Very striking was the view presented from this eminence. Pomperant had stationed himself on a point of the hill not far from the battery, whereon was placed the monstrous cannon called “The Basilisk,” of which mention has previously been made; and he and his companion were screened from the observation of the artillerymen by the clock-tower.

Immediately beneath him lay the city of Marseilles, with its picturesque habitations, its noble mansions, convents, and churches, encircled by fortifications, which in their turn were encircled by a broad, deep moat. On the right lay the harbour, almost enclosed by rocks; and Pomperant looked with interest at the narrow inlet by which he had gained admittance overnight. Outside, and near the islands, lay the French fleet; while far as the eye could range spread out the placid sea, now tinged with the roseate hues of morning.

The heights surrounding the city were crowned with the camp of the besieging army, At that still hour the trumpets were heard sounding a réveillé, and the men could be distinguished mustering at the call. The German lanz-knechts were concealed from view by the intervening hills, but the division of the Spanish troops under Del Vasto were in sight. The hills seemed peopled with armed men, and the rays of the sun were reflected upon thousands of steel caps and corslets, and upon forests of pikes and lances.

Though Bourbon’s tent was concealed from view, its position was marked by the proud banner floating above the walls of the little chapel of Saint Lazare. Pescara’s tent was likewise hidden by the sacred edifice, but his banner was as conspicuous as that of Bourbon. The course of the trenches, which advanced in zig-zags towards the walls, could be readily traced. The men were at the battery, waiting orders to open fire. From the battery Pomperant naturally turned to the ramparts which it faced, and he saw that the breach had been completely repaired, and was defended by a parapet, behind which cannon were planted. The work was a marvel of industry, and showed the spirit that animated the besieged.

If all were thus early astir in the camp of the Imperial army; if the men were mustering and preparing for action; if the artillerymen were at their posts at the various batteries, and both horse and foot in readiness – so also were the besieged. Bastions, ramparts, and towers were thronged with soldiers. A troop of cavalry, commanded by Chabot de Brion, was drawn up near the bishop’s palace. Close beside them was a company of pikemen. Detachments of horse and foot were likewise stationed near the Porte d’Aix, and all the other gates not blocked up. In short, every possible preparation for energetic defence was made.

As yet not a gun had been fired by the besiegers, and Pomperant waited with breathless impatience for the commencement of hostilities. There was something ominous in the silence that now prevailed. All the martial sounds recently saluting the ear had ceased.

Drums and trumpets were mute. The stillness was undisturbed, for the morning was calm, and the numerous banners on walls and towers hung motionless.

After running his eye along the ramparts, crowded with arquebusiers and pikemen, Pomperant once more turned his gaze towards the little chapel on the hillside. At that moment came forth a troop of knights, sheathed in polished armour. At their head rode Bourbon and Pescara, both distinguishable, even at that distance, from the splendour of their accoutrements and the rich housings of their steeds. Each had a short battle-axe at his saddle-bow – each carried a bâton, in token of command. As the knightly troop rode slowly down the hill towards the battery, its movements were watched with keenest interest by thousands of soldiers from the ramparts and towers of the city. Still, not a gun was fired.

At this moment, Pomperant, whose attention had been for some time diverted by other objects from the battery near which he stood, was reminded of its proximity by a bustle among the artillerymen who had charge of the monster cannon, and, looking in that direction, he saw they were about to fire; and the match being applied, he was almost stunned by the tremendous detonation that ensued.

The sound was echoed from the heights, and reverberated like thunder from the rocks near the harbour. The course of the huge shot could be distinctly traced, and was watched by thousands of eyes. Bourbon and Pescara, with their knightly retinue, had been the mark against which “The Basilisk” was pointed. But the ball passed over the heads of the troop, without causing them to swerve from their course, and fell on the farther side of the lazar-house.

Ineffectual as this discharge proved, it served as the signal for commencing the day’s work. The battery at the head of the trenches immediately opened fire, and was replied to from the ramparts and bastions of the city, and the stillness of the lovely morning was broken by the incessant roar of artillery, and the balmy air filled with clouds of sulphurous smoke.

