"D'Angely!" I cried; "Felix, he has been at thesiege. Read it, my friend, my eyes swim, I cannot see the letters, they all run into one another."—"Your father was the bravest."—"Oh, Felix, Felix, do you understand? How can I tell them? How can I comfort them? And I must ride away in the morning and leave them to their grief! Read it to me slowly, dear friend, while I try to think."
After the lapse of many years, I close my eyes, and leaning back in my chair listen again to my comrade as with tremulous voice he reads the fatal letter.—"Monsieur, you once did me a priceless service. I have never forgotten—shall never forget. Believe me, monsieur, it is with poignant grief I write this brief note. I have been with Monseigneur at St. Jean d'Angely throughout the siege. Your father was the bravest man among our enemies. His wonderful skill and courage have gained the admiration of friend and foe alike. The king spoke of his bravery with the highest praise: Monseigneur has declared openly that the Sieur Le Blanc alone stood between him and the capture of the town. He has indeed proved himself one of the finest soldiers in France; but, alas! monsieur, the Sieur Le Blanc is no more. He fell not an hour ago at the head of his men, in a brilliant sortie. Remembering your kindness to me, my heart bleeds for you. I write this with the deepest sorrow, but it may be less painful for you to learn of your loss in this way than to be tortured by a rumour, the truth of which you cannot prove. Accept my heartfelt sympathy."
"My father is dead, Felix," I said in a dazed manner.
"He fought a good fight," replied my comrade. "His memory will live in the hearts of our people."
This might be true, but the knowledge did little to soften my grief. And I was thinking not of my father alone—after all he had died a hero's death—but of my mother and sister. How could I tell them this mournful news? How could I comfort them?
"Felix," I said, "we are going away to-morrow."
"You must stay here," he said firmly, "at least for a few days. I will inform our patron; he is not likely to leave Saintes for a week. Shall I come home with you, or do you prefer to be alone?"
"I will go alone, Felix; it will be better for them. I will join you at Saintes. Good-bye, dear friend."
"Tell your mother and sister how deeply I sympathize with them," he said. "I would come with you, but, as you say, perhaps it is better not."
"I think they will prefer to be alone," I answered, grasping his hand in farewell.
I went out into the deserted street, walking unsteadily, and hardly conscious of anything beyond my one absorbing sorrow. I reached the house at last, and in answer to my summons a servant opened the door. No, the ladies had not retired; they were still downstairs.
Perhaps my face betrayed the miserable truth; perhaps some chord of sympathy passed from me to them—I know not. They jumped up and came forward with a sudden fear in their eyes. I had already bidden them farewell, and they did not expect to see me again, until I rode from the city in the morning.
My mother gazed at me earnestly, but said nothing;Jeanne cried impulsively, "What is it, Edmond? There is bad news! Oh, Edmond, is it about our father?"
"You must be brave," I said gently, taking a hand of each, "very brave. Yes, I have received bad news from St. Jean d'Angely. There has been a fierce fight; our father headed a sortie, and has been seriously hurt. He was the bravest man there, every one says so from the king downwards. Even his enemies praise him."
"Edmond," said my mother quietly, "we are strong enough to bear the truth—is your father dead?"
Words were not needed to answer that question; the answer was plain in my face, and those two dear ones understood. Oh, it was pitiful to see their white faces, and the misery in their eyes! And yet I could feel a pride, too, in their wonderful bravery. They wept silently in each; other's arms, and presently my mother said softly, "It is God's will; let us pray to Him for strength to bear our loss."
I stayed with them for four days, being I believe of some comfort in that sorrowful time, and then my mother herself suggested that I should return to my duty.
"You belong to the Cause, my son," she said, "and not to us. It is a heavy trial to let you go, but your father would have wished it. Perhaps the good God, in His mercy, may guard you through all dangers, and we may meet again. But, if not, we are in' His hands. Tell Felix we thank him for his kind message."
"Roger, too, will grieve for our loss," I said. "He admired my father greatly."
The Englishmen had accompanied the Admiral, so that Roger had left Rochelle when the news arrived.
Early on the morning fixed for my departure I wished my mother and sister good-bye, and returned to the hotel. Coligny was still at Saintes, and I waited for a letter that the commandant had requested me to deliver to him. I had gone into the courtyard to see about my horse when a man, riding in, exclaimed, "Oh, I am in time, monsieur; I feared you had gone."
"Jacques!" I cried with delight, "surely you have taken a long while to travel from Montcontour to Rochelle! And yet you have a good beast!"
"As good an animal as ever carried saddle!" said Jacques, eyeing his horse complacently; "but then I have not owned it long."
"Have you been to the house?"
"Yes, monsieur," and his face became grave, "it was madame who told me where to find you. She said you were about to rejoin the army."
