The response came quickly. The artillery on the retrenchments rang out in its turn, cutting deep furrows through the ranks of the king’s army. But, on an order from the commanders, these gaps in the ranks vanished, the edges of the wound that had been momentarily opened were closed, and the main column, having been briefly shaken, marched forward once more.
Now it was the turn of the musketry to crackle, while the cannon were being reloaded.
Five minutes later, the two opposing volleys answered one another in a single roar, like two storms colliding or two claps of thunder occurring simultaneously.
Then, as the weather was calm and there was no breeze to ruffle the air, the smoke gathered above the battlefield, and the two sides vanished into a cloud, broken here and there by a roaring flash of flame from the thunder of the artillery.
From time to time, there were men emerging at the rear of the royal army, painfully dragging themselves along, only to fall at different distances, leaving a trail of blood behind them.
Very soon, the number of wounded increased. The noise of the cannon and the musket fire continued, but the royal artillery was now only firing haphazardly and cautiously, because in the midst of the thick smoke it could not distinguish friend from foe.
As for the artillery in the fort, since it had only enemies in front of it, it blasted out more frightfully and more urgently than ever.
Finally, the royal artillery ceased firing altogether. It was clear that the assault had begun, and the troops were engaged in fighting hand to hand.
There was a moment’s anxiety on the part of the spectators, while the smoke, no longer thickened by the fire of the cannon and the musketry, gradually rose. What they saw then was the royal army being driven back in disorder, leaving the foot of the ramparts covered with its dead. A sort of breach had been made, and a few palisades had been torn out, leaving an opening, but one that was crowded with a jumble of men, pikes and muskets. And in the midst of these men, covered with blood, yet calm and cool, as though he were merely a spectator in the tragedy where he had just played such a frightful part, stood Richon, holding in his hand an axe blunted by the blows that he had struck with it.
The man seemed to be protected by some charm: though he was always in the thick of the fighting, always in the front rank, constantly erect and uncovered, no shot had struck him or pike touched him. He was as invulnerable as he was impassive.
Three times Marshal de La Meilleraie in person led the royal troops in the assault, and three times they were driven back before the eyes of the king and queen.
Silent tears were running down the young king’s pale cheeks. Anne of Austria was wringing her hands and muttering: ‘Oh, that man, that man! If he should ever fall into our hands, I shall make a terrible example of him.’
Fortunately, night was falling, dark and swift, like a sort of veil over the royal shame. Marshal de La Meilleraie ordered the retreat to be sounded.
Cauvignac left his post, came down from the hillock where he had been standing and strolled across the field towards Biscarros’s house with his hands in his pockets.
‘Madame,’ Mazarin said, pointing at him, ‘there’s a man who could have saved you all the blood we have just spilled for a little gold.’
‘Huh!’ said the queen. ‘Is that the advice of an economical man like yourself, Cardinal?’
‘It’s true that I’m economical,’ said the cardinal. ‘I know the price of gold, but I know the price of blood too, and at the moment, blood is dearer than gold to us.’
‘Never you fear,’ said the queen. ‘The blood that has been spilt will be avenged. Here, Comminges!’ she added, turning to the lieutenant of her guard. ‘Go and bring Monsieur de La Meilleraie to me.’
‘And you, Bernouin,’ the cardinal said to his valet, pointing out Cauvignac, who had just reached the door of the Golden Calf. ‘Can you see that man?’
‘Yes, Monseigneur.’
‘Well, go and fetch him for me and bring him secretly into my room tonight.’
The day after her interview with her lover in the Carmelite church, Madame de Cambes went to see the princess, with the idea of carrying out the promise that she had made to Canolles.
The whole town was abuzz, having just heard of the king’s arrival before Vayres and, at the same time, of Richon’s admirable defence of the fortress, twice repulsing a royal army of twelve thousand men with a force of just five hundred. The princess was one of the first to hear the news and, in her delight, clapped her hands, saying: ‘Oh, if only I had a hundred captains like Richon!’
