FOR THE ADMIRAL

W.J. MARX

Author of "Scouting for Buller," "The British Legion," etc.

HODDER AND STOUGHTON PUBLISHERS LONDON

Printed in 1906

Butler and Panner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London

TO MY WIFE

BUT FOR WHOSE ENCOURAGEMENT

THIS STORY WOULD NEVER

HAVE BEEN WRITTEN.

CONTENTS

[CHAPTER I]
A PERILOUS RIDE
[CHAPTER II]
TRACKED, OR NOT?
[CHAPTER III]
THE FIGHT BY THE WAY
[CHAPTER IV]
HOW WE KEPT THE FORD
[CHAPTER V]
A TRAITOR TO THE KING
[CHAPTER VI]
THE UNKNOWN CAVALIER
[CHAPTER VII]
A COMMISSION FOR THE ADMIRAL
[CHAPTER VIII]
THE TRAGEDY OF JARNAC
[CHAPTER IX]
A GLORIOUS VICTORY
[CHAPTER X]
I REJOIN THE ADVANCE
[CHAPTER XI]
A DESPERATE CONFLICT
[CHAPTER XII]
THE RETURN TO ROCHELLE
[CHAPTER XIII]
A DARING ENTERPRISE
[CHAPTER XIV]
SCOUTING FOR COLIGNY
[CHAPTER XV]
A GLORIOUS TRIUMPH
[CHAPTER XVI]
A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE
[CHAPTER XVII]
THE KING'S PROMISE
[CHAPTER XVIII]
A WARNING FROM L'ESTANG
[CHAPTER XIX]
WHO KILLED THE COURIER?
[CHAPTER XX]
L'ESTANG'S COURIER
[CHAPTER XXI]
I SAVE CORDEL'S LIFE
[CHAPTER XXII]
L'ESTANG TELLS HIS STORY
[CHAPTER XXIII]
A ROYAL MARRIAGE
[CHAPTER XXIV]
A MYSTERIOUS WARNING
[CHAPTER XXV]
A DASTARDLY DEED
[CHAPTER XXVI]
WHAT WILL THE KING DO?
[CHAPTER XXVII]
THE DAY OF THE MASSACRE
[CHAPTER XXVIII]
FAREWELL FRANCE
[L'ENVOI]

CHAPTER I

A Perilous Ride

"I trust no harm has happened to my father, Jacques. The night grows late and there are strange rumours afloat. 'Tis said that the Guises are eager to break the peace."

"Better open warfare than this state of things, monsieur. The peace is no peace: the king's troops are robbing and slaying as they please. François of the mill told me a pretty tale of their doings to-day. But listen, I hear the beat of hoofs on the road below."

"There are two horses, Jacques, and they approach very slowly. My father does not usually ride like that."

"No, faith!" said Jacques, with a laugh; "if his horse went at that pace the Sieur Le Blanc would get down and walk! But the travellers are coming here, nevertheless. Shall we go to the gate, monsieur?"

"It may be as well," I answered. "One can never tell these days what mischief is brewing."

By the peasantry for miles around my home was called the Castle of Le Blanc. It stood on the brow of a hill, overlooking a wide plain, and was defended by a dry moat and massive walls. A score of resolute men inside might easily have kept two hundred at bay, and more than once, indeed, the castle had stood a regular siege.

According to Jacques it might have to do so again, for in that year, 1586, of which I write, France was in a terrible state. The nation was divided into two hostile parties—those who fiercely resisted any changes being made in the Church, and the Huguenots, those of the Religion—and the whole land was given over to brawling and disorder.

My father, who was held in high esteem by the Huguenot party, had fought through three campaigns under Gaspard de Coligny, the Admiral, as men, by virtue of his office, generally called him. Severely wounded in one of the numerous skirmishes, he had returned home to be nursed back to health by my mother. Before he recovered a peace was patched up between the two parties, and he had since remained quietly on his estate.

He it was who, rather to my surprise, now came riding at a foot pace into the courtyard. The stranger accompanying him sat his horse limply, and seemed in some danger of falling from the saddle.

"Take the bridle, Jacques," cried my father. "Edmond, let your mother know I am bringing with me a wounded man."

When we had assisted the stranger into one of the chambers I saw that he was of medium height, spare in figure, but tough and sinewy. He had a swarthy complexion, and small, black, twinkling eyes that gave the impression of good-humour. His right arm, evidently broken, was carried in a rough, hastily-made sling; his doublet was bloodstained, and his forehead had been scored by the slash of a knife.

He must have been suffering agony, yet he did not even wince when my father, who had considerable experience of wounds, set the broken limb, while I, after sponging his face with warm water, applied some salve to the gash. But he kept muttering to himself, "This is a whole night wasted; I must set out at daybreak."

"We are going to get you into bed, and dress the wound in your side," said my father cheerily. "I hope that at daybreak you will be sleeping soundly."

"The cut is a bagatelle, monsieur, and I must to the road again. A murrain on those rascally bandits!"

"At least you will be none the worse for an hour's rest," said my father, humouring his fancy. "Edmond, get off his boots, and do it gently: we must keep this wound from bleeding afresh."

Between us we removed his clothes, and in spite of his protests got him into bed, when my father bathed and bandaged his side, saying, "It looks worse than it really is. Now, a cup of hot broth, and you should sleep comfortably."

"The broth will be welcome, monsieur, but I have no time for sleep. An hour lost here may plunge thousands of good Frenchmen into mourning."

I thought at first the pain had turned his brain; but he spoke sensibly enough, and appeared deeply in earnest.

"Can we help you?" my father asked. "It will be a week yet before you are able to sit in the saddle. Do you know me?"

"Yes," said the other, and his face brightened, "you are the Sieur Le Blanc. I have seen you at Rochelle with the Admiral."

"Then you know I am to be trusted! Mind, I have no wish to pry into your business; but perhaps we can be of service. Are you travelling far?"

"A week's ride," groaned the man; then, raising himself in bed, he said, "Monsieur, I must go forward!"

"Pshaw, man, you talk nonsense! You haven't sufficient strength to carry you across the room, and the wound in your side would start bleeding before you reached the courtyard. Come, throw aside your fears; I make no secret of my friendship for Gaspard de Coligny, and it is easy to guess you have fought under his banner before now. But here is Jacques with the broth! Drink this, and afterwards we will talk."

I raised him up while he drank, and presently he said, "Monsieur, if I rested till midday I should be strong enough."

"A week at the least," my father replied, "and even then a score of miles would overtax your strength."

After lying quietly for a few minutes, he whispered, "Monsieur, make the door fast. Now, hand me my doublet. A murrain on the knaves who brought me to this! A knife, monsieur, and slit the lining. Do you feel a packet? 'Tis a small one. Ah, that is it. Look, monsieur, at the address."

"The Admiral!" said my father with a start of surprise, "and he is at Tanlay. Man, it will be a month before you can reach Tanlay; and the packet is marked 'All speed!' Do you know the purport of the message?"

"It conveys a warning, monsieur, and it will arrive too late. The Guises and the Queen-Mother have laid their plans; the Loire is guarded along its banks, and the troops are collecting for a swoop on Tanlay."

"And Condé is at Noyers!"

"The Prince is included, monsieur. 'Let us take off the heads of the two leaders,' is what the Italian woman says, 'and there will be no more Huguenots.' And the chiefs at Rochelle chose me to carry the warning. 'There is none braver or more prudent than Ambroise Devine,' they said. Monsieur, I would rather have lost my right hand!"

"Cheer up, man. I warrant you have no cause for reproach. Guise has his spies in Rochelle, and they would follow you on the chance of picking up some information. When were you attacked?"

"At the close of the afternoon, monsieur, in the wood a few miles to the west. They sprang out upon me suddenly—there were three of them—and I was taken unawares. But it was a good fight," and, in spite of his pain and distress of mind, his face lit up with a smile of satisfaction. "There is one trooper the less in Guise's ranks, and another who won't earn his pay for months to come."

"And best of all, the papers are safe," my father observed. "Now, what is to be done? That is the important point. The Admiral must have them without loss of time, and you cannot carry them to him. My duties keep me here, but I could send Jacques——"

"Jacques?" said the sick man questioningly.

"He is a trusty servant; I will vouch for his loyalty."

Devine shook his head. It was plain he did not welcome the proposal.

"Trust the papers to me," I said, on a sudden impulse, "and I will take Jacques for company."

"'Tis a long journey, Edmond, and full of danger," said my father. "I fear an older head than yours is needed."

"Jacques can supply the older head, and I will take charge of the papers."

"You are only a boy," objected Devine.

"So much the better: no one will suspect I am engaged on an errand of importance."

"There is something in that, but this is no child's game; 'tis an affair of life and death. You must travel day and night, and from the moment the papers are in your hands your life belongs to the Admiral. If you fail to reach Tanlay in time, the death of the noblest gentleman in France will lie on your shoulders."

"I will do my best."

"He is young," remarked my father, "but he can bear fatigue. He has a sure seat in the saddle, and he is more thoughtful than most boys of his age. With Jacques at his elbow the venture is not as desperate as it may seem."

Since nothing better offered, Devine at length agreed to the proposal, and having informed Jacques that we should start at dawn I went straight to bed, in the hope of getting a couple of hours' sleep before beginning the journey.

The morning had scarcely broken when Jacques wakened me; I sprang up quickly, dressed—my mother had sewn the precious papers securely inside my doublet—and made a hearty meal.

My mother, who had risen in order to bid me farewell, was full of anxiety; but, like the brave woman she was, she put aside her fears; for the Admiral's safety was at stake, and we of the Religion were well content to make any sacrifice for our beloved leader. I embraced her fondly, assuring her I would be careful, and proceeded to the chamber where Ambroise Devine lay. He had not slept, but was eagerly awaiting the time of my departure.

"You have the papers?" he asked. "Give them into the Admiral's own hands, and remember that a single hour's delay may ruin the Cause."

"He carries a full purse," said my father, "and can buy fresh horses on the road."

Wishing the sick man good-bye, and bidding him be of good courage, I descended to the courtyard, where Jacques awaited me with the horses.

"Do not be sparing of your money, Edmond; if need arises, spend freely," my father advised. "And now, may God bless you, and bring you safely through. Do not forget, Jacques, that a shrewd brain will pay better than a strong arm in this venture."

"We will be as prudent as the Admiral himself, monsieur," declared Jacques, as he vaulted into the saddle; and, with a last word of counsel from my father, we crossed the drawbridge and rode down the hill to the high road.

"'Tis a long journey before us, monsieur, and an unexpected one," observed my companion, as, turning sharply to the left, we rode through the still sleeping village. "'Tis odd what a chance encounter may bring about; but for the Sieur's meeting with the wounded man we should still be snug abed. There is some one stirring at the inn. Old Pierre will be none too pleased at having guests who rise so early; but there, 'twill be another coin or so to add to his hoard."

"Pierre is a wise man," I said.

"I think not, monsieur. There is little wisdom in saving money for others to spend. The king's troopers will ride through here some day, and Pierre will be a cunning man if they do not strip him as bare as a trussed fowl. 'Tis more satisfactory these days to spend one's money while one has the chance. And things will never be any better until they send the Italian woman out of the country."

Jacques generally spoke of the Queen-Mother as the Italian woman, and he regarded her as the chief cause of all our troubles.

"She cares for no one but herself," he continued, "not even for the boy king, and the Guises have her under their thumb. What with them and her Italian favourites there is no room in France for an honest Frenchman. Listen, some one rides behind us! 'Tis the early riser from the inn perhaps. Faith, he is a keen judge of horseflesh."

"And he has a firm seat," I remarked, glancing round. "He will overtake us in a few minutes. Shall we quicken our pace?"

"No, monsieur. If he is a friend there is no need; should he be an enemy 'twill but arouse suspicion."

"Good-day, messieurs," cried a pleasant voice, "I trust we are well met. I am a stranger in the district, and wish to discover the whereabouts of one Etienne Cordel. He is an advocate from Paris, but he owns a small estate in the neighbourhood."

"A tall man," said Jacques, "with a nose like a hawk's beak, and eyes that look in opposite directions?"

"Faith, my friend," laughed the stranger jovially, "you have his picture to a nicety. That is Etienne Cordel. Are you acquainted with him?"

"I have met him," replied Jacques carelessly. "We shall pass within a mile or two of his place, if you care to travel in our company."

"Nothing would please me more," declared the cavalier. "This is a stroke of good fortune on which I had not counted. I spent the night at the inn yonder, but the dolt of a landlord might have been one of the staves of his own barrels: he could not answer me a question!"

"Ha! my dashing friend," I thought to myself, "old Pierre must have had his reasons for making a fool of you," for in truth the landlord knew every one, and everything that happened, for miles around.

The stranger had drawn his horse abreast of mine, and was riding on my left. He was a man of perhaps thirty years, richly but quietly dressed, wearing a sword, and carrying two pistols in his holsters. His dark brown hair escaped over his forehead in short curls; his face was strong and capable; he had good features, and a rounded chin. His eyes were blue, deep, expressive, and beautiful as a woman's, and he had a most engaging air of candour and sincerity. The horse he rode was a splendid animal; my father had not its equal in his stables.

"This place of Etienne's," said he, addressing Jacques, "is it far?"

"Within a dozen miles, monsieur. You might easily have reached it last night by pushing on."

"Had I been acquainted with the road! But it was late when I arrived at the inn, and my horse had done a heavy's day work. You are a native of the district, monsieur?" turning to me.

"If you make the district wide enough," I answered, with a laugh.

"You have escaped the ravages of war in these parts; you are fortunate. One can ride here without loosening his sword."

"Yes," assented Jacques, "'tis a peaceful neighbourhood."

"A pity one cannot say the same of all France," replied the other with a deep sigh, as if saddened at the mere thought of bloodshed; "and yet it is whispered that the war is likely to break out again. Has the rumour reached you down here?"

"We hear little news of the outside world," I replied.

"Excuse me, monsieur," exclaimed Jacques suddenly, "but it will suit us to quicken the pace. We have pressing business to transact," to which our chance acquaintance replied that he was quite willing to be guided by our wishes.

Accordingly we broke into a canter, and for the next hour or so no sound was heard save the beat of our horses' hoofs on the hard road. But once, when the stranger had shot a few paces to the front—for as I have said he rode a splendid animal—Jacques made me a swift sign that I should be cautious.

CHAPTER II

Tracked, or Not?

"That is your road, monsieur. At the end of a mile a cross-road leads straight to Etienne Cordel's dwelling. You will see the house from the spot where the road branches. You will pardon us for our hasty departure, but time presses. If you put up again at the inn, we may have the pleasure of meeting you on our return."

Taking the cue from Jacques, who evidently did not intend holding a prolonged conversation, I said: "Adieu, monsieur, and a pleasant ending to your journey. You cannot mistake the way, now," and directly he had thanked us for our assistance we rode on.

"Rather an abrupt departure, Jacques," I remarked presently, feeling somewhat puzzled.

"Better that, monsieur, than wait to be asked inconvenient questions. Did you notice that slash across his doublet? He has been pretty close to a naked sword, and not long ago either! What does he want with Etienne Cordel? He looks more fitted for the camp than the law courts."

"Monsieur Cordel no doubt transacts his private business for him."

"No doubt," said Jacques, with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I did not like his appearance, and if we could spare the time I would ride back to discover what made Pierre suddenly dumb. I warrant he misliked his questioner; but if the stranger is seeking information, he can obtain all he wants from Cordel."

"You are no friend to the advocate, Jacques!"

"He is a spy, monsieur, and a maker of mischief. One of these days men will learn his true character."

"I have no liking for Cordel," I said, "but still all this has nothing to do with our errand."

"Perhaps not, monsieur; we will hope not," replied my companion, "but all the same, I wish we had started an hour earlier."

Honestly I felt rather inclined to laugh at Jacques' vague fears, for the stranger's pleasant speech and affable manner had impressed me, and I could not think of him in any other light than that of a courteous and gallant gentleman. In spite of wise saws, one is often tempted to believe that occasionally fine feathers make fine birds.

We rode on steadily, stopping for an hour or two during the hottest part of the day, and putting up late at night at a dilapidated inn in a half-deserted village. The landlord, a bent, feeble, old man, had gone to bed, but he set about preparing some supper, while, since there was no ostler, we fed and groomed the animals ourselves.

