by G. A. Henty
“The idea is a good one, Pierre;” and Philip took out his handkerchief, tore it in two and, handing half of it to Pierre, fastened the other round his arm.
As they went along, they met men with torches or lanterns, moving in the same direction as themselves. All wore white handkerchiefs or scarves round their arms.
Philip became more and more anxious as they went on, and regretted that he had not returned to his lodgings and renewed his watch there. However, a few minutes’ walking took them to the Hotel de Ville. The square in front of the building was faintly illuminated by a few torches, here and there, and by large cressets that blazed in front of the Hotel. The light, however, was sufficient to show a dense body of men drawn up in the square, and the ruddy light of the flames flashed from helmet, lance point, and axe.
“What think you now, Monsieur Philip? There must be eight or ten thousand men here. I should say all the city bands, under their captains.”
As they paused, a citizen officer came up to them.
“All is ready, your excellency. I do not think that a man is absent from his post. The orders remain unchanged, I suppose?”
“Quite unchanged,” Philip said briefly, seeing that in the faint light he was mistaken for someone else.
“And the bell is to be the signal for beginning?”
“I believe there has been a change in that respect,” Philip said; “but you will hear that later on. I am only here to see that all is in readiness.”
“Everything has been done as ordered, your excellency. The gates are closed, and will not be opened except to one bearing special orders, under the king’s own seal. The boats have all been removed from the wharves. There will be no escape.”
Philip repressed a strong impulse to run the man through the body, and only said:
“Good. Your zeal will not be forgotten.”
Then he turned and walked away. They had gone but a few paces when, in the distance, the report of a pistol was heard.
“Too late!” he exclaimed, in passionate regret.
“Come, Pierre,” and he broke into a rapid run.
Several times groups of men came out from bye-streets at the sound of the rapid footsteps, but Philip exclaimed:
“Away there! I am on urgent business for Anjou and Guise.”
The men fell back at once, in each case, not doubting from the badges on the arms, which they could make out in the darkness, that Philip was bearing some important order.
“To the Admiral’s, first,” he said to Pierre. “It is there they will surely begin.”
But as they entered the Rue de Bethisy, he saw a number of men pouring out from the Admiral’s house, with drawn swords and waving their torches over their heads. By the light, Philip could make out Henri of Guise and Henry of Valois, with their attendants and soldiers.
“We are too late here, Pierre. The Admiral has doubtless been murdered. His confidence in the king’s word has undone him.”
Coligny, indeed, had refused the offer of many Protestant gentlemen to spend the night in the house; and even Teligny, his son-in-law, had gone to his own lodgings a short distance away. He had with him only his chaplain Merlin, the king’s surgeon, three gentlemen and four or five servants; while in the court below were five of the King of Navarre’s Swiss guards.
The Admiral had been awakened by the increasing noise without, but entertained no alarm whatever. Suddenly a loud knocking was heard at the outer gate, and a demand for entrance, in the king’s name.
The Admiral directed one of the gentlemen, named Le Bonne, to go down and unbar the gate. As he did so, Cosseins, an officer of Anjou’s household rushed in, followed by fifty soldiers, and stabbed Le Bonne to the heart. The soldiers had been despatched by the king, himself, under pretence of guarding the Huguenots; and twelve hundred arquebusiers had also been posted, under the same pretext, in the neighbourhood.
The faithful Swiss defended the inner door and, when driven back, defended for a time a barricade hastily thrown up on the stairs. One of the Huguenot gentlemen rushed into the Admiral’s room, with the news that the gate had been forced. The Admiral calmly replied:
“I have kept myself for a long time in readiness for death. Save yourselves, if you can. It would be hopeless for you to attempt to save my life.”
In obedience to his orders, all who were with him, save a German interpreter, fled to the roof and made their escape in the darkness. The barricade was carried, and a German named Besme, a follower of the Duke of Guise, was the first to rush into the Admiral’s room. Coligny was calmly seated in a chair, and Besme struck him two blows with his sword, while those following despatched him.
Guise was waiting in the courtyard below. When he heard that the Admiral was killed, he ordered the body to be thrown out of the window. When he recognized that it was indeed the body of the Admiral, he gave it a brutal kick, while one of his followers cut off the head; and then Guise called upon the soldiers to follow him, saying:
“We have begun well. Let us now see to the others, for so the king commands.”
As Philip turned from the spot, the bell of the church of Saint Germain l’Auxerrois peeled forth, and shouts instantly rose from all quarters. As he reached the street in which he lodged, Philip saw that it was already half full of armed men, who were shouting “Death to the Huguenots!” and were hammering at many of the doors.
He fell at once into a walk, and made his way through them unmolested, the white badge on his arm seeming to guarantee that he was a friend. He passed his own door, and made for that of the Count de Valecourt. A combat was going on in front of it and, by the light of the torches, Philip saw De Pascal defending himself bravely against a host of enemies. Sword in hand, Philip sprang forward. But before he could make his way through the soldiers, a musket shot rang out, and De Pascal fell dead.
Philip drew back.
