The Women's War

by Alexandre Dumas

  The king, the queen and the court followed the movements of the little troop from a distance. Even the queen seemed to have lost all her confidence. In order to get a better view, she had ordered her coach to be turned sideways, so that one of its windows was looking towards the fortifications.

  The attackers had hardly advanced twenty paces, when the sentry came to the edge of the rampart and cried in a resounding voice: ‘Who goes there?’

  ‘Do not answer,’ said Monsieur de La Meilleraie. ‘But keep on going.’

  ‘Who goes there?’ the sentry cried again, preparing his gun. ‘Who goes there?’ he said a third time, taking aim.

  ‘Fire at that fellow!’ said Monsieur de La Meilleraie.

  At the same moment, a volley of musket shots rang out from the royalist ranks, and the sentry staggered under them, dropped his musket, which rolled into the ditch, and fell, shouting: ‘To arms!’

  A single cannon shot replied to the start of hostilities. The cannonball whistled through the front rank, crashed into the second and the third, knocked over four soldiers and ricocheted away, to split open the belly of a horse on the queen’s coach.

  A long cry of terror arose from the group guarding Their Majesties. The king was pulled back, Anne of Austria almost fainted with fury and Mazarin with fear. They cut the harness of the dead horse and the living ones who, rearing in terror, were threatening to smash the coach. Eight or ten guards harnessed themselves to it and pulled the queen to safety beyond the reach of the cannon.

  Meanwhile, the governor revealed a battery of six cannon.

  When Monsieur de La Meilleraie saw this battery, which threatened in a few instants to tear his three companies to pieces, he decided that it would be pointless to press home the attack and ordered a retreat.

  As soon as the king’s household took its first step backwards, all sign of hostility from the fortress vanished.

  The marshal returned to the queen’s side and invited her to choose a place in the vicinity as her headquarters, so the queen picked an isolated little house on the far side of the Dordogne, hidden by the trees, looking like a little château.

  ‘See whose house that is,’ she told Guitaut, ‘and ask for hospitality for me.’

  Guitaut left at once, crossed the river in the boat of the Isson ferryman and returned, saying that the house was uninhabited except by a sort of steward, who had informed him that, since the house belonged to Monsieur d’Epernon, it was entirely at Her Majesty’s disposal.

  ‘Let’s go then,’ said the queen. ‘But where is the king?’

  They called little Louis XIV, who had gone off by himself a short distance away. He turned round, and, though he tried to hide his tears, they could see that he had been crying.

  ‘What is it, sire?’ the queen asked.

  ‘Nothing, Madame,’ the child answered. ‘Except that one day I shall be king, I hope, and then… woe betide those who have offended me!’

  ‘What is the name of this governor?’ the queen asked.

  No one knew what the governor was called. So they asked the ferryman, who replied that his name was Richon.

  ‘Very well,’ said the queen. ‘I shall remember that name.’

  ‘And so shall I,’ said the young king.

  XV

  About one hundred men of the king’s household crossed the Dordogne with Their Majesties, the rest remaining with Monsieur de La Meilleraie, who, having decided to lay siege to Vayres, was waiting for the army.

  Hardly had the queen settled down in the little house – which, thanks to Nanon’s taste for luxury, she found infinitely more habitable than she had expected – than Guitaut arrived to say that a captain who claimed to have an important matter to discuss was asking for the honour of an audience.

  ‘Who is this captain?’ the queen asked.

  ‘A Captain Cauvignac, Madame.’

  ‘Does he belong to my army?’

  ‘I believe not.’

  ‘Find out, and if he is not part of my army, tell him that I cannot receive him.’

  ‘I beg Your Majesty’s pardon if I venture to disagree on this point,’ said Mazarin. ‘It seems to me that if he is not of Your Majesty’s army that is a good reason to receive him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if he is from Your Majesty’s army, and he is asking for an audience with the queen, that means that he is a loyal subject, while, on the contrary, if he belongs to the enemy forces, he may be a traitor. And at this moment, Madame, traitors are not to be scoffed at, since they may be very useful.’

