty head down with it when suddenly he was struck motionless with astonishment, and stood with his foot advanced and his hand still out, his mouth half open, and his eyes fixed in front of him.
and, indeed, what he had seen was enough to fill any man with amazement. out of the small square window which faced him a man had suddenly shot head-foremost, pitching on to his outstretched hands and then bounding to his feet. within a foot of his heels came the head of a second one, who fell more heavily than the first, and yet recovered himself as quickly. the one wore the blue coat with silver facings of the king’s guard; the second had the dark coat and clean-shaven face of a man of peace; but each carried a short rusty iron bar in his hand. not a word did either of them say, but the soldier took two quick steps forward and struck at the headsman while he was still poising himself for a blow at the victim. there was a thud, with a crackle like a breaking egg, and the bar flew into pieces. the heads-man gave a dreadful cry, and dropped his axe, clapped his two hands to his head, and running zigzag across the scaffold, fell over, a dead man, into the courtyard beneath.
quick as a flash de catinat had caught up the axe, and faced de montespan with the heavy weapon slung over his shoulder and a challenge in his eyes.
“now!” said he.
the seigneur had for the instant been too astounded to speak. now he understood at least that these strangers had come between him and his prey.
“seize these men!” he shrieked, turning to his followers.
“one moment!” cried de catinat, with a voice and manner which commanded attention. “you see by my coat what i am. i am the body-servant of the king. who touches me touches him. have a care for yourselves. it is a dangerous game!”
“on, you cowards!” roared de montespan.
but the men-at-arms hesitated, for the fear of the king was as a great shadow which hung over all france. de catinat saw their indecision, and he followed up his advantage.
“this woman,” he cried, “is the king’s own favourite, and if any harm come to a lock of her hair, i tell you that there is not a living soul within this portcullis who will not die a death of torture. fools, will you gasp out your lives upon the rack, or writhe in boiling oil, at the bidding of this madman?”
“who are these men, marceau?” cried the seigneur furiously.
“they are prisoners, your excellency.”
“prisoners! whose prisoners?”
“yours, your excellency.”
“who ordered you to detain them?”
“you did. the escort brought your signet-ring.”
“i never saw the men. there is devilry in this. but they shall not beard me in my own castle, nor stand between me and my own wife. no, par dieu! they shall not and live! you men, marceau, etienne, gilbert, jean, pierre, all you who have eaten my bread, on to them, i say!”
he glanced round with furious eyes, but they fell only upon hung heads and averted faces. with a hideous curse he flashed out his sword and rushed at his wife, who knelt half insensible beside the block. de catinat sprang between them to protect her; but marceau, the bearded seneschal, had already seized his master round the waist. with the strength of a maniac, his teeth clenched and the foam churning from the corners of his lips, de montespan writhed round in the man’s grasp, and shortening his sword, he thrust it through the brown beard and deep into the throat behind it. marceau fell back with a choking cry, the blood bubbling from his mouth and his wound; but before his murderer could disengage his weapon, de catinat and the american, aided by a dozen of the retainers, had dragged him down on to the scaffold, and amos green had pinioned him so securely that he could but move his eyes and his lips, with which he lay glaring and spitting at them. so savage were his own followers against him—for marceau was well loved amongst them— that, with axe and block so ready, justice might very swiftly have had her way, had not a long clear bugle-call, rising and falling in a thousand little twirls and flourishes, clanged out suddenly in the still morning air. de catinat pricked up his ears at the sound of it like a hound at the huntsman’s call.
“did you hear, amos?”
“it was a trumpet.”
“it was the guards’ bugle-call. you, there, hasten to the gate! throw up the portcullis and drop the drawbridge! stir yourselves, or even now you may suffer for your master’s sins! it has been a narrow escape, amos!”
“you may say so, friend. i saw him put out his hand to her hair, even as you sprang from the window. another instant and he would have had her scalped. but she is a fair woman, the fairest that ever my eyes rested upon, and it is not fit that she should kneel here upon these boards.” he dragged her husband’s long black cloak from him, and made a pillow for the senseless woman with a tenderness and delicacy which came strangely from a man of his build and bearing.
he was still stooping over her when there came the clang of the falling bridge, and an instant later the clatter of the hoofs of a troop of cavalry, who swept with wave of plumes, toss of manes, and jingle of steel into the courtyard. at the head was a tall horseman in the full dress of the guards, with a curling feather in his hat, high buff gloves, and his sword gleaming in the sunlight. he cantered forward towards the scaffold, his keen dark eyes taking in every detail of the group which awaited him there. de catinat’s face brightened at the sight of him, and he was down in an instant beside his stirrup.
“de brissac!”
“de catinat! now where in the name of wonder did you come from?”
“i have been a prisoner. tell me, de brissac, did you leave the message in paris?”
“certainly i did.”
“and the archbishop came?”
“he did.”
“and the marriage?”
“took place as arranged. that is why this poor woman whom i see yonder has had to leave the palace.”
“i thought as much.”
“i trust that no harm has come to her?”
“my friend and i were just in time to save her. her husband lies there. he is a fiend, de brissac.”
“very likely; but an angel might have grown bitter had he had the same treatment.”
“we have him pinioned here. he has slain a man, and i have slain another.”
“on my word, you have been busy.”
“how did you know that we were here?”
“nay, that is an unexpected pleasure.”
“you did not come for us, then?”
“no; we came for the lady.”
“and how did this fellow get hold of her?”
“her brother was to have taken her in his carriage. her husband learned it, and by a lying message he coaxed her into his own, which was at another door. when de vivonne found that she did not come, and that her rooms were empty, he made inquiries, and soon learned how she had gone. de montespan’s arms had been seen on the panel, and so the king sent me here with my troop as fast as we could gallop.”
“ah, and you would have come too late had a strange chance not brought us here. i know not who it was who waylaid us, for this man seemed to know nothing of the matter. however, all that will be clearer afterwards. what is to be done now?”
“i have my own orders. madame is to be sent to petit bourg, and any who are concerned in offering her violence are to be kept until the king’s pleasure is known. the castle, too, must be held for the king. but you, de catinat, you have nothing to do now?”
“nothing, save that i would like well to ride into paris to see that all is right with my uncle and his daughter.”
“ah, that sweet little cousin of thine! by my soul, i do not wonder that the folk know you well in the rue st. martin. well, i have carried a message for you once, and you shall do as much for me now.”
“with all my heart. and whither?”
“to versailles. the king will be on fire to know how we have fared. you have the best right to tell him, since without you and your friend yonder it would have been but a sorry tale.”
“i will be there in two hours.”
“have you horses?”
“ours were slain.”
“you will find some in the stables here. pick the best, since you have lost your own in the king’s service.”
the advice was too good to be overlooked. de catinat, beckoning to amos green, hurried away with him to the stables, while de brissac, with a few short sharp orders, disarmed the retainers, stationed his guardsmen all over the castle, and arranged for the removal of the lady, and for the custody of her husband. an hour later the two friends were riding swiftly down the country road, inhaling the sweet air, which seemed the fresher for their late experience of the dank, foul vapours of their dungeon. far behind them a little dark pinnacle jutting over a grove of trees marked the chateau which they had left, while on the extreme horizon to the west there came a quick shimmer and sparkle where the level rays of the early sun gleamed upon the magnificent palace which was their goal.