"We must start at daybreak," said Jacques, when we had finished our meal; "that will give us four hours' sleep."

"Fourteen would suit me better!" I laughed, as we followed our host to the guest-chamber, and, indeed, I was so thoroughly tired that my head scarcely touched the pillow before I was sound asleep.

It was still dark when Jacques roused me, and by dawn we were once more on the road. On this second day's journey the ravages of the late war were plainly apparent, and the sights made one's heart ache. The fields lay waste and untilled; the cattle, few in number, were mere bundles of skin and bone; the villages were half-emptied of their inhabitants, while those who remained resembled skeletons rather than human beings.

"And all this," exclaimed my companion bitterly, "is the work of the Italian woman and her friends. It is time that Frenchmen took their country into their own hands again, and out of the clutches of these foreign harpies!"

"That can be done only by another war, Jacques, and surely we have had enough of cutting one another's throats!"

"It must be either war or murder," he responded. "The Guises won't rest until they become masters. France will swim in blood one of these days. Do you know, monsieur, I am glad that Mademoiselle Jeanne is not at the castle!"

Jeanne was my sister, who, since the peace, had been living at Rochelle with an invalid aunt. She was seventeen years of age, a year older than myself, and a girl of beauty and courage.

"You are in a gloomy mood, Jacques, and fancying all kinds of dangers that are not likely to happen. Why, even the stranger we met at Le Blanc alarmed you."

"He alarms me yet," replied Jacques gravely; "he is a bird of ill omen."

"Come," I said banteringly, "let us have a canter; it will clear the cobwebs from your brain, besides helping us on our way to Saintbreuil," the little town where we intended to pass the night and to procure fresh horses. Jacques had an acquaintance at Saintbreuil—an innkeeper who secretly favoured the Cause without possessing sufficient courage to declare his opinions.

The night had grown somewhat late by the time of our arrival, but we managed to secure admittance, and Jacques had no difficulty in finding the inn—a fairly decent house in a small square.

"A quiet room, Edouard, and some supper," said my companion to the host, "and serve us yourself. There is no need that all Saintbreuil should learn of our being here. And be quick, for we are tired and hungry, and there is business to transact."

The landlord, a nervous-looking fellow, took us quickly to a chamber at the farther end of the house, and in a short time we were sitting down to a well-spread table.

"Is the town quiet?" asked Jacques presently.

"Quiet, but uneasy. The citizens are afraid of they know not what. There is a whisper that the peace will be broken."

"Humph! there is more than a whisper in some parts; but listen to me, Edouard; monsieur and I are travelling fast. We have nearly foundered our animals, and yet it is necessary to push on again directly the gates are opened. You must procure us fresh horses, the best that can be got."

"And the two in the stables?"

"Can go in exchange."

"You will have to pay heavily."

"Of course we shall, my dear Edouard, but monsieur is prepared to open his purse. Get them into the stable to-night, and call us at daybreak."

"Can you trust him to procure really good animals?" I asked, when the man had gone out.

"There are few keener judges of horseflesh than Edouard, monsieur; and now let us to bed."

Jacques had lost his gloomy fit; there seemed little likelihood of danger, and I slept soundly till wakened by our host. Dressing hastily we went straight to the stables, and were more than satisfied with our new animals. They were beautiful creatures, shaped for both speed and endurance, and I did not grudge the money the landlord had spent.

"They should carry us to our journey's end," said Jacques in a whisper; "the sight of them gives me fresh courage. I care not a rap of the fingers now for our chance acquaintance!"

"The cavalier seems to have turned your brain!" I laughed.

"Maybe 'twas only an idle fancy, but I mistrusted the fellow. Perhaps you will laugh, but I thought he might be one of those who attacked Monsieur Devine."

"Well?" I said, startled by this statement, and yet puzzled to understand how it affected us.

"If so, he must be trying to obtain possession of the papers. He would follow the wounded man, and suddenly lose him. He failed to get any information from old Pierre, and he learned little from us; but the advocate would tell him everything."

"What could Cordel tell?" I asked, still puzzled.

"That your father, monsieur, is the chief person in the district—that he is of the Religion—that the wounded messenger might have found shelter in the castle."

"Yes, the advocate would certainly mention that."

"The stranger would speak of us, too, and the lawyer, recognizing the description, would inform him who we were. That would arouse his suspicions, for you must admit that we chose a strange hour to ride."

"And you think he would follow us?"

"That is what I feared. He is splendidly mounted, and could easily overtake us; but now," and Jacques laughed, "the case is different."

"Even should he come up with us," I said, "he is but one against two, and we can both handle a sword!"

My companion shrugged his shoulders. "What chance should we have in Saintbreuil, monsieur? A word to a king's officer, and we should either be dead, or in prison."

"Faith," I said laughing, though not with much heartiness, "you draw a lively picture! Once outside these walls, I shall not care to venture into a town again until we reach Tanlay."

"With these horses there should be no need."

The officer of the guard gazed at us suspiciously. "You travel early, monsieur!" he remarked.

"Too early for comfort!" I replied, "but I must reach Nevers before Marshal Tavannes leaves. He does not like idle excuses."

"You are right, monsieur!" replied the man, with an instant change of expression, "one does not play tricks with the marshal. But I did not know he was at Nevers."

"'Tis but a flying visit, I believe."

"Well, a pleasant journey to you. Have a care, though, if you ride late; the country is infested with brigands."

Thanking him for his advice I followed after Jacques, who had taken advantage of the conversation to ride on.

"I thought the officer might take a fancy to ask me some questions, and I am not so intimately acquainted as you with the doings of the king's general!" he said with a chuckle. "'Twas a bold stroke, monsieur, but it paid."

"Yes," I said, "it paid. And now let us push forward."

Strangely enough, now that Jacques had recovered his composure I began to feel nervous, and more than once caught myself glancing round as if half expecting to see a body of pursuers on our track. However, we proceeded all day without adventure, slept for two or three hours at a village inn, and resumed our journey in high spirits.

"We should reach the Loire by midday," remarked Jacques. "Shall we go into the town and cross by the bridge, or try for a ford? There is one a little to the north."

"The ford will suit our purpose," I said, "and I hardly care about trusting myself in the town."

There still wanted two hours to noon when, coming to a grassy and tree-shaded plateau through which ran a sparkling stream, Jacques proposed that we should rest the horses. So we dismounted, gave them a drink, fastened them to a tree, and lay down beside them.

"Monsieur might be able to sleep," suggested Jacques. "I will watch, but we cannot afford more than an hour."

"We will take turns," I said.

"Not at all, monsieur. I do not feel sleepy. I will waken you in good time."

Feeling refreshed by the short rest I was just remounting when a rough, sturdy-looking fellow came along, riding a powerful horse.

"Good-day, messieurs," he said, glancing at us, I thought, very keenly; "am I on the right track for Nevers?"

"Yes," I answered rather curtly.

"Perhaps monsieur is himself going there? I am a stranger in these parts."

"No," I replied, "we are not going to the town, but you cannot miss the way."

He hung about for some time, trying to make conversation, but presently rode on, and a bend in the road hid him from our view.

"An ugly customer to meet on a dark night, Jacques," I remarked.

"Let us push on, monsieur; that fellow meant us no good. Did you notice his speech?"

"No."

"I did; he comes from our own neighbourhood. It is possible he has seen us before."

"And what of that?"

"Nothing, except that it is curious," and Jacques quickened his pace.

At the end of a quarter of a mile a cross-road to the left led to the river, and along this track we travelled. It was very narrow, so narrow, indeed, that we were forced to ride in single file, Jacques going before. The stranger had disappeared; no one was in sight; the countryside seemed deserted.

"Do you know where the ford is situated?" I asked.

"I have a fairly good notion. Ah, what is that?" and he reined up sharply.

From our position we could just catch a glimpse of several horsemen riding swiftly along the bank of the river. They were out of sight in a few minutes, and we proceeded in a somewhat uncomfortable frame of mind.

"They can have nothing to do with us, Jacques," I said cheerily.

"No, monsieur, nothing," he replied.

"How much farther do we go before descending?"

"About a quarter of a mile."

"Once across the river we shall be in no danger at all."

"None at all, monsieur."

"A plague on you, Jacques!" I cried, "can't you make some sensible remark?"

"I was but agreeing with monsieur."

We had gone about four hundred yards when the track began to descend in winding fashion toward the water. My companion was still in front, and I noticed he had loosened his sword. I had done the same, and in addition had seen that my pistols were in order. Somehow, a strange sense of approaching peril, for which I could not account, hung about me.

"There is the ford," said Jacques, drawing rein, and pointing straight ahead of him. "That is where we must cross."

"Yes," I said.

"But I cannot see the horsemen, and they should be visible from here. It is very absurd, of course, but still, I would advise monsieur to look to his pistols."

"I am ready, Jacques."

"Come, then, and if I say 'Gallop!' stretch your horse to his utmost."

He advanced carefully, I following, and watching him intently. Presently, without turning round, he said: "It is as I thought; the horsemen are there; we cannot get through without a fight."

"Then we must fight, Jacques; it is impossible to turn back. They will not expect a rush, and we may catch them off their guard. But it will be amusing if they turn out to be simply peaceful travellers."

"Amusing and satisfactory, monsieur. Are you ready? We will ride abreast at the bottom; it will give us greater strength."

Jacques was a splendid horseman, and he had taught me to ride almost from the first day I could sit a horse's back. From him, too, as well as from my father, I had learned how to use a sword, though my weapon had never yet been drawn in actual conflict, and even now I hoped against hope that the horsemen below were not waiting for us.

But if Jacques' view were correct, then we must fight. Because of the trust reposed in me, I could not yield; either I must win a way through, or leave my dead body there on the bank.

My companion's voice recalled me to action. "Fire your pistol directly we come within range," he said, "and then lay on with the sword."

"But we must give them warning, Jacques!"

"It is needless; they have seen us, and are preparing. Corbleu! it is as I thought! See, there is the man who overtook us in the village. Monsieur, there is no escape; it is a fight to the death!"

"I am ready!"

CHAPTER III

The Fight by the Way

They watched us furtively, as, with seeming carelessness, we descended the slope, slowly at first, but gradually increasing the pace as the ground became less steep. There were five of them in all, and presently I perceived that the one a little in advance of the group was the unknown cavalier whom we had directed to the house of Etienne Cordel.

"Draw level, monsieur. Now!" and the next instant we were dashing down the remaining part of the slope at terrific speed.

It was a wild ride, a ride so mad that many a night afterwards I started from sleep with the sensation of being hurled through space. The horses flew, their hoofs seeming not to touch the ground; had we wished, we should have found it impossible to check their headlong career. Nearer and nearer we approached; the horsemen wavered visibly, their leader alone remaining unmoved.

There was a loud report; a ball whizzed past, and we heard a cry of "In the king's name!"

For answer we discharged our pistols almost at point-blank distance, and a horse rolled over heavily with its rider.

"One down!" cried Jacques in triumph, drawing his sword and aiming a desperate blow at the leader, who called out—"The boy! Capture the boy! Shoot his horse, you dolts!"

He thrust at me vigorously, but, parrying the attack more by luck than good management, I dashed on, Jacques crying, "This way, monsieur, quick!"

With a tremendous leap we sprang into the river, the poor animals struggling franticly to keep their footing.

"This way!" shouted Jacques, "we are too far to the right; the ford lies here. Forward, forward! Use your spurs; they are after us. To the front; I will hold them at bay!"

"No, no; we will stand by each other."

"Nonsense!" he cried, "remember the packet!" and, having no answer to that, I pushed forward, though with reluctance.

It was a wild scramble, now swimming, now wading, stumbling, and floundering along with the yells of the pursuers in our ears. I reached the opposite bank, and while my gallant animal clambered up, Jacques turned to face the enemy. Almost immediately there came the clash of swords, and, looking back, I saw him engaged in desperate conflict with the foremost of the pursuers.

The contest was short. With a howl of pain the fellow dropped his sword, and the water reddened with his blood.

"Spread out!" cried the cavalier angrily, "'tis the boy we want!" and at that, Jacques being powerless to prevent them from slipping past, rode after me.

"Only three to two now!" he exclaimed joyfully; "shall we stop? It will be a good fight."

"No, no, we may get away; we are the better mounted."

"I do not think so, monsieur; their horses are the fresher."

Once again Jacques proved correct. The three men, the cavalier leading, hung stubbornly on our track, and began steadily to ride us down.

"If we could reach a village," I gasped, "the people might be for us!"

"Or against us, monsieur."

On we went across the open stretch of upland, the pace becoming perceptibly slower, the pursuers approaching steadily nearer. Below us, white and dusty in the sunlight, wound a broad road, with a high bank on one side of it.

"If we could get there," remarked Jacques, "we could fight with our backs to the wall, and the odds are not so heavy."

"Let us try."

The animals responded nobly to our urging, though their nostrils were blood-red, and their quivering haunches flaked with spume. Panting and straining, they raced along, so that we gained the road a considerable distance ahead of our pursuers; but the pace could not be maintained and Jacques counselled a halt.

"The horses will get back their wind," he said, "and we shall engage at an advantage. If we go on, the creatures will be completely blown. Only three against two, monsieur; your father would laugh at such odds!"

"I am not thinking of myself, Jacques, but of the Admiral. The papers make a coward of me."

"This is the best chance of saving them. Let us wait here. Fortunately their firearms are useless, and they must trust to the sword. Just fancy you are engaged in a fencing bout in the courtyard, Monsieur Edmond, and we shall beat them easily."

We drew up on the dusty road, with our backs to the high bank, and waited—perhaps for death. The sobbing animals, trembling in every limb, were grateful for the rest, and drew in deep breaths. The sun beat down on our heads; not a ripple of air stirred the branches of the trees; for a few moments not a sound broke the eerie stillness.

"Here they come!"

They had struck the highroad some distance above us, and it gave me heart to see how blown their animals were. But the cavalier, catching sight of us, spurred his jaded beast and advanced, crying out loudly, "Surrender, Edmond Le Blanc! I arrest you in the king's name!"

"What charge have you against me?" I asked.

"I have an order for your arrest. Lay down your sword."

"Faith!" broke in Jacques, "those who want our swords must take them. We are free men."

"Then your blood be on your own heads!" exclaimed the cavalier. "Forward, my lads. Capture or kill; 'tis all one."

"Keep cool, monsieur," advised Jacques, "those two cut-throats are no sworders. They are far handier with a knife than a sword, and are unused to fighting in the sunlight."

"A truce to words!" cried their leader; "at them, my lads!" and he himself led the way.

Jacques met him boldly, while I found myself furiously engaged with his followers. They were sturdy fellows, both, and fearless of danger; but fortunately for me without trick of fence, and almost in the first blush of the fight I had pricked one in the side. The misadventure taught them caution, and they renewed the attack more warily.

Jacques was on my left, but I dared not look to see how he fared, though fearing that in the unknown cavalier he had met his equal, if not his master.

Thrust and parry—thrust and parry; now a lunge in front, now a half-turn to the right, till my arm ached, and my eyes became dazzled with watching the movements of the flashing steel. A laugh of triumph from the leader of our foes warned me that some misfortune had happened to my comrade, but whatever the mishap the gallant fellow continued to keep his adversary fully employed.

"Ride him down!" cried the leader, and once more the two ruffians attacked me furiously. One of them paid the penalty of his recklessness. With a rapid lunge I got beneath his guard, and my sword passed between his ribs. He fell forward on his horse's neck, groaning, and I cried exultingly, "Courage, Jacques! Two to two!"

But disaster followed swiftly on the heels of my triumph. A half-suppressed cry of pain came from my comrade, and I saw his horse roll over. Warding off a blow from my opponent, I turned and attacked the cavalier so hotly that he was forced back several paces, and Jacques disengaged himself from the fallen animal.

"Look to yourself, monsieur," he said, "I still count."

I had only a momentary glimpse of him as he staggered to his feet, but the sight was not encouraging. His face was covered with blood, his left arm hung limply at his side, and he had received a wound in the shoulder. But in spite of his injuries he faced his opponent boldly, using his horse's body as some sort of protection.

