CHAPTER XX
LORD WENTWORTH AT BAY
The Duc de Guise, upon reflection, could not bring himself to believe in the success of so foolhardy an enterprise; nevertheless, he determined to see with his own eyes whether Vicomte d'Exmès had or had not achieved his end. In such straits as those to which he was reduced, one can but hope even for the impossible.
So, before eight o'clock, with but very few attendants, he was already on the cliff Gabriel had pointed out to him, from which the Risbank fort could be seen with a telescope.
At the first glance that he cast in the direction of the fort he uttered a triumphant cry.
He could not be mistaken; he clearly recognized the standard of France. His companions agreed that it was no delusion, and shared his delight.
"My brave Gabriel!" he cried. "He has really been successful in his prodigious undertaking. Has he not shown himself to be a greater man than I, who doubted its practicability? Now, thanks to him, we can prepare for the capture of Calais, and make sure of it at our leisure. Let the reinforcements come from England, and Gabriel will take it upon himself to give them a hearty welcome."
"Monseigneur, it is as if your words had summoned them," said one of the duke's aids, who turned the glass seaward at this moment. "Look, Monseigneur, are not those English sail on the horizon?"
The duke took the glass, and carefully scanned the wide expanse of the channel.
"Yes; our English friends are really there," he said. "The deuce take me! they have not lost any time; I hardly expected them so soon. Do you know that if we had made our contemplated attack upon the Old Château at this time, the sudden arrival of these reinforcements would have been an extremely bad thing for us? So much the more cause have we for gratitude to Monsieur d'Exmès. Not only does he put victory within our power, but he has saved us from the disgrace of defeat as well. However, we have no need to hurry now; so let us see how the new-comers will act, and, on the other hand, how the young governor of the Risbank fort will behave toward them."
It was broad daylight by the time the English ships arrived within range of the fort.
The French flag burst upon their sight in the first rays of dawn like a menacing apparition; and as if to impress the unexpected sight the more forcibly upon them, Gabriel saluted them with three or four cannon balls.
That removed every shadow of doubt. It was really the standard of France which was floating over the English fort. Of course, then, the city as well as the tower must be in the power of the besiegers; and the reinforcements, though despatched in all haste, had arrived too late.
After a few moments of surprised irresolution, the English ships were seen to be standing off toward Dover again.
They had on board a sufficient force to relieve Calais, but not to recapture the city.
"Thank God!" cried the Duc de Guise, in an ecstasy of delight. "Think of this Gabriel! He knows how to maintain his conquests as well as to conquer; he has put Calais in our grasp, and it only remains for us to close our hands upon the fair city."
He leaped upon his horse, and galloped joyfully back to camp to urge on the siege-operations.
Human events have almost invariably two sides; and the very same occurrences which bring laughter and delight to the hearts of some, make others weep. At the moment when the Duc de Guise was thus clapping his hands for joy, Lord Wentworth was tearing his hair.
After a sleepless night, as we have seen, and excited by presentiments of evil, Lord Wentworth had finally fallen asleep toward morning, and was just leaving his bed-chamber when the pretended fugitives from the Risbank fort were bringing the fatal news into the city, Pierre Peuquoy at their head.
The governor was almost the last person to hear it.
In his pain and indignation he could not believe his ears, and ordered that the leader of the fugitives should be brought before him.
Pierre Peuquoy was at once escorted into the governor's presence; he came in looking decidedly chopfallen, and with a bearing well suited to the occasion.
The cunning burgher, as if still under the influence of the fright he had had, told of the night assault, and described the three hundred savage adventurers who had scaled the Risbank fort, assisted, no doubt, by treachery within the walls, which he, Pierre Peuquoy, had not had time to unearth.
"Who commanded these three hundred men?" asked Lord Wentworth.
"Mon Dieu! Your late prisoner, Monsieur d'Exmès," was the armorer's ingenuous reply.
"Oh, my dreams have come true!" cried the governor.
Then, with a threatening frown, suddenly remembering what he was not likely to forget,—
"Why, this Monsieur d'Exmès," said he to Pierre, "was your guest, if I mistake not, during his stay in Calais?"
"Yes, Monseigneur," replied Pierre, without embarrassment. "In fact I have reason to believe—why should I conceal it?—that my cousin Jean, the weaver, has had a larger share in this business than he ought to have had."