It was some time before “The Basilisk” could be restored to its place, and more than half a hundred men were required for the task; but their labour was quite thrown away, for the second shot was no better aimed than the first – and, indeed, alarmed the besiegers, for it fell into the moat.

Meantime, the roar of ordnance was uninterrupted, and Pomperant looked curiously at the walls; but though some destruction was caused among the defenders, little damage was done to the ramparts.

The conflict had endured for more than an hour, during which Pomperant, enchained by the exciting spectacle, had remained on the same spot, when the sound of a trumpet called his attention to the Porte d’Aix, and he perceived that a large troop of cavalry had been collected at this point. The leader of this troop was Chabot de Brion, who was fully armed, and mounted on a powerful charger. Pomperant at once comprehended that a sortie was about to be made by the commander of the garrison.

In another minute the gate was thrown open, the drawbridge lowered, and Brion dashed out at the head of his men, and, sword in hand, galloped up the hill towards the battery. But ere he got half way thither he was encountered by Bourbon, who had just been joined by a detachment of horse, and a sharp conflict ensued, resulting in the defeat of Brion and his party, who were driven back, with considerable loss, to the city. So hard pressed were the fugitives, that, although their leader escaped, several officers were captured.

During this skirmish, which seemed like an interlude in the terrible drama, the cannonading went on as furiously as ever.

No other incident occurred to relieve the monotony of the siege, and, satisfied that little impression would be made upon the walls, Pompeiant quitted the mound, and went in search of some house of entertainment where he might break his fast. He was not long in discovering a tavern; but it was not without some trepidation that he entered it.

VII. THE AMAZONS

SOME cold viands, flanked by a bottle of good wine, were soon set before him by the tavernkeeper, who talked about the siege, and seemed full of uneasiness lest the city should be taken.

“I am told that Bourbon means to allow three days’ pillage to his soldiers if he takes the city,” he remarked; “and as to the poor women, not even the holy sisters will be respected.”

“You alarm yourself without reason, my good host,” said Pomperant. “The city will not be sacked, and no outrages will be committed.”

“How know you that?” demanded the tavern-keeper, staring at him in surprise.

“Because such severities would be wholly inconsistent with Bourbon’s previous conduct,” returned Pomperant. “Ever since he has been in Provence he has checked all licence on the part of the soldiery. Only those who resist will be slaughtered.”

“Then I shan’t be one of them. I wish this city had surrendered like Aix. Folks may talk as they please about patriotism and loyalty, and so forth, but I don’t like fighting. Ever since the siege began I haven’t been able to sleep in my bed. So you don’t believe Bourbon to be the bloodthirsty monster he is represented, eh?”

“On the contrary, I am persuaded he would offer very advantageous terms to the garrison if they would surrender,” said Pomperant.

“Why don’t they surrender?” groaned the host. “Don’t betray me, sir,” he hastened to add. “Renzo da Ceri would hang me if he heard I had expressed such an unpatriotic sentiment.”

“Fear nothing, my good fellow,” said Pomperant, laughing. “I am quite as unpatriotic as yourself, for I concur with you in opinion. I belong to Andrew Doria’s fleet, and only landed last night, so I don’t know much about the state of the city. Answer me frankly. How long do you think it can hold out?”

“Perhaps a month – perhaps longer. They say it can hold out till the king comes to relieve it.”

“But if the king shouldn’t come – what then?” remarked Pomperant.

“Nay, then we must yield. But we shall have some dreadful fighting. When women turn soldiers, it looks as if mischief were meant.”

“Women turn soldiers! What mean you, my good host?” inquired Pomperant.

“I mean what I say,” replied the tavern-keeper. “Some of the noblest dames of Marseilles have formed themselves into a military corps, and have determined, if called upon, to fight the foe. The lady who commands this company of Amazons is young and beautiful. Mademoiselle Marphise – for so is she named – is the daughter of M. de Vaudreuil, one of our richest merchants. The second in command is likewise young and beautiful, and quite as high-spirited as Marphise. Her name is Marcelline d’Herment.”

“Marcelline d’Herment! Impossible!” cried Pomperant. “Why, if I am not misinformed, her brother, the Seigneur d’Herment, assisted the Constable de Bourbon in his flight.”

