"Faith, Gawain, you are the true campaigner.Let us forward, and trust to Heaven to show us a road."They galloped down the Rue St.Honore, finding an open space in the cobbles of the centre, but at the turning into the Rue d'Arbre Sec they met a block.A great throng with torches was coming in on the right from the direction of the Bourbon and d'Alencon hotels.Yet by pressing their horses with whip and spur, and by that awe which the two tall dark cavaliers inspired even in a mob which had lost its wits, they managed to make their way to the entrance of the Rue de Bethisy.There they came suddenly upon quiet.
The crowd was held back by mounted men who made a ring around the gate of a high dark building.Inside its courtyard there were cries and the rumour of fighting, but out in the street there was silence.Every eye was turned to the archway, which was bright as day with the glare of fifty lanterns.
The two rode straight to the ring of soldiers.
"Make way," Gaspard commanded, speaking with a foreign accent.
"For whom, monsieur?" one asked who seemed to be of a higher standing than the rest.
"For the Ambassador of the King of Spain."The man touched his bonnet and opened up a road by striking the adjacent horses with the flat of his sword, and the two rode into the ring so that they faced the archway.They could see a little way inside the courtyard, where the light gleamed on armour.The men there were no rabble, but Guise's Swiss.
A priest came out, wearing the Jacobin habit, one of those preaching friars who had been fevering the blood of Paris.The crowd behind the men-at-arms knew him, for even in its absorption it sent up shouts of greeting.He flitted like a bat towards Gaspard and Champernoun and peered up at them.
His face was lean and wolfish, with cruel arrogant eyes.
"Hail, father!" said Gaspard in Spanish."How goes the good work?"He replied in the same tongue."Bravely, my children.But this is but the beginning.Are you girt and ready for the harvesting?""We are ready," said Gaspard.His voice shook with fury, but the Jacobin took it for enthusiasm.He held up his hand in blessing and fluttered back to the archway.
>From inside the courtyard came the sound of something falling, and then a great shout.The mob had jumped to a conclusion."That is the end of old Toothpick," a voice cried, using the Admiral's nickname There was a wild surge round the horsemen, but the ring held.A body of soldiers poured out of the gate, with blood on their bare swords.Among them was one tall fellow all in armour, with a broken plume on his bonnet.His face was torn and disfigured and he was laughing horribly.The Jacobin rushed to embrace him, and the man dropped on his knees to receive a blessing.
"Behold our hero," the friar cried."His good blade has rid us of the arch-heretic," and the mob took up the shout.
Gaspard was cool now.His fury had become a cold thing like a glacier.
"I know him!" he whispered to Champernoun.He is the Italian Petrucci.He is our first quarry."The second will be that damned friar," was the Englishman's answer.
Suddenly the ring of men-at-arms drew inward as a horseman rode out of the gate followed by half a dozen attendants.He was a tall young man, very noble to look upon, with a flushed face like a boy warm from the game of paume.His long satin coat was richly embroidered, and round his neck hung the thick gold collar of some Order.He was wiping a stain from his sleeve with a fine lawn handkerchief.
What is that thing gilt like a chalice?" whispered Champernoun.
"Henry of Guise," said Gaspard.
The Duke caught sight of the two men in the centre of the ring.The lanterns made the whole place bright and he could see every detail of their dress and bearing.He saluted them courteously.
"We make your Grace our compliments," said Gaspard."We are of the household of the Ambassador of Spain, and could not rest indoors when great deeds were being done in the city."The young man smiled pleasantly.There was a boyish grace in his gesture.
"You are welcome, gentlemen.I would have every good Catholic in Europe see with his own eyes the good work of this Bartholomew's day.I would ask you to ride with me, but I leave the city in pursuit of the Count of Montgomery, who is rumoured to have escaped.There will be much for you to see on this happy Sunday.But stay! You are not attended, and our streets are none too safe for strangers.Presently the Huguenots will counterfeit our white cross, and blunders may be made by the overzealous."He unclasped the jewel which hung at the end of his chain.It was a little Agnus of gold and enamel, surmounting a lozenge-shaped shield charged with an eagle.
"Take this," he said, "and return it to me when the work is over.Show it if any man dares to question you.It is a passport from Henry of Guise....
And now forward," he cried to his followers."Forward for Montgomery and the Vidame."The two looked after the splendid figure."That bird is in fine feather,"said Champernoun.
Gaspard's jaw was very grim."Some day he will lie huddled under the assassin's knife.He will die as he has made my chief die, and his body will be cast to the dog's....
But he has given me a plan," and he spoke in his companion's ear.
The Englishman laughed.His stolidity had been slow to quicken, but his eyes were now hot and he had altogether ceased to swear.
"First let me get back to Walsingham's lodging.I have a young kinsman there, they call him Walter Raleigh, who would dearly love this venture.""Tut, man, be serious.We play a desperate game, and there is no place for boys in it.We have Guise's jewel, and by the living God we will use it.My mark is Petrucci.""And the priest," said Champernoun.
