CHAPTER XXX.

FREE.

The mountains again! And Martin free! Happy, too, because, as the cold blast swept down from their summits to him as he rode swiftly through the valley toward the commencement of the ascent, he knew that it came from where, high up, Urbaine waited for her freedom and for his return. Knew it beyond all thought and doubt; knew, divined that daily those clear, pure eyes looked for him to be restored to her, was sure that nightly, ere she sought her bed, she prayed upon her knees for him and his safety. Had she not said it, promised it, ere they parted? Was not that enough? Enough to make him turn in his wrist another inch upon his horse's rein, press that horse's flanks once more, urge it onward to where she was?

Yet though he travelled with Baville's pass in his pocket, though he went toward where the Camisards were, who would receive him with shouts of exaltation and welcome, he knew that again he rode with his life in his hands as, but a night or so before, he had thus ridden from the seacoast to N?mes. For there were those abroad now who would be like enough to tear Baville's pass up and fling it in his face if he were caught, soldiers who served Montrevel and Montrevel alone, men whose swords would be through his heart or the bullets from their musketoons embedded in his brain, if he but fell into their hands. For on this very night the great bravo had broken with the Intendant ere he had quit N?mes to march toward the Cévennes and make one more attack upon the strongholds of the "rebels"; had sworn that ere Villars arrived, who was now on the way from Paris to supersede Julien, he would wipe out those rebels so that, when Louis' principal soldier should appear on the scene, he would find none to crush.

Also he had sent forward on the very road which Martin now followed a captain named Planque (a swashbuckler like himself) and a lieutenant named Tournaud, in command of three thousand men, all of whom had declared with many an oath that they took their orders from their commander and from no governor or intendant who ever ruled.

At first Martin had not known this, would indeed not have known it at all, had not his suspicions been aroused by finding that, as he rode on swiftly toward where the principal ascent to the mountains began, near Alais, he was following a vast body of men, among whom were numbers of the hated Pyrenean Miquelets; men who marched singing their hideous mountain songs and croons, such as in many a fray had overborne the shrieks of the dead and dying.

"I must be careful," Martin had muttered to himself, as he drew rein and moved his horse on to the short crisp grass that bordered the road, "or I shall be among them. Where do they go to?"

Yet, careful as he was, he still determined to follow in their train, to observe what road they took when farther on in their march, for he knew, from having been much in the neighbourhood a year before, and ere he had set out for Switzerland on his first quest for Cyprien de Rochebazon, that ere long they must take one route of two. If that to the left, which branched off near Anduse, their destination would be undoubtedly the mountains; if they kept straight on, then Alais was their destination. And if the latter, they would not hinder him. He was soon to know, however, where that destination lay.

High above the chatter of the Miquelets and their repulsive chants--on one subject alone, that of slaughter, rapine, and plunder combined--high above also the jangle of the bridles, bridoons, steel bits, and the hoofs of the dragoons and chevaux-légers ahead, the orders were borne on the crisp icy air: the orders to wheel to the left--to the mountains.

Therefore an attack was intended there, or what, as Julien had himself termed it, when planning that which was now to be carried out, une battue.

That it would be successful Martin doubted. Never yet had the royalists forced their way far up those passes, never yet had they been able to possess themselves of one square yard of ground above the level of the valley. And he recalled the treacherous drawbridges constructed over ravines and gullies, as well as the other traps, which he had seen and had pointed out to him as he descended from the Cévennes to meet Cavalier. He doubted if now this enlarged attack would be any more successful than former and less well-arranged attacks had been.

Yet Urbaine was there. That unnerved him, caused him to shudder. For if at last, if now, at this time, success should come to these troops, as both Julien and Montrevel had sworn it should come eventually, what then of her! Those in command might not know, or, knowing, not choose to believe that she was Baville's cherished idol. And to think of his beloved one in the power of those fiends, the Miquelets, was enough to cause his heart to cease beating.

Or, better still, to beat more fiercely with a firm determination of seeking her than even he had experienced an hour before; the determination to get to where she was before these heavily accoutred soldiers could do so, if they ever got there at all; to join her, save her, protect her. But how to do it! How! How!

How to get ahead of this band; how gain the ascent before them, warn the Camisards. Above all--ay, that was it--above all, how save the girl he worshipped and adored! That, or one other thing: die in the attempt.

He knew a moment later that the turn was made toward the mountains. From beneath the tree where he had halted he saw, in the rays of the now risen full moon, the sparkle of the breasts and backs and gorgets of the dragoons as they wheeled to the left, also the glitter of aiguillette and steel trappings. Perceived, too, that a deep silence had fallen on all that moving mass. Even the Miquelets ceased to sing and chatter. Nothing disturbed the silence of the night but the thud of countless horses' hoofs, with now and again a neigh and now and again the rattle of scabbard against charger's flank. They were in, or near the country of the insidious, unvanquished foe. Doubtless the order had gone forth for silence.

He must get ahead of them--reach the pass or mountain road before them. Otherwise, what of Urbaine if they should win?

But, again, how to do it!

To the left of him, and still farther yet to the left of where the battalions marched after wheeling, there was a stream, a branch of Le Gardon; in summer a swift-flowing river beneath whose gliding waters the reeds bent gracefully; now half frozen and seemingly without current. If he could cross that, there was on the other side a wide open plain, on which for centuries peasant landlords had been endeavouring to cultivate grapevines, to redeem from the marshy soil that was so common in the south some of the thousands of useless acres which abounded. And across that plain, dotted here and there by countless poles on which no vine had ever grown in man's memory, and on which many sheep had browsed upon the short grass salted by the spray (brought in from the Mediterranean on the wings of the Circius) until the Cévenoles had descended and raided them, he might make his way, might cut off by a short détour that advancing force, get before it to where the ascent began, be the first to reach the mountains, the home of the outcasts.

