The Trail of the Sword, Complete - Gilbert Parker
"I shall begin now," he interrupted.
"--you must be trusted a little, or Count Frontenac would not send you,
and--and--tell me, would you fight if you had a chance?"
No one of her sex had ever talked so to Iberville. Her demure raillery,
her fresh, frank impertinence, through which there ran a pretty air of
breeding, her innocent disregard of formality, all joined to impress him,
to interest him. He was not so much surprised at the elegance and
cleverness of her speech, for in Quebec girls of her age were skilled in
languages and arts, thanks to the great bishop, Laval, and to Marie of
the Incarnation. In response to her a smile flickered upon his lips. He
had a quick fierce temper, but it had never been severely tried; and so
well used was he to looking cheerfully upon things, so keen had been his
zest in living, that, where himself was concerned, his vanity was not
easily touched. So, looking with genial dryness, "You will hardly believe
it, of course," he said, "but wings I have not yet grown, and the walking
is bad 'twixt here and the Chateau St. Louis."
"Iroquois traps," she suggested, with a smile. "With a trick or two of
English footpads," was his reply.
Meanwhile his eye had loitered between the two men in council at the
farther window and the garden, into which he and the girl were looking.
Presently he gave a little start and a low whistle, and his eyelids
slightly drooped, giving him a handsome sulkiness. "Is it so?" he said
between his teeth: "Radisson--Radisson, as I live!"
He had seen a man cross a corner of the yard. This man was short,
dark-bearded, with black, lanky hair, brass earrings, and buckskin
leggings, all the typical equipment of the French coureur du bois.
Iberville had only got one glance at his face, but the sinister profile
could never be forgotten. At once the man passed out of view. The girl
had not seen him, she had been watching her companion. Presently she
said, her fingers just brushing his sleeve, for he stood eyeing the point
where the man had disappeared: "Wonderful! You look now as if you would
fight. Oh, fierce, fierce as the governor when he catches a French spy!"
He turned to her and, with a touch of irony, "Pardon!" he retorted. "Now
I shall look as blithe as the governor when a traitor deserts to him."
Of purpose he spoke loud enough to be heard by the governor and his
friend. The governor turned sharply on him. He had caught the ring in the
voice, that rash enthusiasm of eager youth, and, taking a step towards
Iberville, Count Frontenac's letter still poised in his hand: "Were your
words meant for my hearing, monsieur?" he said. "Were you speaking of me
or of your governor?"
"I was thinking of one Radisson a traitor, and I was speaking of
yourself, your excellency."
The governor had asked his question in French, in French the reply was
given. Both the girl and Councillor Drayton followed with difficulty.
Jessica looked a message to her comrade in ignorance. The old man touched
the governor's arm. "Let it be in English if monsieur is willing. He
speaks it well."
The governor was at work to hide his anger: he wished good greeting to
Count Frontenac's envoy, and it seemed not fitting to be touched by the
charges of a boy. "I must tell you frankly, Monsieur Iberville," he said,
"that I do not choose to find a sort of challenge in your words; and I
doubt that your father, had he been here, would have spoke quite so
roundly. But I am for peace and happy temper when I can. I may not help
it if your people, tired of the governance of Louis of France, come into
the good ruling of King Charles. As for this man Radisson: what is it you
would have?"
Iberville was now well settled back upon his native courage. He swallowed
the rebuke with grace, and replied with frankness: "Radisson is an
outlaw. Once he attempted Count Frontenac's life. He sold a band of our
traders to the Iroquois. He led your Hollanders stealthily to cut off the
Indians of the west, who were coming with their year's furs to our
merchants. There is peace between your colony and ours--is it fair to
harbour such a wretch in your court-yard? It was said up in Quebec, your
excellency, that such men have eaten at your table."
During this speech the governor seemed choleric, but a change passed over
him, and he fell to admiring the lad's boldness. "Upon my soul,
monsieur," he said, "you are council, judge, and jury all in one; but I
think I need not weigh the thing with you, for his excellency, from whom
you come, has set forth this same charge,"--he tapped the paper,--"and we
will not spoil good-fellowship by threshing it now." He laughed a little
ironically. "And I promise you," he added, "that your Radisson shall
neither drink wine nor eat bread with you at my table. And now, come, let
us talk awhile together; for, lest any accident befall the packet you
shall bear, I wish you to carry in your memory, with great distinctness,
the terms of my writing to your governor. I would that it were not to be
written, for I hate the quill, and I've seen the time I would rather
point my sword red than my quill black."