Madame de Cambes joined in the general enthusiasm, doubly happy at being able to applaud warmly the conduct of a man whom she admired, and also at finding a timely opportunity to put in a request that might have been compromised by the report of a defeat, while on the contrary its success was more or less guaranteed by the announcement of a victory.
However, even in the midst of her joy, the princess had too much on her mind for Claire to dare risking her request. There was the matter of sending reinforcements to Richon, which, as they could easily imagine, he needed, given the fact that Monsieur d’Epernon’s army would shortly be joining the royal one. The council was organizing these reinforcements, and Claire, seeing that political affairs were for the moment taking precedence over affairs of the heart, resumed her role as counsellor of state, and there was no mention of Canolles that day.
A brief, but affectionate, note advised the prisoner of this delay. This was less difficult for him to bear than one might think: the expectation of a happy event brings almost as many sweet sensations as the event itself. Canolles’s heart was too full of amorous delicacy not to enjoy what he called the antechamber of happiness. Claire was asking him to wait patiently, and he did so almost with joy.
On the following day, the relief of Vayres was organized, and at eleven in the morning the soldiers left upstream. But since the wind and the current were contrary, they calculated that, however hard they tried, they would not arrive on the following day, since they had to rely solely on their oars. Captain Ravailly, leading the expedition, had the order to reconnoitre the fortress of Braune at the same time, which belonged to the queen, and which was known to be without a governor.
The princess spent the morning supervising the preparations and details of the expedition. The afternoon was to be devoted to a great council meeting with the aim of preventing the Duke d’Epernon and the Marshal de La Meilleraie from joining forces, or at least delaying it until the reinforcements that were being sent to Richon had entered the fortress. Claire had no alternative but to continue waiting until the next day, but at around four o’clock she found an opportunity to make a charming sign to Canolles as he was passing under her window – such a charming sign, so full of regret and love, that he was almost happy at being obliged to wait.
However, in the evening, to make sure that the wait would not be extended any further, and to force herself to confide to the princess a secret that she found somewhat embarrassing, Claire asked for a private audience with Madame de Condé on the following day; as we might imagine, this audience was granted unquestioningly.
So at the appointed hour Claire came into the princess’s apartments and was welcomed with the most charming smile. The princess was alone, as Claire had requested.
‘Now, my girl,’ the princess said, ‘what is so serious that you have asked me for a private and secret audience, when you know that I am at the disposal of my friends at any hour of the day?’
‘The thing is this, Madame,’ the viscountess said. ‘In the midst of the happiness that Your Majesty has so well deserved, I would like to ask her to cast her eyes on her loyal servant, who also requires a little happiness.’
‘With great pleasure, my dear Claire, and never will the happiness that God sends equal that which I desire for you. So ask me… What favour would you request? If it is in my power, be sure that it is already granted.’
‘A widow, free, and too free, because thi
s freedom is more burdensome to me than slavery would be,’ Claire replied, ‘I should like to exchange my loneliness for a better condition.’
‘In other words, you wish to marry, is that it, dear?’ Madame de Condé asked, laughing.
‘I think I do,’ said Claire, blushing.
‘Very well, so be it… This concerns us…’ Claire raised a hand. ‘Calm, now! We shall consider your feelings: you must have a duke and a peer, Viscountess. I will look for one among our supporters.’
‘Your Highness is too considerate,’ Madame de Cambes replied. ‘I did not mean you to trouble yourself with that.’
‘Oh, but I shall be happy to do so, because I owe you a return of happiness for the loyalty you have shown me. But you will wait until the war is over, won’t you?’
‘I shall wait as short a time as possible, Madame,’ said the viscountess with a smile.
‘You talk as though your choice was already made, as though you had the husband that you are asking me for already to hand.’
‘That is because it is just as Your Highness says.’
‘Really! So who is this happy man? Tell me, don’t be afraid.’
