The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [103]
“You blackguard!” Athos advanced toward him. “I’ll cut your ears off.”
At the same instant four men, armed to the teeth, entered by side doors and fell upon Athos.
“I’m trapped,” Athos yelled at the top of his lungs, “Run, D’Artagnan! Spur, Spur!” And he fired two pistols.
D’Artagnan and Planchet needed no further invitation. Unfastening their horses from the gatepost they leaped upon them, buried their spurs in their flanks, and set off at full gallop.
“Do you know how Athos fared?” D’Artagnan asked of Planchet as they raced on.
“Monsieur, I saw a man fall at each of his shots. As I glanced through the glass door, I caught sight of him using his sword to advantage.”
“Athos is a brave man. What a shame we must leave him behind. Ah, well! perhaps the same fate awaits us two steps hence! Forward Planchet, forward; you’re a plucky fellow!”
“I told Monsieur I was a Picard. We of Picardy come up to scratch! Besides, Monsieur, I am in my homeland, here, and that puts me on my mettle.”
Spurring on, master and lackey reached Saint-Omer without drawing bit. There they gave their horses a breather, holding their bridles under their arms for fear of some mishap, and had a bite of food, standing on the road. A few minutes later they started off again.
At a hundred paces from the gates of Calais D’Artagnan’s horse sank under him; the blood flowed from his nose and eyes and nothing could be done to get him up again. Planchet’s horse was still available but, having stopped at long last, now refused to budge. Congratulating themselves on being so close to the city, D’Artagnan and Planchet abandoned their mounts and ran toward the port. On the way Planchet drew his master’s attention to a gentleman and his lackey who were some fifty paces ahead. Catching up with the pair at the port, D’Artagnan noted that their boots were covered with dust. The gentleman was bustling about authoritatively, asking here and there whether he could find passage for England immediately.
“Nothing easier,” said the skipper of a vessel about to sail, “but we had orders this morning to allow no one to sail without express permission from Monsieur le Cardinal.”
“I have that permission,” the gentleman said, drawing a paper from his pocket, “here it is!”
“Monsieur must have it certified by the Governor of the Port,” said the skipper. “When that is done, please give me first choice. I’ve a fine vessel and a crack crew.”
“Where shall I find the Governor?”
“At his country house.”
“Where is that?”
“About three-quarters of a mile out of town. Look Monsieur, you can see it from here—over there, at the foot of that little hill—that slate roof . . .”
“Thank you,” said the gentleman and, with his lackey, he made for the Governor’s country house, D’Artagnan and Planchet following at an interval of five hundred paces. No sooner outside the city than D’Artagnan quickened his pace, overtaking the gentleman just as he was entering a little wood.
“Monsieur,” he said, “You appear to be in a vast hurry.”
“I could not be more pressed for time, Monsieur.”
“I am distressed to hear that, Monsieur, for I too am pressed for time and I was about to ask a favor of you.”
“What favor, pray?”
“To allow me to precede you.”
“Impossible! I have covered sixty leagues in forty-four hours and I must be in London tomorrow at noon.”
“I have covered the same distance in forty hours and I must be in London tomorrow at ten o’clock in the morning.”
“Truly, Monsieur, I am extremely sorry but I arrived here first and will not pass second.”
“Truly, Monsieur, I am quite as sorry, but I arrived here second and shall pass first.”
“Service du Roi, I am on His Majesty’s Service,” the gentleman declared.
“Service de Moi, I on my own service!” D’Artagnan countered.