BOOK III.--THE CHEVALIER BAYARD.

I. HOW THE COMTE DE SAINT-VALLIEr's PARDON WAS OBTAINED.

|On learning that his offer had been scornfully rejected by Bourbon, as related in the preceding chapter, François I. at once ordered the Chancellor Duprat to confiscate the whole of the fugitive's possessions, to degrade him from his rank, and declare his name infamous; to efface his armorial bearings, and his swords as Constable from all his châteaux; to demolish in part his magnificent hôtel in Paris, and strew the ground with salt; and to cause the public executioner to sully with yellow ochre such portion of the building as should be left standing, in order that it might remain as a memento of the duke's treason.

Thus did the infuriated king wreak his vengeance upon the enemy who was beyond his grasp. For a time, François remained at Lyons, fearing that Bourbon might raise an army in the Franche-Comté and march into France, and entirely abandoning his design of proceeding to Italy, began to adopt vigorous measures for the defence of his own kingdom. He despatched the Duc de Vendôme and Chabot to Paris to watch over the defence of the capital, and ordered the grand seneschal of Normandy, De Brézé, to raise six thousand men in that province. His apprehensions, however, were relieved by the retirement of the English army, and by the withdrawal of the Emperor's forces from before Bayonne.

Tired at last of his sojourn at Lyons, yet indisposed to return to Paris, François proceeded to Blois, and in the magnificent chateau, which he had partially rebuilt in the style of the Renaissance, sought to banish his cares by abandoning himself to pleasurable enjoyment; passing his days in the chase, and his nights in festivity. Amidst all his distractions, he could not banish from his breast the image of the fair Diane de Poitiers. The violent passion he had conceived for her still possessed him, though months had flown by since he had seen her.

The king was at Blois when a messenger arrived from the chief president of the Parliament, De Selve, to acquaint his majesty with the judgment pronounced upon the principal personages connected with Bourbon's conspiracy.

“First in regard to the nineteen accomplices of Charles de Bourbon, who have followed their rebellious lord in his flight from the kingdom,” said the messenger. “These contumacious rebels are all condemned to death, and, if taken, that sentence will be immediately carried into effect upon them. In the case of Lurcy, whose guilt is held to be greater than that of the others, the sentence is that his head shall be exposed on the bridge over the Rhone at Lyons.”

“Pass on from the fugitives to the traitors who are in our power,” said the king. “How have they been dealt with?--with due severity, I trust.”

“The Bishop of Puy has been liberated, sire,” replied the messenger, “but the Bishop of Autun is to be deprived of his possessions, and detained a prisoner during your majesty's pleasure.”

“Why should more clemency be shown to one prelate than to the other?” said François. “Both are equally guilty, methinks! Proceed.”

“Desguières and Bertrand Simon are condemned to make amende honorable, and to be imprisoned for three years in any castle your majesty may appoint,” said the messenger. “D'Escars is adjudged to the torture; Gilbert de Baudemanche is sentenced to a brief imprisonment; and Sainte-Bonnet is acquitted.”

“And what of Saint-Vallier?” demanded the king.

“Sire, he is to be deprived of his possessions, to be degraded from his rank, to be put to the torture, and afterwards beheaded at the Place de Grève.”

“A just and proper sentence,” remarked François. “All the others should have been served in like manner.”

“It rests with your majesty to appoint the day for Saint-Vallier's execution,” said the messenger.

“I will think of it,” replied François. And the messenger quitted the presence.

Shortly afterwards, another messenger arrived, bringing a letter from the Duchesse d'Angoulême to the king, her son, in which she urged him not to show any clemency to Saint-Vallier. “Be firm on this point,” she wrote. “Too much leniency has been shown towards the conspirators by the Parliament, and if a severe example be not made of some of them, it will be an incitement to rebellion. Strong efforts, I know, will be made to induce you to pardon Saint-Vallier, but do not yield to the solicitations. The Chancellor Duprat concurs with me in opinion.”

“Shall I take back an answer from your majesty?” said the messenger.

“Say to her highness that I will attend to her counsel,” replied the king, dismissing the messenger.

Somewhat later in the day, while the king was still in his chamber he was informed by an usher that the Comtesse de Maulévrier had just arrived at the château, and besought an immediate interview with him.

François at once granted the request, and Diane de Poitiers was ushered into his presence. Her lovely features bore traces of profound affliction. At a sign from the king, the usher immediately withdrew, and left them alone.

“You will readily divine my errand, sire,” cried Diane, throwing herself on her knees before him, in spite of his efforts to prevent her. “You know that my unfortunate father has been condemned by the Parliament to torture and to death by the headsman's hand. Have compassion on him, sire--spare him--for my sake!”

“Rise, Diane, and listen to me,” said François. “My heart prompts me to yield to your solicitations, but, were I to do so, my clemency would be misconstrued. The Comte de Saint-Vallier having been found guilty of lèse-majesté and rebellion by the solemn tribunal at which he has been placed, I am compelled to confirm the sentence passed upon him. Bourbon's revolt has steeled my breast to pity. Your father was the traitor's chief friend and counsellor.”

“As such, sire, he strove to dissuade the duke from his design,” she cried.

“The Parliament can have had no proof of that beyond your father's affirmation,” said the king. “On the contrary, they believe him to be deeper dyed in treason than the rest of the conspirators.”

“My father's judges have been unjust, sire,” she rejoined; “but I see it is in vain to convince you of his innocence. You are determined to wreak your vengeance upon him, in order that the blow may be felt by Bourbon. The answer you have given me is little in accordance with your former language.”

“You ask what I cannot grant, Diane. Why torture me thus?”

“I will torture you no more. Adieu, sire! I quit your presence never to re-enter it.”

“Stay, Diane,” he cried, detaining her. “I cannot part with you thus. You know how passionately I love you.”

“I find it impossible to reconcile your professions with your conduct, sire. As for myself, if I have ever felt love for you, I will tear it from my heart.”

“Then you confess that you have loved me, Diane? You never owned as much before. Nay, to speak truth, I fancied from the coldness of your manner that you were insensible to my passion.”

“It matters little now what my feelings have been towards you, sire,” she rejoined. “But if it will pain you to know the truth, I will not hide it. I _did_ love you--love you passionately. But I hate you now--ay, hate you as a tyrant.”

“No, no, you do not, cannot hate me,” he cried. “It is impossible to resist your influence. You have conquered. I yield,” he added, kneeling to her. “Say that you love me still, and I will grant your request.”

“Your majesty has already extorted the avowal from me,” she rejoined. “I thought you had crushed the feeling, but I find it still survives. Promise me my father's life, and all the love my heart has to bestow shall be yours.”

“I do promise it,” he replied, clasping her in his arms. “The Comte de Saint-Vallier ought to rejoice that he has so powerful an advocate. None but yourself could have saved him. I had fully determined on his death.”

“Mistake not my father, sire,” she rejoined. “He would not accept pardon from you if he knew how it was purchased. Dread of dishonour made him join with Bourbon.”

“Think no more of that,” said François, passionately. “I care not to inquire into his motives for rebellion, since I design to pardon him. But I account it worse than treason that he should forbid you to love me.”

“Enough of this, sire. I must crave leave to depart. I shall never feel easy till I know that my father is safe. Let me return to Paris with his pardon.”

“A messenger is here from the first president,” replied François. “He shall take back the warrant.”

“I can trust it to no custody but thy own,” said Diane. “You will not refuse me this, sire?”

“I have said that I can refuse you nothing, sweet Diane,” he rejoined. “But you will come back soon?”

“As soon as I have set my father free,” she rejoined. “Stay, Diane. I must not deceive you,” said François, somewhat gravely. “I cannot order your father's immediate liberation. He must remain a prisoner for a time.”

“You will not belie your royal word, sire?” she cried. “You do not mean to play me false?”

“I _will_ liberate the Comte de Saint-Vallier ere long, and bestow a full pardon on him--foi de gentilhomme!” said the king. “For the present, I can merely commute his sentence into imprisonment. But that is tantamount to pardon.”

“Since your majesty gives me that assurance, I am content,” said Diane. “But let me have the warrant.” François at once sat down at a table, and tracing a few lines on a sheet of paper, signed the despatch, and gave it to her. “This letter to the Chancellor Duprat will accomplish all you desire,” he said. “Your father is in no danger of torture or the headsman's axe. He will be sent to the Château de Loches. But he will soon be liberated. Are you content?”

“I must be, sire,” said Diane, as she took the letter. “I shall fly with the missive to Paris.”

“Return as quickly as you can,” said François. “Were it possible, you should bring the Comte dc Saint-Vallier with you.”

“He would rather remain in his dungeon than accompany me,” she rejoined. “Adieu, sire.”

And, quitting the cabinet, she entered her litter, and proceeded towards Paris.

II. HOW BOURBON WAS APPOINTED TO THE COMMAND OP THE IMPERIAL ARMY.

|Accompanied by all his partisans, and attended by a strong escort of reiters, the Duke de Bourbon set out from Besançon for Italy. Shaping his course through Germany, and eventually reaching Coire, he crossed the Alps by the Splugen, which at that time was a difficult and dangerous proceeding, and passing through Bergamo and Brescia, succeeded in reaching Mantua in safety. Here he was cordially welcomed by his cousin, Federico Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua--a prince of great ability, and a staunch partisan of the Emperor, by whom he was subsequently raised to a ducal dignity. Gonzaga was a great patron of arts and letters, and his court was the resort of painters, sculptors, and men of learning and science.