By this the shadows were falling. In the west the sun was slipping down
behind the hills, leaving the strong day with a rosy and radiant glamour,
that faded away in eloquent tones to the grey, tinsel softness of the
zenith. Out in the yard a sumach bush was aflame. Rich tiger-lilies
thrust in at the sill, and lazy flies and king bees boomed in and out of
the window. Something out of the sunset, out of the glorious freshness
and primal majesty of the new land, diffused through the room where those
four people stood, and made them silent. Presently the governor drew his
chair to the table, and motioned Councillor Drayton and Iberville to be
seated.
The girl touched his arm. "And where am I to sit?" she asked demurely.
Colonel Nicholls pursed his lips and seemed to frown severely on her. "To
sit? Why, in your room, mistress. Tut, tut, you are too bold. If I did
not know your father was coming soon to bear you off, new orders should
be issued. Yes, yes, e'en as I say," he added, as he saw the laughter in
her eyes.
She knew that she could wind the big-mannered soldier about her finger.
She had mastered his household; she was the idol of the settlement, her
flexible intelligence, the flush of the first delicate bounty of
womanhood had made him her slave. In a matter of vexing weight he would
not have let her stay, but such deliberatings as he would have with
Iberville could well bear her scrutiny. He reached out to pinch her
cheek, but she deftly tipped her head and caught his outstretched
fingers. "But where am I to sit?" she persisted. "Anywhere, then, but at
the council-table," was his response, as he wagged a finger at her and
sat down. Going over she perched herself on a high stool in the window
behind Iberville. He could not see her, and, if he thought at all about
it, he must have supposed that she could not see him. Yet she could; for
against the window-frame was a mirror, and it reflected his face and the
doings at the board. She did not listen to the rumble of voices. She fell
to studying Iberville. Once or twice she laughed softly to herself.
As she turned to the window a man passed by and looked in at her. His
look was singular, and she started. Something about his face was
familiar. She found her mind feeling among far memories, for even the
past of the young stretches out interminably. She shuddered, and a
troubled look came into her eyes. Yet she could not remember. She leaned
slightly forward, as if she were peering into that by-gone world which,
maybe, is wider than the future for all of us--the past. Her eyes grew
deep and melancholy. The sunset seemed to brighten around her all at
once, and enmesh her in a golden web, burnishing her hair, and it fell
across her brow with a peculiar radiance, leaving the temples in shadow,
softening and yet lighting the carmine of her cheeks and lips, giving a
feeling of life to her dress, which itself was like dusty gold. Her hands
were caught and clasped at her knees. There was something spiritual and
exalted in the picture. It had, too, a touch of tragedy, for something
out of her nebulous past had been reflected in faint shadows in her eyes,
and this again, by strange, delicate processes, was expressed in every
line of her form, in all the aspect of her face. It was as if some
knowledge were being filtered to her through myriad atmospheres of
premonition; as though the gods in pity foreshadowed a great trouble,
that the first rudeness of misery might be spared.
She did not note that Iberville had risen, and had come round the table
to look over Councillor Drayton's shoulder at a map spread out. After
standing a moment watching, the councillor's finger his pilot, he started
back to his seat. As he did so he caught sight of her still in that poise
of wonderment and sadness. He stopped short, then glanced at Colonel
Nicholls and the councillor. Both were bent over the map, talking in
eager tones. He came softly round the table, and was about to speak over
her shoulder, when she drew herself up with a little shiver and seemed to
come back from afar. Her hands went up to her eyes. Then she heard him.
She turned quickly, with the pageant of her dreams still wavering in her
face; smiled at him distantly, looked towards the window again in a
troubled way, then stepped softly and swiftly to the door, and passed
out. Iberville watched the door close and turned to the window. Again he
saw, and this time nearer to the window, Radisson, and with him the man
who had so suddenly mastered Jessica.
He turned to Colonel Nicholls. "Your excellency," he said, "will you not
let me tell Count Frontenac that you forbid Radisson your purlieus? For,
believe me, sir, there is no greater rogue unhanged, as you shall find
some day to the hurt of your colony, if you shelter him."
The governor rose and paced the room thoughtfully. "He is proclaimed by
Frontenac?" he asked.
