Coligny was riding with a group of
his principal officers when we drew up, and he greeted
us with a kindly smile.
“Here are our knights-errant,”
said he, “let us hear what they have to say.
Have you seen the enemy, Bellievre?”
“Yes, my lord; their camp is
a few miles beyond Arnay-lé-Duc. They
were preparing to march when we left, though they
seemed to be in no particular hurry. The officers
were holding some sort of inspection.”
“Did you get close to them?”
“We had a clear view of the
whole camp from the top of a wooded hill in the rear.”
“And you have formed some idea of their numbers?”
“There were three of us, my
lord, and we were all fairly well agreed. The
marshal has six guns, between four and five thousand
cavalry, and about thirteen thousand infantry.”
“Do you agree with that statement, Le Blanc?”
“The numbers are a little over my calculation,
my lord; but not much.”
“In any case, you think the figures are high
enough?”
“That is absolutely certain,” I replied.
“Good! We owe you both our best thanks.”
They were simple words, simply spoken,
but they went straight to our hearts, amply repaying
us for the risks attendant on our night’s adventure.
Marching slowly, and halting two or
three times during the day, as the general wished
to husband his men’s strength, we arrived early
in the evening at a little stream near Arnay-lé-Duc,
and beheld, on the other side, two or three thousand
of the royalist cavalry. There were no guns in
sight, and the infantry had been drawn up at some distance
in the background.
The troops took their supper a
very meagre one, too; our provisions being at a low
ebb sentries were posted, and Coligny made
all arrangements for battle, in case the enemy should
attack before morning.
“There is Roger coming towards
us!” I exclaimed, as we lay wrapped in our cloaks
on the ground.
“He has come to discover if
we are still alive!” said my comrade.
“You are wrong,” laughed
the Englishman, dropping down beside us; “Jacques
told me he had kept you from coming to grief.
I congratulate you on having such a servant.
But, seriously, I am glad to see you back; the errand
was rather venturesome for such young persons,”
and he laughed again in his rich, musical voice.
“Go away,” said Felix,
“before I am tempted to chastise you. It
would be a pity to lose your services for to-morrow!”
“It would,” agreed our
friend. “By the look of things, Coligny
will need all the swords he can muster. Did you
find out anything about the enemy’s strength?”
We gave him the figures, and he remarked:
“The odds are heavy enough in all conscience,
seeing that we count barely six thousand men.
Still, they are picked troops.”
“And they have their backs against
the wall,” I observed. “There was
a chance of escape at Montcontour, but there is none
here. If we are defeated we shall be cut to pieces.”
“You are entertaining, you two!”
interposed Felix. “Can we not have a change?
Let me arrange the programme. First, we rout Cosse an
easy matter; second, we continue our march to Paris,
defeating Monseigneur on the way; third, we dictate
terms of peace at the Louvre.”
“And fourth,” laughed
Roger, “we appoint Monsieur Felix Bellievre
Marshal of France, and advance him to the highest dignity!”
“The suggestion does you credit,”
replied my comrade, good-humouredly; “and we
will make a beginning in the morning by beating Cosse.”
Knowing that we had lost our sleep
the previous night, Roger did not stay long, and as
soon as our attendance on the Admiral was over we went
to bed, or rather lay down inside the tent, muffled
in our cloaks.
The morning of June 27, 1570, opened
bright and clear, and we looked forward with hope,
if not exactly with confidence, to the approaching
battle. The enemy were nearly three to one, but,
as Roger had said, our men were all picked troops,
hardy, resolute fellows, filled with intense zeal,
and fighting for what they believed to be right.
They greeted Coligny with deafening
cheers, when, after breakfast, and our simple morning
service, he rode along the lines, accompanied by Henry
of Béarn and the young Conde. These gallant youths
each commanded a regiment, and their flushed cheeks
and sparkling eyes told how ardently they burned to
distinguish themselves.
“There are the enemy, my lads,”
said Coligny, in his grave, measured tones, “and
we must beat them. It is our last chance.
If we fail, the Cause is lost, and we shall find no
mercy. If we run away, we shall be cut down,
for there is no place of shelter. We must win
the battle, or die on the field.”
“We will!” they cried,
and there was a ring in their voices that spoke of
an iron determination to succeed.
“And we,” said young Henry
of Béarn, “will die with you. Not one of
your leaders will leave the field except as a victor.
It is victory or death for all of us.”
At these brave words the cheering
broke out afresh, and my comrade, turning to me, exclaimed,
“The battle is won already! Those fellows
will never retreat.”
They were, indeed, in fine fettle,
but it was setting them a desperate task to oppose
nearly three times their number!
The marshal began the attack with
a cavalry charge, but, as the horsemen galloped forward,
a body of arquebusiers posted in a ditch discharged
such a stinging fire that our opponents wheeled round
and rode hurriedly back to shelter.
