CHAPTER II.
A page, a soldier, and one of the valets who were following Martigue through the field, disentangled me from my horse, and raised me with some care and kindness from the ground. For some time I could scarcely walk, from the stiffness and bruises consequent upon the horse falling upon my leg and thigh. I made a great effort to do so, however, and the men who accompanied me asked me if I were hurt in the leg. I replied I was not; and, being soon stripped of my armour, I was enabled to move more easily. My right arm, however, still continued powerless; and the men who had me in charge led me away, according to Martigue's orders, to search for a surgeon. The only men of skill, it seems, who accompanied the Catholic army, were to be found with the division of the Duke of Anjou, and in seeking them we passed through several bodies of men that were advancing rapidly towards Jarnac. All, however, was now passing quietly; the battle was over, the Protestant army in full flight, the victory secured, and I felt not the slightest apprehension that either insult or injury would be offered to any fair combatant, wounded and a prisoner. Thus passing on with Martigue's people, without a word being said to me, I came near a gallant body of cavaliers, brilliantly armed, and equipped with the finest horses in the field, and followed by another glittering band of evidently picked men. There might be twenty or thirty gentlemen in advance and some four hundred behind; and I saw there the Duke of Montpensier, and the Prince d'Auvergne his son.
They were no longer, however, occupying the first rank; for about half a yard before either of them rode a young man, in fact, scarcely more than a boy, for he did not yet seem twenty years of age. His arms were covered with a rich surcoat, and on one side of his horse, a page on foot carried his casque, while another bore a lance on the other side. Everything about his person and his charger was glittering and splendid, and the fleur-de-lis, which were profusely scattered over all his accoutrements, at once marked him as the Duke of Anjou.
The little party by which I was led along made way instantly for the others to pass, and I took no notice of the prince's countenance till some one called us up before him. I then lifted my eyes, and considered him attentively while he spoke to Martigue's page, whom he seemed to have recognised. He was certainly handsome, and there was something commanding in his figure and deportment; but there was a sinister expression about his countenance which was not pleasant, and a peculiarity in his features which, in the course of my whole life, I have only seen in two other men besides himself. It was, that, as long as he remained grave and serious, though somewhat stern, the expression was not so bad; but, the moment that he smiled, it made one's blood run cold. After speaking two words to the page, he turned to me, saying sternly, "Do you know whether the Prince de Condé has escaped from the field?"
"Only by death, sir," I replied.
"Why," answered the duke, "I saw his great white standard myself, with some thirty or forty men, fly across the upland twenty minutes ago."
"The prince, sir," I said, "is dead, depend upon it. I, with my own eyes, saw him murdered."
"Murdered!" exclaimed the Duke of Anjou, with that same sort of sinister smile coming over his face. "What call you murder, sweet friend, in such a field as this?"
"Shooting a man, sir," I replied, "after he has been received to quarter, and surrendered to honourable gentlemen."
"It may be justice, not murder, sir," replied the duke, frowning upon me. "And pray who are you, who are so choice in your expressions!"
"My name, sir," I replied, "is De Cerons; and I, too, am a prisoner."
"Ha!" cried the duke; "The most insolent varlet in the camp of the rebels. We have heard of your doings."
Though I knew it might cost me my life, I could not restrain myself, and I replied, "Not a varlet, sir, but a knight and a French gentleman!"
"Take him away, and--" cried the duke; but, before he could finish his sentence, which probably was intended to have been a command to treat me in the same way as the Prince de Condé, the Duke of Montpensier urged his horse forward, and spoke a word or two to the duke in a low tone.
"Take him away!" repeated the duke, after listening for a moment. "Put him with that Scotch marauder Stuart, and bring them before me after supper to-night. Yet stay," he continued. "Where, think you, is the Prince de Condé! I would fain see him with my own eyes."
"If you go straight towards yon tree," I replied, pointing with my hand, "you will find his body under the bank, unless they have removed it."
"Go you, Magnac, and see," said the duke. "I will remain here. There is your man Constureau coming up, Montpensier. He knows the prince, let him go with Magnac. Stand there, sir: we shall soon see whether you speak truth or falsehood."
I made no reply, and the Baron de Magnac and another gentleman rode on to see if they could discover the body of the unfortunate Prince de Condé. While they were gone, the deepest stillness pervaded the whole scene. There was a sort of awful expectation about those who knew not whether I had spoken truth or not, which kept all silent; and it was evident that the Duke of Anjou himself, though he strove to appear perfectly calm and unmoved, concealed various emotions under the stern and harsh aspect which he assumed He spoke not either, but remained gazing forward in the direction which his messengers had taken, though the number of persons scattered about in different directions, and the bodies of horse and foot moving to and fro, prevented his distinguishing them after they had gone a hundred yards.
