We gave him the figures, and he remarked: "The odds are heavy enough in all conscience, seeing that we count barely six thousand men. Still, they are picked troops."

"And they have their backs against the wall," I observed. "There was a chance of escape at Montcontour, but there is none here. If we are defeated we shall be cut to pieces."

"You are entertaining, you two!" interposed Felix. "Can we not have a change? Let me arrange the programme. First, we rout Cosse--an easy matter; second, we continue our march to Paris, defeating Monseigneur on the way; third, we dictate terms of peace at the Louvre."

"And fourth," laughed Roger, "we appoint Monsieur Felix Bellievre Marshal of France, and advance him to the highest dignity!"

"The suggestion does you credit," replied my comrade, good-humouredly; "and we will make a beginning in the morning by beating Cosse."

Knowing that we had lost our sleep the previous night, Roger did not stay long, and as soon as our attendance on the Admiral was over we went to bed, or rather lay down inside the tent, m.u.f.fled in our cloaks.

The morning of June 27, 1570, opened bright and clear, and we looked forward with hope, if not exactly with confidence, to the approaching battle. The enemy were nearly three to one, but, as Roger had said, our men were all picked troops, hardy, resolute fellows, filled with intense zeal, and fighting for what they believed to be right.

They greeted Coligny with deafening cheers, when, after breakfast, and our simple morning service, he rode along the lines, accompanied by Henry of Bearn and the young Conde. These gallant youths each commanded a regiment, and their flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes told how ardently they burned to distinguish themselves.

"There are the enemy, my lads," said Coligny, in his grave, measured tones, "and we must beat them. It is our last chance. If we fail, the Cause is lost, and we shall find no mercy. If we run away, we shall be cut down, for there is no place of shelter. We must win the battle, or die on the field."

"We will!" they cried, and there was a ring in their voices that spoke of an iron determination to succeed.

"And we," said young Henry of Bearn, "will die with you. Not one of your leaders will leave the field except as a victor. It is victory or death for all of us."

At these brave words the cheering broke out afresh, and my comrade, turning to me, exclaimed, "The battle is won already! Those fellows will never retreat."

They were, indeed, in fine fettle, but it was setting them a desperate task to oppose nearly three times their number!

The marshal began the attack with a cavalry charge, but, as the hors.e.m.e.n galloped forward, a body of arquebusiers posted in a ditch discharged such a stinging fire that our opponents wheeled round and rode hurriedly back to shelter.

"Well done!" cried Felix; "we have drawn first blood."

They tried again with the same result, and then a strong body of infantry was pushed forward. But the arquebusiers clung firmly to their post, and presently young Conde, sweeping round unexpectedly at the head of his regiment, charged and broke the hostile infantry. It was a daring charge, and we waved our swords and cheered, as the victorious hors.e.m.e.n rode proudly back.

The marshal, however, was not to be denied. Again and again he launched his hors.e.m.e.n at us, while his foot-soldiers crept steadily nearer. All along our front the battle raged fiercely, and at every point our gallant fellows were fighting against overwhelming numbers.

"Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm!" cried our general, as he galloped over the field, bringing the magic of his presence to whatever part was in most danger.

It was in one of these wild rushes the incident occurred that laid the foundation of my fortunes, though the building took many years to complete. I tell it here, not out of pride or vainglory--though I was proud, too--but because it is necessary to the better understanding of my story.

We had just left the handful of Englishmen, who had bravely repulsed a stubborn attack of cavalry and infantry on their position, when a cry arose of "Prince Henry! Help for the prince!"

A cry of despair broke from us as we realized his peril. How it came about I never clearly learned, for in the heat of battle one rarely sees more than the things close at hand. Some said one thing, some another, but this I reckon was the most likely way of it.

His regiment was rather exposed, and on the left flank stretched some rolling ground, unsuitable for cavalry but affording good cover for foot-soldiers. Across these hollows Cosse had sent a large body of infantry, while at the same time the prince's regiment was a.s.sailed by an overwhelming force of cavalry. An order to retire was given--though none knew by whom--and in consequence, Henry, with a handful of men, was left surrounded by a sea of foes.

Coligny glanced quickly round the field; the royalists were pressing us at every point; not a man could be spared from his post.

"We must save him ourselves, gentlemen!" he exclaimed tersely, "forward!"

We counted barely two score swords, but the prince was in peril, and though the enterprise cost all our lives he must be rescued. Our comrades battling desperately at their posts cheered us as we flew by, crying, "Coligny! Coligny!" Straight as a die we rode, our chief slightly in advance, the rest of us in threes, horse's head to horse's head, the animals straining and quivering in every muscle as we urged them madly forward.