“Very true,” replied the host. “But Marphise has great influence over her, and has caused her to change her opinions. Whatever she may have been before, Mademoiselle Marcelline is now violently opposed to the Duke de Bourbon. Sire is staying with M. de Vaudreuil, and she and Marphise are inseparable. Their tastes are too masculine for me. They are marching about all day long. If you go to the Esplanade de la Tourette, or the Place de Linehe, you cannot fail to see them exercising their corps. Some folks think it a very pretty sight.”

“I should like to see them,” said Pomperant. “I will go at once to the Esplanade de la Tourette.”

“You are more likely to find them in the Place de Linehe at this hour,” said the host. “Pursue this street, and you will come to it.”

Pomperant then paid his reckoning, and quitting the inn with Hugues, went in the direction indicated by the tavern-keeper.

The Place de Linehe, a large square, in which there was an agreeable promenade shaded by plane-trees, was now almost wholly deserted, most of the inhabitants having gone to points whence they could witness the progress of the siege, and only a few old people and children were to be seen. Pomperant was about to depart, when the sound of military music, proceeding from a street on the opposite side, arrested him, and immediately afterwards the corps of Amazons marched into the square.

At the head of this company rode a damsel who might have been taken as a representative of Hippolita, or Thalestris, or any other Amazonian queen. Of unusually large stature, she was still admirably proportioned, and her features were rigorously classical in outline. She was armed in a glittering corslet, and her casque was surmounted with white and red plumes. In her hand she carried a javelin, and a small shield hung at her saddle-bow.

Though it could not be denied that Matphise was handsome, her expression and bearing were too masculine to be altogether pleasing. The rest of the corps, which numbered about three hundred, were on foot, and as the majority of them were young, and possessed of considerable personal attractions, they formed a very striking appearance. They were all arrayed in burnished breastplates, and had plumed helmets on their heads, and javelins in their hands. Some of these damsels, as their cast of countenance proclaimed, were of Catalonian origin. They marched six abreast, with light quick footsteps, and in good order, towards the centre of the square, where they formed in line. The second in command was Marcelline. Her accoutrements were precisely like those of the rest of the corps, but she was armed with a drawn sword instead of a javelin.

Nearly an hour was spent by the troop in the practice of various military exercises, all of which were very cleverly performed, and during the whole of that time Pomperant and Hugues remained standing by, screened from observation by the trees.

The practice being ended, the troop formed in order of march, and began to move off the ground, taking a direction which brought them close to the spot where Pomperant was stationed with Hugues. He might have easily retired, but instead of doing so he made a sign to attract Marcelline’s attention, and on beholding him she uttered a cry of surprise. The exclamation reached the ears of Marphise, who was riding in front of her, and, looking round, she was struck with the other’s agitation, and inquired the cause. Marcelline made no reply; but as she looked very faint, the Amazonian leader immediately ordered a halt.

“What ails you?” she said to Marcelline.

“It is nothing – it will pass,” replied the other. “Leave me here. I will follow anon.”

“The sight of that man troubles you,” said Marphisc, noticing the direction of her friend’s gaze. “Who is he? I must know.”

Instead of making any reply to the question, Marcelline sprang forward, and called out to Pomperant, “Away, or you are lost!”

But before he could move a step, even if he intended to depart, Marphise was by his side.

“You are a stranger in Marseilles!” she cried. “I arrest you as a spy.”

“No, let him go; he is no spy,” interposed Marcelline. “Imprudent that you are to come here,” she added, in an under tone, to her lover.

“It is as I suspected!” cried Marphise. “I am certain he is from the enemy’s camp. This man is also with him,” she added, pointing to Hugues.

“If I tell you who he is, Marphise, will you allow him to depart?” whispered Marcelline.

“I know not that,” rejoined the other. “But speak!”

“It is the Seigneur Pomperant,” replied Marcelline.

“What! the friend of the traitor Bourbon!” exclaimed the Amazon. “Do you imagine I will let him go? Never! I will rather hang him. Let thirty of the corps step forward and take charge of these men,” she shouted.

The order was obeyed with surprising celerity, and Pomperant and Hugues were environed by a double row of spears.

“Take the prisoners before Renzo da Ceri,” said the Amazon. “He will dispose of them.”