Bourbon and his suite were lodged in the vast Castello di Corte, and several grand entertainments were given in his honour at this palace, and at the magnificent Palazzo del Te. The illustrious fugitive's safe arrival at Mantua was made the occasion of general rejoicings in the city; a tournament was held in the Piazza della Fiera, and a solemn procession was made by Gonzaga and his whole court to the Duomo, where thanksgivings were offered for the duke's deliverance.

Gonzaga did not confine himself to a mere display of hospitality towards his noble kinsman, but voluntarily proffered him all the assistance in his power. Of money Bourbon was not in immediate need, since the whole of the treasure which he had confided to his adherents, after quitting them at the Chateau d'Herment, had been restored to him, and he hoped to be able to obtain supplies from the Emperor for the payment of such forces as he might raise. Having the utmost reliance on the judgment of Gonzaga, Bourbon explained all his plans to him, mentioning that the Emperor had promised him the hand of his sister Leanor, the widowed Queen of Portugal.

“I counsel you not to claim fulfilment of that promise,” said Gonzaga. “Most assuredly the Emperor will find a pretext to evade its performance. When the offer was made, you were the most powerful noble in France, and able, it was supposed, to raise all the central provinces in revolt. But your design has been thwarted by the prudent conduct of the king, who, by remaining at Lyons with his army, and, overawing your vassals, has prevented the insurrection, and compelled you to seek safety in flight. Having thus failed to accomplish your part of the compact, and thereby caused the Emperor's plans to miscarry, you cannot expect him to perform his part of the treaty. You are not now in the same position as heretofore.”

“I am still Bourbon, and have still a sword,” rejoined the duke, proudly. “I have now only twenty men at my back, but I will soon have twenty thousand.”

“I nothing doubt it, cousin,” replied Gonzaga. “You will soon regain the position you have lost. But do not go to Spain. Send Lurcy to the Emperor. Ask for the command of a battalion in the Imperial army now opposed to the French in the Milanese, and the request will certainly be granted. An immediate opportunity of distinction will then be afforded you. You will share the command with generals of the highest repute--with Sforza, Duke of Milan--with the valiant Marquis de Pescara--with the skilful Antonio de Leyva--with Lan-noy, the Viceroy of Naples--and Giovanni de' Medici. Drive the French from Italy, secure the Milanese to Spain, and you will have earned the Emperor's gratitude. The utmost of your ambitious hopes may then be realised. The Queen of Portugal may become your consort--and a portion of France may be allotted to you as a dom.”

Bourbon at once acted upon Gonzaga's advice, and despatched Lurcy with a letter to Charles V., in which he made no allusion to his Imperial Majesty's promises, but simply asked for a command in the confederate army.

Charged with this despatch, Lurcy proceeded to Genoa, where he embarked for Barcelona, and thence made his Way to Madrid.

While awaiting the Emperor's response, Bourbon was condemned to a month's inaction--a sore trial to his patience. At last, Lurcy returned, accompanied by the Comte de Beaurain. Desirous that Gonzaga should hear the Emperor's answer, Bourbon received Beaurain in the presence of the marquis.

“What answer do you bring me from his Imperial Majesty?” he demanded of the envoy.

“This, my lord,” replied Beaurain, delivering a warrant. “My master the Emperor has appointed your highness lieutenant-general of his army in Italy, and representative of his person. As such, you will be supreme in command--even above the Viceroy of Naples.”

With a look of satisfaction, Bourbon turned to Gonzaga, and said:

“I will soon lower Bonnivet's pride, and drive his army across the Alps. That done, the conquest of France itself will speedily follow.”

III. THE TWO ARMIES IN THE MILANESE.

|Before proceeding further, it will be necessary to describe the position of the two opposing armies in the Milanese, and to consider their relative strength.

Entrusted by his royal master with supreme command, and persuaded that he could recover the Milanese, which had been lost by Lautrec, the rash and presumptuous Bonnivet descended into the plains of Lombardy at the head of a large army, comprising about forty thousand men, more than half of whom were drawn from the Swiss cantons, Lorraine and Guelders, and some of the smaller Italian states.

Associated with Bonnivet were several brave and experienced leaders, some of them far more fitted for command than himself--namely, the valiant Maréchal de Montmorency, the heroic Chevalier Bayard, Jean de Chabannes, Seigneur de Vandenesse, the Comte de Saint-Pol, the Vidame de Chartres, Annebaut, De Lorges, Beauvais, Jean de Diesbach, a Swiss leader of distinction, and two Italian nobles, Federico da Bozzolo and Renzo da Ceri.

On entering the Milanese, Bonnivet encountered little opposition, and possessed himself without difficulty of a large portion of the duchy. The veteran Prospero Colonna, who then commanded the Imperial army, after ineffectually disputing the French general's passage across the Ticino, withdrew to Lodi, while Antonio de Leyva threw himself with three thousand men into Pavia, and at once prepared for the defence of that city.

Had Bonnivet marched direct upon Milan, in all probability the place would have succumbed, for though the Duke Francisco Sforza possessed a garrison of fifteen thousand infantry, eight hundred lances, and as many light horse, the city was not in a state of defence, the walls which had been partially demolished by Lautrec not having been rebuilt. It soon became evident, however, that a blockade merely was intended by the French commander; whereupon active preparations for the defence of the city were made by Morone, the Duke of Milan's chancellor. The walls were repaired, and the garrison quickly and effectually provisioned.

Meantime, Bonnivet, seizing upon Monza, began to lay waste the country, destroyed the mills, and cut off the canals that supplied Milan with water. He then fixed his camp at Abbiate-Grasso, in which position he could intercept all communications from the south. On the west he was master of the course of the Ticino to Vigevano, and on the north, as we have said, he held Monza. Thus placed, he felt confident of reducing Milan by famine. Besides the capital of Lombardy, only one important city now remained in possession of the Imperialists--namely, Pavia--but its strength and situation rendered it capable of standing a lengthened siege.

As to Milan itself, which was now occupied by Pros-pero Colonna and Francisco Sforza, it had been put, by the exertions of Morone, into such a state of defence, that it was impossible to take it by assault.

In the midst of these operations, Pope Adrian VI. died, and was succeeded on the Pontifical throne, after a long and severe struggle, by Cardinal Giulio de' Medici, who on his election assumed the name of Clement VII.

In the new Pope the French expected to find an enemy, while the Emperor calculated upon his friendship; but the secret desire of Clement VII., a prelate of great judgment and experience, was to remain neutral, and he proposed that a truce should be agreed upon, during which he might be able to mediate between the conflicting powers. The proposition, however, was indignantly rejected on either side, while the want of zeal in the Pope excited the anger of the Emperor. To appease him, Çlement VII, secretly gave twenty thousand ducats to his ambassador, and compelled the Florentines to furnish a like sum.

Meanwhile, the inhabitants of Milan began to suffer from famine, for although there was plenty of corn in the city, it could not be ground, the mills having been destroyed. During eight days, more than a hundred thousand persons wanted bread, and the city was reduced to the greatest straits, when at last Monza was evacuated by Bonnivet, and provisions were obtained from Bergamo and the Venetian states.

Things were in this posture when the octogenarian general, Prospero Colonna, whose health had been for some time failing, breathed his last. In Colonna the confederates lost a most sagacious and experienced leader, who perfectly understood the art of war. Taking Fabius as his model, he would never fight a battle if it could be avoided, and it was one of his maxims, that “the glory of a general suffers more from rashness than it gains from the éclat of victory.”

Charles de Lannoy, who succeeded Prospero Colonna as commander of the confederate forces, was a man of middle age, and distinguished not merely for military skill and bravery, but for profound judgment. His early reputation had been won under the Emperor Maximilian, and his high qualities recommended him to Charles V., by whom he was made governor of Tournay and subsequently viceroy of Naples.

On quitting Naples to assume the command of the Imperial army, Lannoy was accompanied by the Marquis de Pescara, one of the Emperor's most distinguished generals, respecting whom we must say a few words.

Descended from the illustrious house of Avalos of Toledo, Pescara inherited all the pride and arrogance of his ancestors. Though still young, for at the period of which we treat he was only thirty-four, he had passed a long life in arms. He was taken prisoner by the French at the battle of Ravenna, and on his release returned to the army, and was again worsted at Vicenza, but covered himself with glory by driving Lautrec from Milan in 1521--only two years before our history. This achievement won him the greater renown, since the cautious Prospero Colonna declined to attempt the enterprise. In the succeeding campaign the valiant Spanish leader distinguished himself by several brilliant feats of arms. He succoured Pavia when besieged by the French--helped to win the battle of Bicocca--took Lodi and Pizzighettone--and compelled Lescun to surrender Cremona. He subsequently besieged and took Genoa, delivering the city to pillage. These exploits caused him to be regarded as one of the great captains of the age. Fearless, energetic, rash, Pescara derided danger, and would undertake any enterprise, however hazardous. His constant disagreements, however, with Colonna rendered his position in the confederate army unsupportable, and he resigned his command and withdrew to Naples, where he remained till Lannoy was called upon to fill Colonna's post. In obedience to the Emperor's orders, Pescara then returned to Milan to resume his command of the Spanish forces, his place having been temporarily filled by Captain Alarcon.