He did not speak of my loss, though it was plain he had heard the news, and indeed several days passed before the subject was mentioned between us. Jacques had been brought up in my father's service, and he was unwilling to talk about the death of his loved master.
"Yes, I am going to join the Admiral," I said; "but have you not had enough of adventures? Would you not rather stay at Rochelle?"
"While monsieur is wandering about the country?" he asked. "Ah," as a servant came from the building, "here is a summons for monsieur!"
The commandant had finished his letter, and havingreceived his instructions I returned to the courtyard, mounted my horse, and, followed by Jacques, started on my journey. I was very glad of his company, since it took me out of myself, and gave me less opportunity for brooding.
"Did Monsieur Bellièvre and the Englishman escape from Montcontour?" he asked, as we reached the open country.
"Yes, we shall meet them both at Saintes; but about yourself—I was afraid you were killed."
"So was I," he laughed. "Monsieur, it was a terrible day, and a still more terrible night. Our poor fellows received little mercy. Monseigneur's troopers gave no quarter. I got a nasty cut, and hid in a hollow till all was quiet; then I crawled out, took my choice of several riderless horses, and rode into the darkness. I thought I might find the army somewhere, but there was no army to be found."
"No," I said rather bitterly, "the army was running to all the points of the compass."
"That's just what I was doing, monsieur. What with the darkness, and the pain of my wound, and the fear of falling into the hands of Monseigneur's troops, I lost my head entirely, and wandered about in a circle. When morning came I was hardly a mile from Montcontour. Then some peasants seized me, and for once in my life I was glad to count a robber among my friends."
"How so?"
"One of the fellows was Jules Bredin, from our own village. He recognized me, and as he possessed some authority I came to no harm. Indeed, they took meto their camp in the woods, and attended to me until I had quite recovered. I owe Jules a debt of gratitude."
"On which side do these fellows fight?"
"I asked Jules that question myself, and he laughed in my face. 'My dear Jacques,' said the rascal, 'we fight for ourselves, and we get our victims from both parties. They won't let us work, so we must earn our living as best we can.' And they seemed to be flourishing, monsieur. They had no lack of wine and provisions. Jules never feasted so well in his life before. But, monsieur, what is the Admiral doing at Saintes?"
"That I do not know, Jacques, but doubtless we shall soon discover."
Our journey passed without incident, and having delivered the despatch I sought my comrades. Roger had by this time been made acquainted with my loss, and both he and Felix showed me the greatest kindness. It was pleasant to feel that one possessed such trusty friends.
"You have arrived just in time," said Felix, "for we march in the morning."
"March?" I asked in surprise, "where?"
"Somewhere to the south, I believe; but the Admiral keeps his plans close. But you may be sure he isn't going to offer Anjou battle. We scarcely number three thousand, counting the handful of infantry."
"Not a large number with which to conquer a kingdom!" laughed Roger.
"We shall get more," said Felix, who had recovered his spirits, and was as sanguine as ever. "Coligny's name alone will attract men to the standard. Why, surelythat must be Jacques!" as my servant approached. "Jacques, you rascal, I thought you had deserted us at Montcontour!"
"I think it was the other way about, monsieur," replied Jacques slily. "I stayed at Montcontour."
"Ah, a good thrust!" cried my comrade merrily, "a good thrust! But whichever way it is I am glad to see you again, Jacques. We are sadly in need of strong arms and stout hearts."
"Well, monsieur, I have been round the camp, and certainly I think the Admiral is quite equal to commanding a larger army."
"You should not regard mere numbers, Jacques; it is the quality that tells. Three thousand picked men are worth ten thousand ordinary troops. And then our chief is as good as an army in himself!"
To those who had fought at Roche Abeille, our camp presented a somewhat sorry spectacle. As Felix had said, we numbered barely three thousand men, and one missed a host of familiar faces. I thought with pity of the noble St. Cyr, and many others of our best and bravest who had already laid down their lives for the Cause.
We retired to rest early, and soon after daybreak were roused by the bugles. Tents were struck, prayers said, and about nine o'clock we moved off the ground in the direction of the Dordogne.
It would be tedious to relate in detail the incidents of that southern journey. The weather was bitterly cold and rainy, much sickness set in, and we suffered numerous hardships. Still we pushed steadily forward, throughGuienne, Ronergue, and Quercy, passed the Lot below Cadence, and halted at Montauban. Here we were cheered by the arrival of Montgomery, with two thousand Bearnese, a welcome addition to our scanty force.
Smaller bodies of troops had already joined us, and after leaving Montauban we picked up several more. Felix, of course, was in excellent spirits, and talked as if we had the whole kingdom at our feet.
"But where are we going?" I asked in bewilderment, "and what are we going to do?"
"I do not know, my dear Edmond," he replied gaily. "It is enough for me that Coligny leads. I warrant he has some brilliant scheme in his head."
