CHAPTER III
THE RED CORNFIELD
'M. le Marquis, the Conde de Leyva begs for help urgently.'
'Tell him I have none to give,' de Rone made answer from his big blackcharger Couronne. '_Sangdieu!_' he added under his breath, 'had webeen but three hours earlier the Bearnais was lost.'
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the cavalier to whom theywere addressed threw up his arms with a scream, and falling forwardfrom his horse, began to beat at the earth convulsively with hishands, whilst he gasped out his life. As the death glaze was coveringhis eyes, his empty saddle was filled by a figure that rose up like asprite through the dim smoke, and Belin's even voice was heard.
'Poor Garabay! But my horse was shot under me an hour ago, and thisone will do me excellently. Shall I carry your message, General?'
'I claim the honour. Marquis; do not deny me, Belin. I have been idletoo long,' and I pressed forward as I spoke.
'Oh, I yield to you, d'Auriac! there is work enough for me at theother end; the bear of Aumale is dancing to a fine tune there,' andBelin reined back, whilst de Rone nodded assent, with a meaning in hislook that I alone understood.
I needed no second bidding, but turning my Norman's rein, gallopeddown the blazing line of battle. If I escaped through the day, whichto my mind was already lost, I knew full well that de Rone, smartingunder disappointment and chagrin at defeat, would be in no temper formercy, and would certainly keep his word to me.
There was not a doubt of it, but that the issue of the day was at acrisis. On our extreme right d'Aumale and the exiles of France werepitted against the Huguenot battalions, who went into battle with ahymn on their lips, and had sworn by the faith for which so many ofthem had died never to quit the field alive. Be sure they strovebitterly there, for the hatreds of sixty years had met face to face ontheir last field, and no quarter was asked or given. In the centreBouillon, the Turenne of other days, and Biron--men whose very nameswere victory--led the attack, which was slowly but surely driving usback into the river. At one time indeed the fiery marshal, with theexception of the King perhaps the most brilliant cavalry leader of theage, had all but laid hands on our standard, and so close was he to methat I might have counted the jewels of the Order at his neck, andclearly heard his deep '_Mordieu!_' as he slowly gave way before thedesperate rally that for the moment retrieved the day. But it was onour left that the greatest danger lay. Henry's rapid movement duringthe night had forestalled de Rone's plans, and had practically shut inthe left wing of the Leaguer general between two fires. For althoughde Rethelois was penned into La Fere, yet his artillery had a longreach and galled us in the rear, whilst the King, fully grasping thesituation, opened a heavy fire on our front, and that terrible batteryfrom the cornfield never ceased launching forth its messages of death.These guns, no longer hidden by the tall corn-stalks, now beaten andtrampled down, and as red as the poppies that once starred them, werein reality deciding the fortune of the day. Twice had de Leyva inperson brought the veteran regiments of Almagro and Algarve up totheir very muzzles, until the men could have touched them with theirBiscay pikes, and twice had they been flung back, but made good theirretreat, beating off the charge of Schomberg's reiters in so savage amanner that the free commander was unable to rally his men for therest of the day.
I let my beast go with a loose head, and there was no need of the spurto urge him to his utmost effort as he bore me to de Leyva. I foundhim bare-headed and on foot, his face black with smoke and bleedingfrom wounds. His _toison d'or_ had been shot away, though its jewelledcollar still clasped his neck, and his left arm hung useless by hisside. He stared at me when I gave him de Rone's answer, to which Iadded the news that Garabay was dead. Then he laughed through hiscracked lips--a laugh that seemed to stick in the knot of his throat,and making me no further reply, waved his sword in the air with a cryon his men for yet another effort, and a forlorn hope at the guns. Andthey who had never known defeat before answered to his call and cameup again--a line of men for whom the bitterness of death was passed. Iought to have gone back to de Rone, but the lust of battle was on me,and for me there was nothing in the world but the black guns behindthe continuous flashes, lightening through the thick smoke which thewind was blowing in our faces. My brave horse was killed by a roundshot, and as I scrambled up and took my place by de Leyva's side, hisfeatures relaxed and he said with a thin smile:
'I have had both my horses killed, Chevalier, or would offer you amount.'