"A price is on his head. As a Frenchman I should shoot him like a wolf
where'er I saw him; and so I would now were I not Count Frontenac's
ambassador and in your excellency's presence."
"You speak manfully, monsieur," said the governor, not ill-pleased; "but
how might you shoot him now? Is he without there?" At this he came to
where Iberville stood, and looked out. "Who is the fellow with him?" he
asked.
"A cut-throat scoundrel, I'll swear, though his face is so smug," said
Iberville. "What think you sir?" turning to the councillor, who was
peering between their shoulders.
"As artless yet as strange a face as I have ever seen," answered the
merchant. "What's his business here, and why comes he with the other
rogue? He would speak with your excellency, I doubt not," he added.
Colonel Nicholls turned to Iberville. "You shall have your way," he said.
"Yon renegade was useful when we did not know what sudden game was
playing from Chateau St. Louis; for, as you can guess, he has friends as
faithless as himself. But to please your governor, I will proclaim him."
He took his stick and tapped the floor. Waiting a moment, he tapped
again. There was no sign. He opened the door; but his Scots body-guard
was not in sight. "That's unusual," he said. Then, looking round: "Where
is our other councillor? Gone?" he laughed. "Faith, I did not see her go.
And now we can swear that where the dear witch is will Morris, my
Scotsman, be found. Well, well! They have their way with us whether we
will or no. But, here, I'll have your Radisson in at once."
He was in act to call when Morris entered. With a little hasty rebuke he
gave his order to the man. "And look you, my good Morris," he added,
"tell Sherlock and Weir to stand ready. I may need the show of firearms."
Turning to Iberville, he said: "I trust you will rest with us some days,
monsieur. We shall have sports and junketings anon. We are not yet so
grim as our friends in Massachusetts."
"I think I might venture two days with you, sir, if for nothing else, to
see Radisson proclaimed. Count Frontenac would gladly cut months from his
calendar to know you ceased to harbour one who can prove no friend," was
the reply.
The governor smiled. "You have a rare taste for challenge, monsieur. To
be frank, I will say your gift is more that of the soldier than the
envoy. But upon my soul, if you will permit me, I think no less of you
for that."
Then the door opened, and Morris brought in Radisson. The keen, sinister
eyes of the woodsman travelled from face to face, and then rested
savagely on Iberville. He scented trouble, and traced it to its source.
Iberville drew back to the window and, resting his arm on the high stool
where Jessica had sat, waited the event. Presently the governor came over
to him.
"You can understand," he said quietly, "that this man has been used by my
people, and that things may be said which--"
Iberville waved his hand respectfully. "I understand, your excellency,"
he said. "I will go." He went to the door.
The woodsman as he passed broke out: "There is the old saying of the
woods, 'It is mad for the young wolf to trail the old bear.'"
"That is so," rejoined Iberville, with excellent coolness, "if the wolf
holds not the spring of the trap."
In the outer room were two soldiers and the Scot. He nodded, passed into
the yard, and there he paced up and down. Once he saw Jessica's face at a
window, he was astonished to see how changed. It wore a grave, an
apprehensive look. He fell to wondering, but, even as he wondered, his
habit of observation made him take in every feature of the governor's
house and garden, so that he could have reproduced all as it was mirrored
in his eye. Presently he found himself again associating Radisson's
comrade with the vague terror in Jessica's face. At last he saw the
fellow come forth between two soldiers, and the woodsman turned his head
from side to side, showing his teeth like a wild beast at sight of
Iberville. His black brows twitched over his vicious eyes. "There are
many ways to hell, Monsieur Iberville," he said. "I will show you one.
Some day when you think you tread on a wisp of straw, it will be a snake
with the deadly tooth. You have made an outlaw--take care! When the
outlaw tires of the game, he winds it up quick. And some one pays for the
candles and the cards."
Iberville walked up to him. "Radisson," he said in a voice well
controlled, "you have always been an outlaw. In our native country you
were a traitor; in this, you are the traitor still. I am not sorry for
you, for you deserve not mercy. Prove me wrong. Go back to Quebec; offer
to pay with your neck, then--"
"I will have my hour," said the woodsman, and started on.
"It's a pity," said Iberville to himself--"as fine a woodsman as Perrot,
too!"
