Randall Parrish - Prisoners of Chance

R >> Randall Parrish >> Prisoners of Chance

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

I doubted greatly his compliance with my order, and determined to
settle this affair between us without more delay. But he came forward,
unwillingly enough and muttering.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE TALE OF THE PRIEST

With all possible tenderness we bore the slender form of the helpless
priest along the dark, crooked passage, until we found a comfortable
resting-place for him against the altar.

"I thank you much, Messieurs," he said simply, the depth of his
gratitude apparent in uplifted dark eyes, glistening in the light of
the fire. "Members of our Order are more accustomed to blows than
kindness, so I have no words with which to express thanks for your
care."

"Think nothing of it," I returned hastily, and then, observing how the
Puritan drew back from beside him, added, "Master Cairnes, you might
busy yourself hunting more food--it will be exactly in your line--while
I attempt to bathe the limbs of the priest, and see what little may be
done toward alleviating his pain."

The mere thought of eating was sufficient to put the Puritan in good
humor, and he was soon diligently scouring nooks and corners with scent
for provender as keen as that of a pointer dog. I noticed with
curiosity how the motionless Jesuit followed the movements of his
hulking figure as he passed back and forth amid the shadows, his dark
eyes filled with wonder and aversion.

"'Tis truly a strange thing, Monsieur," the latter remarked soberly,
"to meet with one pretending love for Christ, yet who hateth Mother
Church, and dares make open mock of Her most holy offices. Thou didst
name thy comrade Puritan?"

"Ay, of the same breed as the Huguenots of your country, rebels against
the Pope."

He made the sign of the Cross.

"The curse of Holy Church is upon them all; they are condemned to
hell," he exclaimed with fervor. "A vile pestilence to be stamped out;
yet it would afford me joy beyond words could I save this man's soul
from eternal torture, and lead him back into the true faith. Mother of
God! what was it moved yonder?"

I glanced quickly about toward where he pointed, seeing the shadowed
figure of our forgotten prisoner.

"'Tis only one of the savages we have captured and bound. He guarded
this altar, ministering to the superstition of the tribe; an old man,
perchance the very chief priest who held you in the flame."

I anticipated seeing the light of revenge leap into his eyes, but,
instead, a rush of pity softened them, and before I could extend my
hand to interfere, he crept across the intervening space, and bent over
the fellow.

"A most cruel turn on the rope, Monsieur," he exclaimed, busying
himself at the knot. "Surely the man will rest easier, and no less
safely, with back propped against the rock. Nay, have no fear; I will
keep him tied fast if that be your wish, yet I seek to relieve his pain
so I may profitably converse with him upon the needs of his soul."

"With him! Saint George! he had small enough mercy on you."

"That is of the past, and abideth not in memory," and the white hands
held up the crucifix into the light. "He who died on this Cross
prayed, 'Father forgive, they know not what they do,' and who is Andre
Lafossier, to be harsher than his Master?"

Not until after he had prayed long and earnestly, holding the silver
cross ever before the wicked eyes of the unrepentant savage, did he
permit me to bathe his disfigured limbs, dressing them as best I could
with what rude materials I found at hand. Even while I worked he
seemingly thought nothing of himself, but, oblivious to pain, his face
was ever turned to the prisoner, his lips moving in petition for his
soul. I caught but scattered sentences.

"Oh, Christ, this one--unworthy, yet I beseech Thee--Be merciful, O
Virgin--out of the wilderness ariseth the voice of Thy servant--purge
the soul of all past iniquity--yield me this one brand plucked from the
burning--Thine be the glory forever--let my life be given for this
soul--this one precious reward for my ministry."

A little later the three of us partook, although largely in silence, of
the sustaining food which Cairnes furnished in abundance. Throughout
the meal I felt it necessary to be ever watchful to prevent the two
zealots, who were now my comrades, from clashing. Again and again the
priest sought to lead the sectary to his way of thinking, but the gray
face only hardened ominously, his bull voice denouncing bitterly all
Romish deeds.

"Come, be at peace, you two," I commanded at last, thoroughly tired and
angry. "Hold your tongues over those questions, at least while I am
with you. Odds! I care nothing as to your Catholic or Protestant,
your popes or preachers. Be done, and bear yourselves like men. I
will no longer have you vexing the air with controversy while our very
lives are hanging by a thread. There are other things to talk about
just now. So, Cairnes, if you cannot bide quietly in our company, then
stay here alone while I take the Jesuit out into the sunlight, where we
can hold sensible counsel together."

