by G. A. Henty
The Duc d’Anjou had been closely watching the army of Coligny, his army being somewhat superior in force to that of the allies, who now numbered some twenty-five thousand; for the duke had been recently reinforced by five thousand papal troops, and twelve hundred Florentines. A part of his force, under General Strozzi, was at La Roche Abeille. They were attacked by the Huguenots. Four hundred Royalists were killed, and many taken prisoners, among them their general.
There was, for a time, a pause. The court entered into fresh negotiations with the Admiral, being anxious to delay his operations; as many of the nobles who were with the Duc D’Anjou, wearied by the burdens imposed upon them, insisted upon returning for a time to their homes. The Huguenots were, above all things, anxious for peace; and allowed themselves to be detained, for nearly a month, by these negotiations.
On the march down after the capture of La Charite, the German force had passed within a few miles of the Chateau de Landres; and Philip rode over to see whether Claire was still there. She received him with the frank pleasure of a girl.
“We have heard very little of what is going on outside, Monsieur Fletcher,” Madame de Landres said, after the first greetings were over; “though the air has been full of rumours. Again and again, reports were brought in that the duke’s army had been entirely destroyed by the Royalist forces. Then, after a day or two, we heard of it as still advancing; but in danger, hourly, of being destroyed. Then came the news that every town commanding a bridge across the Loire was being put in a state of defence, and strong bodies of troops thrown into them; and we heard that, as soon as the Germans reached the river, and farther advance was impossible, they would be attacked by the armies of Nemours and Aumale. But by this time we had become so accustomed to these tales that we were not much alarmed.
“We were, however, surprised when we heard that a strong body of the Germans had forded the river; and had blockaded La Charite on this side, while it had been besieged on the other. I hear that a strong garrison has been left there.”
“Yes, madam. The place is of great importance, as it gives us a means of crossing the Loire at any time. We find, too, that a large part of the population are Huguenot; and the place will certainly be held against any attack the Royalists may make against us.”
“The news will be received with joy, indeed, by all of our religion in this part of France. Hitherto we have had no place of refuge, whatever. There was but the choice of dying in our own houses or villages, or taking refuge in the woods until hunted down. It will be, to us, what La Rochelle is to the Huguenots of the west. Besides, the garrison there will make the Catholics very chary of attacking us. Moreover, having now this passage across the Loire it is likely that our party will largely use it on their marches, and would be able to punish heavily any places at which there had been massacres. It is by this way, too, the Germans are sure to return. Therefore I feel that, for a time, my young charge will be perfectly safe here.
“I sent off a messenger to our army, on the day you left us; but have had no reply, and know not whether he reached it in safety. At any rate, you cannot be very long before your force joins the Admiral; and as we felt quite sure that you would come to see us, as you passed, we have our letters ready to my husband and the Count de Valecourt. You will, I am sure, deliver them as soon as you join the Admiral.”
“That I will assuredly do, madam. I expect that we shall meet him near Limoges. That is the direction in which we are now marching.”
The Count de Valecourt was one of the gentlemen who rode into the Duc do Deux-Ponts’ camp with the Admiral and, as soon as they dismounted, and Coligny entered the tent of the dying general, Philip made his way to his side.
“Ah! Monsieur Fletcher, I am glad to see you again. You accomplished, then, your journey in safety. The Prince of Navarre often spoke of you, and wondered how you were faring.”
“I did very well, sir; but I have not thrust myself upon you, at the moment of your arrival, to speak of my own journey; but to deliver you a letter, which I have the honour of being the bearer, from your daughter.”
The count stepped backwards a pace, with a cry of astonishment and pleasure.
“From my daughter! Is it possible, sir? How long is it since you saw her?”
“It is nigh three weeks back, sir.”
“The Lord be praised!” the count said solemnly, taking off his cap and looking upwards. “He has shown me many mercies, but this is the greatest. For the last two months I have mourned her as dead. News was brought to me, by one of my retainers, that she was with a congregation who were attacked by the people of La Chatre, and that all had been massacred. My chateau near there was attacked and burnt, and those of the men who were Huguenots slain, save the one who brought me the news.”
