The Man in Black Read online

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  THE MAN IN BLACK

  "'IF YOU WANT ME TO--DRAW HER HOROSCOPE,' THEASTROLOGER REPLIED" (_p_. 89).]

  The Man in Black

  BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN

  _Author of "A Gentleman of France" "The Story of Francis Cludde" etc_.

  Illustrated by WAL PAGET AND H. M. PAGET

  SIXTH THOUSAND

  CASSELL AND COMPANY Limited _London Paris & Melbourne_ 1894 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  CONTENTS.

  CHAPTER

  I. The Fair at Fecamp.

  II. Solomon Notredame.

  III. Man and Wife.

  IV. The House with Two Doors.

  V. The Upper Portal.

  VI. The Powder of Attraction.

  VII. Clytaemnestra.

  VIII. The Mark of Cain.

  IX. Before the Court.

  X. Two Witnesses.

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

  "'If you want me to draw her horoscope,' the astrologer replied." Frontispiece

  "The showman was counting his gains into his pouch."

  "Jehan went trembling and found the hole."

  "The astrologer rose slowly from his seat."

  "Jehan leapt back with a shriek of pain."

  "For a second the man in black stood breathless."

  "'Madame! Madame de Vidoche, if you please!'"

  "He watched her every motion."

  "In a moment he was down, writhing on the floor."

  "'Who stole him? Where has he been?'"

  "They were carrying him."

  "A man, half-naked, ... crawled on to the highroad."

  THE MAN IN BLACK.

  CHAPTER I.

  The Fair At Fecamp.

  "_I am Jehan de Bault, Seigneur of--I know not where, and Lord ofseventeen lordships in the County of---I forget the name, of a mostnoble and puissant family, possessing the High Justice, the Middle,and the Low. In my veins runs the blood of Roland, and of myforefathers were three marshals of France. I stand here, the_----"

  It was the eve of All Saints, and the famous autumn horse-fair was inprogress at Fecamp--Fecamp on the Normandy coast, the town between thecliffs, which Boisrose, in the year '93, snatched for the Great Kingby a feat of audacity unparalleled in war. This only by the way,however; and that a worthy deed may not die. For at the date of thisfair of which we write, the last day of October, 1637, stout CaptainBoisrose, whom Sully made for his daring Lieutenant-General of theOrdnance, had long ceased to ruffle it; the Great King had lain in hisgrave a score of years or more; and though Sully, duke and peer andmarshal, still lived, an aged, formal man, in his chateau of Villebonby Chartres, all France, crouching under the iron hand of theCardinal, looked other ways.

  The great snarled, biting at the hem of the red soutane. But that themean and Jacques Bonhomme, the merchant and the trader, flourishedunder his rule, Fecamp was as good evidence this day as man coulddesire. Even old burghers who remembered Charles the Ninth, and thefirst glass windows ever seen in Fecamp outside the Abbey, could notsay when the price of horses had been higher or the town more full.All day, and almost all night, the clatter of hoofs and babble ofbargains filled the narrow streets; while hucksters' cries anddrunkards' oaths, with all raucous sounds, went up to heaven like thesmoke from a furnace. The _Chariot d'Or_ and the _Holy Fig_, haunts ofthose who came to buy, fairly hummed with guests, with nobles of theprovince and gay sparks from Rouen, army contractors from the Rhine,and dealers from the south. As for the _Dame Belle_ and the _GreenMan_, houses that lower down the street had food and forage for thosewho came to sell, they strewed their yards a foot deep with straw, andsaying to all alike, "Voila, monsieur!" charged the full price of abed.

  Beyond the streets it was the same. Strings of horses and ponies, withan army of grooms and chaunters, touts and cutpurses, camped on everypiece of level ground, while the steeper slopes and hill-sides swarmedwith troupes more picturesque, if less useful. For these were thepitches of the stilt-walkers and funambulists, the morris dancers andhobby-horses: in a word, of an innumerable company of quacks,jugglers, poor students, and pasteboard giants, come together for thedelectation of the gaping Normans, and all under the sway andauthority of the Chevalier du Guet, in whose honour two gibbets, eachbearing a creaking corpse, rose on convenient situations overlookingthe fair. For brawlers and minor sinners a pillory and a whipping-poststood handy by the landward gate, and from time to time, when a lustyvagrant or a handsome wench was dragged up for punishment, outvied inattraction all the professional shows.

