56

Twenty Years After

by Alexandre Dumas

56, TWENTY YEARS AFTER by Alexandre Dumas
An eText from LiteratureClassics.com.

Please see the eText readme for important copyright information (available from the options menu above if you are browsing online or as a separate file in the archive if you are browsing offline.)



The Avenger.



They all four entered the tent; they had no plan ready --
they must think of one.

The king threw himself into an arm-chair. "I am lost," said
he.

"No, sire," replied Athos. "You are only betrayed."

The king sighed deeply.

"Betrayed! yes betrayed by the Scotch, amongst whom I was
born, whom I have always loved better than the English. Oh,
traitors that ye are!"

"Sire," said Athos, "this is not a moment for recrimination,
but a time to show yourself a king and a gentleman. Up,
sire! up! for you have here at least three men who will not
betray you. Ah! if we had been five!" murmured Athos,
thinking of D'Artagnan and Porthos.

"What do you say?" inquired Charles, rising.

"I say, sire, that there is now but one way open. Lord
Winter answers for his regiment, or at least very nearly so
-- we will not split straws about words -- let him place
himself at the head of his men, we will place ourselves at
the side of your majesty, and we will mow a swath through
Cromwell's army and reach Scotland."

"There is another method," said Aramis. "Let one of us put
on the dress and mount the king's horse. Whilst they pursue
him the king might escape."

"It is good advice," said Athos, "and if the king will do
one of us the honor we shall be truly grateful to him."

"What do you think of this counsel, Winter?" asked the king,
looking with admiration at these two men, whose chief idea
seemed to be how they could take on their shoulders all the
dangers that assailed him.

"I think the only chance of saving your majesty has just
been proposed by Monsieur d'Herblay. I humbly entreat your
majesty to choose quickly, for we have not an instant to
lose."

"But if I accept, it is death, or at least imprisonment, for
him who takes my place."

"He will have had the glory of having saved his king," cried
Winter.

The king looked at his old friend with tears in his eyes;
undid the Order of the Saint Esprit which he wore, to honor
the two Frenchmen who were with him, and passed it around
Winter's neck, who received on his knees this striking proof
of his sovereign's confidence and friendship.

"It is right," said Athos; "he has served your majesty
longer than we have."

The king overheard these words and turned around with tears
in his eyes.

"Wait a moment, sir," said he; "I have an order for each of
you also."

He turned to a closet where his own orders were locked up,
and took out two ribbons of the Order of the Garter.

"These cannot be for us," said Athos.

"Why not, sir?" asked Charles.

"Such are for royalty, and we are simple commoners."

"Speak not of crowns. I shall not find amongst them such
great hearts as yours. No, no, you do yourselves injustice;
but I am here to do you justice. On your knees, count."

Athos knelt down and the king passed the ribbon down from
left to right as usual, raised his sword, and instead of
pronouncing the customary formula, "I make you a knight. Be
brave, faithful and loyal," he said, "You are brave,
faithful and loyal. I knight you, monsieur le comte."

Then turning to Aramis, he said:

"It is now your turn, monsieur le chevalier."

The same ceremony recommenced, with the same words, whilst
Winter unlaced his leather cuirass, that he might disguise
himself like the king. Charles, having proceeded with Aramis
as with Athos, embraced them both.

"Sire," said Winter, who in this trying emergency felt all
his strength and energy fire up, "we are ready."

The king looked at the three gentlemen. "Then we must fly!"
said he.

"Flying through an army, sire," said Athos, "in all
countries in the world is called charging."

"Then I shall die, sword in hand," said Charles. "Monsieur
le comte, monsieur le chevalier, if ever I am king ---- "

"Sire, you have already done us more honor than simple
gentlemen could ever aspire to, therefore gratitude is on
our side. But we must not lose time. We have already wasted
too much."

The king again shook hands with all three, exchanged hats
with Winter and went out.

Winter's regiment was ranged on some high ground above the
camp. The king, followed by the three friends, turned his
steps that way. The Scotch camp seemed as if at last
awakened; the soldiers had come out of their tents and taken
up their station in battle array.

"Do you see that?" said the king. "Perhaps they are penitent
and preparing to march."

"If they are penitent," said Athos, "let them follow us."

"Well!" said the king, "what shall we do?"

"Let us examine the enemy's army."

At the same instant the eyes of the little group were fixed
on the same line which at daybreak they had mistaken for fog
and which the morning sun now plainly showed was an army in
order of battle. The air was soft and clear, as it generally
is at that early hour of the morning. The regiments, the
standards, and even the colors of the horses and uniforms
were now clearly distinct.

On the summit of a rising ground, a little in advance of the
enemy, appeared a short and heavy looking man; this man was
surrounded by officers. He turned a spyglass toward the
little group amongst which the king stood.

"Does this man know your majesty personally?" inquired
Aramis.

Charles smiled.

"That man is Cromwell," said he.