“Well done!” cried Felix; “we have
drawn first blood.”
They tried again with the same result,
and then a strong body of infantry was pushed forward.
But the arquebusiers clung firmly to their post,
and presently young Conde, sweeping round unexpectedly
at the head of his regiment, charged and broke the
hostile infantry. It was a daring charge, and
we waved our swords and cheered, as the victorious
horsemen rode proudly back.
The marshal, however, was not to be
denied. Again and again he launched his horsemen
at us, while his foot-soldiers crept steadily nearer.
All along our front the battle raged fiercely, and
at every point our gallant fellows were fighting against
overwhelming numbers.
“Stand firm, soldiers, stand
firm!” cried our general, as he galloped over
the field, bringing the magic of his presence to whatever
part was in most danger.
It was in one of these wild rushes
the incident occurred that laid the foundation of
my fortunes, though the building took many years to
complete. I tell it here, not out of pride or
vainglory though I was proud, too but
because it is necessary to the better understanding
of my story.
We had just left the handful of Englishmen,
who had bravely repulsed a stubborn attack of cavalry
and infantry on their position, when a cry arose of
“Prince Henry! Help for the prince!”
A cry of despair broke from us as
we realized his peril. How it came about I never
clearly learned, for in the heat of battle one rarely
sees more than the things close at hand. Some
said one thing, some another, but this I reckon was
the most likely way of it.
His regiment was rather exposed, and
on the left flank stretched some rolling ground, unsuitable
for cavalry but affording good cover for foot-soldiers.
Across these hollows Cosse had sent a large body
of infantry, while at the same time the prince’s
regiment was assailed by an overwhelming force of
cavalry. An order to retire was given though
none knew by whom and in consequence, Henry,
with a handful of men, was left surrounded by a sea
of foes.
Coligny glanced quickly round the
field; the royalists were pressing us at every point;
not a man could be spared from his post.
“We must save him ourselves,
gentlemen!” he exclaimed tersely, “forward!”
We counted barely two score swords,
but the prince was in peril, and though the enterprise
cost all our lives he must be rescued. Our comrades
battling desperately at their posts cheered us as we
flew by, crying, “Coligny! Coligny!”
Straight as a die we rode, our chief slightly in advance,
the rest of us in threes, horse’s head to horse’s
head, the animals straining and quivering in every
muscle as we urged them madly forward.
Too late! was the thought in every
heart, as we beheld the prince fighting for dear life,
and hemmed in by a host of enemies. “Coligny!
Coligny!” we cried, and in blind fury charged
the dense mass.
Now it chanced by pure accident, for
I had no other thought than to follow my patron closely,
that the charge brought me close to the bridle-hand
of the prince. Henry of Béarn, though a fine sworder,
was even a better horseman, and it was to his skill
as a rider, much more than to his dexterity with the
sword, that he owed his life.
But now he was so closely beset that
he was compelled to depend upon the play of his sword,
and his strength was failing. They struck fiercely
at him in front and on both sides; there was a continuous
circle of flashing steel; it was marvellous how death
missed him. Pressed hard by a trooper on the
right he turned to parry his blows more effectively,
when a second trooper slashed at his bridle-arm.
There was no time for warning; no
time even for thought. With a cry of “Coligny!”
I dashed forward, and, throwing myself half out of
the saddle, caught the descending sword. Before
the trooper could recover himself I had pierced him
through the side, and he fell with a groan across
his horse’s neck.
I did not think that Henry had noticed
the incident, but without turning his head he cried
pleasantly, “My thanks, monsieur; I owe my life
to you.”
“Have no fear for this side,
my lord,” I answered, and the next instant was
fiercely engaged with two of the king’s troopers.
But now the cry of “Coligny!”
grew louder; the press was broken here and there;
the Admiral himself appeared; some of his gentlemen
fought their way to our side, and with one desperate
effort we thrust back the hostile horsemen. “Coligny!
Coligny! Béarn! Béarn!” were the shouts,
as, with swords flashing and gleaming in the sunlight,
we pushed a way through. At the same time the
rest of the regiment drove back the infantry, and
the prince was saved.
“Stand firm, soldiers, stand
firm!” cried our leader as he prepared to gallop
off, for Cosse’s assaults were so rapid and daring
that we had hardly a moment’s breathing space.
But, as we were moving away, Henry
of Béarn, calling me to his side, said, “Your
name, monsieur?”
“Edmond Le Blanc, my lord,” I answered,
bowing low.
“If we live through this day,”
he said graciously, “I will remember the debt
I owe you.”
Once again I bowed, and, saluting
with my sword, darted off to take my place in the
Admiral’s train. Whatever Henry’s
fortune, there appeared considerable doubt as to my
surviving the battle, for my patron seemed determined
to court death not only for himself but for every gentleman
in his household. Wherever the Huguenots recoiled
ever so slightly before the terrible onslaughts of
the foe, there we were cheering and fighting till
our arms were wearied by the work and our heads dazed
by the maddening tumult.