At length, however, we saw a number of people coming forward in an irregular mass, with something carried apparently in the midst of them, and, as they approached the Duke of Anjou, one of the most painful and horrible sights that I ever beheld was exposed to view.
Stripped of his armour, and even of the buff coat which he had worn underneath, with his shirt and person dabbled with blood and dirt, was the body of the unfortunate Prince de Condé cast across an ass, with the head hanging down on one side and the feet on the other. His hair, which was long and very beautiful, fell in glossy curls towards the ground; but, from the point of the locks near the face, the blood, still streaming from his death-wound, dropped slowly as they bore him along upon the dusty ground, and made a small pool when the body stopped before the feet of the Duke of Anjou's horse. However much he might be changed since I had seen him, I knew the body at once, by the lace and the violet-coloured ribands which tied the sleeves of his shirt, which I had remarked particularly while he was putting on his casque at the moment that the horse had kicked him.
"Are you sure that is he?" said the Duke of Anjou. "Lift up his head, Magnac; one cannot see his face."
The Baron de Magnac twined his fingers in his hair and lifted up his face, exposing the ghastly wound from which he died, and which had so terribly disfigured him, that, what with blood and dirt, and the black smoke of the pistol, his features could hardly be recognised by any one. When I thought of that same countenance, as I had seen it but a few weeks before, smiling with gay and kindly feelings as he laid the blade of knighthood on my shoulder, and compared it with the dark, mutilated object before me, I myself could scarcely have told that it was the same, had it not been for the other marks I have mentioned.
"Some one bring water from the stream," cried the Duke of Anjou. "We must wash his face and see."
The water was soon brought in a morion; and, when the blood and dirt were washed away, there was no difficulty in recognising the features of the unfortunate prince.
"Get a sheet from some of the farmhouses," cried the Duke of Anjou, "and carry the body on to Jarnac. You have told the truth, sir," he added, turning to me. "Now get you gone. Do with him as I bade you. Put him with the Scotchman, and bring him up this night."
Thus saying, he rode on himself, and I was conducted to the rear, where a surgeon dressed my wounds, and, finding my right arm broken, set it as best he might. They then led me for about two miles on the road to Jarnac, when they brought me to a farmhouse, where they placed me in a small room with several other prisoners, among whom I found La Noue and the Prince de Soubise, but not Stuart.
All, as well might be supposed, were deeply depressed, but that did not prevent a great deal of conversation from taking place; and there were fewer lamentations over our defeat itself than over the negligence of those who had occasioned it, by suffering the enemy to pass the river. La Loue, whose turn it had been to guard the bridge of Chateauneuf, was very much blamed; and certain it is, that, even if the enemy had forced the passage, the delay which that would have occasioned might have given us a chance of victory; for it was afterward ascertained that not one sixth part of the Protestant cavalry, and not one tenth of the Protestant infantry, arrived within a league of the field of battle till the whole was over. The truth is, that not above four thousand men were ever, at one time, engaged upon our part.
The discussion of these events had been going on for some time before I was brought in, and I soon found that the worst news of the whole, the death of the Prince de Condé, was still unknown among the leaders taken. When I told them the fact, however, I could scarcely get them to believe it, so horrible and improbable seemed the action that Montesquieu had committed. If I had told them that he had fallen by some chance blow or shot in fair fight, they would have given me credit at once; but I found them even more incredulous than the Catholics had been; and Soubise insisted that I must have made a mistake in the person, for Argence would never have suffered Montesquieu to kill a prince of the blood royal in his hands.
About four o'clock the rest of the prisoners were removed and marched on towards Jarnac, but I was ordered to remain, and I continued in the room of the farm for about a quarter of an hour, suffering intense torture from the wound in my right arm, and giving myself up, in solitude, to every sad and gloomy thought and expectation that it was possible for imagination to conjure up.
At the end of that time the door of the room again opened, and Stuart was brought in. But oh, how changed he now appeared from the preceding night! He was wounded in two or three places, though not dangerously in any; yet the loss of blood had turned him very pale, and he walked with difficulty. But it was not so much in his colour or his gait that the change was remarkable; it was in the deep, profound melancholy that had fallen upon him.
"I grieve to meet you here, Stuart," I said, shaking him by the hand.
