The Chevalier d'Auriac. Levett Yeats Sidney

on a war drum.

      'Ventre St. Gris! The Spaniards have drawn first blood, Belin.'

      'M. d'Auriac!'

      De Rône's voice stopped any further talk, and I spurred to his side.

      'My compliments to the Condé de Leyva and ask him not to waste time spitting at de Réthelois – tell him to leave a sufficient force to hold the garrison in check, and move across the river towards St. Gobains – report yourself to me at the ford.'

      I galloped off, and when I reached the Spaniard, whom I found with some difficulty, I discovered that he had already anticipated de Rône's orders, and had besides almost cut off a sortie from the city. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to wish de Leyva a pleasant day and to go on to the ford.

      And now a pale band of orange stretched across the east, and daylight rapidly came. A fair breeze sprang up with the sun, blowing the vapour into long feathery clouds that rolled slowly to the west. So heavy was the fire de Réthelois kept up from the citadel that its square keep was entirely hidden by the smoke; but as I rode towards the ford down the long slope that ended in the Red Mill, I saw on my right the whole of de Rône's army, advancing to the river in long even columns, and on my left, where they appeared to have sprung up by magic, two strong bodies of cavalry, whilst behind them, marching as rapidly as our own troops, and in as perfect order, came the men of Arques and Ivry, of Fontaine Française, and all the hundred fights of Henry of Navarre.

      By this time I had come to the outpost, and found the thatched roof of the cottage in flames, the result of a stray shell that had dropped through it, and blown down half of the remaining walls. It was clearly empty, but as I trotted past the thorn hedge I saw, about fifty paces or so to my right, a single horseman under a tree. His hands were tied behind him, and a cord, which hung from a branch overhead, ended in a noose secured lightly but firmly round his neck. His position was such that if the horse moved away from beneath him he would hang, and the poor wretch was absorbed in coaxing the animal to remain steady; but the trooper he bestrode had already scented the coming battle. His ears were cocked, his tail held out in an arch, and he was pawing at the ground with his forefoot. I could not hear what the man was saying, but his lips were moving, I doubt not with mingled prayers and curses, and I could see that he was trying to restrain the animal by the pressure of his knees. Another look showed me it was Nicholas, the sergeant, and knowing there was little leisure to lose if the knave was to be saved, I put spurs to my beast and headed towards him. I was just in time, for as I started the old trooper gave a loud neigh, flourished his heels in the air, and galloped off towards the enemy, with his mane and tail streaming in the wind. A touch of my sword freed Nicholas, but it was a narrow affair, and he lay gasping on the ground, and as he lay there I noticed that his ears had been cropped close to his head, and that the wounds were quite fresh. He recovered himself in about a minute, for the dog was tough as leather, and was about to pour forth his thanks and tell me how he came in such plight, but, sincerely sorry as I was, I had to cut him short.

      'Keep the story for another day, Nicholas,' I said, 'and follow the example of your horse, who I see is a loyal subject, and has gone straight back to the King.'

      With these words I spurred onwards, leaving Nicholas to follow my advice or not, as he listed. I had gathered enough, however, to find out that he was a victim to M. de Gomeron's ingenious humour. Little did I think, however, when I saved this poor fellow how amply I would be re-quited hereafter.

      I reached the ford just before the General, and saw that our right flank had already crossed the river in the far distance. Opposite us the Royalists appeared to be in some confusion; but in a moment they were restored to order, and moved steadily on.

      'The King is there,' burst out Belin, and a grim smile passed over de Rône's features as he nodded his head slightly in token of assent. As Belin spoke a group of about half a dozen riders galloped from the enemy's van, and, coming straight towards us, halted a bare hundred paces or so from the river bank. The leading horseman was mounted on a bay charger, and it needed not a second glance, nor a look at the white plumes in his helmet, to tell that it was Henry himself. Close beside him was a short, dark, thick-set man, with the jewel of the Order of France at his neck. He managed the grey he rode with infinite skill, and with his drawn sword pointed towards us, seemed to be urging something on the King.

      'Who is that?' I asked.

      'The King's viper,' answered Belin, 'who will sting him some day: do you not know Biron? Mordieu!' he added, turning to de Rône, 'shall we end the war, General; we could do it with a bit of lead that wouldn't cost the tenth part of a tester?'

      De Rône's brown cheek paled at the words, and for an instant he seemed to hesitate, and I could well understand his temptation.

      'No,' he replied – 'drop that,' he thundered to a musketeer who was poising his piece, and the man fell back with a disappointed air.

      'Peste!' grumbled Belin, 'we might have all been in Paris within the week, whereas now it will take a fortnight at the least.'

      'Or a month, or a year, or never – eh, Belin,' gibed de Tavannes.

      'Do you think the fair Angelique will be constant?' asked another.

      Belin glanced at the laced favour in his hat with a smile, and answered: 'God bless our ladies! They know how to be constant – see there, messieurs,' and he pointed to a single figure, mounted on a barb, that rode out of the French lines and galloped forward, alone and unattended, to the side of the King. We saw as the barb approached that the figure was that of a woman, and, moreover, that of a very beautiful woman. She was dressed in a hunting habit of dark green, with a black hat and black feathers, under which we could see the light of her fair hair. As she reined up beside the King, Henry turned to her, as if expostulating, but she bent forward suddenly and kissed his hand, and then with charming courtesy took out her kerchief and waved it at us in dainty greeting.

      ''Tis Gabrielle, the Duchesse de Beaufort herself!' exclaimed de Tavannes, and then gave tongue in a ringing cheer, which was taken up by us all, and rolled down the long line of battle, till its echoes reached us from even the furthest wings.

      De Rône lifted his plumed hat in response to Madame d'Estrées' greeting, and the King, bowing slightly to us from his saddle, put his hand on the barb's reins, and turning the horse's head, galloped his mistress to a place of safety. As they reached the mound whereon the royal guidon was displayed, we heard the opening bars of the Pont d'Audemer march, and as they ceased a red tongue of flame licked out from behind a cornfield and a masked battery opened on us.

      CHAPTER III

      THE RED CORNFIELD

      'M. le Marquis, the Condé de Leyva begs for help urgently.'

      'Tell him I have none to give,' de Rône made answer from his big black charger Couronne. 'Sangdieu!' he added under his breath, 'had we been but three hours earlier the Béarnais was lost.'

      The words were hardly out of his mouth when the cavalier to whom they were addressed threw up his arms with a scream, and falling forward from his horse, began to beat at the earth convulsively with his hands, whilst he gasped out his life. As the death glaze was covering his eyes, his empty saddle was filled by a figure that rose up like a sprite through the dim smoke, and Belin's even voice was heard.

      'Poor Garabay! But my horse was shot under me an hour ago, and this one will do me excellently. Shall I carry your message, General?'

      'I claim the honour. Marquis; do not deny me, Belin. I have been idle too long,' and I pressed forward as I spoke.

      'Oh, I yield to you, d'Auriac! there is work enough for me at the other end; the bear of Aumale is dancing to a fine tune there,' and Belin reined back, whilst de Rône nodded assent, with a meaning in his look that I alone understood.

      I needed no second bidding, but turning my Norman's rein, galloped down the blazing line of battle. If I escaped through the day, which to my mind was already lost, I knew full well that de Rône, smarting under disappointment and chagrin at defeat, would be in no temper for mercy, and would certainly keep his word to me.

      There was not a doubt of it, but that the issue of the day was at a crisis. On our extreme