From Montauban we marched up the Garonne to Toulouse, and finally found ourselves at Narbonne, where we went into winter quarters. Roger was, of course, with his own troop, but Felix and I were billeted in the same house, much to our satisfaction.
After our long and painful march, the comfort which we met with at Narbonne was exceedingly welcome, and week after week glided rapidly away. Toward the end of the winter several hundred men came in from the surrounding districts, and our army began to present quite a respectable appearance.
Many conjectures were made as to our leader's intentions, but he kept his own counsel, and even we of his household had no inkling of the gigantic scheme forming in his mind. Some said he meant to establish a separate kingdom in the south, to which those of the Religion in all parts of the country would flock; but this idea was scouted by those who knew his intense love of France.Besides, as Felix remarked, we should have to abandon La Rochelle, and such a proceeding as that was incredible.
"Into harness again, Edmond," exclaimed my comrade excitedly, one morning, coming from his attendance on the Admiral. "Boot and saddle, and the tented field once more. We leave Narbonne in a week; aren't you glad?"
"Upon my word I am not sorry. Where do we go? Is the mystery solved?"
"No," he said, laughing good-humouredly, "the chief still keeps his secret. But when it does leak out I fancy there will be a surprise for us."
The news soon spread, and the town was filled with bustle and animation. Every one was busy with his preparations, and from morning till night the streets were crowded with men and horses, and with wagons for carrying the provisions and stores. Our days of idleness were over; we had no rest now. Felix and I were ever hurrying from place to place, carrying orders and instructions to the different leaders.
At last the day came when with cheerful confidence we marched out from the town that had been our winter home. The sick had recovered their health, every one was strong and vigorous, the horses were in capital condition, and we all looked forward to a successful campaign, though without the slightest idea where it would take place.
I had thought it most probable that we should retrace our steps to Toulouse, but instead we speedily struck eastward. What did our leader intend doing? wasthe question asked by every one that night, and which no one could answer. A few of the troops showed some concern, but the majority shared my comrade's opinion.
"What does it matter where we go," said he, "as long as Coligny leads us? It is for him to form the plan, and for us to carry it out."
"We are going farther away from Rochelle," I remarked.
"Rochelle can look after itself, Edmond. It would help the Cause considerably if Anjou would besiege the city; but he won't. As to this march, the Admiral will explain his intentions when he thinks well."
It was at Nismes that Coligny first revealed his purpose, and it came on most of us as a thunder-clap. Instead of returning to the scenes of our former struggles, we were to cross the Rhone, march through Dauphigny, and threaten Paris from the east. The proposal was so bold and audacious that it fairly took away our breath, and we gazed at each other in astonishment. But the hot-headed ones, and Felix among them, cheered the speech with all the vigour of their lungs, more than making up for the silence of the rest.
"Soldiers," said the Admiral, "there are my plans, but I do not force you to obey me. Those whose courage fails must stop behind and return to their homes, but I will march though not more than five hundred should follow my banner. Think well before you agree. The journey is long, perilous, and full of hardship. We shall find few friends and many enemies; our provisions may fail, and Monseigneur will certainly send a strongarmy to bar our passage. It is an undertaking for only the bravest; the weak-kneed will but hinder."
"We will follow you to the death, my lord," cried Felix impetuously, and thousands of voices took up the bold cry.
"I will ask you to-morrow," said our chief; "for when once we have started I must have no faltering, nor turning back."
That same evening Felix and I went over to the Englishmen's camp. I had expected to find some traces of excitement, and to hear them discussing whether they should embark on the hazardous venture. Instead of that they were lounging about as carelessly as if we had Drought the war to a successful conclusion.
Roger came towards us smiling. "Well," said he, "your general has sprung a surprise on us!"
"Will your comrades go with us?" I asked. "Have they talked the matter over yet?"
"What is there to talk over? We are here to help, not to say what you shall do. Of course we shall go. One part of France is the same to us as another; but I fancy some of your own troops will elect to remain behind."
"'Tis quite possible," I replied. "The venture is a daring one."
"The majority will march," declared Felix with enthusiasm; "a few of the southerners may prefer to guard their own districts, but that is all. I knew Coligny had some gigantic scheme in his head, but never dreamed of this. It is glorious; it will be the talk of Europe."
"If it succeed," said Roger drily, "it will matter little whether Europe talks or not; but in any case Coligny is staking everything on one throw. If we get beaten, he cannot expect to raise another army."
"Do not let us think of defeat," I said, "and we shall stand a better chance of winning a victory. There is no sense in gazing at the black clouds when we can as easily look at the bright sunshine."
As Roger had prophesied, not all the Huguenot soldiers were prepared to follow their intrepid leader; but on that memorable April morning of 1570 we swung out from Nismes some five thousand strong, all horsemen, for Coligny had mounted the three thousand arquebusiers who formed the major part of our force.