“You will see, sir, that your daughter escaped,” Philip said, handing him the letter. “She is now in the safe custody of Madame de Landres.”
The count tore open the letter, and he had read but a few lines when he uttered an exclamation of surprise and, turning towards Philip, who had moved a few paces away, ran to him and threw his arms round his neck.
“It is you who have, with God’s blessing, rescued my daughter from death,” he exclaimed. “She is my only child. Oh, monsieur, what joy have you brought to me, what thankfulness do I feel, how deeply am I indebted to you! I had thought that there remained to me but to do my duty to God, and His cause; and then, if I lived to see the end of the war, to live out my days a childless old man. Now I seem to live again. Claire is alive; I have still something to love and care for.
“I will first run through the rest of the letter; and then you shall tell me, in full, all the story. But which is your tent? Pray take me there. I would be alone, a little while, to thank God for this great mercy.”
Half an hour later, the count reappeared at the entrance of the tent. Pierre had wine and refreshments ready and, placing them on a box that served as a table, retired; leaving his master and the count together.
“Now, tell me all about it,” the count said. “Claire’s description is a very vague one, and she bids me get all the details from you. She only knows that a man on horseback rode at her, with uplifted sword. She commended her soul to God, and stood expecting the blow; when there was a pistol shot, close to her, and the man fell from his horse. Then another dashed forward; while you, on horseback, threw yourself between her and him. There was a terrible clashing of swords; and then he, too, fell. Then you lifted her on to your horse, and for a short time there was a whirl of conflict. Then you rode off with three men, behind one of whom her maid Annette was sitting. That is all she knows of it, except what you told her, yourself.”
“That is nearly all there is to know, count. The fray lasted but two minutes, in all; and my being upon the spot was due to no forethought of mine, but was of the nature of a pure accident.”
“Nay, sir, you should not say that; you were led there by the hand of God. But tell me how you came to be in the wood, and pray omit nothing.”
Philip related the whole story, from the time of the incident at the inn, to the time when he handed over Claire to the care of Madame de Landres.
“It was well done, sir,” the count said, laying his hand affectionately on his shoulder, when he concluded. “The young prince said you would have a story to tell him, when you came back; but I little dreamt that it would be one in which I had such interest.
“Well, Claire cannot do better than remain where she is, for the present; until, at any rate, I can remove her to La Rochelle, which is the only place where she can be said to be absolutely safe; but so long as we hold La Charite there is, as you say, but slight fear of any fresh trouble there. From all other parts of France, we hear the same tales of cruel massacre and executions, by fire and sword.”
Francois de Laville was not with Coligny’s army, as he was with the Prince of Navarre, who had remained near La Rochelle; but he was very pleased to find the Count de la Noue, who had just rejoined the army; having b
een exchanged for a Royalist officer of rank, who had fallen into the hands of the Huguenots.
“You have been doing great things, while I have been lying in prison, Philip,” the count said warmly. “I hear that the Admiral has made you and my cousin knights; and more than that, I heard half an hour since from De Valecourt that, while carrying despatches to the Germans, you had time to do a little knight-errant’s work, and had the good fortune to save his daughter from being massacred by the Catholics. By my faith, chevalier, there is no saying what you will come to, if you go on thus.”
“I don’t want to come to anything, count,” Philip said, laughing. “I came over here to fight for the Huguenot cause, and with no thought of gaining anything for myself. I am, of course, greatly pleased to receive the honour of knighthood, and that at the hands of so great and noble a general as Admiral Coligny. I have been singularly fortunate, but I owe my good fortune in no small degree to you; for I could have had no better introduction than to ride in your train.”
“You deserve all the credit you have obtained, Philip. You have grasped every opportunity that was presented to you, and have always acquitted yourself well. A young man does not gain the esteem and approval of a Coligny, the gratitude of a Valecourt, and the liking of all who know him—including the Queen of Navarre and her son—unless by unusual merit. I am proud of you as a connection, though distant, of my own; and I sincerely trust you will, at the end of this sad business, return home to your friends none the worse for the perils you have gone through.”