Lord Wentworth fixed a piercing glance upon the sturdy burgher; but he looked Lord Wentworth fearlessly in the eye.
As Pierre had imagined would be the case, the governor was too sensible of his own weakness, and too well aware of Peuquoy's influence in the city, to allow his suspicions to appear.
After having put some few questions to him, the governor dismissed him with gloomy but friendly words.
Left alone, Lord Wentworth gave way to overwhelming despondency.
What could he do? The city, defended only by its weak garrison, henceforth shut off from all hope of succor by land or sea, and hemmed in between the Nieullay fort on one side and the Risbank fort on the other, both of which threatened instead of defending it,—the city could hold out but very few days longer; in fact, it might be only a few hours.
A terrible state of affairs, indeed, for the haughty pride of Lord Wentworth!
"No matter!" he said beneath his breath, still pale with astonishment and rage,—"no matter! I will make them pay dear for their triumph. Calais is theirs now only too inevitably; but I will at all events hold out to the bitter end, and will sell them their priceless conquest at the price of as many dead bodies as possible. And as for the lover of beauteous Diane de Castro—"
He checked himself, while a hellish thought caused his sombre features to light up with a joyous gleam.
"As for the lover of the fair Diane," he resumed, with a sort of satisfaction, "if I bury myself, as I ought and will, under the ruins of Calais, we will try and see to it, at least, that he has not any reason to rejoice too heartily at our death; his suffering and vanquished rival has in store for him a fearful surprise, and let him beware!"
Thereupon he rushed from the house to encourage his troops and make his dispositions.
Soothed and hardened at once in a measure by reflecting on some evil project, he exhibited such imperturbable sang-froid that his very despair inspired hope in more than one doubting heart.
It is no part of the plan of this book to relate the story of the siege of Calais in all its details. François de Rabutin, in his "Guerres de Belgique," gives them in all their prolixity.
The days of the 5th and 6th of January were passed in equally energetic efforts on the one side and the other. Miners and soldiers on both sides did their duty with like courage and heroic obstinacy.
But the superb resistance of Lord Wentworth was rendered hopeless by the great superiority of the force opposed to him; Maréchal Strozzi, who had charge of the operations, seemed to divine all the means of defence and every movement of the English as if the ramparts of Calais had been transparent.
"The enemy must have a plan of the city in their possession," thought Lord Wentworth.
We know who had furnished the Duc de Guise with that plan.
Thus it was that Vicomte d'Exmès, though he was absent, though he was unemployed at the moment, was still useful to his associates; and as Monsieur de Guise remarked in his just gratitude, his beneficial influence had its due effect even from afar.
Nevertheless, the inactive and helpless part that he was forced to play weighed heavily upon the fiery youth. Practically imprisoned in the stronghold he had conquered, he had to occupy his energy in the duty of keeping watch, which was altogether too simple a matter and too easily performed for him.
When he had made the rounds every hour with the watchful vigilance which he had learned during the defence of St. Quentin, he would generally take his place by Martin-Guerre's bedside to comfort and encourage him.
The brave squire endured his suffering with marvellous patience and steadfastness, but he could not get over his surprise and sorrowful indignation at the wicked treatment which Pierre Peuquoy had felt called upon to inflict upon him.
The perfect candor of his anger and his surprise when he talked upon that obscure subject, was in itself sufficient to have scattered any suspicions that Gabriel might still have retained as to Martin's good faith.
Thereupon he decided to tell Martin-Guerre his own story, according to what he presumed to be the true state of the case, judging from appearances and from his conjectures. It was now very evident to him that some villain had availed himself of a marvellous resemblance to Martin, to commit in his name all sorts of scandalous and infamous deeds, of which he was not anxious to accept the consequences, and also, doubtless, to reap the full benefit of all the advantages and privileges which he had been able to divert from his double to himself.
This revelation Gabriel took care to make in presence of Jean Peuquoy. Jean was grieved and terrified in his honest heart at the consequences of the fatal error. But he was especially disturbed as to the person who was guilty of all these crimes. Who was the miserable wretch? Was he married also? Where was he hiding himself?
