Chapter Four: Battle Fray
When morning came the column was on the move again. Emris' spy network had located Condé and his men north of the Loire in a town called Bléneau. Henri de La Tour led a unit of former Cardinal's guards to scout out the area. Because of the Viscomte de Turenne's expert tactical abilities the marshals decided to divide the forces. One small group of infantry would advance in attempt to draw the rebel forces out, while the artillery waited in a heavily wooded area to ambush the forces. They would draw the rebels onto a narrow causeway surrounded by marshland. Henri knew Conde well and had worked beside him for years. The bourbon prince had an impetuous nature that would compel him to drive his forces after the retreating royalists. That paired with the nature of the terrain would force Conde's men to spread out, making them vulnerable to counter attack.
It was a superb plan. Even so, it was with heavy heart Louis agreed to it, knowing many in the first group would not survive the encounter. But the only alternative was taking the fighting into the town where many innocents would die as well. "War is meant to be carried out among warriors." The generals agreed. And so the plan was set. Louis walked the ranks solemnly, trying to commit each face to memory. "I will remember you," he promised. "I value your life. Fight well." He looked for signs of doubt…regret from these soldiers who were about to die. What he found was courage and even cheerful optimism. One soldier summed up the sentiment when he said, "Do not worry, my king, we are blade-bound, this was what we were made for. You will find we do not spend our lives lightly."
The fighting was unbelievably intense. The royal army stood four thousand strong while the prince's forces numbered twelve thousand. Louis and his bodyguard were stationed on a nearby hill watching the action unfold, but not close enough to be accidentally drawn into the fray.
Louis and Philippe stood arm in arm, each giving courage to the other. Both agreed that watching men fight and die for you must be one of the most difficult things about being king. But no matter how they wanted to turn away from the bloodshed, wanted to think about something other than what was going on in the valley below, they owed it to their men to stand firm and bear witness to the heroic quality of those who fought and died in their name.
Louis held his breath as the forces converged. He could feel the ground tremble at the charge when organized units dissolved into a seething sea of flailing arms and flashing blades. At the absolute last minute the royal forces broke off and Condés men thundered across the cause way, right into the teeth of the artillery. Cannons belched out at the rebel forces and the pop, pop, pop of small arms firing echoed across the marsh. The tang of sulfur was so strong it reached the royal pair on their hill-top observation post, making their eyes sting and giving them a plausible excuse for the tears that already streaked their cheeks.
Condé's men realized their mistake too late. The force had difficulty halting their forward push and they were ill prepared to organize a counter assault. There was turmoil on the causeway and before they could begin a retreat, the royal cavalry took to the field. Man against man, horse against horse, it was not for nothing that Rocheford was called 'cavalier.' He and his black clad guardsmen carved a great swath in the enemy's ranks.
Condé's horsemen may have been veterans of many a military campaign against the Spanish, but they had never faced anything like this before. The Chargers were as deadly as the blade-bound that rode them—biting, kicking, and dancing on hind-legs to better strike at their enemy. They drove many of the enemy's horsemen off the causeway and into the marsh where the musketeers easily dispatched them. It was too much for Condé's mercenaries, and they withdrew in disorder.
Captain Valerian, lately of the Cardinal's Guards, struggled up the hillside panting hard. His face was streaked with blood and mud; his armored breastplate was dented and seemed to be coated with at least two inches of dust, but his smile was undimmed. "Should we pursue my lord?" he asked, practically falling at the king's feet.
"No, let them go for now…they are broken. The sun is setting and our men need rest," Louis said, helping the man to his feet and offering him a flagon of water. The stalwart captain waved it away and put his horn to his lips instead. He blew out three short blasts so his men would let the enemy withdraw from the field, and then moved to occupy higher ground and good a defensive position.
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As the forces fell back from battle they were met by those who had stood guard on the hilltop as the royal bodyguard. Captain De Batz was a bit confused by the action of his men until he learned that Prince Philippe had taken it upon himself to mobilize the men. The young prince quickly and efficiently had them bring water, food and first aid to those who required it. Then, he organized the fresh troops into a watch so those that had fought could rest and sleep secure in the knowledge that the enemy could not catch them unawares.
De Batz had not had much contact with the young prince since he had come to court the pervious winter. Usually, Philippe flitted about the edges in social situations or was content in his brother's shadow. Never had the captain seen him act entirely on his own…without prompting from Louis. But in this time of turmoil, Philippe chose to shine.
With undaunted energy the waif-like prince congratulated the war-weary soldiers. With soothing words and compassion he made the king's pleasure felt. "Who is that?" Some of the men asked. "That is Monsieur the king's brother, a true prince." Another answered. But the prince overheard and blushed. He knew the men meant that unlike Prince Condé, they judged him royal for his actions rather than his pedigree. "I am Philippe," he said, offering the dusty soldiers a dipper of water as any servant might. "I saw what you did today, and I am honored to be in such noble company."