Three weary weeks dragged themselves along. Cartier was all impatience
for definite information about the King's attitude towards the Canadian
expedition, while Charles and Claude were both eager, for reasons of
their own, for the return of De Roberval's niece and his ward, whom he
had taken to Fontainebleau with him. The three weeks lengthened into a
fourth, the fourth into a fifth, and the adventurers were beginning to
despair, when the faithful Jean appeared at the inn where Charles and
his friend were lodged, bearing a note from his master.
De Roberval had returned, and success had crowned his efforts. The King
had given him full power to make preparations--but they must come to him
at once to receive instructions, and hear from his own lips the
generosity of their noble monarch.
Eagerly the two young men hurried to tell Cartier the good news; and the
three proceeded to Roberval's house, where they found him in high
spirits. He had received more than he had asked. Anne de Montmorency had
been with the King, and a friendship which had been begun at "The Field
of the Cloth of Gold" had made him an ardent supporter of the little
nobleman from Picardy.
The King was won to the glorious cause of extending French territory,
and of winning souls. He bade Roberval return to St Malo, hurry on his
preparations, collect his crews, and await his official commission,
which would follow him as soon as the necessary legal proceedings could
be gone through. In the meantime a letter signed by the King's own hand
gave him all the power he needed.
"You are about to settle a new world for France," he had said to
Roberval; "our right of colonisation is firmly established there, and
the sword and the cross will make us strong. To keep you bold in arms,
and firm in the faith, I present you with this sword which the saintly
Bayard laid upon my shoulders with the words: 'He who has been crowned,
consecrated, and anointed with oil sent down from Heaven, he who is the
eldest son of the Church, is knight over all other knights'--and with
this golden cross, which encases a fragment of the true cross--these
dints on it are from Spanish blows; thrice did it save my life on the
field of Pavia of unhappy memories--with this talisman you may hope to
succeed in the great land of Norembega."
The three enthusiastic listeners congratulated him on his success, but
without heeding them he went on: "That is not all. Hear the substance of
this letter, signed with his royal hand. A fleet is to be fitted out at
once; the governors of all the provinces are to aid in securing arms;
and I"--the little nobleman seemed to grow several inches as he uttered
the words--"I am created Lord of Norembega, Viceroy and
Lieutenant-General in Canada, Hochelaga, Saguenay, Newfoundland, Belle
Isle, Carpunt, Labrador, the Great Bay, and Baccalaos."
As he rolled off this imposing list of titles La Pommeraye's sense of
humour got the better of him. The rugged, uninviting land which he knew
so well rose vividly before him; and the high-sounding terms which were
heaped upon it in no way lessened its ruggedness. He turned to Roberval,
and with a merry twinkle in his blue eye exclaimed: "King Francis is
truly generous, most noble Sieur de Nor--you must pardon a soldier's
tongue and memory; I shall have to shorten your titles--Sieur of the
Universe; but there are difficulties in the way. I have sounded the
fishermen and sailors of St Malo, and none seem willing to cross the
stormy Atlantic as settlers. If we could lure them across for fish, or
furs, or gold, it would be well; but all dread the fierce cold and the
scurvy to which so many of their companions have already succumbed."
"It matters not," said Roberval; "I have full power to raise men, and
the sturdy beggars--and, if all other resources fail, the denizens of
our prisons--shall be forced on board my vessels."
"Sieur, that will be a dangerous experiment," interrupted Cartier. "I
had three criminals with me on my last voyage, and they poisoned the
minds of nearly every other man on the ship."
"You forget," said Roberval, "that I am commander in this expedition. An
iron hand falls upon the man who disobeys my slightest wish. Criminals
are but men; and they will find that no ordinary turnkey watches over
them. But why borrow troubles? Let us to work and build our ships, get
the stores on board, and man them, and the other difficulties can then
be faced. We have three ships now, Master Cartier. Set your carpenters
to work on two others at once, and build them with particular reference
to the Atlantic passage and the dangers from the ice. You had better
consult with Jehan Alfonse. You are both skilled seamen, and what one
overlooks the other will be sure to provide for."
He then proceeded to intrust to Claude the task of superintending the
purchase of supplies. Enough provision would be needed for three hundred
men for a year at least; and it would be necessary to see that
everything could be hurried into St Malo at a moment's notice.
"And you, M. de la Pommeraye," he added, turning to Charles, "as you
seem to have already taken it upon yourself to seek men for this
expedition, have my authority to go into every vessel in the harbour, or
in any harbour in France, and offer the men double their present wage;
and if that will not induce them, go to the prisons and select such men
as you think fit. You know a man when you see him; and this letter with
the King's seal will open the prison gates before you. For myself, I
must away to Picardy to set my estate in order. I shall return with all
possible speed; meantime spare no efforts to hasten our preparations."
