The signal was now given and the blades were crossed—and on the instant it was seen how fearful was the advantage which De Laguy had gained by the choice of weapons—for it was with the utmost difficulty that Charles de La-Hirè avoided the incessant longes of his enemy, who springing to and fro, stamping and writhing his body in every direction, never ceased for a moment with every trick of feint and pass and flourish to thrust at limb, face and body, easily parrying himself with the poniard, which he held in his left hand, the less skilful assaults of his enemy. Within five minutes the blood had been drawn in as many places, though the wounds were but superficial, from the sword-arm, the face and thigh of De La-Hirè, while he had not as yet pricked ever so lightly his formidable enemy—his quick eye, however, and firm active hand stood him in stead, and he contrived in every instance to turn the thrusts of Armand so far at least aside as to render them innocuous to life. As his blood, however, ebbed away, and as he knew that he must soon become weak from the loss of it, De Jarnac evidently grew uneasy, and many bets were offered that Armand would kill him without receiving so much as a scratch himself. And now Charles saw his peril, and determined on a fresh line of action—flinging away his dagger, he altered his position rapidly, so as to bring his left hand toward De Laguy, and made a motion with it, as if to grasp his sword-hilt—he was immediately rewarded by a longe, which drove clear through his left arm close to the elbow joint but just above it—De Jarnac turned on the instant deadly pale, for he thought all was over—but he erred widely, for De La-Hirè had calculated well his action and his time, and that which threatened to destroy him proved, as he meant it, his salvation—for as quick as light when he felt the wound he dropped his own rapier, and grasping Armand’s guard with his right hand, he snapped the blade short off in his own mangled flesh and bounded five feet backward, with the broken fragment still sticking in his arm.
“Hold!” shouted each godfather on the instant—and at the same time De La-Hirè exclaimed, “give us the other swords—give us the other swords, De Jarnac—”
The exchange was made in a moment, the stilettoes and the broken weapons were gathered up, and the heavy horse-swords given to the combatants, who again faced each other with equal resolution, though now with altered fortunes. “Now De La-Hirè,” exclaimed De Jarnac, as he put the well poised blade into his friend’s hand—“you managed that right gallantly and well—now fight the quick fight, ere you shall faint from pain and bleeding!”—and it was instantly apparent that such was indeed his intention—his eye lightened, and he looked like an eagle about to pounce upon his foe, as he drew up his form to its utmost height and whirled the long new blade about his head as though it had been but a feather. Far less sublime and striking was the attitude and swordsmanship of De Laguy, though he too fought both gallantly and well. But at the fifth pass, feinting at his head, Charles fetched a long and sweeping blow at his right leg, and striking him below the ham, divided all the tendons with the back of the double-edged blade—then springing in before he fell, plunged his sword into his body, that the hilt knocked heavily at his breast bone and the point came out glittering between his shoulders—the blood flashed out from the deep wound, from nose, and ears, and mouth, as he fell prostrate, and Charles stood over him, leaning on his avenging weapon and gazing sadly into his stiffening features—“Fetch him a priest,” exclaimed De Nevers—“for by my halidome he will not live ten minutes.”
“If he live five,” cried the King rising from his seat—“if he live five, he will live long enough to die upon the block—for he lies there a felon and convicted traitor, and by my soul he shall die a felon’s doom—but bring him a priest quickly.”
The old monk ran across the lists, and raised the head of the dying man, and held the crucifix aloft before his glazing eyes, and called upon him to repent and to confess as he would have salvation.
Faint and half choked with blood he faltered forth the words—“I do—I do confess guilty—oh! double guilty!—pardon! oh God—Charles!—Marguerite!”—and as the words died on his quivering lips he sank down fainting with the excess of agony.
“Ho! there!—guards, headsman”—shouted Henry—“off with him—off with the villain to the block, before he die an honorable death by the sword of as good a knight as ever fought for glory!”
Then De La-Hirè knelt down beside the dying man, and took his hand in his own and raised it tenderly, while a faint gleam of consciousness kindled the pallid features—“May God as freely pardon thee as I do, oh my cousin!”—then turning to the King—“You have admitted, sire, that I have served you faithfully and well—never yet have I sought reward at your hand—let this now be my guerdon. Much have I suffered, even thus let me not feel that my King has increased my sufferings by consigning one of my blood to the headsman’s blow—pardon him, sire, as I do—who have the most cause of offence—pardon him, gracious King, as we will hope that a King higher yet shall pardon him and us, who be all sinners in the sight of his all-seeing eye!”
“Be it so,” answered Henry—“it never shall be said of me that a French King refused his bravest soldier’s first claim upon his justice—bear him to his pavilion!”
And they did bear him to his pavilion, decked as it was for revelry and feasting, and they laid him there ghastly and gashed and gory upon the festive board, and his blood streamed among the choice wines, and the scent of death chilled the rich fragrance of the flowers—an hour! and he was dead who had invited others to triumph over his cousin’s slaughter—an hour! and the court lackeys shamefully spoiled and plundered the repast which had been spread for nobles.