The Knight of Malta

The large square of La Ciotat, the theatre of the most murderous conflict of that fatal night, was covered with dead bodies.

Nothing could be more heartrending than to see the afflicted inhabitants seeking a father, a brother, a son, or a friend among these dead.

When they recognised one whom they sought, the others, petrified with grief, would look on in silence; again, some would utter impotent cries for vengeance; and some in their wild lamentation would rush to the port, as if they would there find the galleys of the lawless brigands.

The commander and Father Elzear walked through this scene of desolation, speaking words of consolation to the unfortunate sufferers, and asking information of Raimond V.

They learned that he had made a most valuable and courageous defence, by attacking the pirates at the head of the company from Maison-Forte, but no one could tell them if the baron was wounded or not.

The two brothers, in their anxiety, hastened to Maison-Forte, followed by a few subordinate officers of the galley, and by Luquin Trinquetaille, who had also anchored his polacre in the port.

They arrived at the Castle des Anbiez. The bridge was lowered, and the great court deserted, although it was the hour for work.

They mounted the stairs in haste, and reached the immense hall in which the pious Christmas ceremonies had taken place the evening before.

All the inmates of Maison-Forte, men, women, old people, and children, were kneeling in this vast hall, where reigned the most profound silence.

So absorbed was this crowd in its devotions, and so anxiously did they watch the half-open door of the baron’s chamber, that not one perceived the entrance of the commander and Father Elzear.

At the bottom of the hall, under the dais, was the cradle, the masterpiece of Dame Dulceline and the good chaplain. A few candles still burned in the copper chandeliers. The colossal Christmas log was smoking in the depth of the vast chimney, still ornamented with green branches and fruits and flowers and ribbons.

Nothing seemed more startling than this scene lighted by the first pale rays of a winter day; nothing more painful than the contrast between the feast of the night and the sorrow of the morning.

After having contemplated this quiet and imposing scene, the commander gently called aside some of the baron’s vassals to open a way to the door of the baron’s chamber.

“Monseigneur, the commander, and good Father Elzear!” were the words which circulated among the anxious crowd, as they waited for news of the baron’s condition, whether or not his wounds permitted them to indulge a hope for his recovery.

Pierre des Anbiez and his brother, with a soft and cautious tread, entered the chamber of Raimond V.

The old gentleman, still dressed in his holiday attire, even to his long boots, was lying on his bed. His venerable face was livid, and his flowing white locks were stained with blood.

Abbé Mascarolus was dressing the wounds in his head, assisted in this pious duty by Honorât de Berrol. Dame Dulceline, whose tears never ceased to flow, was cutting cloth bands, while the majordomo Laramée, standing at the foot of the bed, apparently unconscious of all around him, was sobbing aloud.

So absorbed were the actors in this sad scene, that Father Elzear and Pierre des Anbiez entered unperceived.

“My brother!” cried the commander and the priest at the same time, falling on their knees at the bedside of the baron, and kissing his cold hands affectionately.

“Are the wounds serious, abbé?” said the commander, while Father Elzear remained on his knees.

“Alas! is it you, M. Commander?” said the chaplain, clasping his hands in surprise; “if only you had arrived yesterday all these misfortunes would not have happened, and monseigneur would not be in danger of death.”

“Great God!” cried Pierre des Anbiez, “we must send at once for Brother Anselm, the surgeon on board my galley. He will assist you; he understands wounds made by weapons of war.”

Seeing Luquin Trinquetaille at the door, the commander said to him: “Go immediately for Brother Anselm, and bring him here.”

Luquin disappeared to execute the commander’s orders. The abbé was anxiously listening to the laboured breathing of the baron. Finally, the wounded man made a light movement, turned his head from the chaplain without opening his eyes, and uttered a long sigh. The commander and the priest gazed inquiringly into the chaplain’s face, who made a sign of approval, and took advantage of the baron’s position to dress another part of the wounds.

Father Elzear, disappointed at not seeing Reine at her father’s bedside at such a time, said, in a low voice to Honorât: “And where is Reine? The poor child no doubt cannot endure this painful sight!”

“Great God!” cried Honorât, in astonishment, “and do you not know, Father Elzear, all the misfortunes which have befallen this house? Reine has been carried off by the pirates!”

Father Elzear and the commander looked at each other, bewildered.

“My God! my God! spare his old age this last blow!” said the priest, clasping his hands in supplication, and looking up to heaven. “Grant us the power to take this unfortunate child from their hands!”