"Yield!" cried the cavalier, "and I will spare your lives. You are brave fellows."

"Fight on, monsieur," said Jacques stolidly.

"As you will," exclaimed the other, and once more the clash of steel broke on the air.

How would it end? The contest was going steadily against us. I could easily hold my opponent in check, but Jacques was seriously wounded; he was on foot, and must inevitably be beaten. I thought once of riding off in the hope of drawing the others after me, but they might stop to kill my comrade, and that I dared not risk.

He still fought with his accustomed skill, but he was becoming weaker every minute; he could no longer attack, and had much ado to defend himself. Our sole chance lay in disabling my opponent before Jacques was over-powered. I rode at him recklessly, but he was a wary knave, and, judging how matters were likely to go, he remained on the defensive.

We were still battling vigorously, though I was fast losing all hope, when the tramp of hoofs sounded in the distance. Who were the travellers? They could not make our situation worse; they might improve it. Our assailants seemed to be of the same opinion, and, leaving Jacques, they flung themselves at me.

Could I hold out a few minutes longer? I set my teeth hard, and braced myself for the effort. Twice the unknown cavalier missed my breast by a hair's breadth; but I was still unwounded, save for a slight scratch, when a body of mounted men turned the bend in the road. They appeared to be a nobleman's bodyguard, and wore blue favours, but this told me nothing.

Jacques, however, was better informed. "Lord St. Cyr!" he cried feebly. "For the Admiral!" and sank to the ground.

Echoing my comrade's words, I cried lustily, "For the Admiral!" at which the gentlemen set spurs to their horses, while our assailants as hastily rode off.

Before the troop came up, I dismounted, and bending over my comrade whispered, "Who is this St. Cyr?"

"A friend," he replied; "the papers are safe now; you can trust him."

A noble-looking gentleman rode in front of the troop. He was well advanced in years—at least fourscore, as I afterwards learned—but he sat erect in his saddle, and his eyes were keen and vigorous.

"What is the meaning of this, monsieur?" he asked sternly, as I went toward him.

"Am I speaking to the Lord St. Cyr?" I asked.

"I am the Count of St. Cyr."

"Then, my lord, I can speak freely. My name is Edmond Le Blanc; my father is the Sieur Le Blanc——"

"Sufficient recommendation," he interrupted, with a genial smile.

"My servant and I were on our way to Tanlay, carrying important despatches to the Admiral. At the ford we were attacked by five ruffians. Two were wounded; the others followed us here."

"What was their object?"

"I fear, my lord, they must have learned the nature of my mission."

"And wished to obtain possession of the papers! Are they really of great importance?"

"The original bearer, my lord, was waylaid and grievously wounded near my home. He assured me solemnly that their loss would probably plunge thousands of Frenchmen into mourning. He hinted at some special peril to the Admiral."

"You have made a gallant fight," said the count, "and Providence has plainly sent us to your aid. Your servant is wounded I see. Leave him to my care, and meanwhile I will provide you with suitable escort. The ruffians will think twice before venturing to attack my gentlemen."

"One of our assailants is hurt, my lord."

"We will attend to him also; he cannot be left to die."

During this conversation, a man soberly clad and evidently a minister of the Religion—he was, in truth, though wearing a sword, the count's private chaplain—had been attending to Jacques. Now he stepped forward, and said, "The man is weak from loss of blood, but his wounds are not serious; he should speedily recover his strength."

"That is good hearing for Monsieur Le Blanc," said the count. "Pray tell your servant that he has fallen into friendly hands."

I ran joyfully to Jacques, who looked at me with a smile. "It is all right now, monsieur," said he; "the journey is as good as done."

"Still, I wish we could finish it together, but that is impossible. I must leave you with Lord St. Cyr, and push on. He has promised to furnish me with an escort."

"Do not delay, monsieur; time is precious."

I gave him a portion of my money, bade him be of good cheer, and returned to the count, who had already selected six of his gentlemen to accompany me.

"Keep free from brawls," he advised their leader, "and ride with all speed. Remember that you are engaged on a matter that may involve the life of our chief."

"We will waste no time on the road, my lord."

Amidst a cheer from the rest of the bodyguard we rode forward, and were soon out of sight. My new comrades were kindly, gallant gentlemen, in whose company I soon recovered my spirits. Jacques was in no danger, while it was certain that I should now be able to place the paper in the Admiral's hands.

Indeed, the remainder of the journey can be passed over almost without comment. We travelled fast, making few halts, and on the evening of the next day rode into Tanlay.

The Admiral, who had just finished prayers, granted me immediate audience, and my heart throbbed with excitement as I entered his room. I was about to see, for the first time, this splendid gentleman, who was to many thousands of Frenchmen the pride and glory of France.

He was of medium height, strongly made, well proportioned, and of a ruddy complexion. His eyes had a grave but kindly expression; his countenance was severe and majestic. "Here," was my first thought, "is a true leader of men!" He spoke slowly, but his voice was soft, pleasant, and musical.

"Well, my young friend," he said, "you have something of importance to communicate to me?"

I had ripped the lining of my doublet, and now handed him the packet. "My story can wait, my lord," I said, "this is the more pressing matter."

He broke the seal and read the letter, slowly, as if committing each word to heart. Then he said in his grave manner, "This is from La Rochelle, and should have reached me by the hand of Ambroise Devine. Where is he?"

"There are those who desired that you should not receive this communication, my lord, and the original messenger lies in my father's house, grievously wounded. As there was none other to bring it, the packet was even entrusted to my keeping."

"You are of the Religion?"

"The son of the Sieur Le Blanc could not well be otherwise, my lord."

"The Sieur Le Blanc has proved his devotion on more than one battlefield. So you are his son! And you have risked your life to help me! I am grateful, my young friend, and others will be grateful also; but I will speak with you again. For the present I must place you under the care of my gentlemen. There is much here," touching the packet, "to be considered, and that without delay. But you have deserved well of the Cause, boy, and the Sieur Le Blanc can be justly proud of his son."

I was thoroughly tired by my long, hazardous journey, but I lay awake for hours that night, my cheeks burning at the remembrance of the Admiral's words. He had praised me—Edmond Le Blanc—this hero whom I regarded as the highest, the bravest, the noblest gentleman in the whole world! It seemed incredible that I should have obtained such honour!

CHAPTER IV

How We Kept the Ford

Early next morning I was summoned to attend the Admiral, who received me very graciously.

"I trust you have rested well," he said, "as I am about to send you on another journey. There is, however, no danger in it," he added, smiling. "I wish you to go to the Prince of Condé at Noyers, to tell him your story, and to answer any questions he may put to you. I am setting out myself in an hour or two, but my preparations are not complete. Monsieur Bellièvre will accompany you as guide; he has received my instructions."

The Admiral could not have chosen for me a more suitable comrade than Felix Bellièvre. He was quite young, barely more than eighteen, tall, slim, and good-looking. He had large, expressive, dark eyes, thick, curling hair, and beautiful white teeth. His smile was sweet and winning, and he had an air of candour very engaging. Indeed, he so won upon me, that, after the first mile or two of our journey, we were chatting like old friends.

"You must be a person of importance," he declared merrily. "Your coming has created a tremendous commotion at Tanlay. Is it true that the Guises are bent on a fresh war?"

"I cannot tell; I am nothing more than a messenger."

"'Twas said last night you were the bearer of startling news. There was whisper of a plot to swoop down upon the Admiral and on Condé, and to whisk them off to Paris. Faith, if the Guises once got them there we should see little of them again."

"Why has the Admiral no soldiers?"

"Because he is too honourable to distrust others. He believes they will keep their word. As for me, I would as soon trust a starving wolf as a Guise, or the Queen-Mother. The Admiral is foolish, but he is too good-hearted to think about himself."

Praise of the Admiral entered largely into Bellièvre's conversation, as indeed it did into that of all his retinue. No one was so wise or strong, so full of courage and good sense, so patient and forbearing, so grand and noble as Gaspard de Coligny. It was hero worship, perhaps, but hero worship of the truest kind. Not one of his household but would have died for him.

"Do you know," I said presently, "that the Admiral is coming to Noyers?"

"And his gentlemen! It looks as if rumour for once spoke true."

"But we cannot defend ourselves at Noyers against an army!"

"No, that is impossible. Besides, our leaders must be free, or there will be no one to command the troops. Fancy an army without Condé or the Admiral at its head!" and he laughed merrily.

"Then what is likely to be done?"

"Faith, I have no notion!" he answered lightly.

"We march and countermarch and fight, just as we are bidden; it is all one to those of Coligny's household. We never ask questions."

It was a glorious day, with a fresh breeze tempering the heat of the sun, and we rode along gaily. My comrade had already learned habits of caution, but there was really no danger, and late in the afternoon we reached Noyers, where, after a short delay, I was admitted into Condé's presence.

He had received a message from Tanlay some hours previously, and he said at once: "You are Edmond Le Blanc, who brought the packet from La Rochelle."

"From the Castle of Le Blanc, my lord, where it was given me by Ambroise Devine."

"Ah, yes, he was attacked and wounded. What did he tell you?"

"That troops were being collected secretly to surround Tanlay and Noyers, that the banks of the Loire were guarded"—the Prince gave a start of surprise—and that unless you moved quickly, your escape would be cut off."

"And you rode from Le Blanc to Tanlay? Did you hear anything of this on the journey?"

"No, my lord, but there seemed to be a general feeling of uneasiness abroad, as if people thought something strange was about to happen."

"Did you notice any movement of troops?"

"No, my lord."

"Where did you cross the Loire?"

"At the ford a little to the north of Nevers."

"And it was unguarded? But there, it matters little; it will be guarded by now. How do the folks in your own neighbourhood talk?"

"That the present state of things cannot continue, and that one side or the other must begin a fresh war."

"Humph," he said, half to himself, "if we unsheath the sword again, we will not lay it down until the work is finished. Monsieur, you need rest and refreshment; my gentlemen will attend to you. The Admiral will be here by nightfall. We have to thank you for your services. It was a very gallant enterprise."

Bellièvre, who was no stranger at Noyers, introduced me to several of his acquaintances, and we spent a merry evening together. The rumour of some impending calamity had spread rapidly, and all sorts of opinions were expressed by Condé's cavaliers.

"I hope," said one, "if war does break out that the Prince will not make peace until the Guises and the Queen-Mother are swept out of the country. The king is but a cat's-paw."

"True," cried another. "His mother rules him completely."

"And the Guises rule her!"

"Not at all," said the first man, "she is ruled by her own fears. Catherine wants all the power in her own hands, and she is afraid of the Prince's influence. That is the root of the evil."

"She has too many Spaniards and Italians around her," said Bellièvre; "France is drained dry by foreigners. A plague on the leeches!"

"Bravo, Felix, that is well said; but if this rumour is really true, it is time we were doing something. A hundred sworders would make little impression on an army."

"Trust our chiefs! The Admiral will be here in an hour or two. I shall be surprised if we are not out of Noyers by this time to-morrow."

Bellièvre and I were in bed when the Admiral arrived, but the next morning we discovered that preparations were being made for almost instant departure. We numbered about a hundred and fifty horsemen, and by ourselves could have made a spirited fight; but we were hampered by the presence of our leaders' wives and children, and more than one man shook his head doubtfully at the thought of meeting the king's troops. I asked my comrade where we were going, and he replied that there were as many different opinions as horsemen. "But for my part," said he, "I believe our destination is La Rochelle. That has always been the rallying-place."

"'Tis a long journey, and with the women and children a dangerous one!" I remarked. "We can be ambushed at a thousand places on the road."

"Then," said he gaily, "there are a thousand chances of a fight. My dear Edmond—we seem such good friends that I cannot call you Le Blanc—do not look so gloomy. To us of the Admiral's house a brush with the enemy is as natural as breaking one's fast. They know the Coligny battle-cry by now, I assure you."

"I am not thinking of ourselves, but of the women and children."

"Ah," said he brightly, "that gives us a chance of gaining greater glory."

The sun was always shining and the sky always blue for Felix Bellièvre, and if there were any clouds, he failed to see them. He and I rode in the rear of the cavalcade, with the Sieur Andelot, Coligny's brother, and a number of cavaliers belonging to his household. The weather, fortunately, was dry, but the sun beat down fiercely, and at times we were half-choked by the dust that rose from beneath our feet.

As Felix had foretold, we struck westward, travelling at a steady pace, and seeing no sign of the king's troops till shortly before reaching the Loire, near Sancerre. Then the few cavaliers forming the extreme rear came riding hurriedly with the information that a large body of the enemy was pushing on at a tremendous pace with the object of overtaking us.

"The rear is the post of honour, gentlemen," said Andelot, with his pleasant smile—he was, I think, even more kindly than his famous brother—"but it is also the post of danger. We must keep these troops at bay until our comrades succeed in discovering a ford," and we greeted his words with a loyal cheer.

The situation was in truth an awkward one. Unless our scouts could find some way of crossing the river we must either surrender or suffer annihilation, and the word had gone forth that there must be no yielding. "Faith, Edmond," exclaimed Felix merrily, "it seems you are to have a good baptism. One could not wish a better introduction to knightly feats. Ah, here comes one of Condé's men with news."

A cavalier galloping back from the advance-guard informed Andelot that the ford was passable, and that the Prince expected us to keep off the foe until the ladies, with a small escort, had crossed to the opposite side.

"The Prince can trust in our devotion," replied Andelot briefly.

We proceeded steadily and in perfect order, Andelot last of all, when presently we heard the thunder of hoofs and a loud shout of "For the King!" as the foremost of the enemy tore pell-mell toward us. We quickened our pace in seeming alarm, and the royalists rushed on cheering as if their prey were already secured.

Suddenly Andelot gave the signal; we wheeled as one man, and with a yell of defiance dashed at them. The surprise was complete. Confident in their numbers they were riding anyhow, and before they could form we were upon them. Down they went, horses and riders, while the air was rent by shouts of "Condé!" "For the Cause!" "For the Admiral!" "Guise! Guise!" In three minutes after the shock they were flying in wild confusion back to their infantry.

"Bravo, gentlemen!" cried our leader, as we checked the pursuit and reformed our ranks, "that is worth half an hour to our friends!"

"A smart affair that," remarked Bellièvre, "but soon over. If Guise is with the troops we shan't come off so well next time; he is a fine soldier. But the women and children must have crossed the ford by now."

We proceeded steadily till the road turned, and here Andelot halted, evidently expecting another attack. Nor had we long to wait. With a sweeping rush the enemy returned, headed by a richly-dressed cavalier on a superb horse, and shouting: "Guise! Guise!"

They outnumbered us by four to one, but we were well placed, and not a man budged.

"Let them spend their strength," said our leader, "and when they waver, charge home!"

The onset was terrific, but not a horseman broke through our ranks; they crowded upon one another in the narrow pass; they had no room for the play of their weapons, and while those in the rear were striving to push forward, the foremost were thrust back upon them in a confused heap.

Then, above the din, was heard Andelot's voice, crying: "Charge, gentlemen!" and with the force of a hurricane rush we swept them before us like leaves scattered by an autumn gale. And as we returned, flushed but triumphant, a second messenger met us.

"They are across, my lord," he cried, "all but ourselves; and the Prince is preparing to defend the ford on the farther side of the river. He begs that you will come immediately; the waters are rising."

"Forward! Forward!" Laughing and cheering, we raced along, a few wounded, but none seriously, and most of us unharmed. Our comrades were marshalled on the opposite bank, and they cried to us to hasten. From what cause—unless by a direct intervention of Providence—I know not, but the river was rising rapidly, and the last of our troop were compelled to swim several yards.

But we reached the bank without mishap, and turning round perceived our stubborn pursuers advancing at full speed. The foremost horsemen reaching the river drew rein; the ford was no longer visible, and they had no means of passage. They wandered along the bank disconsolately, while we, sending them one last cheer, rode after our van.

"A point in the game to us, Edmond," said my comrade, "and oddly gained too. The Admiral's chaplain will make use of that in his next discourse. He will say that Providence is fighting on our side."

"'Tis at least a good omen! Had the enemy crossed, we must have been defeated."

"Perhaps so; perhaps not. I'll wager Guise is storming over yonder, at the escape of his prey."

