 St. Bartholomew's Eve by G. A. Hendy This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Read by Anna Christensen. Chapter 16. A Huguenot Prayer Meeting That was a good shotpourri, feel upset as they ran, and has probably saved me my life. I am accustomed to throw straights, sir. My dinner has frequently depended on my knocking down a bird with a stone, and it was not often that I had to go without it. They are making a rare hubba back at the inn. Loud shouts were heard behind them. We have plenty of time. Philip said as he moderated the pace at which they had started. The men will be confused at first, knowing nothing of what it all means. Then they will have to let the horses out of the stables. And then they will have trouble. Pry added. What trouble, Pry? I gave a hint to Eustis. Pry said with a laugh, that it would be just as well before he mounted to cut off all the bridles at the rings, a nice way they will be in when they go to mount. Did you cut their bridles for them, Eustis? Pry asked as they came up to the others. I and their stirruplethers, too, Pry. Good indeed, Philip exclaimed. Without bridles or stirruplethers, they can scarce make a start, and it will take them some minutes to patch them up. We will ride hard for a bit. That will put us far enough ahead to be able to take any by-road and throw them off our traces. I have no fear they're catching us by straight riding. The master's horses may be as good as ours, but those who the men can hardly be so. Still, they might come up to us wherever we halted for the night. They look back when they were some two miles from the village, and along the long straight road could make out some figures that they doubted not were horsemen just starting in pursuit. They waited to mend their leathers, Pry remarked. They were right there, Philip said, for a man can fight but poorly without bridle or stirrups. The horses will not have been fed, so we have an advantage there. I do not think we can trouble ourselves much more about them. There's one thing, sir. They want mine foundering their horses, and we have to be careful of ours. That is so, Pry, and besides, at the first place they come to, they may send others on in pursuit with fresh horses. No, we must throw them off our track as soon as we can. There was a wood a mile or so ahead. We will leave the road there. They were riding on the margin of turf, bordering the road on either side, so as to avoid the dust that lay thick and white upon it, and they held on at an easy canter till they reached the trees. Then, at Philip's orders, they scattered and went at a walk, so as to avoid leaving marks that could be seen at once by anyone following them. A couple of hundred yards further they came upon a stream running through a wood. It was but a few inches deep. This will do for us, Philip said. Now follow me in single file, and see that your horses step always in the water. He led them across the road and on for half a mile. Then they left the stream and soon afterwards emerged from the wood and struck across the country. I should think they will have had pretty well enough of it by the time they get to the wood, Philip said, and at any rate will lose a lot of time there. They will trace our tracks to the edge of the stream, and will naturally suppose that we will follow it up as we struck it on the other side of the road. It is like enough they will be half an hour searching before they find where we left the stream, and will know well enough then it will be hopeless to try to catch us. They saw we had good horses, Eustace said, for as we led them out, one of them made a remark that they were as good a looking lot of horses as we would often see together. No doubt at first their leaders were so furious that they thought of nothing but mending their lothers and getting off. But when they get a check in the wood, it is probable that someone will eventually tell them how well we were mounted, and that pursuit will be hopeless. Nevertheless, I think they will pursue, once you're Philip. Puri said, they did not look like men who would swallow an injury and think no more of it. As long as there remains a single chance at discovering you, they will not give up pursuit, I think. Of course, they have no reason for suspicion that you are anything but what you seem to be, a gentleman of a neighborhood, and will consider that at one or other of the towns or villages ahead of us, they are sure to hear of our passing through, and perhaps to learn who you are and where you reside. Doubtless they asked at the end before starting whether you are known, and as soon as they find they are not likely to catch us by hard riding. They will make straightforward, dividing into several parties at the next place they come to, and scattering in order to obtain news of us. Which they will not get, Philip said, as you will take good care to avoid passing through villages. For tonight we will sleep in the woods, as the weather is warm and pleasant. After riding another fifteen miles they halted in a wood. They always carried some food and wine with them, as circumstances might at any time arise that wood rendered imprudent for them to put up at an inn, and each also carried a feed of corn for his horse. Leaving Paris to unsidle and rub down his horse, Philip walked to the farther edge of the wood to view the country beyond. They were, he knew, not far from La Châtres, and he was not surprised to see the town, lying in a valley, to which the ground sloped down from the wood. It was about a mile and a half distant, near the wood, but a half a mile to the west. The towers of a fortified chateau rose from a clump of trees. The country was rich and well cultivated, and everything had an aspect of peace and comfort. Ah, what a hideous thing it is, Philip said to himself, that in so fair a country people cannot live in peace together, and to fly at each other's throat simply because they cannot agree that each shall worship God after his own fashion. It might be Canterbury, with the hills rising round it, and the little river, say that it lacks a cathedral rising over it, and yet I doubt not there are many there who live in daily peril of their lives, for there is not a town in France that has not a share of Huguenots, and they can never tell when the storm of popular fury may burst upon them. The shades of evening were beginning to fall when he rejoined his companions. They had already rubbed down their horses and replaced the saddles, and the animals were contentedly eating their corn. They look well, Philip said as he walked from one to the other. Yes, sir, they are none the worse for their travel so far, and could carry us on a hard race for our lives. Shall we light a fire? I do not think it is worthwhile, Eustace. The evening is warm, and we shall be off at daybreak. Someone passing through the wood might see the flames and carry the news down to La Châtres, which is but a mile and a half away, and it is quite possible that those fellows we had to do with it today may be there if they are traveling the same way that we are, and may consider it likely we shall halt there for the night. At any rate, as we do not need the fire, we will run no risks. They ate their supper, and an hour later wrapped themselves in their cloaks and lay down. Philip was just dropping off to sleep when Parie touched him. He sat up with a start. There are some people in the wood, Parie said. Philip was wide awake now, and the sound of singing at no great distance came to his ears. It is a huger not him, he exclaimed. There must be a meeting in the wood. No doubt it is some of the people from the town who have come out to hold a secret meeting here. I will go and see it. Come with me, Parie. You will go very quietly, for it would scare them terribly did they hear anyone approaching. Making their way noiselessly through the wood they came, after walking about three hundred yards, to the edge of an open space among the trees where they halted. In the center they could see in the moonlight a body of some seventy or eighty people gathered. Standing upon the trunk of a fallen tree was a minister who was addressing them. My brethren, he was saying when they could catch his words. This is the last time we shall meet here. We know that suspicions have already arisen that we are holding meetings, and that we do so at the peril of our lives. The search for me has been hot for some days, and though I am willing enough to give my life in the cause of our Lord, I would not bring destruction upon you at the present moment. Whether prospects hopeless I should say, let us continue together here to the last. But the sky is clearing, and it may be that ere long freedom of worship may be proclaimed throughout France. Therefore it is better that for a time we should abstain from gathering ourselves together. Even now the persecutors may be upon our track. Paris, Philip whispered, do you go over in that direction till you come to the edge of the wood? If you see any signs of men moving about, run quickly to the others and bring the horses up here. I had better go back there first had I not, Moundre Philip, and bring the men and horses along with me to the edge of the wood, for I might lose a quarter of an hour in searching for them. That would be the best plan, Paris. Should you hear a sudden noise here? Hurry in this direction, and I will come to meet you. It may well be that, guessing the Huguenots would place someone on watch towards the town. The Catholics may, if they come, approach from the other side. Should you see anyone coming give a loud shout at once. It will act as a warning to these people, and enable them to scatter and fly before their foes arrive. For an hour the preacher continued to address his hearers, exhorting them to stand firm in the faith and to await with patience the coming of better days. They were not more than twenty paces away from the spot where Philip was standing, and in the moonlight he could clearly see the faces of the assembly. From their dress he judged that most of them belonged to the poorer classes, though three or four were evidently the well-to-do class. Seated on the trunk and which the preacher was standing, and looking up at him so that her profile is clearly visible to Philip, so that a young girl whose face struck Philip as a singular beauty. The hood of the cloak in which she was wrapped had fallen back from her head, and her hair looked golden in the moonlight. She was listening with rapt attention. The moonlight glistened on a brooch which held the cloak together at her throat. A young woman stood by her, and a man, in steel cap and with a sword at his side, stood a pace behind her. Philip judged that she belonged to a rank considerably above that of the rest of the gathering. When the address had concluded, the preacher began a hymn in which all joined. Just as they began, Philip heard the crack of a stick among the trees. It was not on the side from which Parie would be coming. He listened attentively, but the singing was so loud that he could hear nothing, except that warns that clashes such as would be made by a scabbard or piece of armor circling against a bow came to his ears. Suddenly he heard a shout. That is Parie, he exclaimed to himself, and ran forward into the circle. There was a cry of alarm, and the singing suddenly stopped. I am a friend, he exclaimed. I have come to warn you of danger. There are men coming in this direction from the town. My brethren, we will separate. The minister said calmly, but first I will pronounce the benediction. This he did solemnly, and then said, Now let all make through the wood, and issuing from the other side, return by a circuit to the town. Madame Musa Clare, I will accompany you to the chateau. At this moment Philip heard horses approaching. This way, Parie, he shouted, and ran to meet them. Fifty yards away he came upon them, and leapt into a saddle. See to your weapons, lads, he said. I believe there are others in the wood already. He was within twenty yards of the clearing when he heard a sudden shout of, Down with the Huguenot dogs, kill, kill! He dashed forward, followed by his men. A mob of armed men, headed by two or three horsemen, had burst from the opposite side of the glade, and were rushing upon the Huguenots, who had just broken up into small groups. They stood as if paralyzed at the sudden attack. No cry or scream broke from the women. Most of these threw themselves upon their knees. A few of the men followed their example, and prepared to die unresistingly. Some sprang away among the trees, and above the din of the preacher's voice, with her commencing a Huguenot hymn beginning. The gates of heaven are opened, in which, without a moment's hesitation, those who remained around him joined. In a moment, with savage shouts and yells, there as they were upon them, smiting and thrusting. With a shout Philip spurred forward from the other side. He saw at once that against such numbers, he and his three followers could do nothing. But his rage at this massacre of innocent people, as seen common enough in France, but which he now for the first time witnessed, half maddened him. One of the horsemen, whom he recognized at once as the man Paria had knocked down with a plate, rode at the girl Philip had been watching, and he was standing with upturned face joining in the hymn. The man attending her drew his sword, and placed himself in the way of the horseman. But the latter cut him down, and raised the sword to strike full at the girl, when Philip shot him through the head. Instantly another horseman, with a shout of recognition, rode at him. Philip thrust his still-smoking pistol into his holster, and drew his sword. This is more than I hoped for, his assailants said as he dealt a sweeping blow at him. Do not congratulate yourself too soon. Philip replied as he gutted the blow, and, lunging in return, the point glided off his adversary's armor. He parried again, and then with a backhanded sweep he struck his opponent on the neck with his whole force. Coming out to take part