For The Admiral written by W.J. Marx

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FOR THE ADMIRAL

W.J. MARX

_Author of "Scouting for Buller," "The British Legion," etc._

HODDER AND STOUGHTON
PUBLISHERS LONDON

_Printed in 1906_

_Butler and Panner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London_

TO MY WIFE

BUT FOR WHOSE ENCOURAGEMENT

THIS STORY WOULD NEVER

HAVE BEEN WRITTEN.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I
A PERILOUS RIDE

CHAPTER II
TRACKED, OR NOT?

CHAPTER III
THE FIGHT BY THE WAY

CHAPTER IV
HOW WE KEPT THE FORD

CHAPTER V
A TRAITOR TO THE KING

CHAPTER VI
THE UNKNOWN CAVALIER

CHAPTER VII
A COMMISSION FOR THE ADMIRAL

CHAPTER VIII
THE TRAGEDY OF JARNAC

CHAPTER IX
A GLORIOUS VICTORY

CHAPTER X
I REJOIN THE ADVANCE

CHAPTER XI
A DESPERATE CONFLICT

CHAPTER XII
THE RETURN TO ROCHELLE

CHAPTER XIII
A DARING ENTERPRISE

CHAPTER XIV
SCOUTING FOR COLIGNY

CHAPTER XV
A GLORIOUS TRIUMPH

CHAPTER XVI
A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE

CHAPTER XVII
THE KING'S PROMISE

CHAPTER XVIII
A WARNING FROM L'ESTANG

CHAPTER XIX
WHO KILLED THE COURIER?

CHAPTER XX
L'ESTANG'S COURIER

CHAPTER XXI
I SAVE CORDEL'S LIFE

CHAPTER XXII
L'ESTANG TELLS HIS STORY

CHAPTER XXIII
A ROYAL MARRIAGE

CHAPTER XXIV
A MYSTERIOUS WARNING

CHAPTER XXV
A DASTARDLY DEED

CHAPTER XXVI
WHAT WILL THE KING DO?

CHAPTER XXVII
THE DAY OF THE MASSACRE

CHAPTER XXVIII
FAREWELL FRANCE

L'ENVOI

CHAPTER I

A Perilous Ride

"I trust no harm has happened to my father, Jacques. The night grows
late and there are strange rumours afloat. 'Tis said that the Guises are
eager to break the peace."

"Better open warfare than this state of things, monsieur. The peace is
no peace: the king's troops are robbing and slaying as they please.
Francois of the mill told me a pretty tale of their doings to-day. But
listen, I hear the beat of hoofs on the road below."

"There are two horses, Jacques, and they approach very slowly. My father
does not usually ride like that."

"No, faith!" said Jacques, with a laugh; "if his horse went at that pace
the Sieur Le Blanc would get down and walk! But the travellers are
coming here, nevertheless. Shall we go to the gate, monsieur?"

"It may be as well," I answered. "One can never tell these days what
mischief is brewing."

By the peasantry for miles around my home was called the Castle of Le
Blanc. It stood on the brow of a hill, overlooking a wide plain, and was
defended by a dry moat and massive walls. A score of resolute men inside
might easily have kept two hundred at bay, and more than once, indeed,
the castle had stood a regular siege.

According to Jacques it might have to do so again, for in that year,
1586, of which I write, France was in a terrible state. The nation was
divided into two hostile parties--those who fiercely resisted any
changes being made in the Church, and the Huguenots, those of the
Religion--and the whole land was given over to brawling and disorder.

My father, who was held in high esteem by the Huguenot party, had fought
through three campaigns under Gaspard de Coligny, the Admiral, as men,
by virtue of his office, generally called him. Severely wounded in one
of the numerous skirmishes, he had returned home to be nursed back to
health by my mother. Before he recovered a peace was patched up between
the two parties, and he had since remained quietly on his estate.

He it was who, rather to my surprise, now came riding at a foot pace
into the courtyard. The stranger accompanying him sat his horse limply,
and seemed in some danger of falling from the saddle.

[Illustration: "The stranger accompanying him sat his horse limply."]

"Take the bridle, Jacques," cried my father. "Edmond, let your mother
know I am bringing with me a wounded man."

When we had assisted the stranger into one of the chambers I saw that he
was of medium height, spare in figure, but tough and sinewy. He had a
swarthy complexion, and small, black, twinkling eyes that gave the
impression of good-humour. His right arm, evidently broken, was carried
in a rough, hastily-made sling; his doublet was bloodstained, and his
forehead had been scored by the slash of a knife.

