Pavia was saved. Fervent thanksgivings were offered up by the citizens, who regarded the occurrence as providential, and a Te Deum was chanted in the Duomo. Discouraged by the ill success of the scheme, François made no attempt to renew it.
Just after this event, which Antonio de Leyva looked upon as a good omen, another incident of a very different nature occurred.
We have said that a large market was held in the park of Mirabello, at which provisions of all kinds were sold by country-folk to the soldiers. One morning, two tall and robust young men, with handsome and sunburnt visages, and clad like peasants, were allowed to pass through the French camp, there being nothing either in their looks or deportment calculated to excite suspicion. Each led a mule charged with a couple of large casks, apparently filled with wine, and as the two young peasants strode along they laughed and jested with the soldiers.
On arriving at the place where the market was held, they were speedily surrounded by eager customers, and while chaffering with them moved gradually nearer and nearer to the city walls, until it became evident that they had attracted the notice of the sentinels, and they were cautioned by the soldiers with them not to go any farther. The peasants, however, treated the warning as a joke, and went on.
All at once, a troop of cavalry, headed by De Leyva, issued from a sallyport, and dashing at the party, seized the peasants and their mules, and carried them off into the city before any attempt at rescue could be made by the troops of the Duke d'Alençon, who had witnessed the affair.
As soon as De Leyva was safe within the walls of the city, he gave vent to a hearty fit of laughter, and the two peasants joined in his merriment.
“Admirably executed, by my fay!” exclaimed the governor. “The stratagem has succeeded to a miracle, little do the enemy dream what rare wine they have allowed to escape them. 'Tis a vintage fit for the king's table—ha! ha! But whom have I to thank for the important service thus rendered me?” he added to the foremost of the peasants. “Unless I am mistaken, it is the Seigneur Pomperant.”
“Your excellency is right,” replied the other. “Lan-noy and Pescara could find no better messenger than myself, so I have come hither disguised, as you see, with my attendant Hugues. Each of those casks contains a thousand golden ducats—a rich prize for the king, if it had fallen into his hands.”
“A good sum, in truth, and if it will not pay the lanz-knechts in full, it will at least stop their mouths for a time,” rejoined De Leyva, laughing. “Again I thank you for the service, though I am sorry you will have to remain in this city. There is plenty of revelry, I am told, each night in the king's camp, but there is none here. All we do in Pavia is to fast, pray, and fight.”
“I am familiar with beleaguered cities,” said Pomperant. “I was in Marseilles during the siege.”