in a Huguenot hunt, in which he expected no opposition, the knight had left his helmet behind him, and fell dead from his horse. In the meantime the two men at arms in Paris had driven back the mob of townsmen, who, however, having massacred most of the unresisting Huguenots, were surging up round them. Give me your hand, madame Moselle, and put your foot on mine. Philip exclaimed to the girl, who was still standing close to him. Paris, he shouted, as, bewildered by the up-war, the girl instinctively obeyed the order, take this woman up behind you. Paris made his horse plunge and so freed himself from those attacking him. Then, raining round, he rode to Philip's side, and helped the companion of the young lady to the crew of a saddle. Philip dashing forward to freeze two followers from their numerous assailants. To move off, Eustace, and cutting their way through the crowd the three horsemen freed themselves, and, as they dashed off, were joined by Paris. We must work back by the way we came, Mandra Philip. Paris said, there was another body coming up in front to cut off the fugitives, and that was why I shouted to you. In a minute or two, they were out of the wood. Men were seen running across the fields, but these they easily avoided. Now, let us turn again and make straight for La Châtré. We can cross the bridge and ride to the place without danger. Those who would have interfered with us are all behind us. As he had expected, the place was perfectly quiet. The better class at the Burgoy were all asleep, either ignorant or disapproving of the action of the mob. As soon as they were through the town, Philip chucked the speed of his horse. Madam Moussel, he said, I am as yet in ignorance of your name. I am the chivalier Philip Fletcher, an Englishman fighting, for the cause of the reform religion under Admiral Calvigny. I am on my way east with important dispatches. And I was bivwalking with my three followers in the wood when I was attracted by the singing. Judging from the words of the minister that there was danger of an attack, I put one of my men on the watch while I myself remain in the wood by your meeting-place. Unfortunately, the sound of the last hymn you sing drowned the noise bane by the party that assailed you. However, happily we were in time to save you and your servant, and our sudden appearance doubtless enabled many to escape, who would otherwise have been massacred. The girl had burst into a fit of sobbing as soon as the danger was over, but she had now recovered. My name is Clair de Velacourt. Bonjour. My father is with the Admiral. He will be deeply grateful to you for saving my life. I have the honor of knowing the count de Velacourt. Madame Musel, and am guide indeed that I have been able to be a service to his daughter. The count is one of the gentlemen who act as guardians to the Prince of Navarre, who I have also the honor of knowing. And now, what are your wishes? It is not too late even now, should you desire it, for me to take you back to the chateau. I should be defenseless there, sir, she said. There are but a score of minute arms, and though formerly a place of some strength, it could not be defended now. Ah, see, sir, it is too late already. Philip looked round and saw a bright light suddenly rising from the clump of trees in which the chateau stood. He gave an exclamation of anger. It cannot be helped, she said quietly. It is but a small place. It was part of my mother's dour. Our estates, you know, are in province. My father thought I should be safer here than remaining there alone while he was away. We have always been on good terms with the townspeople here, and they did not interfere with those of our religion during the last war, so we thought that it would be the same now. But of late some people have been here stirring up the townsmen, and some travelling friars preach in the marketplace not long since, abrading the people with their slackness and not rooting us out altogether. A month ago one of the persecuted ministers came to the chateau at night, and has been concealed there since. Seeing that there will be no minister here for some time, word was sent round secretly to those of our religion in the town, and twice a week we have been meeting in the woods, many of the servants of the chateau are Catholics, and of the men-at-arms the majority are not of our faith. Therefore I used to steal out quietly with my attendant. We heard two days ago that a rumor of the meeting had gone about, and tonight's was to have been the last of them. And now I'm out of Moselle. What are your wishes? Have you any friends with whom I could place you until you could rejoin your father? None near here, Monsur. I have always lived in the south. I should not have taken you for a lady of their province. Your hair is fair, and you have rather the appearance of one of my own country women than of one born in the south of France. I am partly of northern blood, she said. My mother was the daughter of Sir Alan Ramsey, a Scottish gentleman who took service in France, being driven from home by the feuds that prevailed there. I knew but little about her, for she died when I was a child, and my father, who loved her greatly, seldom speaks to me of her. Fill up road for some time in silence. I feel that I am a terrible burden on your hands, Monsur. She said quietly at last. But I will do anything that you think best. If you set us down, we will try and find refuge in some peasant hut, or we can dress ourselves as country women and try to make our way westward to La Rochelle. That is not to be thought of, he replied gravely. Word not that my dispatches may not be delayed without great danger to our cause. The matter would be of no inconvenience. But we must ride fast and far. As to leaving you to shift for yourselves. It is impossible, but if you could find a Huguenot family with whom I could place you it would be different. But, unfortunately, we are all strangers to the country. I can ride well, the girl said, and if horses could be procured, wood with my maid tried to reach La Rochelle. Travelling by night, and hiding in the woods by day, we could carry food with us, so as not to have to enter any place to purchase it. Philip shook his head. We will halt yonder a clump of trees. It is not yet midnight, and then we can talk the matter over further. As soon as they halted he unrolled his cloak. Do you, mademoiselle, and your attendant lie down here. We shall be but a short distance away, and two of us will keep watch. Therefore you can sleep without fear of surprise. This is an unfortunate business, Pry. He said after the latter I'd fasten the horses to the trees. I can understand that, monjour. I have been talking to the maid, and it seems that they have no friends in these parts. That is just it, Pry. One thing is certain. They cannot ride on with us. We must journey as fast as possible, and delicate women could not support the fatigue, even where it seemingly that a young lady of good family should be galloping all over France with a young man like myself. I should not trouble about that, monjour. At ordinary times, doubtless, it would cause a scandal. But in days like these, when in all parts of France there are women and children hiding from the persecution, or fleeing for their lives, one cannot stand upon niceties. But doubtless, as you say, they would hinder our speed and add to our dangers. I see but two plans, Pry. The one is that they should journey to La Rochelle in charge of yourself and Eustace. We have now twice crossed the country without difficulty, and as there would be no need of a special speed, you could journey quietly, choosing quiet and lonely places for your halts, such as farmhouses, or groups of two or three cottages where there was a tiny inn. What is your other plan, sir? The other plan is that you should start forward at once so as to enter Saint Amboy early, stable your horses at an inn, and order rooms, saying that you are expecting your master and a party who are on their way to join the army. You might also order a meal to be cooked. Then you could enter into conversation with stablemen and others, and find out whether there are any castles in the neighborhood, held for us by Huguenot lords or by their wives in their absence. If not, if there are any Huguenot villages. In fact, try and discover some place where we may leave the young lady in safety. You can have three hours to make your inquiry. At the end of that time, whether successful or not, say that you are going out to make your master and lead him to the inn. Give the host a crown as an earnest of your return and on account of the meal you have ordered, and then ride to meet us. We shall start from here at daybreak. If you succeed in hearing of some place where, as it seems, she can be bestowed in safety. We will take her there at once. If not, you in Eustos must start back with them, traveling slowly. The horses will carry double easily enough. Do not forget to get a cold cap on her too, some good wine, and a supply of white bread while you are waiting in the town. Which horse shall I take, sir? You best take Robin. He is a faster of a two, though not quite so strong as Victor. I understand, Monsieur, and will carry out your orders. If there be a place within twenty miles, or within forty miles of lying on the right road, where the young lady can be led in safety, where lay upon it I will hear of it, for there is not I would not do rather than turn back at the outset of our journey, while you have to journey on with only Roger, who is a stateman at arms enough, but would be of little use if you should find yourself in difficulties, for his head is somewhat thick and his wits slow. Robin had already finished a scanty ration of food, and when Péry tightened the girth before mounting, looked round in my own surprise at finding himself called upon to start for the second time, after he had thought that his work was done. You shall have a good feed at Saint-Anbois, Péry said, patting his neck, and beyond that there will be no occasion, I hope, for such another day's work. After seeing Péry start, Philip threw himself down for two hours' sleep, and then went to relieve Eustace, who was keeping watch at the edge of the comfort trees. As soon as it was broad daylight, he went across to where Claire de Vallecourt was lying down by the side of her maid, with a cloak run over her. She sat up at once as he approached. I am afraid you have not had much sleep, mademoiselle. No, indeed, she said, I have scarce clothes my eyes. It will be long before I shall sleep quietly. That terrible scene of last night will be before my eyes for a long time. Do you think that the minister escaped, Monser Fletcher? I fear that he did not. I saw him cut down by the fellow I shot, just before he turned to ride at you. How many do you think escaped? A score, perhaps, maybe more. Some bled at once, others I noticed made off as we rode forward. Did not one of your men ride off last night soon after we lay down? Yes, I sent off my servant, and he told her the mission upon which Paris had been dispatched. That is a good plan, she said. I would much rather ride anywhere than that you should go forward on your long journey with but half your little force. Does it not seem strange, Monser, that while but a few hours ago I had never so much as heard your name, now I owe my life to you, and feel that I have to trust you in everything. I am quite sure that you will be able to do that. I am quite surprised now I look at you. I scarcely saw your face last night, and only noticed as I sat in front of you that you seemed very big and strong. And as you talked of what I must do, just as if you had been my father, I have been thinking of you as a grave man like him. Now I see you are quite young, and that you don't look grave at all. Philip laughed. I am young, and not very grave, mademoiselle. I am not at all fit to be the protector of a young lady like herself. There I am sure you are wronging yourself, Monser Fletcher. The admiral would never have sent you so far with important dispatches, had he not full confidence that you were wise as well as brave. And you said that you were a chivalier too. My cousin, Antoine, looks ever so much older than you do, and he has not been knighted yet. I know young gentlemen are not made knights unless they have done something particularly brave. Philip smiled. I did not do anything particularly brave, mademoiselle, but what I did do happened to attract the admiral's attention. Now here are the remains of a cold coupon, some bread and wine. You and your attendant had better eat something while we are saddling the horses and preparing for a start. Four hours later they halted three miles from St. Envoy, taking refuge in a wood near the road where they could see Paris as he returned. Half an hour later he rode up. Philip went down the road to meet him. Well, Paris, what success? I have heard of a place where I think mademoiselle de Vélocourt will be safe for the present. It is the château of Mangeur du Landray. It lies some five and twenty miles away, and is in the forest, at a distance from any town or large village. It is a small place, but it is strong. Mangeur du Landray is with the army in the west, but he has only taken a few of his men with him, and forty they say have been left to guard the tower. As most of the Catholics around here obey the king's summons, and are either with the royal army in the west, or with the two dukes at Metz, there seems no chance of any attack being made upon Landray. That will do excellently, Paris. No doubt the lady will be happy to receive mademoiselle de Vélocourt, whose father is a well-known nobleman, and at present in the same army as the lady's husband. At any rate we will try that to begin with. They started without delay, and riding briskly reached Landray in four hours, having had a good deal of difficulty in finding the way. As soon as they issued from the forest into a cleared space, half a mile across, in the center of which stood the fortiless, a horn was heard to