A Glorious Triumph
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 of things, 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, filled with
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 close at 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.
With a roar of cheering and a hurricane rush the foe dashed forward.
They struck us in front, they swirled tumultuously around our flanks,
driving us back and cheering lustily, "For the King!" The fate of the
day hung trembling in the balance, but Henry of Bearn on the one flank,
and Condé on the other, rallied their troops, while in the centre the
stout old Admiral plunged yet again into the fray.
[Illustration: "With a roar of cheering and a hurricane rush the foe
dashed forward."]
"Forward! Forward!" we shouted. "On them! They are giving way!" and
Felix, snatching a flag from a wounded man, charged with reckless
abandon into the very midst of the foe.
"The flag!" I cried, "follow the flag!" Straight ahead of us it went,
now waving triumphantly aloft, now drooping, now swaying again, and
high above the din of strife sounded my comrade's voice, crying, "For
the Admiral! For the Faith! Forward! Forward!"
The daring hazardous exploit sent a wave of fire through every man. We
flung off our fatigue as if it were a cloak, dealing our blows as
vigorously as though the battle were but newly joined. And as we toiled
on, following the flag, a great shout of victory arose on our right.
Henry of Bearn had thrust back his assailants; they were running fast,
and his horsemen were hanging on their heels like sleuth-hounds.
The cry was taken up and repeated all along the line, and in a few
minutes the enemy, smitten by sudden fear, were flying in all
directions. For some distance we pursued, sweeping numbers of prisoners
to the rear; but our animals were wearied, and presently all but a few
of the most fiery spirits had halted.
The victory was ours, but we had bought it at a high price. Some of our
bravest officers were dead, and Coligny looked mournfully at his
diminished band of attendants. We rode back to our lines, and to me the
joy of our triumph was sadly dimmed by the absence of my comrade. In the
wild stampede I had lost sight of the flag, and no one had seen its
gallant bearer.
"Has Monsieur Bellièvre fallen?" asked Jacques, who had ridden well and
boldly with the troopers.
"I do not know; I fear so. He was a long distance ahead of us in the
last charge. I am going to search for him."
"There is your English friend, monsieur; he is not hurt."
Roger grasped my hand warmly. "Safe!" he exclaimed; "I hardly dared to
hope it. It has been a terrible fight. Our poor fellows"--he spoke of
the English remnant--"have suffered severely. Where is Felix?"
"We are on our way to look for him; I fear he has fallen."
Roger turned and went with us. "I saw him with the flag," he remarked.
"'Twas a gallant deed. It helped us to win the battle. By my word, Cossé
must have lost frightfully; the field just here looks carpeted with the
dead."
"'Tis a fearful sight to see in cold blood," I replied.
Numbers of men were removing the wounded, but knowing that Felix had
ridden some distance ahead we kept steadily on our way.
"'Twas here Cossé's troops began to break," said Jacques presently, "and
'tis hereabout we ought to find Monsieur Bellièvre's body."
The words jarred upon me horribly; they expressed the thought I was
trying hard to keep out of my head.
We went quickly from one to the other, doing what we could for the
wounded, and hurrying on again. It was a gruesome task, and the fear of
finding what we sought so earnestly added to the horror.
Suddenly my heart gave a leap, and I ran forward quickly to where I saw
the colour of the blood-stained flag. A dead horse lay near it, and by
the animal's side lay my comrade. His head was bare, and his fair hair
clustered in curls over his forehead. He was very white and still, and
his eyes were closed.
"Poor fellow; I fear he is past help," murmured Roger.
"Let us find out," advised the practical Jacques, and, kneeling down on
the other side, he assisted me to loosen the doublet.