"But why wasn't the ford guarded?" I asked.

"An oversight, most likely, and a fortunate one for us. However, we are out of the trap."

"There is still a long distance to go."

"Yes, but every day's journey improves our position. Condé feels secure now; he dreaded only the passage of the Loire. Guise made a huge blunder which, in the future, will cost him dear."

Encouraged by our escape, and more so by the strange manner of it, we rode on with light hearts, chatting gaily about our past adventures, and looking forward with confidence to our safe arrival at Rochelle.

"I suppose you will throw in your lot with us," said Bellièvre, as we lay sheltering one noon from the sun's heat; "it is a great honour to belong to the Admiral's household."

"I should like it of all things, but there are two objections to the plan. In the first place the Admiral has not offered me the privilege, and in the second I must return home. My parents will be alarmed at such a long absence."

"Yes," he said slowly, "you must visit your father and mother. As for the first objection," he added mysteriously, "it can be remedied easily."

I did not understand his meaning, but the very next day, as we were proceeding on our journey, the Admiral came to my side.

"Bellièvre tells me," he said, "that you wish to join my household!"

"My lord," I replied, flushing crimson—for this speech was very startling and unexpected—"I can hardly credit that such honour is within my reach."

"There is no honour to which the son of the Sieur Le Blanc cannot aspire," he said, "and you have already proved yourself a brave lad. But first you must lay the proposal before your father; if he consents, you will find me at my house in Rochelle. We pass, I believe, within a day or two's march of Le Blanc. Is your purse empty?"

"No, my lord, I thank you; I have sufficient for my needs."

"Very well; you know where to find me, but I warrant Bellièvre will be looking out for you!"

"I shall watch for him eagerly, my lord," interposed Felix; "he is too good a comrade to be lost."

"I owe this to your kindness, Felix," I remarked when the Admiral had ridden off.

"Not kindness, my friend, but selfishness. I was thinking not so much of you, as of Felix Bellièvre. I foresee many happy days in store for us, Edmond."

"Like the one at Sancerre, for instance!"

"Ah," he replied brightly, "that is a day to be marked in red. But there will be others; and, Edmond, do not waste too much time between Le Blanc and La Rochelle."

"Unless I am laid by the heels," I answered laughing, "I shall be at Rochelle shortly after you!"

CHAPTER V

A Traitor to the King

It was on the evening of the first day in August, 1568, that I rode into the village of Le Blanc. All day long a pitiless sun had been beating down on the arid earth, with not one freshening breeze to temper the intense heat, and even now not a breath of air stirred so much as a solitary leaf on the trees.

My poor beast dragged wearily along, and his fatigue was scarcely greater than my own.

"Good old fellow!" I said, stroking his neck affectionately, "a few hundred yards more and we shall be at home. Food and water, clean straw, and a shady place for you. Ha, ha, old fellow, that makes you prick up your ears!"

We trailed along the sun-baked street; the door of every house was wide open; the villagers, men, women, and children sprawled listlessly in the coolest places, hardly raising their eyes at the beat of my horse's hoofs.

But those who did glance up gazed at me curiously, and once or twice I heard a muttered, "'Tis Monsieur Edmond!" as if I were the last person they expected to see in my own home. Their strange glances, half surprise, half pity, made me uncomfortable, and set me wondering whether any accident had happened.

However, I proceeded slowly as far as the inn, outside which half a dozen men had congregated, while old Pierre himself stood in the doorway. They greeted me in wonder, and again I heard some one say, "'Tis Monsieur Edmond!"

"Well, my friends," I exclaimed, with perhaps a suggestion of annoyance in my voice, "is there any reason why it should not be Monsieur Edmond? Did you think me dead, or has the heat affected your brains? Speak up, some of you!"

"Is monsieur going to the castle?" asked Pierre.

"Of course I am!" I answered half angrily.

"Perhaps monsieur will dismount and enter the inn. Things have happened since monsieur went away."

A great fear seized me, but, keeping my features under control, I slipped from the saddle, and, bidding the ostler take charge of the animal, followed Pierre into the one private room the inn contained.

"Now, Pierre," I exclaimed, "tell me the story quickly, in as few words as possible."

"First then, monsieur," began the old man in his quavering voice, "it is useless going to the castle, as it is shut up."

"The castle shut up!" I cried in astonishment. "Well, go on with the story; it promises plenty of interest."

"Shortly after your departure, monsieur, many rumours spread abroad. Some said one thing, some mother; but no one knew the truth. Then, one night, your father sent for me to the castle. He ordered me to watch for your return, and to tell you he had gone to Rochelle. Not another word, monsieur, except that you were to join him, and to keep out of the way of the king's troops."

"This is strange news!" I said.

"Your father must have gone away that night, monsieur, for next day the castle was deserted. And it was well he did not stay longer," the old man concluded, with a wise shake of the head.

"Why?" I asked anxiously.

"The next night, monsieur, we were roused from sleep by the tramping of soldiers. I ran to the window and looked out. There were more than two hundred of them marching through the village. On arriving at the castle, they found they were too late. Their leader was very angry; he raved like a madman."

"Did you go to listen to him?"

"No, monsieur, he slept here at the inn. The next day he had all the villagers drawn up outside, and made them a grand speech. Had it not been for his soldiers, I think he would not have left the village alive."

"Then he made the good folk angry?"

"Monsieur, it was terrible. He said the Sieur Le Blanc was a traitor to the king, that he had harboured one of the king's enemies, and that his life was forfeit to the law. Any man was to shoot him like a dog. He said all this, monsieur, and more, much more. Then he called in the leading men one by one, and questioned them closely, but they knew nothing."

"He should have asked you, Pierre."

"He did, monsieur, but he said I was a stupid dolt, with no more sense than one of my own casks!" and the old man broke into a hearty laugh.

"You had a guest the night I went away; he left early in the morning. Who was he?"

"I do not know, monsieur. He was a stranger who wished to learn all he could about the chief folk in the district; but he was an enemy to the Cause, and he did not carry away much information. Old Pierre was too dense to understand his questions," and the old man chuckled again.

"Well," I said after a pause, "since it is useless going to the castle, I must put up here for the night. I am tired and hungry. Get me some supper and a bed; meanwhile I must attend to my horse; the poor beast has carried me far."

Pierre's information was very disquieting, but, as my father had evidently received timely warning, I trusted he had effected his escape, and that by this time he was safely sheltered behind the strong walls of La Rochelle.

When Pierre brought in the supper I asked after Jacques, and, hearing he had not returned, told the landlord to inform him of what had happened. Whether he would endeavour to get into Rochelle or not I left to himself.

I ate my supper slowly, my mind fully occupied with this extraordinary occurrence. Why had my father thus suddenly been marked down for vengeance? He was a noted Huguenot, 'twas true, but he was not a leader such as Condé or the Admiral. He had sheltered the wounded messenger, and had allowed me to carry the warning to Tanlay.

This, of course, was sufficient to incur the Queen-Mother's displeasure; but how had the knowledge reached her? Who was there at Le Blanc able and willing to betray our secrets? Not a soul, unless——! Ah, the name leaped of itself into my mind. Who was the maker of mischief but Etienne Cordel?

I put together all that I had heard of this man whom Jacques detested so thoroughly. He was a lawyer, who, by some means, had amassed wealth and lands. Numerous stories, all evil, were related of him, and it was rumoured that he had long served as a useful tool to persons in high places. At least he had prospered exceedingly in some mysterious manner, and it was said he had been promised a patent of nobility. I called for Pierre, and asked if he had heard anything fresh lately of this upstart lawyer.

"No, monsieur," he answered, "Cordel had gone away before the soldiers came, and he has not yet returned. He went hurriedly, after a visit from the cavalier who slept here. Monsieur does not think——"

"For the present I think nothing, Pierre. I am tired and will go to bed. Get me an early breakfast, so that I can proceed on my journey in the cool of the morning."

Of what use were my suspicions, even if I proved them to be correct? The mischief was done, and I could not undo it. My father was a fugitive from his home, to which he dared not return, and it only remained for me to join him.

I went to bed, and, in spite of my anxiety, was soon asleep, for the long journey from Noyers had been both tedious and fatiguing. Pierre called me early, and while the village still slumbered I set forth.

"Monsieur goes to Rochelle?" asked the old man, as I vaulted lightly into the saddle.

"Yes, at present I intend going to Rochelle."

"It is said here that the war has begun again."

"If it has not, it soon will, Pierre, and when it is finished, the Sieur Le Blanc will once more be master of his castle."

"Heaven grant it, monsieur," said he earnestly, as I rode off.

The state of the country west of Le Blanc was even more deplorable than what I had seen during my journey to Tanlay. The fields were bare both of corn and of cattle; the villagers were starving; the people of the towns went about in fear and trembling; the king's troops robbed as they pleased without restraint.

At Poictiers I found the citizens in a state of dangerous excitement. Armed bands, some Huguenots, some Catholics, patrolled the streets, singing and shouting, and uttering threats of vengeance. Fearful of being mixed up in these disturbances, I alighted before the door of the first decent inn, gave my horse to the ostler, and entered.

"Your streets are a trifle dangerous for a peaceful traveller," I remarked to the landlord, who showed me to a room.

"What would you, monsieur?" he asked, with a shrug of the shoulders; "the times are evil. These miserable heretics disturb the whole country with their senseless brawls. But the mischief will be stamped out before long."

"How?" I said. "Has not the king granted them the privilege of worshipping in their own way?"

"Ah, monsieur, that was meant but for a time. The Queen-Mother will make a clean sweep of their rights as soon as she has power enough. And it is said," here he lowered his voice to a confidential whisper, "that a royal army is already marching from Paris. But monsieur is hungry?"

"Hungry and thirsty both," I replied. "What is that?" for the sounds of angry voices came from the outside.

"It is nothing, monsieur; some one has drawn a knife, perhaps, and there is a little fighting, but that is all. One does not regard these things," and he hurried off to prepare my meal.

After leaving Poictiers, I avoided the towns as much as possible, though travelling in the country districts was nearly as hazardous. The peasants having no work, and being without food, had formed themselves into robber bands, and more than once I owed my safety to the fleetness of my horse.

However, on the evening of the second day, I reached Rochelle, just as the gates were being closed. The streets were filled with citizens and Huguenot soldiers, and it was apparent that the illustrious fugitives had arrived safely at their stronghold.

Being a stranger to the city I rode slowly along the street, noting the houses, and scanning the people closely, on the chance of discovering a familiar face. In all my solitary wanderings I had not felt as lonely as I did now, amidst a seething crowd of my fellow-creatures.

The first thing, of course, was to find my father, but on coming to the Hôtel Coligny, I resolved to dismount and to seek out Felix Bellièvre. Fortunately, he was within, and I received a hearty welcome, which caused me to feel once more as if I belonged to the world of human beings.

"Faith, Edmond," he cried cheerily, "the grass has not grown under your feet! I did not expect you until to-morrow, at the earliest."

"One does not care to linger around an empty nest," I replied moodily.

"Empty only for a short time, I hope. Do not look so astonished. I have seen your father. More than that, I have been presented to your sister. Already I am a friend of the family! I will conduct you to the house, if you wish. Come, I have plenty of leisure, and you will serve as an excellent excuse for my visit."

"How did you happen to become acquainted with my father?" I asked, as we walked along.

"In the simplest way imaginable, my dear Edmond. He called to pay his respects to the Admiral; being on duty at the time, I heard his name, and made myself known as your friend. He was eager to hear news of you, and carried me off. I met your sister, and you will not be surprised that within twenty-four hours I was repeating my visit. You see there were so many things to tell her about yourself," and he laughed roguishly.

"Are they depressed by what has happened?"

"Not in the least; they regard it as a trial of their faith; but here we are at the house. I fear you will not see your estimable aunt; she is an invalid, and keeps strictly to her own rooms. Ah, here is one of the servants; let him attend to your animal, and I will announce you. Your sister will fall on your neck and embrace you. Do you think it possible for us to change parts for a few minutes?"

He was still laughing and talking in his madcap way when a door opened, and my father came towards us.

"Edmond!" he cried, on seeing me, "now this is indeed bright sunshine gleaming through the dark clouds. Monsieur Bellièvre, you are doubly welcome, for your own sake and for what you bring with you!"

The memory of the pleasant evening that followed I treasured for many years. I sat beside my mother, my hand clasped in hers, telling her the story of my adventures. Jeanne was full of high spirits, while Felix was simply overflowing with wit and good-humoured drollery.

The only drawback to our enjoyment was the absence of the trusted Jacques, but even that was slight, as he was not seriously wounded, and from the household of the noble Count St. Cyr he was certain to receive every attention.

Nothing was said that evening about the visit of the troops to Le Blanc, but the next morning I had a long talk with my father on the subject. I told him what I had learned from old Pierre, and also my suspicions concerning Etienne Cordel.

"The advocate is a scheming rogue," he said, "who bears me no goodwill because I have laughed at his pretensions to be considered our equal. He is in the pay of Monseigneur, and he has acted as a spy on those of the Religion; but, unless he heard of the affair of the letter, he could do me no harm."

"He must have heard of it from the stranger with whom we travelled," I declared. "Jacques distrusted him from the first, and believed he was one of those who attacked Devine. Did he recover?"

"Yes; he is in Rochelle, fretting and fuming at having been prevented from fulfilling his mission. But to return to our own affairs. Have you considered what this proclamation means?"

"That your life is in danger."

"A bagatelle, Edmond. It has been in danger these many years. There is something far more serious. As a traitor to the king, my estates are forfeit, and you will grow up to see another man master of the land which by right is yours. It is a heavy price for you to pay, my boy."

Now I hold it folly to pretend that this caused me no grief, but I was young and enthusiastic, and sensible enough to know that any sign of sorrow would add to my father's unhappiness. So I looked straight into his eyes and said brightly, "Others have paid a heavy price for their faith without murmuring; I am strong enough to do the same."

He held me in his arms and kissed my cheeks, saying: "Now God bless and reward you for those brave words, my son," and never before in all my life had I seen him so deeply moved.

CHAPTER VI

The Unknown Cavalier

My father had already accepted the Admiral's kind offer, so, after a few days of idleness, I began my new duties, meeting with a genial reception from my future comrades, several of whom were but a little older than myself.

Every day now some fresh note of alarm sounded. The king withdrew the privileges he had granted to those of the Religion, and from several quarters we learned that civil war in all but the name had broken out afresh. It was said, too, that the king had given command of the royal army to his brother, the Duke of Anjou, with orders to exterminate us, root and branch.

"Anjou!" laughed my comrade, "why, he is only a boy! He should be doing his lessons. Has the king provided him with a nurse?"

"Yes," I replied, "he will find Marshal Tavannes a very capable nurse."

"Oh, that is the way of it, eh? Faith, 'tis a good plan, for, see you, Edmond, if there be any glory 'twill go to Anjou, while Tavannes can take the discredit. A capital arrangement—that is, from Monseigneur's point of view!"

Meanwhile numbers of Huguenot gentlemen with their retainers were arriving at Rochelle, and our leaders were soon able to muster a respectable little army.

"Anjou must make haste if he wishes to cover himself with glory," said Felix one morning. "The Queen of Navarre will be here to-morrow, bringing four thousand Bearnese with her. They are sturdy fellows and splendid fighters."

"There is another item of news," I said. "The English queen is sending money and guns!"

"Ah," responded my comrade, "the English are stupid! Why don't they join us boldly? We are fighting for the same object, and against the same enemy. For, mark you, Edmond, our real foes are Spain and the Pope, which these English will find out one of these days! If we get beaten, it will be their turn next."

We gave the brave Queen of Navarre and her troops a right royal reception, but to me the most interesting figure in the procession was her son, Henry, on whom in the years to come the hopes of so many Frenchmen were centred. He was quite a boy, only fifteen years old, but he had a strong and capable face, full of fire and energy. His hair had a reddish tinge, his skin was brown but clear, and he had well-shaped regular features. His eyes had a sweet expression, and when he smiled his whole face lit up with animation. He sat his horse with extreme grace, and responded to the plaudits of the crowd with courtly bows.

"A gallant lad!" exclaimed Felix delightedly. "He has the makings of a soldier, and in a year or two will be a tower of strength to us."