'We will replace them from Schomberg's reiters,' and the bugles,sounding the attack, cut short all further talk. It was win or losenow--all was staked upon this hazard, and it was well for us thatSchomberg was broken, for to protect the men as far as possible fromthe guns, de Leyva advanced in open files. There was to be no firing.The work was to be all cold steel, and Bayonne knife and Biscay pikewere to make a last effort against the long, black, snarling guns,behind which d'Aussonville's ordnance men yelped and danced with gleeas each discharge brought down its tale of the mangled and dead. Butup the long slope, never flinching, never swerving, one man steppingwhere another fell, the veteran regiments marched, with their gallantchief at their head. When about fifty paces away, the drift was sothick that we could see nothing save the incessant flashes of light,which possessed but power enough to show themselves. At this momentthe bugles rang out shrilly, the ranks closed up like magic, there wasone tremendous roar of artillery, and the half of us that were leftwere in the battery. Here, on the red and slippery corn-stalks, thedevilry went on, and men fought more like beasts than human beings. Asthe heaving mass swayed backwards and forwards, the strong breezelifted the smoke from the now speechless guns and showed that theywere won, but it also showed us another sight, and that was de Rone'sbroken centre doubling back upon us in utter rout, and behind them asilver line of shining helmets as the King's House charged, led byHenry himself.
On they came, a dancing line of light, a gleam of shining swords, withthe white plume of the bravest of them full three lengths in front.
'_Vive le Roi!_' The breeze flung us the deep-mouthed cheer as theybroke through the mailed ranks of de Rone's own cuirassiers, and drovehorse and foot, knight and knave, in a huddled mob before them.
It may have been fancy, but I thought I saw in the press a dark figurethat suddenly turned the reins of a huge, black charger and flew atthe King. For an instant two bright sword blades crossed in the air,and then the black horse plunged riderless into the grey spate ofsmoke that the wind was bearing westwards, and a groan as of despairfell on my ears.
'_Vive le Roi!_' Once again came the full-throated cry, and the bayhorse was galloping towards us, followed by the line of swords, nolonger shining, but dulled and red with the slaughter they had made.
From a heap of dead and dying that lay about two yards off me, afigure, so hideous with wounds that it seemed barely human, rose to asitting posture, and then staggering to its feet, swayed backwards andforwards, with the fragment of a sword still clutched in its hand.With a supreme effort it steadied itself, and as the poor, mad eyes,alive with pain, caught sight of the enemy, they lit again with thefire of battle, and de Leyva's voice rang out strong and clear as ofold:
'The guns--the guns--turn them on the King!'
'They are spiked,' someone gave answer, with a grim, hopeless laugh.
As he heard this reply, de Leyva slipped sideways, and would havefallen had I not sprang forward and supported him with my arm. Heleaned his smitten frame against me for a moment, and something thatwas like a sob burst from him. But he recovered himself on theinstant, and with the strength so often given to those who are aboutto die, pushed me aside with an oath, and shaking his broken blade inthe face of the advancing line, fell forwards in a huddled mass, adead man.
The next moment the enemy were on us. We met them with a row of pikes;but what could we do, for we were few in number, weary with the longstruggle, and weak with wounds? The issue was never in
doubt, and theybroke us at once. I have a vague memory of fighting for dear lifeamidst a thunder of hoofs, and the hissing sweep of swords, but wasridden down by some one, and all became dark around me.
* * * * *
When my mind came back, it was with the consciousness of rain that wasfalling softly, and the cool drops plashed on my burning head with asensation of relief that I cannot describe. I suffered from anintolerable thirst, and strove to rise that I might find means toquench it; but found I was powerless to move, and writhed in my agonyin the rut amidst the corn-stalks wherein I had fallen. The rain wasbut a passing shower, and when it ceased a light but cool breezesprang up. It was night, and a fitful moon shone through the uneasyclouds that hurried to and fro overhead in the uncertain breeze, whichshifted its quarter as often as a child might change its mind. Iseemed to be alive only in the head, and began to wonder to myself howlong I was to lie there until death came, and with it the end of allthings. I began to wish it would come quickly, and there was a secretwhispering in my soul to pray--to pray to the God of whom I had neverthought since childhood--to entreat that Invisible Being, at whoseexistence I had so often laughed, to stoop from above the stars andend my pain, and I cursed myself for a white-livered cur that forgotthe Godhead in my strength, and in my weakness could almost haveshrieked to him for help. I pulled my fainting courage up, as Ithought that if there was no God, it was useless wasting my breath incalling on him, whilst if, on the other hand, there was one, no prayerof mine could go higher than my sword's point, were I to hold theblade out at arm's length above me--and now that the end was coming, Iwas not going to cringe and whimper. So my sinful pride caught me bythe heel as I lay there in my dolour.