  ‘Show him in, then,’ said the queen, ‘since the cardinal thinks we should.’

  The captain was shown in at once and introduced himself with an ease and nonchalance that astonished the queen, used as she was to produce the opposite impression on those around her.

  She looked Cauvignac up and down, but he did not flinch in the least from the royal scrutiny.

  ‘Who are you, Monsieur?’ the queen asked.

  ‘Captain Cauvignac,’ the newcomer replied.

  ‘And in whose service are you?’

  ‘In Your Majesty’s, if she so desires.’

  ‘If I so desire? Of course. In any event, is there another service in the kingdom? Are there two queens in France?’

  ‘Decidedly not, Madame, there is only one queen in France, and she is the one at whose feet I have the good fortune at this moment to be paying my very humble respects. But there are two points of view – or so, at least, it seemed to me just now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ the queen asked, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I mean, Madame, that I was travelling about the countryside and just happened to be on a small eminence that overlooks the whole of the surroundings, admiring the landscape – which, as Your Majesty may have observed, is enchanting – when it seemed to me that I noticed that Monsieur Richon was not receiving Your Majesty with all the respect due to her. This confirmed me in a belief that I had already formed, which was that there are in France two points of view: the royalist one and another, and that Monsieur Richon belongs to the other.’

  A cloud was descending across the face of Anne of Austria.

  ‘Huh! So you thought that, did you?’

  ‘Yes, Madame,’ Cauvignac replied, in an entirely disingenuous tone. ‘I even thought I saw that a cannon loaded with a cannonball was fired from the fort and that this cannonball upset Your Majesty’s coach.’

  ‘Enough. Did you ask me for an audience, Monsieur, just to impart your idiotic observations?’

  ‘Ah, you are rude to me,’ Cauvignac thought to himself. ‘In that case, you’ll pay more.’

  ‘No, Madame, I asked for an audience to tell you that you are a great queen, and that I cede to no one in my admiration for you.’

  ‘Really!’ the queen answered drily.

  ‘And because of your greatness and my admiration, which naturally follows from it, I have decided to devote myself entirely to Your Majesty.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the queen, ironically. Then, turning to her captain of the guard, she said: ‘Here, Guitaut! Remove this chatterbox.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Madame,’ said Cauvignac. ‘I shall go willingly, without it being necessary to remove me, but if I do so, you will not have Vayres.’

  And, saluting Her Majesty with delightful courtesy, Cauvignac turned on his heels.

  ‘I think that you are wrong to send this man away, Madame,’ Mazarin whispered.

  ‘Here!’ said the queen. ‘Come back and tell us. After all, you are odd, and I find you entertaining.’

  ‘Your Majesty is most kind,’ Cauvignac replied, with a bow.

  ‘So, what were you saying about getting into Vayres?’

  ‘I was saying, Madame, that if Your Majesty is still of the same mind that I think I observed this morning, namely to enter Vayres, I shall make it my duty to bring her there.’

  ‘How will you do that?’

  ‘I have a hundred and fifty of my men in Vayres.’
/>
  ‘Your men?’

  ‘Yes, mine.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I shall deliver these hundred and fifty men to Your Majesty.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then it seems to me a devil of a business, if Your Majesty, having one hundred and fifty gatekeepers, cannot open a gate.’

  The queen smiled. ‘A funny fellow,’ she thought.

  Cauvignac must have guessed the compliment, because he bowed again.

  ‘How much do you need, Monsieur?’ she asked.

  ‘Heavens, Madame! Five hundred livres per gatekeeper. Those are the wages that I give them.’

  ‘You shall have it.’

  ‘And for myself?’

  ‘Oh! Are you asking for something for yourself as well?’

  ‘I should be proud to hold a commission granted by Your Majesty.’

  ‘What rank are you requesting?’

  ‘I should like to be governor at Braune. I have always wanted to be a governor.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘In that case, apart from one small formality, the deal is done.’

