The Pocket Bible or Christian the Printer Part 32

"To horse!" bellowed the Franc-Taupin. "We must depart at once! The curate will have notified his bishop, the bishop will have notified Cardinal Duprat, and he will have issued orders to the Criminal Lieutenant. By this time the archers must be on the road to St. Ouen.

Let us lose not an instant--to horse! Mine is saddled--have yours saddled, Monsieur Estienne. Christian will take his daughter on the crupper of his horse. I shall take Ernest Rennepont on my nag--and, away at a gallop! We shall soon be out of reach."

Putting the word to the deed, the Franc-Taupin dashed out of the parlor, dragging Ernest Rennepont with him almost against his will. Realizing the wisdom of the Franc-Taupin's orders, Christian put one arm around Hena, sustained and led her in the steps of the Franc-Taupin. Robert Estienne and the pastor hastened to follow them, while the despairing gardener lamented his fate, repeating:

"That accursed confession! The infamous curate!"

The Franc-Taupin was hurrying his horse out of the stable and Robert Estienne was precipitately saddling his own with the help of Michael, when Alison, running in all in a flurry from the bypath that led to the outer gate of the cottage, cried:

"Oh, my poor man, all is lost! The mounted archers are here! I heard the tramp of their horses down the avenue. I saw their muskets glistening through the hedges along the road."

"Is the iron gate locked?" asked the Franc-Taupin, the only one to preserve coolness in the presence of the imminent danger. "Is the gate strong?"

"It is strong and locked--double locked," answered the gardener. "The key is in my house."

"It will take them some time to force the gate," observed the Franc-Taupin; and addressing Robert Estienne: "Is there any issue, besides the gate, to leave the place?"

"None other--the garden is enclosed by a wall."

"Is the wall high?"

"About ten feet."

"Then," replied the Franc-Taupin, "we need not despair."

At that moment the clank of sabres and muskets was heard down the princ.i.p.al avenue, and a voice called out:

"Open! In the name of the King, open!"

"There are the archers!" cried Hena stricken with terror. "It is done for us!"

"I shall deliver myself up!" cried Ernest Rennepont, rus.h.i.+ng out towards the alley. "The archers may thereby be induced not to push their search any further. May the all-powerful G.o.d protect you!"

The Franc-Taupin seized Hena's bridegroom by the sleeve of his coat, and prevented him from taking another step. Turning to the gardener, he asked:

"Have you a ladder?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fetch it quick."

Michael obeyed, while the archers redoubled their clamor and threatened to force the gate if it was not opened.

"Monsieur Estienne," said the Franc-Taupin, "go forward quickly and speak with the archers. Ask them what brings them here, at this hour.

Engage them in conversation all you can. Keep them outside. Gain time. I take charge of the rest. If you can succeed in keeping the soldiers off for about ten minutes, we shall have won. They will find no one else at the house."

Robert Estienne turned to Christian, who still held Hena in his arms:

"Come, Christian! Courage! Coolness! The situation is hedged in with dangers; but it is not forlorn." Saying this he walked to the iron gate, at the moment when the gardener reappeared carrying a long ladder on his shoulder.

"What is there outside of the garden," asked the Franc-Taupin, "a highroad or fields?"

"Fields, sir; they are separated from the walls by a path and hedges.

Beyond are meadows, as far as the eye extends."

Josephin listened a moment, and noticing that the clamor of the archers at the gate had subsided, he said:

"Courage! All's well! Monsieur Estienne is parleying with the soldiers.

We shall have time to flee." And addressing the gardener: "Lead us quickly to the furthest end of the garden."

Michael led the fugitives along a narrow path. After having walked about three hundred paces, he stepped before a wall, against which he placed the ladder.

"Quick!" ordered the Franc-Taupin, again stopping to listen. "The archers are becoming impatient. They are about to force the gate."

Christian was the first to ascend the ladder; he climbed to the top of the wall, straddled it, and, stooping down, reached his hand out to Hena. He took firm hold of her, raised her, and seated her, still holding her in his arms, in front of him on the top of the wall, where he was successively joined by Ernest Rennepont and the Franc-Taupin. The latter drew the ladder up, with the help of the gardener, tipped it over to the other side, and quickly planted it outside the wall. One by one the fugitives descended and alighted upon a path bordered by thick and high hedges.

"We are saved!" cried Christian, pa.s.sionately clasping Hena to his heart. "We are saved, my dear child!"

"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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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 st.u.r.dy legs. A cutla.s.s 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, surrept.i.tiously 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."