The journey from Saintes to Narbonne had been tedious, and, because of the bitter winter cold, full of hardship, but we had not met with opposition. Now we were launched straight into the midst of a hostile district filled with the king's troops, and few days passed without some skirmish, in which, though petty enough, we could ill afford to engage.
It seems little to put down on paper—how we rode hour after hour, often with insufficient food; how we watched at night, sometimes springing to arms at a false alarm, and more than once having to fight desperately to beat off a surprise attack; but it was a stiff business for those who went through with it.
We were, however, in good spirits, and pushed onsteadily day after day, picking up a few recruits here and there to strengthen our army. The men were sturdy, resolute fellows, full of zeal for the Cause, and ready to lay down their lives for the Admiral, to whom they were devoted.
How wholly dependent we were upon him, in spite of the presence of Prince Henry and young Condé, became plain when he was taken ill at St. Etienne. The march was stopped abruptly, and for three weeks we waited in fear and doubt, asking ourselves anxiously what would happen if he died.
Even the sanguine Felix admitted that without him the enterprise would result in failure, but fortunately the Admiral recovered, and we resumed our march.
The halt which we were forced to make at St. Etienne had done us considerable service. Horses and men alike were broken down by fatigue, loss of sleep, and scanty rations, and the long rest had restored their strength. Shortly before leaving, too, a body of cavalry, fifteen hundred strong, had ridden into camp amidst the acclamations of the assembled troops.
"Now," said Felix joyously, "Monseigneur can meet us as soon as he likes."
After leaving St. Etienne we soon discovered that the worst part of the journey was still before us. Our way lay over rugged crests, and along the edge of steep precipices overhanging gloomy chasms. Nothing save a few chestnut trees, whose fruit was not yet ripe, grew on that bare, stony ground, while the only animals were small, stunted sheep, and mountain goats.
Here and there we passed a tiny hamlet, but for the most part we marched through a wild and desolate solitude, through steep and gloomy gorges with rapid torrents thundering at the bottom. In the upper passes the snow lay deep, and more than once as we stumbled along a piercing shriek told us that some unfortunate animal, missing its footing, had hurled its wretched rider into eternity.
At length, to the loudly expressed joy of every man in the army, we left the gloomy wilderness behind, and emerged into a rich and smiling valley. The animals neighed with delight on seeing the fresh sweet grass, and we who had shivered with the bitter cold in the mountain passes rejoiced at the glorious warmth of the sun.
But now we had to proceed with far greater caution, since at any moment a royalist army might swoop down upon us. Sharp-sighted scouts rode ahead and on our flanks, while messengers frequently arrived bringing information for our general. According to these accounts Monseigneur was still in the west, but Marshal Cossé had been despatched with a strong army to oppose us.
We had halted for the night some ten miles or so from Arnay-le-Duc, and I was gossiping with Roger Braund and several of the Englishmen—their numbers by this time, alas! had thinned considerably—when Felix came up hastily, his eyes shining with keen excitement.
"Any fresh news?" asked Roger.
"Nothing certain," my comrade answered, "butCossé is reported to be at or near Arnay-le-Duc. Edmond are you for a ride?"
"With all my heart," said I, "but where?"
"To find out what we can about Cossé. I have the Admiral's instructions. I told Jacques to saddle your horse; but you must hurry."
"Good-night, Roger; good-night, gentlemen," I said, laughing; "you can sleep soundly, knowing that we are awake."
"Take care!" laughed Roger good-humouredly, "and don't let that madcap get you into mischief. I shouldn't be surprised if he tries to get his information from Cossé himself."
"I would," declared Felix merrily, "if he gave me half a chance; but we must really go; the Admiral"—and he drew himself up with an air of assumed importance—"depends upon us."
"Good-bye," laughed Roger, "you won't be a prisoner long; we will capture the marshal and exchange him for you!"
"Monseigneur would make a poor bargain if he agreed to that!" said my comrade, as we went off light-heartedly.
"Shall we take Jacques?" I asked, as we hurried along.
"He has settled that question for himself," returned Felix in high glee; "he is saddling his own animal as well as ours."
"What does the Admiral wish to learn?"
"The enemy's numbers. The reports are conflicting and range from five thousand to thirty,but we will discover the truth for ourselves before the morning."
"At any rate we will do our best. There is Jacques; he has lost little time; the horses are ready. My pistols, Jacques!"
"They are in the holsters, monsieur, and loaded."
"Into the saddle then! Have you the password, Felix?"
"Yes; 'tisRoche Abeille."
"A good choice! 'Tis an omen of success. Have you any idea of the proper direction?"
"I can find the way easily to Arnay-le-Duc; I have had a long talk with one of the couriers."