“Marphise!” cried Marcelline, “if you have any love for me do not act thus. You need have no fear of the Seigneur Pomperant. I will answer for him with my life.”

The Amazon reflected for a moment.

“Is he content to remain a prisoner on parole?” she demanded.

“Most assuredly,” replied Marcelline.

“Let him answer for himself,” cried the Amazon. “Will you pledge your word that you will not attempt to quit Marseilles without permission?” she added to Pomperant.

“Do not hesitate,” whispered Marcelline. “If you are taken before Renzo or Chabot de Brion, you are lost.”

“Now, your answer?” cried Marphise.

“I accept the conditions,” he replied. “I will not attempt to escape, and I will be answerable for my attendant.”

“Enough,” replied Marphise. “You are at liberty. But be careful, or you may fall into the hands of those who will not deal with you as leniently as I have done.” Ordering the party around her to fall into rank, the Amazon put her steed in motion, and the troop marched out of the Place de Linche.

VIII. SHOWING HOW THE BISHOP’S PALACE AND THE CHURCH OF SAINT CANNAT

WERE DEMOLISHED

Left to his reflections, Pomperant was not altogether satisfied with what he had done. He was now a prisoner on parole, and could not return to the camp, or communicate in any way with Bourbon.

Had he yielded to the dictates of prudence, he would have sought some secure retreat for the day, and none appeared so eligible for the purpose as the tavern where he had breakfasted, but the temptation to witness the progress of the siege was too strong to be resisted, and on quitting the Place de Linche he proceeded to a point whence a view of the ramparts could be obtained.

The cannonade was still going on as furiously as ever. A portion of the ramparts had been destroyed, and anew breach made in the walls. Still it was not yet large enough to allow a successful attack to be made. But it was evident that the besiegers were making every preparation for a speedy assault.

Supported by a tremendous fire from the batteries, and protected by mantelets, which they pushed on before them, a party of men advanced towards the fosse, and endeavoured to form a traverse by throwing into it a vast quantity of fascines, made of large boughs of trees tied together, fagots, hurdles, and bags and gabions full of earth and stones.

These operations could not be carried on without great loss on the part of the besiegers. A terrific fire was directed against them by the arqubusiers from the ramparts and bastions. Notwithstanding this, the work proceeded. A detachment of arquebusiers, marching down from the camp, fixed palisades within thirty toises of the walls, whence they fired upon the defenders of the ramparts.

At this juncture another sortie was made by Chabot de Brion, and with better effect than that which he had undertaken earlier in the day. Not only did he force the arquebusiers to retire in disorder, causing great havoc among them, but he slaughtered most of the engineers engaged on the traverse. Such as escaped the sword were drowned in the fosse.

So rapidly was this achievement executed, that ere Pescara could reach the scene of action with his cavalry, Brion had re-entered the city.

Infuriated by the losses they had sustained, the besiegers redoubled their efforts. Fresh engineers supplied the places of those who had perished, and the arquebusiers returned to their post. But success had heightened the ardour of the besieged, and stimulated them to greater exertions. Though the cannonade was continued without intermission throughout the day, the breach was not sufficiently enlarged for the assault.

Towards evening, however, the traverse was completed, though several parties of engineers had been destroyed in the task, and preparations were made to erect a gallery upon it. In spite of the constant severe fire from the ramparts and bastions – in spite of the stones and missiles hurled upon them – the engineers persisted in their work, and laboured with such resolution and assiduity, that, in less than an hour, a gallery, eight feet high and twelve wide, was put together. The sides were formed of double planks, the intervals being filled up with earth, and the pointed roof was covered externally with raw hides, so as to prevent it from being set on fire.

A critical juncture had now arrived for the besieged. Had the breach been sufficiently large, the assault would inevitably have taken place, for Bourbon was fully prepared; but not only was the aperture insufficient, but it could be seen that a rear rampart had been erected, which would have to be stormed when the outer wall was carried.

