The Knight of Malta

The Bohemian, who rode behind the two talkers, had heard their conversation.

Although his features were common, they showed much penetration and intelligence. His little, piercing, changing black eyes constantly moved from the recorder to the clerk with an expression by turns ironical and compassionate. When Master Isnard had finished conversation by his coarse witticism on asses, he contracted his eyebrows into a severe frown, and seemed about to speak, but whether he feared the recorder, or was afraid of saying too much, he remained silent.

“Tell me, clerk,” cried the recorder, stopping short before a post, painted with a coat of arms, which marked a division of the road, “is not this the route to Des Anbiez?”

“Yes, Master Isnard, but we must leave the shore. This is the road to Maison-Forte; it is about two hundred steps from here; this rock hides it from you,” answered the clerk, as he pointed to a sort of little promontory which thrust itself into the sea, and thus interfered with a view of the castle.

“Then, clerk, go on before,” said the recorder, checking his own horse, and giving a blow of his switch to the scribe’s mule.

The clerk rode on in advance, and the little band ventured into a precipitous road which wound its way across the rocks on the coast.

After a quarter of an hour’s travel, the road became level, and wooded hills, vines, olive-trees, and sown fields succeeded the rocks. Master Isnard at last saw, to his great joy, the imposing pile of Maison-Forte. It stood out at the end of an immense avenue, planted with six rows of beeches and sycamores, which conducted to the vast court of which we have spoken.

“Eh, eh!” said the recorder, expanding his nostrils, “it is about midday; it ought to be the dinner-hour of Raimond V., for these country lords follow the old Provençal custom: they take four meals; every four hours, – breakfast at eight o’clock, dine in the middle of the day, lunch at four o’clock, and sup at eight.” “Indeed, then they must eat nearly all day long,” said the clerk, with a sigh of envy, “for they often sit three or four hours at table.”

“Eh, eh! you are licking your lean lips already, clerk; but do you not see a thick smoke on the side of the kitchens?”

“Master Isnard, I do not know where the kitchens are,” said the clerk. “I have never been inside Maison-Forte, but I do see a thick smoke above the tower which looks toward the west.”

“And you do not detect the odour of fish-soup, or roast? On my oath, in the house of Raimond V. it ought to be Christmas every day. Come, can’t you scent something, man?”

The clerk held his nose in the air like a dog on the scent, and replied, with a shake of the head: “Master, I scent nothing.”

When the recorder had arrived a few steps from the court of Maison-Forte, he was astonished to see no one outside of this large habitation, at an hour when domestic duties always require so much commotion.

As we have said, the court formed a sort of parallelogram.

At the farther end of this parallelogram rose the main dwelling.

On each side could be seen its wings at right angles, and the buildings occupied by persons in the employ of the castle.

On the first plane rose a high wall, pierced with loopholes for cannon, in the middle of which opened a massive door. In front of this wall stretched a wide and deep ditch, filled with water, which was crossed by means of a movable bridge, built directly in front of the door.

The recorder and his retinue arrived at the entrance of the bridge, where they found Master Laramée.

The majordomo, solemnly clothed in black, bore in his hand a white rod, a distinctive mark of office.

The recorder descended from his horse with an important air, and, turning to Laramée, said: “In the name of the king, and his Eminence, the cardinal, I, Master Isnard, recorder, have come to take census and catalogue of the arms and ammunition of war, retained here in this castle of Maison-Forte, belonging to Sir Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez.”

Then turning to his train, which the Bohemian had joined, he said: “All of you follow me.”

Laramée made a profound bow, and with a sly expression of face said to the recorder, as he indicated the road: “If you will follow me, Master Recorder, I will show you our magazine of arms and artillery.” Encouraged by this reception, Master Isnard and his retinue crossed the bridge, leaving their horses outside, tied to the parapet, according to the instruction of the majordomo.

As they entered the court planted with trees, the recorder said to Laramée: “Is your master at home? We are very hungry and very thirsty, friend.”

The majordomo looked up at the recorder, lifted his cap, and replied: “You condescend, sir; you call me friend; you honour me too much, Master Recorder.”

“Oh, go on! I am as kind as a prince. If the baron is not at table, conduct me first to him; if he is at table, conduct me to him all the sooner.”

