They were closely followed by Henry at the head of his cavalry, and lively skirmishes were of frequent occurrence.  In a military point of view none of these affairs were of consequence, but there was one which partook at once of the comic and the pathetic.  For it chanced that in a cavalry action of more than common vivacity the Count Chaligny found himself engaged in a hand to hand conflict with a very dashing swordsman, who, after dealing and receiving many severe blows, at last succeeded in disarming the count and taking him prisoner.  It was the fortune of war, and, but a few days before, might have been the fate of the great Henry himself.  But Chaligny’s mortification at his captivity became intense when he discovered that the knight to whom he had surrendered was no other than the king’s jester.  That he, a chieftain of the Holy League, the long-descended scion of the illustrious house of Lorraine, brother of the great Duke of Mercoeur, should become the captive of a Huguenot buffoon seemed the most stinging jest yet perpetrated since fools had come in fashion.  The famous Chicot—­who was as fond of a battle as of a gibe, and who was almost as reckless a rider as his master—­proved on this occasion that the cap and bells could cover as much magnanimity as did the most chivalrous crest.  Although desperately wounded in the struggle which had resulted in his triumph, he generously granted to the Count his freedom without ransom.  The proud Lorrainer returned to his Leaguers and the poor fool died afterwards of his wounds.

The army of the allies moved through Picardy towards the confines of Artois, and sat down leisurely to beleaguer Rue, a low-lying place on the banks and near the mouth of the Somme, the only town in the province which still held for the king.  It was sufficiently fortified to withstand a good deal of battering, and it certainly seemed mere trifling for the great Duke of Parma to leave the Netherlands in such confusion, with young Maurice of Nassau carrying everything before him, and to come all the way into Normandy in order, with the united armies of Spain and the League, to besiege the insignificant town of Rue.

And this was the opinion of Farnese, but he had chosen throughout the campaign to show great deference to the judgment of Mayenne.  Meantime the month of March wore away, and what had been predicted came to pass.  Henry’s forces dwindled away as usual.  His cavaliers rode off to forage for themselves, when their battles were denied them, and the king was now at the head of not more than sixteen thousand foot and five thousand horse.  On the other hand the Leaguers’ army had been melting quite as rapidly.  With the death of Pope Sfondrato, his nephew Montemarciano had disappeared with his two thousand Swiss; while the French cavalry and infantry, ill-fed and uncomfortable, were diminishing daily.  Especially the Walloons, Flemings, and other Netherlanders of Parma’s army, took advantage of their proximity