Too late! was the thought in every heart, as we beheld the prince fighting for dear life, and hemmed in by a host of enemies. "Coligny!

Coligny!" we cried, and in blind fury charged the dense ma.s.s.

Now it chanced by pure accident, for I had no other thought than to follow my patron closely, that the charge brought me close to the bridle-hand of the prince. Henry of Bearn, though a fine sworder, was even a better horseman, and it was to his skill as a rider, much more than to his dexterity with the sword, that he owed his life.

But now he was so closely beset that he was compelled to depend upon the play of his sword, and his strength was failing. They struck fiercely at him in front and on both sides; there was a continuous circle of flashing steel; it was marvellous how death missed him. Pressed hard by a trooper on the right he turned to parry his blows more effectively, when a second trooper slashed at his bridle-arm.

There was no time for warning; no time even for thought. With a cry of "Coligny!" I dashed forward, and, throwing myself half out of the saddle, caught the descending sword. Before the trooper could recover himself I had pierced him through the side, and he fell with a groan across his horse's neck.

I did not think that Henry had noticed the incident, but without turning his head he cried pleasantly, "My thanks, monsieur; I owe my life to you."

"Have no fear for this side, my lord," I answered, and the next instant was fiercely engaged with two of the king's troopers.

But now the cry of "Coligny!" grew louder; the press was broken here and there; the Admiral himself appeared; some of his gentlemen fought their way to our side, and with one desperate effort we thrust back the hostile hors.e.m.e.n. "Coligny! Coligny! Bearn! Bearn!" were the shouts, as, with swords flashing and gleaming in the sunlight, we pushed a way through. At the same time the rest of the regiment drove back the infantry, and the prince was saved.

"Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm!" cried our leader as he prepared to gallop off, for Cosse's a.s.saults were so rapid and daring that we had hardly a moment's breathing s.p.a.ce.

But, as we were moving away, Henry of Bearn, calling me to his side, said, "Your name, monsieur?"

"Edmond Le Blanc, my lord," I answered, bowing low.

"If we live through this day," he said graciously, "I will remember the debt I owe you."

Once again I bowed, and, saluting with my sword, darted off to take my place in the Admiral's train. Whatever Henry's fortune, there appeared considerable doubt as to my surviving the battle, for my patron seemed determined to court death not only for himself but for every gentleman in his household. Wherever the Huguenots recoiled ever so slightly before the terrible onslaughts of the foe, there we were cheering and fighting till our arms were wearied by the work and our heads dazed by the maddening tumult.

And never for a moment during that long summer day did the strife cease.

Cosse was inflexible; he sent his troops to death without pity, and they obeyed without a murmur. The carnage was fearful, and I longed for darkness to put an end to the hideous slaughter.

At the end of the afternoon he gathered his forces together for one supreme effort. Horse and foot, they swung along as blithely as if the battle were only beginning. I looked round on our diminished ranks, and wondered if we had strength to withstand another onset.

"'Tis their last try!" exclaimed Felix cheerfully; "if they fail now they will break, and the victory is ours. Half an hour will see the finish; one side must give way."

One side! But which?

On they came, wave after wave, like the waters of an irresistible sea.

We waited in painful silence, broken suddenly by the Admiral's voice, "Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm. The end is at hand!"

On they came, bugles blowing, flags flying, horses prancing; the dying sun lighting up the bared swords and pike heads, the steel caps and breastplates. On they came, a goodly and gallant band of well-trained warriors.

"Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm!" Well in front, serene and confident, full of proud courage and high resolve, there was our glorious leader, the best and bravest man in the two armies.

With a roar of cheering and a hurricane rush the foe dashed forward.

They struck us in front, they swirled tumultuously around our flanks, driving us back and cheering l.u.s.tily, "For the King!" The fate of the day hung trembling in the balance, but Henry of Bearn on the one flank, and Conde on the other, rallied their troops, while in the centre the stout old Admiral plunged yet again into the fray.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "With a roar of cheering and a hurricane rush the foe dashed forward."]

"Forward! Forward!" we shouted. "On them! They are giving way!" and Felix, s.n.a.t.c.hing a flag from a wounded man, charged with reckless abandon into the very midst of the foe.

"The flag!" I cried, "follow the flag!" Straight ahead of us it went, now waving triumphantly aloft, now drooping, now swaying again, and high above the din of strife sounded my comrade's voice, crying, "For the Admiral! For the Faith! Forward! Forward!"