sound, and the drawbridge was at once raised. Philip saw with satisfaction that Paris had not been misinformed. The castle was an old one, and had not been modernized, and with its sullowed-looking walls and blinking towers, was capable of standing a siege. Halting the others when halfway across to the tower, he rode on alone. As he approached, a lady appeared on the battlements over the gate, while the parapet was occupied with armed men with spears and crossbows. Philip removed his cap. Madame, he said, I am a soldier belonging to the army of the Prince of Navarre, and am riding on the business of Admiral Cologny. On my way hither I had the good fortune to save a Huguenot congregation, and the daughter of the Count de Valacour, from the massacre by the people of La Châtres. My business is urgent, and I am unable to turn back to conduct her to our father, who is with the army of the Prince. Hearing that you are of the reformed religion, I venture to crave your protection for the young lady, until I can return to fetch her, or can notify to our father where he may stand for her. The lady is welcome, Madame d'Andre said. In such times as these, it is the duty of all of our religion to assist each other, and the daughter of the Count de Valacour, whom I know by reputation, will be specially welcomed. Bowing to the lady, Philip rode back to his party. The matter is settled, Madame Wazel. The chattelain will be glad to receive you. By the time they reached the castle, the drawbridge had been lowered, and Madame d'Andre stood at the gate ready to receive her guest. As Philip, leaping off, lifted the girl to the ground, the lady embraced her kindly. I am truly glad to be able to offer you a shelter for a time. You are young indeed to be abroad without a natural protector. For, as I gather, this gentleman, whose name I have not yet learned, rescued you by chance from an attack by the Catholics. God sent him to my sucker, as by a miracle, Claire said simply. The chevalier Fletcher is known to my father. How do you ride but one minute later? I should have been one, among seven to your eighty, who are now lying dead in a wood near La Châtrette. My father had a chateau close by, but it was fired after the massacre. Pardon me, Madame Wazel, with your permission, and that of Madame d'Andre, we will ride on at once. We must do another thirty miles before sunset. Madame d'Andre, however, insisted on Philip and his men stopping to partake of a meal before they rode on, and although they had breakfasted heartily four hours before, upon the provisions per we had brought back with them from Amboy, their rod had given them an appetite, and Philip did not refuse the invitation. Madame d'Andre expressed much satisfaction on hearing that the Huguenot army was likely to pass somewhere near the neighborhood of the chateau on its way to effect a junction with a dupe d'Dupont, and promised to send one of our retainers with a message to the Count that his daughter was in her keeping. The meal was her short one, and Philip, after a halt of half an hour, mounted and rode on again. My father will thank you when you meet him, Montjour Fletcher. As for me, I cannot tell you what I feel, but I shall pray for you always, and that God who sent you to my aid will watch over you in all dangers. Claire d'Valcourt said as she bade him goodbye. They halted that night at a small village, and as Philip was eating a stepper, Paris came in. I think, Montjour, that it would be well for us to move on for a few miles farther. Why, Paris, we have done a long day's journey, and the horses had bet a short rest last night. I should like to rest as well as the horses, but I doubt if we should rest well here. I thought that the landlord eyed us curiously, and that the men who sundered up regarded us with more attention than they would ordinary travelers. So I told Eustace and Roger, as they led the horses to their stable, to keep the saddles on for the present, and I slipped the way round to the back of the house, and got my ear close to the open window of the kitchen. I got there just as the landlord came in, saying, These are the people, wife, that we were told of three hours ago. They are the same number of men, though they have no woman with them as I was told might be the case. Their leader is a fine-looking young fellow, and I am sorry for him, but that I can't help. I was told that if they came here, I was to send off a messenger at once to Nevers, and that if I failed to do so, my house should be burnt over my head, and I should be hung from the true opposite as a traitor to the king, who he is I don't know, but there can be no doubt he is a Huguenot, and that he has killed two nobles. I daresay they deserved it if they were, as the men said, engage in what they called the good work of slaying Huguenots, which is the kind of work with which I do not hold. But that is no business of mine. I am not going to risk my life in the matter. Besides, if I don't send off it will make no difference, for they told half it as a man before they started, that they would give a golden crown to the first who brought them news of the party, and it is like enough someone has slipped off already to earn the money. So I must make myself safe by sending off Jaquie at once. The men said that their lords had powerful friends at Nevers, and I am not going to employ myself with them for the sake of the stranger. We have nothing to do with the Huguenots one way or the other, the woman then said. There are no Huguenots in the village, and it is nothing to us what they do in other parts. Send off Jaquie if you like, and perhaps it will be best, but I don't want any fighting or bloodshed here. I slipped away then, continued Paris, as I thought the landlord would be coming out to look for the Jaquie, if it had not been for what he said about the reward offered, and the likelihood that others would already have started with the news. I should have watched for that man and followed him when he started. I don't think he would have carried his message far. As it was, I thought it best to let you know it once, so that we could slip out of this trap in time. End of Chapter 16 Recorded November 2008 Saint Bartholomew's Eve by G. A. Henty This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Read by Anna Christensen. Chapter 17 The Battle of Mon Contour When Puri left him in order to look after the horses, Philip continued his meal. There could be no hurry, for Nervere was twelve miles away, and it would be four hours at least before a party could arrive. The landlady herself brought in the next course. After placing the dish upon the table, she stood looking earnestly at him for a minute, and then said, You spoke of stopping here tonight, sir. The accommodation is very poor, and if you will take my advice, you will ride farther. There have been some men along here this afternoon, inquiring for a party like yours, and offering a reward to any who would carry the news to them should you pass through. Me thinks their intentions are not friendly. I thank you very much for your counsel, Philip said, and will take it. I know that there are some who would gladly hinder me in my journey, and if there is, as you say, a risk of their coming here for me, it were as well that I rode farther, although I would gladly have given my horses a night's rest. I thank you warmly for having warned me. Do not let my husband know that I've spoken to you. He is an honest man, but timid, and in these days till safe is not to meddle with what does not concern one. Philip waited for two hours, and then told Pari to saddle the horses and tell the landlord that he wished to speak to him. I have changed my mind, landlord, he said, and shall ride forward. The horses will have rested now, and can very well do another fifteen miles, so let me have your reckoning. You can charge for my bedroom, as doubtless it has been put in order for me. Philip saw that the landlord looked pleased, though he said nothing, and in a few minutes the horses were brought round. The bill paid, and they started. They struck off from the road three or four miles farther, and halted in a wood which they reached after half an hour's riding. The grain bags had been filled up again at the inn. But as the horses had eaten their fill, these were not opened, and after losing the girths and arranging the order in which they should keep watch, the party threw themselves on the ground. Two hours after their arrival, Eustace, who was on watch, heard the distant sounds of a body of horsemen galloping along the main road in the direction of the village they had left. In the morning at daybreak they started again, directing their way to the south-west, and following the course of the lure, which they crossed at a stray, and so entered Burgundy, crossing the great line of hills that came down on the Seon, which they crossed at a ferry fifteen miles below Dijon. Here they obtained news of the position of the Dup de Dupon, and finally rode into his camp near Vassoul. They had been fortunate in avoiding all questioning. It being generally assumed, from their travelling without baggage, that they belonged to the neighborhood. Riding into the camp they were not long in discovering an officer who spoke French, and upon fill up saying that he was the bearer of dispatches, for the Duke from Admiral Cologne, he was at once conducted to his pavilion. He had, when the camp was in sight, in all dangers at an end, taken his dispatches from his boots, and these he had once presented to the Duke, who came to the door of his tent on hearing that a gentleman had arrived, with letters from Cologne himself. I am glad to get some news direct at last, the Duke said. For I have heard so many rumours since I crossed the frontier that I know not whether the Admiral is a fugitive, or at the head of a great army, which is nearest the truth. The latter assuredly, sir, the Admiral is at the head of his larger body of men, as that with which he offered battle to the Duke d'Angus, when winter first set in. Come in, mangeur, and sit down while I read the dispatches. How many days have you taken in traversing France? It is the tenth day since I left La Rochelle, sir. And you have ridden the same horses the whole way? Yes, sir. Then they must be good beasts, for you must have done over forty miles a day. We carry no baggage, sir, and, as you see, no armour, and we have husband and our horses strength to the best of our power. The Duke sat down and read the papers of which Philip was the bearer. The Admiral speaks very highly of you, sir, both as regards discretion and bravery, and mentions that he knighted you himself for your conduct in the battle of Darnock. He need not have said so much, for the fact that he chose you to carry these dispatches is the highest proof of his confidence. And now tell me all the particulars of your journey, and what news you have gathered on your way, as to the movement and positions of the forces of the royal dukes. This will supplement the Admiral's dispatches. Philip gave a full report of his route, of the state of the roads, the number of cattle in the country through which he had passed, the accounts he had heard of the forces assembled on the cities, and the preparations that have been made to guard the passages across the rivers of Burgundy. I will travel by the route that the Admiral indicates, so far as I can do so undisturbed by the armies of the two French dukes. I have with me some good guides, as many French gentlemen joined me not long since with the Prince of Orange. I had already decided, by their advice, but following merely the route recommended by the Admiral. I trust that you, sir, will ride among my friends, to whom I will introduce you this evening, supper. The duke's army amounted to some fifteen thousand men, of whom seven thousand five hundred were horsemen from the states of lower Germany, and six thousand infantry from upper Germany, the remaining fifteen hundred being French and Finnish gentlemen, who adjoined him with the Prince of Orange. The armies under the French dukes were together considerably superior in force to that of Dupont, but singly they were not strong enough to attack him, and the mutual jealousies of their commanders prevented their acting in concert. Consequently, the German force moved across Comte, and on to Autune in the west of Burgundy, without meeting with any opposition, then they marched rapidly down. The bridges upon the lore were all held, but one of the French officers who knew the country discovered a fort by which a portion of the army crossed. The main body laid siege to the town of La Charité and compelled it to surrender, thus gaining a bridge by which they crossed the lore. As the enemy were now in great force in front of them, they turned to the southwest, several messengers being sent off to appoint a fresh meeting place with Coligny, and skirting the hills of Roubonne, Evergne, Avergne, and Limoussi, they at last arrived within a day's march of Limoges, the journey of five hundred miles through a hostile country being one of the most remarkable in military history. That evening, Admiral Coligny and his staff rode into camp, having arrived with his army at Limoges. The duke had been for some time suffering from fever, and had for the last week been carried in a litter, being unable to sit his horse. He was, when the Admiral arrived, unconscious, and died the next morning, being succeeded in his command by the count of Mansfield. Next day the two armies joined with great demonstrations of joy. The duke of Anjou had been closely watching the army of Coligny, his army being somewhat superior in force to that of the allies, who now numbered some twenty-five thousand, for the duke had been recently reinforced by five thousand papal troops and twelve hundred florentines. A portion of his force under the general's drozi was at La Roche Abel. They were attacked by the Huguenots. Four hundred royalists were killed, and many taking prisoners, among them their general. There was, for a time, a pause. The