Welcome to danger’s hour,
Brief greeting serves the time of strife.
--SCOTT
As soon as it was possible to leave Nissard, Berenger was on his way
back to head-quarters, where he hoped to meet the Duke de Quinet among
the many Huguenot gentlemen who were flocking to the Bourbon standard;
nor was he disappointed in the hope, for he was presented to a handsome
middle-aged gentleman, who told him, with much politeness, that his
mother had had the honour to receive and entertain Mme. de Ribaumont and
that some months ago he had himself arranged for the conveyance of
her letters to England, but, he said, with a smile, he made a point of
knowing nothing of his mother’s guests, lest his duties as a governor
might clash with those of hospitality. He offered to expedite M. de
Ribaumont’s journey to Quinet, observing that, if Nid de Merle were,
indeed, on the point of seizing the lady, it must be by treachery;
indeed he had, not ten days back, had the satisfaction of hanging
an Italian mountebank who had last year stolen a whole packet of
dispatches, among them letters from Mme. de Ribaumont, and the fellow
was probably acting as a spy upon her, so that no time was to be lost in
learning from his mother where she was. On the next morning he was about
to send forward twenty men to reinforce a little frontier garrison on
the river Dronne, and as M. le Baron must pass through the place, it
would be conferring a favour on him to take the command. The men were
all well mounted, and would not delay; and when once across the frontier
of Guyenne, no escort would be needed.
Berenger gladly accepted the proposal. It did not occur to him that
he was thus involved in the civil war, and bearing arms against the
sovereign. In spite of Queen Elisabeth’s alliance with the French court,
she connived at her youthful subjects seeking the bubble reputation
in the mouths of Valois cannon; and so little did Henry III. seem
to Berenger to be his king, that he never thought of the question of
allegiance,--nay, if the royal officers were truly concerned in his
arrest, he was already an outlaw. This was no moment for decision
between Catholic and Calvinist; all he wanted was to recover his wife
and forestall her enemies.
Henry of Navarre gave his full consent to the detachment being placed
under charge of M. de Ribaumont. He asked somewhat significantly what
had become of the young gentleman who had attended M. de Ribaumont, and
Philip blushed crimson to the ears, while Berenger replied, with greater
coolness than he had given himself credit for, that the youth had
been nearly drowned on the Sable d’Olonne, and had been left at Dom
Colombeau’s to recover. The sharp-witted King looked for a moment rather
as Sir Hugh the Heron did when Marmion accounted for his page’s absence,
but was far too courteous and too INSOUCIANT to press the matter
further, though Berenger saw quite enough of is expression to feel that
he had been delivered from his companion only just in time.
Berenger set forth as soon as his impatience could prevail to get the
men into their saddles. He would fain have ridden day and night, and
grudged every halt for refreshment, so as almost to run the risk of
making the men mutinous. Evening was coming on, and his troop had
dismounted at a cabaret, in front of which he paced up and down with
Philip, trying to devise some pretext for hastening them on another
stage before night, when a weary, travel-stained trooper rode up to the
door and was at once hailed as a comrade by the other men, and asked,
‘What cheer at Pont de Dronne?’
‘Bad enough,’ he answered, ‘unless you can make the more speed there!’
then making obeisance to Berenger he continued his report, saying that
Captain Falconnet was sending him to M. le Duc with information that
the Guisards were astir, and that five hundred _gens d’armes_, under
the black Nid de Merle, as it was said, were on their way intending
to surprise Pont de Dronne, and thus cut the King of Navarre off from
Guyenne and his kingdom beyond it. After this Berenger had no more
difficulty with his men, who were most of them Quinet vassals, with
homes south of the Dronne, and the messenger only halted for a hasty
meal, hastening on to the Duke, that a more considerable succour might
at once be dispatched.
‘Is she there whom they call the Lady of Hope?’ asked one of the
soldiers, a mercenary, less interested than most of his comrades, as he
had only a fortnight since transferred his services from Guise to Quinet.