He must have been suffering agony, yet he did not even wince when my
father, who had considerable experience of wounds, set the broken limb,
while I, after sponging his face with warm water, applied some salve to
the gash. But he kept muttering to himself, "This is a whole night
wasted; I must set out at daybreak."

"We are going to get you into bed, and dress the wound in your side,"
said my father cheerily. "I hope that at daybreak you will be sleeping
soundly."

"The cut is a bagatelle, monsieur, and I must to the road again. A
murrain on those rascally bandits!"

"At least you will be none the worse for an hour's rest," said my
father, humouring his fancy. "Edmond, get off his boots, and do it
gently: we must keep this wound from bleeding afresh."

Between us we removed his clothes, and in spite of his protests got him
into bed, when my father bathed and bandaged his side, saying, "It looks
worse than it really is. Now, a cup of hot broth, and you should sleep
comfortably."

"The broth will be welcome, monsieur, but I have no time for sleep. An
hour lost here may plunge thousands of good Frenchmen into mourning."

I thought at first the pain had turned his brain; but he spoke sensibly
enough, and appeared deeply in earnest.

"Can we help you?" my father asked. "It will be a week yet before you
are able to sit in the saddle. Do you know me?"

"Yes," said the other, and his face brightened, "you are the Sieur Le
Blanc. I have seen you at Rochelle with the Admiral."

"Then you know I am to be trusted! Mind, I have no wish to pry into your
business; but perhaps we can be of service. Are you travelling far?"

"A week's ride," groaned the man; then, raising himself in bed, he said,
"Monsieur, I must go forward!"

"Pshaw, man, you talk nonsense! You haven't sufficient strength to carry
you across the room, and the wound in your side would start bleeding
before you reached the courtyard. Come, throw aside your fears; I make
no secret of my friendship for Gaspard de Coligny, and it is easy to
guess you have fought under his banner before now. But here is Jacques
with the broth! Drink this, and afterwards we will talk."

I raised him up while he drank, and presently he said, "Monsieur, if I
rested till midday I should be strong enough."

"A week at the least," my father replied, "and even then a score of
miles would overtax your strength."

After lying quietly for a few minutes, he whispered, "Monsieur, make the
door fast. Now, hand me my doublet. A murrain on the knaves who brought
me to this! A knife, monsieur, and slit the lining. Do you feel a
packet? 'Tis a small one. Ah, that is it. Look, monsieur, at the
address."

"The Admiral!" said my father with a start of surprise, "and he is at
Tanlay. Man, it will be a month before you can reach Tanlay; and the
packet is marked 'All speed!' Do you know the purport of the message?"

"It conveys a warning, monsieur, and it will arrive too late. The
Guises and the Queen-Mother have laid their plans; the Loire is guarded
along its banks, and the troops are collecting for a swoop on Tanlay."

"And Conde is at Noyers!"

"The Prince is included, monsieur. 'Let us take off the heads of the two
leaders,' is what the Italian woman says, 'and there will be no more
Huguenots.' And the chiefs at Rochelle chose me to carry the warning.
'There is none braver or more prudent than Ambroise Devine,' they said.
Monsieur, I would rather have lost my right hand!"

"Cheer up, man. I warrant you have no cause for reproach. Guise has his
spies in Rochelle, and they would follow you on the chance of picking up
some information. When were you attacked?"

"At the close of the afternoon, monsieur, in the wood a few miles to the
west. They sprang out upon me suddenly--there were three of them--and I
was taken unawares. But it was a good fight," and, in spite of his pain
and distress of mind, his face lit up with a smile of satisfaction.
"There is one trooper the less in Guise's ranks, and another who won't
earn his pay for months to come."

"And best of all, the papers are safe," my father observed. "Now, what
is to be done? That is the important point. The Admiral must have them
without loss of time, and you cannot carry them to him. My duties keep
me here, but I could send Jacques----"

"Jacques?" said the sick man questioningly.

"He is a trusty servant; I will vouch for his loyalty."

Devine shook his head. It was plain he did not welcome the proposal.

"Trust the papers to me," I said, on a sudden impulse, "and I will take
Jacques for company."

"'Tis a long journey, Edmond, and full of danger," said my father. "I
fear an older head than yours is needed."

"Jacques can supply the older head, and I will take charge of the
papers."

"You are only a boy," objected Devine.

"So much the better: no one will suspect I am engaged on an errand of
importance."

"There is something in that, but this is no child's game; 'tis an affair
of life and death. You must travel day and night, and from the moment
the papers are in your hands your life belongs to the Admiral. If you
fail to reach Tanlay in time, the death of the noblest gentleman in
France will lie on your shoulders."

"I will do my best."