“To our own house, Pierre,” he exclaimed to his lackey, who was keeping close behind him; “we can do nothing here, and the door may resist for a few minutes.”
There was no one in front of the entrance, though at all the doors marked with a white cross the soldiers were hammering with the butts of their arquebuses. They slipped in, pushed the bars across, ran upstairs and made their way on to the roof, and climbed along it until they reached the window of the house in which De Valecourt lodged; felt their way across the room till they discovered the door, issued out and, as soon as they found the staircase, ran down.
Already there was a turmoil below. A light streamed out from a door of the count’s apartments on the first floor. Philip ran in. Claire de Valecourt was standing with one hand resting on the table, deadly pale, but quiet. She was fully dressed.
“Where is your father?” Philip exclaimed.
“He has gone down with the servants to hold the stairs.”
“I will join him,” Philip said. “Pierre will take care of you. He knows what to do. We will follow you. Quick, for your own sake and your father’s.”
“I cannot go and leave him.”
“You will do him no good by staying, and delay may cost us all our lives. You must go at once. If you do not, at the risk of your displeasure, I must carry you.”
“I will go,” she said. “You saved me before, and I trust you.”
“Trust Pierre as you would trust me,” he said.
“Now, Pierre, take her hand and hurry her upstairs.”
The clash of swords, mingled with shouts and oaths, were heard below; and Philip, as he saw Pierre turn with Claire de Valecourt, ran down. On the next landing the count, with four serving men, was defending himself against the assault of a crowd of armed men, who were pushing up the staircase. Others behind them held torches, while some of those engaged in the fray held a torch in one hand, and a sword in the other.
“Ah, is it you, Monsieur Fletcher?” the count said, as Philip placed himself beside him, felling one of the foremost of the assailants, as he did so, with a sweeping blow.
“It is I, count
. My house is not attacked, and I have sent off your daughter, in charge of my man, to gain it along the roofs. We will follow them, as soon as we can beat back these villains.”
“The king’s troops must arrive shortly,” the count said.
“The king’s troops are here,” Philip said. “This is done by his orders, and all Paris is in arms. The Admiral has already been murdered.”
The count gave a cry of fury, and threw himself upon his assailants. His companions did the same and, step by step, drove them backward down the stairs.
There was a cry below of “Shoot them down!” and, a moment later, three or four arquebuses flashed out from the hall. The count, without a word, pitched forward among the soldiers; and two of the retainers also fell. Then the crowd surged up again.
Philip fought desperately for a time. Another shot rang out, and he felt a sudden smart across his cheek. He turned and bounded up the stairs, paused a moment at the top, and discharged his two pistols at the leaders of the assailants; pulled to the door of the count’s chamber, leaving the corridor in darkness, and then sprang up the stairs. When he reached the door of the unused room by which they had entered, he fastened it behind him, got through the window and closed it after him, and then rapidly made his way along the roofs, until he reached his own. Closing and fastening the casement, he ran down to his room.
Claire was standing there, with Pierre by her side. She gave a low cry as he entered, alone.
“My father!” she exclaimed.
“God has taken him,” Philip said, “as He has taken many others tonight. He died painlessly, mademoiselle, by a shot from below.”
Claire sank into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
“His will be done,” she said, in a low but firm voice, as she looked up a minute later. “We are all in His hands, and can die but once. Will they soon come?”
“I trust not,” Philip said. “They may follow along the roof, when they cannot find us in any of the rooms; but they will have no clue as to which house we have entered.”
“I will remain here and wait for them,” she said.
“Then, mademoiselle, you will sacrifice our lives, as well as your own; for assuredly we shall not leave you. Thus far we have escaped and, if you will follow my directions, we may all escape together. Still, if you wish it, we can die here together.”
“What is to be done?” she asked, standing up.
Pierre handed Philip a bundle.
“I brought them down as I passed,” he said.
“This is a disguise,” Philip said, handing it to the girl. “I pray you to put it on, at once. We also have disguises, and will return in them, in a few minutes.”
Chapter 21
Escape
“This is awful, Pierre,” Philip said, as he hurriedly assumed the disguise the latter had prepared.
The clamour outside was indeed terrible. The bell of Saint Germain l’Auxerrois was still sounding its signal, but mingled with it were a thousand sounds of combat and massacre, the battering of hammers and axes upon doors, the discharges of arquebuses and pistols, the shouts of men and the loud screams of women.
Pierre glanced out of the window. With the soldiers were mingled a crowd from the slums of Paris; who, scenting carnage from the movements of the citizen troops, had waited in readiness to gather the spoil; and had arrived on the spot, as if by magic, as soon as the first signal of alarm told them that the work of slaughter had begun.
“Can we get out behind, think you, Pierre?” Philip asked, as he joined him.
“I will see, sir. One could scarce sally out, here, without being at once seized and questioned. Doubtless a watch was placed in the rear, at first; but the soldiers would be likely to make off, to join in the massacre and get their share of plunder, as soon as the affair began.
“You will do, sir, as far as the dress goes; but you must smear your face and arms. They are far too white, at present, and would be instantly noticed.”