“Monseigneur has just been served, Master Recorder. I am going to open the door of honour for you, as is proper.”

As he said these words, Laramée disappeared through a narrow passage.

The recorder, his clerk, his valet, the Bohemian, and the two halberdiers remained in the court, staring at the great portal of the castle, expecting every moment to see its massive doors open for their reception. They did not see that two men had removed the bridge, beyond the ditch, on the side of the fields, thus cutting off all retreat from the men of the law.

CHAPTER XI. TAKING THE CENSUS

On the side of the court, as on the side of the sea, three windows of the gallery, which extended the full length of the edifice, opened upon a balcony which was over the principal door of the castle.

The recorder began to realise that it required much ceremony to introduce him to the baron, when suddenly the windows were opened, and ten or twelve gentlemen, in handsome hunting-suits, booted and spurred, holding a glass in one hand and a napkin in the other, rushed out on the balcony, shouting and laughing at the top of their voices.

At their head was Raimond V.

It was easy to see by the flushed cheeks of these joyous companions that they had just arisen from the table, and had emptied more than one bottle of Spanish wine.

The convivial friends of Raimond V. belonged to the nobility of the neighbourhood, and were all known for their hatred of Marshal of Vitry, and open or secret opposition to Cardinal Richelieu.

Honorât de Berrol and Reine, utterly powerless to dissuade the baron from his dangerous projects, had retired into one of the apartments in the tower.

The recorder began to think he was mistaken in counting on a favourable reception from the baron; he even feared that he might be made the victim of some infernal trick, as he saw the clamorous gaiety of the guests of Maison-Forte, especially when he recognised among the number the old lord of Signerol, who had rudely refused him entrance into his castle.

However, he tried to put a good face on the matter, and followed by his clerk, who was trembling in every limb, he advanced to the balcony with his two halberdiers at his heels.

Addressing himself to Raimond V., who was leaning over the balcony railing and looking contemptuously on the company below, he said:

“In the name of the king and his Eminence, the cardinal – ”

“The cardinal to the devil! Let his infernal Eminence return to the place he came from!” shouted several gentlemen, interrupting the recorder’s speech.

“Beelzebub, at this moment, is making a red brass hat for his Eminence,” said the lord of Signerol.

“The girdles of his Eminence ought to be good rope for hanging!” said another.

“Let the recorder have his say, gentlemen,” said the baron, turning to his guests, “let him speak, my friends, – it is not by a single note that you recognise the bird of the night. Come on, Manjour! speak, recorder, speak, read out your scrawl!”

The clerk, completely demoralised, and doubtless meditating a retreat, turned his head away from the door, and discovered with dismay that the bridge had been withdrawn.

“Master Isnard,” whispered he, with broken voice, “we are caught in a mouse-trap; they have carried away the bridge.”

Notwithstanding the self-possession he affected, the recorder looked over his shoulder, and said, in a low voice: “Clerk, order the halberdiers to approach without attracting attention.”

The clerk obeyed; the little band concentrated in the middle of the court, with the exception of the Bohemian.

Standing at the foot of the balcony, he seemed to contemplate with curiosity the gentlemen gathered there.

Master Isnard, anxious to accomplish his task, and seeing that he had been mistaken in presuming upon the hospitality of Raimond V., read, not without hesitation, the judicial summary.

“In the name of his Majesty, our sire, King of France and of Navarre, and Count of Provence, and of his Eminence, the cardinal, I, Thomas Isnard, recorder of the admiralty of Toulon, sent by the king’s attorney to the seat of the said admiralty, make here in this Maison-Forte the census and catalogue of the arms and ammunitions of war therein enclosed, in order to draw up a statement, on which statement his Excellence, the Marshal of Vitry, Governor of Provence, will decide to the end that we may be advised as to what quantity of arms and ammunition ought to be left in the said Maison-Forte; accordingly, I, Thomas Isnard, recorder of the admiralty of Toulon, here present myself in person to the said Raimond V., Baron des Anbiez, praying him of necessity to obey the orders signified. Made at Maison-Forte des Anbiez, dependent of the diocese of Marseilles, and the jurisdiction of Aix, December 17,1632.” The old baron and his friends listened to the recorder with perfect calmness, exchanging frequent glances of contempt. When Master Isnard had concluded, Raimond V. leaned over the railing of the balcony and replied: