The Constable De Bourbon

This disaster was vexatious to François, but he shortly afterwards sustained a far heavier blow. The valiant Giovanni de’ Medici, who, it will be remembered, had distinguished himself so greatly on the side of the Imperialists in the previous campaign, had now passed over with his band, consisting of four thousand men, to the French camp, his motive for the step being inability to obtain pay for his men from the Emperor. The defection of so daring and skilful a leader as Medici was sensibly felt by the Imperialists, but his services were quickly lost by François.

While engaged in a skirmish with Antonio de Leyva, who had sallied forth to attack him, and whom he had forced to retreat with heavy loss, the brave young Italian leader was wounded in the heel by a bullet from an arquebuss, and was conveyed to Piacenza. On this, his troop immediately disbanded, refusing to serve under any other leader.

These losses, following each other in rapid succession, were not without effect upon the king, but he continued firm in his resolution to reduce Pavia, and would not listen to any suggestion to raise the siege.

When intelligence was brought him that Bourbon had returned from Suabia at the head of twelve thousand men, and that the Imperial army, thus powerfully reinforced, was about to march to succour the beleaguered city, and compel him to give them battle, François held a council of war, rather for the purpose of acquainting his generals with his designs than of asking their opinion.

Though the king’s sentiments were well known to all the leaders, several of them gave their opinion stoutly in opposition to his majesty, and the Marshal de Cha-bannes urged him strongly to raise the siege, avoid a battle, and retire to the Castle of Binasco.

“It is the interest of the Imperialists to fight,” said the marshal, “because they cannot afford to wait. They have not wherewithal to pay their troops, and can only keep them together by promise of a battle. Your majesty’s interest is to avoid an engagement, since by delay you can accomplish all you desire, without risk and without loss. I will not venture to point out the disastrous consequences that must ensue, if the issue of the battle should be adverse to us; but I beseech you to weigh them before coming to a decision which you may hereafter rue. My counsel, I know, will be distasteful to your majesty, but it is my duty to offer it.”

Several of the other leaders concurred with the veteran marshal in opinion, and recommended delay.

“Were I to follow your advice, marshal,” cried François – “were I to raise the siege of Pavia, and retire to Binasco, as you suggest, Bourbon would say I retreated before him.”

“And with reason, sire,” cried Bonnivet, indignantly. “I give you no such timid counsel, but advise you to remain where you are. Let the foe attack you if he dares – the inevitable result will be his own discomfiture. What shameful counsel is this you give to the king, messeigneurs? Would you have him belie his glorious career? Would you have him forfeit the laurels won at Marignan? Shall a base soldier like De Leyva have it in his power to boast that he has compelled our valiant king to retreat? Shall the traitor Bourbon be allowed to say – as he will say – that his royal master has fled before him?”

“Never!” exclaimed François. “By Saint Louis! he shall never say that!”

“You overrate our difficulties and dangers,” continued Bonnivet, addressing the marshals: “but you do not take into account our resources. Bethink you that the flower of the French chivalry is here, with the king at its head. Do not let us dishonour ourselves by precautions unworthy of his majesty and of us. It is upon the plains of Pavia, and not under shelter of the walls of Binasco, that we must seek for safety. Such caution is out of place. The king’s glory is in our keeping. Europe will demand a strict account of our charge. We must answer by victory or death.”

“You have misapprehended me, Bonnivet,” said Cha-bannes. “No one is more anxious than myself for the glory of the king. But I would not have him give undue advantage to the foe. Our army is much reduced in number, and discouraged by this lengthened siege, whereas the enemy is newly recruited by troops who have endured no hardship, but are stimulated to fight by promises of plunder. My opinion is shared by all the elder leaders.”

“You have the wisdom of Nestor, marshal,” rejoined Bonnivet, sarcastically, “and I listen to every word that falls from you with respect. But I cannot suffer the king to be guided by your counsel. His majesty has more need of the valour of his chiefs, at this juncture, than of their advice. As to yourself, marshal, were you to lose this chance of distinction, you would ever after regret it. It would be the first time you have sought to avoid a meeting with the enemy.”

“Enough, Bonnivet,” cried François. “I do not discern the dangers pointed out to me; but if they exist, I remain unmoved. I will await the foe in these intrenchments. When the battle comes, despite his age and prudence, no one, I am well assured, will display more ardour than Chabannes. Never shall it be said that the King of France fled before a rebellious subject. Here, on these plains of Pavia, I will punish the traitor, and I call on you, messeigneurs, to aid me in the task.”

“Your majesty shall not call in vain,” was the general reply.

VII. IN WHAT MANNER POMERRANT PROCURED A SUPPLY OP POWDER FOR THE

GOVERNOR OF PAVIA

By this time Pavia was almost reduced to the last extremity. Such was the vigilance of the besiegers, that no supplies whatever, unless obtained during a skirmish made by the active governor, could be introduced.

The horrors of famine were aggravated by the rigours of an unusually severe winter. Many persons perished from cold, as from inanition. Pieces of costly furniture and carved wood were broken up, and numerous habitations were half destroyed in the attempt to procure fuel. But Antonio de Leyva remained firm as ever – deaf to prayers and supplications, unmoved by menaces.

Once more the lanz-knechts had begun to clamour for pay, when at last the governor, driven to his wits’ end, resorted to a course often practised by the Lutheran leaders. Seizing all the gold and silver cups, vessels, images, and reliquaries belonging to the churches, he caused them to be melted down and coined into money, which he distributed among the mutinous lanz-knechts. De Leyva sought to mitigate the wrath of the priests by solemnly vowing to indemnify them for the loss of their plate; but he afterwards excused himself by declaring that he had made the promise in the Emperor’s name, and that it was for his majesty, not for him, to replace the treasures of which the churches had been despoiled.

But not only did the governor of Pavia want food and money, but his stock of powder was well-nigh exhausted, and it seemed impossible to obtain a fresh supply. Pomperant, however, who had remained within the city, enduring all the privations and hardships to which the garrison was exposed, undertook to remedy this difficulty.

Having fully explained his design to De Leyva, who approved of it and engaged to have all in readiness for his return, Pomperant set out at night-time on the expedition, accompanied only by the faithful Hugues. They were both fully armed and mounted on the fleetest horses that could be found in the garrison, and, issuing suddenly from the sallyport, contrived to gain a wood skirting the wall of the park of Mirabello, and thence, after narrowly escaping capture, made their way to the Castle of Sant Angelo, which they knew to be in possession of the Imperialists.

Here Pomperant found Bourbon, and a joyful meeting took place between the duke and his devoted partisan, who had not met for nearly three months. On learning Pomperant’s errand, Bourbon at once gave him a band of forty reiters, each of whom was furnished with a large bag of powder. Attended by this troop, and accompanied by Hugues, who likewise carried a bag of powder at his saddle-bow, Pomperant quitted Sant Angelo when it grew dark, and got within a league of Pavia without encountering any material obstacle.

But danger was now at hand. So completely was Pavia surrounded, that it was impossible to enter the city without passing through the enemy’s lines. Avoiding the intrenchments thrown around the main body of the French army, Pomperant approached a point where there were fewest difficulties in the way, and, dashing past the sentinels, succeeded in gaining the wood bordering the park.

But the alarm was instantly given, and a mounted picket at once started in pursuit. The horses of these troopers being fresh, they soon gained upon the reiters, and a conflict appeared unavoidable.

While Pomperant was straining every nerve to reach Pavia, the horse of one of the reiters stumbled and fell, and, ere the man could disengage himself, he was surrounded by the French troopers, several of whom fired at him as he lay on the ground. During the fray the bag of powder exploded. Amid the confusion and dismay caused by this incident Pomperant and his band escaped, and entering the city through the sallyport, were warmly welcomed by the governor.

VIII. HOW MARCELLINE D’HERMENT CAME TO PAVIA TO SOLICIT HER BROTHER’S

PARDON PROM THE KING

A FEW days afterwards, Pomperant, attended by the reiters, made a sortie from Pavia, and as he was returning, after an unsuccessful quest for provisions, he descried some half-dozen French men-at-arms advancing towards him at a rapid pace. No sooner, however, did this little troop discern their danger, than they galloped back towards the French camp. It then appeared that they were merely acting as an escort to a lady, who refused to return with them. Seeing this, Pomperant ordered the reiters to halt, and rode towards her alone.

The lady was young, attired in a riding-dress of green velvet, and there was something in her appearance that reminded him of Marcelline. As he drew nearer, the resemblance seemed to increase, till at last Pomperant, who scarcely dared to trust the evidence of his senses, could no longer doubt. It was Marcelline herself. Uttering a cry of surprise and delight, he pressed towards her, and the next moment was by her side.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” he exclaimed, gazing rapturously at her. “Do I indeed behold Marcelline d’Herment, whom I have so long mourned as lost! Speak, and reassure me. I thought you had perished beneath the walls of Marseilles.”

“Yes, ‘tis I, in good truth, Pomperant,” she rejoined. “I was not even injured by the explosion which you supposed had caused my death, I have been most anxious to inform you of my escape, but could find no means of communicating with you.”

“Had you done so, you would have saved me months of grief,” he cried. “But I will not reproach you. My delight at meeting you again is too great to allow the presence of any other sentiment. I care not even to ask by what strange and fortunate chance you are here. Enough that I behold you.”

“We meet only to part,” she rejoined. “But you shall hear what has brought me to Pavia. When I explain to you the motive of my journey your wonder will cease. My brother, the Seigneur d’Herment, has been condemned to death by the Parliament of Paris, and is now in the Conciergerie waiting the execution of the sentence. At Aix, where I had an interview with his majesty after the siege of Marseilles, he graciously promised that if I had any favour to ask from him, he would grant it. When I heard that my unfortunate brother had been doomed to death, I bethought me of the promise. By my entreaties I obtained a respite from the Chancellor Duprat, and immediately set out for Italy, and, undeterred by all difficulties and dangers from which one less resolute than myself might have shrunk, crossed the Alps, and, after some unavoidable delays, reached the French camp before Pavia yesterday. I easily obtained an audience of the king, who was in his tent, and when I threw myself on my knees before him, he said, ‘I recollect you well. You are one of the heroines of Marseilles. I have not forgotten my promise to you.’ ‘I have come to claim fulfilment of that promise, sire,’ I replied. But when I explained my errand, he looked very grave, and said, coldly, ‘You ask more than I can perform. I cannot pardon your brother. As an accomplice of the traitor Bourbon he must die.’ ‘Sire,’ I rejoined, ‘I am equally guilty with my brother, since I accompanied the Constable de Bourbon in his flight.’”

“‘You have made amends by your conduct at Marseilles,’ he replied; ‘but your brother’s case is different. You too loyal to ask me to spare a traitor, even though he should be of your own blood.’ ‘Your royal word has never yet been broken, sire,’ I rejoined. ‘I hold you to your promise.’ For a few moments he looked displeased, and I trembled, for I expected a refusal. Without making a remark, however, he signed a warrant, which was lying on a table near him, and gave it to me, saying, as he did so, ‘There is the pardon. Deliver that to the Chancellor Duprat, and your brother will be set free.’”

“Nobly done!” exclaimed Pomperant.

“Nobly done indeed!” cried Marcelline. “And I shall ever bless him for his clemency. Oh! Pomperant, how could you draw sword against such a king?”

“Because I have sworn to follow Bourbon, and shall stand by him to the last,” he rejoined. “Hear me, Marcelline. We are now on the eve of a decisive battle, which will either result in the downfal of François de Valois, or in the utter destruction of Bourbon and his followers. Have I not your good wishes for success?”

“Pomperant, I have told you that I am loyal to the king. After his great generosity towards me, can I nourish any treasonable sentiments against him? My prayer will be that you may escape, but I shall also pray that the king may be the victor.”

“If you so pray, you will pray for my death, Marcelline. Bourbon has told me that if François should ever give him battle, he will conquer or die on the field. If he falls, I shall not survive.”

“You have done wrong in thus attaching yourself to a rebel, Pomperant. If you persist in your treason, I must tear you from my heart, whatever the effort may cost me.”

“Oh! say not so, Marcelline! Better we had never met than you should use such cruel language towards me. Better I should have thought you lost for ever than find you changed.”

“I am not changed, Pomperant. But I will not continue to love a traitor and rebel. Quit the service of the king’s enemies. Seek some place of safety, and when I have obtained my brother’s pardon, I will return and join you. Will you do this? Will you fly with me now? Come! come! you shall have all my love. But if you stay here, you will behold me no more.”

