The Knight of Malta

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE THREE BROTHERS

Pierre des Anbiez arrived at Cape l’Aigle at the break of day. Scarcely had the black galley anchored in the port of La Ciotat, when the commander and his brother descended to the shore.

Everywhere they saw marks of the pirate’s barbarity.

The weeping inhabitants then knew all the extent of their losses. Each family had learned which one of its members had perished or had been taken captive.

During the battle, they thought only of defending themselves and repulsing the enemy; then, too, night had veiled the disasters which day revealed in all their horror. On one side, walls blackened by the conflagration barely supported the tottering carpentry.

Farther on was the town hall, of which only the walls remained. Its windows were broken, its balcony demolished, its doors burned to ashes, its foundations charred, and showers of balls everywhere proved that the citizens had defended themselves with vigorous earnestness.

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?”

“And if you do not return, and if his daughter does not return,” eried Honorât, “who will console me for not having followed you, and for not having shared your dangers?”

“Come, then,” said the commander, “I cannot combat your noble resolution any longer. Let us go. Farewell, again, my brother, pray for us,” added the soldier, tenderly embracing his brother Elzear.

“Alas! may the Lord bless your undertaking. God grant you may bring our dear child back to us, and our brother, waking from the painful sleep, may find his daughter kneeling at his bedside!”

“May Heaven hear you, brother!” said the commander. For the last time he pressed the cold hand of Raimond V., and hurried out of the chamber toward the port There he found his galley ready to depart, and set sail at once, followed by the polacre of the brave Trinquetaille.

Thus it was that the black galley found itself in sight of the Bay of Lérins, where the two galleys of the pirates were anchored, when Hadji came out of the road with his chebec to execute the orders of Pog, and lead in pursuit of him the galley of religion.

CHAPTER XXXIX. PREPARATIONS FOR THE COMBAT

The wind was favourable for the black galley and the polacre, and after having passed the island of Lerol the two vessels slackened their speed.

Luquin Trinquetaille touched at the different harbours along the coast, without meeting the pirate ships, which he was to announce to the commander by a shot from his swivel-gun.

Toward evening, just as the sun was sinking below the horizon, the black galley and the polacre arrived in sight of the isles of Ste. Marguerite, at the moment, as we have just said, when the chebec of Hadji issued from the road, in quest of the Christian galleys, in obedience to the commands of Pog.

Captain Trinquetaille signalled the chebec, and set every sail to join it. The Bohemian slackened his speed and waited for him. The betrothed of Stephanette, by the aid of his telescope, recognised Hadji, who was commanding the little craft. The worthy captain of the Holy Terror to the Moors boiled with rage at this encounter, and had need of all his self-control not to attack the author of Stephanette’s abduction, but, faithful to the orders of the commander, he doubled the point of Lerol, and soon perceived the Red Galleon and the galley of Trimalcyon anchored in the bay, very near each other.

Thus having obtained an exact knowledge of the position of the pirates, he stood toward the black galley in order to announce this discovery to Pierre des Anbiez, while the chebec of Hadji was entering the bay under full sail.

When he arrived near the stem of the black galley and gave this information to the pilot, the latter, in obedience to the commander, ordered him to set back the sails of the polacre, and come on board.

Luquin obeyed, but was in despair to see that the chebec of Hadji, whom he was burning to fight, had escaped him.

The chevaliers had assembled on the deck of the galley, and, according to the methods of warfare of that time, had cleared the deck for action.

The rambades, which formed a sort of forecastle at the prow, where the five pieces of artillery belonging to the galley were in battery, were already covered with coarse oakum cloth, several inches in thickness. This heavy covering was designed to deaden the effect of the enemy’s projectiles.

In case the galley was boarded by the enemy, an entrenchment called a bastion had been erected, which extended the entire length of the ship’s balcony, and reached to the height of the fourth bench of the prow.

This entrenchment was constructed of beams and crosspieces of timber, the spaces between being filled with old cordage and dilapidated sails. This construction, six feet high on the side of the stem, was only five feet high at the prow, toward which it sloped to the level of the rambades, and was designed to prevent the raking fire of the enemy’s artillery, sweeping the length of the galley.

The subordinate officers and soldiers were armed with steel helmets, buff-skin, and neck-pieces of iron. Matches ready for lighting lay near the cannon and swivel-guns; the masts had been hauled down and placed in the waist of the vessel, as galleys never fight with sails up, but are sustained by their oars.