court entered into fresh negotiations with the Admiral, being anxious to delay his operations, as many of the nobles who were with the duke of Anjou, wearied by the burdens opposed upon them, insisted upon returning for a time to their homes. The Huguenots were above all things anxious for peace, and allowed themselves to be detained for nearly a month by these negotiations. On the march down after the capture of La Charité, the German forces had passed within a few miles of the Chateau de l'Andre, and Philip wrote over to see whether Claire was still there. We have heard very little of what is going on outside, Monjeu Fletcher, Madame de l'Andre said, after the first greetings were over. Though the air has been full of rumours, again and again reports her bottom of the duke's army had been entirely destroyed by the Royal of Sforces. Then, after a day or two, we heard of it as still advancing, but in danger hourly of being destroyed. It then came the news that every town commanding a bridge across a lawyer was being put in a state of defence, and strong bodies of troops thrown into them, and we heard that as soon as the Germans reached the river, and farther advanced was impossible, they would be attacked by the armies of Namorre and Almé, but by this time we had become so accustomed to these tales that we were not much alarmed. We were, however, surprised when we heard that a strong body of the Germans had floated the river, and then bulketed la Chèrette, who had been besieged on the other. I hear that a strong garrison has been left there. Yes, Madame, the place is of great importance, as it gives us a means of crossing the Lord at any time. We find, too, that a large part of the population are Huguenot, and the place will certainly be held against any attacks a realist may make against us. The news will be received with joy indeed, by all of our religion in this part of France. Here, too, we had no place of refuge, whatever. There was but the choice of dying in our own houses or villages, or taking refuge in the woods until hunted down. It will be to us what Laura shells to the Huguenots of the West. Besides, the garrison there will make the Catholics very cherry of attacking us. Moreover, having now this passage across the Lord, it is likely that our party will largely use it on their marches, and would be able to punish heavily any places at which there have been massacres. It is by this way, too, the Germans are sure to return. Therefore, I feel that for a time a young charge will be perfectly safe here. I sent off a messenger to our army on the day you left us, but have had no reply, and know not whether he reached it in safety. At any rate, you cannot be very long before your forces join the admiral, and as we felt quite sure that you would come to see us as you passed, we have our letters ready, for my husband and the Count de Valicourt. You will, I am sure, deliver them as soon as you join the admiral? That I will assuredly do, madame. I expect that we shall meet him near Limogé. That is in the direction in which we are now marching. The Count de Valicourt was one of the gentlemen who rode into the du-du-pons camp with the admiral, and as soon as they dismounted, and culled me into the tent of the dying general, Philip made his way to his side. Oh, mon-je-fletche, I am glad to see you again. You accomplished then your journey in safety? The Prince of Navarre often spoke of you, and wondered how you were faring. I did very well, sir, but I have not thrust myself upon you at the moment of your arrival, to speak of my own journey, but to deliver you a letter, which I had the honor of being the bearer from your daughter. The Count stepped backwards a pace with a cry of astonishment and pleasure. From my daughter? Is it possible? How long is it since you saw her? It is nigh three weeks back, sir. The Lord be praised. The Count said solemnly, taking off his cap and looking upwards. He has shown me many mercies, but this is the greatest. For the last two months I have mourned her as dead. News was brought to me by one of my retainers, that she was with a congregation who were attacked by the people of La Chartres. And that all had been massacred. My chateau knew there was a tact and burnt. And those are the men who were through but not slain. Save the one who brought me the news. You see, sir, that your daughter escaped. Philip said, handing him the letter. She is now in the safe custody of Madame Delandre. The Count tore up in the letter, and he had read but a few lines when he uttered an exclamation of surprise, and turning towards Philip, who had mounted a few paces away, ran to him and threw his arms around his neck. It is you who have, with God's blessing, rescued my daughter from death, he exclaimed. She is my only child. Ah, majour, what joy you have brought to me. What thank-you from us do I feel? How deeply am I indebted to you? I had thought that there remained to me but to do my duty to God and his cause, and then if I lived to see the end of the war, to live up my days a childless old man. Now I seem to live again. Claire is alive. I have still something to love and care for. I will first run through the rest of the letter, and then you should tell me in full all the story. But where is your tent? Pray take me there. I would like to be alone a little to thank God for this great mercy. Half an hour later, the Count reappeared at the entrance of the tent. Paris had wine and refreshments ready, and placing them on a box that served as a table retired, leaving his master in the Count together. Now tell me all about it, the Count said. Claire's description is a very vague one, and she bids me get all the details from you. She only knows that a man on horseback rode to her with uplifted sword. She commended her soul to God, stood expecting the blow, when there was a pistol shot close to her, and the man fell from his horse. Then another dash forward, while you on horseback threw yourself between her and him. There was a terrible clashing of swords, and then he too fell. Then you lifted her onto your horse, and for a short time there was a whirl of conflict. Then you rode off with three men. Behind one of whom, her mate Annette was sitting. That is all she knows of it, except what you told her yourself. That is nearly all there is to know, Count. The fray lasted but two minutes in all, and my being upon the spot was due to no forethought of mine, but was of the nature of a pure accident. Nay, sir, you should not say that. You were led there by the hand of God, but tell me how you came to be in the wood, and prayer meant nothing. Philip related the whole story, from the time of the incident at the inn, to the time when he handed over Claire to the care of Madame de Londres. It was well done, sir, the Count said, laying his hand affectionately on her shoulder when he concluded. The young Prince said you would have a story to tell him when you came back, but I little dreamt that it could be won in which I had such interest. Well, Claire cannot do better than remain where she is for the present. Until at any rate, I can remove her to La Rochelle, which is the only place where she can be said to be absolutely safe. But as long as we hold La Charité, there is, as you say, but slight fear of any fresh trouble there. From all other parts of France we hear the same tales of massacre and executions by fire and sword. Francois de la Vie was not with Coligny's army, as he was with the Prince of Noir, who had remained near La Rochelle, but he was very pleased to find the Count de la Nuit, who had just rejoined the army, having been exchanged for a warless officer of rank who had fallen into the hands of the Huguenots. You have been doing great things while I've been lying in prison, Philip. The Count said warmly, I hear that the admiral has made you and your cousin knights, and more than that, I heard half an hour since from D. Vallecourt that while carrying dispatches to the Germans, you had time to do a little knight errands work and had the good fortune to save his daughter from being massacred by the Catholics. By my faeche of you, there is no saying what you will come to if you go on like this. I don't want it to come to anything, Count. Philip said, laughing, I have come here to fight for the Huguenot cause, and with no thought of gaining anything for myself, I am, of course, greatly pleased to receive the honor of knighthood, and that at the hands of so great and noble a general as Admiral Colligny, I have been singularly fortunate, but I owe my good fortune and no small degree to you, for I could have had no better introduction than to ride in your train. You deserve all the credit you have obtained, Philip. You have always grasped every opportunity that was presented to you, and have always acquitted yourself well. A young man does not gain the esteem and approval of a Colligny, the gratitude of a Velokour, and the liking of all who know him, including the Queen of Navarre and her son, unless by unusual merit. I am proud of you as a connection, though distant, of my own, and I sincerely trust you will, at the end of this side business, return to your friends, none the worse for the perils you have gone through. At the end of a month, the negotiations were broken off, for the court had no real intention of granting any concession. The Huguenots again commenced hostilities. Two or three strong fortresses were captured, and a force dispatched south under Count Montgomery, who joined the army of the Viscounts, expelled the royalists from Biaire, and restored it to the Queen of Navarre. There was a considerable division among the Huguenot leaders as to the best course to be taken. The admiral was in favour of marching north and besieging Saumour, which would give them a free passage across the lower lore to the north of France, as the possession of La Charité kept open for them a road to the west. But the majority of the leaders were in favour of besieging Portierre, one of the richest and most important cities in France. Unfortunately, their opinion prevailed, and they marched against Portierre, of which the Count Douloud was the governor. Before they arrived there, Henry, Duke of Guise, with his brother the Duke of Mayenne, and other officers, threw themselves into the town. A desperate defence was made, and every assault by the Huguenots was repulsed with great loss. A dam was thrown across a small river by the Viscit, and its swollen waters inundated the Huguenot camp, and their losses at the breeches were greatly augmented by the ravages of disease. After the siege had lasted for seven weeks, the Duke d'Angus laid siege to Châtel-Harrou, which the Huguenots had lately captured, and Coligny raised the siege, which had cost them two thousand men, and marched to its subsistence. The disaster at Portierre was balanced to a certain extent by a similar repulse, which a force of seven thousand Catholics had sustained at La Charité, which for four weeks successfully repelled every assault, the assailants being obliged at last to draw off from the place. In Paris and other places, the murderers of Huguenots were of constant occurrence, and at Orléans, 280 who had been thrown into prison, were massacred in a single day. The Parliament of Paris rendered itself infamous by trying the admiral in his absence for treason, hanging him in effigy, and offering a reward of fifty thousand gold crowns to anyone who should murder him. But a serious battle was now on the eve of being fought. The duke D'Angieux had been largely reinforced, and his army amounted to nine thousand cavalry, and eighteen thousand infantry, while Coligny's armies had been weakened by his losses at Portierre, and by the retirement of many of the nobles, whose resources could no longer bear the expense of keeping their retainers in the field. He had now only some eleven thousand foot and six thousand horse. He was therefore anxious to avoid a battle until joined by Montgomery, with the six thousand troops he had with him at Bienn. His troops from the south, however, were impatient at the long inaction and anxious to return home, while the Germans threatened to desert unless they were either paid or led against the enemy. Launouy, who commanded the advance guard, had captured the town of Montcontour, and the admiral advancing in that direction, and ignorant of the enemy were in the neighborhood, moved towards the town. One on the march the rear was attacked by a heavy body of the enemy. Des Mois, who commanded there, held them at bay until the rest of the Huguenot army gained the other side of a march, through which they were passing, and entered the town in safety. The admiral would now have retreated, seeing that the whole force of the enemy were in front of him, but the Germans again mutinied, and the delay before they could be pacified enabled the French army to make a detour and overtake the Huguenots soon after they left Montcontour. The admiral, who commanded the left wing of the army, and Count Louis of Nassau, commanding the right, first met them, and his cavalry charged out of the Catholics, which was commanded by the German, Rheingrave, the latter rode well in advance of his men, while Coligny was equally in front of the Protestants. The two leaders therefore met. The conflict was a short one. Coligny was severely wounded in the face, and the Rheingrave was killed. The combat between the Huguenot foot and the Swiss infantry in the royalist ranks was long and doubtful. The Duke D'Angieux displayed great courage in the fight, while on the other side the Prince of Navarre and Condé, who had that morning joined the army from Parthenée, fought bravely in the front of the Huguenots. The Catholic line began to give way, in spite of their superior numbers, when Marshal Cosset advanced with fresh troops into the battle, and the Huguenots in turn were driven back. The German cavalry of the Huguenots, in spite of the valor of their leader, Louis of Nassau, were seized with a panic and fled from the field, shattering on their way the ranks of the