The talk now among the younger men was of moving out from Rochelle, scattering the Royalists, marching on Paris, and dictating peace in the palace. It was astonishing how easy these things appeared to be, as we sat and gossiped idly in the Admiral's ante-chamber! Fortunately, however, our leaders, being in possession of cooler heads and clearer brains, decided otherwise, and when winter came, making a campaign impossible, we were still inside the walls.

During the autumn we were joined by a troop of English gentlemen, about a hundred strong, under the leadership of one named Henry Champernoun. They were mostly young, of good birth and family, very gallant fellows, and as eager to fight as the most headstrong of us.

With one of them—Roger Braund, a lad about the same age as Felix—we soon became very friendly. He was fair and handsome, with sparkling blue eyes and shapely features. He was tall and well made, a skilful horseman, and an astonishing master of fence. Few of us could equal him with the sword, but he was modest and unassuming, and had a genial manner, very captivating.

He was a frequent visitor at my aunt's house, where he speedily became as great a favourite as Felix. Indeed, I sometimes thought that Jeanne regarded him with even more favour. She spent much time in his company, listening to his accounts of the English Court and of his own home, which was situated in a district called Devonshire. I think Felix was not too well pleased with this intimacy, but whatever sorrow it caused him he kept locked up in his own breast.

One evening, they started together to the house, expecting me to follow as soon as I was relieved of my duty. It was, I remember, about a half after six, when I left the hotel. The streets as usual were thronged with citizens and soldiers, who in some places almost blocked the road. In front of me was a horseman, to all appearance but newly arrived. He was proceeding at a foot pace, and evidently looking for suitable accommodation.

"A fine beast!" I thought, glancing at the animal, and then—"Surely I have seen that horse before!"

The knowledge did not come to me at once, but by degrees I remembered the early morning ride through the sleeping village of Le Blanc, and the richly-dressed cavalier with whom we had travelled some distance. I quickened my steps, and scanned the rider closely. I could not see his face well, but there could be no mistaking the alert, soldierly figure, and the short, brown curls escaping over the forehead.

"Faith, my friend," I said to myself, "the tables are turned now! One word from me, and you would be torn in pieces; but you must be a brave rascal to venture alone into Rochelle! If Anjou has many spies as fearless as you, he must be well served."

I walked close behind him, wondering what was best to be done. He was certainly a spy, who had entered the city for the purpose of searching out our strength and weakness. Perhaps it would be best to call a patrol, and have him arrested on the spot. I was still considering this, when he turned up a side street and dismounted before the door of an inn. An ostler led his horse to the stables, and he entered the house.

Now the fellow was so completely in my power that I had the mind to watch him a little further. Several persons were in the room, but he had taken his place at an unoccupied table in the corner, and called for the host.

"Some food and a little wine," he said, "but serve me quickly; I have important business on hand."

"Monsieur has travelled?" said the landlord, with a glance at his boots.

"Yes," he answered, "and one feels safer inside Rochelle than beyond its walls, let me tell you!"

"What is Anjou doing now, monsieur?" asked a man at one of the other tables.

"Killing," said the stranger briefly. "Rochelle will soon be able to hold all those left of the Religion."

"I vow," exclaimed an iron-featured trooper, "it makes one wonder our leaders should keep us cooped up here."

"You had better offer your opinion to the Admiral, or to Condé," said the stranger with a laugh, and he turned his attention to the food that had been set before him.

He ate and drank quickly, taking no further part in the conversation, but apparently as much at ease as if sitting at Anjou's table.

"You will require a room, monsieur?" said the host presently.

"I will pay for one, though I may not use it."

"And your horse, monsieur?"

"Will remain in the stables."

He had nearly finished his meal now, and, acting on a sudden impulse, I crossed the room and sat down opposite him. He looked up at me in a casual way, and the next instant understood he was discovered. But the man had nerves of iron; not a muscle of his face moved; only by the sudden light in his eyes did I know that he recognized me.

"The game is to me, monsieur," I said simply.

"Yes," he agreed, "the game is yours, but do not claim the stakes until I have spoken with you."

"The game is altogether finished, monsieur, and you have lost; you cannot throw again."

"A fig for the game!" he said; "you have but to raise your voice, and these bloodhounds will bury their fangs in my heart. I know that, and do not complain. I ask only a few hours' freedom."

"Surely, monsieur, in the circumstance, that is a strange request!"

"A riddle is always strange when one does not possess the key. For instance, you believe I have entered Rochelle as a spy."

"Exactly."

"And yet you are mistaken. I suppose you will laugh at my story, but I must tell it you. You know me only as an opponent."

"A clever and a daring one."

"And yet you foiled me! But that is not to the point. My name is Renaud L'Estang. My father was a gentleman, poor and without influence; I had good blood in my veins but no money in my purse. My only chance of wealth lay in my sword. I sold it to the highest bidder. In short, monsieur, I am an adventurer, no better and no worse than thousands of others."

"And in the pay of the League!"

"At present," he corrected, with a courteous inclination of the head, "in the service of the Duke of Anjou."

"Why did you attack me at Nevers?"

"To obtain possession of the letter of whose contents we were in ignorance."

"And you denounced my father to the Duke!"

"There you wrong me. I endeavoured to capture the letter; I failed, and my part in the affair was over; but again I am wandering from the point, which is to explain my presence in Rochelle. Monsieur, has it ever occurred to you that a man who earns his livelihood by his sword may have a heart the same as more innocent persons?"

"No one is without some virtue," I said.

"There is one person in the world," he continued, in low earnest tones, almost as if communing with himself, "who has all my love and affection. For her I would willingly die, or suffer the worst tortures a fiend could invent. Monsieur, there is but one person on earth who loves me and whom I love; and she is in Rochelle, lying at the point of death."

"Your wife?" I said questioningly.

"My mother!" he replied. "In her eyes, monsieur, I possess all the virtues. It is strange, is it not?" and he laughed a trifle bitterly.

"And you risked your life to comfort her before she died?"

"Bah!" he exclaimed impatiently, "what is a trifle like that? Monsieur, I never yet begged a favour, but I beg one now. Not for myself, but for her. You are young, and have a mother of your own! I shall not plead to you vainly. I tried to kill you, but you will not take your revenge on her. And I am altogether in your power."

"Yes," I said slowly, "that is true."

"You can send for a guard, but without explaining your object. They can surround the house, while I close my mother's eyes, and afterwards I am at your service. The gallows, the block, or the wheel, as your leaders direct; you will not lose much."

"No, I shall not lose much," I repeated.

Now, strangely perhaps, I felt not the slightest doubt of the man's story. His good faith was apparent in every tone and every gesture. Whatever his vices, he loved his mother with his whole heart. And he was entirely in my power! Even if he got away from me in the streets he could not leave Rochelle! I thought of my own mother, and hesitated no longer. I could not keep these two apart.

"Monsieur," I said, "for good or ill I intend to trust you. We will go together to your home, and—and afterwards you will return with me to the Hôtel Coligny. If you abuse my confidence, I will leave your punishment in the hands of God, who judges Huguenot and Catholic alike. Come, let us hasten."

He made no violent protestations, but murmured brokenly: "May the blessing of a dying woman reward you!"

We passed out of the inn together, and walked briskly through the streets, until we reached a house not far from the harbour. The door was opened by a middle-aged woman who gazed at my companion in astonishment.

"Hush!" he said softly, "am I in time?"

"For the end," she answered, "only for that. Madame has already received the last rites."

The woman showed us into an empty room, where my companion laid aside his weapons.

"You do not repent of your generosity?" he asked.

"I have trusted you fully," I replied, and his face lit up with a gratified smile as he left the room, stepping noiselessly into the corridor.

The servant brought a light, and some refreshments, but they stood before me untasted. I was busy with my thoughts. The house was very still; not a sound broke the silence, not the murmur of a voice, nor the fall of a footstep. I might have been in a house of the dead.

Suddenly the door was pushed open noiselessly, and the adventurer stood before me beckoning. I rose from my seat and followed him without a word into another apartment. In the bed in the alcove a woman lay dying. She must have been beautiful in her youth, and traces of beauty still lingered on her face. She stretched out her hands and drew my head down to hers.

"Renaud tells me you have done him a great service," she said feebly. "It is through you that he was able to come to me. A dying woman blesses you, monsieur, and surely the saints will reward you. A goodly youth! A goodly youth! May God hold you in His holy keeping! Treasure him, Renaud, my son, even to the giving of your life for his!"

Her eyes closed, she sank back exhausted, and I stole from the room. How my heart ached that night! "Treasure him, Renaud!" Poor soul! How merciful that she should die ignorant of the wretched truth! "Even to the giving of your life for his!" And his life was in my hands already! Oh, the pity, the horror of it! She called on God to bless me, and I was about to lead her only son straight from her death-bed to the executioner!

For I could not disguise from myself the fact that this man would die the death of a spy. Ambroise Devine was in Rochelle, and he would show no mercy. And, terrible as it might seem, there were those in the city who would scout the idea that Renaud L'Estang had risked his life solely to visit his dying mother. "He is a spy," they would declare hotly; "let him die a spy's death!"

"It is not my fault," I said to myself angrily; "he has lost; he must pay forfeit!"

"A dying woman blesses you, and surely the saints will reward you!" The room was filled with the words; they buzzed in my ears, and beat into my brain continually; I could not rid myself of them. "A dying woman!" Ay, perhaps a dead woman by now, and her son following swiftly as the night the day! I could have cried aloud in my agony of mind.

CHAPTER VII

A Commission for the Admiral

"It is over, monsieur."

Renaud L'Estang stood before me, his face drawn and haggard, and heavy with a great grief. He had stolen in noiselessly; his sword and pistol lay within reach of his hand; he might have killed me without effort, and saved his own life. The thought flashed into my mind, but died away instantly. From the moment when he told his story I had never once mistrusted him.

"Your mother has passed away?" I questioned in a tone of sympathy.

"She died in my arms; her last moments were full of peace. Now, I am at your service."

"You are faint," I said. "Will it not be advisable to break your fast before starting out? You will need all your strength."

"I cannot eat."

"Yet it is necessary. Pardon me if I summon your servant."

He allowed himself to be treated almost as a child, eating and drinking mechanically what was set before him, hardly conscious of my presence, unable to detach his thoughts from the sombre picture in the adjoining apartment. At last he had finished, and I said gently, "Have you made arrangements for your mother's burial?"

"They are all made," he replied gravely.

"There is your sword," I remarked, pointing to the weapon lying on the table.

"Let it lie monsieur," he answered with a mournful smile; "a dead man has no use for a sword."

Now I may have done a very foolish thing, for this L'Estang was a daring soldier, crafty, able, and resolute. He was an enemy to be feared far more than many a general in the armies of the League. All this was well known to me, and yet I could not harden my heart against him. I had meant to denounce him to the Admiral, but at the last moment my courage failed. How could I condemn to death this man who had freely risked his life to comfort his mother's last moments?

"Monsieur," I said awkwardly, "listen to me. When I met you in the city, I jumped to the conclusion that you had come to Rochelle as a spy. You told me your story, and I believed it; but you have doubtless many enemies who will laugh at it. They will say——"

"Nothing, monsieur; I shall go to the block without words. Renaud L'Estang will find no mercy in Rochelle, and asks none."

There was no hint of bravado in his speech; it was but the expression of a man of intrepid courage and iron will.

"Once more listen," I said. "Had you come to Rochelle as a spy I should have handed you over to our troops without hesitation; but I am regarding you, not as the servant of Anjou but as a tender and loving son. I cannot have on my hands the blood of a man who has shown such affection for his mother. I propose to accompany you to the gate, and there to set you at liberty."

He stood like one suddenly stricken dumb. His limbs trembled, the muscles of his face twitched convulsively; he gazed at me with unseeing eyes.

"Monsieur," he said after a time, "I do not comprehend. Is it that you give me, Renaud L'Estang, my life? No, I must have mistaken your words."

"You have made no mistake. As far as I am concerned you are free. I ask but one thing, Renaud L'Estang. Some day you may be able to show mercy to one of your foes. Should such a time arrive, remember that once mercy was not withheld from you."

He did not speak, but motioned me with his hand to follow him. We entered the chamber of death, and he knelt reverently by the bedside. Then, in low, passionate tones, calling on the dead woman by name, he made a solemn vow that, should it ever be in his power, he would repay the debt he owed me, even at the sacrifice of life and all he held most dear.

"I must fight for my side," he said, "but no Huguenot shall ever seek quarter from me in vain."

He buckled on his sword, and we went out together in the dull grey morning. Few persons were abroad, and none presumed to question one of the Admiral's household. My companion fetched his horse from the inn, and I walked with him until we were well beyond the walls of the town.

Then I came to a halt, saying: "Here we part; now you must depend on yourself for safety."

He doffed his plumed hat. "Monsieur," he said, "the friends of Renaud L'Estang would laugh on being told he was at a loss for words; yet it is true. I cannot express my gratitude; I can but pray that I may have an opportunity of proving it. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" I replied, and when he had ridden some distance I returned thoughtfully to the city.

Felix, who was on duty at the hotel, looked at me curiously. "Where have you been?" he asked. "We expected you last night, and concluded you must have been detained on some special service. I have been wearing myself to a shadow on your account!"

I made some commonplace excuse and left him, saying I was tired and wished to sleep; for, though I did not regret my action, I could hardly refrain from doubting its wisdom.

At first the incident occupied a large portion of my thoughts, but as the days passed into weeks the memory of it wore off.

Winter had set in, and we knew the campaign would not open until the spring of the next year. It was a trying time; the cold was intense—the oldest veteran had never known such a keen frost—and much sickness broke out among the troops. The good Admiral tended them with the devotion of a father, spending himself in their service, and we of his household were kept busy from morning till night.

In spite of every care, however, our losses were enormous, and the prospect became very gloomy. Every one looked forward with eagerness to the coming of spring.

"If the winter lasts much longer," said Roger Braund, one night when we had all met at my aunt's house, "there will be no army left."

"A little more patience," my father exclaimed smilingly; "once the campaign begins you will have no cause to complain of inaction!"

"Faith," laughed Felix, "if he rides with the Admiral, he will be regretting sometimes having left the comforts of Rochelle."

"I shall probably do that," said Roger, glancing at my sister, "even without the hard riding."

"Then you are a caitiff knight and no true soldier," I broke in hastily, for Jeanne was blushing furiously, and my comrade's face had lost its merriment; "but, really, things are becoming serious; more than a score of men have died to-day!"

"Poor fellows!" said my mother tenderly; "if those who force us into these cruel wars could only realize the misery they cause!"

"I fear, madame," remarked Roger, "that the suffering troubles them little, as long as they can gain their ends."

About a week after this conversation there were signs that our long inactivity was drawing to a close. The weather became far milder; the ice began to thaw, and it was possible for the soldiers to pass the nights in some degree of comfort. Orders were issued to the various leaders, carts were collected and filled with stores, bodies of troops marched out from the city, and preparations for the campaign were actively pushed forward.

"I really believe," said Felix one morning, "that we are about to move. Condé has issued instructions for all his followers to hold themselves in readiness, and a body of infantry left Rochelle an hour ago."

We were on duty in the Admiral's ante-chamber, and my comrade had just finished speaking when our leader, attended as usual by the Sieur de Guerchy, ascended the staircase. He glanced round at us with his kindly smile, and, clapping me lightly on the shoulder, exclaimed: "A word with you in my room, Monsieur Le Blanc."

Expecting some trifling commission, such as often fell to his gentlemen of the bodyguard, I followed him into the apartment, and stood waiting to hear his commands.

"A prudent youth, De Guerchy," he remarked to his companion, "and not without experience. He it was who brought the timely warning to Tanlay. His father is the Sieur Le Blanc."

"A gallant soldier!" said De Guerchy with decision.

"And I think the lad will follow in his father's footsteps. I am about to send him to Saint Jean d'Angely, and to Cognac," adding, with a laugh, "'tis a far less distance than to Tanlay."

"But the commission is almost as important," said De Guerchy.

"Much less dangerous though," and, turning to me, he added: "Can you carry a letter to the commandant at Cognac?"

"I will do my best, my lord."

"Then make your preparations; I shall be ready for you at the end of two hours."

