CHAPTER XXIX.

The morning of the fourteenth of March broke through a sky filled with scattered clouds, the light fragments of the past-by storm, which, borne away by a quick soft wind, hurried shadowy over the laughing sunshine of the early day, like the momentary woes and cares of infancy. After a night of watchfulness and inquietude, the soldiers of Henry IV. rose not the less full of hope and courage, for all they had endured. Marching out from the villages in which they had been quartered, they advanced to a position which the king had chosen some time before, and which his army had occupied the greater part of the preceding day, in expectation of being attacked by the forces of Mayenne, whose army had been in sight during the whole afternoon.

Some apprehension had been entertained in the Royalist camp during the night, lest the enemy should have retired across the Eure, to avoid a combat which bade fair to decide the fate of France; but the first dawn of the morning effaced this fear, by showing the outposts of Mayenne, still occupying the edge of the gentle slope which terminated the plain towards Monçeaux and La Neuvillette. The main body of the Leaguers had, indeed, withdrawn to a little from the position they had occupied on the preceding day; but this movement had only taken place in order that they might pass the inclement night which followed in the shelter afforded by the villages towards Ivry; and ere the monarch had been long on his ground, the heavy masses of cavalry and infantry which supported Mayenne were seen congregating on the upland, considerably increased in number by reinforcements which had arrived during the night, and early in the morning.

Some small bodies also had joined the forces of the king; and although the rolls of the League presented at least double the number of names which the list of Henry's followers could display, yet upon the part of the Royalists there was that undoubting, confident resolution, which so often commands success, joined to that cautious energy which insures it against almost every chance.

Towards ten o'clock, the position of the royal army was taken up, the squadrons of cavalry formed along the whole line, and the infantry disposed in masses between the small bodies of the horse. On the right appeared the squadron of the Marechal d'Aumont, with several infantry regiments; towards the centre were the cannon, few in number, but well placed, and directed by officers of skill and activity; and on the left was the squadron of the king himself, with the reserve of the Marechal de Biron. The appearance of the royal host offered nothing very brilliant; for every leader amongst the Royalists had been so long expelled from the gay capital, and so many of them had suffered in fortune by their attachment to the monarch, that steel--cold grey steel--was the only ornament that the ranks of Henry IV. presented. The king himself appeared amongst his troops without that surcoat of arms which was borne even by the poorest gentleman on the other side; but in order that he might be known and distinguished in the _mêlée_, a large white plume of feathers rose above his casque, and a similar mark was placed in the head of his battle charger. It was thus he appeared in the front of the squadron he particularly commanded, when the young Marquis of St. Real and several other gentlemen rode up, and sought permission to fight near the person of his Majesty.

"No, no, St. Real," replied the king; "you will be required at the head of your own troops."

"I can perfectly trust my lieutenant, sire," replied St. Real. "If you will grant me my request, I will answer for his conducting the troops as well as I could myself."

"No, St. Real, no!" answered the monarch, again smiling gaily upon him; "I must not have all my best officers in one place. I am vain enough to think that my own hand is here a host, and I must have my gallant friends posted where they may do as much. Besides, I have other work for you. Here is my noble Rosny, who has brought me up James's arquebusiers from Passy: I wish you to join them to your force, and hold yourself as the commander of my own especial reserve. If you see my squadron broken, come to my aid,--but not otherwise, mind. You won glory enough at Arques, St. Real, and you must let us have our share here. But stay; were you not in the room last night when Schomberg came to ask for his men's pay, and I spoke somewhat harshly to him in reply?"

"I was, sire," replied St. Real, bowing his head gravely; for he had thought at the time, that the king had treated the veteran unkindly.

"Well, then, come with me!" said Henry: "you witnessed the fault, you must witness the reparation." Thus saying, he rode along the line, followed by St. Real and about twenty other horsemen, sometimes pausing to gaze upon the swarming host of Mayenne, which, crowning the opposite slope, was making every disposition for immediate battle; sometimes turning towards his own army to address the heads of the squadrons he passed, or the gentlemen who accompanied him. "Ha! there is the white standard and black _fleurs de lis_ of the Guises!" he exclaimed, speaking to St. Real. "Our good cousin of Mayenne must be in person on the field already. 'Tis a wonder he is so soon up! How mild the day is, De Givry! Well! you and your brave fellows, I see, run no risk of overheating yourselves before the battle; for, by my faith, we have none of us much over-clothing besides cold steel. Ah! Monsieur de Brigneux, you have a good view of the enemy, and will not lose sight of them till they have tasted the quality of your steel, I'll warrant. They must be two to one, Vignoles! I am sure I hope they are; for I would not have to defeat a less force for one half of Burgundy. They tell me our friends from Picardy are within two miles; but faith, I shall not wait till they come up, lest we should have too many to share our glory. Ha! here we are, St. Real; do me the favour of putting your foot to the ground with me."