The slaves who composed the crew looked on these preparations for battle with mute terror or sullen indifference. These poor creatures, chained to their benches, were accounted only a locomotive power. The discipline of force, to which they had been subjected on board the galley, had, through its severity, given them the calmness necessary for confronting danger.

Their position was one of peculiar trial. The gagged and passive spectators of a desperate battle, – since during a conflict the crews were generally gagged by means of a piece of wood inserted in the mouth, – they were not able to deaden their perception of danger, or satisfy that instinct of ferocity which self-preservation always awakens in men at the sight of carnage, that enthusiasm or courage which demands blow for blow, and kills in order not to be killed.

Nor had these slaves any hope of the ordinary results which follow a victory. If their vessel was the conqueror they continued to row on board of her; if she was conquered, they rowed on board of the conqueror.

Placed during the action between the balls of the enemy and the pistols of their keepers, who killed them on their first refusal to row, the men of the crew only escaped certain death by exposing themselves to a death less certain, inasmuch as there was a possibility of missing the enemy’s balls, while the keepers fired their pistols into the breasts of their helpless victims. Under such an alternative the galley-slaves resigned themselves to their fate and continued to row.

In all cases, they were indifferent to victory, and not unfrequently were interested in defeat, since the conquerors, Turks or Arabs, often delivered their own nationality. As to the renegades, all crews were alike to them. Hence, the convict-crew of the black galley knew only that they were about to do battle with the Red Galleon, and were utterly indifferent to the result of the engagement.

Preparations for the fight went on in the most profound silence. The calm, austere countenances of the soldiers of the cross showed that they found nothing unusual in these preliminary details. The chevaliers carefully inspected the different services with which they were charged; so seriously was every duty performed, that one might have thought the actors were preparing for some religious rite.

At the stern, the assembled chevaliers made a rigid examination of the position of the two galleys commanded by the pirates.

When Luquin Trinquetaille arrived on deck, the overseer ordered him to attend the commander, who was expected there. Pierre des Anbiez, kneeling in his chamber, was fervently praying. Since his departure from Maison-Forte, the gloomiest presentiments had assailed his mind. In the poignancy of his remorse, he had seen a providential coincidence in his return and the frightful disasters which had just overwhelmed his family. He accused himself of having, by his own crime, called down the vengeance of Heaven upon the house of Anbiez.

His imagination, unnaturally excited by the violent emotions which had shaken his whole being, evoked the strangest phantoms.

As he cast a serious yet fearful glance upon the portrait of Pog, – the Count de Montreuil, – which was hanging in his chamber, it seemed to him that the eyes of this portrait glowed with a supernatural brilliancy.

Twice he approached the frame to assure himself that he was not the sport of an illusion; twice he recoiled terrified, feeling his brow bathed in a cold sweat, and his hair standing up on his head.

Then he was struck with dizziness, – his reason forsook him, – he saw nothing more. Objects unnamable passed before his eyes with frightful rapidity; it seemed to him that he was being transported on the wings of a whirlwind.

By degrees he came to himself, – the aberration was past, and he found himself in his chamber on the galley, face to face with the portrait of Pog.

For the first time in his life he felt a dark and painful presentiment at the thought of going into battle. Instead of burning with that wild enthusiasm which characterised him, instead of thinking with a sort of ferocious joy upon the tumult of the fray, which had so often stifled the remorse which cried aloud in his soul, his thoughts turned involuntarily to death and disaster.

He started, as he asked himself if his soul was ready to appear before the Lord, – if the austerities which he had imposed upon himself for so many years sufficed for the expiation of his crime.

Terrified, he fell upon his knees, and began to pray with fervour, beseeching God to give him the courage and the strength to accomplish his last mission, – once more to uplift the cross triumphantly, and to rescue Reine des Anbiez from the hands of her ravishers.

He had scarcely finished his prayer when some one knocked at his door. He rose to his feet. The artilleryman, Captain Hugues, appeared.

“What do you want?”

“A man in a boat, sent by these miscreants, wishes to make some terms with you. M. Commander, must I welcome him with a shot from my swivel-gun, or send him on deck?”

“Send him on deck.”

“Where shall I conduct him?”

“Here.”

Pierre des Anbiez thought he understood the nature of the desired interview. The pirates, holding Reine des Anbiez as a hostage, wished, no doubt, to make terms for her ransom.

The artillery officer returned with the Bohemian.