A half-hour or so may have passed thus, and the moon was now almostentirely obscured. Occasionally I could hear through the darknessaround me the moaning of some poor wounded wretch, and now and againrose the shrill discordant shriek of a maimed horse, an awful cry ofpain, the effect of which those only who may have heard it canunderstand. Soon a number of twinkling lights began to hover over theplain. Sometimes they moved forward rapidly, sometimes they wereraised and lowered, and at other times stationary. Gradually two ofthese lanthorns came closer to me, stopping about ten paces off, andwhen I saw who bore them I knew at once they were death-hunters, andthat in a few moments the knife of one of these ghouls might end mysuffering. There were two of these fiends, a man and a woman, and asthey halted the man stooped: there was a choking cry for mercy, theblow of a dagger, and a groan. The robber busied himself in searchingthe dead man's person, and, in the silence that followed, the womanwith him threw up her head and laughed a horrid shrill laugh. Itpealed out with so eerie a sound that the death-hunter sprang to hisfeet; but finding who it was, burst into the foulest language.
'_Sangdieu!_ Be still, fool,' he snarled, 'or you'll laugh another wayif I tickle you with my knife.'
'Oh, ho! The brave Mauginot,' answered the she-devil, 'you will tickleme with your butcher knife--will you? I, too, can make you skip,' andshe shook a bright dagger in her long lean arm, but suddenly changingher tone, 'Pouf!' she said, 'there is no use in squabbling, partner.This is the sixth we have helped to hell to-night, and not a broadpiece amongst them. Holy Virgin! This is a field of paupers--let usbegone!' and to my joy she made as if to go.
'Stay Babette! what shines there?' and Mauginot ran forward a coupleof paces, and bending low wrenched something from a body, and thenstood up, holding it to the light.
I saw his face clearly, and saw also his prize. It was poor de Leyva'scollar of the Golden Fleece, and the blood-stained hand of the_croquemort_ held it up to the lantern, and clinked the jewelledlinks, whilst he feasted his eyes on the gold and gems. Over hisshoulders peered the pitiless features of his partner, and in her eyesblazed all the bad light of avarice and murder. I almost held mybreath as I watched the eyes of the woman leave the jewel and turn onthe man with death in their look. As for him, he was unconscious ofthe knife quivering in the nervous fingers behind him, and he chuckledover his find.
'That is the collar of the _Toison d'Or_, Babette. _Sacre chien!_ ButI will wed you, and we will buy an estate and settle down, and youwill be Madame de Mauginot--hey! That carrion there must have been agreat prince--a field of paupers--bah! Give me more paupers like this.I am sorry he is dead, Babette, I would like to have--Ah, _monDieu!_--you devil! you devil!' for as he babbled on, his words werecut short by Babette's knife, which was buried to the hilt between hisshoulder-blades, and he fell on his knees and then lurched on his facestone dead. The murderess made a snatch at the jewel, which I saw herconceal, and then with a mocking 'Adieu, M. _de_ Mauginot!' to hervictim, stepped over my body and moved out of sight, swinging herlantern, and laughing low to herself.
As I watched this hideous scene, I for the moment forgot the pain ofmy hurts; but they soon began to assert themselves in such a mannerthat I longed for the relief that unconsciousness would afford, norindeed would I have been sorry if the night-hag, Babette, had comeback and put an end to me. My senses half failed me again, and I feltmyself tottering on the brink of delirium. I caught myself shoutingand speaking out aloud in a mad manner; but I had no power of stoppingmyself. So the long hours of the night passed, and at last it was dawnonce more, and morning came.
Lying with my ear against the ground, I heard the dull beat of horses'hoofs, growing louder and more distinct as they approached, and in alittle time the party, whoever they were, rode into the cornfield. Fora second my eyes were dazzled by the reflection of the sun on thesilver-plate of their armour; but I recovered myself with an effort,and watched eagerly, intending to cry out for help as they passed me,for my voice was too weak to reach where they were. There were twoladies amongst them, and all appeared to be looking with much concernand anxiety for some one. As they came closer I saw it was the Kinghimself, with Madame Gabrielle and another lady, doubtless of thecourt, and a numerous retinue. Henry was mounted on his famous baycharger; and, as he lifted his hat and looked silently around him, Ihad good opportunity of observing the man who was without doubt themost heroic figure of the age, and who united in himself the mostopposite extremes of character. I saw before me a spare figure, thehead covered with short black hair, a long hooked nose that fell overthe upper lip, and a sharp protruding chin, half hidden in a beardtinged with grey. His long curled moustaches were white as snow, andthe story went that they had become so on the night when the Edicts ofPacification were revoked by the last of the Valois. Under his bushyeyebrows his keen restless eyes glittered like two beads, but for themoment they seemed dilated with a soft light, and there was aninfinite sadness in them as he looked round the bloody field.