St. Real instantly flung his rein to an attendant, and followed the king on foot to the head of a regiment, where sat a strong elderly man, whose countenance--the features of which were bland and mild--wore a stern and sullen air, and whose cheek, showing here and there the red lines of florid health, was now, nevertheless, pale in its general hue. He dismounted from his horse as the monarch approached, and rendered him a military salute with the same grave sternness which had marked his aspect ere the king came up. Henry, however, instantly laid his hand upon his arm in silence and led him back--for he had advanced a few steps--to the head of his regiment; and then, when every soldier in the ranks could hear, he said,--"Colonel Schomberg, we are now on what will soon be a field of battle, and it is very possible that I may remain upon it. I gave you hard words last night; and it is not fair that I should carry out of the world with me the honour of a brave gentleman like you. I come, therefore, to recall what I said, and publicly to declare, that I hold you for as good a man, and as gallant a soldier, as at this time lives." Thus saying, he took the veteran in his mailed arms, and pressed him to his bosom, while the warm tears streamed down the rough cheek of the old soldier.

"Ah, sire!" cried Schomberg; "in restoring me the honour which your words took from me, you now take from me life, for I should be unworthy if I did not cast it away in your service; and if I had a thousand, I should wish to pour them forth at the feet of such a king."

"No, no!" said Henry, again embracing him; "spend your blood, Schomberg, as I will mine, when there is need of it; but still keep it as long as you can, for the service of your master. And now, my friends, we will all do our duty. St. Real, my friend, to your post! Schomberg, farewell! Monsieur de Vicq, have the kindness to tell the Baron de Biron to advance the squadrons on the right for about two hundred paces; for I see the front of the enemy begin to shake, and the battle must be no longer delayed than sufficient to enable us to get the sun and wind behind us, otherwise we shall be blinded with the smoke and glare."

Henry now rode back to his squadron; and St. Real returned to the head of his own forces, which had by this time been reinforced, according to the king's command, by James's horse arquebusiers. Here the young leader, now well accustomed to scenes of battle and victory, fixed his eyes upon the squadron of the king; and though anxious, with all the fire of a chivalrous heart, to take an active share in the coming contest, he yet determined to observe to the letter the orders he had received; well knowing that they had been dictated by experience and skill, such as he had not the vanity to believe he himself possessed. Although the thought of danger or the thrill of fear never crossed his bosom for a moment, yet the countenance of St. Real was grave and sad. No man felt more for the suffering people of his native country, no one regretted more deeply every fresh act of the great tragedy which day after day deluged France with blood; but at the present moment, it must be owned, St. Real's feelings were personal. He thought of Eugenie de Menancourt; and his heart sunk, when, contemplating the loss of the present battle, he suffered imagination to dwell on all to which she might be exposed if the League were triumphant. Her real situation he knew not, nor had he more than a vague idea of the circumstances that attended her flight from Paris, for nought but rumours of the event had reached him during his long service with the royal army. But on that very morning he had learned from a trumpet, who had brought him an insulting defiance from his cousin D'Aubin, that the vassals of Menancourt were now led by the Count; that Eugenie was still a fugitive from her home; and that it was generally supposed amongst the Leaguers she had sought refuge with him. These tidings, at least, taught him to believe that she was unprotected in the wide world with which she was so little fitted to cope; and the letter of his cousin showed him that misery and violence waited her, if fortune favoured the arms of those who had already oppressed her.