"He is young," remarked my father, "but he can bear fatigue. He has a
sure seat in the saddle, and he is more thoughtful than most boys of his
age. With Jacques at his elbow the venture is not as desperate as it may
seem."

Since nothing better offered, Devine at length agreed to the proposal,
and having informed Jacques that we should start at dawn I went straight
to bed, in the hope of getting a couple of hours' sleep before beginning
the journey.

The morning had scarcely broken when Jacques wakened me; I sprang up
quickly, dressed--my mother had sewn the precious papers securely
inside my doublet--and made a hearty meal.

My mother, who had risen in order to bid me farewell, was full of
anxiety; but, like the brave woman she was, she put aside her fears; for
the Admiral's safety was at stake, and we of the Religion were well
content to make any sacrifice for our beloved leader. I embraced her
fondly, assuring her I would be careful, and proceeded to the chamber
where Ambroise Devine lay. He had not slept, but was eagerly awaiting
the time of my departure.

"You have the papers?" he asked. "Give them into the Admiral's own
hands, and remember that a single hour's delay may ruin the Cause."

"He carries a full purse," said my father, "and can buy fresh horses on
the road."

Wishing the sick man good-bye, and bidding him be of good courage, I
descended to the courtyard, where Jacques awaited me with the horses.

"Do not be sparing of your money, Edmond; if need arises, spend freely,"
my father advised. "And now, may God bless you, and bring you safely
through. Do not forget, Jacques, that a shrewd brain will pay better
than a strong arm in this venture."

"We will be as prudent as the Admiral himself, monsieur," declared
Jacques, as he vaulted into the saddle; and, with a last word of counsel
from my father, we crossed the drawbridge and rode down the hill to the
high road.

"'Tis a long journey before us, monsieur, and an unexpected one,"
observed my companion, as, turning sharply to the left, we rode through
the still sleeping village. "'Tis odd what a chance encounter may bring
about; but for the Sieur's meeting with the wounded man we should still
be snug abed. There is some one stirring at the inn. Old Pierre will be
none too pleased at having guests who rise so early; but there, 'twill
be another coin or so to add to his hoard."

"Pierre is a wise man," I said.

"I think not, monsieur. There is little wisdom in saving money for
others to spend. The king's troopers will ride through here some day,
and Pierre will be a cunning man if they do not strip him as bare as a
trussed fowl. 'Tis more satisfactory these days to spend one's money
while one has the chance. And things will never be any better until they
send the Italian woman out of the country."

Jacques generally spoke of the Queen-Mother as the Italian woman, and he
regarded her as the chief cause of all our troubles.

"She cares for no one but herself," he continued, "not even for the boy
king, and the Guises have her under their thumb. What with them and her
Italian favourites there is no room in France for an honest Frenchman.
Listen, some one rides behind us! 'Tis the early riser from the inn
perhaps. Faith, he is a keen judge of horseflesh."

"And he has a firm seat," I remarked, glancing round. "He will overtake
us in a few minutes. Shall we quicken our pace?"

"No, monsieur. If he is a friend there is no need; should he be an enemy
'twill but arouse suspicion."

"Good-day, messieurs," cried a pleasant voice, "I trust we are well
met. I am a stranger in the district, and wish to discover the
whereabouts of one Etienne Cordel. He is an advocate from Paris, but he
owns a small estate in the neighbourhood."

"A tall man," said Jacques, "with a nose like a hawk's beak, and eyes
that look in opposite directions?"

"Faith, my friend," laughed the stranger jovially, "you have his picture
to a nicety. That is Etienne Cordel. Are you acquainted with him?"

"I have met him," replied Jacques carelessly. "We shall pass within a
mile or two of his place, if you care to travel in our company."

"Nothing would please me more," declared the cavalier. "This is a stroke
of good fortune on which I had not counted. I spent the night at the inn
yonder, but the dolt of a landlord might have been one of the staves of
his own barrels: he could not answer me a question!"

"Ha! my dashing friend," I thought to myself, "old Pierre must have had
his reasons for making a fool of you," for in truth the landlord knew
every one, and everything that happened, for miles around.

The stranger had drawn his horse abreast of mine, and was riding on my
left. He was a man of perhaps thirty years, richly but quietly dressed,
wearing a sword, and carrying two pistols in his holsters. His dark
brown hair escaped over his forehead in short curls; his face was strong
and capable; he had good features, and a rounded chin. His eyes were
blue, deep, expressive, and beautiful as a woman's, and he had a most
engaging air of candour and sincerity. The horse he rode was a splendid
animal; my father had not its equal in his stables.

"This place of Etienne's," said he, addressing Jacques, "is it far?"

