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diff --git a/77868-0.txt b/77868-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..64c4e02 --- /dev/null +++ b/77868-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,386 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77868 *** +Transcribed from Weird Tales, October 1927 (Vol. 10, No. 4.). + + + + + Loup-Garou + + by Wallace West + +[Illustration: “He turned toward the wolf and stood staring, for a +monstrous change was taking place.”] + + + + +Gil Couteau sat in the warm sunlight of the courtyard industriously +polishing his long, straight sword. It was a good sword, he ruminated, +scraping industriously at the dark stain which insisted on sticking +in the crevices of the scrollwork hilt, but it was becoming thirsty +from lack of use. His superstitious eye seemed to detect some subtle +lessening of the keenness of the edge; some slight dullness in the +polish of the blade since he had used it almost daily against the +cursed Saracens in Palestine. + +With the sword across his knees he leaned back against the wall and +relaxed into sleepy comfort. It was good, he decided, to be done with +wars, and with slicing heads from infidels; it was good to be in Merrie +England, where nothing much had happened since his arrival; it was good +to have the stout walls of Castle Randall about him, and a real bed to +sleep on once more. + +With half-closed eyes he watched the golden flash of flies across the +sunlight and listened to the hum of wasps who had their nest somewhere +up the tower. Two grooms were asleep against the stable wall. Two +more were trying to work up interest in a desultory cockfight near +the portcullis. Ho hum! Life was good. His head nodded forward on his +breast. + +He was awakened by a ragged thunder of hoofs upon the lowered +drawbridge. He leaped to his feet, all his sleepy content shattered, +as a wild-eyed horse charged into the courtyard and plunged to a stop +before him, in a great lather of sweat. From its back slid a bleeding +bundle of a man whom he recognized as the serf Gomar. “Oh, sir,” +gabbled this one, in a mixture of Saxon and English which Gil still +found hard to understand, “oh, sir; Lady Constance! I must to Lord +Robert. Gray Henry, the Wolf, has stolen----” + +Without pausing to finish, the serf started into the castle at a +slouching, staggering run, and Couteau followed him, sword in hand. + +They found Sir Robert Fitzgerald, lord of the castle, in an alcove off +the main hall. He was dressed in a dust-colored robe, like the priest +of some occult order, and, surrounded by an array of test-tubes and +retorts, was poring over a huge volume as they rushed in. He leaped +to his feet, however, and strode forward with a step which belied his +sixty-five years. + +“Oh, sir,” cried the serf, throwing himself at the old man’s feet, +“your daughter, Lady Constance, has been stolen----” + +“By whom?” thundered Sir Robert, jerking him to his feet as though the +burly Saxon had been a feather. + +“By your foster-brother, Gray Henry,” sobbed the man. + +“Henry the Wolf,” whispered the old man, his face growing pale beneath +his long beard. “But that’s impossible,” he cried, shaking the serf +savagely. “She had three men-at-arms with her. Where are they?” + +“Dead! We were put upon in the forest,” came the answer. + +Sir Robert returned slowly to his seat behind the test-tubes. He seemed +older--grayer. “Call my son Brian,” he commanded at length. “This +matter will require fighting, methinks. Couteau, stay with me.” + +He busied himself arranging his apparatus as the others departed. +“You have heard of my foster-brother since you returned with us from +Palestine?” he finally inquired. + +“Merely his name, sir,” replied the other, “and that he holds Castle +Barnecan, up the river.” + +“There is more to it than that,” said Sir Robert. “Henry has an evil +reputation. He dabbles in sorcery as I do in alchemy. Perhaps he has +had more success than I. So ’tis said by the country-folk.” + +He paused, paced back and forth for some moments, then resumed: “You +have heard of the gray wolf of Barnecan?” + +“Aye, sir, I have even thought a little of a hunt to kill it, since +there is nothing else to do here, and the wolf’s deviltries are so +numerous.” + +“’Tis lucky you haven’t tried, Gil,” retorted the old man fiercely. “He +killed my uncle, you know, and people say--well I must out with it--the +people say that my cursed foster-brother is----” + +They were interrupted by a clatter of spurs on the flagstones. Young +Brian, heir and only