Philip rubbed his hands, blackened by his passage across the roofs, over his face and arms; and then joined Claire, who started, as he entered.
“I did not know you,” she said. “Come; are we ready? It were surely better to die at once, than to listen to these dreadful sounds.”
“One moment. Pierre will return directly. He has gone to see whether the lane behind the houses is clear. Once fairly away, and our course will be easier.”
Pierre returned almost immediately.
“The way is clear.”
“Let us go, then, mademoiselle.”
“One moment, monsieur. Let us pray before we start. We may have no time, there.”
And, standing with upturned face, she prayed earnestly for protection.
“Lead us, O God,” she concluded, “through the strife and turmoil; as Thou didst the holy men of old, through the dangers of the lions and the furnace. But if it be Thy will that we should die, then do we commend our souls to Thee; in the sure faith that we are but passing through death into life.
“Now I am ready,” she said, turning to Philip.
“You cannot go like this, Mademoiselle Claire,” Pierre said reverently. “Of what good would that disguise be to you, when your face would betray you in the darkest street? You must ruffle your hair, and pull that hood over your face, so as to hide it as much as possible.”
The girl walked across to a mirror.
“I would I could take my sword, Pierre,” said Philip.
“Take it, sir. Strap it boldly round your waist. If anyone remarks on it, laugh, and say it was a Huguenot’s half an hour ago. I will carry mine stuck under my arm.
“Use as few words as may be, if you have to speak; and speak them gruffly, or they will discover at once that you are no smith. I fear not for ourselves. We can play our parts—fight or run for it. It is that angel I fear for.”
“God will protect her, Pierre. Ah! They are knocking at the door, and the women of the house may be coming down to open it.”
“Not they, sir. You may be sure they are half mad with terror. Not one has shown herself, since the tumult began. The landlord and his two sons are, doubtless, with the city bands. Like enough they have led some of their fellows here, or why should they attack the door, as it is unmarked?”
Claire joined them again. They hurried downstairs, and then out by the back entrance into a narrow lane. Philip carried a heavy hammer on his shoulder. Pierre had a large butcher’s knife stuck conspicuously in his girdle. He was bare headed and had dipped his head in water, so that his hair fell matted across his face, which was grimy and black.
Day was now breaking, but the light was as yet faint.
“Keep close to me, Claire,” Philip said as they reached the street, which was ablaze with torches. “Above all things do not shrink, or seem as if you were afraid.”
“I am not afraid,” she said. “God saved me before from as great a peril, and will save me again, if it seems good to Him.”
“Keep your eyes fixed on me. Pay no attention to what is going on around you.”
“I will pray,” she said simply.
Just as they entered the street the crowd separated, and the Duke of Guise, followed by several nobles of his party, rode along, shouting:
“Death to all Huguenots! It is the king’s command.”
“It is the command you and others have put into his mouth, villain!” Philip muttered to himself.
A roar of ferocious assent rose from the crowd, which was composed of citizen soldiers and the scum of Paris. They danced and yelled, and uttered ferocious jests at the dead bodies lying in the road.
Here the work of slaughter was nearly complete. Few of the Huguenots had offered any resistance, although some had fought desperately to the last. Most of them, however, taken by surprise, and seeing resistance useless, had thrown down their arms; and either cried for quarter, or had submitted themselves calmly to slaughter. Neither age nor sex had availed to save them. Women and children, and even infants, had been s
lain without mercy.
The soldiers, provided with lists of the houses inhabited by Huguenots, were going round to see that none had escaped attack. Many in the crowd were attired in articles of dress that they had gained in the plunder. Ragged beggars wore cloaks of velvet, or plumed hats. Many had already been drinking heavily. Women mingled in the crowd, as ferocious and merciless as the men.
“Break me in this door, friend,” an officer, with a list in his hand and several soldiers standing beside him, said to Philip.
The latter did not hesitate. To do so would have brought destruction on himself and those with him; without averting, for more than a minute or two, the fate of those within. Placing himself in front of the door, he swung his heavy hammer and brought it down upon the woodwork. A dozen blows, and the door began to splinter.
The crack of a pistol sounded above, and the officer standing close to him fell dead. Four or five shots were fired, by the soldiers, at the window above. Another two or three blows, and the door gave way.
Philip went aside as the soldiers, followed by a crowd, rushed in; and returned to Claire, who was standing by the side of Pierre, a few paces away.
“Let us go on,” he said.
A few yards further they were at the entrance of a lane running north. As Philip turned into it, a man caught him by the arm.
“Where are you going, comrade?” he said. “There is plenty of work for your hammer, yet.”
“I have a job elsewhere,” Philip said.
“It is rare work, comrade. I have killed five of them with my own hand, and I have got their purses, too,” he chuckled.
“Hallo! Who is this girl you have with you?”
And he roughly caught hold of Claire.
Philip’s pent-up rage found a vent. He sprang upon the man, seized him by the throat, and hurled him with tremendous force against the wall; whence he fell, a senseless mass, on to the ground.
“What is it?” cried half a dozen men, rushing up.
“A Huguenot in disguise,” Philip said. “You will find his pockets are full of gold.”