The Pocket Bible; or, Christian the Printer: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century

"Not yet!" came thundering upon their ears.

An archer rose from behind the hedge where he had been lying in ambush. Immediately he sounded the alarm at the top of his voice:

"Here, comrades! Here! This way!"

To leap over the hedge at a bound; to seize the archer by the throat with one hand, while with the other he drew his sword – these were the rapid moves of the Franc-Taupin. It was too late. The alarm given by the soldier was heard. Several other foot soldiers, who came on the cruppers of the mounted archers, and were posted around the walls, hurried to the spot, preceded by a sergeant, and all cried in chorus:

"Kill all who resist! Keep only the monk and the nun alive!"

A melee ensued in the semi-darkness of the night. After superhuman efforts to tear his daughter from the soldiers, Christian was hewed down with a sword. Ernest Rennepont and Hena remained in the hands of the armed men. After almost strangling the soldier who had given the alarm, the Franc-Taupin profited by the darkness to creep on hands and feet to a hedge under which he blotted himself from sight. From his hiding place he heard Christian drop to the ground and call out in a fainting voice: "I am killed – help! help!"

The artisan was left for dead by the archers. Obedient to the orders from their chief, their main object was the capture of the monk and the nun, whom they now carried safely away. Little by little silence returned to the sequestered region. Soon the sound of a retreating troop of horsemen announced the departure of the archers for Paris. The Franc-Taupin emerged from his place of concealment, ran to Christian, knelt beside him, opened his coat and shirt soaked in blood, and placed his hand upon his heart. He felt it beat.

"There is but one chance of safety for Christian," said the Franc-Taupin to himself. "If the gardener has not been arrested, he will consent to grant asylum to the wounded man. Let me endeavor to snatch my brother-in-law from death – after that, I swear, you shall be avenged, Oh, my sister! Avenged shall be also your daughter, whose horrid fate I well foresee!"

Michael and his wife consented to take in the wounded man, and nurse him in Robert Estienne's house. The latter and the pastor were taken prisoners to Paris by the archers.

CHAPTER XIX.

ON THE ROAD TO PARIS

On the 21st of January, 1535, a few weeks after the seizure of Hena Lebrenn and Ernest Rennepont at the cottage of Master Robert Estienne, two riders crossed the Charenton bridge on their way to Paris. Master Raimbaud, the armorer, one of the riders, was a man in robust middle age, and of an open and resolute countenance. His headgear consisted of a broad-brimmed felt hat; he wore a coat of mail over his jacket, and large traveling boots on his sturdy legs. A cutlass hung from his side, his holsters were furnished with pistols, and his wide brown coat flowed down over the crupper of his horse. The other rider, Odelin Lebrenn, was then just fifteen. His candid and pleasant features, slightly browned by the sun of Italy, recalled those of his sister Hena. A black bonnet, ornamented with a little red feather and placed slightly aslant over the lad's blonde hair, left wholly exposed the smiling face that radiated with increasing joy in the measure that he approached the end of his journey. The apprentice and his master were at that moment ascending a steep hill, at a steady pace. Despite the steepness of the hill, however, Odelin's mount frequently broke out into a trot, surreptitiously urged thereto by the spurs of the boy. Master Raimbaud smiled under his brown beard, as he guessed the cause of Odelin's impatience, while he himself kept his own horse well in hand. He had just once more baffled the innocent manoeuvre of his apprentice, who had run ahead:

"Well, Odelin," he called after him, "there is your horse again breaking out into a trot. One would think he'd got the devil at his heels."

"Master Raimbaud, it is not my fault," answered the youngster, somewhat abashed, and reining in, to his regret. "My horse forces my hand. It must be the flies that torment him. That's why he runs ahead."

"God's head! Flies in the month of January, my boy!" replied the armorer jovially, as he came abreast of his apprentice. "You must be thinking yourself still in summer on the roads of Milan."

"Well, I shall not insist on my fib, Master Raimbaud. I must admit to you that the nearer we approach Paris, where my mother, and father, and sister, and brother, and my good uncle Josephin are expecting me, I feel such a thrill of joy, that without my knowledge my spurs approach the flanks of my horse – and then the beast starts trotting."

"I can understand your impatience, my lad. It does credit to your heart. But endeavor to control yourself a little. We have ridden a long stretch to-day. We should not wind our horses. Certain of the joy in wait for you, what is the use of running after it?"

"That's true, Master Raimbaud," replied Odelin, red with emotion and his eyes dimmed with moisture. "Within two hours I shall see again all those whom I love; I shall embrace them – "

"And I shall add to their happiness at seeing you back again, by telling them how well pleased I have been with you during our trip."

"How could I otherwise than endeavor to please you, Master Raimbaud? If I were your own son you could not treat me with greater tenderness, or more attention."

"For the simple reason that a worthy son would not behave differently toward me than yourself, my little Odelin. Such are the fruits of the bringing up you have received from your worthy father and your excellent mother."

"Oh, Master Raimbaud, when I think of the caresses that await me!"

"Look to your spurs, my lad! Look to your spurs. We shall now soon be at the top of the hill. Stop your horse a moment. One of the straps of your valise is loose. Fasten it."