German infantry. Before the latter could recover their order, the Swiss infantry poured in among them. Many threw down their arms and chetted for quarter, while others defended themselves until the last, but neither submission nor defense availed, and out of the 4,000 German infantry, but two hundred escaped. Three thousand of the Huguenot infantry were cut off by Anjou's cavalry, a thousand were killed, and the rest spared of the Duke's command. In all, two thousand Huguenot infantry and three hundred knights perished on the field, beside the German infantry, while on the Catholic side the loss was but a little over five hundred men. La Nui was again among those taken prisoner. Before the battle began he had requested Philip to join his cousin, who had come up with the princes, and to attach himself to their bodyguard during the battle. They kept close to the princes during the fight, riding far enough back for them to be seen by the Huguenots, and closing round when the enemy poured down upon them. When the German horsemen fled, and the infantry were enveloped by the Catholics, they led Henry and Condé from the field, charging right through a body of Catholic horse who had swept round to the rear and carrying them off to Parthenet. Here they found the admiral who had been born off the field grievously wounded. For a moment the Lion-hearted General had felt despondency at the crushing defeat, being sorely wounded and weakened by loss of blood. But as he was carried off the field his litter came alongside one in which Law Strong, a Huguenot gentleman, also sorely wounded, was being born. Doubtless the admiral's face expressed the deep depression of a spirit, and Law Strong, holding at his hand to him, said, Yet is God very gentle. The words were an echo of those which formed the mainspring of the admiral's life. His face lit up, and he exclaimed, Thanks comrade, truly God is merciful, and we will trust him always. He was much pleased when the two young princes, both unhurt, rejoined him. He issued orders to his officers to rally their troops as they came in, to evacuate Parthenet, and march at once to New York. The Galant de Moi was appointed to command the city, and three or four days were spent there rallying the remains of the army. Scarce had they reached New York when the Queen of Navarre arrived from La Rochelle, when she had hastened as soon as she heard the news of the defeat. The presence of this heroic woman speedily dispelled the despondency among the Huguenots, going about among them, and addressing the groups of officers and soldiers, she communicated to them her own fire and enthusiasm. Nothing was lost yet, she said. The Germans had failed them, but their own valor had been conspicuous, and with the blessing of God, matters would soon be restored. Already the delay of the Catholics in following up their victory had given them time to rally, and they were now in a position to give battle again. Leaving a strong garrison at New York, Coligny moved with a portion of the army to Sante, while the southern troops from Dauphiné and Provence marched to Anglomé. These troops were always difficult to retain long in the field, as they were anxious for the safety of their friends at home. They now claimed for permission to depart, urging that the news of the defeat of Montcontour would be the signal for fresh persecutions and massacres in the south. Finally they marched away without Coligny's permission, and after some fighting reached Dauphiné in safety. In the meantime, New York had been attacked. Dimoy defended the place stoutly, and settled it out and repulsed the enemy. His bravery, however, was fatal to him. A Catholic de Maravelle, tempted by the 50,000 crowns that had been offered for the assassination of Coligny, had entered the Protestant camp, pretending that he had been badly treated by the Gises. No opportunity for carrying out his design against the admiral presented itself, and he remained at New York with Dimoy, who, believing his protestations of attachment for the cause, had treated him with great friendship. As the Huguenots were returning after their successful sortie, he was riding in the rear with Dimoy, and seizing the opportunity, he drew a pistol and shot the Huguenot leader, mortally wounding him. He then galloped off and rejoined the Catholics, and was rewarded for the treacherous murder by receiving from the king the Order of Saint Michael, and a money reward from the city of Paris. The garrison of New York disheartened at the death of their leader, surrendered shortly thereafter. Several other strong places fell, and all the conquests the Protestants had made were rested from their hands. The Battle of Montcontour was fought on October 3rd. On the 14th the southern troops marched away, and four days later, Coligny, with the remains of the army, started from Sainte. He had with him but six thousand men, of whom three thousand were calorie. His plan was an extremely bold one. In the first place he reached to obtain money to pay the German horsemen by the capture of some of the rich Catholic cities in Guyane, to form a junction with the army of Montgomery. Then to march across the Rhône, and there to meet the forces of the south, which would by that time be ready to take the field again. Then to march north to the Rhône, there to gather the Germans, whom William of Orange would have collected to meet him, and then to march upon Paris, and to end the war by giving battle under its walls. The Queen of Navarre was to remain in La Rochelle, which city was placed under the command of La Roche-Fecolle, and the two young princes were to accompany the army, where they were to have their own small commands. They would thus become an oer to the hardship of war, and would win the affection of the soldiers. Francois de la Ville had, with his own troop, ridden off to a chateau from Parthenée on the morning after the battle, Coligny advising him to take his mother at once to La Rochelle, as a chateau would be speedily attacked, in revenge for the sharp repulses that the Catholics had suffered there. On his arrival the Countess had once summoned all the tenants, and invited those who chose to accompany her, pointing out that the Catholics would speedily ravage the land. Accordingly the next day all the valuables in the chateau were packed up in carts, and the place entirely abandoned. The whole of the tenants accompanied her, driving their herds before them, as they would find a market for these in the city. As they moved they were joined by large numbers of other fugitives, as throughout the whole country the Protestants were making for refuge to the city. When the Admiral marched away, Philip rode with a young French officer, for whom he had a warm friendship named de Palais. The latter had been appointed governor of St. Jean de Anglais, which was now the sole bulwark of La Rochelle, and he had specially requested the Admiral to appoint Philip to accompany him. The place was scarcely capable of defense, and the Admiral had only decided to hold it in the hope that Duke de Anjou, instead of following him with the whole army, would wait to besiege it. This decision was, in fact, adopted by the Royalist, after much discussion among the leaders. Several of them wished to press on it once after Coligny, urging that the destruction of the remnant of his army would be a fatal blow to the Huguenot cause. The majority, however, were of opinion that it would be more important to reduce La Rochelle. The Huguenot stronghold in the west, and in order to do this, St. Jean de Anglais must first be captured. Their council prevailed. Scarcely had de Palais taken the command, then the army of the Duke de Anjou appeared before the walls, and at once opened fire. The garrison was a very small one, but it was aided by the whole of the inhabitants, who were, like those of La Rochelle, zealous Huguenots. Every assault upon the walls was repulsed, and at night the bridges made by the cannon during the day were repaired. The inhabitants, even the women and children, bringing stones to the spot, and the soldiers doing the work of building. On the 26th of October, after the siege had continued a fortnight, the king himself joined the Catholic army, and summoned the place to surrender. De Palais replied that, although he recognized the authority of the king, he was unable to obey his orders, as he had been appointed to the whole by the Prince of Navarre, the royal governor of Guyane, his feudal superior, and could only surrender on receding orders from the Prince of Navarre to do so. The siege, therefore, recommenced. The walls were so shaken, that De Palais himself, after repulsing a furious attack upon them, came to the conclusion that the next assault would probably be successful, and he therefore caused a breach to be made in the wall on the other side of the town to afford a means of retreat for his troops. His supply of ammunition, too, was almost exhausted. What do you think we should do, Fletcher? He said gloomily, if we could but hold out for another 10 days or so, the Admiral would have got so fair a start that they would not overtake him, but I feel sure that another 24 hours will see the end of it. We may gain some time, Philip replied, by asking for an armistice. They probably do not know the straits to which we are reduced, and may grant us a few days. They might do so, at any rate, it is worth trying. De Palais agreed, and an hour later Philip went with a flag of truce to the royal camp. He was taken before the Duke, Dian Zhu. I am come with proposals from the governor. He will not surrender the town without orders from the Prince of Navarre, but if he will grant a fortnight's armistice, he will send a messenger to the Prince, and if no answer arrives, or if no sucker reaches him at the end of that time, he will surrender on condition that the garrison shall be permitted to retire with their horses and arms, and that religious liberty shall be granted to all the inhabitants. The Duke consulted with his generals. The losses and the attacks had been extremely heavy, and disease was ravaging the army, and, to Philip's inward surprise and delight, an answer was made that the conditions would be granted, but that only ten days would be given. He returned with the answer to De Palais, and the armistice was at once agreed upon, six hostages for its proper observance being given on both sides. On the ninth day, Saint-Saurie, with forty horsemen, dashed through the enemy's lines and rode into the town, thus relieving De Palais from the necessity of surrendering. The hostages were returned on both sides, and the siege recommend. Attack after attack was repulsed with heavy loss, several of the bravest royalist officers, among them the governor of Brittany, being killed. The town was valiantly defended until the 2nd of December, when De Palais satisfied with having detained the royal army seven weeks before the walls, and seeing no hope of relief, surrendered on the same conditions that had been before agreed on. Its capture had cost the Duke de Anjou six thousand men, about half of whom had fallen by disease, the rest in the assaults, and the delay had entirely defeated the object of the campaign. The gates were opened, and the little body of defenders marched out with colors flying, one of the conditions of surrender being that they should not serve again during the war. The Duke de Amoulet and other officers endeavored to ensure the observance of the condition of their safe conduct through the Catholic lines. But the soldiers, furious at seeing the handful of men who had afflicted such loss upon them going off in safety, attacked them, and nearly a hundred were killed, a number equal to the loss they had suffered throughout the whole siege. Depoulet with the rest were, by their own exertions and those of some of the Catholic leaders, enabled to make their way through and rode to Angolume. There, Depoulet sent a letter demanding the severe punishment of those who had broken the terms of surrender, but no attention having been paid to his demand. He sent a herald to the king to declare that. In consequence of the breach of the conditions, he and those with him considered themselves absolved from their undertaking not to carry arms during the war, and he then rode away with his followers to join the admiral. The French army rapidly fell to pieces. With winter at hand, it was in vain to attempt the siege of La Rochelle. Philip of Spain and the Pope ordered the troops they had supplied to return home, alleging that the victory of Montcontour, of which they had received the most exaggerated reports, had virtually terminated the war. The German and Swiss troops were allowed to leave the service, and the nobles and their retainers were granted permission to do the same until the spring. Thus the whole fruits of the victory of Montcontour were annihilated by the heroic defense of St. Jean de Angolais. In the meantime, the admiral had been moving south in order to cross the rivers he had marched westward, and so made a circuit to Montauban, the stronghold of the Huguenots in the south. Moving westward, he had joined the Count of Montgomery at Algoulon, and returned with him to Montauban, where he received many reinforcements until his army amounted to some 21,000 men, of whom 6,000 were cavalry. At the end of January, they marched to Toulouse, a city with an evil fame of the centre of persecuting bigotry in the south of France. It was too strong to be attacked, but the country round it was ravaged, and all the country residences of the members of its parliament destroyed. Then they marched westward to Nismé, sending marauding expeditions into the Catholic districts, and even into Spain, in revenge for the assistance the king had given the Catholics. D. Palais and his party had joined the admiral at Montauban, and the former commended the force that penetrated into Spain. Colligny turned north, marched up the Rhône, surmounting every obstacle of mountain and river until he reached Burgundy, arriving at Saint-Édienne-sur-Lourl