‘Oh, Madame!’ Claire said. ‘Forgive me… I don’t know why, but I am trembling all over.’
The princess smiled, took Claire’s hand and drew her close.
‘My child!’ she said. Then, looking at her with an expression that only made the viscountess more embarrassed, added: ‘Do I know him?’
‘I think that Your Highness has seen him several times.’
‘I don’t need to ask if he is young?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘And noble?’
‘He is of good family.’
‘Brave?’
‘He has a reputation for courage.’
‘Rich?’
‘I am.’
‘Yes, my dear, yes, and we have not forgotten that. You are one of the wealthiest nobles in our dominion, and we are happy to recall that, in this present war, Monsieur de Cambes’s gold louis and the fat écus of your farmers have more than once come to our aid in time of need.’
‘Your Highness honours me by recalling how much I am devoted to her.’
‘Very well. We shall make him a major in our army, if he is only a captain, and a colonel if he is only a major – because I assume he is one of us?’
‘He was at Lens, Madame,’ Claire replied with all the subtlety that she had acquired in her recent study of diplomacy.
‘Excellent! Now, there is only one more thing I need,’ said the princess.
‘Which is?’
‘The name of the fortunate gentleman who already has the heart and will soon possess the person of the loveliest soldier in my army.’
Claire, driven back to her last defences, was gathering all her courage to say the name of the Baron de Canolles, when suddenly the sound of a galloping horse rang around the courtyard, followed by one of those dull murmurs that accompany important news.
The princess heard both these sounds and ran over to the window. The messenger, covered in sweat and dust, was leaping off his horse and, surrounded by four or five people who had been attracted to him by the sound of his entrance, appeared to be giving details, which, even as they emerged, were plunging his hearers into consternation. The princess could no longer contain her curiosity and, opening the window, cried out: ‘Let him come up!’
The messenger looked upwards, recognized the princess and ran to the stairs. Five minutes later, he was coming into the room, though covered in mud, with ruffled hair and strangled voice, and saying: ‘Forgive me, Your Highness, for appearing before you in my present state! But I am bringing the sort of news that has merely to be spoken to burst wide the door: Vayres has capitulated!’
The princess staggered backwards, Claire’s arms fell in despair, and Lenet, coming in behind the messenger, went pale.
Five or six other people, who, momentarily forgetting the respect due to the princess, had invaded her room, remained dumb with astonishment.
‘Monsieur Ravailly,’ said Lenet (because the messenger was none other than our captain from Navailles), ‘repeat what you have just said, because I can hardly believe it.’
‘I said that Vayres has capitulated.’
‘Capitulated!’ the princess repeated. ‘What about the reinforcements that you were bringing?’
‘We came too late, Madame. Richon was surrendering as we arrived.’
‘Richon surrendering!’ the princess cried. ‘The coward!’
This exclamation sent a chill through the veins of everyone present, yet no one said anything, apart from Lenet.
‘Madame,’ he said sternly, and with no consideration for Madame de Condé’s pride. ‘Don’t forget that the honour of men resides in the word of princes, just as their lives are in the hands of God. So don’t call the bravest of your servants a coward, in case tomorrow the most loyal desert you, when they see how you treat their fellows, leaving you alone, accused and lost…’
‘Monsieur!’ the princess exclaimed.
‘Madame,’ Lenet continued. ‘I repeat to Your Highness that Richon is no coward, I answer for him with my own head, and if he capitulated it was because he could not do otherwise.’
The princess, pale with fury, was about to scold Lenet with one of those aristocratic outbursts in which arrogance took the place of good sense, but at the sight of all the faces turning away from her and eyes refusing to meet hers, Lenet with his head high and Ravailly with his head lowered, she realized that she would indeed be lost if she continued along this self-destructive path; so she appealed to them with her usual argument.
‘Unhappy princess that I am!’ she said. ‘Everything has abandoned me then – both fortune and mankind! Oh, my child, my poor child, you will be destroyed like your father.’
