OF ST AUBIN DU CORMIER.[*]

[*] So called from the Service Tree, or Serb Apple Tree, which grows in profusion all round the village, and to distinguish it from St Aubin d'Audigné nearer Rennes.

The grey mists of early morn were clinging to the dank earth when Ralph awoke after such snatches of sleep as he could get amid the noise of that large body of ill-assorted men.

It was Sunday morning, the 27th of July--a day Ralph well remembered, for it was this very day a year ago he had left his father's house to seek his fortune in the household of the Captain of the Wight. What events had taken place since then! He thought of it all, and his heart beat as he turned to look over the leafy woods, the steep slopes of the hilly country, with its fresh valleys, whence, amid the rich foliage of orchard and copse and wide-reaching forest, the spires of the village churches and the steep gables of nestling farm-houses rose above the steaming verdure, or peeped out in shy suggestion. The birds were warbling blithely all around. There was a tinkle of distant bells, a hum of awakening life, and the soft, warm fragrance of a midsummer night still floated in the balmy morning air.

Ralph could not believe that in another few hours he and all that host of lusty, careless men would be fighting for fame and name, and very life itself. He had only twice had experience of the fierce struggle of deadly fight. But his whole training had accustomed him to it, and he gave little thought to the battle. But the deep bells from a neighbouring monastery stirred softer thoughts. He thought of his mother and father, of Thruxton Manor away over the sea, and then of his cousin Yolande and his promise.

But the trumpets sounding the réveille interrupted all softer thoughts. The reality of life had begun.

"Well, Ralph, my boy," said the cheerful voice of Dicky Cheke, "'tis a fine morning for our sport. Marry, I trust you and I will win our spurs to-day. But come to breakfast. There's a right pleasant smell of fried eggs and bacon over yonder, and thy man Humphrey hath gotten a rare fat capon out of some farm hard by. I've asked young De Rohan to come and share with us, 'twill improve thy French; only he talks it with such a sad Breton accent I fear me he will mar my fine tongue. But come along--there he is."

Ralph sauntered back with Dicky. The four boys were soon laughing and talking over their breakfast. The young Seigneur de Rohan was a merry addition to their party, and kept them in constant laughter by his attempts to talk English.

By eight o'clock orders came from the Duke of Orleans for their division to prepare to march. There had been a very stormy council of war, and the suspicions of the Breton infantry were so strong, that to quiet them it was arranged that the Duke of Orleans and the Prince of Orange should dismount and fight on foot among the pikemen, a very dangerous service, and one which showed their courage in the highest degree. But the jealousies between the infantry and cavalry had reached such a high pitch, that it required very strenuous exertions to prevent the former marching off the ground; the Bretons affirming that the French princes only used them to make cat's-paws of them.

Young De Rohan astonished the pages by saying that seventeen hundred of the Breton infantry were going to wear the same uniform as the men of the Wight, in order to make the French think there were more English than there were. This was a great compliment, and rejoiced Dicky's heart, for he knew how much more important the Captain of the Wight would be if he commanded two thousand instead of four hundred men.

In another hour the whole army was equipped and marching to its position to the right of a vast forest, the Forêt de la Seve, and there was already promise of the great heat the coming noon would bring. The bells of Orange were sounding for morning service, and the faint tinkle of the other village bells could be heard over the forest and hills. A deep blue sky spread overhead, and a mellow haze floated over the horizon. There was scarcely a breath of air, and the banner of the Captain of the Wight hung in white and crimson folds down its gilded shaft.

The men of the Wight were now drawn up--the men-at-arms on the right, the infantry in the centre, and the mounted archers on the left. All were completely armed, and they had now become a thoroughly well-disciplined, splendid body of men, typical of the British army--"The best in the world, if only there were more of them." The Captain of the Wight, mounted on his black charger, armed like himself in full plate-armour, rode in front of the line, and glanced down it with martial pride. Only a few words he said, but they were fiery, knightly, encouraging words, such as a brave leader and chivalrous knight knew how to say. He told them of the compliment the Duke of Orleans was paying them in reinforcing them with seventeen hundred Breton foot all clad to look like Englishmen. He reminded them of Crecy, Poictiers, and Agincourt. He bid them think that the eyes of England, of France, and of their own dear island home were upon them; and he bid them fight as became the ancient valour of their name and race. Their quarrel was a just one, and their foe the natural enemy of their hearths and homes.