"And so I grieve for you, De Cerons," replied he. "I wish it had been God's will, De Cerons, that I had died three hours ago; but the villains would not kill me, though I refused them quarter and asked none myself. They knew better: they knew better."
"But, good God!" I said, "They will never think of butchering their prisoners now?"
"You do not know Henry of Anjou," replied Stuart. "But I know very well, De Cerons, that I have not long to live. Whether I speak him fair or not, there are things to be remembered which he will not forget. But, on your part, take my advice; if you see him, speak him fair, and perhaps you may save your life thereby. My day is done, De Cerons;" and, seating himself by the table, he leaned his brow upon his hand, and fell into deep thought.
It length he started up again, saying, "If you should live and get free, De Cerons, remember the dagger. It is with my baggage, which I trust is safe; for these Catholic tigers, it is evident, have won but a fruitless victory. Yet my people, perhaps, may not give it up. Stay; if we can get materials for writing, I will make an acknowledgment that it is yours." And, rising, he knocked hard at the door, which was locked. One of the soldiers immediately came; but it was some time before Stuart could procure what he wanted. At length, however, it came; and in haste, but with great precision, he wrote down the acknowledgment and gave it to me.
He had scarcely done so when we were ordered to march on towards Jarnac; and, under a small guard of soldiers, set out on foot for that place, which we reached shortly after dark. We were then conveyed to a small room on the ground floor of the castle, where some food was given to us, and a fire, for it was very cold. I had never been a prisoner before myself, but I had always seen the prisoners treated differently; and I could not but think that this long foot march of two wounded gentlemen was somewhat harsh.
I noticed the fact to Stuart, who said, "It is not a sign of the times, De Cerons, but it is a sign of the Duke of Anjou. There is not another commander in France who would have treated noble prisoners as he has done this day. However, to me it matters little; my account with this world is made; and, as soon as I have taken some nourishment, for I feel faint, I must try and make my peace with God."
After eating a small quantity, and drinking a cup of wine mingled with water, he turned away, and, kneeling in the most distant part of the room, remained for several minutes in prayer. He then rose and spoke more cheerfully, or perhaps I should say, more calmly; and in about half an hour we were both summoned to the presence of the Duke of Anjou. At the door we found two or three guards, who led us on up some dark steps, and then through a door into a long and wide but low stone gallery, with large gray columns every three or four steps, supporting the pointed vault of the roof. It was tolerably well lighted with torches placed here and there, and on the left side was a row of windows, while on the right was a row of doors between the columns.
At the third pillar from the entrance, two or three people were gathered round a large sort of stone table close underneath the column, and as I passed I saw that on it was stretched the corpse of the Prince de Condé, the body wrapped in linen with some degree of decency, but the head and face exposed. Those who were gazing upon it took no notice of us as we advanced, and at the very farther end of the hall we paused for the first time before a door, where stood a man-at-arms with his sword drawn.
One of those who accompanied us went in, and the next minute Stuart was called into the room beyond, while I remained without. I could hear nothing that passed, but I was not a little anxious and apprehensive for my poor comrade.
At length my name was called, and I passed on into the small passage which led to an inner room; it could scarcely be called the antechamber, for it was not above eight feet long and five or six in width. It was tapestried, however, and there was a lamp against the wall, but the door of the chamber beyond was partly open, and a great light streamed forth.
At the moment that the other door closed behind me, I could hear the voice of the Duke of Anjou exclaiming aloud and somewhat angrily,
"Away with the Scotch assassin! Away with him!" And, as I entered the room, I saw Stuart standing close by the door, with a tall, dark-looking man grasping him by the shoulder. My noble comrade's head, however, was raised and dignified; there was a bright red flush upon his brow, and his cheek was now anything but pale, while his right hand was stretched out, not exactly in the attitude of menace, but still bold and fearless.
"Take back the word assassin, prince," he said; "I am none; Had your false constable died by my hand in fight, as would to Heaven he had! he would have died well and deservedly, as the man who attempts to kill the person to whom he surrendered merits by every law of arms. I am no assassin: it is you who butcher prisoners in cold blood. But I warn you, the time shall come--ay, and the knife that shall do it is even now sharpened--when you shall regret the blood that you now wantonly spill, as the hand of some other butcher like yourself takes a life that you have misused too long. Now fare you well! Do your will! I care not how soon it comes!"