So the three men were dismissed, and as Claude and Charles were about to
leave the house they looked stealthily round the hall. But no flutter of
skirts nor any trace of woman's occupation rewarded them. Roberval
noticed their glances, and as he bade them farewell he said, somewhat
roughly: "St Malo is a dangerous place for women. I have left my niece
at Court. If our great undertaking is to succeed, nothing must be
allowed to distract our attention from our plans. No other cares must be
allowed to interfere with our sole object in view--to increase the glory
and renown of our beloved country."
The three men passed into the narrow streets, each absorbed in his own
reflections. Cartier saw in imagination his name on the pages of
history, next to that of Columbus. Claude had but one immediate end in
view--to plan how he might extend his expeditions for supplies as far as
Fontainebleau, while as for Charles, since the only way to reach
Marguerite appeared to be by winning the good opinion of her uncle, he
resolved, as a first step in that direction, to devote his whole
energies to the task he had in hand.
Winter swiftly passed, spring lengthened to summer; summer was on the
wane, and still the New World seemed no nearer. The ships were
completed, and the empty hulls rode in the harbour of St Malo awaiting
supplies and arms. But the money promised by the King was not
forthcoming; and Cartier reluctantly prepared to spend another winter in
old France. The prisons of St Malo were crowded to overflowing with
criminals for the voyage; for only a few hardy adventurers had been
secured by La Pommeraye. In August Roberval paid a flying visit to his
fleet, inspected the vessels and men, and expressed himself strongly on
the slowness of the King in keeping his promise. It would be useless to
start for America during the autumn months; so he made up his mind to
pay a second visit to Fontainebleau, see what could be done in view of
the following spring, and take his niece and ward back to Picardy with
him for the winter.
While he was in St Malo his steps were dogged, unknown to him, by a
swarthy young mariner who had been engaged for the voyage. He had a
French name, but a Spanish face; and Cartier, meeting him one day in the
street, exclaimed: "Pamphilo de Narvaez, or his ghost!"
"I have been twice mistaken for that Spaniard, whose name I never heard
till I came to this place," said the young man. "My name is Narcisse
Belleau. Narvaez' bones lie at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico--at
least so M. de la Pommeraye told me when he engaged me for this voyage."
"A most remarkable resemblance!" returned Cartier. "I would as soon have
the Devil on board _La Grande Hermine_ as De Narvaez. Be sure, young
man, you join one of the other vessels. Belleau is your name, you say? A
good name, but a Narvaez face!"
As he turned away the young Spaniard, for such he was, chuckled to
himself: "A good name, indeed! And you and your fellows will rue the day
you ever looked upon this face."
He was in very truth Pamphilo de Narvaez, a son of the famous sailor of
that name, and had been sent as a spy from the Spanish Court to discover
if the rumours of a mighty expedition being fitted out to occupy the New
World--Spain's peculiar property--were true. Seeing that Roberval was
the soul of the undertaking, he determined to bide his time, strike him
down, and save Spain a bloody war in America. He learned that Roberval
meant to visit Fontainebleau, and from there to set out with his niece
for Picardy. A meeting on the road, with a few dare-devils to aid him,
would end the expedition and win him honours and prosperity on his
return to Spain.
So he planned; and when he had succeeded he would go to America and
finish the work of exploration begun by his illustrious father.
In the meantime Claude and Charles, committing their stores and
prisoners to the charge of Cartier, left St Malo, neither telling the
other whither he was bound. By different roads, and almost
simultaneously, they turned their horses' heads towards Paris; both
hoping to meet Roberval and his party as they passed through that city
on their way to their northern home. They reached their destination
without encountering each other, took lodgings in adjoining streets,
and, each unconscious of the other's presence, set out to make enquiries
as to when the nobleman might be expected. Had they had long to wait
they must have met; but one November day, very shortly after their
arrival, a gay crowd of riders came galloping through the streets of the
city. Their fluttering pennants, their nodding plumes, their gorgeous
doublets and richly-ornamented cloaks, their finely damascened arms,
studded with jewels, and their horses, as richly caparisoned as
themselves, all told that they had come from the fashionable world of
the Court at Fontainebleau.
Such was indeed the case; they had come to escort De Roberval and his
household thus far on their northward way. The two young men learned
where Roberval was to pass the night, and also that he intended to
depart early the following morning, and each returned to his rooms,
determined to be up with the lark in order to obtain at least a glimpse
of the fair lady who had drawn him to Paris.