"Then draw down your hat, sire, that he may not discover the
substitution."

"Ah!" said Athos, "how much time we have lost."

"Now," said the king, "give the word and let us start."

"Will you not give it, sire?" asked Athos.

"No; I make you my lieutenant-general," said the king.

"Listen, then, Lord Winter. Proceed, sire, I beg. What we
are going to say does not concern your majesty."

The king, smiling, turned a few steps back.

"This is what I propose to do," said Athos. "We will divide
our regiments into two squadrons. You will put yourself at
the head of the first. We and his majesty will lead the
second. If no obstacle occurs we will both charge together,
force the enemy's line and throw ourselves into the Tyne,
which we must cross, either by fording or swimming; if, on
the contrary, any repulse should take place, you and your
men must fight to the last man, whilst we and the king
proceed on our road. Once arrived at the brink of the river,
should we even find them three ranks deep, as long as you
and your regiment do your duty, we will look to the rest."

"To horse!" said Lord Winter.

"To horse!" re-echoed Athos; "everything is arranged and
decided."

"Now, gentlemen," cried the king, "forward! and rally to the
old cry of France, `Montjoy and St. Denis!' The war cry of
England is too often in the mouths of traitors."

They mounted -- the king on Winter's horse and Winter on
that of the king; then Winter took his place at the head of
the first squadron, and the king, with Athos on his right
and Aramis on his left, at the head of the second.

The Scotch army stood motionless and silent, seized with
shame at sight of these preparations.

Some of the chieftains left the ranks and broke their swords
in two.

"There," said the king, "that consoles me; they are not all
traitors."

At this moment Winter's voice was raised with the cry of
"Forward!"

The first squadron moved off; the second followed, and
descended from the plateau. A regiment of cuirassiers,
nearly equal as to numbers, issued from behind the hill and
came full gallop toward it.

The king pointed this out.

"Sire," said Athos, "we foresaw this; and if Lord Winter's
men but do their duty, we are saved, instead of lost."

At this moment they heard above all the galloping and
neighing of the horses Winter's voice crying out:

"Sword in hand!"

At these words every sword was drawn, and glittered in the
air like lightning.

"Now, gentlemen," said the king in his turn, excited by this
sight, "come, gentlemen, sword in hand!"

But Aramis and Athos were the only ones to obey this command
and the king's example.

"We are betrayed," said the king in a low voice.

"Wait a moment," said Athos, "perhaps they do not recognize
your majesty's voice, and await the order of their captain."

"Have they not heard that of their colonel? But look! look!"
cried the king, drawing up his horse with a sudden jerk,
which threw it on its haunches, and seizing the bridle of
Athos's horse.

"Ah, cowards! traitors!" screamed Lord Winter, whose voice
they heard, whilst his men, quitting their ranks, dispersed
all over the plain.

About fifteen men were ranged around him and awaited the
charge of Cromwell's cuirassiers.

"Let us go and die with them!" said the king.

"Let us go," said Athos and Aramis.

"All faithful hearts with me!" cried out Winter.

This voice was heard by the two friends, who set off, full
gallop.

"No quarter!" cried a voice in French, answering to that of
Winter, which made them tremble.

As for Winter, at the sound of that voice he turned pale,
and was, as it were, petrified.

It was the voice of a cavalier mounted on a magnificent
black horse, who was charging at the head of the English
regiment, of which, in his ardor, he was ten steps in
advance.

"'Tis he!" murmured Winter, his eyes glazed and he allowed
his sword to fall to his side.

"The king! the king!" cried out several voices, deceived by
the blue ribbon and chestnut horse of Winter; "take him
alive."

"No! it is not the king!" exclaimed the cavalier. "Lord
Winter, you are not the king; you are my uncle."

At the same moment Mordaunt, for it was he, leveled his
pistol at Winter; it went off and the ball entered the heart
of the old cavalier, who with one bound on his saddle fell
back into the arms of Athos, murmuring: "He is avenged!"

"Think of my mother!" shouted Mordaunt, as his horse plunged
and darted off at full gallop.

"Wretch!" exclaimed Aramis, raising his pistol as he passed
by him; but the powder flashed in the pan and it did not go
off.

At this moment the whole regiment came up and they fell upon
the few men who had held out, surrounding the two Frenchmen.
Athos, after making sure that Lord Winter was really dead,
let fall the corpse and said:

"Come, Aramis, now for the honor of France!" and the two
Englishmen who were nearest to them fell, mortally wounded.

At the same moment a fearful "hurrah!" rent the air and
thirty blades glittered about their heads.

Suddenly a man sprang out of the English ranks, fell upon
Athos, twined arms of steel around him, and tearing his
sword from him, said in his ear:

"Silence! yield -- you yield to me, do you not?"

A giant had seized also Aramis's two wrists, who struggled
in vain to release himself from this formidable grasp.

"D'Art ---- " exclaimed Athos, whilst the Gascon covered his
mouth with his hand.

