Beauvallet (27 page)

Below there was the sound of running feet, shouts, and the clatter of pikes. Sir Nicholas sent a quick look round, and his eye alighted on a stout oak chest standing against the wall. He stepped quickly forward; there was a heave and a thrust, and the chest went crashing down the stair on top of the foremost man who was running up. The chest jammed tight on the turn of the stair; there was a furious oath, clatter, and confusion. The first of the pursuers went tumbling backwards into the arms of the man behind him, who, in his turn, lost his balance under the sudden impact and fell heavily.

Sir Nicholas laughed out at that, and having seen his chest securely wedged, turned. He had not the least idea what he was going to do next, and he rather thought that he was trapped, but his eyes were fairly blazing with sheer joy of action, and a smile of amusement was on his lips.

Footsteps and voices sounded on the main stair at the other end of the quadrangle. Sir Nicholas stayed, poised on his toes, waiting to see which way these pursuers would come. They rounded the far corner of the eastern corridor, where he stood, some three or four soldiers running with halberds levelled. Sir Nicholas sprang to the left, and was off down the southern passage, making for the Governor's quarters on the western side.

He had almost reached the corner when he checked suddenly, and cast a quick glance round him for some way of escape. Ahead of him, down the western corridor, perilously close, was coming the thud of heavy feet, running fast. He was indeed trapped.

Another moment and the men behind him would have rounded the corner, and would have him in view again. Sir Nicholas made
for the end window on this side, slipped into the embrasure, and drew the heavy curtains to behind him.

The window opened on to its little railed balcony; Sir Nicholas stepped out, soft-footed, and cast a glance down into the court below. It was too dark to distinguish forms, but he could hear voices, and knew that there were soldiers gathered there.

He thrust the dagger through his belt, tested the iron railing a moment with his hand, and peered through the gloom for the first balcony on the western side. He could just distinguish it. One moment he measured the distance; then he set his foot on the railing and came lightly up with a hand on the wall to steady himself. Judging by the sounds, the men running down the western corridor had now reached the corner. Sir Nicholas gathered himself together, and jumped like a diver, head first for the next balcony. His hands just caught its railing; he hung there a moment, panting, put forth a great effort, and hoisted himself up. He had a leg over the rail in a minute, and the next instant he had disappeared in at the window.

He found himself in a deserted passage. Down the corridor along which he had come were pelting the soldiers; in another moment they would collide with the other party whom Sir Nicholas had first seen. There would be more talk of witchcraft after this night's work, thought Sir Nicholas, and grinned appreciatively. Each of those converging parties were convinced they had the escaped prisoner trapped; they were very shortly to discover that El Beauvallet had once more lived up to his reputation, and this time had vanished, to all appearances, into thin air. El Beauvallet kissed his fingers in the wake of the zealous guards, and made for the first door he could see.

It was unlocked. He went in cautiously, and found himself in an empty bedchamber, poorly furnished, and with one small cresset lamp burning over the mantelpiece. It was probably some tirewoman's chamber, he thought. He closed the door
softly behind him, and went to the window. It stood open, looking on to the garden. Sir Nicholas swung one leg over the sill, feeling for a foothold. The wistaria brushed his leg; he found a branch, swung the other leg over, caught at the thick tendrils, and went sliding, scrambling down to the balcony immediately below, upon the first storey. The wistaria tore away from the wall, but he reached to safety. He had one leg over the balcony rail, one hand feeling for a hold on to the creeper, when there came a noise to make him draw back quickly.

The door leading into the garden from the hall below was flung open; there was the flare of a torch, and a voice said clearly: ‘Two of you keep guard lest he try to escape this way.’

Without a moment's hesitation Sir Nicholas slipped in at the open window behind him.

The curtains were slightly parted, and a soft light shone through. Sir Nicholas, keeping against the dark background of the curtain, peeped in. The room was empty; Sir Nicholas went in and pulled the curtains to behind him.

‘God's Life!’ he muttered ruefully. ‘Where am I now?’