But Roberval was up before them; and armed from head to heel, and with a
bodyguard of a few sturdy Picards, had already left the city. Claude was
the first to reach the nobleman's headquarters, and, on learning of
Roberval's departure only a few moments before, set spurs to his horse,
hoping to overtake him before he could get clear of the walls. On
arriving at the gate, however, he learned that the party had already
passed through. There were three roads which would lead them to the
ancient and renowned castle which frowned down upon the fruitful plains
between the Bresle and the Somme. The nobleman had selected the longest
route, but the safest in those troublous times. Claude paused for a few
moments to consider this information. He, too, was fully armed, and wore
a breastplate of steel beneath his riding cloak. His splendid figure,
and the magnificent manner in which he sat his horse, caused some remark
among the guards at the gate, of whom he made his enquiries. His
resolution was soon taken. He decided to follow by the western and
rougher road, which merged into the other at a distance of some miles.
He would thus gain a point in advance of Roberval, after a few hours'
hard riding, then he would at least have the satisfaction of forming
one of the escort as far as the castle.
He set out accordingly; and scarcely was he out of sight when a second
rider came up to the gates. When he found that he was too late even for
a sight of his goddess, Charles had impulsively started in pursuit,
though what he hoped to gain even if he did succeed in overtaking her,
guarded as she was, he had no definite idea. The sentinel whom he
questioned told him the direction Roberval had taken, and added the
further information that a single horseman had but just ridden in hot
haste after him, by a different route. A suspicion instantly flashed
through Charles' mind, and the description of Claude furnished by the
man left no doubt as to the rider's identity. Without stopping to
consider the wisdom of his course--thinking only of Marguerite, whom he
could not hope to see once she was behind those battlemented
walls--Charles turned his horse, and galloped off by the third of the
three roads mentioned. It was a shorter cut than either of the other
two, but one which few travellers ever took, as every mile had witnessed
some deed of violence from the bands of robbers who haunted it.
Roberval and his party made their way leisurely along the dusty road
they had chosen, while the two young men rode with fevered haste along
their less frequented paths. Towards noon the three were rapidly
converging towards the same point, at which they would arrive almost
simultaneously.
Claude, who was mounted on a swift charger, which had more than once
carried him to victory in a tournament, was the first to reach this
point. Scanning the ground he noted that no cavalcade had as yet passed
that way. As he sat his horse and waited, the measured galloping of
hoofs coming towards Paris fell upon his ears. He did not wish to meet
strangers, so withdrew into a thick grove at one side of the road.
Scarcely was he concealed when half a dozen hard riders, well horsed and
armed at every point, drew rein at the very spot where he had first
checked his steed. They surveyed the road hurriedly, and at a word from
their leader plunged into a thicket at the opposite side.
"There is trouble in store for some one," said Claude to himself. "If I
am not much mistaken, the leader of that gang of cut-throats is none
other than Narcisse Belleau, whom, despite his good French and vehement
protestations, I believe to be a Spanish spy. And now to my dagger and
sword; I may need them. I would La Pommeraye were only here to lend his
eye and arm to the coming struggle."
Scarcely had he finished examining his weapons when a cloud of dust
slowly advancing in the distance told him that a party of considerable
size was on its way towards the ambuscade. He anxiously awaited their
approach, and soon recognised Roberval's Picard escort, and the
fluttering skirts of the women. If the men in ambush were waiting for
them they were doomed, unless he could warn them. To pass from his
hiding meant almost instant death, but it must be risked; so he began
slowly to make his way towards the road, and was soon at the very edge
of the grove. When De Roberval was within a hundred yards he put spurs
to his horse, which, seeming to scent danger, made a dash forward past
the lurking-place of the assassins. The Spaniard and his comrades were
so taken by surprise that for a moment they did not realise his
intentions; but De Narvaez, with an oath, exclaimed: "It is De
Pontbriand; shoot the dog down!" Their petronels rang out, but the
clumsy weapons shot wide of the mark, and in a trice Claude was with his
friends, who, alarmed by the firing, and the wild rush of the
approaching rider, had come to a sudden standstill. Before they had time
to question De Pontbriand the Spaniards were upon them, and with fierce
shouts and drawn swords dashed into the group which now formed a
protecting body about Marguerite, Marie, and Bastienne. There was a
sudden checking of careering steeds, a clashing of weapons, a heavy
falling of wounded men, and three of De Roberval's party and one of the
foe lay in the dust. As De Narvaez shot past he placed his petronel
against his breast and fired point blank at De Roberval, but
quick-witted Bastienne, who saw his intention, struck her master's horse
on the nose, and the animal, careering wildly, received the contents of
the charge in the heart. The Spaniards rapidly returned to the attack.
There were now but five of them opposed to the three Picards who
remained with Claude and Roberval, and they expected an easy victory.
Two of the Picards fell before their attack, and De Roberval himself was
struck down by a fierce sabre blow which dinted his helmet. Claude found
himself hard pressed by two of the ruffians at once. It must end in a
moment.