The haughty marquis was perfectly content to serve under Lannoy; but when he heard of Bourbon's appointment as lieutenant-general of the confederate army, and representative of the Emperor, his jealousy was immediately excited.

Another Spanish general of distinction, of whom we shall have occasion hereafter more fully to speak, was Don Antonio de Leyva. At this juncture he occupied Pavia with a force of six thousand infantry and a thousand horse, and had so strongly fortified the city that he conceived it impregnable. De Leyva had risen to his present eminence after a long and brilliant career.

The command of the Italian division, which consisted of Lombards, Florentines, Romans, Modenese, Lucchese, and Neapolitan soldiers, was entrusted to Francisco Sforza, Duke of Milan. Associated with Sforza was the Duke of Urbino, general of the Venetian forces who had recently joined the confederates.

IV. HOW THE DUKE DE BOURBON ENTERED MILAN.

|Immediately on receiving the appointment from the Emperor, Bourbon set out from Mantua to assume the command of the Imperial army. All his suite went with him, and he was accompanied by Gonzaga with a guard of six hundred lances. Tidings of his approach to Milan having preceded him, Francisco Sforza, magnificently accoutred, and attended by a glittering train of three hundred knights, all superbly arrayed, came forth from the gates of the city to meet him. The Duke of Milan was accompanied by his chancellor, Geronimo Morone, who was robed in black velvet, and wore a massive gold chain over his shoulders. Morone was a man of middle age, of grave aspect, and dignified demeanour.

Armed from head to foot in polished steel, and bestriding a powerful black charger, which was sumptuously caparisoned in housings of crimson velvet embroidered with his arms, and having a chanfrin of snowy plumes at its head, Bourbon presented a splendid appearance. All his suite were richly accoutred, and well mounted. Nothing could be more cordial than the greeting that passed between Sforza and Bourbon, and after an exchange of courtesies, they rode side by side into Milan, followed by Morone and Gonzaga.

As the cavalcade approached the gates, Bourbon examined the newly repaired walls and bastions, and cast a glance of approval at Morone. Bourbon himself, after the battle of Marignano, had been governor of Milan, and if his rule over the conquered city had been necessarily severe, he had not, like his successor, the Maréchal de Lautrec, rendered himself personally obnoxious to the citizens. But if any feelings of animosity had formerly existed towards him, they were now forgotten, and he was greeted with smiles and the waving of scarves and kerchiefs from the fair occupants of windows and balconies, and by loud acclamations from the populace thronging the streets as he rode along.

Owing to the crowd and some stoppages, the progress of the cavalcade was somewhat slow, but at last, emerging from a long narrow street, it issued into a broad piazza, and the stately Duomo--the pride of Milan--burst upon them. Often as Bourbon had gazed upon this glorious Gothic fane--often as he had studied its marvellous architectural beauties--it had lost none of its effect upon him, but excited his admiration as powerfully as ever. But he had little time to gaze upon it. The piazza in front of the fane was entirely filled with soldiers, and as the cavalcade crossed it, the place resounded with shouts of “Viva Bourbon!”

Amid such enthusiastic demonstrations, Sforza and those with him proceeded to the ducal palace, and on entering the court, which was half filled with mounted Spanish soldiers, they found three knightly personages, all fully accoutred and on horseback, waiting to receive them. These were Lannoy, Viceroy of Naples, the Marquis de Pescara, and Giovanni de' Medici. From his gorgeous armour and the rich trappings of his charger, Lannoy made a very imposing appearance. He was powerfully built, stern of aspect, and stately in manner, and his looks bespoke wisdom and resolution.

Very different in appearance, but equally martial in aspect, was the haughty Spanish general, Pescara. Possessing a light, active, well-knit frame, he seemed capable of enduring any amount of fatigue, and of executing any enterprise that his daring spirit might conceive. His features were regular and handsome, and the scars on his cheek and brow did not detract from his good looks while communicating a certain grimness to his aspect. His complexion was swarthy, and his beard, which he wore pointed in the Spanish fashion, coal-black. His expression was fierce, and his deportment proud and overbearing. When angry, his dark eyes seemed literally to blaze. Over his lacquered accoutrements lie wore a surcoat on which his arms were blazoned, and was mounted on a fiery Andalusian barb, which had borne him through many a fray, and like himself had been often wounded. What with his striking physiognomy, his proud martial deportment, his splendid accoutrements, and his fiery barb, Pescara looked the beau ideal of a warrior.

Younger and handsomer than the redoubted Spanish general was the gallant Giovanni de' Medici, who promised to become one of the most distinguished captains of the age. Like Pescara, Medici was active and enterprising, and was checked by no difficulty; as shrewd in devising a stratagem as resolute in carrying it out. His features were classical in outline, and lighted up large soft blue eyes, which gave little indication of the latent fierceness of his nature. His figure was tall and admirably proportioned, and his deportment commanding. Like the others, he was splendidly arrayed, and his charger richly barded.

As Bourbon entered the court-yard with the Duke of Milan, the three leaders just described advanced to meet him, and saluted him. After an exchange of courteous speeches, the whole party alighted, and entering the palace, were conducted by Sforza to a grand banqueting-chamber, where a sumptuous repast awaited them. Their discourse during the banquet turned chiefly upon certain movements which had just been made by Bonnivet, and in reply to an inquiry from Bourbon, Pescara mentioned that the French general had placed his advanced guard at Robecco, a small town between Pavia and Lodi. “He has done this,” continued Pescara, “to intercept our convoys. I have a plan which, if it meets your highness's approval, I will execute to-night. Before detailing it, I must explain that Robecco is a mere village, without defence of any kind, and is at least a league from the head-quarters of the French army. The vanguard consists of only two hundred horsemen, and the like number of foot soldiers. But it is commanded by Bayard.”

“Then it is in charge of the best captain of the French forces,” remarked Bourbon. “Bonnivet must be mad to place Bayard in such an exposed position.”

“Perhaps he wishes him to incur a defeat,” said Pescara, with a laugh. “If so, his malice will be gratified, for I mean to surprise the post to-night. Had it been held by any other than the invincible chevalier, I should have sent Alarcon; but, as Bayard is there, I shall go myself.”

“I approve of the plan, marquis,” said Bourbon. “But let me give you a piece of counsel. Make your men wear their shirts over their accoutrements, in order that you may recognise them in the darkness.”

“A good suggestion,” said Pescara. “I will act upon it.”

Later on in the day, a council was held by the leaders, during which various plans were discussed. When the assemblage broke up, Bourbon retired to the apartments which had been prepared for himself and his suite in the palace.

Next morning betimes he prepared to start for the camp. His escort was drawn up in the courtyard of the palace, and he was coming forth to mount his charger, when loud shouts were heard outside the gates, and in another moment, Pescara, followed by a band of horse soldiers, laden with baggage and other spoils of war, rode into the court.

The accoutrements of the Spanish general and those of his men showed they had been engaged in a desperate fray. Their horses were covered with dust and blood, and scarcely able to stand--the only one amongst them that did not look thoroughly exhausted was the general's barb. Springing from the saddle, the indefatigable Pescara marched towards Bourbon, and bade him good day.

“What! back already, marquis?” cried Bourbon. “By my faith! you have displayed extraordinary activity. Why, Robecco must be some seven leagues from Milan. I perceive you have succeeded in your nocturnal expedition, and have brought back plenty of spoil. I pray you give me some particulars of the enterprise.”

“Willingly,” replied Pescara, smiling. “I care not ordinarily to talk of my own feats, but I am proud of this achievement, since I have defeated the hitherto invincible Bayard. And now for the affair. At the head of three hundred picked men, scarce half of whom I have brought back, I left Milan an hour before midnight, and by two o'clock was close upon Robecco, which, as your highness has just remarked, is about seven leagues distant. All was still within the little camp and in the village adjoining, and as we listened we could hear the cocks crowing, heralding the approach of dawn. It was very dark, but my men, as your highness had recommended, wore their shirts above their accoutrements. After a brief halt, we moved as silently as we could towards the camp; but, cautious as was our approach, it was detected by the guard, who at once gave the alarm. On this, we dashed into the camp and seized upon the baggage. While we were thus employed, the trumpets sounded, and our foemen sprang to arms, and mounted their horses. But, ere this could be accomplished, we had committed great havoc among them, and had secured the baggage, which, as your highness perceives, we have brought off.”

“Where was Bayard all this while?” demanded Bourbon.

“Ill and in his tent when we came up, as I subsequently learnt from a captive,” returned Pescara, “but ere many minutes he was on horseback, and rallying his men. He shouted to De Lorges, who was with him, to get the infantry together and retire with them to Abbiate-Grasso, and he protected their retreat with his lances. Thrice did I charge him--and each time with a considerable loss; but I so thinned his ranks, that he was compelled to follow the infantry. Knowing that assistance would soon arrive, and that I should be overpowered by numbers, I then gave the word to return. Bonnivet chased us for a couple of leagues, when, finding pursuit in vain, he turned back. I have lost more than a hundred brave fellows in the expedition--but what of that? I have vanquished Bayard.