"I am your prisoner," said Aramis, giving up his sword to
Porthos.

"Fire, fire!" cried Mordaunt, returning to the group
surrounding the two friends.

"And wherefore fire?" said the colonel; "every one has
yielded."

"It is the son of Milady," said Athos to D'Artagnan.

"I recognize him."

"It is the monk," whispered Porthos to Aramis.

"I know it."

And now the ranks began to open. D'Artagnan held the bridle
of Athos's horse and Porthos that of Aramis. Both of them
attempted to lead his prisoner off the battle-field.

This movement revealed the spot where Winter's body had
fallen. Mordaunt had found it out and was gazing on his dead
relative with an expression of malignant hatred.

Athos, though now cool and collected, put his hand to his
belt, where his loaded pistols yet remained.

"What are you about?" said D'Artagnan.

"Let me kill him."

"We are all four lost, if by the least gesture you discover
that you recognize him."

Then turning to the young man he exclaimed:

"A fine prize! a fine prize, friend Mordaunt; we have both
myself and Monsieur du Vallon, taken two Knights of the
Garter, nothing less."

"But," said Mordaunt, looking at Athos and Aramis with
bloodshot eyes, "these are Frenchmen, I imagine."

"I'faith, I don't know. Are you French, sir?" said he to
Athos.

"I am," replied the latter, gravely.

"Very well, my dear sir, you are the prisoner of a fellow
countryman."

"But the king -- where is the king?" exclaimed Athos,
anxiously.

D'Artagnan vigorously seized his prisoner's hand, saying:

"Eh! the king? We have secured him."

"Yes," said Aramis, "through an infamous act of treason."

Porthos pressed his friend's hand and said to him:

"Yes, sir, all is fair in war, stratagem as well as force;
look yonder!"

At this instant the squadron, that ought to have protected
Charles's retreat, was advancing to meet the English
regiments. The king, who was entirely surrounded, walked
alone in a great empty space. He appeared calm, but it was
evidently not without a mighty effort. Drops of perspiration
trickled down his face, and from time to time he put a
handkerchief to his mouth to wipe away the blood that rilled
from it.

"Behold Nebuchadnezzar!" exclaimed an old Puritan soldier,
whose eyes flashed at the sight of the man they called the
tyrant.

"Do you call him Nebuchadnezzar?" said Mordaunt, with a
terrible smile; "no, it is Charles the First, the king, the
good King Charles, who despoils his subjects to enrich
himself."

Charles glanced a moment at the insolent creature who
uttered this, but did not recognize him. Nevertheless, the
calm religious dignity of his countenance abashed Mordaunt.

"Bon jour, messieurs!" said the king to the two gentlemen
who were held by D'Artagnan and Porthos. "The day has been
unfortunate, but it is not your fault, thank God! But where
is my old friend Winter?"

The two gentlemen turned away their heads in silence.

"In Strafford's company," said Mordaunt, tauntingly.

Charles shuddered. The demon had known how to wound him. The
remembrance of Strafford was a source of lasting remorse to
him, the shadow that haunted him by day and night. The king
looked around him. He saw a corpse at his feet. It was
Winter's. He uttered not a word, nor shed a tear, but a
deadly pallor spread over his face; he knelt down on the
ground, raised Winter's head, and unfastening the Order of
the Saint Esprit, placed it on his own breast.

"Lord Winter is killed, then?" inquired D'Artagnan, fixing
his eyes on the corpse.

"Yes," said Athos, "by his own nephew."

"Come, he was the first of us to go; peace be to him! he was
an honest man," said D'Artagnan.

"Charles Stuart," said the colonel of the English regiment,
approaching the king, who had just put on the insignia of
royalty, "do you yield yourself a prisoner?"

"Colonel Tomlison," said Charles, "kings cannot yield; the
man alone submits to force."

"Your sword."

The king drew his sword and broke it on his knee.

At this moment a horse without a rider, covered with foam,
his nostrils extended and eyes all fire, galloped up, and
recognizing his master, stopped and neighed with pleasure;
it was Arthur.

The king smiled, patted it with his hand and jumped lightly
into the saddle.

"Now, gentlemen," said he, "conduct me where you will."

Turning back again, he said, "I thought I saw Winter move;
if he still lives, by all you hold most sacred, do not
abandon him."

"Never fear, King Charles," said Mordaunt, "the bullet
pierced his heart."

"Do not breathe a word nor make the least sign to me or
Porthos," said D'Artagnan to Athos and Aramis, "that you
recognize this man, for Milady is not dead; her soul lives
in the body of this demon."

The detachment now moved toward the town with the royal
captive; but on the road an aide-de-camp, from Cromwell,
sent orders that Colonel Tomlison should conduct him to
Holdenby Castle.

At the same time couriers started in every direction over
England and Europe to announce that Charles Stuart was the
prisoner of Oliver Cromwell.