The Tragedy of Jarnac
What led to the dismal disaster that overtook us at the very opening of
the campaign I cannot say. Some ascribe it to the rashness of the
Prince, who was certainly a very impetuous leader; but it is ill work
buffeting the dead, and profitless also. And if his fiery temper did,
indeed, bring about the mischance, he exerted himself as a gallant
gentleman to retrieve his error.
By great good fortune, as it appeared afterwards, I had carried my
despatch safely to Cognac, and was now, after spending a night in the
town, riding along the bank of the Charente in the direction of
Angoulême. I had not encountered any of Anjou's troopers, though at
Cognac it was strongly rumoured they were in the neighbourhood.
The day was cold and somewhat cloudy, the sun shining out only at
intervals, and there was a suspicion of rain in the air. Partly to
restore the circulation, and partly to ease my horse--for we were
ascending a hill--I had dismounted, and was walking briskly along at the
animal's side.
From the brow of the hill I had a clear view of the wide plain
stretching before me. Huddled together in one corner was the cluster of
houses forming the village of Jarnac, where I intended to break my
journey. Presently, however, I caught sight of something which put all
thought of food and rest out of my head. A body of cavalry had halted on
the plain. Some of the men were lying down, some drinking from the
brook, but scouts were stationed at a distance from the main body to
give warning of any hostile approach.
"This is either Anjou or Condé," I thought, "and in any case it is
necessary to discover which."
Still leading my horse, I crept down the hill, and advanced some
distance across the plain, ready directly danger threatened to mount and
ride. As soon, however, as I drew close enough to distinguish the scouts
I saw they were friends, and went on boldly.
Where was Coligny? They did not know; they had parted company with the
infantry some time previously. Leaving them, I proceeded to the main
body, and in passing a group of cavaliers, heard my name called by a
voice I recognized as Roger Braund's.
"Why are you wandering about here?" he asked.
"Faith," I laughed, "I might put that very same question to you! Where
are Coligny and the troops? I did not expect to meet with half an army."
"Say, rather, a third; we have not a gun, nor even a man to carry a
pike."
"But what does it mean?"
"Perhaps that I don't understand your mode of warfare. We have been
marching and countermarching for hours, with no other result as yet than
wearing out our animals; but I warrant the Prince has his reasons."
"If there is a man with brains in the enemy's council," said another
Englishman, "we shall rejoin our infantry only in the next world. We are
scarcely fifteen hundred strong, and I heard this morning that Anjou has
at least three thousand."
"Two to one," I remarked carelessly, "the Prince has fought against even
heavier odds. But----"
"Mount, mount, messieurs; Anjou is advancing!"
The scouts came galloping in with their warning; the cry was repeated on
all sides; men running to their horses mounted hurriedly; officers
shouted commands; in an instant all was activity.
"You showed little wisdom in stumbling on us to-day," said Roger. "You
would have been better off with your own leader."
"At least I make one more!"
"Yes," he replied, "and a pity too. But come along, you will ride with
us, and I promise we will not disgrace you. A fair field for a charge,
Edward!" addressing one of his comrades.
"I would rather it were a pitched battle," replied the other; "with our
numbers we can do no more than ride them down."
"The Prince! The Prince!" cried one, and presently Condé came riding
along our ranks. He had opened his helmet; his face was full of high
resolve, his eyes flashed fire.
"Gentlemen!" he exclaimed, "here is the chance for which we have waited.
Let us begin the campaign with a victory, and we shall finish it the
sooner."
We greeted his words with a cheer; the English shouted "Hurrah!" which
sounded strangely in our ears, and every one gripped his sword firmly.
For, in spite of cheers, and of brave looks, a desperate enterprise lay
before us. Monseigneur's troops were at least twice as numerous as ours,
and his men were seasoned soldiers.
But Condé gave us little time for reflection. "Forward! Forward!" We
rose in our stirrups, and with a ringing cheer dashed at the foe. Like a
wall of rock they stood, and our front rank went down before them. We
withdrew a space, and once more sprang forward, but with the same
result. The din was terrific; steel clashed against steel; horses
neighed, men groaned in agony, or shouted in triumph.
And presently, above the tumult, we heard Condé's voice ringing high and
clear, "To me, gentlemen! To me!"
He was in the thick of the press, cutting a passage for himself, while
numbers of his bodyguard toiled after him.