“Bravo!” exclaimed Bourbon. “You may well be proud of the achievement, marquis. Bayard will never forgive Bonnivet for the defeat.”

“Never,” replied Pescara. “Alarcon, my captain, heard him say to De Lorges that in due time and place he would compel the Admiral to render him an account for the disgrace he had put upon him.”

Bourbon then took leave of Pescara, and, mounting his charger, rode out of the city, and put himself at the head of six thousand lanz-knechts and five hundred lances, who were drawn up outside the Porta Ticinese. With this force he proceeded to join the Imperial army, which was encamped near Gambolo, a small town about three leagues distant from the right bank of the Ticino.

V. THE CONTESSA DI CHIERI.

|One night, about a week before Bourbon's entrance into Milan, a lady, young and of surpassing loveliness, was seated alone in the principal saloon of a magnificent palace in the Corso Romano. Her looks and rich attire proclaimed that she belonged to the highest rank. The saloon was sumptuously furnished, and adorned with paintings and sculpture, but it was imperfectly illumined by a couple of tapers placed on the table near which the lady sat. She was the Contessa di Chieri, one of the loveliest women in Italy, and had been married long enough to care little for the count her husband, who lived apart from her at Rome.

After a while, the beautiful countess arose, and, walking to the open casement, stepped out upon a balcony overlooking the Corso, and, leaning upon the cushioned balustrade, gazed around. From this place could be seen the marble roof of the Duomo, rising like a snowy mountain above the tops of the adjoining houses. But no object in particular engaged her fancy. It was pleasant to look forth on such a night and breathe the soft and balmy air. Therefore she lingered for some time on the balcony, and did not think of returning to the saloon.

When the Contessa di Chieri first came out, bands of soldiers were traversing the Corso, but the place was now almost deserted. As the night advanced, its beauty seemed to increase, and the perfect stillness added to the charm. She was gazing at the heavens, trying to penetrate their mysterious depths, when all at once a slight sound recalled her to earth, and, looking down, she beheld a tall cavalier wrapped in a long mantle. At this sight she would instantly have retreated, when her own name, pronounced in accents that were familiar to her, and that made the blood rush to her heart, arrested her.

“'Tis I, Beata!” cried the cavalier.

“Santa Maria! is it possible?--you here!”

“Hush! not so loud,” rejoined the cavalier, “or yonder patrol will overhear us. Since you recognise me, you will not keep me here.”

“You shall be admitted instantly,” replied the countess. And she disappeared from the balcony.

The cavalier had not to wait long. The gates opening upon the cortile of the palace were closed, but a wicket was presently opened, and a female attendant without saying a word to the cavalier, led him up a grand marble staircase to the saloon where the countess awaited him. As soon as the attendant had retired the cavalier threw off his cloak and hat, and disclosed the noble features and superb person of Bonnivet.

“Ah, what risk you have run to come here!” exclaimed the eountess. “I tremble to think of it. If you should be discovered----”

“Reassure yourself, dear Beata, I shall not be discovered,” replied Bonnivet, passionately. “Oh, let me gaze at you! Let me satisfy myself that I behold you once more. By Heaven!” he exclaimed, yet more passionately, and pressing her to his bosom, “you look lovelier than ever. Oh, Beata, I would have laid siege to Milan to procure the happiness of this interview. But fortune has been against me, and has baffled all my efforts.”

“And you have quitted the camp to come here?” said the eountess. “You have risked more than life in doing so.”

“But I am now fully repaid,” he rejoined.

“You would persuade me that you love me deeply,” she said.

“Have I not proved my devotion by this act?” he rejoined. “Lovers, they say, are mad, and those who understand not what love is, and have never felt its pains, would deem me mad. Impelled by this madness, or passion--call it what you please--I have left my army to the care of the Comte de Saint-Pol, and have ventured among my enemies. But he who dares much will be rewarded, as I am.”

“How did you contrive to enter the city?” demanded Beata. “I marvel how you could elude the vigilance of the guard.”

“I have a safe-conduct from Giovatini de' Medici,” replied Bonnivet. “I came hither as Galeazzo Visconti.”

“But your return will be attended with even greater risk,” said Beata. “If you should be captured, I shall never forgive myself, for I shall feel that I have been the cause of the disaster.”

“Have no misgivings, Beata,” said Bonnivet, smiling confidently. “I am not destined to be captured. Do not let us mar the happiness of our brief interview by any thoughts of danger. Let us think only of ourselves--of our love. When we are separated--when I am again with the army, and you are alone in this chamber--we shall regret each moment we have wasted.”

“I would shake off my fears if I could,” said the countess. “But I find it impossible. Had I expected you, it might have been otherwise. But you have taken me so by surprise, that I cannot master my emotion.”

“How could I prepare you for my coming, Beata?” said Bonnivet. “I have long nourished the design, but the means of executing it only occurred to-day, when this safe-conduct fell into my hands. Then I resolved--cost what it might!--that I would behold you again. Mounted on a swift steed, I left Abbiate-Grasso at nightfall, attended only by a single esquire, and I hope to be back at the camp before my absence is discovered.”

“Heaven grant you may!” she ejaculated.

“My steed seemed to know the errand on which he was bent, and bore me on with wondrous speed; but if he sympathises with his master, he will not have the same spirit on his return. It is strange, Beata--now that the long wished-for moment has arrived--now that I am here--I cannot realise my happiness. It seems like a dream.”

“Holy Virgin! what is that?” exclaimed Beata, as the trampling of horses was heard in the Corso.

“Merely the patrol,” replied Bonnivet.

“No; it is not the patrol!” she cried. “The troop has stopped at the gates of the palace. Stay where you are! I will see what it means.”

So saying, she flew to the balcony, and presently returned with a cheek blanched with terror.

“Heaven preserve us!” she exclaimed. “It is the Duke of Milan, with a large escort.”

“The Duke of Milan!” exclaimed Bonnivet. “What can bring him here at this hour?”

As he spoke, a loud knocking was heard at the gate.

“What means this visit?” said Bonnivet.

“I know not,” replied the countess, “unless your arrival at Milan has been discovered.”

“That is impossible. The guard at the Porta Romana allowed me to pass without question, on seeing my safe-conduct.”

“There are spies in your camp, and one of them may have brought information of your departure,” said Beata. “But the duke must not find you here. Conceal yourself,” she added, opening the door of a closet, “and do not venture forth till I release you.”

Scarcely had Bonnivet entered this hiding-place when the Duke of Milan, accompanied by a guard, entered the saloon.

“You must excuse me if I appear abrupt, countess,” he said, glancing suspiciously round the room. “My business does not admit of ceremony. You will believe that I have not come hither on any idle errand.”

“I am curious to learn the meaning of your highness's visit,” remarked Beata, vainly endeavouring to conceal her agitation.

“I will not keep you in suspense, madame,” replied Sforza. “Where is the cavalier who entered the palace not half an hour ago, and was shown into this room by your attendant, Eufemia?”

“He is lost!” mentally ejaculated the countess, trembling and not knowing what answer to make.

“Where is the Admiral Bonnivet, madame?” said Sforza, advancing towards her. “I know he is in the palace. Where have you hidden him? Confess. I _will_ have him.”

“The cavalier who entered just now, and who has since quitted the palace, was not Bonnivet, but Galeazzo Visconti,” replied the countess.

“I know better, madame,” said Sforza. “To convince you that equivocation is useless, I will tell you what has happened. Little more than an hour ago two well-mounted horsemen arrived at the Porta Romana, and presented a safe-conduct purporting to be for Galeazzo Visconti and his esquire. What was the astonishment of the captain of the guard, while scrutinising the self-styled Visconti--the real Galeazzo being well known to him--to recognise the commander of the French army, the Admiral Bonnivet. He made no remark, however, but allowed the Admiral and his companion to enter the city, feeling it to be of the highest importance to ascertain their design. He therefore followed them with half a dozen men to the Piazza del Duomo, where Bonnivet dismounted, and leaving his horse in charge of his esqrire, marched off, fancying himself unobserved--but the captain of the guard and two soldiers were on his track. They saw him pause before this palace. You, countess, were on the balcony. They heard your lover--for such he must be--exchange a few words with you, after which he was admitted. As soon as this took place, the captain of the guard hastened to the ducal palace to acquaint me with the important discovery he had made. I came hither at once.”

“You have come quickly, duke, but you have come too late,” rejoined Beata. “He you seek is gone.”

“Not so, madame,” rejoined Sforza, smiling incredulously. “The gates have been closely watched ever since the Admiral entered the palace. No one has come forth. Where is he?”.

“If your highness will dismiss your attendants, I will tell you,” she replied.

“Withdraw,” said Sforza to the guard, “but remain outside. Now, madame?” he added, when they were alone.

Before the countess could make any reply the door of the closet opened, and Bonnivet stepped forth.

“Imprudent!” she exclaimed. “You have betrayed yourself.”

“Discovery was certain, madame,” remarked Sforza. “I am obliged to the Lord Admiral for saving me further trouble. My lord, you are my prisoner.”

“Not yet, duke,” rejoined Bonnivet, who did not appear at all uneasy; “I have a proposition to make to your highness, which I think will be agreeable to you. You must be quite certain that I did not come to Milan with any hostile intent.”