  Of these, one that seemed as successful as any in catching andchaining the fancy of the shifting crowd consisted of three persons--aman, a boy, and an ape--who had chosen for their pitch a portion ofthe steep hill-side overhanging the road. High up in this they haddriven home an iron peg, and stretching a cord from this to the top ofa tree which stood on the farther edge of the highway, had improviseda tight-rope at once simple and effective. All day, as the changingthrong passed to and fro below, the monkey and the boy might be seentwisting and turning and posturing on this giddy eminence, while theman, fantastically dressed in an iron cap a world too big for him, anda back- and breast-piece which ill-matched his stained crimson jacketand taffety breeches, stood beating a drum at the foot of the tree, ornow and again stepped forward to receive in a ladle the sous and eggsand comfits that rewarded the show.

  He was a lean, middle-sized man, with squinting eyes and a craftymouth. Unaided he might have made his living by cutting purses. But hehad the wit to do by others what he could not do himself, and the luckto have that in his company which pleased all comers; for while theclowns gazed saucer-eyed at the uncouth form and hideous grimaces ofthe ape, the thin cheeks and panting lips of the boy touched thehearts of their mistresses, and drew from them many a cake andfairing. Still, with a crowd change is everything; and in the contestof attractions, where there was here a flying dragon and there adancing bear, and in a place apart the mystery of Joseph of Arimathaeaand the Sacred Fig-tree was being performed by a company that hadplayed before the King in Paris--and when, besides all these rareeshows, a score of quacks and wizards and collar-grinners with lungs ofbrass, were advertising themselves amid indescribable clanging ofdrums and squeaking of trumpets, it was not to be expected that a boyand a monkey could always hold the first place. An hour before sunsetthe ladle began to come home empty. The crowd grew thin. Gargantuanroars of laughter from the players' booth drew off some who lingered.It seemed as if the trio's run of success was at an end; and that, forall the profit they were still likely to make, they might pack up andbe off to bed.

  But Master Crafty Eyes knew better. Before his popularity quiteflickered out he produced a folding stool. Setting it at the foot ofthe tree with a grand air, which of itself was enough to arrest thewaverers, he solemnly covered it with a red cloth. This done, hefolded his arms, looked very sternly two ways at once, and raising hishand without glancing upwards, cried, "Tenez! His Excellency theSeigneur de Bault will ha
ve the kindness to descend."

  The little handful of gapers laughed, and the laugh added to theirnumber. But the boy, to whom the words were addressed, did not move.He sat idly on the rope, swaying to and fro, and looked out straightbefore him, with a set face, and a mutinous glare in his eyes. Heappeared to be about twelve years old. He was lithe-limbed, and burnedbrown by the sun, with a mass of black hair and, strange to say, blueeyes. The ape sat cheek by jowl with him; and even at the sound of themaster's voice turned to him humanly, as if to say, "You had bettergo."

  Still he did not move. "Tenez!" Master Crafty Eyes cried again, andmore sharply. "His Excellency the Seigneur de Bault will have thekindness to descend, and narrate his history. _Ecoutez! Ecoutez!mesdames et messieurs!_ It will repay you."

  This time the boy, frowning and stubborn, looked down from his perch.He seemed to be measuring the distance, and calculating whether hisheight from the ground would save him from the whip. Apparently hecame to the conclusion it would not, for on the man crying "_Vitement!Vitement!_" and flinging a grim look upwards, he began to descendslowly, a sullen reluctance manifest in all his movements.

  On reaching the ground, he made his way through the audience--whichhad increased to above a score--and climbed heavily on the stool,where he stood looking round him with a dark shamefacedness,surprising in one who was part of a show, and had been posturing allday long for the public amusement. The women, quick to espy thehollows in his cheeks, and the great wheal that seamed his neck, andquick also to admire the straightness of his limbs and the light poseof his head, regarded him pitifully. The men only stared; smoking hadnot yet come in at Fecamp, so they munched cakes and gazed by turns.

  "Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!" cried the man with the drum. "Listen to theremarkable, lamentable, and veritable history of the Seigneur deBault, now before you! Oyez!"

  The boy cast a look round, but there was no escape. So, sullenly, andin a sing-song tone--through which, nevertheless, some note ofdignity, some strange echo of power and authority, that gave therecital its bizarre charm and made it what it was, would continuallyforce itself--he began with the words at the head of this chapter:--

  "I am Jehan de Bault, Seigneur of--I know not where, and Lord ofseventeen lordships in the County of--I forget the name, of a mostnoble and puissant family, possessing the High Justice, the Middle,and the Low. In my veins runs the blood of Roland, and of myforefathers were three marshals of France. I stand here, the last ofmy race; in token whereof may God preserve my mother, the King,France, and this Province! I was stolen by gypsies at the age of five,and carried off and sold by my father's steward, as Joseph was by hisbrethren, and I appeal to--I appeal to--all good subjects of Franceto--help me to----"

  "My rights!" interjected Crafty Eyes, with a savage glance.

  "My rights," the boy whispered, lowering his head.

