The Constable De Bourbon

“Heavens! they are not in the mill?” exclaimed Margot.

“No, they are at the stable, I hope, by this time,” rejoined Madelon. “How lucky it was, Hugues, that I shut up the dogs!”

“If we can only get out the horses, all will be well,” he replied. “I must be off to the stable. Good night, père Benoit! I hope soon to bring you good tidings.”

“You can get away safely now,” said Madelon, cautiously opening the back window. “There is no one here now, and the smoke will hide you.”

Despite the danger, Hugues snatched a parting kiss from his charmer’s lips, and then sprang through the window.

The burning mill formed a magnificent spectacle, being now wrapped in flames from top to bottom, while blazing flakes fell from the sails. Having highly combustible material to deal with, the fire had made rapid progress. Fortunately the dense volume of smoke that arose from the blazing structure was carried by the wind in the direction of the stable, and the vapour served to screen Hugues from the observation of the men-at-arms, who were all collected round the mill. Amongst them Hugues descried Warthy, and heard him exclaim, in a loud and angry voice, that he was certain Bourbon was not in the mill.

“Had he and his companion been there, they must have come forth,” he said. “They would never submit to be roasted alive.”

Not a moment was to be lost. Hugues hurried off to the stable, and was rejoiced to find, on reaching it, that Bourbon and Pomperant were already mounted. His own horse was also in readiness, and he was no sooner in the saddle than the party galloped off.

They had not ridden far, however, when a loud shout, proceeding from the scene of the conflagration, proclaimed that their flight was discovered. Warthy and his men were starting in pursuit.

Sounds also arose from the little town of Saint-Simphorien, proving that its inhabitants had been roused from their slumbers by the alarm of fire, while the loud clangour of a church bell, violently rung, broke the stillness of the night.

“Poor Benoit will have plenty of help in case his house should catch fire,” remarked Hugues. “All the good folks of Saint-Simphorien will be with him presently.”

“Fail not to tell him I will rebuild his mill,” said Bourbon.

“Your highness need not trouble yourself on that score,” rejoined Hugues. “Benoit is rich enough to rebuild the mill himself. He will think nothing of the loss, provided your highness escapes.”

“We must spur our horses sharply, if we would escape,” cried Pomperant, looking back. “Warthy and his men are better mounted than we are, and are gaining upon us.”

“But they won’t catch us,” rejoined Hugues. “We shall reach yonder thicket before them, and then we are safe.”

“By Saint Denis, it galls me to the quick to fly thus before such caitiffs!” cried Bourbon. “Let us wait for them. That villain Warthy shall pay for his temerity.”

“He shall pay for it, but not now,” rejoined Pomperont. “On – on – for Heaven’s sake! I implore your highness not to risk your life in a miserable encounter. Consider that a kingdom is at stake.”

“Right,” rejoined the Constable. “En avant!”

And dashing his spurs rowel-deep into his horse, he galloped swiftly on, the others keeping close beside him.

In a few minutes more the party reached the thicket in safety, and, guided by Hugues, plunged unhesitatingly into its depths.

XV. VIENNE

All Warthy’s efforts to discover the fugitives were fruitless, though he sent half his men into the thicket, and continued himself to skirt it with the others till some hours after daybreak, when he gave up the quest.

He did not return to the mill, deeming that Benoit had been sufficiently punished by the destruction of his property, but shaped his course towards Vienne, under the impression that Bourbon would attempt to cross the bridge over the Rhone at that town, and, if so, he might still be able to intercept him.

In this expectation he rode on to Rive de Gier, where he halted for a while to recruit both men and horses, and at the same time instituted inquiries as to the fugitives, but could learn nothing of them. Then, crossing a mountainous ridge, in the midst of which towered Mont Pilas, he descended, towards evening, through vine-clad slopes to the lovely valley, through which rushes the broad and impetuous Rhone, hurrying on its way to the Mediterranean.

On the farther bank of the river stood the ancient and picturesque town of Vienne – ancient indeed it may well be termed since it existed long before Lyons, and was a flourishing city in the time of the Romans, of whose occupation it still boasts many monuments.

Facing the river, which almost washed the steps leading to its grand portal, stood the Cathedral of Saint Maurice – a vast and stately pile. Behind it was grouped a multitude of buildings, remarkable for their quaint and fantastic architecture, in the midst of which rose many a lofty tower, while here and there could be discerned a Roman arch or temple, proclaiming the great antiquity of the place.

The background of the picture was formed by precipitous hills. On the summit of one of them, known as Mont Salomon, stood a strong fortress, which from its position completely commanded the valley and this part of the river. The castle was of Roman origin, the donjon being built by the first Cæsar, and, according to tradition, Pilate was imprisoned within it.