“And does no one know to what point these pirates have fled?” said the commander, his wrath beyond all bounds. “Inquire of the boats that arrive; the night was clear, and they must be able to give us some information.” “Alas!” said Honorât, “I have just arrived at Maison-Forte, which I and the baron’s guests left that night in peace. I was ignorant of all these disasters. When the baron was brought home unconscious, the good abbé sent for me in haste, and I came, finding him in this desperate state, and his vassals informed me of the abduction of Mlle, des Anbiez.”

Raimond V. still lay unconscious. From time to time he uttered a feeble sigh, and then relapsed into a lethargic torpor.

The commander anxiously awaited the coming of the surgeon from his galley, as he thought his medical attainments superior to those of the chaplain.

Finally he arrived, followed by Luquin Trinquetaille, who, notwithstanding the profound silence guarded by the watchers around the wounded man, cried out to the commander, as he entered the door: “Monseigneur, the pirates must be anchored on the coast, twenty-five or thirty leagues from here at the most.”

Pierre des Anbiez, making a sign to the worthy captain to be silent, walked up to him rapidly, and conducted him into the gallery, which the vassals had just left at the chaplain’s request.

“What do you say?” said he to Trinquetaille. “Who told you that?”

“Monseigneur, the coxswain Nicard told me. That night he passed very near to two galleys and a chebec, which hugged the shore, and he easily recognised the Red Galleon. These vessels were moving very, very slowly, as if they had been so badly damaged as to be compelled to halt every few minutes in some deserted harbour on the coast.”

“That must be so,” said the commander, thoughtfully, “they must have been seriously crippled to stay near the shore, instead of flying south with their captives and their booty.”

“There is no doubt, monseigneur, that the culverin of Maison-Forte did them great damage, for Pierron, the fisherman, told me that he saw them fire that artillery the whole time the galleys of those demons were doubling the point of the island Verte, and that pass is a fine aim for the culverin; Master Laramée has told me so a thousand times.”

“The vengeance of the Lord will overtake these robbers, glutted with blood and pillage,” said the commander, in a hollow voice. “Perhaps I shall be able to snatch my brother’s unfortunate daughter from their hands.”

“And also her attendant, Stephanette, if you please, monseigneur,” said Luquin. “These brigands, no doubt, have carried her off with the aid of a cursed Bohemian, that the good God will send some day, perhaps, within reach of my arm.”

“There is not a moment to lose,” said the commander, after a few moments’ reflection. Then addressing Luquin, he said: “Run to the port, and issue my order to the king of the chevaliers to prepare my galley for immediate departure. Do you follow with your polacre. Where did the coxswain Nicard meet the Red Galleon?”

“Near the island of St. Fereol, monseigneur.”

“Then we only need to watch the coast this side of the island of St. Fereol As soon as you put to sea, set all your sails so as to examine every point on the coast which may serve as a retreat for the pirates. If you see anything suspicious, give me warning. I will keep in sight of your vessel.”

“May Heaven bless your undertaking, monseigneur, and grant that I may be able to aid you.”

Luquin Trinquetaille, inspired by the hope of recovering Stephanette, and eager to wreak his vengeance upon the Bohemian, ran to the port in all possible haste.

Pierre des Anbiez returned to the baron’s chamber. The surgeon from the galley already saw signs of hope in the improved respiration and more quiet sleep of the wounded man. The commander gazed sadly and thoughtfully at his brother. Presentiments he could not conquer told him that this day would prove a fatal one to him. It grieved him much to leave the baron without being recognised by him, but time pressed, and he approached the bed, leaned over the patient, and, kissing his cold cheeks, said, in a low and broken voice: “Farewell, my poor brother, farewell.”

When he rose, his hard and austere countenance betrayed his emotion, and a tear flowed down his cheek.

“Embrace me, my brother,” said he to Elzear, “I am going into battle, and into a bloody battle, for the Red Galleon is intrepid. I hope to meet these pirates in some harbour on the coast.”

“M. Commander, I shall follow you,” cried Honorât de Berrol, “although it pains me to leave Raimond V. at such a time. I ask you to accept me as a volunteer.”

Pierre des Anbiez seemed agitated by an inward struggle. He recognised the courage of Honorât, but he also realised the danger of the enterprise he was about to undertake, and foresaw that it would result in one of the most desperate encounters in which they had ever taken part.

“I understand your interest,” said he to Honorât. “We will meet the pirates, and succeed, perhaps, in rescuing Reine des Anbiez, but if I do not return, and if his daughter should not return, who will console him?” and he pointed to the baron. “Does he not love you as a second son?”