  The drum-man came forward briskly. "Just so, ladies and gentlemen," hecried with wonderful glibness. "And seldom as it is that you havebefore you the representative of one of our most noble and ancientfamilies a-begging your help, seldom as that remarkable, lamentable,and veritable sight is to be seen in Fecamp, sure I am that you willrespond willingly, generously, and to the point, my lord, ladies andgentlemen!" And with this, and a far grander air than when it had beenmerely an affair of a boy and an ape, the knave carried round hisladle, doffing his cap to each who contributed, and saying politely,"The Sieur de Bault thanks you, sir. The Sieur de Bault is yourservant, madam."

  There was something so novel in the whole business, something so oddand inexplicably touching in the boy's words and manner, that with allthe appearance of a barefaced trick, appealing only to the mostignorant, the thing wrought on the crowd: as doubtless it had wroughton a hundred crowds before. The first man to whom the ladle camegrinned sheepishly and gave against his will; and his fellowsthroughout maintained a position of reserve, shrugging their shouldersand looking wisdom. But a dozen women became believers at once, anddespite the blare and flare of rival dragons and Moriscoes and thesurrounding din and hubbub, the ladle came back full of deniers andsous.

  The showman was counting his gains into his pouch, when a silver francspun through the air and fell at his feet, and at the same time aharsh voice cried, "Here, you, sirrah! A word with you."

  Master Crafty Eyes looked up, and doffing his cap humbly--for thevoice was a voice of authority--went cringing to the speaker. This wasan elderly man, well mounted, who had reined up his horse on theskirts of the crowd as the boy began his harangue. He had a plainsoldier's face, with grey moustachios and a small, pointed grey beard,and he seemed to be a person of rank on his way out of the town; forhe had two or three armed servants behind him, of whom one carried avalise on his crupper.

  "What is your will, noble sir?" the showman whined, standingbare-headed at his stirrup and looking up at him.

  "Who taught the lad that rubbish?" the horseman asked sternly.

  "No one, my lord. It is the truth."

  "Then bring him here, liar!" was the answer.

  The showman obeyed, not very willingly, dragging the boy off thestool, and jerking him through the crowd. The stranger looked down atthe child for a moment in silence. Then he said sharply, "Hark ye,tell me the truth, boy. What is your name?"

  The lad stood straight up, and answered without hesitation, "Jehan deBault."

  "Of nowhere in the County of No Name," the stranger gibed gravely. "Ofa noble and puissant family--and the rest. All that is true, Isuppose?"

  A flicker as of hope gleamed in the boy's eyes. His cheek reddened. Heraised his hand to the horse's shoulder, and answered in a voice whichtrembled a little, "It is true."

  "THE SHOWMAN WAS COUNTING HIS GAINS INTO HIS POUCH"(_p_. 11).]

  "Where is Bault?" the stranger asked grimly.

  The lad looked puzzled and disappointed. His lip trembled, his colourlied again. He glanced here and there, and finally shook his head. "Ido not know," he said faintly.

  "Nor do I," the horseman replied, striking his long brown boot withhis riding-switch to give emphasis to the words, and looking sternlyround. "Nor do I. And what is more, you may take it from me that thereis no family of that name in France! And once more you may take thisfrom me too. I am the Vicomte de Bresly, and I have a government inGuienne. Play this game in my county, and I will have you both whippedfor common cheats, and you, Master Drummer, branded as well! Bear itin mind, sirrah; and when you perform, give Perigord a wide berth.That is all."

  He struck his horse at the last word, and rode off; sitting, like anold soldier, so straight in his saddle that he did not see whathappened behind him, or that the boy sprang forward with a hasty cry,and would, but for the showman's grasp, have followed him. He rodeaway, unheeding and without looking back; and the boy, after a briefpassionate struggle with his master, collapsed.

  "You limb!" the man with the drum cried, as he shook him. "What beehas stung you? You won't be quiet, eh? Then take that! and that!" andhe struck the child brutally in the face--twice.

  Some cried shame and some laughed. But it was nobody's business, andthere were a hundred delights within sight. What was one little boy,or a blow more or less, amid the whirl and tumult of the fair? A scoreof yards away a dancing girl, a very Peri--or so she seemed by thelight of four tallow candles--was pirouetting on a rickety platform.Almost rubbing elbows with her was a philosopher, who had conqueredall the secrets of Nature except cleanliness, and was prepared to sellinfallible love-philtres and the potion of perpetual youth--for fourfarthings! And beyond these stretched a vista of wonders andprodigies, all vocal, not to say deafening. So one by one, with ashrug or a sneer, the onlookers melted away, until only our trioremained: Master Crafty Eyes counting his gains, the boy sobbingagainst the bank on which he had thrown himself, and the monkeygibbering and chattering overhead--a dark shapeless object on aninvisible rope. For night was falling: where the fun of the fair wasnot were gloom and a rising wind, lurking cutpurses, and waste land.