‘Our Lady of Sadness just now,’ replied the messenger; ‘her old father
is at the point of death. However, she is there, and at our last siege
twenty wine-skins would not so well have kept up men’s hearts.’
‘And the little one, the white fairy, is she there too? They say ‘tis
a spirit, a changeling that could not brook the inside of a church, but
flew out of the Moustier at Montauban like a white swan, in the middle
of a sermon.’
‘I only know I’ve seen her sleep like a dormouse through prayers,
sermon, and all at Pont de Dronne. _Follette_ is she be, she belongs to
the white elves of the moonlight.’
‘Well, they say bullets won’t touch her, and no place can be taken where
she is,’ replied the trooper. ‘Nay, that Italian pedlar rogue, the same
that the Duke has since hung, has sold to long Gilles and snub-nosed
Pierre silver bullets, wherewith they have sworn to shoot the one or the
other next time they had a chance.’
These words were spoken at not great distance from Berenger, but passed
by him as mere men-at-arms’ gossip, in his eagerness to expedite the
start of his party; and in less than an hour they were _en route_ for
Pont de Dronne; but hasten as he would, it was not till near noon the
next day that he came in sight of a valley, through which wound a river,
crossed by a high-backed bridge, with a tall pointed arch in the middle,
and a very small one on either side. An old building of red stone,
looking like what it was--a monastery converted into a fortress--stood
on the nearer, or northern bank, and on the belfry tower waved a flag
with the arms of Quinet. Higher up the valley, there was an ominous
hum, and clouds of smoke and dust; and the _gen d’armes_, who knew
the country, rejoiced that they were come just in time, and exchanged
anxious questions whether the enemy were not fording the river above
them, so as to attack not only the fortress on this northern side, but
the bridge tower on the southern bank of the river.
Spurring down the hill, the party were admitted, at the well-guarded
gateway, into a large thickly-walled yard, where the soldiers and
horses remained, and Berenger and Philip, passing through a small arched
doorway into the body of the old monastery, were conducted to a great
wainscoted hall, where a pulpit projecting from the wall, and some
defaced emblematic ornaments, showed that this had once been the
refectory, though guard-room appliances now occupied it. The man who had
shown them in left them, saying he would acquaint Captain Falconnet with
their arrival, and just then a sound of singing drew both brothers to
the window. It looked out on what had once been the quadrangle, bounded
on three sides by the church, the refectory, and the monk’s lodgings,
the cloistered arcade running round all these. The fourth side was
skirted by the river, which was, however, concealed by an embankment,
raised, no doubt, to supply the place of the wall, which had been
unnecessary to the peaceful original inhabitants. What attracted
Berenger’s eyes was, however, a group in the cloister, consisting of
a few drooping figures, some of men in steel caps, others of veiled,
shrouded women, and strange, mingled feelings swept over him as he
caught the notes of the psalm sung over the open grave--
‘Si qu’en paix et seurte bonne
Coucherai et reposerai--
Car, Seigneur, ta bonte tout ordonne
Et elle seule espoir donne
Que seur et sain regnant serai.’
‘Listen, Philip,’ he said, with moistening eyes; then as they ended, ‘It
is the 4th Psalm: “I lay me down in peace and take my rest.” Eustacie
and I used to sing it to my father. It was well done in these mourners
to sing it over him whom they are laying down to take his rest while the
enemy are at the gates. See, the poor wife still kneels while the rest
disperse; how dejected and utterly desolate she looks.’
He was so intently watching her as not to perceive the entrance of a
tall, grizzled old man in a steel cap, evidently the commander of the
garrison. There was the brief welcome of danger’s hour--the briefer,
because Captain Falconnet was extremely deaf, and, taking it for granted
that the new-comers were gentlemen of the Duke’s, proceeded to appoint
them their posts without further question. Berenger had intended to
pursue his journey to Quinet without delay, but the intelligence that
the enemy were on the southern as well as the northern side of the river
rendered this impossible; and besides, in defending this key of Guyenne
against Narcisse, he was also defending Eustacie.