on the 26th of May. Here they were met by messengers from the court, which was in a state of consternation at the steady approach of an enemy they had regarded as crushed, and were ready in their alarm to promise anything. The admiral fell dangerously ill, and at the news the king had once broke off the negotiations. The admiral recovered, however, and advancing met the royal army under Marshal Cosset in the neighbourhood of the town of Arnais du Duc. Colligny's army consisted now of only 2,000 horsemen and 2,500 archivists, the cannon being all left behind. Cosset had 10,000 infantry, of whom 4,000 were Swiss, 3,000 cavalry, and 12 cannon. The armies took posts from the hills on opposite sides of a valley through which were in a stream fed by some small ponds. The royalists commenced the attack, but after fighting obstinately for seven hours were compelled to fall back with heavy loss. A fresh body was then directed against an entrenchment the Huguenots had thrown up near the ponds. Here again the fighting was long and obstinate, but at last the Catholics were repulsed. The next morning both armies drew up in order of battle, but neither would advance to the attack as the ground offered such advantages to those who stood on the defensive and they accordingly returned to their camps. The admiral, being unwilling to fight till he received reinforcements, marched away to La Charité where he was reorganising his force when a truce of ten days was made. At the end of that time he again marched north and distributing his soldiers in the neighbourhood of Montargis took up his quarters at his castle of Châtillon-sur-Leon where he remained while negotiations were going on. End of Chapter 17 Recorded November 2008 St. Bartholomew's Eve by G. A. Henty This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer visit LibriVox.org Read by Anna Christensen Chapter 18 A Visit Home While Coligny had been accomplishing his wonderful march around France, La Nuit, who had been exchanged for Strozie, had been taken himself to La Rochelle. He forced the Catholics who were still languidly blockading that place to fall back, defeated them near Lucône and recaptured Fontenay, New York, the Isle of Oléro and Sainte. At Fontenay, however, the brave Huguenot leader had his left arm broken and was obliged to have it amputated. Negotiations were now carried on in earnest. Charles IX was weary of a war that impoverished the state, diminished his revenues, and forced him to rely upon the Gises, whom he feared and disliked. Over and over again he had been assured that the war was practically at an end and the Huguenots crushed. But as often, fresh armies arose. The cities that had been taken with so much difficulty had again fallen into their hands and Paris itself was menaced. The princes of Germany wrote begging him to make peace, and although the terms fell far short of what the Huguenots hoped and desired, the concessions were large, and could they have depended upon the good faith of the court, their lives would have been at least tolerable. A complete amnesty was granted, and a royal command issued that the Protestants were to be exposed in other insults nor recriminations, and more to be at liberty to profess their faith openly. Freedom of worship was, however, restricted within very small proportions. The nobles of high rank were permitted to name a place belonging to them where religious services could be performed. As long as they or their families were present, these services could be attended by all persons in their jurisdiction. Other nobles were allowed to have services, but only for their families and friends, not exceeding twelve in number. Twenty-four towns were named, two in each of the principal provinces, in which Protestant services were allowed, the privilege being extended to all the towns of which the Huguenots had possession at the signature of the truce. All property, honors, and offices were restored, and judicial decisions against their holders annulled. The four towns, La Rochelle, Montabon, Cognac, and La Charité, were for two years to remain in the hands of the Huguenots to serve as places of refuge. The edict in which the king promulgated the terms of peace seduced the conditions to be perpetual and irrevocable. The Huguenots had the more hope that the peace would be preserved, since Montmorency, who was an opponent of the Guises, and had done his best to bring about peace, was high in favor with the king, and, indeed, held the chief power in France. There can be little doubt that at the time the king was an earnest. He ordered the Parliament of Paris to annul a declaration they had made declaring the cardinal Chateaune, the admiral's brother, deprived of his bishopric. And as it hesitated, he ordered its president to bring the records to him, and with his own hand tore out the pages upon which the proceedings were entered. The priests throughout France threw every obstacle in the way of the recognition of the edict, and in several places there were popular disturbances and wholesale massacres. Paris, as usual, set the example of turbulence and bigotry. As soon as the peace was concluded, Philip prepared to return for a while to England. In the three years which had elapsed since he left home, he had greatly changed. He had been a lad of sixteen when he landed in France. He was now a tall, powerful young fellow. Although still scarcely beyond the age of boyhood, he had acquired the bearings and manners of a man. He stood high in the confidence of Coligny and the other Huguenot leaders, with a special favorite with the young prince of Navarre and his cousin Condé, and had received the honour of knighthood at the hands of one of the greatest captains of his age. You had better stay, Philip. His cousin urged. You may be sure that this piece will be as hollow as those which preceded it. They will never be a lasting one until we have taken Paris and taught the bloodthirsty mob there that it is not only women and children who profess their reformed religion, but men who have swords in their hand and can use them. If the troubles break out again, I shall hasten back, Francois. Indeed, I think that in any case I shall return for a while ere long. I do not see what I could do at home. My good uncle Gaspar has been purchasing land for me, but I am too young to play the country gentlemen. Nonsense, Philip. There have been plenty of young nobles in our ranks, who, if you're seniors in years, look no older than you do and are greatly your inferiors in strength. They are feudal lords on their estates, and none deem them too young. Because they have always been feudal nobles, Francois, I go back to a place where I was, but three years ago, a boy at school. My comrades, they are scarcely grown out of boyhood. It would seem to them ridiculous that I shall return, Sir Philip Fletcher, and more in a setup as a country squire, they would laugh in my face. At least until I am of age, I should not dream of this, and five and twenty would indeed be quite time for me to settle down there. Here it is altogether different. I was introduced to as your cousin, and as a son of one of noble French family, and to our friends here it is no more remarkable that I should ride behind Coligny and talk with the princes of Navarre and Condé, and that you should do so. But at home it would be different, and I am sure that my father and mother, my uncle and aunt, will agree with me that it is best I should not settle down yet. Therefore I propose, in any case, to return soon. I agree with you that there will be troubles again here before long. If not, there is likely enough to be war with Spain, for they say Philip is furious at toleration having been granted to the Huguenots, and in that case there will be opportunities for us, and it will be much pleasanter fighting against Spaniards than against Frenchmen. If there are neither fresh troubles here, nor war with Spain, I shall go and join the Dutch in their struggle against the Spaniards. Prince Louis of Nassau told me he would willingly have me ride behind him, and the Prince of Orange, to whom the Admiral presented me, also spoke very kindly. They, like you, are fighting for the reformed faith and freedom of worship, and cruel as are the persecutions you have suffered in France. There is nothing to the wholesale massacres by Elva. In that case, Philip, I will not try to detain you, but at any rate, wait a few months before you take service in Holland, and pay us another visit before you decide upon doing so. Philip journeyed quietly across the north of France, and took passage to Dover for himself and his horses. Paré accompanied him, taking it so greatly to heart when he spoke of leaving him behind, that Philip consented to keeping him, feeling indeed greatly loathed apart from one who had for three years served him so well. The two men in arms were transferred to Francois's troop, both being promised that a Philip road to the wars again in France. They and their comrades now at L'Eville should accompany him. From Dover, Philip rode to Canterbury. He saw on the streets he passed through many faces he knew, among them some of his former school fellows, and he wondered to himself that these were so little changed, while he was so altered that none recognized in the hintingly dressed young Cavalier, the lad they had known. Although several stopped to look at and remarked on the splendid horses ridden by the gentleman and his attendant, he drew his reign in in front of Gaspar Veylon's large establishment, and, dismounting, gave his reigns to Paré and entered. He passed straight through the shop into the merchant's counting-house. Gaspar looked up in surprise at the entry of the gentleman unannounced, looked hardly at his visitor, and then uttered his name, and rushing forward embraced him warmly. I can hardly believe it is you, he exclaimed, holding Philip at arm's length and gazing up at in his face. Why, you have grown a veritable giant, and as fine a man as your father was when I first knew him. And you have returned Sir Philip, too. I don't know that I was ever so pleased as when you sent me the news. I gave a great holiday to all the workmen, and we had a great feast. But, of course, you cannot stop now. You will be wanting to go up to your father and mother. When upstairs embrace Marie. We will not keep you at present. But in an hour we will come meet you. In a minute or two Philip ran down again. Paré, do you are well-mounted, Philip. The merchants said as he sprang into the saddle. These are the two horses, I suppose. Who told us about in your letters? And is this Paré, who saved your life when you were captured at O'Gay? And a good many other times, Uncle, by always managing to get hold of a fat bird when we were pretty near starving. I was always afraid that sooner or later I should lose him, and that I should find him some morning or other dangling from a tree to which the previous Marshal had strung him up. I shall see you in an hour, Philip said, as he galloped off to the farm. The delight of Philip's parent as he rode up to the house was great indeed. Philip saw before he had been at home an hour that they were animated by somewhat different feelings. His mother was still of gratitude at his preservation through many dangers, and was glad that he had been able to do some service to a persecuted co-religionists. The fact that he had won great personal credit and had received the honour of knighthood at the hands of Coligny himself weighed as nothing in her eyes. It was otherwise with his father. He was very proud that his boy had turned out a worthy descendant of the fighting Tendish stock, and that he had shown in half a dozen fights against heavy odds. A courage as staunch as that which his forefathers had exhibited at Cressy, Portiers, and Agincourt. Good blood tells, my boy, he said, and you must have shown them a rare sample of what an Englishman can do before they enacted you. I would rather you had won it in an English battle, but I'll admit that there is no more capable chief in Europe than the Huguenot Admiral. Certainly there are no English commanders of fame or repute to compare with him, though if we ever get to blows with a Spanish, we shall soon find men, I warned me, who will match the best of them. There was a deal of talk in Kentedbury, I can tell you, when the news came home, and many refugees who came through the town declared that they had heard your name among those of the nobles who rode with the Admiral and the brave Lanoë. Indeed, there are two families settled here who fled from New York, and these have told how you and your cousin saved them from the Catholics. I warned you they have told the tale often enough since they have come here, and they have made quite a stir in Kentedbury, and there is under weak passes without some of your old school-friends who used to come up here with you, running up to ask the last news of you and to read your letters. And it has been a pleasure to meet you read them, lad, and to see how they opened their eyes when they heard that the Queen of Novar and her son had given you presents, and that you often rode with the young Prince and his cousin Condé. You have changed mightily, Philip, not in your face, for I see but little alteration there, but in your manner and air. The boys do not seem to understand how you, whom they looked on as one of themselves, could be riding to battle with nobles and talking with princes, but I think they will understand better when they see you. You look almost too fine for such simple people as we are, Philip, though I do not say your clothes are of none of somber hues, as might be expected from one fighting in the Huguenot ranks. I am sure, Father, Philip laughed, there is nothing fine about me. I have gained knighthood, it is true, but a poorer knight never sat in saddle, seeing that I have neither a square yet of land, nor a penny piece of my own, owing everything to the kindness of my good uncle and yourself. I must go out tomorrow morning, Philip, and look at those horses of