Leaving the fellow growling to himself over the remnants of the meal, I
bore the priest along the short passage, until we discovered a secure,
comfortable resting-place outside, where our eyes could sweep the full
extent of the wide valley. It was a quietly beautiful scene at this
hour, the glow of the sun over all. We could distinguish gangs of
slaves toiling in the fields, and a group of warriors, their spears
glistening, clustered together before the gloomy altar-house. Yet my
eyes barely rested upon either scene, for there, close beside the open
door of the Queen's dwelling, my glance, sharpened by love, perceived
the movements of a woman's apparel, and from the faint color of it,
distinguishable, even at that distance in the sun glare, I knew I
looked once more upon Eloise. It would be difficult to express in
prosaic English with what intense relief I realized, through the
evidence of my own eyes, her continued safety. It seemed years already
since our last parting, when she had chosen to remain prisoner in those
savage hands. Father of all! how I loved her then; how I yearned to
have word with her, to read again the silent message of her pure eyes.

The priest was gazing silently far away up the valley. Busied with my
own thoughts, forgetting him utterly, I kept my eyes eagerly, hungrily
upon that single, far-off figure, until, finally, I saw her arise and
disappear within the open door. I growled forth a bitter curse,
observing the cause for retreat--a man and a woman slowly climbing the
mound together. There was no doubt in my mind as to the identity of
the Queen and De Noyan. Faith! but it would have pleased me then to
put hand upon the false coxcomb and choke him back to decency and duty.
The look of it was in my face, no doubt, as I stared down upon them in
helplessness, for the Jesuit rested his fingers gently upon my arm, as
though he would restrain my passion.

"There seemeth something below which angers you, my friend," he said
softly. "'Tis a battle-light flaming in your eyes."

"'Tis the shame of it all which crazes me," I responded, trembling with
passion, yet yielding to the influence of his presence. "You have not
yet heard the story, so cannot rightly judge our position here."

As briefly as possible I reviewed the adventures of our little party
since leaving New Orleans, and it was good to observe with what growing
interest he followed the simple story, interrupting with but few
questions until I reached the end. Then his soft hand closed warmly
over mine, his eyes upon my face.

"It is a brave tale," he said kindly, "one not unworthy the days of
knighthood. Yet, good friend, it is scarcely well for you to think
thus tenderly regarding the wife of another. 'T is against the laws of
Holy Church, and can only lead to harm and suffering. But, Mother of
God! who am I to pass judgment?--I, who am also guilty of this sin."

He had uplifted his crucifix, sitting with bowed head before it, with
so sad a face I could not forbear questioning.

"Have you, then, such another tale in your life?"

He did not look at me, yet hesitated not in reply.

"Ay, 'tis true, yet not so pure a one. I like not to dwell upon it
even in thought; but you have trusted me, and we are here together as
men of a common race in face of death. Perchance our hearts may better
comprehend each other through such confidences. Do you care to hear my
tale?"

"I listen gladly, for in truth I know of nothing better to do," I
returned uneasily. "Pish! but I feel as if we were locked in a cell
awaiting the headsman."

"Yet God can open the doors even as He did for Peter," he said
solemnly, fastening his eyes on the blue sky. For a moment neither
spoke; then the gentle voice took up the story, as if telling it over
to himself.