Having passed our last outpost, where we stayed to chat for a moment with the officer in command, we proceeded at a brisk pace, my comrade feeling assured that we should not meet an enemy during the first six miles. After that distance we went more slowly and with greater caution, for if the marshal was really at Arnay-le-Duc, his patrols were probably scouring the neighbourhood.
About four miles from the town we entered the street of a straggling village. It was a half after ten; the lights in the cottages were out; the villagers had retired to bed.
"Shall we do any good by knocking up the landlord of the inn?" I asked.
"What say you, Jacques?"
"We shall probably learn the village gossip, and if the marshal is anywhere near Arnay-le-Duc it will be known here."
"True," said my comrade; "let us lead the animals into the yard. Edmond, hammer at the door!"
The landlord was in bed, but he came down quickly, and, having shown us into his best room, proceeded to draw the wine which Felix ordered.
"You are in bed early," I remarked on his return. "Have you no guests in the house?"
"None, monsieur."
"We expected to meet with some of the king's troops here: have they passed through already?"
"There have been no soldiers in the village, monsieur."
"But surely they are close at hand!"
"If monsieur means Marshal Cossé's army, it is ten miles off. At least Philippe said so when he came home this evening."
"Who is Philippe?"
"He lives in the village, monsieur; he could guide you to the soldiers. Shall I fetch him?"
"Yes," I replied, "and waste no time. Jacques," and I glanced at my servant meaningly, "you might go with the worthy host."
They returned in less than half an hour, bringing with them a short, thin man, spare in build, but tough and wiry. His eyes were sharp and bright, and his face was shrewd and full of intelligence.
"Are you a good Catholic, Philippe?" I asked.
His glance passed from me to Felix and back again so swiftly that he might never have taken his gaze from my face. Then he said with the most natural hesitation in the world, and as if fully expecting to suffer for hisconfession, "I hope monsieur will not be offended, but I belong to the Religion."
"Faith, Philippe," I said, "I guessed you were shrewd; you are the very fellow for our purpose. Since you belong to the Religion"—the rascal's lips twitched ever so slightly—"you will have no scruple in helping us. We are of the Religion, too."
"Is it possible, monsieur?" he said, with a start of well-feigned surprise.
"Now listen to me," I continued; "you know where the marshal's army is. Don't contradict; it will be useless."
"I am attending, monsieur."
"We want to see this army, but we do not wish to introduce ourselves to the soldiers. Now a sharp guide, thoroughly acquainted with the district, can easily lead us to a place from which we can learn all we want to know. Is not that a good scheme?"
"It has one serious drawback, monsieur."
"Speak on; we are listening."
"If the guide should be caught by the king's troops, he would be hanged."
"That is awkward, certainly. On the other hand, if he refuses to go he will die by the sword. You are a sensible man, Philippe, and will see the force of my remarks. Now, which is it to be? Will you earn a few crowns by taking the risk, or will you lose your life at once?"
"Truly, monsieur," said he, after a pause, "you place me in an unpleasant position; but since there is no way out of it, I will do as you wish."
"A sensible answer, and there is but one thing more to add. If you are thinking to play us false, we count three swords and six loaded pistols, and you cannot reasonably expect to escape them all."
"Monsieur's kindness in pointing out these things is truly touching!" exclaimed the rascal with a broad grin.
"My friend is noted for such kindness!" laughed Felix. "And now let us get into the saddle. Is there a spare horse in the stables, landlord?"
"Yes, monsieur," replied our host, whose limbs were shaking through fright.
"Then we shall use it for Philippe. Don't be afraid; we will pay you for the hire."
"Monsieur is very good."
"And a word in your ear, landlord. On our return, do not let us find that your tongue has been wagging!"
We rode out from the inn yard, Jacques and Philippe in front, Felix and I following.
"He is a clever rascal," remarked Felix in a low voice; "he is no Huguenot."
"If he is," I replied laughing quietly, "'twas a quick conversion. He was certainly a good Catholic until he had taken note of our dress. But the fellow will guide us aright, for his own sake. He is quick enough to calculate the chances."
Occasionally one or other of us cantered forward and rode a short distance by his side, while Jacques watched him constantly with the eyes of a hawk. But the fellow who was keen enough to understand that treachery would result in his own death, whatever else happened,led us very carefully across country and right away from the beaten tracks until about three o'clock in the morning, when he came to a halt on the top of a wooded hill.
"Very softly!" he whispered, "we are in the rear of the army, but there may be some sentries at hand. When day breaks we shall see the camp almost at our feet."
I bade Jacques lead the animals deeper into the wood, lest they should attract attention; then Felix and I lay down with the guide between us.
"So far, Philippe, you have served us well," whispered my comrade. "You will pocket those crowns yet!"
"Hush, monsieur; a single sound may cost us our lives."
