Passey for years?
As he was binding the linen round the wounded arm he glanced at Maurice to see if he winced with pain. His eyes were open, staring not at him, but beyond him, in that uncanny fashion which compels one to turn and see upon what such a look is fixed. Herrick was turning when his arms were suddenly seized from behind and a cord drawn tightly round them, while rough hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him on to his back.
"Tie his feet, too," said a man, suddenly springing across the brook. "Whom have we here?"
"A wounded man," said Herrick, without attempting to struggle. He might want all his strength for that presently.
"Ay; and for a priest you're a poor hand with a wounded man," was the answer.
For a moment Herrick thought they had fallen into the hands of their pursuers after all, but as a score of men surrounded them he saw they were not those who had attacked them at the clearing. This surely was a band of real robbers.
The man who had stooped down to look steadily into Maurice's face suddenly stood upright.
"Quick! Fetch the old mother," he said excitedly to a youth near him; and then looking down at Herrick he said, "Who is he?"
"A wounded man. I never saw him before to-day."
"How came he thus and how did you come into his company?"
"An attack in the forest, and I helped him to escape. It was a small affair; but if you have skill in such matters, pray bind up his wounds without delay. He is weak from loss of blood."
The youth returned, hurrying forward an old woman with bent form, and chin and nose which nearly met, as they seemed to peck at each other continually.
"Mother, look into this man's face," said the man who seemed chief of this forest band.
"Ay, sore hurt he is," said the old hag, bending over him, "but I have salves – I have salves."
"But his face, mother; who is he?"
"A wounded man
In a forest lay,
Who the fates decree
Shall be Duke one day,"
chanted the old woman in a piping key. "I saw it all as the flame died out of my fire last night. I have salves; let me fetch them. There is money, much money in this."
"Mother, is it not he of Passey?"
"Who the fates decree
Shall be Duke one day.
"Let me go. Would you have him die when there is so much money in the air?"
The robbers were evidently half afraid of this old beldame, who probably found her pretended witchcraft and doggerel rhymes profitable.
"The mother speaks truly," said Herrick. "It is he of Passey. Duke even now, and there is much money for those who help him."
"You said you never saw him before to-day."
"I spoke truly also."
The man turned away, and, beckoning the other men round him, talked eagerly for a few moments, and with many gesticulations. When the old woman returned, some of the men went quickly into the wood, and the chief turned to her.
"Quickly, mother, and so that he may travel."
"Whither?"
The man stretched out his arm.
"Cannot you see the money in that direction?"
"Ay, if you can reach it, plenty of it; but that is not the road to Vayenne, and there is money that way, too," said the woman, bending over her work.
"As much?" queried the man.
"Why ask? Is it not the Vayenne road he must take so that he may be Duke one day?"
"Make up another riddle against that time, mother, and read my fate."
"It would put the fear of God in thee, Simon; thou art best in ignorance."
The man turned away with an uneasy laugh. He, too, feared the old woman, although he would not have it appear so. He stopped to look down at Herrick.
"What can we do with the priest?" he murmured to himself, but not so softly that another behind him did not hear.
"Why not knife him?"
"Ay; why not?"
"The mother loves not such," urged the man, "and alive he will be dangerous."
"I like not knifing a man when the blood is cold in me," Simon answered.
"I'll do it, I have no such sentiment."
"Time enough," Simon said. "Besides, since he helps this scholar of Passey, he's no friend to him of Vayenne." And then, turning to Herrick, he went on: "I marked you when you came to the brook; you rode not like a priest."
"What matter how I rode so we have fallen among friends?" said Herrick.
"Friends? Hardly that; but at least we would not let the wounded man die. Dead he is but carrion as any other man; alive he is worth much gold. There are those beyond Montvilliers who will pay handsomely for him."
"Beyond Montvilliers! You would sell him into the hands of his country's enemies? That were traitor's work indeed!"
"The country's rulers would hang me to the first tree if they caught me. To-day the game is mine; to-morrow – " And he snapped his fingers and laughed.
He walked away, and soon afterward the men who had gone into the woods returned with a rough litter. Into this the young Duke was carefully lifted, and whether he were conscious or not Herrick could not tell. These traitors would keep him alive if they could; at least there was more hope with them than with those others who were bent on slaying him, and Herrick found what consolation he could in the thought.
Lifting his head to watch what was happening about the litter, he had not heard any one approach him until he found the old hag bending over him. Behind her stood the man who wished to knife him. They had come upon him stealthily, so that Simon should not stay their crime, Herrick supposed, and he gave himself up for lost. Indeed, he saw the knife in the man's hand.
"This one has no hurt," said the old woman, bending over him.
"Not yet, mother. Is he to live to tell of what we do?"
"Give me a moment, my son," she answered, and closed her eyes.
"Quickly, mother, or Simon will save him. He likes not the deed, but he will be glad enough when it is done."
Herrick was conscious that a shout might save him; yet he did not utter it. The face of the hag seemed to fascinate him with its closed eyes, so hollow that they were almost like empty sockets, and its mumbling mouth and pecking nose and chin.
"Quick, mother!" said the man impatiently.
"I cannot see him dead, my son, yet cannot I follow his course. Put up the knife. He must be left to chance."
"Curse the fates that mock you," said the man in a rage.