He stood in a large bedchamber, which was furnished in a massive style, with a great four-posted bed hung with curtains of velvet, a chest of inlay work, a table, chairs, and a hanging cupboard against the wall. There was a door opposite the window and even as Sir Nicholas went towards it footsteps sounded outside, and a hand was laid on the latch. Sir Nicholas drew swiftly back to the bed and slipped behind the heavy curtains.

The door opened; someone came in with a quick step, went to the table, and pulled a drawer out in it. There was a rustle of paper; Sir Nicholas parted the curtain and saw a man standing with his back to him, hurriedly turning over papers in the drawer. He was cloaked, and wore a large capotain hat with a drooping plume in it. At his side, hitching up the long folds of the cloak, hung a rapier.

Inch by inch, cat-like, Sir Nicholas came towards him. A board creaked suddenly under his foot; the cloaked man turned sharply, and as he turned Beauvallet's fist shot out. The man fell without a sound, and Sir Nicholas saw that he had knocked out no less a personage than Don Cristobal de Porres, Governor of the Guards.

‘God save the mark, my noble gaoler!’ said Sir Nicholas, and stepped over Porres’ prostrate form to the door. He shut it, cast a quick glance at the limp figure, and went to the bed. With one eye watchfully upon the Governor he slit the fine brocade coverlet into strips with his dagger, and came back to kneel beside the still form.

‘Nay, but I am sorry for this, my poor friend,’ he said, and stuffed one of his strips into Don Cristobal's slack mouth. Another, torn across was tied hastily round to keep the rude gag in place. He unclasped the cloak from about Don Cristobal's neck, and the gleaming collar of the Golden Fleece met his eyes. Off it came; Sir Nicholas gave a tiny chuckle. ‘My dear friend,’ said he, ‘I believe this may stand me in very good stead. You shall not grudge it me.’ He fastened the collar round his own neck, unbuckled the baldrick that held the Governor's rapier, and neatly bound the unfortunate man's ankles and wrists. As he tied the last knot Don Cristobal stirred, and opened his eyes. They fell on Beauvallet, seemed bewildered at first, and then as full consciousness returned, furious.

‘I know, I know,’ said Sir Nicholas. ‘I am sorry for it, señor, but you will admit I am hard-pressed.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘A churlish return for all your kindness, Don Cristobal, and I would not have had you think El Beauvallet so ungrateful a dog.’ He saw the look of consternation leap into the Governor's face, and laughed. ‘Oh yes, señor, I am El Beauvallet.’ As he spoke he was buckling the baldrick about his waist. ‘Señor, I must stow you away. Keep my sword in exchange for this of yours;
it is a rare blade, and you may say with truth that you were the only man who ever took aught from Nick Beauvallet against his will. Now, señor, if you please.’ He had opened the door of the cupboard, and now he bundled Don Cristobal into it, and shut the door upon him. He picked up the cloak, fastened it about his shoulders, and disposed its ample folds about his person. The Governor's lace handkerchief and long cane lay on the floor; Sir Nicholas gathered them up, set the broad-brimmed hat well over his eyes, thanked God for a beard and a pair of mustachios very like Don Cristobal's, and walked to the door. As he laid his hand on the latch there was a scratching on one of the panels, and a man's voice called: ‘Señor, the coach waits.’

‘In a very good hour!’ thought Sir Nicholas. ‘God send I may brazen this out. I thank my luck that the light is behind me. Forward, El Beauvallet!’ He opened the door, and went calmly out into the passage.

A servant stood there; Sir Nicholas could not see his features plainly in the dim light of the passage, and hoped that his own were as well hid. He closed the door behind him, and motioned the servant to go before. The man bowed, and went ahead at once.

Along the passage they walked to the stairs at the end. The servant stood aside there for Sir Nicholas to pass. Sir Nicholas went down the stairs unhurriedly and crossed the hall at the bottom.

The front door was held open by a lackey, who stared to see his master coming so unconcernedly. He ventured to speak. ‘Señor – the lieutenant has just gone into the library in search of you. You have not heard, señor – the prisoner has escaped!’