The state of affairs was soon made known to him. The old monastery,
covering with its walls an extensive space, formed a fortress quite
strong enough to resist desultory attacks, and protect the long bridge,
which was itself strongly walled on either side, and with a barbican at
the further end. In former assaults the attacks had always been on the
north, the Catholic side, as it might be called; but now the enemy had
crossed the river above the fort, and were investing the place on both
sides. Long foreseeing this, the old commandant had guarded the bank of
the river with the earthwork, a long mound sloped irregularly on either
hand, over which numerous little paths had since been worn by the women
within, when on their way to the river with their washing; but he had
been setting every one to work to destroy and fill up these, so that
the rampart was smooth and slopping, perfectly easy indeed to cross, but
high and broad enough to serve as an effectual protection against such
artillery as the detached troops of the Guise party were likely to
possess; and the river was far too wide, deep, and strong in its main
current to be forded in the face of a hostile garrison. The captain had
about fifty _gen d’armes_ in his garrison, besides the twenty new-comers
whom he persisted in regarding as Berenger’s charge; and there were,
besides, some seventy peasants and silk spinners, who had come into the
place as a refuge from the enemy--and with these he hoped to hold put
till succour should come from the Duke. He himself took the command
of the north gate, where the former assaults had been made, and he
instructed to his new ally the tower protecting the bridge, advising him
to put on armour; but Berenger, trying on a steel cap, found that his
head could not bear the weight and heat, and was forced to return to his
broad-brimmed Spanish hat, while Philip in high glee armed himself as
best he could with what Captain Falconnet could lend him. he was too
much excited to eat of the scanty meal that was set before them: a real
flight seemed like a fair-day to him, and he was greatly exalted by
his brother’s post of command--a post that Berenger felt a heavy
responsibility only thrust upon him by the commandant’s incapacity of
hearing how utterly inexperienced he was.
The formal summons to surrender to the King, and the refusal, had duly
passed, and it became evident that the first attack was to be on the
bridge-gate. Captain Falconnet hurried to the place, and the fighting
was hot and desperate. Every assailant who tried to throw his fagot into
the moat became a mark for arquebus or pistol, and the weapons that had
so lately hung over the hearth at Nid de Merle were now aimed again and
again at the heads and corslets of Guisards, with something of the same
exulting excitement as, only higher, more engrossing, and fiercer than,
that with which the lads had taken aim at a wolf, or ridden after a fox.
Scaling-ladders were planted and hurled down again; stones were cast
from the battlements, crushing the enemy; and throughout Berenger’s
quick eye, alert movements, and great height and strength, made him a
most valuable champion, often applauded by a low murmur of commendation
from old Falconnet, or a loud shout of ‘Ha, well done, the Duke’s
Englishman,’ from the _gen d’armes_--for English they would have him to
be--on the presumptions afforded by his companions, his complexion, and
his slow speech. Nor did Philip and Humfrey fail to render good service.
But just as the enemy had been foiled in a sharp assault and were
dragging away their wounded, Philip touched his brother, and saying, ‘I
can hold out no longer,’ showed blood trickling down his right side.
Berenger threw an arm round him, and Captain Falconnet, seeing his case,
said, ‘You are hit, _petit Anglais_; you have done gallantly. There will
be time for you to take him to his quarters, sir; these fellows have
had enough for the present, and you can tarry with him till you hear the
bugle. Whither, did you ask? Let me see. You, Renaud, take him to the
chapel: the old chancel behind the boarding will be more private; and
desire Madame to look to him. Farewell! I hope it may prove slight;
you are a brave youth.’ And he shook hands with Philip, whose intense
gratification sustained him for many steps afterwards.