At the end of a month the negotiations were broken off, for the court had no real intention of granting any concessions. The Huguenots again commenced hostilities. Two or three strong fortresses were captured; and a force despatched south, under Count Montgomery, who joined the army of the Viscounts, expelled the Royalists from Bearn, and restored it to the Queen of Navarre.
There was a considerable division, among the Huguenot leaders, as to the best course to be taken. The Admiral was in favour of marching north and besieging Saumur, which would give them a free passage across the lower Loire to the north of France, as the possession of La Charite kept open for them a road to the west; but the majority of the leaders were in favour of besieging Poitiers, one of the richest and most important cities in France. Unfortunately their opinion prevailed, and they marched against Poitiers, of which the Count de Lude was the governor. Before they arrived there Henry, Duke of Guise, with his brother the Duke of Mayenne, and other officers, threw themselves into the town. A desperate defence was made, and every assault by the Huguenots was repulsed, with great loss. A dam was thrown across a small river by the besieged, and its swollen waters inundated the Huguenot camp; and their losses at the breaches were greatly augmented by the ravages of disease.
After the siege had lasted for seven weeks, the Duc d’Anjou laid siege to Chatelherault, which the Huguenots had lately captured; and Coligny raised the siege, which had cost him two thousand men, and marched to its assistance.
The disaster at Poitiers was balanced, to a certain extent, by a similar repulse which a force of seven thousand Catholics had sustained, at La Charite; which for four weeks successfully repelled every assault, the assailants being obliged, at last, to draw off from the place. In Paris, and other places, the murders of Huguenots were of constant occurrence; and at Orleans two hundred and eighty, who had been thrown into prison, were massacred in a single day. The Parliament of Paris rendered itself infamous by trying the Admiral, in his absence, for treason; hanging him in effigy; and offering a reward, of fifty thousand gold crowns, to anyone who should murder him.
But a serious battle was now on the eve of being fought. The Duc d’Anjou had been largely reinforced, and his army amounted to nine thousand cavalry and eighteen thousand infantry; while Coligny’s army had been weakened by his losses at Poitiers, and by the retirement of many of the nobles, whose resources could no longer bear the expense of keeping their retainers in the field. He had now only some eleven thousand foot, and six thousand horse. He was therefore anxious to avoid a battle until joined by Montgomery, with the six thousand troops he had with him at Bearn.
His troops from the south, however, were impatient at the long inaction, and anxious to return home; while the Germans threatened to desert, unless they were either paid or led against the enemy.
La Noue, who commanded the advance guard, had captured the town of Moncontour; and the Admiral, advancing in that direction, and ignorant that the enemy were in the neighbourhood, moved towards the town. When on the march, the rear was attacked by a heavy body of the enemy. De Mouy, who commanded there, held them at bay until the rest of the Huguenot army gained the other side of a marsh, through which they were passing, and entered the town in safety.
The Admiral would now have retreated, seeing that the whole force of the enemy were in front of him; but the Germans again mutinied, and the delay before they could be pacified enabled the French army to make a detour, and overtake the Huguenots soon after they left Moncontour. The Admiral, who commanded the left wing of the army—Count Louis of Nassau commanding the right—first met them, and his cavalry charged that of the Catholics, which was commanded by the German Rhinegrave. The latter rode well in advance of his men, while Coligny was equally in front of the Protestants.
The two leaders therefore met. The conflict was a short one. Coligny was severely wounded in the face, and the Rhinegrave was killed.
While the cavalry on both sides fought desperately for victory, the infantry was speedily engaged. The combat between the Huguenot foot, and the Swiss infantry in the Royalist ranks, was long and doubtful. The Duc d’Anjou displayed great courage in the fight; while on the other side the Princes of Navarre and Conde, who had that morning joined the army from Parthenay, fought bravely in the front of the Huguenots. The Catholic line began to give way, in spite of their superiority in numbers; when Marshal Cosse advanced with fresh troops into the battle, and the Huguenots in turn were driven back.
