Then turning to Aramis, he said:
“It is now your turn, Monsieur le Chevalier.”
The same ceremony recommenced, with the same words, whilst Winter unlaced his leather cuirass, that he might disguise himself like the king. Charles, having proceeded with Aramis as with Athos, embraced them both.
“Sire,” said Winter, who in this trying emergency felt all his strength and energy fire up, “we are ready.”
The king looked at the three gentlemen. “Then we must fly!” said he.
“Flying through an army, sire,” said Athos, “in all countries in the world is called charging.”
“Then I shall die, sword in hand,” said Charles. “Monsieur le Comte, Monsieur le Chevalier, if ever I am king—”
“Sire, you have already done us more honor than simple gentlemen could ever aspire to, therefore gratitude is on our side. But we must not lose time. We have already wasted too much.”
The king again shook hands with all three, exchanged hats with Winter and went out.
Winter’s regiment was ranged on some high ground above the camp. The king, followed by the three friends, turned his steps that way. The Scotch camp seemed as if at last awakened; the soldiers had come out of their tents and taken up their station in battle array.
“Do you see that?” said the king. “Perhaps they are penitent and preparing to march.”
“If they are penitent,” said Athos, “let them follow us.”
“Well!” said the king, “what shall we do?”
“Let us examine the enemy’s army.”
At the same instant the eyes of the little group were fixed on the same line which at daybreak they had mistaken for fog and which the morning sun now plainly showed was an army in order of battle. The air was soft and clear, as it generally is at that early hour of the morning. The regiments, the standards, and even the colors of the horses and uniforms were now clearly distinct.
On the summit of a rising ground, a little in advance of the enemy, appeared a short and heavy looking man; this man was surrounded by officers. He turned a spyglass toward the little group amongst which the king stood.
“Does this man know Your Majesty personally?” inquired Aramis.
Charles smiled.
“That man is Cromwell,” said he.
“Then draw down your hat, sire, that he may not discover the substitution.”
“Ah!” said Athos, “how much time we have lost.”
“Now,” said the king, “give the word and let us start.”
“Will you not give it, sire?” asked Athos.
“No; I make you my lieutenant-general,” said the king.
“Listen, then, Lord Winter. Proceed, sire, I beg. What we are going to say does not concern Your Majesty.”
The king, smiling, turned a few steps back.
“This is what I propose to do,” said Athos. “We will divide our regiments into two squadrons. You will put yourself at the head of the first. We and His Majesty will lead the second. If no obstacle occurs we will both charge together, force the enemy’s line and throw ourselves into the Tyne, which we must cross, either by fording or swimming; if, on the contrary, any repulse should take place, you and your men must fight to the last man, whilst we and the king proceed on our road. Once arrived at the brink of the river, should we even find them three ranks deep, as long as you and your regiment do your duty, we will look to the rest.”
“To horse!” said Lord Winter.
“To horse!” reechoed Athos; “everything is arranged and decided.”
“Now, gentlemen,” cried the king, “forward! and rally to the old cry of France, ‘Montjoy and St. Denis!’ The war cry of England is too often in the mouths of traitors.”
They mounted—the king on Winter’s horse and Winter on that of the king; then Winter took his place at the head of the first squadron, and the king, with Athos on his right and Aramis on his left, at the head of the second.
The Scotch army stood motionless and silent, seized with shame at sight of these preparations.
Some of the chieftains left the ranks and broke their swords in two.
“There,” said the king, “that consoles me; they are not all traitors.”
At this moment Winter’s voice was raised with the cry of “Forward!”
The first squadron moved off; the second followed, and descended from the plateau. A regiment of cuirassiers, nearly equal as to numbers, issued from behind the hill and came full gallop toward it.
The king pointed this out.
“Sire,” said Athos, “we foresaw this; and if Lord Winter’s men but do their duty, we are saved, instead of lost.”
At this moment they heard above all the galloping and neighing of the horses Winter’s voice crying out:
“Sword in hand!”
At these words every sword was drawn, and glittered in the air like lightning.
“Now, gentlemen,” said the king in his turn, excited by this sight, “come, gentlemen, sword in hand!”
But Aramis and Athos were the only ones to obey this command and the king’s example.
“We are betrayed,” said the king in a low voice.
“Wait a moment,” said Athos, “perhaps they do not recognize Your Majesty’s voice, and await the order of their captain.”
“Have they not heard that of their colonel? But look! look!” cried the king, drawing up his horse with a sudden jerk, which threw it on its haunches, and seizing the bridle of Athos’s horse.
“Ah, cowards! traitors!” screamed Lord Winter, whose voice they heard, whilst his men, quitting their ranks, dispersed all over the plain.
About fifteen men were ranged around him and awaited the charge of Cromwell’s cuirassiers.
“Let us go and die with them!” said the king.
“Let us go,” said Athos and Aramis.
“All faithful hearts with me!” cried out Winter.
This voice was heard by the two friends, who set off, full gallop.
“No quarter!” cried a voice in French, answering to that of Winter, which made them tremble.
As for Winter, at the sound of that voice he turned pale, and was, as it were, petrified.
It was the voice of a cavalier mounted on a magnificent black horse,
