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.
By this time it had become light, and as François galloped forward with the brilliant cortege we have described into the park, he could see the fugitives from the Castle of Mirabello, pursued by the cavalry of Del Vasto. He could also distinguish Pescara’s battalion pouring in through the breach.
“Call forth my men-at-arms, and let the Seneschal d’Armagnac fire upon the insolent foe,” he cried.
Scarcely was the order issued, when D’Armagnac, who had already posted his artillery on a rising ground in the park, opened a terrible fire upon the Spaniards who were passing through the breach, and not only caused great destruction among them, but threw them into such disorder, that they fled for shelter to a hollow where they were safe from the murderous fire.
“Ha! by Saint Denis, they are routed already!” exclaimed the king, laughing. “Charge them!” he added to the Duke d’Alençon, who, on receiving the order, immediately put himself at the head of two companies of horse, and rode towards the hollow, whither the fugitives had retreated.
Meantime, D’Armagnac had kept up such an incessant and well-directed fire, that the entrance of Pescara’s battalion through the breach was effectually checked.
Thus the plan of the Spanish general seemed to be foiled, and if the king had contented himself with crushing the troops of Del Vasto, who were now lodged in the Castle of Mirabello, while the breach was rendered impracticable by the artillery, he might have gained the day. But his valorous and impetuous disposition caused him to reject the counsels of prudence. He burned to mingle with the fight.
“By Saint Louis!” he cried to Bonnivet, who was sheathed from head to foot in glittering mail, and bestrode a powerful charger, “I cannot look tamely on and allow the cannon to do the work for me. I must give battle to the foe. I must punish Bourbon’s presumption.”
“The enemy is half beaten already, sire,” rejoined Bonnivet. “Pescara’s plan has utterly failed. Your majesty has only to strike the blow to complete the victory.”
“I will do it!” exclaimed the chivalrous king. “I should be unworthy of victory if I neglected to ensure it. Bid the army advance. I will give battle to the enemy outside the park.”
“Be advised by me, sire, and remain where you are,” said the Marshal de Chabannes. “Victory is certain. Leave nothing to hazard.”
“By Heaven! I will not remain here another instant! – Montjoye! Saint Denis! – en avant, messeigneurs! – en avant!”
The trumpets sounded loudly, and the king, attended by all his train of knights, nobles, and esquires, moved with the main body of the army towards the breach.
When he perceived this unlucky movement, D’Armagnac, much to his grief, was compelled to cease firing, and the Spaniards, now freed from the murderous discharges he had poured upon them, rallied and prepared to return to the plain.
It was a glorious sight as François, with all his host, passed through the breach and confronted the Imperialists, who were drawn out in battle array on the plain. All his foes were before him. Bourbon was there with his lanz-knechts, reiters, and Burgundian lances – Pescara with his Spaniards and Basques – Castrioto with his light horse – Lannoy with his Neapolitan cavalry.
Bourbon watched the brilliant host as it deployed upon the plain, and as he followed the movements of the king, whose lofty stature and magnificent armour revealed him to all eyes, he thought that the hour of vengeance had come. On either side there was confident anticipation of victory. François made sure of overthrowing his enemies, and punishing the audacious rebel who had invaded his kingdom, while Bourbon felt equally certain of vengeance.
No sooner had the king so imprudently quitted the park with his host, than Del Vasto abandoned the Castle of Mirabello, of which he had taken possession, and, hurrying after them with his three thousand Spanish fantassins, attacked the French rear.
At the same time De Leyva issued from the gates of Pavia with the whole of the garrison and engaged with Chabot de Brion, who had been left to oppose him with a very inferior force.
When drawn up for battle, the French army formed a very extended line, the right wing being commanded by the Marshal de Chabannes, and the left by the Duke d’Alençon. Between the right wing and the main body, with whom was the king, were the Black Bands, commanded by the Duke of Suffolk. On the left was a corps of ten thousand Swiss, commanded by Diesbach.
The Imperial army likewise formed a long line, but was divided into a great number of squadrons all ready to act together, or separately, as circumstances might dictate.
No sooner was his line formed than the fiery French king, who was all impatience for action, bade the trumpets sound, and called to his gendarmes to charge.
Couching his long lance, and closely attended by Bonnivet and all his young nobles and esquires, François hurled himself against Castrioto, who, with his squadron of light horse drawn up in a close square, awaited his attack. The shock was terrific and irresistible. Down went horse and man before the French chivalry, and Castrioto was transfixed by the king’s own lance.
Their leader gone, the horsemen could not rally, but were quickly dispersed, while the victorious king, without pausing, turned his arms against Lannoy and his Neapolitans, almost as speedily routing them as he had done the horse of Castrioto.
“Your majesty seems to have decided the battle with a blow,” remarked Bonnivet, as they stopped to breathe their horses, while the men-at-arms pursued the fugitives.