CHAPTER III
THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
At the governor's table that night certain ladies and gentlemen assembled
to do the envoy honour. There came, too, a young gentleman, son of a
distinguished New Englander, his name George Gering, who was now in New
York for the first time. The truth is, his visit was to Jessica, his old
playmate, the mistress of his boyhood. Her father was in England, her
mother had been dead many years, and Colonel Nicholls and his sister
being kinsfolk, a whole twelvemonth ago she had been left with them. Her
father had thought at first to house her with his old friend Edward
Gering, but he loved the Cavalier-like tone of Colonel Nicholls's
household better than the less inspiriting air which Madam Puritan Gering
suffused about her home. Himself in early youth had felt the austerity of
a Cavalier father turned a Puritan on a sudden, and he wished no such
experience for his daughter. For all her abundancy of life and feeling,
he knew how plastic and impressionable she was, and he dreaded to see
that exaltation of her fresh spirit touched with gloom. She was his only
child, she had been little out of his sight, her education had gone on
under his own care, and, in so far as was possible in a new land, he had
surrounded her with gracious influences. He looked forward to any
definite separation (as marriage) with apprehension. Perhaps one of the
reasons why he chose Colonel Nicholls's house for her home, was a fear
lest George Gering should so impress her that she might somehow change
ere his return. And in those times brides of sixteen were common as now
they are rare.
She sat on the governor's left. All the brightness, the soft piquancy,
which Iberville knew, had returned; and he wondered--fortunate to know
that wonder so young--at her varying moods. She talked little, and most
with the governor; but her presence seemed pervasive, the aura in her
veins flowed from her eye and made an atmosphere that lighted even the
scarred and rather sulky faces of two officers of His Majesty near. They
had served with Nicholls in Spain, but not having eaten King Louis's
bread, eyed all Frenchmen askance, and were not needlessly courteous to
Iberville, whose achievements they could scarce appreciate, having done
no Indian fighting.
Iberville sat at the governor's end, Gering at the other. It was noticed
by Iberville that Gering's eyes were much on Jessica, and in the spirit
of rivalry, the legitimate growth of race and habit, he began to speak to
her with the air of easy but deliberate playfulness which marked their
first meeting.
Presently she spoke across the table to him, after Colonel Nicholls had
pledged him heartily over wine. The tone was a half whisper as of awe, in
reality a pretty mockery. "Tell me," she said, "what is the bravest and
greatest thing you ever did?"
"Jessica, Jessica!" said the governor in reproof. An old Dutch burgher
laughed into his hand, and His Majesty's officers cocked their ears, for
the whisper was more arresting than any loud talk. Iberville coloured,
but the flush passed quickly and left him unembarrassed. He was not hurt,
not even piqued, for he felt well used to her dainty raillery. But he saw
that Gering's eyes were on him, and the lull that fell as by a common
instinct--for all could not have heard the question--gave him a thrill of
timidity. But, smiling, he said drily across the table, his voice quiet
and clear: "My bravest and greatest thing was to answer an English lady's
wit in English."
A murmur of applause ran round, and Jessica laughed and clapped her
hands. For the first time in his life Gering had a pang of jealousy and
envy. Only that afternoon he had spent a happy hour with Jessica in the
governor's garden, and he had then made an advance upon the simple
relations of their life in Boston. She had met him without
self-consciousness, persisting in her old ways, and showing only when she
left him, and then for a breath, that she saw his new attitude. Now the
eyes of the two men met, and Gering's dark face flushed and his brow
lowered. Perhaps no one saw but Iberville, but he, seeing, felt a sudden
desire to play upon the other's weakness. He was too good a sportsman to
show temper in a game; he had suddenly come to the knowledge that love,
too, is a game, and needs playing. By this time the dinner was drawing to
its close and now a singular thing happened. As Jessica, with demure
amusement, listened to the talk that followed Iberville's sally, she
chanced to lift her eyes to a window. She started, changed colour, and
gave a little cry. The governor's hand covered hers at once as he
followed her look. It was a summer's night and the curtained windows were
partly open. Iberville noted that Jessica's face wore the self-same
shadow as in the afternoon when she had seen the stranger with Radisson.
"What was it, my dear?" said the governor.
She did not answer, but pressed his hand nervously. "A spy, I believe,"
said Iberville, in a low voice. "Yes, yes," said Jessica in a half
whisper; "a man looked in at the window; a face that I have seen--but I
can't remember when."