"I was not always of the black robe; only six years since I wore the
blue and gold of a soldier of France in the dragoon regiment of
Auvergne. I came of good family, and was even known and trusted of the
King. But let that pass. We were stationed at Saint-Rienes, in the
south country, as fair a spot, Monsieur, as this world holds, yet
strangely inhabited by those discontented under the faith of Holy
Church. But we rode rough shod over all such in those days, for it was
the will of the King to crush out heresy. 'Tis a pleasure to see the
shrinking of a heretic before the wrath of God. Yet this tale has
little to do with this service, however I love to dwell upon it. As I
said, we were quartered in garrison at Saint-Rienes, and it was there I
first met Marie Fousard, the girl wife of a Captain in His Majesty's
Guard. She was a creature of beauty, Monsieur, with clear cheeks, lips
of the rose, and great trustful eyes. I was but a boy then, she not
much older in years, but with that knowledge of the world and of men
which enabled her to make poor, blinded fool--her helpless slave for
evil. Merciful Mary! how I did worship her! To me she was as an
angel; divinity lurked in her smile and found utterance upon her lips.
I could have died at her word, happy to know it was her pleasure. Yet,
as I know now, all the love-making between us was no more than play to
her; she merely sought to amuse herself with my passion through a dull
season. No, not quite all, for back of her smiles lurked a purpose so
dark, so diabolical, 'twas not strange I failed to fathom it. 'Tis
hard to associate crime with such young womanhood, to feel that evil
thoughts lurk behind eyes soft with love and lips breathing tenderness.
Yet behind the outer angel of Marie Fousard there was a devil
incarnate. I was blind, crazed, helpless to resist an evil I failed to
perceive. I loved her; in that passion all else was lost. She had
confessed love for me; in that was all the heaven I desired. Little by
little she fanned within my heart a hatred for the man whose wife she
was, my comrade in arms. I cannot relate the details, the stories of
wrong, the lies, the upbraidings which turned my blood to flame,
picturing him ever to me as a monster. Ah, it means much, Monsieur,
when such things are told with tears, when every sob rings in the ears
as though crying for vengeance. I listened, believing it all, until
deep in my heart hate was born. Once she showed me her shoulder, the
white flesh discolored as if by a blow, swearing that he did it. The
sight maddened me to action. I left her to seek him at the inn,
cursing in my teeth, and caring not what happened, so I killed him.
What boots now the insult offered which forced him to the field? I can
see his face yet, full of wonder at my words, doubting my very sanity;
yet I saw only her and that bruised shoulder. I would kill him, and I
did, running my sword through his body, and gazing down remorselessly
into his glazing eyes. What cared I for aught but her? It was a duel,
fairly fought, and I was safe from censure. God! in that hour it never
came to me that it was foul murder; that I had stricken down an
innocent man at the word of a harlot."

He stopped, his white face buried in his hands, his slender form
trembling. I remained motionless. With an effort he resumed.

"I went back to her at our trysting-place, intoxicated by my deed,
confident she would come to my arms in gratitude. Instead she laughed,
tore from her face the mask of innocence, called me fool, boasted that
she had merely used me for her own vile purposes. I shrank away,
horrified by my deed, despising her, my love stricken dead. In that
moment my life was changed; I cared for nothing except to get away from
my fellows, to expiate my sin in the sight of God. I felt no interest
in what became of her; I neither smiled nor wept, when, three days
later, she married the prefect of that village. All was over; the fire
within me had become ashes."

"But the woman? this Marie Fousard?"

"She went her way, the broad road leading to destruction. We met never
again, yet I heard, for there were those eager to tell such things. A
year, and the prefect was dead of poison, but, before the gendarmes
learned the truth, the widow fled by night taking much property. One
D'Anse was her paramour, a sub-lieutenant of hussars. 'T is all I
know; they took ship together at Marseilles. Mother of Mercy! wherever
she lives it will be under the spell of the Evil One. To my heart God
hath brought peace, but for such as she there can be no peace; she hath
been damned already."

I know not how long we sat there motionless, our eyes on the sunlit
valley, our thoughts on past years. The father ran the beads swiftly
through his white fingers, his lips moving noiselessly; but I found no
such help, no such consolation in my struggle. His story was forever
ended; mine was not, the very scene beneath bringing home to me anew
the desperate burden. Oh, Eloise! Eloise! what of fate awaited us in
the coming night shadows? What sacrifice of mine could bring to you
life and liberty? It is one thing to rush headlong into danger; a
vastly different one to sit awaiting disaster which it is impossible to
avert. The desire to act, to attempt something, became an imperative
passion, and I sprang to my feet.

"Come, _pere_," I broke forth impatiently, "let us get back inside.
Before we are aware it will be night, and we must learn first if there
is any chance for escape. We can dream no longer over the past. Saint
George! the present holds sufficient work for us to do."

I bore him back in my arms and left him lying beside the savage priest,
testing again on him the efficacy of prayer, while Cairnes and I fared
forth to explore. We sought long and painfully, trying the walls for
some concealed opening, groping in the corners, and squirming through
narrow crevices. The effort was useless, except to convince us that
the cavern had but the single entrance. All we discovered was an
assortment of odd weapons, war-clubs and stone-tipped spears, collected
in one corner of the gallery. Everywhere else were bare walls.
Feeling like rats in a trap we dragged tired limbs back to the
altar-room, our sole remaining hope a possible escape down the rocks
under the early shadows of the night. This might be accomplished if
sufficient time were granted us, and if the good Lord guided. It was a
hope, a cheer to the spirits of the others, yet in, my own heart I
counted little upon it.