“At last, I am Duke of Milan,” said François, laughing, and fully persuaded he had gained the victory.
But he was speedily undeceived. Pescara had chosen this moment, when the squadrons of Castrioto and Lannoy were routed, to bring up his Basque arquebussiers. Advancing rapidly within a short distance of the French gendarmes, these unerring marksmen fired with deadly effect, retreating before their opponents, encumbered by their heavy armour, could touch them.
These attacks were renewed till most serious damage was done to the king’s squadron, and many of his brave captains shot, for the aim of the Basques was taken at the leaders.
It was in this terrible conflict with the Basques that the valiant Seigneur de la Trémouille, who had been recalled by the king from Milan, was shot through the head and heart. Galeazzo de San Severino, chief equerry of the king, was slain at the same time. Louis d’Ars was dismounted and trampled to death amid the press, and the Comte de Tonnerre was so hacked to pieces that he could scarcely be recognised. Many other nobles and valiant knights were slain.
Meanwhile, Del Vasto, who had brought his three thousand fantassins into action, profiting by the disorder into which the gendarmes had been thrown, attacked the battalion of Swiss commanded by Jean Diesbach, with whom were the Marshals Montmorency and Fleuranges. But the Swiss did not maintain their former character for bravery on this occasion, and, in spite of the efforts of Montmorency and Fleuranges, both of whom were taken prisoners, they fled, while Diesbach, unable to restrain them, and overcome by shame, sought death amid the enemy.
An important movement was now made by Bourbon. Ordering Von Frundsberg and Sittich to lengthen their battalion, he enveloped the Black Bands under the Duke of Suffolk, and completely exterminated them. Both Suffolk and the Comte de Vaudemont were now slain.
Bourbon next directed his victorious lanz-knechts against the right wing of the French, which had become detached from the main body of the army and enveloped it, as he had done the Black Bands.
In this conflict the brave Clermont d’Amboise was slain, and the veteran Marshal de Chabannes, while rallying his men, had his horse killed under him, and was taken prisoner by a Spanish captain named Castaldo. Chabannes, who was wounded, declared his name and rank to his captor, and desired to be taken to a place of safety. Castaldo agreed, and was removing him from the conflict, when they encountered another Spanish soldier, named Buzarto.
“Hold!” exclaimed the new comer, fiercely. “I claim a share in the prize.”
“Pass on,” rejoined Castaldo. “The prisoner is mine by right of war. I have taken him.”
“You refuse to share him with me?” demanded Buzarto, in a threatening tone.
“I do,” rejoined the other, sternly. “And I counsel you not to meddle with me.”
“And you expect a large ransom – eh?” said Buzarto. “A princely ransom,” rejoined Castaldo, glancing at his prisoner. “I have to do with a marshal of France.”
“A marshal of France!” exclaimed Buzarto, furiously. “Then he shall belong to neither of us.”
And levelling his arquebuss at the noble veteran, who had fought in a hundred battles, he shot him dead – an infamous act, which doomed its perpetrator to general execration.
Meanwhile, the king had thrown himself into the thickest of the fight. His lance having long since been broken, he had drawn his trenchant sword, and, like a paladin of old, dealt blows right and left, and did not refuse a hand-to-hand combat when offered him.
Already, as we have shown, he had slain Castrioto, and now several others fell by his hand. Among them was a knight from the Franche Comté, named Andelot, with whom François had a long conflict.
While drawing breath after this encounter, he heard shouts on the right, and, turning at the sound, beheld the flying bands of the Swiss mercenaries.
“Great Heavens!” he exclaimed, in mingled amazement and indignation, “what means that rush of men?”
“The Swiss are retreating, sire – shamefully retreating – almost without a blow,” rejoined Bonnivet, who was near him.
“Ha, dastards! ha, traitors! do they desert me thus!” cried the king, furiously. “Come with me, Bonnivet.”
And spurring his steed, he dashed after the flying Swiss, striving to rally them, but his efforts were in vain.
At the same juncture, the Duke d’Alençon, alarmed by the destruction of the Black Bands, the rout of the right wing, and the disorder of the main body, sounded a retreat, and withdrew ingloriously from the field.
Vainly did La Roche du Maine, his lieutenant, and the Baron de Trans, try to turn him from his fatal resolution. Finding him immovable, they threw themselves into the main body, towards which the efforts of the enemy were now directed.
Once more the lion-hearted king made a tremendous charge against the Spanish cavalry, led on by Pescara. For a moment it seemed as if this charge would turn the tide of victory, so great was the havoc it occasioned. Pescara himself was wounded by a sword-cut in the cheek, stricken from his steed, and trampled under foot by the enemy. With difficulty he was rescued by his men, and dragged out of the way. Lannoy again brought on his Neapolitans, and was repulsed with heavy loss.