The governor went to the window and drew the curtains. There was nothing
to see. He ordered Morris, who stood behind his chair, to have the ground
searched and to bring in any straggler. Already both the officers were on
their way to the door, and at this point it opened and let in a soldier.
He said that as he and his comrade were returning from their duty with
Radisson they saw a man lurking in the grounds and seized him. He had
made no resistance, and was now under guard in the ante-room. The
governor apologised to his guests, but the dinner could not be ended
formally now, so the ladies rose and retired. Jessica, making a mighty
effort to recover herself, succeeded so well that ere she went she was
able to reproach herself for her alarm; the more so because the
governor's sister showed her such consideration as would be given a
frightened child--and she had begun to feel something more.
The ladies gone, the governor drew his guests about him and ordered in
the prisoner. Morris spoke up, saying that the man had begged an
interview with the governor that afternoon, but, being told that his
excellency was engaged, had said another hour would do. This man was the
prisoner. He came in under guard, but he bore himself quietly enough and
made a low bow to the governor. He was not an ill-favoured fellow. His
eye was steely cold, but his face was hearty and round, and remarkably
free from viciousness. He had a cheerful air and an alert freedom of
manner, which suggested good-fellowship and honest enterprise.
Where his left hand had been was an iron hook, but not obtrusively in
view, nor did it give any marked grimness to his appearance. Indeed, the
effect was almost comical when he lifted it and scratched his head and
then rubbed his chin with it; it made him look part bumpkin and part
sailor. He bore the scrutiny of the company very well, and presently
bowed again to the governor as one who waited the expression of that
officer's goodwill and pleasure.
"Now, fellow," said the colonel, "think yourself lucky my soldiers here
did not shoot you without shrift. You chance upon good-natured times.
When a spying stranger comes dangling about these windows, my men are
given to adorning the nearest tree with him. Out with the truth now. Who
and what are you, and why are you here?"
The fellow bowed. "I am the captain of a little trading schooner, the
Nell Gwynn, which anchors in the roadstead till I have laid some private
business before your excellency and can get on to the Spanish Indies."
"Business--private business! Then what in the name of all that's
infernal," quoth Nicholls, "brought your sneaking face to yon window to
fright my lady-guests?" The memory of Jessica's alarm came hotly to his
mind. "By Heaven," he said, "I have a will to see you lifted, for means
to better manners."
The man stood very quiet, now and again, however, raising the hook to
stroke his chin. He showed no fear, but Iberville, with his habit of
observation, caught in his eyes, shining superficially with a sailor's
open honesty, a strange ulterior look. "My business," so he answered
Nicholls, "is for your excellency's ears." He bowed again.
"Have done with scraping. Now, I tell you what, my gentle spy, if your
business hath not concern, I'll stretch you by your fingers there to our
public gallows, and my fellows shall fill you with small shot as full as
a pod of peas."
The governor rose and went into another room, followed by this strange
visitor and the two soldiers. There he told the guard to wait at the
door, which entered into the ante-room. Then he unlocked a drawer and
took out of it a pair of pistols. These he laid on the table (for he knew
the times), noting the while that the seaman watched him with a pensive,
deprecating grin.
"Well, sir," he said sharply (for he was something nettled), "out with
your business, and your name in preface."
"My name is Edward Bucklaw, and I have come to your excellency because I
know there is no braver and more enterprising gentleman in the world." He
paused. "So much for preamble; now for the discourse."
"By your excellency's leave. I am a poor man. I have only my little craft
and a handful of seamen picked up at odd prices. But there's gold and
silver enough I know of, owned by no man, to make cargo and ballast for
the Nell Gwynn, or another twice her size."
"Gold and silver," said the governor, cocking his ear and eyeing his
visitor up and down. Colonel Nicholls had an acquisitive instinct; he was
interested. "Well, well, gold and silver," he continued, "to fill the
Nell Gwynn and another! And what concern is that of mine? Let your words
come plain off your tongue; I have no time for foolery."
"'Tis no foolery on my tongue, sir, as you may please to see."
He drew a paper from his pocket and shook it out as he came a little
nearer, speaking all the while. His voice had gone low, running to a soft
kind of chuckle, and his eyes were snapping with fire, which Iberville
alone had seen was false. "I have come to make your excellency's fortune,
if you will stand by with a good, stout ship and a handful of men to see
me through."