“I do not ask the motive of your visit, my lord,” replied Sforza. “It is sufficient that you are here--and my prisoner.”

“Hear me out, duke,” said Bonnivet. “I have to propose an exchange of prisoners.”

“An exchange!--ha! Whom do you offer?”

“Giovanni de' Medici,” replied Bonnivet.

“Giovanni de' Medici!” echoed Sforza, in surprise. “I did not know he was a prisoner.”

“I took him this morning,” returned Bonnivet. “Let me return to Abbiate-Grasso, and I will set him free.”

“You underrate yourself, Admiral,” said Sforza. “I shall lose by the exchange.”

“I will add ten thousand ducats,” said Bonnivet.

“Excuse the doubt, my lord; but have you that sum?” demanded Sforza.

“On my faith I have, duke,” replied Bonnivet. “The money ought to be paid to the Swiss---but you shall have it.”

“Then I agree. I am sorry to rob the Swiss,” said Sforza, laughing, “but all is fair in love and war. I give you an hour with your mistress, Admiral. Then you must depart. I will leave a guard at the gate of the palace who will conduct you and your esquire to the Porta Romana. To-morrow I shall expect Giovanni de' Medici--and the ransom-money. Good night, my lord. I will no longer interrupt your tête-à-tête. You see, fair countess, what a price your lover is willing to pay for an hour of your sweet society.”

With this, Sforza retired and gave the necessary orders, so that Bonnivet was enabled to quit Milan without molestation.

Next morning, Giovanni de' Medici returned to Milan, and the ransom-money was paid.

VI. HOW BOURBON ASSUMED THE COMMAND OF THE IMPERIAL ARMY.

|The numerical force of the Imperial army at this juncture was computed at forty thousand men, a large proportion of whom were mercenaries. There were seven thousand Spaniards under Pescara; ten thousand Germans under Lannoy; four thousand Italians under Giovanni de' Medici; eight hundred lances, and eight hundred light horse, mixed Italians and Spaniards, under various captains. The Venetian army, under the Duke of Urbino, consisted of upwards of six thousand foot, all well armed, and eleven hundred horse. The Pontifical forces, the leadership of which was given to Gonzaga, numbered a thousand men--five hundred infantry and five hundred horse. Besides these, there was a strong garrison at Pavia, under the command of the renowned Antonio de Leyva, consisting of five thousand infantry and eleven hundred horse, and these were subsequently reinforced by the Pontifical troops. Possessed of such an army, led by generals of such valour and experience as Pescara and Lannoy, and now commanded by Bourbon, who was animated as well by the desire of distinction as by the thirst for vengeance, it could scarcely be doubted that success awaited the Imperialists.

On the other hand, though its numbers had been greatly reduced since his entrance into Italy, Bonnivet could still boast a powerful army. Of the thirty thousand men who had descended with him into the fertile plains of Lombardy, scarce twenty thousand were now left; but he was in expectation of large reinforcements from France, and he also counted upon five thousand Grisons under the command of Dietingen de Salis, and eight thousand Swiss. From his position at Abbiate-Grasso, he was able to obtain abundant supplies from the Lomellino.

Such was the relative position of the two armies when Bourbon assumed the command of the Imperial forces.

On his arrival at the camp he was hailed with enthusiasm, and as he rode along the line, followed by his adherents, he was greeted with shouts by soldiers of all countries--Spaniards, Germans, and Italians. This was a proud moment for the illustrious fugitive, and made amends for all the sufferings he had undergone. His breast beat high with ardour, and visions of conquest flitted before his gaze. With such a host at his command, what could he not achieve?

The camp of the Imperialists occupied a large space of ground, but owing to the remarkable flatness of the plain, could only be fully surveyed from the castle of Garlasco, which was situated at its farthest extremity. In this castle Bourbon was lodged, and as he mounted its keep a splendid view was offered him. Not only was the whole of his own army in sight, but, though some leagues off, he could clearly distinguish the French camp at Abbiate-Grasso. In other respects, the prospect was very striking. League upon league of the fertile plains of Lombardy, intersected with rivers and canals, came within his ken. Numberless cities, towns, and villages could be descried. In the extreme distance could be seen Milan, with its Duomo, towers, and churches; Lodi and Pavia were also distinguishable; and the whole course of the Ticino could be traced from the latter city to Abbiate-Grasso. Looking towards the north, Novara and Vercelli--each important places--could be discerned; and nearer were Vigevano and Mortara. Many other towns could likewise be seen, and the Ticino was not the only river visible. Both the Sesia and the Po could be distinguished. Bounding this vast plain on the north rose the enormous barrier of the Alps, foremost amid which stood Monte Rosa, while in the far distance on the west could be discerned the range of the Apennines.

From the walls of Garlasco, Bourbon carefully studied

Bonnivet's position, and coming to the conclusion that the French general must infallibly surrender, he resolved not to give him battle at once, as he had intended, but to adopt the Fabian policy of Prospero Colonna, and wait.

To Bourbon a camp life was the pleasantest that could be led. No music was so agreeable to his ear as the sound of warlike instruments; no pastime so pleasant as the practice of military manouvres. He did not rest till he had satisfied himself by personal scrutiny that every corps of the army was in good order; and such was his affability, that he soon became popular with the soldiers of each nation. At all hours of the night he made his rounds to see that good watch was kept; and on these occasions he was only attended by the faithful Hugues, whom he still retained in his service. Constant nocturnal skirmishes took place between flying bands of the hostile armies; but without material advantage to either side.

Nearly a month had now elapsed since Bourbon had assumed his command, and already Bonnivet, whose position became daily more perilous, had thrice offered him battle; but Bourbon, with the approval of the other leaders, on each occasion refused to fight. During this interval Bourbon, accompanied by Lannoy, Pescara, and the Duke of Urbino, had repeatedly ridden along the right bank of the Ticino, in order to reconnoitre the French forces; and he had also more than once visited Pavia to consult with Antonio de Leyva and Gonzaga, and see that the garrison was in good order.

VII. HOW BONNIVET RESOLVED TO RETREAT FROM NOVARA.

|Becoming apprehensive that he should lose his supplies from the Lomellino, whence he chiefly derived them, Bonnivet at length crossed the Ticino with the bulk of his army, placing his vanguard at Vigevano, and the main body of the army at Mortara--a strongly fortified city, and where he could obtain provisions from Montferrat, Vercelli, and Novara.

He did not abandon Abbiate-Grasso, but left a thousand infantry and a hundred horse to guard the place--a very inadequate force, as was speedily shown. Three days afterwards, the town was attacked by Giovanni de' Medici, assisted by Sforza, with five hundred of the élite of the garrison of Milan. The assault began early in the morning, and was conducted with such extraordinary vigour, that, in spite of a gallant defence, the place was taken before night. Fatal consequences, however, attended this bold achievement. The plague at that time existed at Abbiate-Grasso, and the spoils of the town being carried off by the victors, the scourge was conveyed to Milan, and eventually committed dreadful ravages in that city.

The capture of Abbiate-Grasso was not the only success achieved by the Imperialists. Others followed in rapid succession. Sartirano, an important post occupied by the French, was besieged and taken by Bourbon before Bonnivet could succour it from Mortara. As the Imperialists continued to press upon his right, fearing his supplies might be cut off, he retired to Novara, and established himself there, hoping to be reinforced by the Grisons and Swiss. But he was disappointed. Conducted by Dietingen de Salis, the Grisons got as far as Bergamo, where they ought to have been joined by the Prince Federico da Bozzolo. But he was shut up in Lodi. Harassed by Giovanni de' Medici, who was sent with a detachment of light horse to drive them back, unable to obtain their promised pay or an escort of cavalry, the Grisons, disgusted and indignant, returned to their native valleys. Having accomplished this task, the active Medici destroyed the bridge at Buffalora, thus enclosing Bonnivet between the Ticino and the Sesia, and liberating Milan from all chance of attack.

Bonnivet was not more fortunate in regard to his Swiss reinforcements than with the Grisons. Eight thousand of these hardy mountaineers made their way to the neighbourhood of Vercelli, on the right bank of the Sesia, in order to effect a junction with the French army at Novara. But the river was swollen and impassable, and the Swiss, having learned that the Grisons had retired, became greatly discontented, and refused to join the French until they first received their pay. In vain Bonnivet sent Captain Diesbach to remonstrate with them. They remained sullen and inflexible, alleging that the French king had broken faith with them, having failed to send the Duc de Longueville with four hundred lances to Ivry to escort them, and now they were denied their pay.

The Admiral's position had thus become extremely perilous. Deprived of the large reinforcements he had expected, and which alone could enable him successfully to prosecute the campaign; confronted by a hostile army greatly superior to his own in number, and stimulated by constant successes; with his own troops almost decimated by disease and famine; in danger of losing his supplies, owing to the activity of the enemy, his utter defeat or an inglorious surrender seemed inevitable.

Bonnivet determined to retreat, but before putting his design into execution, he summoned the principal leaders of the French army to a council. With the exception of the Maréchal de Montmorency, who had been attacked by the plague, and had already left Novara, they all attended; and the assemblage comprised the Comte de Saint-Pol, the Seigneur de Vandenesse, the Chevalier Bayard, the Vidame de Chartres, De Lorges, Annebaut, Beauvais (surnamed “the Brave”), Renzo da Ceri, and the Swiss captain, Diesbach. All these personages were fully armed, save that they had taken off their helmets and unbuckled their swords, and, as they were grouped around a table placed in the centre of the tent in which they met, they formed a very striking picture.