The cry of the weak woman and the outburst of maternal suffering always find an echo in people’s hearts. This playacting, which had so often before achieved the princess’s goal, produced the desired effect once more.
Meanwhile, Lenet had been getting from Ravailly all that he had learned about the capitulation of Vayres.
‘I knew it!’ he exclaimed, after a moment.
‘What did you know?’ the princess asked.
‘That Richon was not a coward, Madame.’
‘And how do you know that?’
‘Because he held out for two days and two nights, and because he would have let himself be buried in the ruins of his fortress, riddled with bullets, if a company of recruits had not rebelled and forced him to capitulate.’
‘He should have died rather than surrender,’ said the princess.
‘Does one die when one wishes, Madame?’ Lenet asked. Then, turning to Ravailly, he added: ‘He is a prisoner on terms, I hope?’
‘No terms at all, I fear,’ Ravailly replied. ‘They tell me that it was a lieutenant of the garrison who parleyed, so there may well be some treachery there, and instead of offering conditions for surrender, Richon may have been betrayed.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Lenet exclaimed. ‘Betrayed, handed over to the enemy, that’s it! I know Richon, and I know him to be incapable, I won’t say of cowardice, but of weakness. Madame,’ Lenet continued, turning to the princess, ‘betrayed, handed over, you understand? Quickly, let’s take care of him. A treaty made by a lieutenant, you say, Ravailly? Some great misfortune has befallen Richon. Quickly, Madame, write, I beg you.’
‘Write!’ exclaimed the princess. ‘I – write? Why should I?’
‘To save him, Madame.’
‘Huh!’ said the princess. ‘When one delivers up a fortress to the enemy, one should take the necessary precautions.’
‘But don’t you understand that he did not deliver it to them? Didn’t you hear what the captain said: that he was betrayed, perhaps sold? That it was some lieutenant and not Richon who dealt with the enemy?’
‘So what do you expect them to do to him, your Richon?’
‘What will they
do to him? Madame, are you forgetting the trick that he used to enter Vayres? That we used a letter of attestation from Monsieur d’Epernon? That he held out against a royal army commanded by the queen and the king in person? That Richon is the first to raise the standard of rebellion? That, in short, they will make an example of him? Oh, Madame, in heaven’s name, write to Monsieur de La Meilleraie, send a messenger, an envoy.’
‘And what mission should we give this envoy?’
‘The mission of preventing at any cost the death of a brave captain, because if you do not hurry… I know the queen, Madame, and your messenger may even arrive too late!’
‘Too late,’ said the princess. ‘Don’t we have hostages? Don’t we have officers of the king in Chantilly, in Montrond and even here, who are our prisoners?’
Claire rose up, appalled.
‘But, Madame, Madame!’ she cried. ‘Do what Monsieur Lenet tells you: reprisals would not give Richon back his freedom.’
‘It’s not a matter of freedom, but of life,’ said Lenet with grim persistence.
‘Very well,’ said the princess. ‘What they do, we do: prison for prison, the scaffold for the scaffold.’
Claire gave a cry and fell to her knees.
‘But, Madame,’ she said. ‘Monsieur Richon is one of my friends. I came to ask a favour of you, and you promised me to grant it. Well, I am asking you to do all that you can to save Monsieur Richon.’
Claire was on her knees. The princess took the opportunity to grant to Claire’s entreaties what she was refusing to Lenet’s rough counsel. She went over to a table, took a pen and wrote to Monsieur de La Meilleraie to ask for Richon to be exchanged for one of the officers whom she was holding prisoner, the choice to be the queen’s. When the letter was finished, she looked round to decide whom to send as messenger. At this, though still suffering from his old wound and exhausted from his recent efforts, Ravailly offered to go himself, provided he was given a fresh horse. The princess gave him permission to take whichever horse he wanted from her stables, and the captain left, spurred on by the shouts of the crowd, the encouragements of Lenet and the entreaties of Claire.
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