Thus saying, he turned away; he looked at me for a moment as if he would have spoken to me, but in that moment I could see his features change. I feel convinced that at that moment he recollected he might do me injury by any token of friendship, and he passed me as if he had never seen me before.
The moment he was gone and the door closed, the Duke of Anjou pronounced my name; but, before I could answer, I heard one or two blows struck without, a short cry suppressed into a groan, and then a heavy fall.
"Seigneur de Cerons!" repeated the voice of the Duke of Anjou in a fierce tone; and, turning to the table, I saw that prince's countenance extremely red, while the faces of all those who were standing around were deadly pale. I have never been accustomed to set any great value upon life, but I have never, in the course of my existence, felt so utterly careless of living and dying as I did at that moment. The great event seemed close upon me, and I advanced to the table as calmly as if I had been going to sit down to meat. The Duke of Anjou fixed his eyes upon me, and again there came upon his countenance that unpleasant smile, which, whether I interpreted it right or wrong I know not, seemed to augur anything but good.
"You appear alarmed," said the duke, gazing at me.
"If so, my lord," I replied, "my countenance must sadly belie my heart."
"Then you fear nothing," he said. "We shall soon see how you will bear your fate."
"Very probably, your highness," I replied, "as other men bear theirs; though, as to fear, I am as free from it as your highness."
Among the officers who stood behind the duke, two made me a sign at this moment. The Duke of Montpensier pointed to the door through which Stuart had just passed, then lifted his hand as if to beseech me to be silent. Martigue, though evidently friendly towards me, knit his brows and shook his fist at me. But the Duke of Anjou, after gazing on me for a moment, exclaimed, "What babblers and braggarts these Huguenots are! Take the Maheutre out, and hang him to one of the spouts of the castle!"
"I beg your highness's pardon," said Martigue, advancing with a frank and somewhat jocular air: "You will recollect he is my prisoner; and, before you hang him, you must pay me fifteen hundred crowns for his ransom."
"Oh, I will pay you, I will pay you, Martigue," said the prince.
"I will give no credit," replied Martigue, in the same tone. "Down upon the table, my lord, or you don't have him! A hanged man is no good to me, and, I should think, none to your highness either."
"I should think not indeed," said one of the gentlemen who stood behind: "besides, my lord, I really do not know anything that Monsieur de Cerons has done, either against your highness or his majesty's service which should excite your indignation against him: besides, he is a knight, my lord.
"Has he not done plenty?" exclaimed the duke, still maintaining his anger, although he had smiled upon Martigue. "A knight! Haven't I heard that he is a mere marauder, cutting off our parties, stealing into our camp as a spy, setting fire to villages? I say, is he not a mere marauder?"
Perhaps the love of existence had grown upon me as I heard the question of life and death discussed; and, at all events, I had a very strong objection to hanging from one of the spouts of Jarnac. The duke looked towards me as he asked the last time if I were not a marauder, and I replied, "Your highness has been greatly misinformed. I am no marauder, but acting under a commission from the princes of the Protestant league. Neither can it ever be said of me, sir, or of one single man under my command, that we have ever sacked or pillaged a Catholic house, that we have ever drawn the sword against any unarmed man, or that I have demanded one shilling of contribution from any village in which I lodged. The bare walls of the house in which I was quartered was all that I ever demanded; and my purse has ever been ready to pay for everything that I took."
"That is more than his highness, or any one else here can say," cried Martigue; and the duke himself burst into a loud laugh.
"Allow me to add," I said, "That my entering your highness's camp, though somewhat bold, was in no degree as a spy; for I came with my men at my back, and all of us armed to the teeth: neither was there say great harm in coming to rescue a relation, which was our sole object; nor, did we injure any one till we were ourselves attacked."
"Ay!" cried the duke; "and, if I remember right, your cousin rewarded you by refusing to go."
"You must be a poor mouse, Monsieur de Cerons," cried Martigue, laughing, and evidently trying to set the prince in good-humour again, "you must be a poor mouse to get into the trap, and not to get the bait after all."
"Ay, but the mouse not only got out of the trap," I replied, "but bit the rat-catcher's fingers. Was it not so, Monsieur Martigue!"
"Ha! he has you there, Martigue," cried the duke. "What say you now? Will you hang him in revenge for the loss of that cornet?"
"I say, sir," replied Martigue, gayly, "That the young gentleman speaks very true. The mouse did bite the rat-catcher's fingers, and bit him to the bone. But the rat-catcher has caught him at last, and, by your highness's good leave, will keep him now he's got him."
