Read Ebook: The Scourge of God: A Romance of Religious Persecution by Bloundelle Burton John

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silver basketful of delicate, white chipped bread, and a crystal bowl of mountain fruit. Yet the glass and the silver bore no two crests alike. The arms that were broidered on the napery represented still a third family. All was spoil torn from half a dozen ruined and sacked mansions.

"Yes," she answered, looking up at him, "yes, to return me to my father's arms."

"You will pray, therefore, for my success? It means all you can most desire, all that you can hope for till these troubles are past. Once back in his house, no further harm can come near you; you are safe with him. Nay, even though he were in danger through any further success of theirs, you are still safe. They deem you one of themselves."

"I will pray," she said, "for your success, your prosperity, now and forever--for all that you may undertake. Yet--yet--do you know?--I have almost ceased to pray at all now."

"Oh, oh, God forbid!" he exclaimed, his heart wrung by her words.

Profoundly touched, moved to the deepest pity and sympathy by her words--the words of one so young and fair, yet, alas! so distraught--he moved nearer to her and, unaware even, perhaps, of his action, took her hand.

"Why," he said, speaking very low, yet with a voice that seemed as music in her ears, "why feel thus, suffer thus? In spite of all the dissensions between our faiths--grant even that you are no Protestant--we worship the same God though we see him with different eyes. Urbaine," he whispered, forgetting as he spoke that he had broken down the barrier of formality which had been between them until now, "if you can not pray for me to-night, can not pray that my efforts may meet with success, how can I depart and leave you here? How go, knowing that your heart is not with me?"

"Urbaine," he continued, emboldened now to repeat softly her name, and perhaps not understanding her repetition of his words, deeming, it may be, that the repetition confirmed them, "Urbaine, your heart, your wishes must go with me, with the cause I undertake. It is the cause of peace and reconciliation, of strengthening your king's hands by winning back his subjects to him. For if this fleet can but get a foothold for its men on shore, Louis must make terms with all who are now beating him down; not only in this fair Languedoc, but over all Europe a lasting peace may ensue. A peace," he continued, still gently yet impressively, "between your land and mine. Yours and mine," he repeated, dwelling, it seemed to her, pleasantly on the coupling of their interests together--"yours and mine."

For answer she only sighed, then she said a moment later:

"Yet to go on this mission may mean death to you. If Montrevel or Julien caught you--O God! it sickens me to think of your peril. They might not know, might not even believe, all that you have done for me. The end would be awful."

"Yet remember also that they would not know, can not know, that I am a Protestant--worse than all else within their eyes, an Englishman. And, not knowing, nothing would be suspected."

"Still I fear," she answered. "Am overcome with horror and anxiety. Oh!" she exclaimed again, "oh! if your reward for your noble chivalry to me should be nothing but disaster. If--if we should never meet again."

"Fear not," he said. "We shall meet again. I know it; it is borne in upon me. We shall meet again. I shall restore you to your father's arms."

Yet, even as he spoke, he remembered the words that Cavalier had uttered under the seal of confidence, the words: "When she has heard what is to be told, it may be she will never seek to return to him, to set eyes on her beloved Intendant again." Remembered them and wondered what they might portend.

As he did so there came into the cavern one of the Camisards, a man who had been deputed to lead him at a given time to where Cavalier was to await his coming. A guide who said briefly that the horses were prepared and ready to set forth at monsieur's pleasure, then went outside to wait for him.

"Farewell, Urbaine," Martin said. "Adieu. Nay, do not weep. All will, all must be, well with you, otherwise I would not leave you. And, remember, once my task is accomplished you are free. It is for that, as for other things, in other hopes, that I go. Bid me Godspeed."

It seemed, however, as if she could not let him depart. Weeping, she clung to his arm, her cheeks bedashed with the tears that ran down them, her hands clasping his. And then, overmastered by her misery, he said that to her which he had never meant to say until, at least, happier days had dawned for both--if, as he sometimes thought, he should ever dare to say it.

"Urbaine," he whispered, "Urbaine, be brave; take heart; pray for me. Listen, hear my last words ere I go. I love you--have loved you since that night we sat beneath the acacias after I had saved you. I shall love you ever--till I die."

The moon shone out through deep inky clouds that scurried swiftly beneath her face as Martin and the guide set forth to descend to the spot where Cavalier was to await them. Up here there were no precautions necessary to be taken, since to the higher portions of the C?vennes it was impossible that any enemy could have penetrated from below. The paths that led up to the caves which formed the barracks and dwelling places of the two thousand men who now kept all Languedoc in dread and two of Louis' armies at check were of so narrow and impassable a nature that Thermopylae itself might have acknowledged them as worthy rivals; and, even had they been less close and tortuous, were so guarded at intervals by pickets of Camisards that none could have surmounted them. Also in many places the route had been made to pass specially over terrible chasms and ravines, since, by so doing, it enabled the defenders of the passes to construct drawbridges which could be lowered or raised at their own pleasure, or, in case of necessity, destroyed altogether.