This was true, so we lay silent, watching for the breaking of dawn. Little by little the night haze cleared away; the light broke through the clouds; the sun rose, lighting up first the distant hills, and presently revealing the secret of the plain beneath. The bugles sounded; men came from their tents, rubbing their eyes still burdened with sleep, and before long all the camp was astir.
"Guns!" said Felix; "how many do you make, Edmond?"
"Six," I replied, after a careful survey.
"I can count six, too," he said. "According to our spies the marshal had no guns."
I nudged our guide, saying, "What is the number of the troops down there?"
"Fifteen thousand infantry, and six thousand horsemen, monsieur," he answered promptly.
"It may be so," I said, "but we shall be better able to judge when they are ready to march."
"For two hours we lay flat on the ground, with our eyes fixed on the camp."
For two hours we lay flat on the ground, with our eyes fixed on the camp, never changing our position, and speaking hardly a word. We watched the cavalry feed and groom the animals, and saw the troops sit down to breakfast. Then a body of horsemen, about fifty or sixty in number, rode out from the camp in the direction of Arnay-le-Duc.
After a while the troops fell in, and a number of richly-dressed officers rode along the lines, as if to inspect them.
"Jacques," I said softly, for all this time he had remained with the animals, "if you can leave the horses, come here."
In two or three minutes he had crept close up to us, and was looking steadily at the camp.
"How many, Jacques?" I asked, for he was an old campaigner, with far more experience than either Felix or I possessed.
"'Tis a nice little army," he said after a time, "but"—with a sidelong glance at Philippe—"no match for ours. Why, the Marshal has hardly more than four thousand horsemen, with thirteen thousand infantry at the outside."
"My own estimate!" exclaimed Felix; "what do you say, Edmond?"
"One can easily make a mistake at this work," Ianswered, "but I should think your guess is not far from the truth."
"Then we need stay no longer. Come," to the guide, "lead us back safely, and the crowns are yours."
Stealing very quietly and cautiously into the wood, we took our horses by the bridle, and led them—Jacques going in front and closely followed by our guide—along a narrow path, away from the camp. At the end of the wood we mounted, and, riding in twos, set out briskly on the return journey.
Thanks to Philippe, we reached the inn without mishap, paid the landlord, who was evidently surprised at seeing us again, for the loan of his horse, and handed our guide his promised reward.
"Put the crowns in your purse, my man," said Felix, "and for your own sake I should advise you not to open your lips. Marshal Cossé may not be too pleased with your night's work."
We cantered off at a sharp pace, eager to acquaint the Admiral with our success, and had covered a little more than half the distance, when, on turning a bend in the road, we perceived about a dozen horsemen galloping full tilt towards us.
"King's men!" cried Jacques quickly. "A patrol from the camp on their way back."
"We must ride through them!" exclaimed Felix. "'Tis our only chance. All three abreast, Jacques. Ready?"
There being no other way out of the business, except that of standing still to be captured, we drew our swordsand, crying "For the Admiral!" dashed boldly at them. They were riding in no sort of order, but straggled along loosely, each intent, it seemed to me, on getting first. They were clearly surprised at encountering us, and, beyond a few hasty sword-strokes in passing,—and these did no damage—made no effort to oppose our passage.
Several yards behind the main body two men were stumbling along on wounded horses. They themselves were hurt also, and both promptly surrendered at our challenge.
"Faith!" cried Felix, "this is a queer proceeding. Ah, there is the reason," as a strong patrol of our own men came thundering along. The leader pointed ahead with his sword, as if asking a question, and Felix exclaimed quickly, "They are in front; their horses are getting blown."
We drew aside to give them room, as they galloped past in a cloud of dust, and then my comrade, turning to Jacques, said, "Can you manage the prisoners, Jacques? We must hurry on."
My servant produced a loaded pistol. "I am well provided, monsieur," he answered. "I think these gentlemen will not give trouble."
"Very good. Take your time; I expect our troops are on the march. Forward, Edmond," and, setting spurs to our horses, we galloped off.
All danger was over now, and before long we caught sight of the advanced-guard of our army.
"Can you tell us where to find the general?" asked Felix of an officer, as we pulled up.
"He is with the centre, monsieur. Have you seen the enemy?"
"Yes," I answered, riding on, "and there will be some stirring work soon!"
Coligny was riding with a group of his principal officers when we drew up, and he greeted us with a kindly smile.
"Here are our knights-errant," said he, "let us hear what they have to say. Have you seen the enemy, Bellièvre?"
"Yes, my lord; their camp is a few miles beyond Arnay-le-Duc. They were preparing to march when we left, though they seemed to be in no particular hurry. The officers were holding some sort of inspection."
"Did you get close to them?"
"We had a clear view of the whole camp from the top of a wooded hill in the rear."
"And you have formed some idea of their numbers?"
"There were three of us, my lord, and we were all fairly well agreed. The marshal has six guns, between four and five thousand cavalry, and about thirteen thousand infantry."
