Part 37 (1/2)
Basterga replied. He turned his small eyes, sparkling with malignity, on the young man, who stood against the wall, pale, and but half recovered from the blow he had sustained. ”You thought to thwart me, did you, Messer Claude? You thought yourself clever enough to play with Caesar Basterga, did you? To hold at bay--oh, clever fellow--a magistrate and a scholar! And defy us both! Now I will tell you what will come of it!” He shook his great finger in front of the young man. ”Your pretty bit of pink and white will burn! Burn, see you! A show for the little boys, a holiday for the young men and the young women, a treat for the old men, who will see her white limbs writhe in the smoke! Ha!” as Claude, with a face of horror, would have waved him away, ”that touches you, does it?
You had not thought of that? Nay, you had not thought of other things. I tell you, before the sun sets this evening, this house shall be anathema! Before night what we have heard will be known abroad, and there will be much added to it. There was a child died in the fourth house from this on Sunday! It will be odd if she did not overlook it.
And the young wife of the Lieutenant at the Porte Terta.s.se, who has ailed since her marriage--a pale thing; who knows but he looked this way once and Mistress Anne thought ill of his defection? Ha! Ha! You would cross Caesar Basterga, would you? No, Messer Claude,” he set his huge foot on the fallen sword which Claude had made a movement to recover. ”I fight with other weapons than that! And if you lay a finger on me”--he extended his arms to their widest extent--”I will crush the life out of you. That is better,” as Claude stood glaring helplessly at him--”I teach you prudence, at any rate. And as,” with a sneer, ”you are so apt at learning, I will do you, if you choose, a greater kindness that man ever did you, or woman either!”
The young man, breathing quickly, did not speak. Perhaps his eyes were watching for an opening; at the least appearance of one he would have flung himself upon his enemy.
”You do not choose. And yet, I will do it. In one word--Go!
Teque his, puer, eripe flammis!”
He pointed to the door with a gesture tragic enough. ”Go and live, for if you stay you die! Wait not until the chain is drawn before the door, until boards darken the windows, and men cross the street when they would pa.s.s! Until women hide their heads as they go by, and the market will not sell, nor the water run for you! For then, as surely as she will perish, you will perish with her!”
”So be it!” Claude cried. And in his turn he pointed, not without dignity, to the door. ”Go you, and our blood be upon your head!”
Basterga shrugged his shoulders, and in one moment put the thing and his grand manner away from him. ”Enough! we will go,” he said. ”You are satisfied, Messer Syndic? Yes. Farewell, young sir, you have my last word.” And while the young man stood glowering at him, he opened the street door, and the two pa.s.sed out.
”You will not go on with this?” Blondel muttered with a backward gesture, as the two paused.
”Nothing,” Basterga answered in a low voice, ”will suit our purpose better. It will amuse Geneva and fill men's mouths till the time come.
For you too, Messer Blondel,” he continued, with a piercing look, ”will live and not die, I take it?”
The other knew then that the hour had come to set his seal to the bargain: and equally, that if at this eleventh hour he would return, the path was open. But _facilis_--known is the rest, and the grip which a strong nature gains on a weaker, and how hardly fear, once admitted, is cast out. Within the Syndic's sight rose one of the gates, almost within touch rose the rampart of the city, long his own, which he was asked to betray. The mountains of his native land, pure, cold and sunlit, stood up against the blue depth of winter sky, eloquent of the permanence of things, and the insignificance of men. The contemplation of them turned his cheek a shade paler and struck terror to his heart; but did not stay him. His eyes avoiding the other's gaze, his face shrinking and pitiable, shame already his portion, he nodded.
”Precisely,” Basterga said. ”Then nothing can better serve our purpose than this. Let your officers know what you have heard, and know that you would hear more--of this house. That, and a hint of evil practices and witch's spells dropped here and there, will give your townsfolk something to talk of and stare at and swallow--till our time come.”
”But if I bid them watch this house,” Blondel muttered weakly--how fast, how fast the thing was pa.s.sing out of his hands!--”attention will be called to you, and then, Messer Basterga----”
”My work is done here,” Basterga replied calmly. ”I have crossed that threshold for the last time. When I leave you--and it is time we parted--I go out of the gates, not again to return until--until things have been brought to the point at which we would have them, Messer Blondel.”
”And that,” the Syndic said with a shudder, ”will be?”
”Towards the longest night. Say, in a week or so from now. The precise moment--that and other things, I will let you know by a safe mouth.”
”But the _remedium_? That first!” the Syndic muttered, a scowl, for a second, darkening his face.
Basterga smiled. ”Have no fear,” he replied. ”That first, by all means.
And afterwards--Geneva.”
CHAPTER XIX.
THE DEPARTURE OF THE RATS.
The wood-ash on the hearth had sunk lower and grown whiter. The last flame that had licked the black sides of the great pot had died down among the expiring embers. Only under the largest log glowed a tiny cavern, carbuncle-hued; and still Claude walked restlessly from the window to the door, or listened with a frowning face at the foot of the stairs. One hour, two hours had pa.s.sed since the Syndic's departure with Basterga; and still Anne remained with her mother and made no sign.
Once, spurred by anxiety and the thought that he might be of use, Claude had determined to mount and seek her; but half-way up the stairs his courage had failed he had recoiled from a scene so tender, and so sacred. He had descended and fallen again to moving to and fro, and listening, and staring remorsefully at the weapon--it lay where he had dropped it on the floor--that had failed him in his need.
He had their threats in his ears, and by-and-by the horror of inaction, the horror of sitting still and awaiting the worst with folded hands, overcame him; and in a panic planning flight for them all, flight, however hopeless, however desperate, he hurried into his bed-closet, and began to pack his possessions. He packed impulsively until even the fat text-books bulked in his bundle, and the folly of flying for life with a Caesar and Melancthon on his back struck him. Then he turned all out on the floor in a fury of haste lest she should surprise him, and think that he had had it in his mind to desert her.
Back he went on that to the living-room with its dying fire and lengthening shadows; and there he resumed his solitary pacing. The room lay silent, the house lay silent; even the rampart without, which the biting wind kept clear of pa.s.sers. He tried to reason on the position, to settle what would happen, what steps Basterga and Blondel would take, how the blow they threatened would fall. Would the officers of the Syndic enter and seize the two helpless women and drag them to the guard-house? In that case, what should he do, what could he do, since it was most unlikely that he would be allowed to go with them or see them?