Such thoughts called a pang into his bosom, and a cloud upon his brow; but feeling that even his individual exertion might aid in winning a field on which so much was staked, he sternly bent his thoughts to the events immediately before him, and watched, as we have said, the squadron of the king with steadfast and eager attention. Scarcely had the monarch rejoined that squadron, when the army was put in motion; and taking its left as a centre, wheeled a little, so as to gain the advantage of the sun and wind. When this was completed, the troops again halted in a position decidedly better than the former ground; and the next moment, a horseman, riding from the side of the king, galloped at full speed to the artillery. Only four cannon and two culverines were on the ground upon the side of Henry IV; but they instantly opened against the enemy, and were recharged and fired with such rapidity, that ere Mayenne could bring his guns to bear, those of the Royalists had nine times poured death and confusion into the midst of his ranks. The squadrons of the League could be seen to shake and waver under that terrible fire; and horseman after horseman, parting from the spot where Mayenne and his officers were placed, galloped up to the tardy cannoneers, as if to hasten them in the execution of their duty. An ill-directed volley at length followed; and at the same moment the light cavalry of the League advanced to charge the left of the Royalists. They were met, however, half way, by the impetuous D'Aumont; whose squadron, passing through them like a thunderbolt, turned and charged them again. The battle then became general; troop after squadron was hurried into the fight; the smoke rolled in heavy masses over the plain; and one of the dense clouds thereof, sweeping between the troops of St. Real and the squadron of the king, for several minutes prevented the young noble from seeing aught but indistinct forms of dark whirling masses, now lost, now appearing again in the white wreaths of vapour. Anxious to fulfil his charge exactly, he led his squadron a few yards in advance; and at the same moment the smoke clearing away, allowed him to perceive the principal mass of the enemy, in which appeared the standard, or cornet, as it was called, of the Duke of Mayenne, in the very act of charging the small square of cavalry headed by the king.

Wheeling the horse arquebusiers which had been joined to the troops of St. Real, upon the flank of the advancing column, the English officer who commanded them poured a volley into the ranks of the Leaguers, which shook them severely; but still they came on at a thundering pace, numbering nearly two thousand men; and the handful of gallant gentlemen who surrounded the monarch were soon lost to the sight. The heart of St. Real beat quick for his king; but the moment after, the dark and struggling mass of Leaguers seemed rent by some mighty power within. It reeled, it wavered; the clash of arms grew louder and louder, and the flashing of pistols and the shouts of the combatants were more distinctly heard where St. Real sat. The next moment forth burst the unbroken squadron of the king, and wheeling rapidly, the white plume pressed onward against the very front of the repulsed enemy.

At that instant, however, Count Egmont, the brave but unworthy son of a noble and patriotic father, cast himself in the way of the horsemen of the League, who were in the very act of turning their bridles to fly; rallied them with words of fire and indignation, and brought them back in fury to the charge. Already somewhat disarrayed by the fierceness of the combat, the king's squadron was broken in every part; and though the white plume was still seen towering over the thickest of the strife, St. Real felt that he had abstained enough, and led on his squadron to the support of the monarch. In the very act of charging, however, he observed a strong body of horse draw out from behind a little wood, called _La Haye des Prés_, on the left of the army of the League, and bear directly down upon him. A moment's glance showed him the arms of Aubin and Menancourt; and the next instant he beheld his cousin giving the order to charge. St. Real instantly halted, so as not to expose his flank; and the troops of his cousin galloped furiously towards him, till they were within the distance of a hundred yards, when some hesitation was seen in their ranks.

"Thank God!" thought St. Real; "his heart is touched, and he will seek some other foe."

But the next moment this hope was done away, and the hesitation was otherwise explained. The forces of Aubin approached still nearer, but at a slower pace; and at length the whole of the horsemen levied on the lands of Menancourt halted short.

"Charge!" cried D'Aubin, with a gesture of furious indignation. "Traitors, do you refuse to charge?" And galloping across the front, he struck the headmost horseman of that troop a blow with his clenched gauntlet that made him reel in the saddle. The man instantly recovered himself, and shouting "For St. Real! for St Real! Vive Henri Quatre!" galloped forward, followed by all the rest of the vassals of Menancourt, who ranged themselves in good order by the troops of the young Marquis.

The forces composed of D'Aubin's own followers, small in proportion, had halted in some disarray while their leader had crossed them to chastise the refractory trooper; and they now found themselves suddenly opposed to a body of more than double their own number. D'Aubin himself, it would seem, was taken by surprise, although it was evident that the defection of the retainers of De Menancourt was a premeditated act, and although he had long remarked a coolness in their service, and a disposition to quarrel with his own followers. He paused then in doubt, glaring with eyes of rage and hatred over the powerful squadron before him. Then whispering a word to his lieutenant, he rode two or three yards forward, and shaking his clenched fist, exclaimed, "St. Real, you are a traitor, and have practised on my troops; but I will meet you yet, and force you to give me reason." Thus saying, he turned his horse and rejoined his troops, who were already slowly, and in better order than before, withdrawing from the perilous position in which they stood.