yours. They must be rare beasts from what you say of them. That they are, Father, me thinks I like the one I bought at Rochelle, even better than that which the Queen of Novar bestowed upon me. But I grieve sorely over the death of Victor, the horse Francois gave me. I was riding him at the Battle of Montcontour, and he was shot through the head with a ball from a German archivist. Paris had, as soon as they arrived, been welcomed and made matcha by Philip's mother, and was speedily seated in the post of honour in the kitchen, where he astonished the French servants with tales of his master's adventures, and with many surprising additions, which had but slight basis, in fact. Gaspar Veylon and his wife thought that Philip's parent would like to have him for a time to themselves, and did not come up for two or three hours after he had arrived. You will admit, John, that my plan has acted rarely, the merchant said when he was seated, and that, as I prophesied, it has made a man of him. What would he have been if he stayed here? He would, I hope, Mother Gaspar, Lucie said gravely, have been what he is now, a gentleman. No doubt, Lucie, he promised as much as that before he went, but he is more than that now. He has been the companion of nobles, and he has held his own with them, and if he should go to court now, he would do honour to your family and his, though he rubbed shoulders with the best of them. And now, what are you thinking of doing next, Philip? You will hardly care to settle down among us here, after such a life as you led for the last three years. Philip repeated the views he had expressed to François de la Ville, and his plans were warmly approved by his uncle and father, though his mother folded her hands and shook her head sadly. The lad is right, Lucie, the merchant said. He is Lord Nile of the Holford Estates, for the deeds are completed in sign, Philip, making them over to you. But I agree heartily with your feeling that you are too young yet to assume their mastership. I have a good steward there looking after things, seeing that all is going well, and that the house is kept in order. But it is best, as you say, that a few years should pass before you go to reside there. We need not settle for a time whether you shall return to France, or go to see service with those sturdy Dutchmen against the Spaniards. But I should say that it is best you should go where you've already made a name and gained many friends. There is no saying yet how matters will go there. Charles is but a puppet in the hands of Catherine de Medici, and with the Pope and Philip of Spain, and the Geese is always pushing her on. She will in time persuade the King, who at present earnestly wishes for peace, to make fresh measures against the Kubernauts. She is never happy unless she is scheming, and you will see she will not be long before she begins to make trouble again. The news spread quickly through Canterbury that Philip Fletcher had returned, and the next day many of his old friends came up to see him. At first they were a little odd by the change that had come over him, and one or two of them even addressed him as Sir Philip. But the shout of laughter with which he received his well-meant respect showed them that he was their old school fellow still, and soon set them at ease with him. We didn't think, Philip, one of them said, when you used to take the lead in our fights with the boys of the town, that you would be so soon fighting in earnest but in France, and that in three years you would have gained knighthood. I did not think so myself, Archer. You used to call me Frenchy, you know. But I did not think at that time I was likely ever to see France. I should like to have had my old band behind me in some of the fights we had there. I warrant you would have given as hard knocks as you got, and would have held your own there as well as you did many a time in the fights in the coasters. Let us go and lie down under the shade of that tree there. It used to be our favourite bank in hot weather, you know, and you shall ask as many questions as you like, and I will answer as best I can. And be sure, Philip, to bring all your friends into supper. John Fletcher said, I warrant your mother will find plenty for them to eat. She never used to have any difficult about that in the old times, and I don't suppose their appetites are sharper now than they were then. Philip spent six months at home, a few days after his return many of the country gentry, who had not known John Fletcher, called on Philip as one who had achieved a reputation that had honoured to the county. For every detail of the Huguenot struggle had been closely followed in England, and more than one report had been brought over by the emigrants of the bravery of the young Englishman, who was held in marked consideration by Admiral Cullogne, and had won a name for himself even among the nobles and gentry, who rode with that dashing officer, Dila Nui, who was feigned with second only to that of the admiral. Walsingham, the English ambassador at Paris, had heard of him from La Nui himself when he was prisoner there, and mentioned him in one of his dispatches, saying that it was this gentleman who had been chosen by Cullogne to carry important dispatches both to the Cuinot Navarre and the Duc du Dupont, and that succeeded admiring both of these perilous missions, and that he had received knighthood at the hands of the admiral for the valor with which he had covered the retreat at the Battle of Jarnac. Philip was at first disposed to meet these advances coldly. They had not recognised you or my mother, Father, as being of their own rank. Nor have we been, Philip. I am but a petty landowner, while it is already known that you are the owner of a considerable estate, and have gained consideration and credit, and as a knight have right to precedence over many of them. If you intend to settle in France, you can do as you like as to accepting their courtesies. But as it is, it is as well that you should make the acquaintance of those with whom you will naturally associate with, when you take up your residence on the estate your uncle has bought for you. Had your mother and I a grievance against them, it might be different, but we have none. We fletchers have been yeoman for many generations. In our own rank, we esteem ourselves as good as the best. But we never thought of pushing ourselves out of our own station, and in the ordinary course of things you would have lived and died as your fathers have done. The change has come about first through my marrying a French wife of noble blood, though with but a small share of this world's goods. Secondly, through our sister's husband making a large fortune in trade and adopting you as his heir. And thirdly, through your going out to your mother's relation and distinguishing yourself in the war. Thus you stand in an altogether different position to that which I held. You are a knight, and have gained approval of great captains and princes. Therefore it is only meat and right that you should take your place among the gentry. And it would be not only cherished to refuse to accept your civilities now, but altogether in opposition to the course which your uncle planned for you. Philip therefore accepted the civilities offered to him, and was invited to entertainments at many of the great houses in that part of the country, where indeed he was made a good deal of, his fine figure, the ease and courtesy of his bearing, and the reputation he had gained for bravery, rendering him a general favorite. At the end of six months he received a letter from his cousin urging him to return. Spring has now begun, Philip. At present things are going on quietly, and the king seems determined that the peace shall be kept. The constable Montmorency is still very high in favor, and the geese are sulking in their states. The Huguenot noble are well received at court, where they go in numbers, to pay their respect to the king, and to assure him of their devotion. I had been there with my mother, and the king was mighty lay civil and congratulated me on having been knighted by Coligny. We were present at his majesty's marriage with the daughter of the emperor of Germany. His show was a very fine one, and everything pleasant. There is a report that, in order to put an end to all further troubles, and to buying both parties in friendship, the king has proposed a marriage between his sister Marguerite and Henry of Navarre. We all trust that it will take place, for it will indeed be a grand thing for us of the reform faith. It is rumored that Queen Jean is by no means eager for the match, fearing that Henry, once at Paris, will abandon the simple customs in which he has been brought up, and may even be led away by the influence of Marguerite, and the court to abandon his faith. Her first fear, I think, is likely enough to be realized. Ford seems to me that he has been brought up somewhat too strictly, and being, I am sure, naturally fond of pleasure. He is likely enough to share in the gayities of the court of Paris. As to her other fear, I cannot think there is foundation for it. Henry is certainly ambitious and very politic, and he has talked often and freely with me when we have been alone together. He has spoken much or twice of his chance of succeeding to the throne of France. It is not very likely, seeing that three lives stand between it and him, and now that the king is married they are more remote than before. Still there is a chance, and he once said to me, one thing seems to me certain, Francois, supposing trials of alloy in his two brothers die without leading errors. France would not accept a Huguenot king. There would be the geesees and the priests and the papacy, and Spain all thrown in the scale against him. That is likely enough, Prince, I said, and me thinks your lot would be preferable as king Navarre to that of king of France. Happily, however, there is no reason for supposing that the king his two brothers will die without errors. He did not speak for some time, but that they are thinking. You know the way he has. Me thinks, Philip, that when he comes to man's estate and is king of Navarre, the geesees will find in him a very different opponent to deal with than the leaders of the Huguenots have been so far. The admiral is so honest and loyal and truthful himself, that he is ill-fitted to match the subtlety of the queen mother or the deceit and falseness of the geesees. The queen of Navarre is a heroine and a saint. But although a wise woman, she is no match for intrigues. Condé was a galant soldier, but he hated politics. Henry of Navarre will be an opponent of another sort. When I first knew him I thought him the frankest and simplest of young princes, and that is what most think him still. But I am sure he is much more than that. Having been about his person for months, and being the youngest of companions, most of whom were stern earnest Huguenot nobles, he was a great deal with me, and talked with me as he did not with the others. It seems to me that he has two characters, the one which he seems to be, lighthearted, merry, straightforward, and at-spoken. The other thoughtful, astute, ambitious, politic, studying men closely and adapting himself to their moods. I don't pretend to understand him at all. He is altogether beyond me, but I am sure he will be a great leader someday. I think you would understand him better than I should, and I know he thinks so, too. Of course you had your own duties all through the campaign and saw but little of him. But more than once, he said, I wish I had your English cousin with me. I like you much, Leville, but your cousin is more like myself, and I should learn much of him. You are brave and merry and good-tempered, and so is he, but he has a longer head than you have, which I know is quite true. You would be quite content to spend your life at court, François, where you could make a good figure and would take things as they come. He would not. If he did not like things he would intrigue, he would look before the surface, he would join a party, he would be capable of waiting, biding his time. I am only seventeen, François, but it is of all things the most important for a prince to learn to read men and to study their characters, and I am getting on. Your cousin is not ambitious, he would never conspire for his own advantage. But he would be an invaluable minister and advisor to our prints and difficulties. The admiral meant well, but he was wrong in refusing to let me have Philip Fletcher. When I am my own master, I will have him if I can catch him. But I do not suppose that I shall, because of that very fault of not being ambitious. He has made his own plans, and is bent, as he told me. I am returning to England, and nothing that I can offer him will, I am sure, alter his determination. But it is a pity, a great pity. By all this, you see, Philip, that those who think the Prince of Navarre merely a merry, careless young fellow, who is likely to rule his little kingdom in patriarchal fashion, and trouble himself with nothing at side so long as his subjects are contented and allowed to worship in their own way, are likely to find themselves sorely mistaken. However, if you come over soon, you will be able to judge for yourself. The Queen of Navarre saw a great deal of the Countess, my mother, when they were at lawish shelter together, and has invited her to pay her a visit at Bihar, and the Prince has requested me to accompany her. Of course, if you come, you will go over with us, and we'll be sure of a hearty welcome from Henry. We shall have some good hunting, and there is no court grandeur, and certainly no more state than we have at our chateau. In fact, my good mother is a much more important personage of the chateau than his gene of Navarre at Bihar. This letter hastened Philip's departure. The prospect of hunting in the mountains of Navarre was a pleasant one. He liked the young Prince, and had in the short time he had been his companion, perceived that there was much more in him than appeared on the