"Within a dozen miles, monsieur. You might easily have reached it last
night by pushing on."

"Had I been acquainted with the road! But it was late when I arrived at
the inn, and my horse had done a heavy's day work. You are a native of
the district, monsieur?" turning to me.

"If you make the district wide enough," I answered, with a laugh.

"You have escaped the ravages of war in these parts; you are fortunate.
One can ride here without loosening his sword."

"Yes," assented Jacques, "'tis a peaceful neighbourhood."

"A pity one cannot say the same of all France," replied the other with a
deep sigh, as if saddened at the mere thought of bloodshed; "and yet it
is whispered that the war is likely to break out again. Has the rumour
reached you down here?"

"We hear little news of the outside world," I replied.

"Excuse me, monsieur," exclaimed Jacques suddenly, "but it will suit us
to quicken the pace. We have pressing business to transact," to which
our chance acquaintance replied that he was quite willing to be guided
by our wishes.

Accordingly we broke into a canter, and for the next hour or so no sound
was heard save the beat of our horses' hoofs on the hard road. But
once, when the stranger had shot a few paces to the front--for as I have
said he rode a splendid animal--Jacques made me a swift sign that I
should be cautious.

CHAPTER II

Tracked, or Not?

"That is your road, monsieur. At the end of a mile a cross-road leads
straight to Etienne Cordel's dwelling. You will see the house from the
spot where the road branches. You will pardon us for our hasty
departure, but time presses. If you put up again at the inn, we may have
the pleasure of meeting you on our return."

Taking the cue from Jacques, who evidently did not intend holding a
prolonged conversation, I said: "Adieu, monsieur, and a pleasant ending
to your journey. You cannot mistake the way, now," and directly he had
thanked us for our assistance we rode on.

"Rather an abrupt departure, Jacques," I remarked presently, feeling
somewhat puzzled.

"Better that, monsieur, than wait to be asked inconvenient questions.
Did you notice that slash across his doublet? He has been pretty close
to a naked sword, and not long ago either! What does he want with
Etienne Cordel? He looks more fitted for the camp than the law courts."

"Monsieur Cordel no doubt transacts his private business for him."

"No doubt," said Jacques, with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I did not
like his appearance, and if we could spare the time I would ride back to
discover what made Pierre suddenly dumb. I warrant he misliked his
questioner; but if the stranger is seeking information, he can obtain
all he wants from Cordel."

"You are no friend to the advocate, Jacques!"

"He is a spy, monsieur, and a maker of mischief. One of these days men
will learn his true character."

"I have no liking for Cordel," I said, "but still all this has nothing
to do with our errand."

"Perhaps not, monsieur; we will hope not," replied my companion, "but
all the same, I wish we had started an hour earlier."

Honestly I felt rather inclined to laugh at Jacques' vague fears, for
the stranger's pleasant speech and affable manner had impressed me, and
I could not think of him in any other light than that of a courteous and
gallant gentleman. In spite of wise saws, one is often tempted to
believe that occasionally fine feathers make fine birds.

We rode on steadily, stopping for an hour or two during the hottest part
of the day, and putting up late at night at a dilapidated inn in a
half-deserted village. The landlord, a bent, feeble, old man, had gone
to bed, but he set about preparing some supper, while, since there was
no ostler, we fed and groomed the animals ourselves.

"We must start at daybreak," said Jacques, when we had finished our
meal; "that will give us four hours' sleep."

"Fourteen would suit me better!" I laughed, as we followed our host to
the guest-chamber, and, indeed, I was so thoroughly tired that my head
scarcely touched the pillow before I was sound asleep.

It was still dark when Jacques roused me, and by dawn we were once more
on the road. On this second day's journey the ravages of the late war
were plainly apparent, and the sights made one's heart ache. The fields
lay waste and untilled; the cattle, few in number, were mere bundles of
skin and bone; the villages were half-emptied of their inhabitants,
while those who remained resembled skeletons rather than human beings.

"And all this," exclaimed my companion bitterly, "is the work of the
Italian woman and her friends. It is time that Frenchmen took their
country into their own hands again, and out of the clutches of these
foreign harpies!"

"That can be done only by another war, Jacques, and surely we have had
enough of cutting one another's throats!"

"It must be either war or murder," he responded. "The Guises won't rest
until they become masters. France will swim in blood one of these days.
Do you know, monsieur, I am glad that Mademoiselle Jeanne is not at the
castle!"

Jeanne was my sister, who, since the peace, had been living at Rochelle
with an invalid aunt. She was seventeen years of age, a year older than
myself, and a girl of beauty and courage.