He hardly remembered receiving the hurt, and was at first too busy to
heed it, or to call off any one attention, until a dread of falling, and
being trodden on, had seized him and made him speak; and indeed he was
so dizzy that Berenger with difficulty kept him on his feet over the
bridge, and in the court lifted him in his arms and carried him almost
fainting into the cloister, where by the new-made grave still knelt the
black-veiled mourner. She started to her feet as the soldier spoke to
her, and seemed at first not to gather the sense of his words; but then,
as if with an effort, took them in, made one slight sound like a moan
of remonstrance at the mention of the place, but again recollecting
herself, led the way along a stone passage, into which a flight of
stairs descended into the apsidal chancel, roughly boarded off from
the rest of the church. It was a ruinous, desolate place, and Berenger
looked round in dismay for some place on which to lay down his almost
unconscious burthen. The lady bent her head and signed towards the stone
sedilia in the wall; then, after two ineffectual essays to make her
voice audible, choked as it was with long weeping, she said, low and
huskily, ‘We will make him more comfortable soon;’ and added some orders
to the soldier, who disappeared up the stairway, and Berenger understood
that he was gone to fetch bedding. Then taking from under her heavy
mourning cloak a large pair of scissors, she signed to Berenger how to
support his brother, while they relieved him of his corslet, sword-belt,
and doublet. The soldier had meantime returned with an old woman, both
loaded with bedding, which she signed to them to arrange in one of the
little bays or niches that served to form a crown of lesser chapels
around the chancel. She flung aside her muffling cloak, but her black
hood still hung far over her face, and every now and then hand or
handkerchief was lifted as if to clear her eyes from the tears that
would not cease to gather and blind her; and she merely spoke when some
direction to an assistant, some sympathetic word to the patient, was
needed. Even Philip in his dizzy trance guessed that he was succeeding
to the bed whence one much dearer had gone to his quieter rest in the
cloister. Before he was laid there, however, the bugle sounded; there
was a loud shout, and Philip exclaimed, ‘Go, brother!’
‘Trust him to me, sir,’ said the sunken, extinguished voice; ‘we will do
our best for him.’
He was forced merely to lift Philip to the bed, and to hurry away, while
the soldier followed him saying, consolingly, ‘Fear not, sir, now our
Lady of Hope has him. Nothing goes ill to which she sets her hand.’
Another growl of artillery was not heard, and it was time for the
warriors to forget the wounded in the exigencies of the present. An
attack was made on both gates at once, and the commandant being
engaged at his own post, Berenger had to make the utmost of his brief
experience, backed by the counsel of a tough old sergeant; and great
was his sense of exhilaration, and absolute enjoyment in this full and
worthy taxing of every power of mind or body. The cry among the enemy,
‘Aime at the black plume,’ attested his prominence; but he black plum
was still unscathed when spring twilight fell. The din began to subside;
recalls were sounded by the besiegers; and Berenger heard his own
exploit bawled in the ear of the deaf commandant, who was advancing over
the bridge. The old captain complimented him, told him that he should
be well reported of to M. le Duc and Sieur la Noue, and invited him to
supper and bed in his own quarters. The supper Berenger accepted, so
soon as he should know how it was with his brother; but as to bed, he
intended to watch his brother, and visit his post form time to time.
The captain entered by the main door of the chapel, where ten or twelve
wounded were now lying, tended by peasant women. Berenger merely
passed through, seeing as he went the black hood busy over a
freshly-brought-in-patient. He found a door which admitted him through
the rough screen of boards to the choir where he had been in the
earlier part of the day. The moonlight came through the shivered eastern
windows, but a canvas curtain had been hung so as to shelter Philip’s
vaulted recess from the cold draught, and the bed itself, with a chair
beside it, looked neat, clean, and comfortable. Philip himself was
cheery; he said the bullet had made a mere flesh-wound, and had passed
out on the other side, and the Lady of Hope, as they called he, was just
such another as Aunt Cecily, and had made him very comfortable, with
clean linen, good cool drinks, and the tenderest hand. But he was very
sleepy, so sleepy that he hardly cared to hear of the combat, only he
roused himself for a moment to say, ‘Brother, I have seen Dolly.’
‘Dolly!’
‘Our sister Dolly.’
‘Ah, Phil! many a strange visitor has come to me in the Walnut Chamber
at home.’
‘I tell you I was in my perfect senses,’ returned Philip; ‘there she
was, just as when we left her. And, what was stranger still, she talked
French.’
‘Sleep and see her again,’ laughed Berenger.