"Men of Yaverland and Brading, remember Sir Theobold Russel, and how he died for you. Men of Newport, remember Deadman's Lane and Neddie's Hill. Men of Yarmouth and Newtown, remember your burning homes and ruined boroughs. Men of the Wight, you are here to show your manhood, your skill, and your hardihood; that Frenchmen may see and feel how vain are their vapourings, how keen are our swords. And here before you all, in the glorious light of that splendid sun, I draw my blade, vowing never more to sheath it till the victory is won, or my hand can hold it no more."

As the Captain of the Wight spoke, his sword-blade flashed in the sun, while he held it aloft over his crested helm.

A ringing cheer answered these stirring words, and Dicky Cheke murmured to Ralph,--

"In sooth, he is a hero, this Captain of ours, and I am sorry for the French. We won't be too hard on them, Ralph. I sha'n't ask for more than a couple of thousand crowns for my prisoners, unless I take the Sire de la Trimouille himself, and then, as it won't do to spoil the market, I must make him pay a good round sum--perchance fifty thousand pistoles, or so; only I will let him off the last ten if he pays up well;" and Dicky Cheke became quite pensive as he thought how he would spend his money, and bumped against Sir John Trenchard, who had ridden down the line with the Captain to inspect the men.

And now the Breton infantry marched up, all clad alike, and the eye of their commander kindled as he welcomed them to his battalion.

"They are sturdy little fellows," said Dicky, surveying them with a critical air. "But they want beef; they haven't got our breadth of chest and length of limb."

"You atom, you imp, you," said Maurice Woodville, "when will you be done with your coxcombery? Why, they are all big enough to eat you, boots and all."

"Now, Maurice, none o' your sauce. You've never been the same varlet since you fell into the mud at St Malo, when you were so frightened by the old cherry woman from whom you filched those cherries."

Maurice was going to give Dicky a cuff, only Sir John Trenchard happened to look round, and he drew in his hand again, muttering, "I'll give it you afterwards; you look out this evening."

But all further talk was put an end to by the arrival of the Marechal de Rieux, an old and experienced warrior, who had lately had his castle and town of Ancenix burned to the ground by the French, and who was eager to revenge himself upon his enemies. He saluted the Captain of the Wight and his division, and briefly exchanged a few words with the former. After which Lord Woodville turned to his escort and said with satisfaction,--

"We have been paid one more courtesy. We are to be the vanguard of the army, and the very puissant knight the Comte de Rieux is to lead us."

The order to march now came, and the whole division broke into column, and took the road to St Aubin, the old Marshal and the Captain of the Wight with drawn sword riding at their head.

After marching some three miles, and when the houses of St Aubin du Cormier were just visible over the orchards, they came to a highroad which their road intersected. Here a halt was called, and the men were allowed to refresh themselves. The heat was getting very oppressive.

Ralph and Dicky Cheke wandered off to see the rest of the army come up.

"Oh, I wish I had put a cabbage leaf inside my helmet," groaned Dicky. "I shall be roasted like a chestnut inside its coat. I'm stewing in my own juice--oh!"

"'Tis a lucky chance we are wearing tabards; look at those men-at-arms riding with my Lord d'Albret; they must needs be grilled. They've neither lambrequin nor surcoat, and shine in the sun like fresh-caught mackerel," answered Ralph.

"What a fine lot they all look! and look at those Allemaynes! I do like those swash-bucklering varlets. Certes we are a fine show! I get more and more pitiful when I think of those jackanapes of Frenchmen yonder. If only they knew it, how much better it would be, and what a lot of waste of moist humours it would save, if they just came in and sorted themselves out among us. What a comfort it would be! Ugh! how parlous moist I am!"

"Look, Dicky, at those coleuvrines and dragons! I am all agog to see them fire; we've a right plentiful store of artillery, I trow!" said Ralph. "Not but what I don't believe our archers are worth a hundred of them, and more, too; but we shall see. Oh, I wish they would begin. Where are the French, I marvel. Look, our men are falling in; let's hasten back. There's something going on."

And so there seemed. The English division, forming, with some Breton men-at-arms and the seventeen hundred infantry, the vanguard of the army, was standing to its arms. The cavalry were mounting, and a body of mounted archers was thrown forward under Tom o' Kingston.

The rest of the army had come up, and the main battle, or middle ward, as it was called, under the Lord d'Albret, in which was the fine body of Swiss infantry, conspicuous among whom were the Duke of Orleans and the Prince of Ora............