I saluted and returned to the ante-chamber, where Felix, catching sight of my smiling face, exclaimed: "More good fortune, Edmond? I shall be jealous of you soon! Why do the Fates select you for their favours?"

"It is an affair of little importance," I said.

"Does it carry you away from Rochelle?"

"A short distance; but I must attend to my horse; our patron is in a hurry," and expecting that we should meet later I hurried away.

Having saddled my horse and put my pistols in order I paid a hasty visit home, though fully expecting to be back in the city within a few days. My father, however, thought my absence would be for a longer period.

"The truth is, Edmond," he said, "that the campaign has opened. Some of the troops have already started, and Coligny himself leaves the city before night. So, should you be charged with a message for him, you are not likely to return to Rochelle."

"And you?" I asked.

"I am waiting for orders, I may march with the troops, or remain here; it depends on our leaders."

My father's information put a greyer colour on the farewell; Jeanne and my mother embraced me very tenderly, and neither could altogether keep back the tell-tale tears. Still, they were very brave, and when at last I rode off, they stood at the window waving their handkerchiefs and smiling, though I suspect the smiles quickly faded after I disappeared from sight.

I found the hotel in a state of commotion, and Felix, who met me in the lobby, exclaimed excitedly: "It has begun, Edmond; we march almost immediately. I am just going to say good-bye to your sister. Will you be away from us long?"

"I think not. I am carrying a despatch to the commandants at Saint Jean d'Angely and Cognac. Afterwards I shall rejoin you."

"Till we meet again then," said he, hurriedly, anxious to make the most of the short time still at his disposal.

Several of our leaders besides De Guerchy were with the Admiral, and from time to time one of them came out, mounted his horse, and galloped off. Presently the door opened, and De Guerchy called me inside, where the Admiral handed me two packets.

"One for the commandant at Saint Jean d'Angely," he said, "and one for him at Cognac. From Cognac you will proceed to Angoulême, unless you meet with us on the way. I need not warn you to be prudent and vigilant, nor remind you that these despatches must not fall into the hands of an enemy. Start at once; you should reach Saint Jean d'Angely before norning."

I took the packets, placed them securely inside my doublet, and, after a last word of caution from De Guerchy, left the room. The news of the coming movement had spread throughout the town and the streets were crowded. The excitement was intense, and I witnessed many sad scenes; for every one understood that of the thousands who marched from Rochelle comparatively few would return.

Heavy carts, and big, clumsy guns—chiefly useful for making a noise—rumbled along; dashing cavaliers with flaunting favours bestrode their horses proudly; sturdy foot-soldiers carrying murderous pike or deadly arquebus tramped steadily onward, while weeping children and silent, white-faced women stood bowed with grief.

Even beyond the gates I found crowds of people who had come thus far, loth to say the last farewell to their dear ones; but after a while I left the throng behind, and set my horse into a canter. Now and again I overtook a body of troops, marching cheerfully, and singing their favourite hymns. They, too, were tired of inaction, and eager to plunge into the strife.

With the falling of darkness I slackened my pace, riding carefully, listening for any unusual sounds, and peering into the gloom. I had not forgotten my former adventure, but nothing untoward happened, and shortly after midnight I drew rein at the gate of the town.

"Your business?" exclaimed the officer of the guard.

"I am from Rochelle, with a despatch for your commandant."

"From the Prince?"

"From the Admiral—it is all one."

The gate was opened, and, having dismounted, I led my horse forward by the bridle.

"You have had a dark ride, monsieur."

"But a safe one," I answered, laughing. "Where is the commandant to be found? He will not feel well pleased at being wakened from his sleep."

"Ah, you do not know him! He is like the owl, and sleeps only in the daylight. At other times he watches; he is going the rounds now, and will be with us in a few minutes. It will need a craftier leader than Anjou to take Saint Jean d'Angely by surprise! Ah, here is the commandant!"

A veteran soldier, with white moustaches, white hair, and grizzled beard! A strongly-built man of middle height, with resolute, determined face, and an air that betokened long years of command.

"A despatch from the Admiral, monsieur," I said, saluting and handing him the packet.

Tearing off the covering, he read the letter by the light of a torch, folded the paper, and put it away carefully. By his face one could not judge whether the information he had received was good or ill.

"You are from Rochelle?" he asked sharply.

"I have just ridden from there, monsieur."

"And are you returning?"

"No, monsieur. I am proceeding to Cognac."

"You have had a brisk ride, and your horse is in leed of rest. Come with me."

He conducted me to an inn, wakened the landlord, and did not leave until my horse was comfortably stabled, and preparations for a good supper were in progress. Then he said: "You will be starting early in the morning. Have a care on your journey to Cognac. Bodies of the enemy have been prowling around the district for some days."

"I thank you, monsieur. I was unaware they had ventured so far south."

"They are striking, I think, at Angoulême," he said; "I have sent a courier to Rochelle with the news. Good-night! And don't let the rascals snap you up."

The supper was an excellent one, the bed delightfully cosy and inviting, and my last thought was one of regret at having to leave it so soon. However, I turned out at the landlord's warning, made another hearty meal—these journeys were keen sharpeners of the appetite—and before the day was fairly awake had started in cheerful spirits for Cognac.

CHAPTER VIII

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."

CHAPTER IX

A Glorious Victory

The steady courage and resolute will of our great leader raised the spirits of every soldier under his command; the disaster at Jarnac became more and more a dream; the retreat to Niort was conducted without the least disorder or confusion. Every one trusted Coligny, and felt that under his rule all would go well.

And, as far as human skill and foresight could prevail, the Admiral deserved our confidence. All through the day, and far into the night, he toiled, and never grew weary; at one time inspecting his troops, at another strengthening his defences; now endeavouring to form some useful alliance, again writing cheerful letters and putting heart into the more timid of our friends.

We had another leader, too, who, though she did not lead us into battle was worth many a troop of horse to the Cause. I shall never forget the day when Joan of Albret, the great-hearted Queen of Navarre, came riding into our camp at Niort, bringing her son, Henry of Beam, and her nephew Henry, the son of the murdered Condé. True and steadfast in the hour of our defeat—more steadfast even than some of those who would ride fearlessly in the wildest charge—she came to prove her unswerving loyalty.

"I offer you my son," said this noble lady—may her name ever be held in reverence—"who burns with a bold ardour to avenge the death of the Prince we all regret. Behold also Condé's son, now become my own child. He succeeds to his father's name and glory. Heaven grant that they may both show themselves worthy of their ancestors!"

While she spoke, not another sound broke the silence in all that vast assembly; but when the echo of the last word had died away, such a shout arose that few have ever heard its like. The whole army cheered and cheered again with one voice; hundreds of swords flashed in the air; men went wild with enthusiasm as they cried, "Long live Joan of Albret! long live the Queen of Navarre!"

When at length silence was restored there rode to the front that gallant youth, Henry of Beam, whose winning manners had already charmed us at Rochelle. I have seen him since with all the world at his feet, and crowned with victory; but after his most glorious triumph he did not look more noble than on that memorable day at Niort. He was, as I have said, a splendid horseman, and he managed his fiery charger with exquisite grace and ease. His eyes, usually so sweet, were bright and burning; the hot blood reddened his clear brown skin.

"Soldiers!" he exclaimed—and I would you could have heard the music of his voice—"your cause is mine. I swear to defend our religion, and to persevere until death or victory has restored us the liberty for which we fight."

Once again the thundering cheers pealed forth, and had Monseigneur but met us that day, I warrant he would not have carried a hundred men with him from the field.

"Your Henry of Beam is a gallant youngster, Edmond," remarked Roger Braund that evening; "I would he had been with us at Jarnac!"

"That might have prevented his being here now!"

"True! On the other hand, his presence might have saved the day. However, he will have an opportunity of showing his mettle. Do we move soon?"

"We are waiting for a body of German foot-soldiers, and for the troops from Languedoc. Directly they arrive, I believe we break camp."

"The sooner the better," said he; "we shall rust out by staying here."

Most of the troops, indeed, had begun to weary of inaction, and when, on the arrival of our reinforcements, Coligny determined to offer battle once more, the whole camp received the news with satisfaction. A great grief had befallen our leader. His brother, the kindly genial Sieur Andelot, whom all men loved, had broken down under the terrible strain, and died at Saintes. It was a terrible blow, but the Admiral sternly repressed his sorrow, counting no sacrifice too great for the success of the Cause.

We marched out from the camp at Niort, twenty-five thousand strong, all in good spirits, and all placing the most implicit trust in our gallant leader. The dead Condé's troops were especially eager for the fray, and as they mounted and rode off, the words "Remember Jarnac!" passed from man to man. It was a watchword that boded ill for their opponents.

From day to day our scouts brought in word of the royal forces. They outnumbered us by several thousands, but that did not damp our ardour; in spite of Jarnac, we felt that we were marching to victory.

We had advanced within two days' distance of the city of Limoges, when our scouts galloped in with the information that they had encountered a strong force of hostile cavalry. Our preparations for battle were all made, so Coligny continued his march, the horsemen retiring before us, and making no effort to attack.

We passed an anxious night: the sentries were doubled, the outposts strengthened, and the men slept with their weapons in their hands, ready to spring up at the first note of warning. For the Admiral's personal attendants there was no sleep whatever. We passed our time in visiting the outposts, and in seeing that everything was secure. Only after day broke were we able to snatch an hour or two's rest.

"Faith," laughed Felix, as the march was resumed, "this is fine preparation for a battle! Edmond, rub the dust from your eyes; you look sleepy enough to fall from your saddle!"

"And all our labour was wasted!" I grumbled. "Those fellows just went comfortably to sleep, laughing at us for our pains."

"Never mind!" said my comrade merrily, "it may be our turn to laugh next. And, after all, I would rather laugh last."

All that day we marched through a woody, irregular district, the horsemen watching our movements, but retiring steadily at our approach, as if wishing to lure us into some cunning trap. But Coligny was not to be tempted; he kept his troops well in hand, and in the evening we camped by the side of a small stream with a marsh in our front.

"We have caught him," cried Felix, in a tone of delight.

"Or he has caught us!" said I dubiously. "Anjou has some skilful soldier at his elbow who chose that position."

On the other side of the marsh rose a rugged hill, and at the summit the royalist general had pitched his camp. Rude breastworks, from which the muzzles of several guns peeped out, had been erected, and altogether it looked as if Monseigneur had provided us with a hard nut to crack.

Coligny rode out across the marsh to examine the enemy's position more clearly, and I fancied there was a shade of anxiety on his usually serene face. It was a heavy responsibility he had to bear, for, should his troops be defeated, the Huguenot Cause was lost. There was no other army to replace the one under his command.

"The longer you look at it the less you'll like it," said Roger Braund cheerfully—for our English comrade often came over for a chat when we had pitched camp—"Monseigneur has fenced himself in marvellously well."

"The more credit in digging him out!" laughed Felix. "Don't make Edmond more doleful; he is half afraid now of meeting with a second Jarnac. De Pilles"—the commander of our artillery—"will soon batter down those walls, and a sharp rush will carry the hill."

"'Tis a simple matter winning a battle—in our minds," laughed Roger, "but not always so easy in practice. Monseigneur's troops fought well enough at Jarnac."

"Ah," said Felix merrily, "they will fight well here, but we shall fight better!"

"Is an assault decided on?"

"No one knows," I replied; "there is to be a meeting of the Council presently. But I take it that we must attack. Monseigneur has the advantage of us. He can obtain provisions; we can't."

"And we aren't likely to retreat!" exclaimed Felix.

"In that case we must go forward; but we shall hear the decision in an hour or two."

The Council sat for a considerable time, while we of the Admiral's household discussed the situation among ourselves. There were various opinions given, the older men declaring Monseigneur was too strongly posted to be dislodged, the younger and more hot-headed making light of the danger.

At length the Council broke up, and, though nothing was actually disclosed, we soon became aware that Coligny had resolved on risking a battle.

"Bravo!" said Felix, as we went to our tent, "'twill be a pity if Roche Abeille does not make up for Jarnac!"

The bugle-call roused us at daybreak, and after a hasty breakfast we prepared for the fray. It was a glorious summer morning, with only a few fleecy clouds dotting the blue sky. The country was bathed in sunlight, and the green, leafy foliage of the numerous trees on our left made a delightful picture. The waters of the little stream in our rear danced and sparkled, and the chorus of the birds made wondrous music. Before long every feathered creature was flying hastily away in amazement and affright.

The army was drawn up in battle array, and the noble Coligny, serene and confident, rode along the lines.

"Soldiers!" he exclaimed, "the time has come. The enemy are before us. We must beat them or die. Soldiers, if we lose this battle, the sacred Cause to which we have pledged our lives is overthrown. Our religion will be destroyed, our wives and little ones slain, we ourselves shall go to the prison, the block, or the stake. Soldiers, the safety of the Cause is entrusted to your arms! I know you are worthy of the honour."

A great cheer greeted these stirring words, a cheer that, echoing far and wide, sounded like a haughty challenge of defiance to the foe.

I had little to do but to watch the opening of the battle, and my heart beat fast as De Pilles, a rough and fearless fighter, went forward with his artilery. Almost instantly the excitement became tense.

"He is into the marsh!" cried Felix. "His guns are stuck fast! He cannot get them out! Ah, see, Monseigneur is launching his horsemen at them!"

Down the hill they came in beautiful order, a troop of Italian cavalry, their helmets gleaming, their swords flashing in the sunlight.

"De Pilles is lost!" muttered a man behind me.

"No, no!" cried Felix; "he will beat them off. See, he is forming up his men. Ah, bravo! bravo! Look, there isn't a coward among them!"

With a rush, the Italians swept down on the guns. They were brave men and seasoned fighters, but they came to grief that day. Though their animals floundered in the soft soil they struggled on valiantly; they reached the guns, they wheeled and circled, they struck fierce blows with their glittering blades, but, wherever they rode, there they found a grim and sturdy opponent.

Back they went for a breathing-space, and then, with a magnificent charge, once more flung themselves on the handful of gunners. My heart stood still when, for a moment, our gallant few disappeared as if overwhelmed by the waves of a human sea.

A triumphant shout from Felix roused me. The waves had rolled back, broken and shattered, and we raised cheer after cheer as the baffled horsemen slowly climbed the hill. De Pilles had saved his guns, and in Monseigneur's Italian troop there were more than a score of empty saddles. It was a good beginning for us.

The battle now became general. The guns, dragged from the marsh on to firm ground, opened fire against the breastworks, the infantry marched steadily forward, two troops of horse worked round to the right, seeking a favourable place for attack.

But our progress was slow. Monseigneur's troops, fighting with rare vigour and courage, forced us back again and again; their position seemed impregnable, and our men fell fast. Unless we could break through somewhere the battle was lost.

By extreme good fortune, I was close behind the Admiral when he turned his head, seeking a messenger.

"Le Blanc" he cried, courteous as ever, even in the midst of the terrible strife, "ride to De Courcy Lamont, and tell him to charge home. Tell him that unless he can make a gap for us, the day is lost. And say that the Admiral trusts him."

Bowing low, I spurred my horse sharply, and darted off. Around me rose the din of battle—the thunder of the guns, the savage cries of angry men closely locked in deadly combat. Already Monseigneur's troops were shouting "Victory!" and I had visions of an even more fearful disaster than at Jarnac.

De Courcy Lamont listened to my message with a proud smile on his face. His troopers were faint and weary; many were more or less seriously wounded; they had lost several of their comrades; but Coligny's words acted like magic.

"The Admiral trusts to us!" said their leader. "Shall we disappoint him?"

"No! no!" they cried; "we will die for the Admiral! Let us charge!"

"I thank you, gentlemen," said De Courcy simply.

It was a desperate enterprise, and would never have been attempted but for the love these gallant men bore to our great chief. For his sake they were going to throw themselves upon death.

"Charge!" Half mad with excitement, I took my place with them, behind De Courcy, who rode several lengths in advance. From a trot to a canter, from a canter to a gallop, and then with one mighty rush we swept down on the foe. A body of horse dashed across our path; we brushed them aside like a handful of chaff, and never slackened pace.

"The Admiral! The Admiral! For the Cause! Remember Jarnac!" we shouted hoarsely, as our straining animals flew over the intervening space.

