"Not wounded – at least I think not" – answered the burgher; "but much out of wind."
"Sit down then on this stone, and recover your breath," said Quentin; "I will return instantly."
"For whom are you?" said the burgher, still detaining him.
"For France – for France," answered Quentin, studying to get away.
"What! my lively young Archer?" said the worthy Syndic. "Nay, if it has been my fate to find a friend in this fearful night, I will not quit him, I promise you. Go where you will, I follow; and, could I get some of the tight lads of our guildry together, I might be able to help you in turn; but they are all squandered abroad like so many pease. – Oh, it is a fearful night!"
During this time, he was dragging himself on after Quentin, who, aware of the importance of securing the countenance of a person of such influence, slackened his pace to assist him, although cursing in his heart the encumbrance that retarded him.
At the top of the stair was an anteroom, with boxes and trunks, which bore marks of having been rifled, as some of the contents lay on the floor. A lamp, dying in the chimney, shed a feeble beam on a dead or senseless man, who lay across the hearth.
Bounding from Pavillon, like a greyhound from his keeper's leash, and with an effort which almost overthrew him, Quentin sprung through a second and a third room, the last of which seemed to be the bedroom of the Ladies of Croye. No living mortal was to be seen in either of them. He called upon the Lady Isabelle's name, at first gently, then more loudly, and then with an accent of despairing emphasis; but no answer was returned. He wrung his hands, tore his hair, and stamped on the earth with desperation. At length, a feeble glimmer of light, which shone through a crevice in the wainscoting of a dark nook in the bedroom, announced some recess or concealment behind the arras. Quentin hasted to examine it. He found there was indeed a concealed door, but it resisted his hurried efforts to open it. Heedless of the personal injury he might sustain, he rushed at the door with his whole force and weight of his body; and such was the impetus of an effort made betwixt hope and despair, that it would have burst much stronger fastenings.
He thus forced his way, almost headlong, into a small oratory, where a female figure, which had been kneeling in agonizing supplication before the holy image, now sunk at length on the floor, under the new terrors implied in this approaching tumult. He hastily raised her from the ground, and, joy of joys! it was she whom he sought to save – the Countess Isabelle. He pressed her to his bosom – he conjured her to awake – entreated her to be of good cheer – for that she was now under the protection of one who had heart and hand enough to defend her against armies.
"Durward!" she said, as she at length collected herself, "is it indeed you? – then there is some hope left. I thought all living and mortal friends had left me to my fate – Do not again abandon me!"
"Never – never!" said Durward. "Whatever shall happen – whatever danger shall approach, may I forfeit the benefits purchased by yonder blessed sign, if I be not the sharer of your fate until it is again a happy one!"
"Very pathetic and touching, truly," said a rough, broken, asthmatic voice behind – "A love affair, I see; and, from my soul, I pity the tender creature, as if she were my own Trudchen."
"You must do more than pity us," said Quentin, turning towards the speaker; "you must assist in protecting us, Meinheer Pavillon. Be assured this lady was put under my especial charge by your ally the King of France; and, if you aid me not to shelter her from every species of offence and violence, your city will lose the favour of Louis of Valois. Above all, she must be guarded from the hands of William de la Marck."
"That will be difficult," said Pavillon, "for these schelms of lanzknechts are very devils at rummaging out the wenches; but I'll do my best – We will to the other apartment, and there I will consider – It is but a narrow stair, and you can keep the door with a pike, while I look from the window, and get together some of my brisk boys of the currier's guildry of Liege, that are as true as the knives they wear in their girdles. – But first undo me these clasps – for I have not worn this corslet since the battle of Saint Tron[35]; and I am three stone heavier since that time, if there be truth in Dutch beam and scale."
The undoing of the iron enclosure gave great relief to the honest man, who, in putting it on, had more considered his zeal to the cause of Liege, than his capacity of bearing arms. It afterwards turned out, that being, as it were, borne forward involuntarily, and hoisted over the walls by his company as they thronged to the assault, the magistrate had been carried here and there, as the tide of attack and defence flowed or ebbed, without the power, latterly, of even uttering a word; until, as the sea casts a log of driftwood ashore in the first creek, he had been ultimately thrown down in the entrance to the Ladies of Croye's apartments, where the encumbrance of his own armour, with the superincumbent weight of two men slain in the entrance, and who fell above him, might have fixed him down long enough, had he not been relieved by Durward.
The same warmth of temper which rendered Hermann Pavillon a hotheaded and intemperate zealot in politics, had the more desirable consequence of making him, in private, a good-tempered, kindhearted man, who, if sometimes a little misled by vanity, was always well-meaning and benevolent. He told Quentin to have an especial care of the poor pretty yung frau; and, after this unnecessary exhortation, began to halloo from the window, "Liege, Liege, for the gallant skinners' guild of curriers!"
One or two of his immediate followers collected at the summons, and at the peculiar whistle with which it was accompanied, (each of the crafts having such a signal among themselves,) and, more joining them, established a guard under the window from which their leader was bawling, and before the postern-door.
Matters seemed now settling into some sort of tranquillity. All opposition had ceased, and the leaders of the different classes of assailants were taking measures to prevent indiscriminate plunder. The great bell was tolled, as summons to a military council, and its iron tongue communicating to Liege the triumphant possession of Schonwaldt by the insurgents, was answered by all the bells in that city; whose distant and clamorous voices seemed to cry, Hail to the victors! It would have been natural, that Meinheer Pavillon should now have sallied from his fastness; but, either in reverent care of those whom he had taken under his protection, or perhaps for the better assurance of his own safety, he contented himself with dispatching messenger on messenger, to command his lieutenant, Peterkin Geislaer, to attend him directly.
Peterkin came at length, to his great relief, as being the person upon whom, on all pressing occasions, whether of war, politics, or commerce, Pavillon was most accustomed to repose confidence. He was a stout, squat figure, with a square face, and broad black eyebrows, that announced him to be opinionative and disputatious, – an advice-giving countenance, so to speak. He was endued with a buff jerkin, wore a broad belt and cutlass by his side, and carried a halberd in his hand.
"Peterkin, my dear lieutenant," said his commander, "this has been a glorious day – night, I should say – I trust thou art pleased for once?"
"I am well enough pleased that you are so," said the doughty lieutenant; "though I should not have thought of your celebrating the victory, if you call it one, up in this garret by yourself, when you are wanted in council."
"But am I wanted there?" said the Syndic.
"Ay, marry are you, to stand up for the rights of Liege, that are in more danger than ever," answered the Lieutenant.
Note 35
Fought by the insurgents of Liege against the Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, when Count of Charalois, in which the people of Liege were defeated with great slaughter.