CHAPTER V

WHAT I LEARNED IN THE WOODS

The next morning when I awoke the sun was shining big and fairly warm. The chill of the night before had yielded to a gentle breeze that blew now steadily from the south.

I heard the clatter of pots and pans in the pantry below. The fresh odor of small bacon was wafted to my nostrils. In fits and starts the low rumble of men’s voices arose like the heaviness of distant thunder here and there between a loud laugh that echoed high against the rafters.

By this I knew it was time that I was stirring. As fast as I could I washed and dressed myself and hurried down the stairs. I laid my hand on the latch to enter when another burst of laughter louder than the others smote upon my ears. I thought that some travelers or friends from the neighborhood were making a morning call, so I jerked open the door and with a smile of greeting entered the room.

In the next breath I stood stock still. There were but three men at the table—the old Count of Gramont, my brother André and the intruder of the night before. But what struck me first was that they were in the merriest of moods. The old Count was grinning and staring hard before him. André with his face in his palms was smiling like a pleased child. And De Marsac, as vivacious as a young colt, was babbling and talking like a running brook. His face was flushed. He was waving his hands as wildly as a windmill.

I never saw men so completely changed. It was all sham I knew—a kind of play in which the one was trying to beguile the other. There was no sincerity in their actions or their words. For a second I was amazed.

De Marsac must have seen the puzzled expression on my face. He leaped from his seat and hastened towards me. With the same show of outward delight with which you would greet an old acquaintance, he clapped my hand in his and tucked it under his arm.

“A sound sleeper,” he cried. “An easy mind.” And then, as though it were an amusing thing for a lad of my age to have a mind at all, he turned with a knowing gesture and broke into a laugh.

I flushed uncomfortably. I tried to withdraw from his grasp. But the more I pulled, the more firmly I felt the pressure of his arm. At length the two of us reached the seat which I usually occupied. Here he let go. As I sat down he continued to stand before me. With his hand over his heart he bowed pretty much as he had done the night before. Then he straightened himself again and laid his palm upon my shoulder.

“Here is what I call the makings of a man,” he said to the Count and André in tones like an orator. “Strong arms. Sturdy limbs.” He let his eye run the length of my body. “A great fighter some day—and a stubborn one. Is it not true, Henri?”

I smiled a sour smile, for his mockery was all too clear. He was, to my discomfort, treating me like a baby. He took his seat next to me. Then he began to pile my platter high with meat and wheaten cakes and poured a noggin full of whey. I sat there like a log, boiling within and wishing him out of the way.

“We’ll be great friends yet, won’t we, Henri?” he said in a soft sneering tone. “You know I was down to the armorer’s long before you were out of bed. My horse has gone lame. It’ll be three or four days before he’ll be well again. In the meantime I’m going to be your guest.” He stopped and drummed lightly on the table. “You’ll be glad of that, won’t you, Henri?”

I went on eating.

“I’ll be sorry,” said I, “—for the horse.”

At that he turned to the Count and my brother, breaking out into a loud laugh, like a father whose child has said something unusually clever.

“Henri and I are going into the woods today,” he went on in the same annoying voice. “After that we’ll pay a visit to the forge. I want to show him my horse.” Then he added slowly, “You can ride, can’t you, Henri?”

“As well as any of them,” I answered and went on hurrying through my meal.

De Marsac saw that I was nettled. He dared not drive his cajolery too far, for my brother was looking at him with half closed eyes, and the old Count had arched one brow gazing at me to see how I was standing his thrusts.

At length our visitor turned his conversation to the older men. He chattered like a magpie. One story followed the other with flashes of wit between. The spirit of merriment which was in the air when I entered the room came back. I saw my chance. As quietly as I could I arose and slipped softly out of the door.

With a feeling of relief I turned the corner of the house and was making down the gravel path when I heard a crunching of the stones behind me. I cast a glance over my shoulder. To my discomfort there was De Marsac coming quickly after me. He had his head thrown back and with his eyes towards the sky was whistling an air.

“Ah,” he exclaimed when I turned, “you are going somewhere?”

I stopped.

“To the armorer’s,” I said shortly. Then in the hope that he would leave me to myself, “I have business there—of a private nature.”

My hint fell flat. In a kind of running walk he caught up to me and said, “That’s fine. We’ll go together.”

I would have run away had I been able. Why was I to be bothered by a man who was nothing but a nuisance and a pest? I tried to think of one excuse or other to rid myself of him. None came, so for the while I made the best of it.

We went on in silence. He had his head in the air looking brightly about. I had mine down for I hated even the sight of his face. After a little he made a jab or two but they failed. When he saw that his nonsense was of no purpose he turned serious and prodded me with all kinds of questions.

He showed an interest in the extent of our land. In a sly way he got out of me how far it ran and what crops it bore. Then he mentioned the old Count of Gramont and the size of his estates. He touched on the strength of his castle on the hill—the number of men which he kept under arms—the revenues that came from his possessions in the valley and what wealth he was said to have.

You may be sure that I told him as little as I could. In some respects I was as good a play-actor as he, for to most of his questionings I had but one stupid answer, “I don’t know.” If it was his intention to treat me like a dunce, I was more than willing to act the part of one.