Faster and faster grew the mad gallop, until, like a living whirlwind, we flung ourselves on a line of bristling pikes.

"For the Admiral!" cried our leader joyously.

"Anjou! Anjou!" came back the defiant answer, and then we were in the midst of them. We had made a gap, but at terrible expense.

Hotter and hotter waxed the strife; swords flashed, pikes ran red, shouts of triumph mingled with groans of despair; men went down and were trampled underfoot in the horrible press; we were tossed and buffeted from side to side, but we fought on with savage desperation, and the cry, "For the Admiral!" still rose in triumph. Truly it could not be said that we grudged our lives that day!

And presently an answering cry of "For the Admiral!" sounded on our ears. Our charge had not been made in vain! Back went the enemy, slowly and stubbornly at first, fighting every inch of the ground, but still retreating.

"They give way!" cried De Courcy, who was bare-headed and wounded, "they give way! Charge, my brave lads!"

The words decided the fortunes of the day. With a rush and a roar we swept forward, and Anjou's stubborn troops scattered in flight. Forward we went in hot pursuit, but suddenly everything became dark to me; the stricken field with its mob of flying men vanished from sight, and I sank forward helplessly across my horse's neck.

CHAPTER X

I Rejoin the Advance

"Do you know me, monsieur? It is I—Jacques."

"Jacques?" I repeated dreamily. "Where are we? What are we doing here? My head aches; I feel stiff all over. Where is the letter? Ah, I remember now. We won the battle, Jacques?"

"Yes, monsieur. It was a great victory. Monseigneur's troops were completely routed."

I closed my eyes and lay thinking. By degrees it all came back to me; the Admiral's message, De Courcy's wild charge, the terrible conflict, the flight of the royalists, and then—! I had a strange half-consciousness of having been raised from the ground and carried some distance, but of what had really happened I had no definite knowledge.

But how came Jacques into the picture? Surely he was not at Roche Abeille! I opened my eyes and saw him bending over me and looking eagerly into my face.

"Jacques," I said, "what are you doing here?"

"Nursing you, monsieur," he answered cheerfully. "I got to Rochelle just after you had started, and followed the army; but the battle was over when I reached Roche Abeille."

"How did you find me?"

"I went to the Admiral's gentlemen. They said you were killed, and that your friend Monsieur Bellièvre was distracted, and there was another gentleman, an Englishman, who looked very unhappy. But we fetched a surgeon, who patched you up, and we carried you here."

"Where, Jacques?"

"The city of Limoges, monsieur. You are lodged at a comfortable inn, and now you have talked enough."

"One more question, my good Jacques; how long have I been here?"

"Three days, monsieur. Now I will get you some nourishing food, and afterwards you must sleep."

The next morning, finding I was much stronger, Jacques was willing to answer further questions. Felix had come through the fray unscathed, and Roger Braund was only slightly wounded. Anjou, he said, had been thoroughly defeated, and there was already talk of the end of the war.

"And where are the troops now?" I asked.

"They marched in the direction of Poictiers. It is rumoured that the Admiral intends to besiege the town."

"It may be so," I observed doubtfully, "but it is hardly likely. That is the mistake Monseigneur made after Jarnac."

"Well," replied Jacques with a smile, "it cannot interest monsieur very much for the next three or four weeks."

He had quite recovered from his own wounds, and was full of praise of the Count St. Cyr, who had treated him with the greatest kindness.

"The count is a noble gentleman," he remarked, "and full of zeal for the Cause. He is bringing his retainers to aid the Admiral."

"He is an old man, too," I said musingly.

"But with all the fire of a boy, monsieur."

"Have you heard that a price has been set on my father's head?" I asked presently.

"Yes," and the worthy fellow's face clouded over with passion, "that is Etienne Cordel's handiwork."

"But we have done the man no harm!"

"He hates your father, monsieur; and, besides, Le Blanc is a fine property. Monseigneur and the Italian woman are deeply in his debt, and that would be a simple mode of payment. 'Tis easy to give away what does not belong to one. Many Huguenot estates have changed hands in that way."

I thought Jacques was exaggerating the case, but not caring to argue the matter I said no more, and turning round dropped off into a refreshing sleep.

For a fortnight longer I lay in bed, and then the surgeon, who came every day, allowed me to get up. My head was still dizzy, and my legs tottered under me, but, leaning on Jacques' arm, I walked slowly up and down the room. The next morning, still attended by my faithful servant, I went downstairs and out into the street, and from that day I fast began to recover my strength.

There was not much news of the war, beyond the fact that the Huguenots were besieging Poictiers, a piece of information that I was sorry to hear, since it seemed to me they would fritter away their strength for nothing. The Admiral, however, doubtless possessed good reasons for his actions, and in any case it was not for me to question his wisdom.

I was able now to walk without assistance, and even to sit in the saddle, though not very firmly, and I felt eager to rejoin my comrades. But to this neither Jacques nor the surgeon would consent, so I continued to while away the time in the quaint old town as patiently as possible. But, as the weeks passed and my strength returned more fully, life in Limoges became more and more insupportable, and I finally resolved to travel by easy stages to Poictiers.

The news we gathered on the journey was by no means reassuring. Coligny had failed to capture the town; he had lost several thousand good troops, and had raised the siege. Equally discomforting was the information that Anjou was in the field again with a strong and well-equipped army.

"We seem to have gained little by our victory," I said disconsolately.

"We shall do better after our next one," said Jacques cheerily. "We learn by our mistakes, monsieur."

The rival armies had apparently vanished. From time to time we obtained news of Coligny, but it was very vague, and left us little the wiser. One day he was said to be at Moncontour, another at Loudun; on a third we were told he was retreating pell-mell to La Rochelle, with Anjou hot on his heels.

Within a few hours' ride of Loudun we put up for the night at a small inn. Jacques attended to the animals—one of us generally saw them properly fed—while I gave instructions to the landlord concerning our supper. He was an old man, almost as old as Pierre, and he had such a peculiar trick of jerking his head in answer to my remarks that I almost feared it would come right off.

"I am sorry, monsieur, I will do my best; but the larder is empty. I will kill a fowl; there is one left; but monsieur will be under the disagreeable necessity of waiting."

"We are sharp set," I said. "Is there no cold meat in the house?"

"Monsieur, the troopers have devoured everything."

"Whose troopers?" I asked sharply.

"Whose but Monseigneur's!" replied the old man; "but they did not remain long; they were busy hunting down the heretics."

After asking a few more questions, I sent him away to catch and cook our supper, and then discussed his information with Jacques. From the old man's story we gathered that the Duke of Montpensier was marching south with a division of the royal army in pursuit of our comrades.

"Between Montpensier and Anjou we are in an awkward situation," I said. "We have overshot the mark."

"That is true, monsieur; we must turn back, if we wish to join the Admiral; but our animals are tired."

"We will give them a few hours' rest, and start early in the morning."

"If the supper is cooked by then!" answered Jacques slily.

There seemed to be some little doubt about that, but finally our host, who had been scouring the village, returned in triumph with provisions for an ample meal.

Awake soon after dawn, we fed the animals, broke our own fast, and, having settled the score, started off on the highroad to Poictiers.

It was, by the position of the sun, about nine o'clock in the morning when we perceived a horseman approaching us. He appeared in a desperate hurry, and was spurring his horse vigorously.

"Jacques!" I exclaimed, "this is a soldier of some sort. Will he be coming from Montpensier, think you?"

"Likely enough, monsieur."

"If so, he may carry important news, and his information may be of service to the Admiral. It should be easy for us to obtain it."

"True, monsieur; he will never dream of danger."

"But we must not hurt him, Jacques; mind that."

"Nothing more than a tap on the head," said Jacques, "if he should prove obstinate."

The rider came along at a swinging pace. He was a young fellow, richly dressed, and of a handsome appearance.

"Good news, monsieur!" I cried, riding toward him. "Do you carry good news?"

It was evident that he had not the slightest idea of meeting with an enemy in the rear of Montpensier's troops. He drew rein, saying, "Are you from Monseigneur? I am bearing him welcome information. Coligny is retreating, we fell on his rear just now and drove it in. Ah, ah, 'tis a rich joke! He thinks Monseigneur himself is here with the whole army."

"While 'tis only Montpensier with a division!" I said, laughing. "Where shall we find the Duke?"

"An hour's ride, not more; but I must be going. Monseigneur waits to make his plans."

The next instant Jacques had clutched his bridle rein, while the young fellow was gazing in blank astonishment along the barrel of my pistol.

"'Tis a disagreeable necessity, monsieur," I remarked, speaking very harshly, "but you are our prisoner. Tie the horses' reins together, Jacques, and remove this gentleman's weapons. Do not stir, monsieur, it would be foolish. A cry or a movement will cost your life. We must have that despatch which you are carrying to Monseigneur."

"Who are you?" he asked.

"We belong to the Huguenot army, and have met you by a stroke of good fortune. And now the document, monsieur! Will you surrender it? Or will you compel us to search you? That is an undignified proceeding, and will not help you at all."

"No," he agreed gloomily; "I am in your power. But this is a sorry trick; I would rather you had forced the paper from me at the sword's point. It would have been more creditable to your honour."

"That may be so, but meanwhile we await the paper."

Finding himself helpless, he handed me the document with the best grace he could muster, and I immediately placed it inside my doublet.

"Now," I exclaimed cheerfully, "we are in a hurry to reach our comrades, but we have no wish to ride into the midst of the Duke's troops. In order to avoid that calamity, we will make you our guide; but pray be careful, because in the event of a mistake you will be the first victim. My servant is an old soldier, while I have had some practice with the pistol. But this is a disagreeable subject; let us dismiss it."

"With all my heart," said he, laughing. "And now what would you have me do?"

"Put us on the track of our comrades, and prevent us from falling into the Duke's hands."

"That is," said he, "to return good for evil. Well, 'tis something of a novelty for me."

"You should practise it more frequently," I laughed, and with that we rode on, our prisoner being in the middle.

I hardly thought he would venture his life by misleading us of set purpose, yet for all that I rode cautiously, keeping my eyes open for any sign of the enemy. But either by good luck or our prisoner's skilful guidance—and it matters little which—we entirely avoided the Royalist army, and came up with our own troops just as they had halted for a short rest.

Being instantly challenged, I gave my name to the officer, and asked where the Admiral was to be found.

"I will take you to him," said he, and he led us through the camp, walking by the horse's side.

Coligny was eating his frugal meal, but he glanced up at our approach, and the officer said, "Edmond Le Blanc, general, who claims to belong to your household."

"Le Blanc!" echoed the Admiral, knitting his brows—he had doubtless forgotten me—"ah, of course; you have been absent from duty a long time."

"I had the misfortune to be left behind at Roche Abeille, my lord."

"Ah, I remember. You are Bellièvre's comrade, and you carried my message to De Courcy. So you have recovered?"

"Yes, my lord; but I have something important to say. I have had the good luck to capture a messenger carrying a despatch from the Duke of Montpensier to Monseigneur."

"To Monseigneur!" and, turning to my prisoner, he said, "Is he not with the troops who attacked us?"

"I do not know the customs of your gentlemen, my lord," he replied, with a low bow, "but it is not our practice to betray secrets to an enemy."

"A proper answer," said the Admiral, with more slowness of speech even than usual, "and a just reproof. But this paper should tell what I wish to learn," and he broke the seal.

"Montpensier's division alone," he muttered; "this is valuable information. Le Blanc, can we be sure of this?"

"It is certain, my lord, that Monseigneur's troops are not present, though I believe they are hurrying to join with the Duke's."

"There will be just time," he said, "just time," and, leaving his meal, he instantly summoned his principal officers.

As soon as my interview with him was over a dozen of my old comrades crowded around, congratulating me on my recovery, and asking all sorts of questions. Several familiar faces were missing, and I learned that more than one of my intimate friends had been left behind in the trenches at Poictiers. Felix, happily, was unhurt, and he informed me that Roger Braund was still with the little troop of Englishmen.

"But what of your prisoner?" he asked. "Has he given his parole?"

"No, I fancy he is rather counting on the chance of escape."

"Then he must be placed under guard. I will attend to it, and return in a few minutes. Well, Jacques, has your master been very troublesome?"

"Not since we left Limoges, monsieur."

We were preparing to look for Roger when the bugles sounded, the men sprang to arms, and orders were issued for the retreat to be resumed.

"I don't like this," grumbled Felix, "it breaks the men's spirits. Our rearguard came running in to-day like a parcel of sheep. I wish the Admiral would fight; it will be too late after a while. It is not pleasant to be chased as if we were rabbits."

The royalists were in full view now, and the faster we marched the more closely they pressed the pursuit. It was very galling, and many a murmur was heard even against our noble leader, but none from those who rode with him in the rear. Twice we turned and faced the enemy, but, on each occasion, after a few minutes' conflict the order was issued for further retreat.

At length we reached the summit of a gentle slope, behind which flowed the River Dive. Here it seemed as if the Admiral intended to make a stand, but the royalists gave him little leisure for forming plans. They advanced boldly, taunting us for runaways, and bidding us muster sufficient courage to cross swords with them.

A volley from our German foot-soldiers checked their rush, and, while they were endeavouring to re-form, a body of horse crashed, as if shot from a gun, into their left flank. The noble St. Cyr, erect and soldierly, in spite of his four score and five years, led the charge, and a rousing cheer broke from us at sight of the gallant veteran.

But there was little time for cheering. "Charge, my children!" cried the Admiral, "charge, and strike home! For the Faith!"

"For the Faith!" we echoed lustily, spurring our horses, and dashing into the fray.

Hammered by St. Cyr on the left, by the Admiral in front, by the young princes on the right, the royalist horse reeled and staggered. Again and again they tried to rally; but we rode them down, broke the groups as soon as they re-formed, drove them pell-mell on to their infantry, and then with one grand rush tumbled the whole division into ruin.

"Forward! Forward!" cried the hot-bloods. "Remember Jarnac!" "Remember Condé!" "Cut them down!"

But a wild pursuit formed no part of the Admiral's plans; he wished to cross the river unmolested, so the bugles were sounded, and we came dropping back, laughing and cheering, and in high spirits at our brilliant little victory. As with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes we ranged ourselves around our brave leader some one cried out, "See, what is going on over yonder!"

In a corner of the field, some distance off, a number of royalists had rallied round a flag. Something strange was happening; the flag disappeared, came into view again, and once more sank from sight. Then in one spot the crowd gave way as if burst asunder, and out from the gap leaped a horseman. He was carrying the flag, and he rode straight toward us. A dozen men started in pursuit, but he outdistanced them easily, turning from time to time and waving the flag as if in derision.

We gazed in astonishment at the spectacle, wondering what it meant, until Felix cried out, "'Tis the Englishman! 'Tis Roger Braund. He has captured the flag!"

A great roar of cheering went up as he approached us, his helmet gone, his face bleeding, his doublet slashed, but his eyes smiling cheerfully. With an easy grace he jumped from his horse, and advancing on foot presented the trophy to the Admiral.

"A memento of the battle-field, my lord," he said, with a courteous bow.

Coligny took the flag, and with a rare smile handed it back, saying, "Monsieur, it could not remain in worthier hands! Let it be carried in the ranks of your gallant countrymen, to whom we owe so much."

Roger bowed again. "The memory of your praise my lord," said he, "will nerve us to deserve it."

As we rode back toward the river, every one tried to get near him, to shake his hand, to praise him for his deed of daring. And in truth it was a splendid action! Single-handed, he had charged into the press; single-handed he had wrested the trophy by from its custodian; and, still alone, had fought his way out. It was a brilliant feat, which we of the Religion talked of round many a camp fire. And that it was done by one who was not our countryman did not lessen our admiration.

CHAPTER XI

A Desperate Conflict

WE had crossed the Dive safely, the cavalry last of all, and the soldiers, wearied by their long marches, had thrown themselves down to snatch a brief rest. The enemy were assembling on the opposite bank of the river, and it was plain that they had been heavily reinforced.

"Monseigneur must have arrived with his troops," said Felix. "I hope the Admiral will offer him battle. The victory over Montpensier has put our fellows in fine fettle; they would fight now with a good heart."

"The enemy have us at a disadvantage," said Roger. "You forget our guns are at Montcontour."