Conspicuous among them for the richness of his armour, which was damaskeened with gold, and for his splendid person and handsome lineaments, was the Lord Admiral. The Comte de Saint-Pol was also a noble-looking warrior, and gorgeously accoutred. The veteran Vandenesse was cased in black armour, and had a martial and determined aspect. The Vidame de Chartres had a proud and resolute look. Annebaut, De Lorges, and the brave Beauvais were all stalwart captains, whose scarred visages proclaimed the numerous conflicts they had been engaged in. Renzo da Ceri was of slighter frame, and younger than the last-mentioned warriors, and his graceful person, sheathed in lacquered armour, contrasted strongly with the robust frame and rugged physiognomy of the Swiss leader, Diesbach, near whom he sat.

But, although each individual in the group was worthy of notice, the one who would infallibly have fixed the attention of a beholder was the Chevalier Bayard.

Bayard was fashioned in the heroic mould. Above the ordinary height, powerfully built, and possessed of prodigious strength, he wore his ponderous armour, dinted by many a blow, as easily as if it had been a silken doublet. His features corresponded with his frame, being massive and nobly sculptured, generally stern in expression, yet sometimes lighted up by a pleasant smile.

The doughty champion was now approaching fifty, and though his mighty arm had lost none of its power, and his features bore few traces of age, his once raven locks were thickly sown with grey. It had been remarked by his soldiers, by whom he was idolised, that since the affair of Robecco their captain had looked sombre and discontented, and they fancied that the thought of the defeat rankled in his breast.

More than human valour seemed to beat in Bayard's broad breast--more than human strength appeared to reside in his herculean frame and powerful arm. No danger ever appalled him--nay, his spirit rose with danger, inciting him to deeds worthy of the heroic ages. Such was his conduct at Garigliano, when, wholly unsupported, he defended the bridge against the entire Spanish host, and saved the French army. Besides the inconceivable daring of all his actions, their grandeur made him the central figure in every conflict in which he engaged, and excited the admiration both of friends and foes.

When only eighteen, Bayard followed Charles VIII. into Italy, and won his spurs at the battle of Fornova, where he performed prodigies of valour, and had two horses killed under him. He was several times made prisoner, and more than once grievously wounded, but while free he was ever with the army. Courts he despised, and hence the neglect he experienced from François I., who placed his favourites over his head. But other monarchs appreciated him at his true worth, and after a signal victory which he had gained at Padua, the Emperor Maximilian said to him, in the presence of the whole army, “Chevalier Bayard, the king my brother is happy in having a knight like you. I would I had a dozen such, even though each cost me a hundred thousand florins a year.”

Nor did our own bluff King Hal use less flattering language towards him at the siege of Térouanne. “Were all French captains as valiant as you, Chevalier Bayard,” said Henry, “I must speedily raise the siege of this place.”

Bayard, as is well known, after the famous battle of Marignano, which he himself had helped to win, and where he fought side by side with the Constable de Bourbon, was called upon by the victorious king to dub him knight.

Bayard would have declined the honour, but François insisted, and bent the knee before him. Whereupon Bayard, drawing his sword, and touching the king's shoulder with the blade, exclaimed:

“Sire, may it be with you as with Roland or Oliver, Godfrey or Baldwin, his brother. Certes, you are the first king that ever I dubbed knight.” Then pressing his lips to the blade, he said, “Happy art thou, my sword, to have performed this office for so brave a monarch! Henceforth, good sword, shalt thou be kept as a holy relic, and honoured above all other weapons!”

But though thus distinguished, Bayard, as we have shown, was afterwards neglected by François I. The bravest and ablest captain in the army; consulted by the leaders on all occasions of difficulty, and adored by the soldiers; far fitter for command than those placed above him, he was never made a general. The only reward he received for his incalculable services was the order of Saint Michel.

Though his loyalty was unshaken by the king's ingratitude, the appointment of Bonnivet to the supreme command of the Italian army gave Bayard great offence. He could not conquer his dislike of the haughty favourite, and, moreover, entertained but a poor opinion of his military qualities. Nevertheless, he served him well and faithfully. In the unlucky affair of Robecco he fancied Bonnivet had wilfully exposed him to certain defeat, and this he could not forgive.

“I have sent for you, messeigneurs, to ask your advice,” said Bonnivet, glancing round at the assemblage, all of whom looked grave and anxious, “and I entreat you to give it freely. You are all aware of the critical position in which we are placed. You know that we are shut up between two rivers, the Ticino and the Sesia. You know that the army is greatly reduced by famine, sickness, and desertion, and that the enemy, with a force more than double our own in number, is at Cameriano, only two leagues off. You know that we have lost Abbiate-Grasso, and that the bridge over the Ticino at Buffalora has been destroyed by Giovanni de' Medici. You know that the faithless Grisons have returned to their native valleys with Dietingen de Salis. You know that the eight thousand Swiss, who are at Gattinara, on the opposite bank of the Sesia, have refused to join us. Aware of all these disastrous circumstances, what counsel do you give?”

All were silent, none liking to recommend retreat or surrender. At last Bayard spoke.

“You ask our advice, Lord Admiral,” he said. “Will you be guided by it if we offer it?”

“I cannot pledge myself to that, but I will give your counsel due consideration,” rejoined Bonnivet. “Speak freely.”

“Were I in your place,” said Bayard, “I would compel the enemy to give me battle, and by a grand masterstroke retrieve my former reverses, or perish in the effort.”

“It would be madness,” rejoined Bonnivet. “As I have said, the enemy's forces are double our own, and in better condition.”

“Then shut yourself up in Novara, and stand a siege. The city is well fortified, and will hold out till we receive reinforcements.”

“I doubt it,” remarked the Comte de Saint-Pol. “Our supplies from the Lomellino will be cut off, and the country around Novara, as you know, has been laid waste.”

“Tête-Dieu! we will get supplies from the foe,” cried Bayard. “Our condition is not so desperate as you suppose. If the enemy are two to one, what matters it?”

“If we were all Bayards it would matter little if they were ten to one,” rejoined Saint-Pol. “But our men are disheartened. Of late, we have had nothing but ill success. You yourself have been worsted.”

“True,” replied Bayard, in a sombre tone, as he thought of the affair of Robecco.

“You have seen your countrymen, Captain Diesbach,” said De Lorges to that officer. “Do they refuse to join us?”

“Absolutely,” replied Diesbach, “unless they receive their pay. They are inflexible. They declare the King of France has broken faith with them in not sending the Duc de Longueville with an escort of cavalry to meet them at Ivry, and that they will not fight for him.”

“Let the vile mercenaries go! We can do without them,” cried Beauvais.

“Mercenaries they may be, but they have good ground of complaint,” rejoined Diesbach, angrily. “They have been brought hither by promises that have not been kept. My own men declare that, unless they receive their pay, they will at once disband, and return with their countrymen who are waiting for them at Gattinara. The Swiss will not fight for mere glory.”

“But you have sufficient influence over your men to quiet their murmurs, and prevent them from disbanding, Captain Diesbach,” said Bonnivet. “Give them the positive assurance from me that they _shall_ be paid--speedily paid.”

“Promises will not content them, my lord,” replied Diesbach. “I must have something in hand.”

“You ask an impossibility, captain,” replied Bonnivet. “My coffers are quite empty.”

“Quite empty!” exclaimed Diesbach. “A month ago you promised me ten thousand ducats.”

“Very true, captain. But the whole of the money is gone. I have had a heavy ransom to pay.”

“Whose ransom, my lord, may I make bold to inquire?” said Diesbach.

“Ask the Duke of Milan,” replied Bonnivet. “My coffers are empty, I repeat. But all arrears shall be fully paid--as soon as I receive the expected supplies from France.”

“I will tell my soldiers what you say, my lord,” returned Diesbach. “But I know what their answer will be. They will laugh in my face, disband, and cross the Sesia to join their comrades. If such should be the case, I must perforce accompany them.”

“I shall not hinder you, captain,” said Bonnivet. “Dissuade them, if you can--if not, adieu!”

“It pains me to separate from you thus, my brave companions in arms, but there is no help for it,” rejoined Diesbach. And bowing to the Admiral and the assembled leaders, who returned his salutation coldly, he quitted the tent.

“By this desertion of the Swiss we shall lose five thousand auxiliaries,” said Bonnivet. “Nothing is left but retreat.”

“Tête-Dieu! we are not yet come to that pass,” cried Bayard. “Again I say, let us provoke the enemy to battle. If we do not conquer, we shall die with honour.”

“How say you, messeigneurs?” demanded Bonnivet. “I have every faith in the Chevalier Bayard, but he is sometimes too rash. I will be governed by the general voice. Shall we risk an engagement?”

“No,” replied the leaders, unanimously. “It is too hazardous.”

“You are overruled, you see, Chevalier Bayard,” said Bonnivet.

“You will regret your determination, my lord,” rejoined Bayard, chafing fiercely. “If you retreat, Bourbon will say you are afraid of him.”