It was evident that some progress had been made in moving the Duke of Anjou, and at that moment the Duke of Montpensier joined in.
"I told your highness this morning," he said, "That it was my intention to ask a boon of you in regard to Monsieur de Cerons; but, as your highness knows, I intercede for no one without good reason. In the first place, let me say, that this gentleman, instead of being a mere marauder, as some one has induced your highness to believe, is perhaps the most generous and scrupulous of the enemy's party. I can speak of the accounts given of him by the peasantry myself; and, besides, I have had certain information, from a gentleman who saw it in the town of Pons, that he was there known to cut down one of his own men for some of the horrors usually committed in a town taken by assault. But this is not all, sir. I personally owe him a deep debt of gratitude for saving the life of my son, and sending him back into the camp without demanding a ransom."
"What! your son, Montpensier?" exclaimed the duke; "What! D'Auvergne?"
"Neither more nor less, my lord," replied the duke. "When we decamped from the neighbourhood of Loudun, Monsieur de Cerons led those that pursued. My son turned to drive them back. In the mêlée he was borne to the ground, and was absolutely under the feet of Monsieur de Cerons' horse. That gentleman helped him to rise; and, telling him to mount in haste, suffered him to retire unhurt. Under these circumstances, I must not only beg his life of your highness, if you ever seriously thought of putting him to death, which I do not believe; but I would also offer to pay his ransom at once to Monsieur de Martigue and set him free, only that I trust, by keeping him here in our camp for some time, we may cure him of some prejudices of education, and gain a very distinguished soldier back to religion and to loyalty. Such gentlemen as Monsieur de Cerons, my lord, are far better worth winning than hanging, depend upon it."
"You will ruin us all, you will ruin us all!" cried a voice from behind, which I found afterward came from the well-known Chicot. "If you convert Monsieur de Cerons, and bring him into our camp, the army's lost, the king's throne shaken, and he may play at bowls with the globe and crown. Why, heavens and earth! wasn't it bad enough when we had only Martigue to lead us into every mad adventure, while the Huguenots had this mad fellow to run his head against our crack-brained galloper! If you bring, over another such to our side to match Martigue, the army will be like a string between two young dogs, pulled here and there over every bush, and hill, and fence, through the whole land. 'Pon my soul, I had hoped and trusted that I should hear Martigue had been killed to-day; for I am tired to death, and my brain quite weary with thinking where he will be next: but if you come to add to him this same night-walking spectre of cast iron, there is no chance of any one ever having a moment's repose through life."
"Pray attend to Chicot's reasons, your highness," said Martigue; "for, like some old verses that I've met with, they always read the wrong way, you know."
"Well," said the prince, "if you will all have it so, so it must be, I suppose; but, at all events, I shall expect no slight apology from Monsieur de Cerons for the rash and insolent words he addressed to me this morning."
"I trust, sir," I replied, "That in my grief for the disasters of this day, I have not been mad enough to address to your highness, the brother of my king, any words of insolence whatever. I am quite ignorant and unconscious of having done so, but beg your highness's pardon most sincerely and most humbly for anything that could have been construed to that effect."
"That is well, that is well," replied the duke: "you must indeed have forgotten yourself; but the words that you spoke, sir, about the Prince de Condé, were rash and insolent."
"But were never applicable to your highness," I replied. "They were entirely and totally meant for and pointed at the Baron de Montesquieu, the cold-blooded murderer of a gallant prince; and I am sure, sir, that, had you seen the act as I did, your generous nature would have been roused in a moment to avenge the butchery of your cousin upon his foul assassin."
"Perhaps I might," replied the prince: but the Duke of Montpensier, who knew that such discussions with the Duke of Anjou became dangerous in every point of view when carried too far, took advantage of a slight thoughtful pause to say, "I think your highness graciously granted my request."
The prince bowed his head, and Montpensier, passing round the table, took me by the arm, nodding to Martigue, who replied, if I might read his looks, "Get him away as fast as you can."
The prince, however, detained us for a moment longer, saying, "I will speak to Monsieur de Cerons at some future time: his countenance pleases me."
"No reply," whispered the Duke of Montpensier; and, merely bowing my head low as my answer, I followed the duke through the door. In that little passage antechamber, however, my first step was into a pool of dark blood, and I was about to draw back with an exclamation, when the duke pulled me on sharply by the left arm; and after we had got several paces down the gallery, he said, in a low, deep tone,
"Young man, young man! you have been sporting with a tiger, who has already torn one to pieces, and has got the thirst for blood upon him strong!"