'I am afraid we search in vain, madame,' and a tall cavalier mountedon a big bay addressed Madame de Beaufort. She nodded her head to himsadly, and turned to the King.
'It is useless, sire, and I can bear this no longer--it is toohorrible--let us go.'
'_Mignonne_, you are right--this is no place for you. Roquelaure willsee you and your little friend there back, and I will come to yousoon--but now I have a letter to write--just a few lines to Bearn.'The King spoke with a strong southern accent, and as he spoke leanedforward and caressed Madame Gabrielle's hand. She, however, declinedto go. 'I will wait, sire, but it shall be with my eyes shut,' and theKing's mistress, whose cheeks were very pale, put her hand to her eyesas if to shut out the sight around her. The lady with Madame deBeaufort coming nearer at this time, I recognised my unknown Madame ofthe outposts, who had evidently found her way back to her friends. Butit was with a bitter disappointment that I saw her in the company ofthe duchess, and evidently in attendance on her. Madame was nothing tome I thought, but I could not associate her with the fallen woman whowas the mistress of the King. I was learning the lesson that lovecomes on a man like a thief in the night, and, unconsciously tomyself, Madame had climbed on a pinnacle in my heart, and the thoughtthat I had deceived myself in my estimate of her moved me to suddenanger, and still
ed the cry for help that was rising to my lips--Iwould have no help from her and her friends.
In the meantime the King was busily engaged in writing his despatch ona small tablet, which he rested on the pommel of his saddle, and as hewrote he repeated the words aloud, and the purport of the note, whichwas to de la Force at Pau, was to send him a dozen young peach-trees,carefully packed in mould, each in a tin case one foot long, these tobe planted in his gardens of St. Germain.
As he was thus engaged, a little shrivelled old man pushed his horsebeside Madame de Beaufort, and said in mincing tones as hard as steel.'Come, madame, your brother has met a soldier's death, and noFrenchman can hope for a better--or he is safe and well somewhere. Dryyour tears, and rejoice at the glorious victory we have won.' Theduchess made some answer in a broken voice, and the King, hearing her,stopped writing and put his tablet away.
'_M'amye!_ D'Ayen speaks rightly, though he speaks from the head. Godkeep us from more scenes like this. As for your brother, deC[oe]uvres, I will not rest till there is news of him; but now we cando no more. Come, then--open your pretty eyes and we will go--there ismuch on hand.'
I was a hot-headed fool and furious in those days, and I set my teethtogether grimly as they made ready to start, swearing I would ratherdie than make the slightest signal for aid. They rode past quite closeto me--Gabrielle weeping at the King's bridle hand, and his Majestysucking at a nectarine he had pulled from his holster. Madame wasimmediately behind, and as she came up to me, our eyes met with aninstant recognition. In a moment her cheek had crimsoned and paled,and she reined in with a cry:
'Stop--halt!'
'It is Louis--Louis--O God, no!' exclaimed Madame de Beaufort,swinging round, the glad note in her voice breaking as she saw I wasnot her brother, de C[oe]uvres; but Madame had already dismounted andwas holding my head up, and gently passing a handkerchief over myface.
They had all surrounded me now, and I heard quick orders given.
'He is past mending,' said d'Ayen, bending over me from his saddle, 'agentleman, too, it seems. Let him lie there--he will die very soon,poor devil!'
'_Mon Dieu!_ No!' broke in the duchess, and Madame looked at thespeaker with a cold contempt.
'He is the only man living here,' and the strong accent of theBearnais came as from a distance; '_Ventre-saint-Gris!_ But theyfought like paladins, and Frenchman or foreigner, he shall be saved ifit can be done.'
'Sire,' said a soft voice, 'you are the true King of the brave.'
Then two men-at-arms raised me with a rough gentleness on theircrossed spears, and inflicted on me in their kindness the mostinfinite torture. The King himself pressed a flask of wine to my lips,and, as I drank greedily, two cool hands held up my head. Then wemoved on slowly, Madame refusing to ride, but walking by my side, andsupporting my burning head.
The Chevalier d'Auriac Page 5