  The showman seemed to feel
this, for having counted his takings, hekicked up the boy and began to pack up. He had nearly finished, andwas stooping over the coil of rope, securing the end, when a touch onhis shoulder caused him to jump a yard. A tall man wrapped in a cloak,who had come up unseen, stood at his elbow.

  "Well!" the showman cried, striving to hide his alarm under anappearance of bluster. "And what may you want?"

  "A word with you," the unknown answered.

  The voice was so cold and passionless it gave Crafty Eyes a turn."Diable!" he muttered, striving to pierce the darkness and see whatthe other was like. But he could not; so as to shake off theimpression, he asked, with a sneer, "You are not a vicomte, are you?"

  "No," the stranger replied gravely, "I am not."

  "Nor the governor of a county?"

  "No."

  "Then you may speak!" rejoined the showman grandly.

  "Not here," the cloaked man answered. "I must see you alone."

  "Then you will have to come home with me, and wait until I have put upthe boy," the other said. "I am not going to lose him for you oranyone. And for a penny he'd be off! Does it suit you? You may take itor leave it."

  The unknown, whose features were completely masked by the dusk, noddedassent, and without more ado the four turned their faces towards thestreets; the boy carrying the monkey, and the two men following closeon his heels. Whenever they passed before a lighted booth the showmanstrove to learn something of his companion's appearance but the latterwore his cloak so high about his face, and was so well served by awide-flapped hat which almost met it, that curiosity was completelybaffled; and they reached the low inn where the showman rented acorner of the stable without that cunning gentleman being a jot thewiser for his pains.

  It was a vile, evil-smelling place they entered, divided into six oreight stalls by wooden partitions reaching half-way to the tiles. Ahorn lantern hung at each end filled it with yellow lights and deepshadows. A pony raised its head and whinnied as the men entered, butmost of the stalls were empty, or tenanted only by drunken clownssleeping in the straw.

  "You cannot lock him in here," said the stranger, looking round him.

  The showman grunted. "Cannot I?" he said. "There are tricks in alltrades, master. I reckon I can--with this!" And producing fromsomewhere about him a thin steel chain, he held it before the other'sface. "That is my lock and door," he said triumphantly.

  "It won't hold him long," the other answered impassively. "The fifthlink from the end is worn through now."

  "You have sharp eyes!" the showman exclaimed, with reluctantadmiration. "But it will hold a bit yet. I fasten him in yondercorner. Do you wait here, and I will come back to you."

  He was not long about it. When he returned he led the stranger intothe farthest of the stalls, which, as well as that next to it, wasempty. "We can talk here," he said bluntly. "At any rate, I have nobetter place. The house is full. Now, what is it?"

  "I want that boy," the tall man answered. The showman laughed--stoppedlaughing--laughed again. "I dare say you do," he said derisively."There is not a better or a pluckier boy on the rope out of Paris. Andfor patter? There is nothing on the road like the bit he did thisafternoon, nor a bit that pays as well."

  "Who taught it him?" the stranger asked.

  "I did."

  "That is a lie," the other answered in a perfectly unmoved tone. "Ifyou like I will tell you what you did. You taught him the latter halfof the story. The other he knew before: down to the word 'province.'"

  The showman gasped. "Diable!" he muttered. "Who told you?"

  "Never mind. You bought the boy. From whom?"

  "From some gypsies at the great fair of Beaucaire," the showmananswered sullenly.

  "Who is he?"

  Crafty Eyes laughed dryly. "If I knew I should not be padding thehoof," he said. "Or, again, he may be nobody, and the tale patter. Youhave heard as much as I have. What do you think?"

  "I think I shall find out when I have bought the boy," the strangeranswered coolly. "What will you take for him?"

  The showman gasped again. "You come to the point," he said.

  "It is my custom. What is his price?"

  The showman's imagination had never soared beyond nor his ears everheard of a larger sum than a thousand crowns. He mentioned ittrembling. There might be such a sum in the world.

  "A thousand livres, if you like. Not a sou more," was the answer.

  The nearer lantern threw a strong light on Crafty Eyes' face; but thatwas mere shadow beside the light of cupidity which sparkled in hiseyes. He could get another boy; scores of boys. But a thousand livres!A thousand livres! "Tournois!" he said faintly. "Livres Tournois!" Inhis wildest moments of avarice he had never dreamed of possessing sucha sum.

  "No, Paris livres," the stranger answered coldly. "Paid to-morrow atthe _Golden Chariot_. If you agree, you will deliver the boy to methere at noon, and receive the money."

  The showman nodded, vanquished by the mere sound of the sum. Parislivres let it be. Danae did not more quickly succumb to the goldenshower.