CHAPTER XXXV

NIGHT AND THE SAVAGES

The hours of waiting dragged terribly. We conversed little, all alike
nervous, irritable under the strain of our desperate situation. The
Jesuit was much in prayer; but Cairnes fell asleep and twisted about
uneasily, his head pillowed on his arm. I could only pace the rock
floor, harassed by bitter, useless thoughts. What a memory picture it
is!--the great bare cavern, with black interior only partially revealed
by the gleam of the altar flame; the old savage huddled in his bonds,
his baleful eyes glowing in the firelight as he watched every movement;
the slender _pere_ close beside him upon his knees, his frayed black
gown rendering more conspicuous the rapt, upraised face, his white
fingers clasping the crucifix; beyond, Cairnes outstretched on the hard
stone, his bulky figure motionless but for nervous twitching, his red
hair glaring like a spot of paint. I rejoiced that the fellow slept,
for he rasped me with his ceaseless, senseless attacks on the Roman
Church. Yet the gentle-voiced priest had tamed his open hatred
somewhat; so before he lay down the sectary sat long in moody silence
staring at the other with glinting eyes, as though fit speech failed
him.

As the sun sank to the horizon I went forth again upon the platform,
waving a blazing signal torch to the expectant groups below. The sky
overhead was blue, but to the north and east, as far as I could see for
overhanging cliff, great masses of black cloud were showing ominously,
their ragged edges emitting lightning flashes, although too distant for
me to distinguish the thunder. Below, in the valley, the approaching
storm would not yet be visible; but from my aerie I prayed for a dark
night, the swift approach of a battle of the elements.

Arousing Cairnes, who was already awake but lying glowering at the
unconscious priest, I despatched him to the jutting platform, with
instructions to keep close watch on all movements in the village. Then
I busied myself with final preparations for our desperate sortie. The
earliest shades of evening would have to be utilized, for then only
could we hope for a clear path. Before those wild fanatics swarmed
upward to their monthly sacrifice, we must traverse that narrow cliff
path and penetrate the tunnel beyond as far as the underground altar.
Nowhere between the cave entrance and that spot could I recall any
place of concealment. Inspired by this necessity, so soon as darkness
began to blot the mouth of the cave, I bore the priest that way in my
arms, although he begged earnestly to be left behind, saying he was a
useless burden. The slowly advancing clouds had not yet mounted high
enough to obscure the moon, but hung densely massed across half the
sky, low thunder echoing among the rocks, and jagged streaks of
lightning tearing the gloom asunder. The burly Puritan lay, a black
silhouette against the silvered rocks, leaning far over, staring down
into the void. As I touched him, he turned his face toward me,
pointing below with one hand.

"We are securely blocked, Master Benteen," he asserted gruffly. "A fit
reward for associating with papists."

"Blocked?" failing to comprehend. "How? Are the savages already
astir?"

"Look for yourself. See yonder; lights are on the pathway as high as
the tree-bridge."

I dropped upon my knees, clinging to a bowlder, and peered over. He
spoke truth, and my heart rose choking into my throat. Resembling
innumerable fireflies tiny flames were gleaming along the entire front
of the cliff--torches borne by human hands. Breathless the three of us
clung there staring down, each realizing the utter futility of our
efforts at escape, yet none reckless enough to give the thought
utterance. The Puritan first found speech.

"The spawn of hell!" he growled savagely, shaking his great fist,
remembering the indignities of the altar-house. "Good Lord, deliver us
from this iniquity; lead us through the waters dry-shod, even as Thou
didst Thy people of old from the land of Egypt."

"Come," I said, "we must seek whatever hiding-place is within, and
trust God for it."

The priest looked at me pleadingly, his eyes like stars.

"I would at such an hour you were of my faith, Monsieur."

"I might do worse," I admitted, watching intently the lights on the
cliff-path, "but it was not the teaching of my childhood. There is one
below whose prayers are as yours."

"Madame de Noyan?"

I bowed my head in gesture of reverence.

"Yes, Monsieur, and whatever she loves is not far from my heart. But
come, we have scant time for preparation; no, do not endeavor to walk;
your weight is nothing to my arms."