Beneath that moon which shone fitfully from the deep masses of rain-charged clouds the two men paced in Indian file down the narrow passes, seeing as they went that which, for now many weeks, had been visible to all eyes in the province--namely, the flames of villages on fire at different points of the compass; hearing, too, as they were borne on the winds, the distant ringing of alarm bells and tocsins from many a beleaguered church and monastery. For not only did those flames spring from edifices wherein the old faith was still maintained, but also from the villages and hamlets where some Protestants continued to dwell and worship in their own manner, hoping ever for better, happier days. Already it was calculated that more than forty Romish churches had been destroyed, with, in many cases, the bourgs in which they stood; ere all was over the number was doubled. And already, also, more than that number of Protestant places of worship, with the villages around them, had been pillaged, sacked, and burned by Montrevel and Julien, while, in their case, ere all was over the number was almost trebled.

Thinking of his newly declared love for Urbaine, thinking, too, of how, in whispered words, she had declared her love for him in return, of how in their last hasty embrace, which had been also their first, they had sworn deathless fidelity to each other, Martin took but little heed of those midnight sights telling of happy homes ruined forever which he had now been forced so often to gaze upon from the heights where the Camisards dwelt. He had grown accustomed to these beacons of horror, in spite of the unhappiness they caused him.

But now he saw a new phase of stern justice and punishment at which he could not fail to shudder.

High up upon three gibbets at the wayside by which they passed--gibbets so placed that, when their ghastly burdens should rot from the chains which held them now, they would fall down and down until they reached the bottom of the ravine a thousand feet below--there hung three corpses; swung waving to the mountain air, while ever and anon upon their white but blood-stained faces the moon glinted now and again, making those faces look as though they perspired in her rays, were clammy with sweat. And two grinned hideously in those rays, a bullet wound which had shattered the mouth of one giving to his face the appearance of a man convulsed with laughter, while the smirk of the other face was, in truth, the last grimace of the death agony. The features of the third told naught, since, from a wound in his forehead, there had run out the blood which was now caked and hardened to a mask, hiding all below.

"My God!" exclaimed Martin, with a shiver, "who are they? Men caught here and executed as spys, troopers made prisoners and done to death by the avengers?"

"What, traitors?"

"Go on," Martin said, seeing that he paused.

As he finished, again the loathsome figures swung to the breeze, again they danced and pirouetted in their chains, while from behind a rock Cavalier himself strode forward.

It was the spot that had been the meeting place appointed with the guide.

"It is true," he said. "We war not with women. Let Montrevel or Julien do that. Or their master--Louis!"

"LOVE HER! BEYOND ALL THOUGHT! AND SHE IS THERE."

With the rapidity of wildfire the news had run over all Languedoc at this time--was known, too, and shared by Catholics as well as Protestants--that the English, who once they drew the sword never sheathed it until its work was done, meditated an attack on France in a fresh place, that place being her Mediterranean seaboard, the one spot still free from their assaults up to now, also a spot more vulnerable, since there were scarce any troops to defend it, the armies of Montrevel and Julien being sufficiently occupied in endeavouring, without success, to prevent the terrible reprisals the Camisards were at last making.

And now to add to all the terrors that the papists felt at last, to all the fierce joys that the Protestants had begun to thrill with, it was rumoured through the country that some great admiral of the accursed English race, backed up by the Duke of Savoy, was about to land an army at one of the ports with the full intention of assisting the Protestants, and of, so those papists said, establishing Protestantism over all the land. No wonder, therefore, that the priests fled from their churches, that the archbishop said that "God had deserted them."

"The meeting-place," said Ulson de la Valette, "of all of us is the plain of Frontignan, 'twixt that and the great port. The signal will be the landing of the first English troops, the entry of the first ship of war. The password is 'God and his children.' My friends, farewell; yet, as you ride, forget not to pray for success. If God is on our side now we are avenged and Louis beaten down under our feet. We shall triumph."

A moment later all had parted, dispersing quietly after a hand-shake round, and each going alone, Martin and Flottard remaining behind for some little while so as not to follow too hurriedly upon the footsteps of the others.

"Yet," said Flottard in English, which he spoke like a native, "we must part too, Monsieur Martin. I have to enter Bouziques if I can; 'tis full of disguised Savoyards and some of your--our--land. You will, I should suppose, join Sir Cloudesley Shovel?"