“You tempt me sorely, Marcelline. But I cannot – must not – yield. I cannot sacrifice my honour even to my love. I am vowed to Bourbon, as I have told you, and shall follow him to the last. Think you I could desert him now?”

“Then you must forget me, for I shall hold you unworthy of my love, and tear you from my heart. Farewell!”

“We have not yet parted,” cried Pomperant. “Fortune has placed you in my hands. You must go with me to Pavia.”

“To Pavia!” she exclaimed. “Never!”

And she turned with the intention of galloping back to the French camp, but Pomperant seized her bridle and detained her.

“You are my prisoner,” he said.

“You cannot mean this, Pomperant?” she rejoined, in alarm. “You will not detain me against my will. My brother’s life is at stake. You will be answerable for his fate should he be put to death.”

“Have no fears about your brother,” said Pomperant. “I will find a faithful messenger to take the warrant to Duprat.”

“Pomperant,” said Marcelline, “you will not dishonour your knightly character by detaining me against my will?”

“No,” he replied, after a great effort, “Ï will not hinder you. You are free. But do not return to the French camp,” he added, perceiving she was about to ride in that direction. “I will send Hugues with you. He is amongst yon troop of reiters. Take him with you to France.”

“I have a servant at Novara, and shall be safe when I arrive there,” she rejoined. “This conduct is worthy of you, Pomperant.”

“It has been a misfortune to me that I have ever loved you, Marcelline,” he rejoined, sadly. “I must try to banish all thoughts of you in the strife. If I fall, bestow a tear on me. If I escape, we may meet again.”

“Perhaps so,” she replied. “Heaven only knows what is in store for us.”

Without a word more, Pomperant called to Hugues, who instantly obeyed the summons and rode towards them.

“Attend this lady to Novara,” he said, “and then return as best you can to Pavia.”

Hugues bowed assent, and Pomperant, drawing near to Marcelline, said, in a low, deep voice, “Are we to part thus?”

“We must,” she rejoined in the same tone. “Farewell! – forget me!”

“Would I could forget her!” ejaculated Pomperant, as he rode back with the reiters to Pavia.

IX. HOW PESCARA CAUSED A BREACH TO BE MADE IN THE WALLS OF THE PARK. OF

MIRABELLO

On quitting Lodi, the Imperial army consisted of upwards of twenty-one thousand men, more than half of whom had been raised by Bourbon, The lanz-knechts were commanded by Von Frundsberg, the reiters by Marx Sittich d’Ems, and the Burgundian light horse by the Comte de Salms.

Pescara’s chief reliance was upon a corps of Basque arquebussiers, whom he had trained to rush upon the enemy, discharge their pieces, and retreat with extraordinary rapidity. These Basques formed a corps fifteen hundred strong, and were all unerring marksmen. Moreover, they were armed with short sharp swords, which they could fix on the top of their arquebusses, and use with terrible effect against cavalry.

During its march the army extended for nearly three leagues. The vanguard was commanded by Pescara, with whom were the best of the Spanish cavalry, and the before-mentioned Basque arquebussiers. Then came the Marquis del Vasto with his battalion, and after him Lannoy with the Neapolitan soldiers. Then came five hundred light horse under Castrioto, then the lanz-knechts under Von Frundsberg, and lastly the reiters and Burgundian cavalry. The rear-guard was commanded by Bourbon. The whole of the army was in excellent condition, and though the men were unpaid, they were content with the promises of plunder held out to them by their leaders. Under such circumstances, however, it was incumbent that a battle should take place with as little delay as possible, and on this point both Bourbon and Pescara were agreed.

Instead of marching direct upon Pavia, the Imperial generals proceeded towards Milan, as if designing to attack that city, hoping by the device to draw François from his intrenched camp, but the king was either too well informed of their design or too wary, for he would not quit his position.

Finding he did not move, they altered their course and gradually approached Pavia, and as they drew near to the French camp frequent skirmishes took place between troops of cavalry on either side, in which, owing to the address and daring of Pescara and Del Vasto, the advantage generally remained with the Imperialists.

By the king’s command Bonnivet had been despatched with four hundred light horse to watch the movements of the enemy, and while thus employed in the neighbourhood of Belgiojoso, he was surprised by Pescara, and after a sharp skirmish compelled to retreat.