surface. And that, beside his frank manner, there was a fund of shrewdness and common sense. Moreover, without being ambitious, it is pleasant for a young man to know that one who may someday be a great Prince has conceived a good opinion of him. He took Francois's letter down to his Uncle Gaspar, and read portions of it. Gaspar sat thoughtful for some time after he had finished. It is new to me, he said at last. I believe the general report that Henry of Navarre was a frank, careless young fellow, fond of the chase, and, like his mother, averse to all courtly ceremony, likely enough to make a good soldier, but without ambition and without marked talent. If what Francois says is true, and it seems that you are inclined to agree with him, it may make a great difference in the future of France. The misfortune of the Huguenots hither, too, has been that they have been ready to fall into any trap that the Court of France might set before them, and on the strength of a few hollow promises, to throw away all the advantages they had gained by their efforts and courage. In spite of their experience, those promises were always broken as soon as they lay down their arms. In such an unequal contest they must always be worsted, and honest and straightforward themselves. They are no match for men who have neither truth nor conscience. If they had but a leader as politic and astute as the Queen Mother and the Gises, they might possibly gain their ends, if Henry of Navarre turns out a wise and politic prince. Ready to match his foes with their weapons, he may win for the Huguenots, but they will never gain with their own swords. But, mind you, they will hardly thank him for it. My wife and your mother would be horrified were I to say that. As a Catholic, Henry of Navarre would be able to do vastly more to heal the long-open sore, and to secure freedom of worship for the Huguenots, than he ever could do as a Huguenot. Indeed, I quite agree with what he says, that as a Huguenot he can never hold the throne of France. Philip uttered an exclamation of indignation. You cannot think, Uncle, that he will ever change his religion. I know nothing about him beyond what you and your cousins say, Philip. There are Huguenots, and Huguenots. There are men who would die at their stake rather than give up one iota of their faith. There are men who think the reformed faith is better and purer than the Catholic, but who nevertheless would be willing to make considerable concessions in the interest of peace. You must remember that when princes and princesses marry, they generally embrace the faith of their husbands, and when lately Queen Elizabeth was talking of marrying the Prince of Anjou, she made it one of the considerations that he should turn Protestant, and the demand was not considered to be insurmountable. It may be that the time will come when Henry of Navarre may consider the throne of France, freedom of worship, and a general peace, cheaply purchased at the cost of attending mass. If he does so, doubtless the Huguenots would be grieved and indignant, but so far as they are concerned it would be the best thing. But of course, we are only talking now of what he might do, should not but his religion stand between him and the throne of France, as King of Navarre, his interests would be all the other way, and he would doubtless remain a staunch Huguenot. Of course, Philip, I am speaking without knowing this young prince. I am simply arguing as to an astute man in his position, not over earnest as to matters of faith, would be likely to do. Three days later Philip rode to London with Paris and embarked for La Rochelle. His uncle had amply supplied him with funds, but his father insisted upon us taking a handsome son from him as well. Although you do not require much money before Philip, Angas Var told me that you did not draw from his agent at La Rochelle a third of the sum he had placed for you in his hands. It will be different now. You had no expenses before, save the pay of your men and the cost of their food in your own. But in time of peace there are many expenses, and I would not that you should be in any way short of money. You can place the greater portion of it in the hands of Maitre Patram and draw it as you require. Your mother and I have no need for it, and it would take away half her pleasure in her work, for the earnings not used partly for your advantage. The ship made a quick run to La Rochelle, and the next morning Philip rode for Laville. He had not been there since the battle of Montcontour, and although he knew it had been burnt by the royalists shortly afterwards, it gave him a shock to see, as he rode to the gate, how great a change had taken place. The central portion had been repaired, but the walls were still blackened with smoke. The wing stood empty and ruthless, and the ample stables, storehouses and buildings for the retainers had disappeared. His aunt received him with great kindness, and François was delighted to see him again. Yes, it is a change, Phillip. The Countess said, as she saw his eyes glancing around the apartment. However, I have it grown accustomed to it, and scarce notice it now. Fortunately, I have ample means for a building chateau, for I have had a quiet life for some years, and as I count my husband, being a Huguenot, was not near the court from the time the troubles began. Our revenues have, for a long time, been accumulating, and much of it has been sent to my sister's husband, and has been invested by him in England. There, François agrees with me that it shall remain. There is a present piece here, but who can say how long it will last? One thing is certain, that it should war-break out again. It will centre around La Rochelle, and I might be once more force to leave a chateau at the mercy of the royalists. It would, then, be followed to spend a crime upon doing more than is sufficient for our necessities. We only keep the retainers as they are absolutely necessary for our service. There are about eight horses in the stable, and the rest are all out on the farms, and show the troubles recommended, we shall soon find riders for them. You have arrived just in time, Philip, François said, for we started at the end of this week for bienn, and although you could have followed us, I am right glad that you have arrived in time to ride with us. All your men are still here. I saw Eustice and Henry as I rode in, Philip said. The other two work in the garden. Of course their days for fighting are over. They could doubtless strike a blow in defence of the chateau, but they had not recovered sufficiently from their wounds ever to ride as men at arms again. However, two will suffice for your needs at present. I shall take four of my own men, but the country is still far from safe for travelling. Many of the disbanded soldiers have turned robbers, and although the royal governor hunts down and strings up many, they are still so numerous that travellers from one town to another always journey in strong parties for protection. How did Paris get on in England? He was right glad to return here, François, although he got on well enough. At our house, servants are French, as are also many of those on the farm, and he became quite a favourite with everyone. But, as you know, he was of a restless nature, and grew tired of idleness. Three days later the parties set out from the veal. The Countess rode on horseback, and her female attendant behind one of the troopers. They journeyed by easy stages, stopping sometimes at hostelries in the towns, but more often at chateau, belonging to gentlemen known to the Countess or her son. They several times came upon in groups of rough-looking men, but the two gentlemen, their servants, and the six fully armed retainers were a force too formidable to be meddled with, and they arrived safely at Béin. The royal abode was a modest building, far less stately than was L'Eville before its ruin. It stored a short distance out of the town, where they had left them in at arms, with instructions to find lodging for themselves and their horses. As they arrived at the entrance, Prince Henry himself ran down the steps in a dress as plain as that which would be worn by an ordinary citizen. Welcome to Béin, he said. It is a modest palace, Countess, and I am a much less important person here than when I was supposed to be commanding our army. He assisted her to a light, and then rang a bell. A man came round from the back of the house and took the horse from Paris, who was holding it, while Henry entered the house with the Countess. A minute later he ran out from the house again. Now that I have handed over the Countess to my mother, I can speak to both of you. He said heartily, I am pleased to see you, François. A new tomb on your Philip. My cousin insisted on my coming with him, Prince, and assured me that you would not be displeased at the liberty. But, of course, I intended quarter myself in the town. You will do no such thing, the Prince said. We are poor in Béin, as poor as church mice, but not so poor that we cannot entertain a friend. Your bedroom is prepared for you. Philip looked surprised. You don't suppose, the Prince said laughing, that people can come and go in this kingdom of ours without being noticed? We are weak, and for that very reason we must be on our guard. Half the people who come here come for a purpose. They come from the King, or from Philip of Spain, or from the Gises, and most of them mean mischief of some sort. So you see we like to know beforehand, and unless they ride very fast we are sure to get twenty-four hours' notice before they arrive. Then, you see, if you want a little more time a horse may cast its shoe, or some of the baggage may be missing, or perhaps an important paper somehow gets mislaid, it is curious how often these things happen. Then, when they arrive here they find that I have, as usual, gone off for a fortnight's hunting among the mountains, and that perhaps my mother has started from Iraq. We heard yesterday morning that you had crossed the frontier, that the Countess had with her son, and a big young Englishman, whose identity I had no difficulty in guessing. And we met with no misfortunes by the way, Prince. Francois said smiling. No, the Prince laughed. These things do not happen always. They had so far stood on the steps chatting. The two servants had followed the lackey with their own, and their master's horses. The Prince led the way indoors, and they were heartily welcomed by the Queen, who kept no more state at Bienn, than would be observed by any petty noblemen in France. On the following day the two friends started with the Prince for the mountains, and were away for three weeks, during which time they hunted the wild boar, killed several wolves, and shot five or six wild goats. They were attended only by two or three huntsmen, and their three personal servants. They slept sometimes in the huts of shepherds or charcoal-burners, sometimes in the forest, in spite of the cold, which was often severe. What do you say about this marriage which is being arranged for me? The Prince asked suddenly one night, as they were sitting by a huge fire in the forest. It ought to be a great thing for the reformed religion, if it is agreeable to your Highness. Francois said cautiously. A political answer, Mangeur de la Ville. What say you, Philip? It is a matter too deep for me to venture an opinion, Philip said. There was doubtless much to be said on both sides. For example, you are a fisherman, Prince? Only moderately so, Philip, but what has that got to do with it? I would say, sir, that when a fisherman hoaks an exceedingly large fish, it is just possible that, instead of landing it, the fish may pull him into the water. The Prince laughed. You have hit it exactly, Mangeur Philip. That is just the way I look at it. Magerite of Valois is indeed a very big fish, compared with the Prince of Beirne. And it is not only she who would pull, but there are others, an even bigger fish, who would pull with her. My good mother has spheroes that if I once tasted the gateys of the Court of France, I should be ruined body and soul. Now I have rather an inclination for the said gateys, and that prospect does not terrify me as it does her. But there are things which alarm me more than gateys. There is the King, who, except when he occasionally gets into a rage, and takes his own course, is but a tool in the hands of Catherine de Medici. There is Anjou, who made a jest of the dead body of my uncle Condé. There are Lorraine and the Gises, and there is the turbulent mob of Paris. It seems to me that, instead of being the fisherman, I should be like a very small fish enclosed in a very strong net. And he looks thoughtfully into the fire. The King is at present with us, but his plighted word is worth nothing. But once married, Francois said, you would have the Princess on your side, and being then brother-in-law to the King, you would be safe from attack. The King has no great love for his own brothers, Henry said, but I am not supposing that even Charles would lay hands on me after inviting me to his court to marry his sister. He would not venture upon that for the eyes of all of Europe. It is a strain in the pressure that I fear. A girl who is sent to an unnery, however much they may hate becoming a nun, could no more escape than a fly from the meshes of a spider. I doubt not that it seems to all the Huguenots of France that for me to marry Marguerite of Alloy will be more than a great victory won for their cause. But I have my doubts. However, in a matter like this, I am not a free agent. The Huguenots lords are all delighted at the prospect. My mother is still undecided. You see, I am practically as much in a net here as I shall be at Paris if this marriage is made. I am rather glad the decision is not rest with me. I shall simply go with this dream. Someday, perhaps, I shall be strong enough to swim against it. I hope that, at any rate, if I ride to Paris to marry Marguerite of Alloy, you will accompany me. End of Chapter 18. Recorded November 2008