"As agent," Martin replied, "not combatant. My mission is to lead his troops if possible to Montpellier and N?mes, to act as guide."

"It will not save your neck if you are caught," Flottard said with a laugh.

"There is no thought of that," Martin answered, hurt and annoyed that the man should suppose this was his consideration. "But--but--I have other things to do. To me are to be confided the arms, ammunition, and money which the English fleet brings. Also, with the exception of you and me, there is no one who can speak English."

"And," repeated Flottard, "there is no one the French will punish as ferociously as they will punish us--for I am English too now--if we are caught."

"They can do no worse by us than by their own," Martin replied quietly.

Afterward, when they had parted, Flottard taking his way to Bouzique while Martin rode on quietly toward Cette, he, musing deeply on all which might be the outcome of the proposed attack by the English admiral, told himself that, even were it possible for his punishment to be made five thousand times worse than anything which had ever been dealt out to the Protestants, nothing should stop him now but death. He loved Urbaine Ducaire; had loved her, as he had said, since first he saved her life, since they had sat together beneath the sweet-scented blossoms of the acacia trees on that soft summer night amid the desolation of the land; he should love her till the end. And--and Cavalier had promised that, if he helped their cause now, on his return he should lead Urbaine forth a free woman; should return her safe and unharmed to Baville's arms, even though Baville was the most hated name the Camisards knew.

Cavalier would keep his word. That he never doubted. Only there was the future to be thought upon--the afterward. His love for her and hers for him. How was that love ever to be brought to a happy fruition? How? How? How? Would Baville give her to him, a Protestant, even though it were proved, as Cavalier had said it could now be proved beyond all doubt, that Urbaine was herself born in that faith? Give her to him, an Englishman, a native of the land which had wrought much disaster on France through innumerable centuries, that was even now closing its grasp of steel upon France and crushing the very life-blood out of all its pores? Would Baville, the Tiger of Languedoc, ever consent to such a union as they projected, the fulfilment of the troth which they had plighted?

As he reflected on this, trying to pierce the future, endeavouring to see one glimmering ray of hope amid all the darkness which enveloped that future, he drew near to where the port of Cette was; in the warm autumn air with which these southern plains were suffused, it seemed almost as if he scented the breezes of the great blue sea beyond. Also it seemed as if already the balm of the myriad flowers which adorn its shores was surrounding him, as if, with the bright rays of the sun, a promise was heralded of peace and happiness at last.

It behooved him to be careful how he progressed, for all the countryside was in a state of alarm. The English fleet had been seen out at sea two days before! Also it was known to all the King's followers that a descent was intended, while a regiment of dragoons marching swiftly to the coast had given the information that, from the towers of the cathedral at Montpellier, that fleet had been seen approaching Maqualone. While even a worse cause for alarm was the rumour that Cavalier with six hundred Camisards had passed by a circuitous route toward Cette, and was now waiting on the beach to welcome the English invaders.

Two large ships of war which through that night made signals frequently that, none understanding, remained unanswered. Signals arranged by the Earl of Nottingham , the key to which he had forwarded to Peytaud, a Protestant but recently returned from Holland. But Peytaud had been caught that morning ere he could reach Cette; the signals had been found upon him, and, at the time that the Pembroke and the Tartar were showing their masthead lights, the unfortunate man's body was lying broken all to pieces on a wheel in the crossroads outside Aigu?smortes.

And there were no duplicates! The signals remained unanswered. Later on Cavalier said that he did not know these were the ships of war, but in the darkness took them to be fishermen's boats. Had he known, he averred that he would have swam out to them rather than have missed so great a chance.

In the morning when day broke the topsails of these vessels were seen to fill. Soon they were gone.

The hoped-for chance was lost, and lost forever. The tide no longer served; nothing could have been then landed from the English ships, nor could they have remained where they were. Already the galleys armed to the teeth had put out in dozens to attack them. On the horizon there rose the topmasts of a great French fleet coming swiftly from Toulon.

And by Martin's side upon the desolate shore stood Cavalier, the picture of despair.

"The opportunity is gone," he said; "gone also our last chance for making peace. It is war now to the end. Yet had your countrymen but got ashore the struggle would have been over; hampered on all sides, Louis must have yielded, have made terms. God help us all!" and he turned away to bid his followers disperse and make their way back by the routes and by-paths which they knew of to the mountains.

As he did so there came through the crowd of Camisards one whom Martin had seen before, a gaunt, haggard man, with an arm missing--an arm which, it was said, had withered under the cruelties the Abb? du Chaila had practised on this C?venole while he had him in his power at Montvert, so that, when at last the man was freed, it had to be removed.

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