“I shall not be turned from my purpose by a taunt,” said Bonnivet. “I will not sacrifice my men.”

“Then you decide upon immediate retreat?” demanded the Comte de Saint-Pol.

“Such is my decision,” replied Bonnivet. “To-morrow night I shall quit Novara and march to Romagnano. If I can get the army safely across the Sesia, all will be well.”

“Think not to elude Bourbon,” remarked Bayard. “The thirst of vengeance will make him doubly vigilant. He will assuredly cut off our retreat.”

“The design must be kept so secret that no intelligence can be conveyed to him,” said Bonnivet. “To you, De Lorges,” he added to that captain, “I confide the construction of the bridge of boats across the Sesia. Set out for Romagnano to-night.”

“Your commands shall be obeyed, general,” returned De Lorges. “On your arrival at Romagnano, you shall find the bridge ready for the passage of the army.”

“Use all possible caution,” said Vandenesse. “If Bourbon hears of the bridge, he will guess the design.”

“He shall _not_ hear of it,” returned De Lorges. “Not a soul shall quit Romagnano.”

“Then all is settled,” said Bonnivet. “We will meet again at noon to-morrow, when the order of march can be finally arranged.”

“At what hour do you propose to set out?” demanded Saint-Pol.

“At dusk,” replied Bonnivet. “Each leader will have his corps in readiness. You, Saint-Pol, will take charge of the first battalion. To you, Vandenesse, I confide the artillery. Chevalier Bayard, you will bring up the rear-guard. I shall be with you.”

On this the council broke up, and the leaders quitted the tent.

VIII. IN WHICH BAYARD RELATES HIS DREAM TO DE LORGES.

|Bonnivet quitted Novara as agreed upon, and marched throughout the night, but he did not reach Romagnano until late in the afternoon of the following day, the progress of the troops being much impeded by the bad state of the roads; but as the men were greatly fatigued by their hurried march, he determined to give them a few hours' repose, and to defer the passage of the river until the following morning at daybreak. In this decision he acted against the opinion of Bayard, who advised him to cross at once (the bridge of boats having been completed by De Lorges), and take up his quarters on the opposite bank of the Sesia, but Bonnivet would not be turned from his purpose.

“We are better here than at Gattinara, which is full of mutinous Swiss,” he said. “I have no apprehension of attack. Long before the enemy can come up, we shall have crossed the river and destroyed the bridge.”

Bayard said no more. But he could not shake off his misgivings.

That evening the valiant knight rode through the camp alone. It was still early, but the greater part of the soldiers, fatigued by their long march, and knowing they must be astir soon after midnight, had already sought a couch, and were buried in slumber. Some few were awake, and were furbishing their arms and accoutrements. Having ascertained that good watch was kept by the advanced guard, Bayard quitted the camp and rode towards the river to view the bridge of boats.

It was an enchanting evening--such as only can be seen in a southern clime. The deep dark vault of heaven was without a cloud, and not a breath of wind was stirring. The sounds customarily heard in a camp alone broke the stillness.

Before he approached the river, Bayard halted to gaze on the lovely and peaceful scene--for peaceful it looked, though a large army was nigh at hand. From the spot where the knight had halted a magnificent view of the Alps was obtained, and his eye wandered along the mighty range till it rested upon the snow-clad peaks of Monte Rosa. Strange to say, even at that moment, when the rest of the ridge looked white and spectral, a warm radiance tinged the summit of this superb mountain.

Never in his eyes had the eternal Alps looked so grand and solemn as they did on that evening--the last he was destined to witness. He could not remove his gaze from them, and the contemplation of the magnificent picture insensibly lifted his thoughts towards Heaven, and drew from him a heartfelt prayer. He then rode slowly on towards the river. On either side his view was obstructed by trees, and by the luxuriant vegetation of the country. The Sesia, which took its course through the broad plains of Lombardy to mingle its waters with those of the classic Po, was here of no great width, and could ordinarily be forded, but heavy rains had rendered it for the time impassable. The banks of the river were skirted by tall poplars.

Adjoining the picturesque little town of Romagnano, which was built on the near bank of the river, were the ruins of an old bridge, which had been destroyed by Lautrec during the late campaign, and it was close to these broken arches and piers that De Lorges had constructed the bridge of boats.

Farther down the river, about half a league off, could be seen Gattinara, a town about the same size as Romagnano. As we have intimated, the whole country was one flat fertile plain, extending almost over the whole of Lombardy to the foot of the Alps. A strong mounted guard was stationed near the bridge, and as Bayard drew near, the leader of the guard, who was no other than De Lorges, rode towards him.

“Good even, noble captain,” said De Lorges. “What think you of the bridge?”

“It will answer its purpose,” rejoined Bayard. “But I would it were destroyed.”

“That is, were you with the army on the other side of the river. So do I. We ought to have crossed tonight. Why wait till morning?”

“Ay, why?” cried Bayard, angrily. “Simply because the Admiral has so decided. He says the men are worn out, and must have repose. Methinks they could have rested at Gattinara. To-morrow may be too late.”

“Let us hope not,” said De Lorges. “I do not think the enemy can have divined purpose.”

“I think differently,” rejoined Bayard. “I believe that Bourbon is in hot pursuit of us.”

“But you have no grounds for such belief?” said De Lorges, inquiringly.

“None save the conviction that he will not let Bonnivet escape Well, if the Admiral chooses to indulge in false security, we cannot help it. For my own part, I am full of apprehension.”

“It is not like you to feel uneasiness,” said De Lorges. “We shall laugh at such fears at this hour to-morrow.”

“Who knows that either of us may be then alive!” ejaculated Bayard, gravely. “I do not think I shall. Not many minutes ago, as I was gazing at yon mighty mountains, a presentiment crossed me that I should never behold another evening.”

“Shake off these melancholy thoughts!” cried De Lorges. “A long and glorious career awaits you.”

“Alas! no,” replied Bayard. “I am prepared to meet the blow whenever it may come; but I cannot quit this fair world without some regret. Listen to me, De Lorges, and recollect what I am about to say to you. My uncle, Georges du Terrail, Bishop of Grenoble, who took charge of me during my infancy, thus admonished me: 'My child,' he said, in a tone and with a look which I can well remember, 'be worthy of your ancestors. Be noble, like the founder of our race, who fell at the feet of King John at the battle of Poitiers. Be valiant like your great-grandsire and your grandsire, both of whom died in arms--the first at Agincourt, the other at Montlhéry. Prove yourself the true son of your intrepid father, and my beloved brother, who fell covered with honourable wounds while defending his country.' Thus spake the pious and good Bishop of Grenoble, who loved me as a son. I have striven to follow his injunctions. I have sought to emulate the glorious deeds of my ancestors, and I have done no act that could be deemed unworthy of their name, I have prayed that I might not die on a bed of sickness, but on the battle-field, and I trust that Heaven will grant my prayer.”

“I nothing doubt it, noble captain,” said De Lorges, deeply moved. “But may the day be far hence!”

“It is close at hand, De Lorges. I am sure of it,” said Bayard, in a tone that startled his hearer. “I dreamed last night that all my valiant ancestors appeared to me. I knew them, though I had seen none of them before, except my father, and his features had faded from my recollection. But I knew them all. Warlike phantoms they were. The Bishop of Grenoble, who has long been laid in the tomb, was with them. Their lips moved, but I could hear no words, and I vainly essayed to address them, for my tongue clove to my palate. But I could not mistake the meaning of their looks and gestures. The ghostly warriors gave me welcome, and the good bishop smiled upon me. I shall soon join them.”

There was a pause. De Lorges was too much impressed by what he had heard to make a remark.

“I have lived long enough,” pursued Bayard, breaking the silence--“too long, perhaps, for I ought to have died at Robecco. My chief regret in quitting the world is, that I have not done enough for my country.”

“Then live!” cried De Lorges. “France can ill spare you.”...

“My life is in the hands of my Maker,” rejoined Bayard, humbly. “I shall resign it cheerfully to Him who gave it--but I shall not throw it away. And now a word to you, my friend and companion-in-arms. I am the last of my line. I have no son to whom I can say, 'Live worthily of your ancestors,' but I can say to you, De Lorges, whom I love as a brother, Live, so that your name may be without reproach.”

“I will try to do so,” replied the valiant captain, earnestly.

“I am poor, as you know,” pursued Bayard, “for such money as I have won I have bestowed upon my soldiers, but if I fall, I bequeath you my sword--the sword with which I bestowed knighthood upon the king. Take it, and may it serve you as well as it has served me. Adieu!”

And, without another word, he rode back to the camp, while De Lorges returned to his post.

IX. THE RETREAT OF ROMAGNANO.

As Bayard had conjectured, Bonnivet's departure from Novara had not escaped the vigilance of Bourbon, who immediately started in pursuit with the whole of the Imperial army. The march endured from early morn till late at night, when men and horses became so much fatigued, that a few hours' rest appeared indispensable. But Bourbon would not consent to a halt.

“We are only a few leagues from Romagnano,” he said. “We must on.”

“The enemy cannot cross the Sesia,” urged Pescara. “The river is flooded, and there is no bridge.”

“A bridge of boats will enable them to cross,” said Bourbon. “I am certain Bonnivet will make the attempt to-night--or at daybreak, at latest. If we halt, we shall lose him.”