son of Sir Robert, rushed in. + +“I have heard, Father,” he cried. “Constance has been stolen by that +fiend. Why do you stand there so quietly? Come! We must find her; we +must storm Castle Barnecan at once.” + +He looked very handsome as he stood in his hunting clothes, for he +was tall and blond and very, very young, or at least so it seemed to +Couteau, who had fought seven weary years in Palestine. + +“Sir Henry is too strong for us, boy,” reasoned his father. “We could +never capture the castle. We must try other measures. Let us ride at +once, and try to reason with him. I have known for years that he wished +to marry Constance so that he might have a claim on my lands at my +death, but I never thought he would try this scurvy trick. If parley +fails then we shall try other measures.” + + * * * * * + +Young Brian fumed and raged at this, but he was no fool, so that +afternoon the three of them, with fifty yeomen at their backs, rode +through the dense forests which separated the two fiefs. Toward sunset +they halted before the drawbridge of Castle Barnecan. In answer to a +trumpet-blast Sir Henry himself appeared at a turret, but made no offer +to lower the bridge. + +“We have come to demand Lady Constance of you,” shouted Brian. “I know +naught of her,” came the answer in a deep, resonant voice. “I would ask +you to enter, but the drawbridge is never lowered here after sunset; +and the sun is almost down.” He turned to face the sinking orb, which +was gilding him and the castle with a lurid glow. + +“Then you refuse to give us news of our lady?” shouted Brian. + +“I have said I know naught of her. Is not that enough, young sir? Let +you come again tomorrow. You may examine Castle Barnecan from turret +to dungeon. But tonight, I regret to say, dear nephew, that you can +not enter. Tomorrow I will send men into the forest to search for her, +since I greatly admire Constance, as you well know. But tonight we can +do nothing in the dark.” + +As he finished speaking the sun sank slowly out of sight. At the same +time Sir Henry turned and strode from the turret without a farewell, +leaving his visitors hesitating on the edge of the moat. + +Brian cursed and fumed as they rode back through the dark woods. His +horse, which felt the distress of his rider, plunged and fretted. + +At last Brian pulled to a halt. “Father,” he said firmly, “I am +remaining here tonight to watch the castle. God knows what Gray Henry +may try to do. I will keep Gomar with me, since he knows the country +roundabout. We will keep a watch together. Come,” he called to the +serf. Together they wheeled and disappeared into the dusk. + +The others rode in silence. The path under the trees grew darker at +each moment. Besides the shuffle of the horses over the fallen leaves +there was no sound except now and then the twitter of a sleeping bird, +or the far-off howling of a lonely wolf. + +“I like it not, Gil,” said the knight, drawing his horse close to that +of the Frenchman. “I would that I had not let him stay, but he is his +father’s son. Ah, I wish I were twenty years younger! Sir Henry would +not have bearded me thus. Aye!” he cried fiercely, “and he shall not, +even today. I’m not a dotard yet.” + +They were interrupted by the concerted baying of several wolves which +had closed in upon the cavalcade. “A pack of them--and in September, +too,” murmured the old man, noting the gleaming eyes back among the +trees. “Note how bold they are. Truly, this means a bleak winter, +unless--unless----” He grew silent. + +They rode on, the horses nervous and shivering as the quavering call of +the pack rose about them, the men-at-arms whispering among themselves; +the wolves following them at a judicious distance, until the gray +towers of Randall showed against the stars. + + * * * * * + +There was no sleep in the castle that night, but a hurried preparation +for battle. Sir Robert realized there was no use appealing to the king +in far-away London, and prepared to take the law into his own hands, +although he well knew that Castle Barnecan was better garrisoned than +his own stronghold. Weapons were overhauled, equipment inspected and +the fighting men given instructions. + +The castle had sunk into comparative quiet at sunrise, but was +immediately roused by a shouting at the drawbridge. Rushing to a turret +they saw Gomar, his clothes again in ribbons, clinging to his horse’s +neck to steady himself and doing his best to attract the attention of +the guards. + +The bridge was lowered and he stumbled over, a pitiful figure, his body +covered with long