On learning that the enemy were now close at hand, the king quitted his quarters at San Lanfranco, and removed to the neighbourhood of the Certosa, a magnificent convent situated at the northern extremity of the park of Mirabello.

By this time the whole of the Imperial army had come up, and was encamped upon a plain, between two canals, on the east of Pavia, about a league from the walls of the city, and about half a league from the advanced guard of the French army. The hostile camps were separated by the Vernacula, a small but deep river, with steep banks. The spot chosen for their camp by the Imperialists was protected by a rising ground from the French artillery, while the Vernacula served them as a trench.

After carefully studying the position of the French army, Pescara became convinced that it would be impossible to force them in their intrenchments, and as all attempts to draw them forth had proved ineffectual, some new expedient must be adopted. At last he hit upon a plan, which he proposed to Bourbon.

“Since all other means have failed,” he said, “I propose to proceed in this manner. The attack must be made to-night. My design is to make a breach in the walls of the park of Mirabello sufficiently large to allow the passage of our whole army. This can be readily accomplished in a few hours, and without artillery, if we are undiscovered. The walls can be battered down by rams and other engines, and while the operations are going on, false attacks must be made at two or three different points of the French camp, so as to distract their attention. Once within the park, we shall have nothing between us and the king, whose quarters are now near the Certosa. If we cannot compel him to give us battle, we can at least succour Pavia.”

“I like the plan, and doubt not it will succeed,” remarked Bourbon. “But De Leyva must be informed of it, that he may hold himself in readiness to sally forth with the garrison.”

“I will engage to take a message to him,” said Pomperant, who was standing by.

“Tell him go make ready to-night,” said Pescara; “and when he hears cannon fired in the park to come forth with his men.”

“It shall be done,” replied Pomperant. “It is well you have resolved to execute your plan without delay, for Pavia is reduced almost to the last extremity.”

About an hour before midnight Pescara put his battalion in motion, and after making a wide circuit, so as to avoid the French pickets, he approached the farther side of the park of Mirabello. Del Vasto followed. Next came Castrioto, with his squadron of five hundred light horse. Then came Lannoy, with his Neapolitan soldiers. Then the Burgundian cavalry under the Comte de Salms; and lastly Bourbon, Von Frundsberg, and Marx Sittich d’Ems, with the German lanz-knechts and reiters. The night was so dark, and the movement so noiselessly executed, that no suspicion was entertained by the French.

As the mighty host thus silently collected upon a plain on the north side of the park, they were concealed from the French sentinels by a thick intervening wood. From this plain the dark outline of Pavia, with its numerous lofty towers, its Duomo and castle, could be discerned, and the sounds that disturbed the silence of the night proclaimed that the garrison were astir.

No sooner did Pescara reach that portion of the walls which he had selected for his purpose, than a large body of pioneers set to work to batter them down with rams, huge beams of wood, and other engines. But the walls had been very solidly built by Gian Galeazzo Visconti, and offered a more obstinate resistance than had been expected. Dawn was at hand before a sufficiently large breach could be made.

While this operation was proceeding, two false attacks, as preconcerted, had been made upon the French camp, accompanied by a constant discharge of artillery; but in spite of this precaution the plan was discovered, and communicated to François.

As soon as the breach was practicable, the Marquis del Vasto, in obedience to Pescara’s injunctions, dashed into the park with his battalion, and hastened to the Castle of Mirabello, which he attacked and took without difficulty, dispersing the troops by whom it was garrisoned.

So far success had crowned the attempt. But a sudden check was now experienced.

X. THE BATTLE

As we have just mentioned, intelligence of the movements of the Imperialists, and of their probable plans, had been conveyed to the king. Overjoyed by the tidings – for he was all eagerness for the fray – François, who was sleeping in his tent, immediately arose, and caused his esquires to array him in a magnificent suit of mail, that had lately been fabricated for him at Milan. Then donning his glittering casque, with its long white plumes, which drooped down his back, and buckling on his sword, he mounted his stoutest war-horse – a powerful black charger – and rode forth.

As soon as he appeared he was joined by the Duke d’Alençon and the Marshal de Chabannes, both of whom were fully armed and accoutred, and mounted on barded steeds. With them was a throng of knightly personages, composed of the chief officers of the crown, the young nobles ordinarily in attendance upon the king, and the guard.