Martin-Guerre, for his part, was terribly alarmed at the mere idea of such an entanglement. While he was more than overjoyed to have his conscience relieved of such a load of misdeeds of which he had borne the blame so long, he was in despair at the thought that his name had been assumed, and his good fame dragged in the mire by such a villain. And then who could tell to what lengths the scoundrel might still be going under cover of that name, even at the very moment when Martin was lying helpless on his bed of suffering!
The episode of Babette Peuquoy especially caused poor Martin's heart to overflow with sorrow and compassion. Oh, indeed, now he could find excuses for Pierre's seeming brutality! He not only forgave him, but applauded him for what he did. Certainly, it was very well of him thus to avenge his honor so basely outraged! It was Martin-Guerre's turn now to console and reassure poor bewildered Jean Peuquoy.
The good squire, in his applause of Babette's brother, forgot only one thing,—that it was he who was suffering instead of the real culprit. When Gabriel smilingly reminded him of that, "Oh, well, never mind!" said Martin-Guerre. "I am still thankful for my accident; for if I survive, my poor lame leg, or better still, its stump, will serve to distinguish me from the impostor and traitor."
But alas! this doubtful consolation with which Martin buoyed up his hopes was very problematical; for would he survive? The surgeon of the city guard would not promise it; speedy assistance from a master hand was of the utmost importance, and two days would soon have passed, during which poor Martin-Guerre's alarming state had been relieved only by inadequate dressing.
This was by no means the least of Gabriel's reasons for impatience; and many a time, both night and day, he rose and listened intently for that blast of the horn which was at last to relieve him from his enforced idleness.
It was not till the evening of January 6th that Gabriel, who had already been in possession of the Risbank fort for thirty-six hours, thought that he could distinguish a greater uproar than usual in the direction of the city, and unaccustomed shrieks of triumph or distress.
The French, after a most bitter struggle, had made their way victoriously into the Old Château.
Calais could not now hold out more than twenty-four hours.
Nevertheless, the whole of the seventh was passed in superhuman efforts on the part of the English to retake so vital a position, and to maintain themselves in the last posts which they still possessed.
But Monsieur de Guise, far from allowing the enemy to regain an inch of ground, was gaining slowly but surely upon him; so that it soon became clear that the morrow would see Calais no longer under English rule.
It was three in the afternoon. Lord Wentworth, who had taken no heed to himself for seven days, and who had been always in the front rank, dealing out death and defying it, considered that the physical strength and moral courage of his men would hardly hold out two hours longer.
Then he summoned Lord Derby.
"How long do you think," he asked, "that we can still hold out?"
"Not more than three hours, I fear," said Lord Derby, sadly.
"But you can promise that it will be two, can you not?" rejoined the governor.
"Except for some unforeseen occurrence, I can," said Lord Derby, measuring with his eye the distance still to be passed by the French.
"Very well, my friend," said Lord Wentworth, "I place the command in your hands and withdraw. If the English, two hours hence,—but not a moment sooner, you understand,—if, two hours hence, our people have no longer any possible hope, as is only too probable, then I allow you, nay, I command you, the better to relieve you from responsibility, to sound the retreat and capitulate."
"In two hours; very well, my Lord," said Lord Derby.
Lord Wentworth then advised his lieutenant as to the terms he might demand, which would doubtless be granted by the Duc de Guise.
"But," said Lord Derby, "you have forgotten yourself in these conditions, my Lord. Shall I not also ask Monsieur de Guise to hold you to ransom?"
A dull light shone on Lord Wentworth's gloomy features.
"No, no," he replied, with a peculiar smile; "do not worry about me, my friend. I have assured myself of all that I need,—yes, of all that I desire even."
"But—" Lord Derby was beginning to remonstrate.
"Enough!" said the governor, authoritatively. "Do only what I tell you, nothing more. Adieu. You will bear witness for me in England that I did all that human mind and hand could do to defend my city, and yielded only to fate? And now it is for you to hold out till the last moment, but be sparing of English honor and English blood, Derby. This is my last word. Adieu."
Without staying to say or hear more, Lord Wentworth, having grasped Lord Derby's hand, left the field of battle, and withdrew alone to his own deserted house, giving the most strict and explicit orders that no one should be allowed to follow him on any pretext.
He was sure that he had at least two hours before him.