"Do you agree with that statement, Le Blanc?"
"The numbers are a little over my calculation, my lord; but not much."
"In any case, you think the figures are high enough?"
"That is absolutely certain," I replied.
"Good! We owe you both our best thanks."
They were simple words, simply spoken, but they went straight to our hearts, amply repaying us for the risks attendant on our night's adventure.
Marching slowly, and halting two or three times during the day, as the general wished to husband his men's strength, we arrived early in the evening at a little stream near Arnay-le-Duc, and beheld, on the other side, two or three thousand of the royalist cavalry. There were no guns in sight, and the infantry had been drawn up at some distance in the background.
The troops took their supper—a very meagre one, too; our provisions being at a low ebb—sentries were posted, and Coligny made all arrangements for battle, in case the enemy should attack before morning.
"There is Roger coming towards us!" I exclaimed, as we lay wrapped in our cloaks on the ground.
"He has come to discover if we are still alive!" said my comrade.
"You are wrong," laughed the Englishman, dropping down beside us; "Jacques told me he had kept you from coming to grief. I congratulate you on having such a servant. But, seriously, I am glad to see you back; the errand was rather venturesome for such young persons," and he laughed again in his rich, musical voice.
"Go away," said Felix, "before I am tempted to chastise you. It would be a pity to lose your services for to-morrow!"
"It would," agreed our friend. "By the look ofthings, Coligny will need all the swords he can muster. Did you find out anything about the enemy's strength?"
We gave him the figures, and he remarked: "The odds are heavy enough in all conscience, seeing that we count barely six thousand men. Still, they are picked troops."
"And they have their backs against the wall," I observed. "There was a chance of escape at Montcontour, but there is none here. If we are defeated we shall be cut to pieces."
"You are entertaining, you two!" interposed Felix. "Can we not have a change? Let me arrange the programme. First, we rout Cossé—an easy matter; second, we continue our march to Paris, defeating Monseigneur on the way; third, we dictate terms of peace at the Louvre."
"And fourth," laughed Roger, "we appoint Monsieur Felix Bellièvre Marshal of France, and advance him to the highest dignity!"
"The suggestion does you credit," replied my comrade, good-humouredly; "and we will make a beginning in the morning by beating Cossé."
Knowing that we had lost our sleep the previous night, Roger did not stay long, and as soon as our attendance on the Admiral was over we went to bed, or rather lay down inside the tent, muffled in our cloaks.
The morning of June 27, 1570, opened bright and clear, and we looked forward with hope, if not exactly with confidence, to the approaching battle. The enemy were nearly three to one, but, as Roger had said, our men were all picked troops, hardy, resolute fellows, filledwith intense zeal, and fighting for what they believed to be right.
They greeted Coligny with deafening cheers, when, after breakfast, and our simple morning service, he rode along the lines, accompanied by Henry of Bearn and the young Condé. These gallant youths each commanded a regiment, and their flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes told how ardently they burned to distinguish themselves.
"There are the enemy, my lads," said Coligny, in his grave, measured tones, "and we must beat them. It is our last chance. If we fail, the Cause is lost, and we shall find no mercy. If we run away, we shall be cut down, for there is no place of shelter. We must win the battle, or die on the field."
"We will!" they cried, and there was a ring in their voices that spoke of an iron determination to succeed.
"And we," said young Henry of Bearn, "will die with you. Not one of your leaders will leave the field except as a victor. It is victory or death for all of us."
At these brave words the cheering broke out afresh, and my comrade, turning to me, exclaimed, "The battle is won already! Those fellows will never retreat."
They were, indeed, in fine fettle, but it was setting them a desperate task to oppose nearly three times their number!
The marshal began the attack with a cavalry charge, but, as the horsemen galloped forward, a body of arquebusiers posted in a ditch discharged such a stinging fire that our opponents wheeled round and rode hurriedly back to shelter.
"Well done!" cried Felix; "we have drawn first blood."
They tried again with the same result, and then a strong body of infantry was pushed forward. But the arquebusiers clung firmly to their post, and presently young Condé, sweeping round unexpectedly at the head of his regiment, charged and broke the hostile infantry. It was a daring charge, and we waved our swords and cheered, as the victorious horsemen rode proudly back.
The marshal, however, was not to be denied. Again and again he launched his horsemen at us, while his foot-soldiers crept steadily nearer. All along our front the battle raged fiercely, and at every point our gallant fellows were fighting against overwhelming numbers.
"Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm!" cried our general, as he galloped over the field, bringing the magic of his presence to whatever part was in most danger.
It was in one of these wild rushes the incident occurred that laid the foundation of my fortunes, though the building took many years to complete. I tell it here, not out of pride or vainglory—though I was proud, too—but because it is necessary to the better understanding of my story.