A surgeon had dressed his wounds; he had borrowed a helmet from a comrade, and had changed his doublet. His left arm troubled him somewhat, but otherwise he suffered no ill effects from his famous fight for the flag.

"They outnumber us, too," said I, "especially in their cavalry, and Anjou's gentlemen are no mean sworders."

"But we must fight at some time or other; we cannot wander about the country for ever!" laughed Felix. "It seems to me we have been playing at hide-and-seek with Anjou ever since leaving Poictiers. And let me whisper another thing—the Germans are beginning to grumble."

"That," said Roger, "is a serious matter. What is their grievance?"

"Money! Their pay has fallen into arrears, and I don't see how it is to be made up. The Admiral has almost ruined himself for the Cause already. 'Tis a pity we cannot capture Anjou's money chests; they would be worth having. Corbleu! the bugle is sounding! That means there is to be no battle."

"Monseigneur may have something to say to that," remarked Roger, as he walked off toward his own comrades.

In a short time the troops had fallen in, and the infantry at a swinging pace marched off the ground, the cavalry as before forming the rearguard. The evening was neither clear nor dull, there being just sufficient light to enable us to see our way. St. Cyr's troop, and the body of Englishmen, now, alas! sadly reduced in numbers, rode last of all, and occasionally one of the troopers would gallop up to our leader with information of the enemy's movements.

We appeared to have gained a good start, as it was not until noon of the next day that our rearguard was driven in, and we got a clear view of the hostile troops. They followed us closely, hanging like leeches on our rear, but refraining from making any determined attack. Still, in order to protect our own main body, we were forced several times to turn at bay. In these combats the fiercest fighting always centred round the troop of Englishmen carrying the captured flag.

"Roger is a gallant fellow," I remarked after one of these occasions, "but too venturesome. It would be more prudent to hide the trophy."

"Faith!" cried Felix, "you have strange ideas! I would hold it as high as I could, till my arm was numbed. I hear they have hung our banners in Notre Dame, so that the Parisians may see what fine fellows they are. If I could capture a flag, Edmond, they should cut me in little pieces before I let it go. Were I your English friend I would not change places with Coligny himself."

"Well," I said laughing, "you may have a chance to obtain your wish soon, for, whether it pleases our leaders or not, they will be compelled to fight. This retreat cannot continue much longer. And if the Germans desert us, there is likely to be a second Jarnac."

"Rubbish!" exclaimed he lightly; "we should gain the greater honour by the victory!"

Our German allies had become very sullen during the last day or two, and the evening we reached Montcontour they broke out into open threats. They declared angrily that unless their arrears of pay were immediately made up they would not fight.

The evening was almost as miserable as that after the battle of Jarnac. Monseigneur, with a strong, well-equipped army, was close on our heels, ready to swoop down upon us at any moment. Our own men were weary and disheartened, and now we had to contend with the anger of our allies.

"Let the poltroons go!" exclaimed Felix scornfully. "We will fight and win without them," and all the young hot-heads among our comrades applauded him. But the veterans were wiser, and openly showed their pleasure when it was announced that our leader had, by another splendid sacrifice, appeased his mutinous followers. But, even with the Germans ready to do their duty, our prospects seemed to me far from rosy, and I found that Roger Braund held the same view.

"Whether we fight or retreat," said he, "in my opinion the situation is equally desperate."

"The Council has decided to give battle," exclaimed Felix, who had just come from the Admiral's tent.

"Then a good many of us are spending our last evening on earth," observed Roger calmly.

"We must take our chance," said Felix; "every battle levies its toll; but I can see no more danger here than at Roche Abeille. Do you think our fellows have lost heart?"

"Not exactly; but they are dispirited, while their opponents are full of confidence."

"We beat them at Roche Abeille!"

"They have recovered from that defeat."

"We flung them off at Dive!"

"A bagatelle! Remember, only Montpensier's division was engaged. Things are different now. Monseigneur has a thoroughly good army. His cavalry especially are as brave as ours, and far more numerous. Still, I may be looking through a smoked glass. This time to-morrow you may be rallying me on my gloomy prophecy. I hope so, with all my heart!"

"I am sure of it," laughed Felix merrily. "You will not have the courage to look me in the face!"

During this conversation there was a matter on my mind of which I was resolved to speak before my English comrade returned to his own quarters.

"Is it necessary," I asked, "to carry that flag into the battle to-morrow? According to your account, the conflict will be a desperate one; is it well to expose your comrades to even greater danger? The sight of it will rouse your opponents to fury, and your troop will be singled out for vengeance."

"As Felix would say, we must take our chance," he answered smilingly. "The Admiral committed the flag to our charge, and, my comrades will guard it with their lives."

"It is needless risk."

"I think not, Edmond; it will put heart into us when the hour of trial comes. But the night grows late; I must wish you farewell, and trust that we may meet again when the battle is over."

We bade him good-night, and, having no duties to perform, lay down to rest. I slept very lightly, my brain being filled with all sorts of confused fancies, and it was a relief to hear the bugles sound the rouse.

Felix sprang up cheerfully, and in a short time we had placed ourselves in attendance on our chief, who greeted us with his usual grave but kindly smile.

"Let us commend our souls to God, gentlemen," he said reverently, "and beseech Him to strengthen our hearts in the approaching encounter."

It may have been pure fancy on my part, but as we rode along the lines I seemed to miss that air of cheerful confidence which had been so evident at Roche Abeille. The men greeted their general with cheers, and I had no doubt they would do their duty; but they lacked that eager vivacity which goes so far toward winning victory.

Across the plain the enemy were drawn up in two lines with their artillery posted on a hill, and about eight o'clock the first cannon ball came booming toward us. Instantly our guns replied, and a fierce artillery duel which lasted throughout the battle began.

"Their guns are heavier than ours, and carry a farther distance," I observed to Felix.

"It matters little," replied he; "the battle will be decided by the sword. I wonder when we are going to advance?"

"Not at all, I expect. The Admiral has chosen his ground"—though there was little choice for that matter—"and intends to stand on the defensive."

"That may suit the Germans well enough, but our own men do not like waiting to be charged. Monseigneur means to drive in our right wing! See, he is bringing his cavalry forward. How splendidly they ride! It makes one proud to know they are Frenchmen!"

"And sorry, too!"

I think Monseigneur was at their head, but the distance from our centre, where the Admiral had stationed himself, was great, and I may have been mistaken; but the leader, whoever he was, advanced very gallantly, several lengths in advance of his front line, waving his sword and cheering his followers.

The sun shone down on their steel caps, their breastplates and thigh-pieces, and made their swords glitter like silver. They formed a pretty picture, with their gay flags and fluttering pennons, and they rode with all the confidence of victors.

From a trot they broke into a gallop, and we held our breath as, gathering momentum, they swept proudly down on our right wing. A volley rang out, and here and there a trooper dropped, but the rest galloped on straight for their foe.

We craned our necks to watch the result. Not a man spoke; we hardly dared to breathe, so keen was our anxiety. Would our fellows stand firm before that human avalanche? If they gave way ever so little, our right wing must be tumbled into ruin.

Nearer and nearer, in beautiful order, horse's head to horse's head, they tore along, until, with a tremendous crash, they flung themselves upon the solid wall of infantry.

"Bravo!" cried Felix excitedly, "they are broken; they are turning back! Ah, St. Cyr is upon them! There go the Englishmen! For the Faith! For the Faith!"

We stood in our stirrups, waving our swords and cheering like madmen. Straight as a die the noble veteran with his gallant troop and the scanty band of Englishmen leaped into the midst of the baffled horsemen, and drove them back in wild disorder.

But there were brave and valiant hearts among those royalist gentlemen, and we had hardly finished our exulting cheers when they returned to the attack. They flung away their lives recklessly, but they forced a passage, and our infantry were slowly yielding to numbers when Coligny, with a "Follow me, gentlemen!" galloped to the rescue.

Cheer answered cheer as we dashed into the fray, and the shouts of "Anjou!" were drowned by the cries of "For the Faith!" "For the Admiral!"

With splendid bravery the royalists stood their ground; but Coligny's presence so inspired his followers that at last, with one irresistible rush, they swept forward, carrying everything before them.

"Stand firm, my brave lads!" said our chief, as the troops, flushed with their success, formed up anew, "stand firm, and the day is won!"

He had turned to speak to the Count of St. Cyr, when a mounted messenger dashed up, panting and breathless.

"My lord," he gasped, after a moment's pause, "we are heavily beset on the left, and are being forced back. I fear that the whole wing is in danger."

"Courage, my friend," replied Coligny, "courage. We will be with you directly. Come, gentlemen, there is still work for us to do."

The battle was now at its height, but as we dashed along from right to left, our centre paused to cheer their gallant general. They were hardly pressed, but were holding their own sturdily, and our spirits rose at sight of their intrepid defence.

On the left wing, however, the case was different. Here Anjou, or Tavannes—for I suppose it was the marshal who really directed the battle—was throwing successive bodies of troops upon the devoted Huguenots, who were sorely put to it to defend their position. But at our approach a great cry of relief went up from the panting soldiers. There was one among us worth a whole division!

Even those who had begun to retreat joined in the shout, and once more dashed into the fray. Wave after wave of royalists rolled down upon us, but time and again we flung them back, and at last, with one superb effort, hurled their front rank into ruin.

"The day goes well," cried Felix exultingly, as we galloped back to our lines. "Anjou will remember Montcontour!"

In every part of the field the fight now raged fiercely, and, wherever the stress was greatest, there, as if by magic, appeared Coligny. His escort steadily decreased in numbers; one died here, while supporting a body of infantry, another dropped during some wild charge; but our general himself, though fighting like a common trooper, appeared invulnerable.

Wherever he was, there victory followed our arms; but the odds against us were too heavy. Our men stood in their places and fought to the death; but their limbs grew tired, their arms ached with the strain; they needed rest. All our troops, however, were in the fighting-line, and the royalist attacks never ceased.

Anjou fed his lines constantly; fresh troops took the places of the fallen; we might slay and slay, but the number of our enemies never seemed to lessen. And in the midst of the terrible uproar a cry arose that our centre was wavering. For an hour or more a battle of giants had been taking place there. In front of our infantry the dead lay piled in a heap, but for every royalist who died Anjou sent another.

The strain was too great to be borne. Our men were beginning to give way, and once more we galloped with the Admiral at headlong speed toward the point of danger. We were too late; we should perhaps have been too late in any case. The royalist foot-soldiers opened out, and from behind them poured impetuously a body of horsemen.

They struck us full, rode us down, leaped at the infantry, forced a passage here and there, cut and slashed without mercy, yelling like tigers, "Death to the Huguenots!"

Coligny was wounded, his face bled; I thought he would have fallen from his saddle; but, recovering himself, he called on us to follow him and dashed at the victorious horsemen. Our numbers were few and no help could reach us. We called on our men to stand firm, to fight for the Admiral, to remember their wives and children—it was all in vain.

We were borne along in one struggling, confused mass, horse and foot, royalists and Huguenots all mingled together.

"Anjou! Anjou!" shouted the victors in wild exultation, while the cries of "For the Admiral! For the Faith!" became weaker and weaker. In that part of the field the battle was lost.

We closed around our chief, perhaps a score of us, some even of that number already desperately wounded. No one spoke, but we set our teeth hard, resolving grimly that there should be twenty corpses before Anjou's victorious troopers reached him.

"We must stop them," said Coligny, speaking in evident pain, "turn them back, beg them to fight, or the Cause is lost."

Again and again we endeavoured to make a stand; calling on the fugitives to halt, to remember they were Frenchmen, to look their foes in the face—it was useless, every little group that formed for a moment being swept away by the raging, human torrent.

"Some one must find Count Louis of Nassau," said our general, "and say I trust to him to cover the retreat. We may yet rally the runaways."

We looked at each other in doubt. It was not the fear of death that kept us tongue-tied, though death lay in our rear, but each man wished to spend his life for our beloved leader.

"Let three or four of you go," he said; "one may reach him," and as he spoke his glance seemed to light on my face.

"I will take the Count your message, my lord!" I cried, and without waiting for a reply turned my horse's head, and dashed into the whirlpool.

The battle-field was a hideous scene. Wherever the eye could reach, men were fighting and dying. There was no order even among the conquerors. I came across a little knot of Huguenot gentlemen who had turned furiously at bay.

"For the Admiral!" I cried, plunging in wild excitement into the midst of the hostile sworders. "For the Admiral!" Perhaps my comrades thought me mad, and in sober truth they would not have been far wrong; but they were generous souls, and with a yell of defiance they cut their way through after me.

"Count Louis," I said breathlessly to the first man, as we emerged on the other side, "where is he?"

"I do not know; he was on our right wing when the crash came."

"I must find him; I have a message from the chief"

"Let us try the right wing," he said, "they are making a stand there."

A dozen gentlemen had followed me, one of them carrying a flag, and as we galloped forward others joined us until we were fifty or sixty strong. It was like riding into the very jaws of death, but they asked no questions; the sight of the flag was sufficient. A body of infantry barred our path; we turned neither to right nor left, but crashed straight through them. A few foot-soldiers ran with us, holding by the stirrups, going cheerfully to death, rather than seek safety in shameful flight.

Suddenly a burst of cheering in a foreign tongue reached us. "Hurrah! Hurrah! For the Admiral!" and a troop of horse came tearing down. It was the band of gallant Englishmen, and I recognized Roger Braund still bearing the captured trophy. Fearing they might mistake us for royalists I rode forward hastily, crying in English, "Friends! Friends! We are Huguenots!"

CHAPTER XII

The Return to Rochelle

The conference was brief. "Have you seen Count Louis?" I asked their leader.

"No, monsieur, but we will help you to find him. Forward, brave boys; another blow for the Cause!"

They replied with a cheer—oh, how those Englishmen cheered!—and we raced on together, French and English, side by side, and death all around us. I glanced at Roger; he had been wounded again, but there was no time to speak.

The retreat in this part of the field had not become general; numbers of soldiers in tolerably good order were still battling stubbornly, and presently we reached the remnant of several troops of cavalry.

In front of them was the venerable Count of St. Cyr, his snow-white beard sweeping to his waist.

"My lord," I said, riding up, "can you tell me where to find Count Louis of Nassau?"

"Farther on the right, monsieur," he replied courteously; "but you will find it difficult to reach him. Ah, here they come!" and, glancing ahead, I perceived a cloud of horsemen preparing to swoop down upon us.

"Pray, my lord," pleaded his chaplain, who was close by, "say something to encourage your troops. They are faint and weary with fighting, and the odds against them are terrible."

The stout-hearted warrior turned to his followers. "Brave men need no words!" he cried; "do as you see me do!" and they greeted his speech with frantic cheers.

"You will be lucky to meet Count Louis after this!" cried Roger, as I returned to my men.

The royalists swept forward, threatening to engulf us as the wild sea swallows a tiny boat, and I must admit that my heart sank at sight of them. But I was in the company of brave men, and following the flag of as brave a leader as could be found in all France.

He glanced round at us; there was a proud smile on his resolute face; his eyes glowed with fiery ardour.

"Charge, my children!" he cried, "and strike a last blow for St. Cyr!"

He pressed his horse's sides with the spurs, and waving his sword dashed forward, his battle-cry, "St. Cyr!" ringing out high and clear. It was a sight to make one weep, and yet feel proud that one's country could produce such a hero.

Forward we went, and the air was filled with cries of "St Cyr! For the Admiral! Hurrah! Hurrah!" as we plunged into the midst of the press.

"Forward, my children!" cried St Cyr, as he carved a passage for himself through the throng; "forward!"

He was a splendid rider and a skilful swordsman, but his enemies closed round him thickly. Savage blows rained upon him from every side, and at last, with a "Fight on, my children!" the gallant veteran sank bleeding to the ground. Montcontour cost France numerous brave men but none braver than the chivalrous St. Cyr.

His fall, instead of dispiriting his followers, roused them to fury! No one asked or gave quarter; it was a fight to the death, and when finally we succeeded in breaking through the royalist horse, half of our number lay lifeless on the plain. Some there were—St. Cyr's personal attendants notably—so fired with grief and anger at the death of their beloved chief that they were for turning back and renewing the combat.