And never for a moment during that
long summer day did the strife cease. Cosse
was inflexible; he sent his troops to death without
pity, and they obeyed without a murmur. The carnage
was fearful, and I longed for darkness to put an end
to the hideous slaughter.
At the end of the afternoon he gathered
his forces together for one supreme effort. Horse
and foot, they swung along as blithely as if the battle
were only beginning. I looked round on our diminished
ranks, and wondered if we had strength to withstand
another onset.
“’Tis their last try!”
exclaimed Felix cheerfully; “if they fail now
they will break, and the victory is ours. Half
an hour will see the finish; one side must give way.”
One side! But which?
On they came, wave after wave, like
the waters of an irresistible sea. We waited
in painful silence, broken suddenly by the Admiral’s
voice, “Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm.
The end is at hand!”
On they came, bugles blowing, flags
flying, horses prancing; the dying sun lighting up
the bared swords and pike heads, the steel caps and
breastplates. On they came, a goodly and gallant
band of well-trained warriors.
“Stand firm, soldiers, stand
firm!” Well in front, serene and confident,
full of proud courage and high resolve, there was our
glorious leader, the best and bravest man in the two
armies.
With a roar of cheering and a hurricane
rush the foe dashed forward. They struck us in
front, they swirled tumultuously around our flanks,
driving us back and cheering lustily, “For the
King!” The fate of the day hung trembling in
the balance, but Henry of Béarn on the one flank,
and Conde on the other, rallied their troops, while
in the centre the stout old Admiral plunged yet again
into the fray.
“Forward! Forward!”
we shouted. “On them! They are giving
way!” and Felix, snatching a flag from a wounded
man, charged with reckless abandon into the very midst
of the foe.
“The flag!” I cried, “follow
the flag!” Straight ahead of us it went, now
waving triumphantly aloft, now drooping, now swaying
again, and high above the din of strife sounded my
comrade’s voice, crying, “For the Admiral!
For the Faith! Forward! Forward!”
The daring hazardous exploit sent
a wave of fire through every man. We flung off
our fatigue as if it were a cloak, dealing our blows
as vigorously as though the battle were but newly
joined. And as we toiled on, following the flag,
a great shout of victory arose on our right.
Henry of Béarn had thrust back his assailants; they
were running fast, and his horsemen were hanging on
their heels like sleuth-hounds.
The cry was taken up and repeated
all along the line, and in a few minutes the enemy,
smitten by sudden fear, were flying in all directions.
For some distance we pursued, sweeping numbers of prisoners
to the rear; but our animals were wearied, and presently
all but a few of the most fiery spirits had halted.
The victory was ours, but we had bought
it at a high price. Some of our bravest officers
were dead, and Coligny looked mournfully at his diminished
band of attendants. We rode back to our lines,
and to me the joy of our triumph was sadly dimmed
by the absence of my comrade. In the wild stampede
I had lost sight of the flag, and no one had seen its
gallant bearer.
“Has Monsieur Bellievre fallen?”
asked Jacques, who had ridden well and boldly with
the troopers.
“I do not know; I fear so.
He was a long distance ahead of us in the last charge.
I am going to search for him.”
“There is your English friend, monsieur; he
is not hurt.”
Roger grasped my hand warmly.
“Safe!” he exclaimed; “I hardly dared
to hope it. It has been a terrible fight.
Our poor fellows” he spoke of the
English remnant “have suffered severely.
Where is Felix?”
“We are on our way to look for
him; I fear he has fallen.”
Roger turned and went with us.
“I saw him with the flag,” he remarked.
“’Twas a gallant deed. It helped us
to win the battle. By my word, Cosse must
have lost frightfully; the field just here looks carpeted
with the dead.”
“’Tis a fearful sight to see in cold blood,”
I replied.
Numbers of men were removing the wounded,
but knowing that Felix had ridden some distance ahead
we kept steadily on our way.
“’Twas here Cosse’s
troops began to break,” said Jacques presently,
“and ’tis hereabout we ought to find Monsieur
Bellievre’s body.”
The words jarred upon me horribly;
they expressed the thought I was trying hard to keep
out of my head.
We went quickly from one to the other,
doing what we could for the wounded, and hurrying
on again. It was a gruesome task, and the fear
of finding what we sought so earnestly added to the
horror.
Suddenly my heart gave a leap, and
I ran forward quickly to where I saw the colour of
the blood-stained flag. A dead horse lay near
it, and by the animal’s side lay my comrade.
His head was bare, and his fair hair clustered in
curls over his forehead. He was very white and
still, and his eyes were closed.
“Poor fellow; I fear he is past help,”
murmured Roger.
“Let us find out,” advised
the practical Jacques, and, kneeling down on the other
side, he assisted me to loosen the doublet.