Chapter XLIV: Taken Prisoner

In my cloak-bag at the auberge I had left the king's dispatches, addressed to Sir John Hepburn and to the Duc de Lavalette, together with the case containing the baton of a marechal of France, destined for the former; but I forgot everything, save the desperate hope of rescuing Nicola and of tracking her betrayers.

I made a hundred vows of vengeance on De Bitche, whom I was one moment resolved to challenge to a solemn duel; and at another, to pistol without ceremony when or wherever I met him.

A group of dark figures on the roadway now appeared about half-a-mile before me; and the gleam of steel informed me that they were armed. I hastened forward full of new hope and a fierce joy. Some of those persons were on foot, and others on horseback; their number seemed to be about twenty, and they marched in military order. As I gained on them, they halted; and then I perceived that two of the horsemen returned to reconnoitre. On drawing nearer, I could reckon ten mounted troopers, and ten musketeers on foot; but there was not a female with them.

'Stand, monsieur!' cried one, in French, but with a guttural accent; 'was it you who hallooed?'

'Yes, my friend,' said I, breathlessly.

'For what purpose, fellow?'

I paused.

'Answer--I am General Goltz, of the Imperial army.'

'To stop you.'

'To stop us?' reiterated another, haughtily; 'here is an enterprising Gascon for you, gentlemen!'

'A Scot, as you may find to your cost, sirs,' said I, menacing them with my drawn sword. 'Is the Count de Bitche among you?'

'No,' replied one, laughing; 'the Count has more pleasant matters in hand than accompanying us. But what seek you here?'

'A companion I have lost--a young lady attired in a religious habit--'

This was received by a hoarse shout of guttural German merriment; for most of the personages among whom I had so suddenly fallen were Imperialists belonging to the garrisons of Toul or Nanci.

'There is a convent of pretty Bernardine nuns at Commercy,' said General Goltz, turning his horse round; 'apply there, my friend.

''Tis a chevalier in the guise of an abbé!' said one.

'The devil lurking behind the cross!' added another.

'A spy of Louis XIII.--a mouchard! a mouchard!' cried the Lorraine musketeers, surrounding me. 'Hola, M. le General--M. le Provost Marechal--a rope, a rope! To the next tree with him! a rope for the mouchard!'

This epithet for a spy or eavesdropper was peculiarly offensive then in France, being derived from the spies of M. de Mouchy, the Inquisitor-General under Francis II., and it inspired me with new anger.

'Who commands here?' I demanded, proudly, thrusting back the most forward with the hilt and edge of my sword.

'I command--I, Wolfgang Count Pappenheim,' replied a lofty and stern-looking cavalier, who was sheathed in burnished steel from neck to knees, and who wore a broad hat with a tall feather, and had long moustaches pointed straight out in a line with his ears.

'Hear me, Count,' said I, glad in this desperate extremity to avail myself of a little subterfuge; 'you dare not kill one who wears this dress.'

'Bah,' said he, roughly; 'I have an indulgence from the Pope to kill whom I please; but surrender, or by the death of the devil, my fellows will make black puddings of thee!'

'My reputation, Count, is so well established both at Versailles and in the camp of Duke Charles IV., that I need not suffer myself to be needlessly hacked to pieces, rather than be taken; and so, monsieur, I am your prisoner.'

'Your name, abbé, if an abbé you are, indeed?'

'I am Arthur Blane, a gentleman of king Louis's Scottish Guard, and no abbé.'

'A cuirassier.'

'Yes, monsieur.'

''Tis he, Count, of whom poor Raoul d'Ische and the Prince de Vaudemont have spoken so often,' said General Goltz; 'parbleu! he is a brave fellow!'

'But must, nevertheless, swing, M. le General; he is a spy.'

'Count, it is false,' I exclaimed.

'Then what seek you here, so far from your head-quarters, and in this garb too?'

'A lady, M. le Comte, a lady who--'

'How--have you not ladies enough in the French camp?'

'She whom I seek is a lady of Lorraine, whom I had pledged my word of honour to conduct in safety from Paris to the gate of Nanci--being now en route to join the army of Hepburn and Lavalette.'

'And who is this demoiselle, and what are her name and rank, that she required a chevalier of the King's Scottish Guard to escort her from Paris through Champagne and Lorraine?'

Policy and emotions of a somewhat mingled nature made me pause: to mention the name and position of Nicola, as a soubrette of the King's mistress, would only have courted ridicule and mischief.

'Who is she, monsieur?' demanded the Count. 'I think at such a time as this, when rumour affirms that Mademoiselle de Lorraine has been taken at a sequestered château near Paris, and is now languishing in the Bastille, some wonderful interest must be attached to the woman you are in quest of?'

'M. le Comte, she is--'

'What--speak!'

'My sister.'

'A likely story! we never heard that any of our ladies at Nanci had brothers in the Garde du Corps Ecossais; but we shall inquire into all this, at least before we hang you; so give up your sword.'

'To whom?' said I.

'To me--it shall suffer no dishonour in my hands.'

''Tis well, Count; for that sword is the last inheritance of a race that never knew dishonour--until now.'

'Soldiers should never condescend to play the mouchard.'

'Silence, Count, and be generous if you can!' said I, choking with passion. 'If such were said of me after death, I would come back to resent it, though all hell should bar the way.'

Awed by my words, the superstitious German changed colour and turned from me.

'A file of musketeers,' said General Goltz; 'Sergeant Caspar Alsfeldt, guard the prisoner to Nanci, and shoot him if he attempts to escape.'

'I will inquire into all this to-morrow at the Duke's palace, where you will bring him before me,' said Pappenheim; 'farewell, M. le Prisonnier--may we part better friends to-morrow than we do to-night. Forward, gentlemen, for the hours grow apace.'

Pappenheim, with General Goltz and all the mounted men of his party trotted rapidly off; while I, bareheaded, disarmed, downcast and heartbroken, was marched on foot, guarded by ten musketeers of the regiment de Vaudemont, towards the capital of Lorraine.

To attempt escaping would only have insured to me a sudden and barbarous death; and when marched off I struck my hands wildly together, and could have wept, but for very grief and shame, as I thought of my own helplessness and inability to unravel the mystery that enveloped the future fate of my unfortunate but beloved Nicola.