"To the Prince!" cried Roger Braund in stentorian tones, "or he is
lost!"
We tore our way like a parcel of madmen, striking right and left in
blind fury, and not pausing to parry a blow. But the enemy surged round
us like waves in a storm. They hammered us in front, in the rear, on
both flanks; we fell apart into groups, each group fighting strenuously
for dear life.
And in the midst of the fearful struggle there rose the ominous cry,
"The Prince is down!"
For an instant both sides stood still, and then Roger Braund, crying,
"To the rescue!" leaped straight at those in front of him. The noble
band of Englishmen followed, the battle flamed up afresh; renewed cries
of "Condé! Condé!" arose, but we listened in vain for the reply of our
daring general.
"The Prince is down!" ran mournfully from man to man, and though some
fought on with intrepid bravery, the majority were thrown into disorder
by their leader's fall.
As for myself, I know not how the latter part of the battle went.
Half-stunned by a heavy blow on my helmet, I clung mechanically to my
horse, who carried me out of the press. As soon as my senses returned, I
drew rein and gazed across the plain. It presented a melancholy sight.
Here was a little band of wearied troopers spurring hard from the scene
of conflict; there a man, dismounted and wounded, staggering along
painfully, while some lay in the stillness of death. They had struck
their first and last blow.
The battle, if battle it could be called, was over; the victors were
busy securing their prisoners; nothing more could be done, and with a
heavy heart I turned reluctantly away. Removing my helmet so that the
fresh air might blow upon my aching temples, I rode on, picking up a
companion here and there, until at last we formed a troop some fifty
strong.
Hardly a word passed between us. We were angry, and ashamed; we had met
with a bitter defeat; our leader was down, and no man knew even if he
lived.
"Where is the Admiral?" I asked at last of the horseman at my side; "we
must find the Admiral."
"I cannot say, but it is certain that when the news reaches him he will
retreat"; then he relapsed into silence.
It was a dreary journey. We wandered on aimlessly and hopelessly for
hours, and night had long since fallen when, by some lucky chance, we
stumbled upon our infantry. We were not the first fugitives to arrive,
and the camp was full of excitement.
I made my way straight to the Admiral's tent, and was instantly
admitted. Several officers were already there, eagerly discussing the
news, and they plied me with anxious questions. I could, however, tell
them nothing fresh, and could throw no light on the fate of the Prince.
In the midst of the interview an officer brought in a wounded trooper.
He was weak and faint from loss of blood, and, gallantly as he had held
himself in the fray, he hung his head shamefacedly.
"You are from Jarnac?" said Coligny kindly; "can you tell us what has
happened to your general?"
Every voice was hushed; the silence became painful as we listened with
straining ears for the man's reply. Steadying himself, he gave his
answer, and a deep groan burst from the assembled officers.
"The Prince is dead, my lord," he said slowly.
"Dead!" echoed our leader. "Killed in the battle?"
"Murdered in cold blood after the battle, my lord!"
"How?" cried Coligny, and never had I seen his face look so stern.
"Think well, my man, before speaking. This is a serious statement to
make."
"But a true one, my lord. I was not a yard away when the deed was
done."
"Tell us all about it," said the Admiral, "for if this be true----" but
here he checked himself.
"The Prince's horse fell, my lord, and he was thrown heavily. I tried to
reach him, but failed."
"'Tis plain that you made a most gallant attempt!" remarked Coligny in
kindly tones.
"I was knocked down, my lord, and I suppose thought to be dead! The
Prince lay a yard or so away. He had taken off his helmet, and was
talking to one of the enemy's officers. I heard him say, 'D'Argence,
save my life and I will give you a hundred thousand crowns!"
"And what was the answer?"
"The officer promised, my lord, but just afterwards a fresh body of
soldiers came galloping to that part of the field. Then the Prince said,
'There is Monseigneur's troop; I am a dead man!'"
"And what answered D'Argence?"
"He said, 'No, my lord, cover your face, and I will yet save you.' But
he had not the chance. One of Monseigneur's officers"--we learned
afterwards that it was Montesquieu, the captain of the Swiss
guard--"shot the Prince in the back of the head!"
"And killed him instantly?"
"He just had strength to say, 'Now I trust you are content!'" replied
the trooper, "and then he fell forward dead. They wrapped his body in a
sheet and carried it off the field, but I do not know where."