Once more, therefore, the assault had to be deferred, and in consequence of this delay all the works which it had cost so many lives to execute were thrown away. Heavy cannon, placed on the bastions commanding this angle of the walls, were brought to bear upon the gallery, and the damage done by the shot enabled the besieged to set fire to it by means of burning barrels of pitch, which they hurled upon it. The whole fabric was soon in flames, and the conflagration, which was witnessed by the whole of the Imperial army, produced a very striking effect, as it illuminated all the ramparts, towers, and structures in its vicinity. Bourbon had thus the mortification of seeing the work, on which so much labour had been expended, utterly destroyed.

As soon as the gallery was consumed, and the blackened beams had fallen into the moat, the energetic commanders of the garrison ordered ladders to be brought, and a large party of men descended for the purpose of destroying the traverse. Before they could accomplish this, they were attacked by a strong detachment of Spanish infantry, and a desperate conflict took place. The Spaniards were driven back with great loss, but, as they were speedily reinforced, the besiegers were compelled to abandon the work and remount the walls.

Shortly after this occurrence, a council of war was held by Renzo da Ceri and Chabot de Brion in a large hall in the episcopal palace.

Ever since the commencement of the siege this splendid structure had been abandoned by the bishop, who had taken up his abode in a less exposed part of the city, and the palace was now occupied by troops. All the principal officers of the garrison were present, and Renzo announced to the meeting that it would be necessary to demolish the palace in whieh they stood, as well as the venerable church of Saint Cannot adjoining it, lest the besiegers should obtain possession of them.

“It grieves me sorely,” he said, “to order the destruction of these noble edifices, endeared to the citizens of Marseilles by so many recollections. But there is no help for it. With the aid of Heaven, I trust, we may keep off the foe. But should he pass the walls, we must afford him no shelter. The work must be commenced without delay.”

Not a single dissentient voice was raised, but the proposition was received with sadness. After a pause, Renzo added, “I perceive from your silence that you are all of my opinion. Let us now repair to the church of Saint Cannat, where mass will be celebrated for the last time.”

The edifice which had thus been doomed to destruction was a fine old Gothic church, and, as we have just intimated, was held in especial veneration by the citizens. It was soon known that it was about to be demolished, and thousands flocked towards it to join in the sacred rites which were to be performed within it for the last time.

The interior of the church presented a very striking spectacle, the interest of which was heightened by the circumstances that had brought together such an assemblage. The aisles were filled with soldiers and armed citizens; and among the former were many whose grim visages showed they had been actively engaged in the recent strife. In the nave was drawn up the corps of Amazons, with Marphise and Marcelline at their head. Within the choir stood Renzo da Ceri, Chabot de Brion, Mirandel, and all the principal officers, in their full accoutrements. The viguier and the chief magistrates of the city were likewise present. The Bishop of Marseilles, assisted by other ecclesiastical dignitaries, officiated at the altar, and never before in that fabric had mass been solemnised with such fervour and devotion as ou that night.

The occasion, indeed, was one that could not fail to excite the profoundest interest in all who witnessed the ceremonial. Never more within those hallowed walls, which were so firmly built that they might have lasted for ages, would holy rites be performed. All those reverend objects, all those tombs and monuments, would be destroyed – all those shrines desecrated. It was a sad reflection, but it weighed upon every breast.

Among those gathered in the church were Pomperant and Hugues. They were stationed near one of the pillars that lined the north aisle within a few paces of Marcelline, who was aware of the proximity of her lover. An address was pronounced by the bishop, in which he deeply lamented the necessary destruction of this temple of the Most High, denouncing Bourbon as the cause of the sacrilege, and invoking Heaven’s vengeance upon his head. It was not without a shudder that Pomperant listened to these awful words, and perceived the effect they produced on Marcelline.

Just as the bishop concluded his discourse, the thunder of artillery was heard, and Renzo da Ceri and some of the other leaders quitted the church, but the service was not otherwise interrupted. The corps of Amazons remained to the last, and Marcelline allowed her companions to march forth without her. She lingered behind to exchange a few words with her lover. By this time the church was almost deserted, and they moved to a part of the aisle where the tapers, having been extinguished, left them almost in darkness.

“I ought to regard you as an enemy,” she said. “I fear you are included in the denunciation which the good bishop has just pronounced upon Bourbon.”