Finally a fresh thought came to me. I halted of a sudden and stepped away from him.

“I’ve changed my mind,” I said. “I’m not going to the armorer’s. I’m going through the woods.”

He let his arms fall to his sides.

“—through the woods?” he asked. “Why?”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I had an accident there last night,” I replied. “I should like to see what became of a certain man.”

He rolled his eyes as though he was thinking—trying to measure me in his mind.

“What’s your game, Henri?” he asked. His voice was low but I felt a threat lurking in it.

I began to explain.

“You see, as I was coming home last night, I happened upon two men who were quarreling in the woods,” said I, watching his face closely.

“Yes,” he answered.

“The one got the better of the other,” I went on, “and the man who lost was tied by the victor to a tree.”

He did not change his expression, but looked steadily into my eyes.

“Dead?” he demanded.

“No. Alive.”

The breath came back to him. He tried not to show it but a faint smile of satisfaction played around his mouth.

“I understand you now, Henri,” he went on. “You have a good heart. If he is still there, you want to set him free.”

With that he clapped my arm under his as he had done just before breakfast. With a little more hurry than was necessary he made with me towards the woods.

I led him to the spot where I thought the man was lashed to the tree. But the only trace of him we found was a length of rope. It was frayed and worn at the ends. No doubt he had set himself free by hours of rubbing against the rough bark. The ground about the trunk was stamped and torn as though by the marching of a hundred feet.

“The villain’s gone,” I remarked.

“Why do you call him a villain?” De Marsac came back at me with his soft sneer.

“Because, Sieur De Marsac,” said I with more boldness than caution, “he tried to take my life.”

De Marsac whistled.

“And he failed?” he said. His voice flattened as though it was a thing he regretted. Then he came close to me. “Do you know, Henri,” he continued in the same slow tone, “any of us might be killed without a moment’s warning. There is a man following me at this very minute who is thirsting for my life.”

“It might be the same fellow,” I suggested craftily.

“No,” he said, “your fellow is an ordinary lout—stupid. He has made a mess of his work. The man who is following me is far deadlier. He never misses—and never fails.”

I drew cautiously away, for De Marsac’s words and the snake-like subtlety of them threw me on my guard.

“What do you mean,” said I, “when you say that ‘he has made a mess of his work’? Is it your opinion that I really ought to have been killed?”

His eyes sharpened. Like a man ready to strike a blow his face grew red with anger and he shifted forward.

“You are a smart lad, Henri,” he said drawing his eyes together till they were almost closed, “but you should be taught to speak more respectfully to your betters.”

I hardly knew what to say. There was no good in the man. He was underhand in his actions. He had something up his sleeve that he was going to have out with me. It struck me that the sooner it was over the better.

“You are not plain enough, Sieur De Marsac,” I said, “for me to answer you.” Then rashness got the upper hand of me and I burst out, “Why did you follow me this morning, anyway?”

He only stood glaring at me. His lips tightened. A wicked glint gathered in his eyes and he stepped in towards me. I was now truly alarmed. I looked from one side of me to the other for a way of escape. I saw him finger at his belt for his dagger. His answer came like a thunderbolt.

“—to finish the bungling of last night!” he hissed.

I was entirely on the defensive for I had no weapons. As he reached out to grasp me, I sprang to one side. Then I turned to run for it. We were somewhat aside of the path and the underbrush was matted and tangled. I made a leap, thinking to get as far from him as possible. My foot caught in a weed or trailing vine which held it as though it were tied there.

In the next second my legs were knocked from under me. I fell forward on my hands and face. Then I got another jolt as though someone were thumping me on the side and shoulders with a heavy log. I could not see, for the undergrowth was sharp and I was forced to close my eyes. A deep grunt and a squeal started near me. A brushing of the weeds and vines followed. Terror crept into my soul for I realized that it was an animal which I had startled and disturbed.

My heart was jumping like a hammer. I rose on one elbow and looked fearfully around. To my amazement and horror, as I scrambled to my feet, I saw a wild boar with its snout to the ground make its way through the underbrush and disappear deeper into the woods.

Then came another surprise. De Marsac was standing as white as a corpse. He seemed to have forgotten me entirely. His eyes were fastened on the direction which the boar had taken. His whole body was moving nervously as though he were greatly excited. From what I had noticed before I knew a fresh thought had started in his mind. Like a flash he was over helping me to my feet.

“Henri,” he called. “You can thank me for saving your life! If I hadn’t warned you in time, you would have been gored to death!”

I made no reply for the thoughts were scared out of me.

“We’ll go home now, Henri,” De Marsac said in a trembling voice.

I went along with him. From the time we left the woods he spoke not a word to me nor did he seem conscious of my presence. There was something brewing in his mind. He continually snapped his fingers as though he was impatient. He muttered under his breath and shook his head in approval of what was stirring in his thoughts.

Once I heard him mumble, “The wild boar. The very thing. We’ll hunt the wild boar.” Again, when he appeared forgetful that I was there, he growled, “It will be an easier way—when we hunt the wild boar.” He laughed confidently to himself. “We’ll start tomorrow—at dawn.” When we came to the gravel path that led to the house, he clapped me on the shoulder.

“Tomorrow will be my lucky day—eh, Henri?” he said.