scratches and jagged rents; his horse a lather of +sweat and blood, almost spent. + +“Oh, sir,” he babbled, sinking down at the knight’s feet, “again I +bring bad news. Your son Brian is dead.” + +“How?” croaked Sir Robert. + +“By the wolves,” wailed the man, shuddering and covering his face with +his hands. “Hundreds of them. Gray devils! We had no chance, though we +killed scores. And the great gray wolf of Barnecan led them. Oh sir, +it is true Gray Henry is a werewolf, or a devil! The great wolf killed +Brian, dragged down his horse, and tore the lad’s throat out as I +watched. I fled--they followed--miles and miles. Oh God!” He collapsed +in a dead faint. + +There was a hush in the castle that day. All had loved Brian. Now they +waited for some action from Sir Robert. But he sat, old and gray, in +his alcove, slowly thumbing the pages of his books on alchemy and +staring at his impotent retorts. At last he roused himself and sent for +Couteau. + +“My friend,” he said gently, when the latter appeared. “I saved your +life once in Palestine. I have treated you as my foster-son since that +day. You swore eternal devotion to me then. You are the only hope I +have now, and I ask your aid.” + +“Sir,” replied Gil, “I will give my life gladly to help you. Also +you must know that I have loved Lady Constance since first we met. +Therefore I am doubly bound. Command me.” He stood, tall and dark, +before Sir Robert. + +“I would that we might storm that cursed castle,” continued the old +man, “but we are not strong enough to try, except as a last resort. +Besides, many whom I love would be killed. Therefore, let us use +strategy. Do you know aught of werewolves?” + +“A little,” replied Gil briefly. “They are called _loups-garoux_ in my +country.” + +“Then from what you have seen and heard, you must know that my +foster-brother seems to have discovered that devilish art of changing +himself into a wolf at will.” + +“I feared as much.” + +“Listen carefully, then. The nature of werewolves is such that they +are allied to the powers of darkness. Therefore they can never appear +in the light. One imbued with such powers, therefore, can, and at last +must, change into the wolfish form at sundown--but--and here is what I +wish you to remember, my son--he must change back into his normal shape +again at sunrise.” + +“So I have heard.” + +“One thing more. Gray Henry had the fingers of his right hand injured +years ago in the wars. This makes it hard for him to wield a sword, +though on account of his giant stature no man could stand against him +in his youth. + +“Think well over these things, my boy, and do as you think best, but +remember that the werewolf has killed my uncle and now my son, two of +the best swordsmen of the country.” + + * * * * * + +That afternoon Gil Couteau sat again in the courtyard with his sword +across his knees while the people of the castle stared wonderingly at +his set face and fixed expression. + +At sunset, when the shadows were creeping out of the forest and when +the howling of the wolves, with which the countryside seemed alive, +had set the teeth of every man in the castle chattering with vague but +awful horror, he strapped his long sword across his back, untied a +skiff at the riverside and rowed slowly away toward Barnecan. + +Dawn was faintly streaking the sky when he reached his destination. The +fortress rose steeply out of the river on one side, but the stones of +which it was built were so roughly laid that it was easy for him to tie +the boat securely. Feeling his way inch by inch, he crept up the steep +wall. There were ivy and a few window-slits to help him, but many times +he was forced to retrace part of his way, thinking each move would be +his last. + +His fingers were torn and bleeding; his limbs ached as though he had +been on a torture-rack, when at last he arrived at an embrasure for +which he had been making since he had seen a light gleaming dully there +as he approached the stronghold. + +Carefully he raised his eyes above the bottom of the slit and peered +within. What he saw there set his heart thumping, half with terror, +half anger. On a stool in one corner of a small bare room crouched +Lady Constance, her clothing torn and disheveled; her blond curls +bloodsmeared and tangled. + +At the other side of the room, before the door, crouched a gigantic +gray wolf. Couteau felt his scalp stir as he looked, for this was +something uncanny; something dreadful that chilled his French blood, +though he had heard of such horrors since his childhood. + +Occasionally the beast would rise