Only he might be seen. And then--then--though the heavily accoutred dragoons would undoubtedly not be able to leap the stream and chase him, the balls from their musketoons and fusils would perhaps reach him; one alone out of the number sent hurtling after him might reach its mark. And that would be enough.

Yet all the same it should be done.

The horse he rode was a strong black, handsome creature, its nostrils red and fiery, its eyes possessed of that backward glance which tells the horseman ere he mounts what he is about to bestride, its legs as thin and agile as a cat's. Well, he would see. Now for the stream, fifteen feet across if an inch. Then he found the animal knew what was meant even as his knee pressed beneath the holster, even as his wrist turned inward to draw tighter the rein and as he sat down firmly in the saddle. There was a rush upon the short, crisp grass--crisp both from the salt of the distant sea and from the night frost--a quiver from the body beneath him, a loosened rein now, a flight as of an arrow, as smooth, too, and as swift. Then the animal's feet were upon the other side; the rivulet was skimmed as though by a swallow. Over and away, the black steed bounding like a ball beneath him.

"Thank God!" he said, "thank God!" And, ere he settled into the saddle again, patted the firm, iron-sinewed neck beneath his hand.

Off through vine poles, over another and a smaller rivulet unseen by him for the moment, yet clear as day to the keen eyes of the noble creature that bore him; off now parallel with the dragoons, across the plain--parallel with the dragoons so dangerously near! And with over all, both them and him, a cloudless sky and a full bright moon.

Then, next, a shout from that advancing force, a hoarse clatter that all know and recognise who have ever heard firelocks wrested quickly from saddle-rests, white smoke curling on the night air, spits of flame from twenty different spots near together, puffs of bullets past his face, puffs such as the droning beetle makes as it flies by us; a numbing shock against the saddle-flap, yet on, on, on! The horse uninjured and still going fleet as the deer, or even fleeter still, because of fear and nervousness. But still on, and followed by a dropping fire that ceased almost directly. The musketoons were useless by this time; they were out of range and he was ahead of the others. Nothing could stop him now, the danger was past. Nothing, unless the horse reeled in its stride, was wounded. Yet that he knew was not so, or else that swift, even motion below him would have ceased ere this. "Heaven be praised! Where is she?"

The night wind blew more piercingly as he felt the earth rising beneath the steed. Far up he saw more and more plainly the burning lights that burned near false bridges and declivities, to fall down which meant death and destruction. The air was nipping even to those two whose bodies were heated by their last hour's motion together. The ascent had begun. The horse breathed more heavily now, threw out great snorting gasps from mouth and nostrils, yet hardly halted, or only so far as to change from canter to trot and from trot to walk. But still went on up, until at last one of the red flambeaux on the hilltops was winking and flickering close by.

He was near Urbaine now. Another hour and she would be in his arms.

At that moment three forms sprang lightly into the mountain road from behind a piece of fallen rock, the moon showing that each bore in its hand a firearm--a firearm raised and pointed at the advancing man and horse.

"Who goes there?" one cried. "Quick, your answer, or this," and each weapon's butt was brought to the shoulder.

"The Englishman," Martin called out in reply. "The man doomed to death to-day at N?mes for consorting with you."

"So! Advance, Englishman. Yet in the name of the Holy One how came you here?"

"To seek for her who was my fellow-prisoner with you," he replied as he got off his horse. "Is she well?"

"She is well--"

"Behind. Up there," and he cast his eyes toward the summits. "She descends with brother Cavalier to-night."

"With Cavalier to-night! Is he back already?"

"Ay, he is back, three hours ago. Now, to-night, he descends. N?mes is doomed. You would have been rescued by the morning. It was brother Cavalier's second plan. He warned the tyrant, Baville, to free you at pain of the girl's death, but tout de même, he meant to have you out himself. Yet," he repeated, "N?mes is doomed."

"But why, why, since I am free?"

"To repay the slaughter at the mill. Ho! Doubt not! That goes not unrewarded. N?mes first, then Alais, then Montpellier. 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.' It is our holy shibboleth."

"It can never be----"

"Never be! Why not?" asked the man who alone had spoken among the three. "Why not? What shall prevent the Lord's children from outrooting their persecutors? Why not? You are on our side. Is it not so?" and he looked menacingly at Martin.

"You do not know," the latter replied. "Advancing here not two hours behind me there comes a vast body of royalist soldiers in two battalions. Among them the Miquelets. And, though they may never scale your mountain passes, never reach the plateau, yet surely they will bar your way to N?mes. Even though your full force descend, they will outnumber you."

The man, whom Martin remembered well when he was a prisoner in the caverns and whom he had heard addressed as Montbonneux, pondered a moment; then he said suddenly, with a slight laugh:

"Perhaps they will reach the plateau. Perhaps we shall not bar their way. One catches the rat by leaving the trap-door open, not by shutting it," and as he spoke his companions laughed too, while as they did so Martin again remembered the oubliettes and snares prepared for any who might wander up into the gloomy refuges of the attroupés.

Ere he could reply, however, or announce his intention of proceeding to where Urbaine might be ere setting forth with Cavalier, there rose a sound close to them. A sound borne on the night wind toward where they were, a sound that told him and them that down from their mountain home were coming the Camisards. A chant that, rising above all else; spoke of revenge decided on, of fierce unsparing retaliation:

"Quand tu te léveras, oh, notre Roi celeste!
Pour délivrer enfin les élus d'ici-bas,
Le vent de ton tonnerre à nos tyrans funeste
En Balaiera le reste
Au gouffres du trépas.
Venge--Venge----"

"'Tis he, Cavalier," the man Montbonneux exclaimed, "'tis he who comes."