We had just left the handful of Englishmen, who had bravely repulsed a stubborn attack of cavalry and infantry on their position, when a cry arose of "Prince Henry! Help for the prince!"
A cry of despair broke from us as we realized his peril. How it came about I never clearly learned, for in the heat of battle one rarely sees more than the things closeat hand. Some said one thing, some another, but this I reckon was the most likely way of it.
His regiment was rather exposed, and on the left flank stretched some rolling ground, unsuitable for cavalry but affording good cover for foot-soldiers. Across these hollows Cossé had sent a large body of infantry, while at the same time the prince's regiment was assailed by an overwhelming force of cavalry. An order to retire was given—though none knew by whom—and in consequence, Henry, with a handful of men, was left surrounded by a sea of foes.
Coligny glanced quickly round the field; the royalists were pressing us at every point; not a man could be spared from his post.
"We must save him ourselves, gentlemen!" he exclaimed tersely, "forward!"
We counted barely two score swords, but the prince was in peril, and though the enterprise cost all our lives he must be rescued. Our comrades battling desperately at their posts cheered us as we flew by, crying, "Coligny! Coligny!" Straight as a die we rode, our chief slightly in advance, the rest of us in threes, horse's head to horse's head, the animals straining and quivering in every muscle as we urged them madly forward.
Too late! was the thought in every heart, as we beheld the prince fighting for dear life, and hemmed in by a host of enemies. "Coligny! Coligny!" we cried, and in blind fury charged the dense mass.
Now it chanced by pure accident, for I had no other thought than to follow my patron closely, that the charge brought me close to the bridle-hand of the prince.Henry of Bearn, though a fine sworder, was even a better horseman, and it was to his skill as a rider, much more than to his dexterity with the sword, that he owed his life.
But now he was so closely beset that he was compelled to depend upon the play of his sword, and his strength was failing. They struck fiercely at him in front and on both sides; there was a continuous circle of flashing steel; it was marvellous how death missed him. Pressed hard by a trooper on the right he turned to parry his blows more effectively, when a second trooper slashed at his bridle-arm.
There was no time for warning; no time even for thought. With a cry of "Coligny!" I dashed forward, and, throwing myself half out of the saddle, caught the descending sword. Before the trooper could recover himself I had pierced him through the side, and he fell with a groan across his horse's neck.
I did not think that Henry had noticed the incident, but without turning his head he cried pleasantly, "My thanks, monsieur; I owe my life to you."
"Have no fear for this side, my lord," I answered, and the next instant was fiercely engaged with two of the king's troopers.
But now the cry of "Coligny!" grew louder; the press was broken here and there; the Admiral himself appeared; some of his gentlemen fought their way to our side, and with one desperate effort we thrust back the hostile horsemen. "Coligny! Coligny! Bearn! Bearn!" were the shouts, as, with swords flashing and gleaming in the sunlight, we pushed a way through.At the same time the rest of the regiment drove back the infantry, and the prince was saved.
"Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm!" cried our leader as he prepared to gallop off, for Cossé's assaults were so rapid and daring that we had hardly a moment's breathing space.
But, as we were moving away, Henry of Bearn, calling me to his side, said, "Your name, monsieur?"
"Edmond Le Blanc, my lord," I answered, bowing low.
"If we live through this day," he said graciously, "I will remember the debt I owe you."
Once again I bowed, and, saluting with my sword, darted off to take my place in the Admiral's train. Whatever Henry's fortune, there appeared considerable doubt as to my surviving the battle, for my patron seemed determined to court death not only for himself but for every gentleman in his household. Wherever the Huguenots recoiled ever so slightly before the terrible onslaughts of the foe, there we were cheering and fighting till our arms were wearied by the work and our heads dazed by the maddening tumult.
And never for a moment during that long summer day did the strife cease. Cossé was inflexible; he sent his troops to death without pity, and they obeyed without a murmur. The carnage was fearful, and I longed for darkness to put an end to the hideous slaughter.
At the end of the afternoon he gathered his forces together for one supreme effort. Horse and foot, they swung along as blithely as if the battle were only beginning. I looked round on our diminished ranks, and wondered if we had strength to withstand another onset.
"'Tis their last try!" exclaimed Felix cheerfully; "if they fail now they will break, and the victory is ours. Half an hour will see the finish; one side must give way."
One side! But which?
On they came, wave after wave, like the waters of an irresistible sea. We waited in painful silence, broken suddenly by the Admiral's voice, "Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm. The end is at hand!"
On they came, bugles blowing, flags flying, horses prancing; the dying sun lighting up the bared swords and pike heads, the steel caps and breastplates. On they came, a goodly and gallant band of well-trained warriors.
"Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm!" Well in front, serene and confident, full of proud courage and high resolve, there was our glorious leader, the best and bravest man in the two armies.