There was no spot within where, even for a short period, we might hope
to avoid discovery, except the rock gallery. Here, crouching behind
the parapet, we could see without being seen, unless some savage
chanced to stray that way. At my order the sullen, psalm-quoting
preacher dragged the helpless old chief priest after him, and so we
went groping forward through the darkness of the short passage, until
we attained the stone steps. Stumbling blindly upward, our hearts
throbbing in realization of the peril that was closing us in, we flung
our bodies flat behind the concealing rocks, peering fearfully forth
into the great deserted chamber. Even amid that lonely silence it was
a sight to chill the heart; and to us, comprehending something of what
it would soon reveal of savage orgy. It was like gazing down into the
mouth of the Pit. The single touch of color in the drear picture came
from the crimson drapery hanging over the edge of the raised platform.
Seeing all this at one glance my anxious eyes sought the deeper gloom
shrouding the tunnel leading toward the entrance. As I stared that way
a sudden flash of fierce lightning illumined it. So brilliant it burst
forth from the opaque night, I hid my blinded eyes, every nerve of my
body quivering.

"Great God!" burst forth Cairnes, his voice so close as to startle me.
"'T is like the end of the world!"

"Be still," I commanded hastily, pressing him flat, "there they come."

A dozen flaming torches rounded the rock projection the lights
glistening over the half-naked bodies of the bearers. Saint Andrew! it
was a weird sight, one to strike terror to the soul! With gritted
teeth, my heart pounding, I looked out upon it. The leader was a
priest, black from head to heel, his face showing devilish in the torch
flare, his coarse hair matted high in horrid resemblance to some wild
beast. Behind surged a mob of warriors, women, and children, half-nude
bodies striped with red and yellow, a malignant demoniacal crew,
yelling and pushing under the flaming lights, rushing tumultuously
forward to fling themselves prostrate before the altar. It seemed they
would never cease pouring forth from the narrow tunnel, a struggling,
gesticulating stream. Behind them lightning played in jagged streaks
across the little patch of sky, and the black smoke of the torches
curled upward to the roof. Their appearance was not human, but that of
demons incarnate; some ran upon all fours like wolves, gnashing their
teeth and howling; many yelped in fiendish chorus; others brandished
weapons aloft in the yellow flame, or lay, writhing like glistening
snakes on the rock floor. It was a pandemonium, a babel, an
unspeakable hell. To count was impossible, but the great room was
filled with bodies, and rang with guttural, inarticulate cries. The
busily flitting priests stirred up the wood until the blaze leaped
nearly to the roof, mumbling as they worked, the incessant moaning of
the tribesmen deepening into a weird chant. The frenzied singers leapt
into the air, flinging their limbs about in wild contortion, their
movements increasing in violence, their grotesquely painted faces
becoming hellish from awakening passion. They became brutes, fiends,
whose only thought was cruelty. I saw them strike each other with
stone knives, slashing the flesh till blood ran. Heartsick and
trembling, I glanced aside at my companions. The _pere_ lay clasping
the stone, his eyes wide with horror, his countenance death-like;
Cairnes was upon his knees, his great hands gripped, staring straight
down like some animal crouching for a spring.

It was when I turned back, loathing the sight yet unable to resist
facing it, that I beheld for the first time those I sought--Eloise, De
Noyan, and the Queen Naladi. An instant I blinded my eyes with
uplifted arm, half believing that the horror had turned my brain, that
all this was vision. Yet, as I ventured to look again, they were there
before me in the flesh--Naladi all in red, a wondrous figure amid that
spectral glow, tall, straight, with proud, imperious face, crowned by
the brilliant hair, radiant and sparkling in the flame. Beside her
loitered De Noyan, like one who enjoyed a spectacle arranged for his
pleasure, his face darkening somewhat as though the sight were not
altogether to his liking, yet debonair and careless, his waxed
moustaches standing forth conspicuous, his fingers in his waist-belt.
About the two were ranged a fringe of warriors, their flint-headed
spears rising an impenetrable wall, while farther behind, separated and
alone, the light of the fire barely revealing her presence, stood
Eloise, a savage guard on either side of her. I caught the outline of
her face, imprinted with horror, the lips moving as if in supplication;
then I perceived something else--_her hands were bound_! Smothering an
oath, I crept back to the pile of weapons in the corner, gripped a
war-club, and, returning as silently, thrust a second into the
unconscious hands of Cairnes. Our eyes met, the sectary nodding
grimly, his jaws set like a steel trap. If need should arise we would
die fighting like cornered rats.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25