"There is no possible chance of your having been mistaken?"
"None, my lord."
The chaplain, stepping forward, led the trooper from the tent to give
him some food, and to bind up his wounds, while every one began
discussing the mournful story he had told. In the midst of the talk I
slipped out, eager to assure Felix of my safety, and to learn if Roger
Braund had returned.
No one in the camp thought of sleep or rest; the soldiers had gathered
together in knots, asking and answering questions, while from time to
time a single horseman, or half a dozen in a body, trailed wearily into
the lines. I met Felix coming toward the tent, and on seeing me he ran
forward hastily.
"Is it really you, Edmond?" he cried; "are you hurt? How came you to be
in the fight? One of the Englishmen told me you were there. 'Tis a sorry
beginning to the campaign, eh? But, after all, 'tis but one dark spot on
the sun. Come to our tent and tell us what has happened. There are a
thousand rumours."
"Is Roger Braund not with his comrades?" I asked.
"No; there are a good many of the English still missing, but their
friends are not anxious; they have lost their way perhaps, and we shall
see them in the morning."
As nothing could be done, I accompanied Felix to the tent, where a
number of our comrades speedily assembled. Felix gave me food, as I had
eaten nothing for hours, and then I related my story.
"On the plain of Jarnac!" exclaimed one in surprise; "what was the
Prince doing there?"
"I cannot say. Remember, I came upon them by mere chance."
"'Twas stupid folly!" exclaimed the speaker. "We aren't so strong that
we can afford to divide our forces. Condé's rashness will ruin
everything. One would think he was a hot-headed boy!"
"If Condé was in fault, he has paid dearly for his mistake," I remarked,
and was greeted by cries of "What do you mean?" "Is the Prince hurt?"
"Is he a prisoner?" "Speak out, Le Blanc!"
"The Prince, gentlemen," I replied slowly, "is dead; and if my account
be true, most foully murdered."
"Condé dead!" cried one, "no, no; there must be some strange mistake!"
"I fear not, monsieur!" and, while they listened in breathless silence,
I repeated the story which the wounded trooper had brought from the
battle-field.
"Anjou shall have cause to rue this day!" said one, speaking with deadly
earnestness. "If I meet him on foot or in the saddle, in victory or in
defeat, I will not leave the ground till I have plunged my sword into
his heart!"
"But Anjou was not the murderer!"
"An officer of his bodyguard, you said. Do you think he acted against
his master's wishes? Pshaw! I tell you, Monseigneur is as much the
murderer as if his own fingers had pulled the trigger!" and the murmur
of applause from all who heard showed how fully they agreed with him.
When they left the tent, to retail the circumstances of the Prince's
death, I was glad to lie down. I was still anxious concerning my
English comrade, but Felix, who was too excited to sleep, promised to
bring me any information that he could gather. My head ached terribly,
but I managed to sleep, and for an hour or two at least I forgot the
dismal tragedy that had occurred.
The whole camp was astir in the early morning, and my comrade brought me
very welcome news. Roger had arrived during the night, with about a
dozen fellow-countrymen, tired out but unwounded.
"I half expected he was dead," I said; "he was in the very thickest of
the _mêlée_."
"Humph!" said Felix, "I warrant he fought with no greater bravery than
Edmond Le Blanc! He is a gallant fellow enough, but you need not worship
him as a hero."
I looked at my comrade with surprise, and I think he felt rather ashamed
of his ungenerous speech, as he continued: "however, he is unhurt, which
is the main thing. It seems we have lost quite a number of brave fellows
besides Condé at Jarnac."
"I suppose the last of the stragglers are in?"
"Yes, and we strike camp almost immediately. Anjou is very kind to give
us breathing time. According to our scouts, he is actually going to lay
siege to Cognac."
"He will meet with a warm reception!"
"If the citizens can hold him only for a few weeks," said Felix, "all
will go well. We are to be joined by strong reinforcements. The sun will
shine again, Edmond."
Making my way through the camp after breakfast I came across Roger, who
had Just risen from a brief sleep.
"I did not come to your tent last night," he said; "there was no need to
disturb you. You are not much hurt?"
"No, but rather ashamed! We have begun badly."
"And shall therefore make a better ending," said he brightly. "Cheer up,
Edmond, there is no disgrace in being beaten by twice our number. Jarnac
is not the only field of battle in France."