Sir Nicholas raised the handkerchief to his lips and coughed. Through the cough he said in as fair an imitation of Don Cristobal's voice as he could assume: ‘He is taken. The sergeant has my instructions.’

He went past the lackey as he spoke, but he knew that the man was surprised, perhaps even suspicious, and there was not a moment to be lost. A coach with plumes upon the roof and curtains hung at the sides stood waiting. He got in. ‘I am late. Drive fast.’

The coachman was agog with excitement. ‘Señor, the prisoner –’

‘The prisoner is safe!’ said Sir Nicholas. ‘Drive on!’

The coachman gathered up the reins; the horses’ hooves clattered on the paving-stones, the coach moved slowly forward under the arch towards the open gates.

The lackey at the door ran after. ‘Señor, the lieutenant –’

‘To hell with the lieutenant!’ said Sir Nicholas. ‘Drive on!’

The coach rumbled out of the gate and turned at right angles into the street.

The lieutenant, Cruza, hurrying out of the house, was just in time to see it disappear round the corner. ‘What – the Governor!’ he cried.

The lackey rubbed his perplexed head. ‘Señor, the Governor would not wait. He sounded very hasty, and unlike himself.’

‘The Governor would not wait?’ Cruza stared uncompre-hendingly.

There came a shout from within. ‘Stop that man! Stop that man! The Governor is here, gagged and bound!
Stop that man!
’

‘
Sangre de Dios
, he is away!’ cried the lieutenant, and went bounding out through the archway. ‘For your lives after that coach!’ he shot at the sentries. ‘The prisoner is in it! Off with you!’

But when two labouring soldiers came up with the slow-moving coach there was no one inside. El Beauvallet had vanished.

Nineteen

O
utside the wall that enclosed the Governor's garden Joshua waited, safe in the shadows. He had a coil of rope in his hand, and had hitched his dagger round so that he might easily come at it. He shivered from time to time, started at small noises, and was finely scared by a marauding black cat. Recovering from this fright he watched the cat slink off, and was moved to shake his fist at it. ‘What, you doxy! You’ll creep up to give me a fright, will you? You may thank my need for quiet that I do not spit you on the end of my knife.’ The cat disappeared over the wall. ‘Ay, over you go, featly as you please, upon your naughty business,’ said Joshua bitterly. ‘If a man might get over that wall so easily I should be the better pleased.’ He set himself to listen again, but could hear only the rustle of the light wind through the trees. ‘Can he make it?’ muttered Joshua. ‘I do not doubt, no, but I confess I shall be the more at ease when I see you safe beside me, master. Ha, what's this?’

He listened intently, heard the sound of voices on the other side, but could not catch what was said. A door slammed, he heard the gravel scrunch under a heavy boot, a sound as of a grounded halberd, and a murmur of voices.

Dismay consumed him; he was in a fret to be gone from his post, to be up and doing, at least to know more. If Sir Nicholas
had broken free he could never escape this way, with men posted in the garden. And how to warn him? Joshua wrung his hands in impotent despair. ‘God's me, God's me, this is to ruin all! I am in no doubt now that you have broken free, master, but why so slow? Ah, why, why? You will walk into this trap. This is not Mad Nick's way to let others be before him. What mischance? Trapped, trapped!’ He looked right and left. ‘To warn you – think, Joshua, think! I am no loose-living cat to go jumping walls.’ He bit his nails in a frenzy, glanced up at the wall, shook his head hopelessly. ‘Naught to do but to wait. But if he hath broken loose what makes he there? Will he fall upon these men in the garden? What, weaponless to pit his strength against I know not how many men with pikes? And here stand I mammering! Nor dare do else!’

He stood still, listening, sweating, dreading at once the sound of a capture in the garden, and the approach of some loiterer, or, worse, a guard in the street.

He stiffened suddenly, and peered into the darkness. A light step sounded, approaching fast. He began to walk away down the street, as though bound upon some errand.

The footsteps were coming closer, rapidly overhauling him. He stole a hand to his dagger, and went steadily on his way. If this was a guard he was coming on his death.