—The Roads of the World.
But they never got to Les Herbiers.
On that strange daybreak march a better, if a more hazardous, idea had occurred to Gilbert. Between him and Les Herbiers lay Les Quatre Chemins, the cross-roads where the highway from Nantes to La Rochelle cut that from Saumur to Les Sables. Though nothing but the tiniest hamlet had grown up at their intersection, the spot was strategically of immense importance, for a force holding it could prevent supplies and help from coming southwards. Château-Foix knew that his little troop could not hope to block the way against any large contingent, but no such contingent could yet have been got together; and smaller bodies, if they knew the route to be cut, would hesitate before adventuring upon it. He consulted Louis; he took the opinion of the leading peasants, and bivouacked that evening among the hedges of the Bocage.
The risk which he had taken had been justified. Not only had the setting up of the white standard attracted scores more peasants from the district, but a concentration of the two other larger Royalist contingents already on foot was imminent. Gilbert de Château-Foix had the honour of first possession of what was afterwards to be the headquarters of the army of the centre, but at this moment, the morning after his arrival, he was sharing it with others. M. de Sapinaud de la Verrie, fresh from his victories at Les Herbiers and Tiffauges, had just marched in two thousand strong, and the two MM. de Royrand were momentarily expected.
The newcomer, on his big grey horse, sat talking to Gilbert in the road. He was a well-built, handsome man of five-and-fifty, with a face at once gentle and energetic. A cloudless blue sky smiled over the two and over the characteristically Vendean landscape. Among the high-banked fields, each exactly like the other, an army could have encamped without its presence being discovered. Nowhere was there a landmark. And every bank was topped with trees, leafless now, or only flushed with green, but soon to be capable of affording cover. The Chevalier’s own men were scattered about, resting after their march, but in a field on the other side of the nearest hedge Louis was attempting to instil some elementary principles of warfare into the heads of the most promising recruits from Chantemerle, while Sapinaud told the Marquis how the men of Saint-Florent, under Cathelineau and Stofflet, after capturing Chemillé, had, the day before, taken Cholet itself.
As he finished Louis dismissed his recruits, and, clambering through the hedge, jumped down into the road. Gilbert presented him, and Louis saluted the old soldier.
“You were drilling your men, Monsieur le Vicomte?”
“A very hopeless task, sir,” responded Saint-Ermay, smiling ruefully. “And if only we had arms! How does one do musketry drill with pitchforks?”
“Our first brush with the Blues will provide us with muskets,” said Gilbert. “That is how your men got theirs, is it not, Monsieur le Chevalier?”
Sapinaud nodded. “When we entered Les Herbiers we had only scythes, fowling-pieces, or clubs. But we got three of our guns there, and some at Tiffauges.”