"You are in a gloomy mood, Jacques, and fancying all kinds of dangers
that are not likely to happen. Why, even the stranger we met at Le Blanc
alarmed you."

"He alarms me yet," replied Jacques gravely; "he is a bird of ill
omen."

"Come," I said banteringly, "let us have a canter; it will clear the
cobwebs from your brain, besides helping us on our way to Saintbreuil,"
the little town where we intended to pass the night and to procure fresh
horses. Jacques had an acquaintance at Saintbreuil--an innkeeper who
secretly favoured the Cause without possessing sufficient courage to
declare his opinions.

The night had grown somewhat late by the time of our arrival, but we
managed to secure admittance, and Jacques had no difficulty in finding
the inn--a fairly decent house in a small square.

"A quiet room, Edouard, and some supper," said my companion to the host,
"and serve us yourself. There is no need that all Saintbreuil should
learn of our being here. And be quick, for we are tired and hungry, and
there is business to transact."

The landlord, a nervous-looking fellow, took us quickly to a chamber at
the farther end of the house, and in a short time we were sitting down
to a well-spread table.

"Is the town quiet?" asked Jacques presently.

"Quiet, but uneasy. The citizens are afraid of they know not what. There
is a whisper that the peace will be broken."

"Humph! there is more than a whisper in some parts; but listen to me,
Edouard; monsieur and I are travelling fast. We have nearly foundered
our animals, and yet it is necessary to push on again directly the
gates are opened. You must procure us fresh horses, the best that can
be got."

"And the two in the stables?"

"Can go in exchange."

"You will have to pay heavily."

"Of course we shall, my dear Edouard, but monsieur is prepared to open
his purse. Get them into the stable to-night, and call us at daybreak."

"Can you trust him to procure really good animals?" I asked, when the
man had gone out.

"There are few keener judges of horseflesh than Edouard, monsieur; and
now let us to bed."

Jacques had lost his gloomy fit; there seemed little likelihood of
danger, and I slept soundly till wakened by our host. Dressing hastily
we went straight to the stables, and were more than satisfied with our
new animals. They were beautiful creatures, shaped for both speed and
endurance, and I did not grudge the money the landlord had spent.

"They should carry us to our journey's end," said Jacques in a whisper;
"the sight of them gives me fresh courage. I care not a rap of the
fingers now for our chance acquaintance!"

"The cavalier seems to have turned your brain!" I laughed.

"Maybe 'twas only an idle fancy, but I mistrusted the fellow. Perhaps
you will laugh, but I thought he might be one of those who attacked
Monsieur Devine."

"Well?" I said, startled by this statement, and yet puzzled to
understand how it affected us.

"If so, he must be trying to obtain possession of the papers. He would
follow the wounded man, and suddenly lose him. He failed to get any
information from old Pierre, and he learned little from us; but the
advocate would tell him everything."

"What could Cordel tell?" I asked, still puzzled.

"That your father, monsieur, is the chief person in the district--that
he is of the Religion--that the wounded messenger might have found
shelter in the castle."

"Yes, the advocate would certainly mention that."

"The stranger would speak of us, too, and the lawyer, recognizing the
description, would inform him who we were. That would arouse his
suspicions, for you must admit that we chose a strange hour to ride."

"And you think he would follow us?"

"That is what I feared. He is splendidly mounted, and could easily
overtake us; but now," and Jacques laughed, "the case is different."

"Even should he come up with us," I said, "he is but one against two,
and we can both handle a sword!"

My companion shrugged his shoulders. "What chance should we have in
Saintbreuil, monsieur? A word to a king's officer, and we should either
be dead, or in prison."

"Faith," I said laughing, though not with much heartiness, "you draw a
lively picture! Once outside these walls, I shall not care to venture
into a town again until we reach Tanlay."

"With these horses there should be no need."

The officer of the guard gazed at us suspiciously. "You travel early,
monsieur!" he remarked.

"Too early for comfort!" I replied, "but I must reach Nevers before
Marshal Tavannes leaves. He does not like idle excuses."

"You are right, monsieur!" replied the man, with an instant change of
expression, "one does not play tricks with the marshal. But I did not
know he was at Nevers."

"'Tis but a flying visit, I believe."

"Well, a pleasant journey to you. Have a care, though, if you ride late;
the country is infested with brigands."

Thanking him for his advice I followed after Jacques, who had taken
advantage of the conversation to ride on.

"I thought the officer might take a fancy to ask me some questions, and
I am not so intimately acquainted as you with the doings of the king's
general!" he said with a chuckle. "'Twas a bold stroke, monsieur, but it
paid."

"Yes," I said, "it paid. And now let us push forward."

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