The German cavalry of the Huguenots, in spite of the valour of their leader, Louis of Nassau, were seized with a panic and fled from the field; shattering on their way the ranks of the German infantry. Before the latter could recover their order, the Swiss infantry poured in among them. Many threw down their arms and shouted for quarter, while others defended themselves until the last; but neither submission nor defence availed and, out of the four thousand German infantry, but two hundred escaped.
Three thousand of the Huguenot infantry were cut off by Anjou’s cavalry. A thousand were killed, and the rest spared, at the Duc’s command. In all, two thousand Huguenot infantry and three hundred knights perished on the field, besides the German infantry; while on the Catholic side the loss was but a little over five hundred men.
La Noue was again among those taken prisoner. Before the battle began, he had requested Philip to join his cousin, who had come up with the princes; and to attach himself to their bodyguard, during the battle. They kept close to the princes during the fight, riding far enough back for them to be seen by the Huguenots, and closing round when the enemy poured down upon them. When the German horsemen fled, and the infantry were enveloped by the Catholics, they led Henri and Conde from the field; charging right through a body of Catholic horse who had swept round to the rear, and carrying them off to Parthenay.
Here they found the Admiral, who had been borne off the field, grievously wounded. For a moment the lion-hearted general had felt despondency at the crushing defeat, being sorely wounded and weakened by loss of blood; but as he was carried off the field, his litter came alongside one in which L’Estrange, a Huguenot gentleman, also sorely wounded, was being borne. Doubtless the Admiral’s face expressed the deep depression of his spirit; and L’Estrange, holding out his hand to him, said:
“Yet is God very gentle.”
The words were an echo of those which formed the mainspring of the Admiral’s life. His face lit up, and he exclaimed:
“Thanks, comrade. Truly God is
merciful, and we will trust him always.”
He was much pleased when the two young princes, both unhurt, rejoined him. He issued orders to his officers to rally their troops as they came in, to evacuate Parthenay, and march at once to Niort.
The gallant De Mouy was appointed to command the city, and three or four days were spent there in rallying the remains of the army. Scarce had they reached Niort when the Queen of Navarre arrived from La Rochelle, whence she had hastened, as soon as she had heard the news of the defeat. The presence of this heroic woman speedily dispelled the despondency among the Huguenots. Going about among them, and addressing the groups of officers and soldiers, she communicated to them her own fire and enthusiasm. Nothing was lost yet, she said; the Germans had failed them, but their own valour had been conspicuous, and with the blessing of God matters would soon be restored. Already the delay of the Catholics in following up their victory had given them time to rally, and they were now in a position to give battle again.
Leaving a strong garrison at Niort, Coligny moved with a portion of his army to Saintes; while the southern troops, from Dauphine and Provence, marched to Angouleme. These troops were always difficult to retain long in the field, as they were anxious for the safety of their friends at home. They now clamoured for permission to depart, urging that the news of the defeat of Moncontour would be the signal for fresh persecutions and massacres, in the south. Finally they marched away without Coligny’s permission and, after some fighting, reached Dauphine in safety.
In the meantime Niort had been attacked. De Mouy defended the place stoutly, and sallied out and repulsed the enemy. His bravery, however, was fatal to him. A Catholic named Maurevel, tempted by the fifty thousand crowns that had been offered for the assassination of Coligny, had entered the Protestant camp, pretending that he had been badly treated by the Guises. No opportunity for carrying out his design against the Admiral presented itself, and he remained at Niort with De Mouy; who, believing his protestations of attachment for the cause, had treated him with great friendship. As the Huguenots were returning after their successful sortie, he was riding in the rear with De Mouy and, seizing his opportunity, he drew a pistol and shot the Huguenot leader, mortally wounding him. He then galloped off and rejoined the Catholics; and was rewarded, for the treacherous murder, by receiving from the king the order of Saint Michael, and a money reward from the city of Paris.