But the shots which had been fired attracted a traveller who was always
eager for a fray. Just at the critical moment La Pommeraye's horse
turned the bend in the road. His accustomed eye took in the state of
affairs at once. His sword leaped from its sheath, and with an energy
which he seldom needed to exert he braced himself for the struggle. He
was upon Claude's assailants in an instant; one quick thrust and a burly
Spaniard fell forward on his face. The weapon seemed scarcely to have
touched the man, so quickly was it withdrawn; and with the same motion
that drew it forth La Pommeraye sent it crashing through the helmet of
the other ruffian. De Narvaez and his two companions saw that they were
foiled, and, striking fiercely at Claude, who fell beneath their united
blows, they turned to flee. But they had lost a second too much. That
last blow was their ruin. Charles was upon them like a whirlwind. His
sword flashed like a destroying sunbeam, and two others fell lifeless on
the road, while their steeds galloped wildly away. De Narvaez turned to
face his foe; and his dark face blanched beneath the fierce eye of the
French giant. It was but a moment. Charles crossed swords with him;
once, twice--and as if he had been saying "One, two three, die!" he
plunged his blade through and through the body of the spy.
"Hot work, but glorious!" he exclaimed, as the Spaniard fell heavily in
the dust. "Five in as many minutes. But I must look to my friends."
Bastienne was sitting with her master's head in her lap. Marie had taken
off Claude's helmet and revealed a ghastly wound on the temple.
Marguerite stood beside her horse, shading her eyes with her hand, her
face tense and strained as she watched the issue of the combat. It was
not till the victor, flushed but triumphant, his gay riding-suit covered
with blood and dust, advanced, and doffing his hat almost to the ground
bowed low before her, that she recognised La Pommeraye.
"Mademoiselle is uninjured, I trust?" said Charles.
The blood had mounted to her cheek as she saw in their preserver her
rude assailant of nearly a year before, but she kept the quiet dignity
of her manner. Drawing off one glove she held out her hand, saying as
she did so:
"Monsieur, under God we owe you all our lives. But for your timely
appearance, what would have become of three defenceless women when my
uncle fell?"
The delicate fingers lay for a moment in La Pommeraye's mighty grasp, as
he raised them reverently to his lips, hardly believing in his own good
fortune. They were instantly withdrawn, however, and Marguerite hastened
to her uncle's side.
De Roberval was only stunned, and might safely be left to Bastienne's
skill. It was otherwise with Claude. The wound was a severe one, as
Charles instantly recognised.
"Pardon me," he said to Marie, who, less self-controlled than
Marguerite, had given way, once the crisis had passed, and was weeping
hysterically, "pardon me, Mademoiselle, but I must lift him out of the
heat and dust."
With tender hands he raised his comrade, and carried him into the
shade. He was a skilled surgeon--taught by frequent experience--and with
help from the women soon had the wound bandaged. In the meantime
Roberval had recovered from his swoon, and was rubbing his eyes with
amazement at the strange turn events had taken.
"How came you here?" exclaimed he to La Pommeraye.
"My evil genius prompted me to come to the aid of an ungrateful
nobleman," replied Charles, laughingly. "But it was just as well for you
that I did. However, it was a grand fight; and could I only have one
like it every day in France, you would not get me to go to Canada. But I
will not equivocate, Sieur," he added in a lower voice, drawing Roberval
a little aside, "I came here, as no doubt did De Pontbriand, who was, I
believe, in Paris yesterday, to accompany you on your way to Picardy.
Why, you know best, but we cannot speak of it now."
De Roberval scowled, and then exclaimed with enthusiasm:
"You are a noble fellow! There were five against us when I fell, and now
your bloody sword tells a heroic tale. But here, Etienne," and he turned
to his only surviving retainer, who had stood all this time staring
stupidly at La Pommeraye as if he had been a god suddenly descended from
the sky, "look to the wounded, and you, Bastienne, help him. Are all my
brave fellows dead? See what can be done, and then ride like the wind to
the inn, five leagues ahead of us, and fetch men to bury the dead and
bear the wounded home. But what is this? De Pontbriand wounded?"
Claude was still unconscious. He was borne to the inn on a rude litter
of boughs, and there La Pommeraye watched and tended him till he was out
of danger. But he was still too weak to be moved, and with the wretched
accommodation and attendance which the inn afforded, his recovery bade
fair to be slow. Seeing this, De Roberval had him removed to his castle,
which was but a few leagues distant, and there Charles, who was not
included in the invitation, was reluctantly obliged to leave his friend
and return to St Malo alone. He would have been much more reluctant had
not the tears which Marie had shed, as he imagined, over Claude's body,
convinced him still more firmly that she was the object of his
affection.
And so it happened that Claude spent a large part of the winter in
Picardy, watched over and waited upon, as his strength slowly returned,
by the fair hands of Marguerite de Roberval and her vivacious friend and
companion, Marie de Vignan.