  ‘And what formality is that?’

  ‘Would Your Majesty sign this paper which I prepared in advance in the hope that my services would be pleasing to my magnanimous sovereign?’

  ‘What paper is that?’

  ‘Read it, Madame.’

  Rounding his arm gracefully and bending his knee in the most respectful manner, Cauvignac offered the queen a sheet of paper.

  She read: ‘The day on which I shall enter Vayres without striking a blow, I shall pay Captain Cauvignac the sum of seventy-five thousand livres, and I shall make him Governor of Braune.’

  ‘So,’ the queen said, repressing her anger. ‘Captain Cauvignac does not have faith enough in our royal word and wants something in writing.’

  ‘In writing seems best to me, Madame, in important matters,’ Cauvignac said, with a bow. ‘The old Latin proverb says: “Verba volant”, which I take to mean in the vernacular: “Words steal”. And with all due respect, I’ve just been robbed.’

  ‘Insolent fellow!’ the queen shouted. ‘This time, get out!’

  ‘I’m leaving, Your Majesty,’ Cauvignac said. ‘But you shall not have Vayres.’

  Again, the captain, repeating a manoeuvre that had already worked for him, turned on his heels and made for the door. But Anne of Austria was more annoyed with him this time and did not call him back.

  Cauvignac left.

  ‘Will someone deal with that man?’ said the queen.

  ‘Excuse me, Madame,’ said Mazarin. ‘But I believe that Your Majesty would be wrong to let herself be carried away by a first angry impulse.’

  ‘Why?’ asked the queen.

  Guitaut made a movement to obey.

  ‘Because I am afraid that you may need him later, and if Your Majesty molests him in any way, she will have to pay double.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the queen. ‘We’ll pay what we have to. But, meanwhile, keep an eye on him.’

  ‘Ah, now that’s a different matter, and I am the first to applaud that precaution.’

  ‘Guitaut, go and see what’s happened to him,’ the queen said.

  Guitaut left and returned after half an hour.

  ‘Well?’ asked Anne of Austria. ‘What’s he up to?’

  ‘Your Majesty has nothing at all to worry about,’ Guitaut replied. ‘Your man is not trying to go away at all. I made enquiries: he is lodging three hundred yards from here, with an innkeeper called Biscarros.’

  ‘And is that where he has gone?’

  ‘Not so, Madame. He went up a hill and from there is watching Monsieur de La Meilleraie’s preparations for storming the retrenchments. The sight seems to be amusing him a great deal.’

  ‘And the rest of the army?’

  ‘It is on its way, Madame, and taking up its battle stations as it arrives.’

  ‘So the marshal is on the point of attacking?’

  ‘I believe, Madame, that rather than risking an attack, it is better to give the troops a night’s rest.’

  ‘A night’s rest!’ Anne of Austria exclaimed. ‘The royal army is to be halted a day and a night in front of this old shack! Impossible. Guitaut, go and tell the marshal to attack at once. The king wishes to sleep in Vayres tonight.’

  ‘Madame,’ said Mazarin, ‘I think that the marshal’s precaution…’

  ‘And I think,’ said Anne of Austria, ‘that when the royal authority has been challenged, it cannot be avenged too quickly. Go on, Guitaut – and tell Monsieur de La Meilleraie that the queen is watching him.’

  Dismissing Guitaut with a regal gesture, the queen took her son’s hand and went out in her turn, climbing a staircase that lead to a terrace, without looking round to see if anyone was following them.

  The terrace, its vistas and viewpoints arranged with the greatest skill, overlooked the whole of the surrounding countryside.

  The queen quickly looked all around. The Libourne road ran two hundred yards behind her; on it the white inn of our friend Biscarros stood out. At her feet, the Gironde was flowing, calm, swift and majestic. To her right was the fort of Vayres, silent as a ruin, while all around the fort lay the circle of newly raised retrenchments. A few sentries were walking on the ramparts, while the bronze necks and gaping mouths of five cannon extended through the embrasures. To her left, Monsieur de La Meilleraie was setting up camp. As Guitaut said, the whole army had arrived and was gathering around him.