St. Real hesitated for a moment as to whether he should overwhelm them, as he felt he could, by a single charge of his powerful squadron; and duty struggled for a moment with the kindlier feelings of his heart: but turning his head, a glance towards the king's division saved him from farther hesitation, by showing him the reitters of the League pouring down upon the monarch, in support of the force under Mayenne; and he immediately wheeled his troops, and met, in full charge, the superior body thus offered. Although the heavier horses and armour of his own men-at-arms enabled them to break the first rush of the German horse, the superior numbers of the latter for a time prevailed, and the squadron of St. Real was borne back upon that of the king. The ranks, however, on all parts, were by this time broken; and, perhaps, never was a more complete exemplification of the word _mêlée_ than the centre of the field of Ivry at that moment. Man to man, and hand to hand, the fight was now continued. The lance had fallen quite into disuse amongst the royal forces before this period; the sword, the pistol, and the mace decided all; and so mingled and perplexed were friends and foes, that more than one man-at-arms was struck down by others fighting on the same part. The sounds of the cannon still pealed from other parts of the plain; and, together with the shouts, the pistol shots, the discharges of musketry, and the clash of steel, rendered the words of the loudest voices unintelligible, even when vociferating words of command to any handfuls of men that still held together; while from time to time a cloud of smoke rolled in amongst the combatants, hiding everything else from their eyes, except the little group of horsemen fighting around them. In the midst of the enemy's troopers, and only accompanied by two or three of his most devoted followers, St. Real's personal strength, skill, and valour, wrought over again the deeds of chivalrous times. The reitters fell back before the sweep of his tremendous sword; and plunging his strong battle-horse in amongst them, he dealt death and terror around; while his own soldiers began once more to gather and to form by twos and threes behind him. At the moment when about a third of his squadron had rallied, through the rolling smoke, he caught a glimpse of the white plume dancing still in the midst of a dark group of horsemen, while a hundred weapons, waving around it, seemed aimed at that life on which hung the destinies of France.

Without pausing even to think, St. Real spurred towards the king: the reitters closed in behind him; and the next moment his path was crossed by the man of all others whom he least desired to encounter--his cousin.

"Out of the way, Philip d'Aubin!" he cried, heated with the strife of the moment; "out of the way! By the soul of my father, you will urge me too far!"

D'Aubin probably heard not what he said; at least his reply was too indistinct to convey any definite meaning to the ear of St. Real, though the furious gesture by which it was accompanied spoke for itself. The Count spurred on upon his cousin; and St. Real, with his beaver up, paused to see whether one in whose veins flowed the same blood as in his own, would really raise the hand against his life. He himself, however, was, as we have said, heated with the combat; and when he saw D'Aubin gallop on, with the point of his heavy sword aimed directly at his face, he lost patience, and spurred forward to meet him. Dropping his sword, however, by the thong that attached it to his wrist, he seized the mace, which, according to the old customs cherished by his family, he carried at his saddle bow; and, parrying the weapon of his kindred adversary wherever it attempted to strike him, he made the mass of iron play round his head like a willow wand--without, however, returning one blow of all the many that were aimed against him.

"Leave me, D'Aubin!" he exclaimed at length, as they wheeled their horses close together, and he perceived that his cousin was bleeding from several wounds he had previously received: "leave me, I say; you are wounded, and no match for me.--Leave me, or you will provoke me too far!"

D'Aubin felt, however, that his cousin used not either his strength or his skill against him; and his pride was more hurt to be spared than it would have been to be vanquished. He replied nothing but "Traitor!" and snatching a pistol from his saddle, levelled it at St. Real's head. But the Marquis had marked the movement of his hand towards the holster; and exclaiming, "Take that then, to cure your folly!" he struck him full on the casque a blow that he intended to be slight, but which drove in the steel, and laid him prostrate on the plain.

St. Real paused for an instant, to see whether the ill-fated D'Aubin would rise; but a cry of "_Au Roi! au Roi!_" struck his ear; and turning, he perceived the Baron de Rosny, covered with wounds, pointing to a spot where the white plume of Henry Quatre was still floating in the midst of the foe. It still floated; but nevertheless there was about it that uncertain wavering, that staggering rise and fall, which showed St. Real at once that his sovereign was hard pressed by the multitude that surrounded him. Every other thought was instantly cast aside before the feeling of superior duty; and calling to some of his troopers who were near to follow, he galloped on, and cleft his way like a thunderbolt into the press around the king. Ere he could reach him, however, a loud shout echoed from the midst of the crowd, and the white plume disappeared. Two sweeps of St. Real's sword dealt death to the reitters that lay in his path; and the next moment he reached the spot where Henry was struggling up from the carcass of his gallant charger, who had fallen dead beneath him, after receiving a multitude of wounds.