“But the men need repose. They are dropping with fatigue,” urged the Duke of Urbino.

“They shall rest after the battle,” rejoined Bourbon, peremptorily. “On! on!”

So the army continued its march.

At cock-crow, the trumpets of the French army sounded a loud réveillé, and the whole host arose. Then were heard the loud calls of the officers mustering their men, the clatter of arms, the neighing of steeds, and all the stirring sounds that proclaim a camp in motion.

Wile the tents were being struck, and the various companies forming, Bonnivet, fully armed, and attended by the leaders, rode along the line, and, having completed his inspection, issued his final orders. Each leader returned to his respective corps; the first battalion, under the command of the Comte de Saint-Pol, began to move towards Romagnano; and the remainder of the army followed; Bonnivet himself bringing up the rearguard.

Day broke just as the first column neared the bridge, the rosy clouds in the eastern sky giving promise of a glorious day. The Alps stood out in all their majesty, not a single cloud resting upon their snowy peaks. Monte Rosa had already caught the first rays of the sun. Ere long the whole scene was flooded with light. Casques and corslets glittered in the sunbeams, lances and bills seemed tipped with fire, and pennons, banners, and plumes fluttered in the fresh morning breeze. Even the swollen waters of the Sesia looked bright and beautiful. The bridge of boats resounded with the trampling of horse and the regular tread of the foot soldiers, as band after band crossed it in close array. It was a gay and glorious sight. Two battalions had gained the opposite bank, and the Vidame de Chartres was about to pass over with his cross-bowmen, when De Lorges galloped up.

“The enemy is at hand!” he exclaimed. “The main body of the army must be got over the bridge as rapidly as possible. The Lord Admiral will cover its passage with the rear-guard.”

“Bourbon must have marched all night to come up with us,” said De Chartres. “In another hour we should have been safe.”

“Not a moment must be lost!” cried De Lorges. “Take your men across at once.”

While the Vidame de Chartres hurried his cross-bowmen over the bridge, De Lorges clapped spurs to his steed and galloped back to the rear of the army.

Bonnivet had been taken by surprise by his implacable foe. Just as he had put the last battalion in motion, three or four scouts galloped up, shouting that the enemy was at hand; and he had only just time to form his men into line of battle when Bourbon appeared at the head of a squadron of reiters, and at once attacked him. Impetuous as was the onset, the French gendarmerie sustained it firmly. A general conflict then ensued, during which Bourbon pressed on; and though the French disputed the ground valiantly, they were compelled slowly to retire.

Learning that Pescara was coming up with his host, the Admiral made a desperate charge, and while leading on his men he was struck by a heavy shot, which shattered his right arm, and caused a great effusion of blood. Feeling he could not much longer sit his horse, he rode to the rear and dismounted, and was soon afterwards joined by Bayard, who had succeeded in driving back the enemy.

“You are not much hurt, I trust, Admiral?” said Bayard.

“Sufficiently to place me hors de combat,” replied Bonnivet, faintly. “Would to Heaven I had listened to your counsel, and crossed the river last night! But the army must not be lost through my imprudence. You perceive that I am not in a condition either to fight or lead. I confide the command to you. Save the army if possible.”

“'Tis late--very late,” rejoined Bayard. “But no matter. I will save the army, but it will cost me my life to do so.”

“I trust not,” said Bonnivet. “I hope we shall meet again, when I may thank you for the service.”

“We never _shall_ meet again in this world,” said Bayard.

“Then let us part in friendship,” said Bonnivet. “You have not forgiven me for the affair of Robecco.”

“I forgive you now, my lord,” rejoined Bayard. “Farewell! You may rely on me.”

Bonnivet would have spoken, but he became suddenly faint, and if the chirurgeon, who had come up to dress his wound, had not caught him, he would have fallen.

“Tarry not to dress the Lord Admiral's wound,” said Bayard. “Let him be conveyed across the bridge with all possible despatch. He must not fall into Bourbon's hands.”

“It shall be done,” replied the chirurgeon. And placing Bonnivet upon a litter, which was brought up at the moment, and throwing a cloak over him, he caused him to be borne quickly away.

Meantime, Bayard dashed into the thickest of the fight, hewing down all before him, while his soldiers, reanimated by his appearance, followed him, shouting, “A Bayard!--a Bayard!”

The battle now raged furiously, and many noble feats of arms were performed on both sides. Bayard's aim was to enable the main body of the French army to cross the bridge, and he succeeded, by making repeated and resistless charges upon the foe. Anon driving back Bourbon's forces--anon retreating before them:--the dauntless knight at last reached the bridge, where he made a stand with the remnant of his men-at-arms.

As the Imperialists came up, a destructive fire was poured upon them by the French arquebusiers, who were drawn up, under the command of Vandenesse, on the opposite side of the Sesia, and in another moment the artillery began to open fire, and did terrible execution. Notwithstanding this, Bourbon steadily advanced, and the German and Spanish musqueteers returned the fire of their foemen. In spite of his almost superhuman efforts, it was impossible that Bayard could long maintain his position. He therefore ordered his men to cross the bridge, and, while they obeyed, he disputed, singlehanded, the advance of the opposing host.

Twenty lances were pointed at him--bullets rattled against his armour--but without doing injury to himself or his steed. Thus he retired across the bridge--ever keeping his face to the foe. A troop of horsemen followed him, but could not effect his capture.

Ere many minutes, the French artillerymen were driven from their guns, and both horse and foot forced back in confusion. It was while rallying his men that the glorious career of Bayard was cut short. A bolt from a cross-bow struck him, and penetrating his armour at a point where it was weakest, lodged deeply in his side. He felt at once that the wound was mortal, and exclaimed, “Holy Jesus! I am slain!”

Hearing the exclamation, De Lorges, who was nigh at hand, flew towards him, and prevented him from falling from his steed. With the assistance of some of the soldiers the wounded knight was borne from the scene of conflict, and as he was being thus removed, De Lorges inquired anxiously if he was much hurt.

“Mortally,” replied Bayard. “I knew it would be so. But I have fulfilled my promise to Bonnivet. I have saved the army. It is useless to carry me farther. Lay me at the foot of yonder tree--with my face towards the foe.”

It was done as he directed.

“I have no priest to shrive me,” he murmured--“no crucifix to clasp--but lay my sword upon my breast. It must serve for a cross. Stay not with me,” he added to De Lorges and the soldiers. “You are needed elsewhere.”

In this position he watched the conflict, and saw with anguish, greater than that of his wound, which did not extort a groan from him, that his soldiers were driven back. At the head of the victorious Imperialists rode Bourbon, sword in hand, and with his face flushed with triumph. No sooner did the conquering general perceive the wounded knight than he galloped towards him.

“How fares it with you, noble chevalier?” cried Bourbon, in accents of deep commiseration. “I trust you are not badly hurt. I grieve to see you in this piteous case.”

“Waste not your pity on me,” replied Bayard, sternly. “Grieve for yourself--you have more reason. I would not change places with you. I die for my country--you triumph as a rebel and a traitor.”

“Beshrew your tongue, Bayard!” exclaimed Bourbon, impatiently. “I cannot listen to such language even from you. I am no more to be charged with disloyalty than was the Duke of Burgundy when fighting against Charles VII. and Louis XI. I have cast off my allegiance to your perfidious sovereign.”

“But you are fighting against your country,” rejoined Bayard. “Whose blood reddens your sword? You are elated with triumph, but it were better for your soul's welfare that you were laid low like me. Your success is deplorable,--the end will be terrible.”

“Hear me, Bayard!” cried Bourbon. “To none other but yourself would I deign to justify myself. But we have been brothers-in-arms--we fought together at Marignano. You know the wrongs I have endured.”

“Wrongs are no justification of treason,” rejoined Bayard. “I myself have been wronged, but I have continued faithful. You should have died at Marignano. France might then have mourned your loss.”

“Can I do aught for your comfort?” demanded Bourbon.

“No,” replied Bayard, “save to rid me of your presence. I would fix my thoughts on Heaven.”

“Farewell! then,” rejoined Bourbon, galloping off in pursuit of the retreating foe.

Scarcely was he gone, than Pescara came up at the head of his battalion. On recognising Bayard, he hurried towards him, and, dismounting, knelt beside him, expressing his deep concern at his condition.

“This mischance saddens our victory,” he said. “You must not die thus. I will send a surgeon to you, and my men shall erect a tent over you.”

“No surgeon will avail me, noble marquis, I am sped,” rejoined Bayard; “and I need no tent to over me. I shall sleep soundly enough anon. If you would show me favour, all I ask is this. Should my esquire fall into your hands, I pray you send him to me. And let not my sword be taken from me, but cause it to be delivered to De Lorges, to whom I have bequeathed it.”

“It shall be done as you desire. Aught more?”

“Nothing,” replied Bayard.

Pescara then placed a guard around the dying hero, and departed full of grief.

Not many minutes afterwards, Bayard's esquire came up and knelt beside his dying master.

The presence of this faithful attendant was a sensible satisfaction to the wounded knight. Since no priest was nigh, he confessed to him. Finding his end approaching, he besought his esquire to hold his sword towards him, and pressing his lips to the hilt, fell back.

So fled the spirit of the fearless and reproachless Bayard.

END OF THE THIRD BOOK