All was picturesque about Vienne – its fortified walls, its cathedral, its churches, towers, Roman monuments, and overhanging castle. But not the least striking feature was its antique stone bridge, with crenellated parapets and lofty towers. From one of the latter, called the Tour de Mauconseil, it was said that Pilate threw himself into the river, which rushed with overwhelming force through the narrow arches of the bridge. Unluckily for the truth of the legend, the tower was built some centuries later than the event supposed to be connected with it could possibly have occurred. Notwithstanding this, the Tour de Mauconseil had an ill repute. More than once it had been struck by lightning, and no Sentinel would remain on its summit during a storm.

Towards this evil tower Warthy proceeded on arriving at Saint-Colombe – as the little suburb on the right bank of the Rhone is designated. Questioning the guard stationed at the gate, he ascertained that no persons answering to the description of the fugitives had crossed the bridge on that day. Ever since the king’s proclamation in regard to Bourbon’s treason, strict watch had been kept, and no one allowed to pass without examination – a precautionary measure which Warthy felt certain would prevent the fugitives from attempting to cross the bridge.

On further inquiry, he learnt that lower down the river, at Ampuis, there was a ferry, which might not be guarded, and he determined to proceed thither without loss of time. Accordingly, despatching half his men across the bridge, with orders to proceed along the left bank of the river, until they arrived opposite Ampuis, he set off with the others towards the ferry in question.

Animated by the hope of intercepting Bourbon, and dreading lest he should cross the river before his arrival, Warthy hurried on, regardless of the fatigue he had previously endured. His spirit communicated itself to his men, and they followed him without a murmur; no doubt anticipating a share in the reward.

The road pursued by Warthy was singularly beautiful, and carried him past vine-clad slopes, backed by the chain of mountains which he had just crossed. But he was insensible to the charms of the scenery, and did not even notice a lofty Roman obelisk on the opposite bank of the river. He looked only for his men, and when he saw them issue from the gates of Vienne, he was content.

Now and then he watched the turbid waters of the Rhone as they swept past him, and envied the rapidity of the current, wishing he could speed on as swiftly. But the shades of night had fallen, the mountains were shrouded, and the beauties of the banks were obscured before he approached Ampuis. Still, any object on the darkling river was discernible.

For some little time he had lost sight of the detachment on the opposite bank – the men having been forced to go inland on account of rocks and other obstacles which they encountered in their course – and he looked anxiously for their reappearance.

XVI. THE ROCK. IN THE RHONE

Having conducted Warthy thus far, we will now see what had become of the fugitives.

Aided by Hugues, whose intimate acquaintance with the country was of the utmost service, Bourbon and his companion had managed to steal out of the thicket in which they had secreted themselves, and passing through a long ravine, had crossed the chain of mountains lying between them and the valley of the Rhone, and had descended the vine-clad slopes bordering the noble river.

They did not, however, make for Vienne – Hugues having ascertained from a peasant that the bridge was strictly guarded – but proceeded at once to Ampuis, where they hoped to cross by the ferry. Bourbon now proposed that Hugues should leave him, but the faithful fellow begged so earnestly to be allowed to go on, that at last the Constable assented.

At Ampuis, which was then, as now, renowned for its delicious wine, known as Côte Rôtie, they alighted at an auberge close by the river, and obtained some refreshment, of which they stood greatly in need, together with a flask or two of generous wine. Here they left the horses, the poor brutes being too jaded to proceed farther, and renovated by the repast, hastened to the ferry, which was at no great distance from the inn. The ferryboat, it may be mentioned, was not rowed across the river, but being fastened by a rope to a rock in the middle of the stream, swung to and fro, like a flying-bridge.

At this juncture it was chained to a post on the river-side – no passengers just then requiring to cross.

When the party approached the ferryman, it was so dark that he could not distinguish them very dearly. But he looked hard at Bourbon, and showed by his manner that his suspicions were awakened.

“We want to cross the river instantly, friend,” said Pomperant.

“What am I to have?” inquired the ferryman.

“A gold crown,” replied Pomperant, without hesitation.

“That’s not enough,” said the ferryman. “I ought to have ten gold crowns at the least.”

“Well, you shall have them – but be quick,” said Pomperant.

“A moment, and I’ll be with you,” said the ferryman, running towards the inn.

“We are discovered!” cried Bourbon. “The villain has gone for assistance. Ha! what is that?” he added, as the trampling of horses was heard.

As he looked anxiously in the direction, Warthy and his men came in sight.

“Our pursuers are at hand!” exclaimed Pomperant. “Jump into the boat at once.”