and pace stealthily back and forth +before the door, walking with a slight limp of the right front leg, +he noticed, and at such times its head was fully five feet above the +floor. Then it would stop, and, sitting on its haunches, leer wickedly +at the crouching girl, but never approach her. + +Wondering at this, Gil looked at her again, and saw that she held +against her breast a needlelike dagger, ready to press it home, should +the beast come nearer. He felt his heart swell with pride in her, at +her brave spirit and fearless courage. + +It was quite light now, and daring to wait no longer, Gil loosened his +sword and squeezed himself through the embrasure as quickly as the +narrow space permitted. Quick as he was, the monster had heard him, +and was upon him instantly as he leaped to the floor. Then began a +struggle, the remembrance of which would sometimes, even years later, +wake Couteau from sleep, sweating with terror. + +It was like no fight he had ever had, nor was it like the wolf-hunts +and boar-stickings in which he had taken part. The _loup-garou_ fought +with human intelligence, dodging Gil’s swordthrusts with the speed of +light, and always, always, parrying for a leap at his throat, which, if +successful, would mean an instant end to the battle. + +Gil’s long sword was almost an impediment in that crowded space. He +longed for a dagger as he felt himself slowly but surely giving ground +before the plunges of the werewolf. Then, almost before he was aware, +the end came. He aimed a slashing stroke at the animal’s neck, just +where it joined the shoulders, but the other, with an almost impossible +contortion, jerked itself out of the way, and the already-battered +blade, striking the tiles of the floor, snapped short off. + +In the same breath the devil was on him, hurling him to the floor and +worrying at his arm, which he had flung up to protect his throat. The +slavering fangs were but a few inches away; he knew that his time was +short and that sunrise would come too late. + +At that moment he heard a wild scream. Lady Constance, who had been +crouched paralyzed with fear, in a corner, sprang forward, and picking +up the stool, brought it down upon the beast’s head with all her force. + +The animal howled with pain, and reeled away, allowing Gil to retain +his feet and--the first rays of the sun passed through the embrasure, +splashing the chamber-wall with pale gold--like a blessing--like an +aureole--Gil thought. + +He turned toward the wolf and stood staring, for a monstrous change +was taking place. The animal’s outline seemed to blur, just as when +strong sunlight strikes a translucent vase and changes its color +and structure. The thing’s fur disappeared, its snout shortened and +ran together, it staggered upright, and, as the Frenchman watched +spellbound, the blur again coalesced into the figure of Gray Henry, the +knight whom he had seen at the turret two days before. But a Gray Henry +naked and unarmed, still almost stunned by the blow and the agony of +his metamorphosis. + +Gil did not wait for him to recover but grappled again. This time the +fight was not unequal. Gray Henry, although strong and agile, was no +match for the younger man, who had spent much of his spare time in +Palestine wrestling, and who now gave thanks for some things he had +learned from Saracen prisoners. + +Shifting from grip to grip on the writhing body, he at last slipped +both his arms under his antagonist’s arms from behind, and, clasping +his hands behind the other’s head, exerted a steady, ever-growing +pressure. The werewolf fought valiantly, but could not break the hold. +At last he tried to shout for help, but Gil forced his head forward, +so that only a low moaning was heard. Another effort! There was a +loud crack, like the snapping of a dry stick, and his opponent rolled +loosely to the floor, his neck broken. + + * * * * * + +Of how Gil rescued Lady Constance and returned with her to Castle +Randall, there is little more to tell. They arrived safely, and that +ladies in distress are always gracious toward their protectors is well +known. + +Gil Couteau one day became master of Castle Randall, and a very worthy +knight in his own right, but his greatest feat, so he sometimes said, +was a certain battle with the devil. + + + + +Transcriber’s note: + + + This etext was transcribed from Weird Tales, October 1927 (Vol. 10, +No. 4.). + + Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but minor +inconsistencies have been retained as printed. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77868 *** |