"Oh, heaven! If I had lost my valise!" cried the apprentice, reddening at the thought. Stopping his horse, he turned in his saddle, and hastened to fasten the strap, enumerating with childish glee as he did so the treasures contained in the bag: "Had I lost you, my dear valise, it would then have been adieu to my little presents – the brooch of chiseled silver for my mother, the Quintus Curtius printed in Bologna for my good and learned father, a vermillion pin for my handsome sister Hena, a bronze writing case, with all its accessories, for the studious Hervé – "

"And that famous flask of Imola wine for your uncle, the Franc-Taupin, who will be delighted to taste the Italian nectar."

"That's not all, Master Raimbaud; I also have for my uncle a fine steel Milanese dagger, which I forged myself at the workshop of Master Gaspard during my idle moments. Oh, dear uncle, I would fear to offend him if I brought him a wine flask only."

"Come, the strap is now fast. Let us resume our way. Once we reach the top of the hill we shall start on a trot, my impatient fellow. I said a trot, did you understand? No galloping! We must husband the strength of our mounts."

Master Raimbaud and his apprentice resumed their route at a rapid pace. Already they descried in the distant horizon the numerous spires and belfries of the churches of Paris. As they were passing before an isolated house on the road, the battered sign of which announced it as a roadside tavern, they heard someone loudly call out to them:

"Master Raimbaud! Odelin! Halloa! Halloa, there!"

"It is my uncle!" cried the lad, startled, and quickly making his horse rear on its haunches. "I recognize my uncle's voice!"

"He must have come out to meet us, apprized by my wife of the day of our arrival," explained the armorer, also reining in. But looking to the right, and to the left, and all around him, he added, not a little surprised: "Where the devil may the Franc-Taupin be niched? He is not in heaven, I suppose, although the voice seemed to come from above."

No less astonished than his patron, Odelin also looked in all directions, when he saw, emerging from the tavern which they had ridden by, a tall Capuchin friar with his face almost wholly concealed in the cowl of his frock, and a chaplet of large beads girdling his waist. The monk moved with long strides towards the travelers.

"Good God!" cried Odelin as the cowl of the monk who ran towards them was blown back by the wind. "My uncle Josephin has become a Capuchin friar!"

"God's head!" exclaimed the armorer, sharing the astonishment of his apprentice. "May the fire of my forge consume me if I ever expected to see such a metamorphosis! The Franc-Taupin a Capuchin friar!"

Seeing that his nephew, upon whom he kept his eyes fixed, was about to jump down to the ground, the soldier of fortune checked him with a wave of his hand, saying:

"Remain on horseback, my boy!"

And addressing the armorer:

"Master Raimbaud, let us go into the tavern. It is a safe place, and there is a stable for your horses. We have matters to talk over."

"Halt here? No, indeed! I am in too great a hurry to embrace my wife. A few hours later, if you should feel so disposed, we may empty a pot of wine at my own house, my gay friend!" answered the armorer, misunderstanding the Franc-Taupin's invitation. "Everything in its season. Business before pleasure. I wish to be back in Paris before night. So, then, good-bye!"

"Master Raimbaud, you can not enter Paris before dark and without great precautions," said the Franc-Taupin in a low voice. "Follow me into the tavern. You can stable your horses there, and I shall impart to you grave tidings, the saddest that you can imagine – but not a word of that to Odelin."

"Be it so! Let us go in," answered Master Raimbaud, turning his horse's head, while evil presentiments assailed him. Ignorant of the secret information whispered by his uncle to the armorer, the apprentice followed the two into the tavern, asking himself with increasing wonderment how the Franc-Taupin could have become a friar.

Josephin pulled down over his face the cowl of his frock and led the two travelers to the yard of the tavern, from which access was had to the stable.

"Unsaddle the horses, my friend," said Master Raimbaud to Odelin, "and give them feed. Join us in the tavern when that is attended to."

"What, Master Raimbaud, are we to stay here when we are barely two hours from Paris!"

"Mind the horses, my boy. I shall tell you afterwards why we must stop here."

Obedient to his master's orders, Odelin unwillingly alighted and threw himself upon his uncle's neck, saying with a voice broken with affectionate remembrances: "My dear uncle! How are mother, father, sister and brother? All well at home?"

Without answering his nephew, Josephin held him in a close embrace. The boy felt upon his cheeks the tears that flowed from his uncle's eyes.

"Uncle, you weep!"

"With joy, my boy!" answered Josephin in a broken voice. "It is out of joy to see you after such a long absence." And disengaging himself from his nephew's arms, he proceeded: "You will join us presently. Ask the tavern-keeper the way to the room in the attic facing the road." Then turning to the armorer: "Come, Master Raimbaud, come!"

Overjoyed at having met his uncle, and consoling himself with the thought that, after all, the hour of seeing his family, so impatiently awaited, might not be greatly delayed, Odelin busied himself with unsaddling the horses and furnishing them with provender. The goodhearted boy, thereupon, in his hurry to offer the Franc-Taupin the little presents he brought him from Italy, rummaged in his valise for the flask of Imola wine and the dagger that he himself forged for him. The boy was anxious to show his affection to Josephin even before he was back home in Paris.