The young cavalier instantly sprang to the ground, exclaiming, "Mount my horse, sire!" and held the stirrup while the monarch sprang into the saddle. At the same moment a pistol shot struck him on the casque, and made him reel, but it did not penetrate the well-tried steel; and, looking round, he saw that in the brief space of time which had elapsed since he came up, the spot on which they stood had become comparatively clear, with none but one or two of his own and the king's attendants very near, while on the slope of the hill appeared a confused mass of the enemy, with their backs to the field of battle, and their faces towards the Eure.

The next instant his own ecuyer led him forward a horse, while the king, exclaiming, "They fly, St. Real, they fly! Mount and follow with what men you can collect!" struck his spurs into the charger's side, and galloped on to gain the horsemen who were in the act of pursuing the fugitives. St. Real hastened to obey, and springing on the charger's back, in a moment gathered together about fifty of his own troopers, and spurred after the king. As he reached the top of the slope, the whole field of battle lay open before his eyes; and a strange and confused, but not unpicturesque, sight it was. Three dark masses of the Leaguers and their pursuers were seen hurrying over the distant country towards the river; while, as the broken clouds were borne rapidly over the sky by a quick wind, the different groups of Royalists and fugitives, dashing on in fury after each other, were at one moment covered with deep shadow which hid all the several parts; at another, exposed, with the sunshine picking out in bright relief each individual horseman as he scoured across the upland. On the other side lay the plain where that fierce and bloody fight had taken place, covered with knots of fugitives, prisoners, wounded and dead, with the artillery playing upon a village in which the Leaguers were making a last effort; and the clouds of smoke still rolling solemnly over the field, after the fierce flash was gone, like heavy remorse following the eager act of angry passion. Small bodies of the Royalists too were seen, dispersing any group of the Leaguers who attempted to reassemble, and taking those prisoners whose horses were incapable of bearing them away; while the reserve under Marshal Biron, dark and heavy, hung upon the opposite slope, advancing slowly like a lurid thundercloud, borne along by the slow breath of the summer wind.

Near the same spot whence St. Real took a hurried glance over the field, the king himself had stopped for the same purpose; and the moment after he turned back. "St. Real," he said, as he came near the young noble, "the battle might be lost yet! Do you see the Walloons have still possession of the village?--and that strong body of Swiss there on the left still holds a good position. Come with me; we must make sure of the victory ere we urge too far the pursuit." Thus saying, he rode back at full speed towards the spot where his own squadron had been originally placed.

Lost sight of in the _mêlée_, his long absence had caused it to be very generally believed that the king was dead; and his approach was greeted by long and reiterated cries of "_Vive le Roy!_" from a number of his chief officers, who were engaged in rallying and reforming the squadrons which had been broken in the beginning of the battle. "Thanks, gentlemen, thanks!" cried Henry, taking off his casque. "Look to those Swiss, Monsieur de Biron: they may give us some trouble yet."

"Shall I send the infantry of the right wing to break them?" demanded the Baron de Biron.

"No," said Henry, thoughtfully; "no! the Swiss have always been good friends to the crown of France: nor would I shed the blood of any fellow-creature, could it be helped. Some one take a white flag, and offer them their lives if they lay down their arms and submit quietly. Beseech them to spare more bloodshed--for they must fall if they resist."

The Swiss, however, were too wise to protract resistance when resistance was vain. The offer of the victorious monarch was gladly accepted; the last of Mayenne's army that kept the field, laid down their arms. Henry then gave instant orders for a speedy and vigorous pursuit of the fugitives: and thus ended the battle of Ivry.

On the field where it had been fought, and on the spot where he himself had contended hand to hand with his cousin, St. Real caused diligent search to be made for Philip d'Aubin, superintending the examination himself, and gazing anxiously upon every corpse that was raised, until it became clear that the Count had not remained upon the field of battle. It was late in the evening ere this task was over; but when at length, after much useless labour, taken in order to leave not a painful doubt behind, St. Real was at length convinced, he returned to his quarters with a lightened heart and a thankful spirit.