  On a hillock, a man was standing, carefully watching every movement of the besieged and the besiegers. This was Cauvignac.

  Guitaut was crossing the river by the Isson fisherman’s ferry.

  The queen was standing quite still on the terrace, frowning and holding the hand of little Louis XIV, who was watching this scene with some curiosity, while occasionally saying to his mother: ‘Let me get up on my fine charger and join Monsieur de La Meilleraie, who is going to punish those insolent people.’

  Mazarin was near the queen, his fine, ironic face having for the moment taken on the thoughtful, serious look that he wore only on great occasions, while behind the queen and the minister were the ladies-in-waiting, who, taking their cue from Anne of Austria’s silence, hardly dared exchange a few words among themselves in a hurried whisper.

  At first, all this suggested calm and peace, but it was the tranquillity of a mine that a single spark could transform into a destructive tempest.

  All eyes were chiefly on Guitaut, because the explosion, for which they were all waiting with different feelings, would come from him.

  Expectation was great on the side where the army was, because scarcely had the messenger touched the left bank of the Dordogne and been recognized than all eyes turned towards him. When Monsieur de La Meilleraie saw him, he left the group of officers among whom he was standing and walked over to meet him.

  Guitaut and the marshal exchanged a few words. Although the river was quite wide at this point, and although the distance separating the royal group from the two officers was considerable, it was not so far that they could not see the astonishment on the face of the marshal. It was clear that the order he had received appeared to him untimely, so he raised a doubtful face towards the group, in the midst of whom the queen could be seen. But Anne of Austria, who understood what the marshal was thinking, gave such an imperative gesture with her head and her hand that the marshal – who had long been acquainted with his imperious sovereign – lowered his head, if not in sign of assent, at least of obedience.

  At the same moment, on the marshal’s order, three or four captains, who were serving him more or less in the role of a modern aide-de-camp, leapt into their saddles and galloped off in three or four different directions.

  Wherever they passed, the work of pitching camp, which had just been started, was instantly interrupted, and, to a roll of drums and a blaring of trumpets, the soldiers could be seen dr
opping, in some cases, the straw that they were carrying, in others, the hammers with which they were driving in the tent pegs. All ran to get their weapons, which were in stacks, the grenadiers grasping their guns, the ordinary soldiers their pikes and the artillerymen their implements. There was an incredible confusion as all these men crossed one another, running in different directions; then, bit by bit, the pieces on the huge chessboard sorted themselves out, order succeeded chaos and everyone was lined up under his own regimental banner: the grenadiers in the centre, the king’s household on the right flank, the artillery on the left. The trumpets and the drums fell silent.

  A single drum answered from behind the fortifications, then it too stopped, and a funereal silence settled over the plain.

  Then a clear, precise and determined command rang out. At the distance where she was, the queen could not hear the words, but she saw the troops form columns at the same moment. She took out her handkerchief and waved it, while the young king cried: ‘Forward! Forward!’ in an excited voice, stamping his foot.

  The army replied with a single shout of ‘Long live the king!’, then the artillery set off at a gallop to station itself on the little hillock, and the columns surged forward to the sound of the drum beating the charge.

  This was not a proper siege, but a simple assault. The retrenchments that Richon had hastily erected were earth ramparts, so there was no trench that needed to be opened, but only a direct attack was required. However, the shrewd commander of Vayres had taken every precaution, and it was evident that he had used exceptional skill to take advantage of all the resources of the terrain.

  Richon had doubtless imposed the rule on himself that he would not fire the first shot, because this time he waited once more for the royal troops to provoke a response; however, as in the first attack, one could see again the lowering of that terrible row of muskets which had previously made such dreadful ravages in the king’s household.

  At the same time, the six guns of the battery rang out, and earth could be seen flying up from the parapets and the palisades above them.