“Listen to me, Marcelline, and believe what I tell you,” he rejoined. “The obstinacy of the citizens of Marseilles has rendered this siege necessary. They have brought all the calamities of war upon themselves. Why could they not act like the inhabitants of Aix and other towns of Provence?”

“Because they are loyal subjects of the king,” she replied.

“These were not your sentiments when we first met,” rejoined Pomperant. “You and your brother were then devoted to Bourbon.”

“My brother is still devoted to him,” she said. “Nay more, he is condemned to death by the Parliament of Paris for the share he has taken in the conspiracy, and if he had not fled, the sentence would have been executed. But I have changed. Sinee I have been in Marseilles, and have discoursed with these loyal and patriotic citizens, I have imbibed their opinions.”

“You are wrong,” rejoined Pomperant. “Marseilles will be far happier and more prosperous under Bourbon’s rule than under that of François de Valois. A day will come – and that shortly – when Bourbon’s name will be as much honoured in this city as it is now execrated.”

“Heaven grant he may never enter Marseilles as a conqueror!” exclaimed Marcelline, fervently.

“Be not deceived, Mareelline. He will never retire till he has taken the city, and it cannot hold out long.”

“You are mistaken,” she cried, energetically. “It will hold out till it is relieved by the king. But if its fall should be inevitable, it is the fixed determination of the citizens to burn it to the ground rather than Bourbon shall possess it, I have vowed to kill myself rather than full into the hands of his ruthless soldiery.”

“Your fears are groundless, I repeat,” said Pomperant; “but if you have such apprehensions, why do you not leave the city? The port is open. You can easily gain the fleet.”

“I have promised Marphise to remain here to the last, and I shall keep my word,” she rejoined.

“Then I will stay and guard you,” he said. “Oh, Marcelline! let not these differences separate us. I love you not the less devotedly because of your loyalty to François de Valois, Do not hate me for my attachment to Bourbon.”

“But I am bound to regard you as a traitor,” she rejoined.

“Not as a traitor to you,” he replied. “I have never swerved, even in thought, from my fidelity to you.”

“Talk to me no more of love,” she cried. “I have steeled my breast against all the softer emotions. But we must separate. Those who are engaged to demolish this saintly pile are about to commence their task. Farewell!”

And she quitted the church by a side-door.

A number of priests and friars now entered the fane, and proceeded to remove all the sacred vessels, reliques, and other objects from the sacristy and from the various shrines. The great silver crucifix, and the tall silver candlesticks, were carried away from the altar.

While this was going on, a large band of workmen, armed with pickaxes, shovels, and bars of iron, had set to work to pull down the monuments and open the tombs, and the church resounded with the noise of their implements.

Ere long a great number of ancient coffins were disinterred – some of stone and some of mouldering wood, and from the former the dead were taken. Coffins and corpses were then laid upon litters, and taken out of the church, to be deposited in a more secure spot – the bearers being headed by a procession of priests and monks.

As soon as they were gone, the church, which had thus been despoiled of its treasures and its dead, was given up to the destroyer.

The work of demolition immediately commenced, hundreds being employed in the task, which was superintended by experienced engineers. Gunpowder was used to accelerate the operations, and before morning the reverend and beautiful fabric was little better than a heap of ruins, the roof gone, the pillars in the aisles undermined and thrown down, and the walls demolished. The most determined enemy could not have done the work quicker than it was executed by the patriotic citizens, and they ceased not in their task till the holy pile was razed to the ground. The stones and beams that had composed it were employed in barricading the streets.

As Pomperant and Hugues were in the church when the work of demolition commenced, they were compelled to join in it, and they both laboured as industriously as the rest, till relieved by a fresh party.

When Pomperant escaped from the irksome task imposed upon him by necessity, he found that a multitude of citizens and soldiers were employed in pulling down the bishop’s palace. Explosion after explosion shook the house to its foundations, and the walls fell with a tremendous crash.

The good bishop stood by, watching the destruction of his palace, and expressed no regret, but encouraged the soldiers and citizens in their task. But when the entire fabric fell to the ground, his looks expressed the deepest emotion, and he turned away and quitted the spot.

So complete was the destruction, that it seemed as if it had been caused by an earthquake. But again the active soldiers were at work, and the remains of the late noble edifice were expeditiously removed.