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diff --git a/1631-h/1631-h.htm b/1631-h/1631-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2735f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/1631-h/1631-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9523 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>A Monk of Fife</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">A Monk of Fife, by Andrew Lang</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Monk of Fife, by Andrew Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: A Monk of Fife + Being the chronicle written by Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, concerning + marvellous deeds that befell in the realm of France, in the years of + our redemption, MCCCCXXIX-XXXI. Now first done into English out of + the French + + +Author: Andrew Lang + +Release Date: April 7, 2005 [eBook #1631] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MONK OF FIFE*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1896 Longmans Green and Company edition by David +Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>A MONK OF FIFE<br /> +Being the Chronicle written by Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, concerning +marvellous deeds that befell in the realm of France, in the years of +our redemption, MCCCCXXIX-XXXI. Now first done into English out +of the French by Andrew Lang.</h1> +<p>TO HENRIETTA LANG</p> +<p>My Dear Aunt,—To you, who read to me stories from the History +of France, before I could read them for myself, this Chronicle is affectionately +dedicated.</p> +<p>Yours ever,</p> +<p>ANDREW LANG.</p> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +<p>Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, whose narrative the reader has in his +hands, refers more than once to his unfinished Latin Chronicle. +That work, usually known as “The Book of Pluscarden,” has +been edited by Mr. Felix Skene, in the series of “Historians of +Scotland” (vol. vii.). To Mr. Skene’s introduction +and notes the curious are referred. Here it may suffice to say +that the original MS. of the Latin Chronicle is lost; that of six known +manuscript copies none is older than 1480; that two of these copies +contain a Prologue; and that the Prologue tells us all that has hitherto +been known about the author.</p> +<p>The date of the lost Latin original is 1461, as the author himself +avers. He also, in his Prologue, states the purpose of his work. +At the bidding of an unnamed Abbot of Dunfermline, who must have been +Richard Bothwell, he is to abbreviate “The Great Chronicle,” +and “bring it up to date,” as we now say. He is to +recount the events of his own time, “with certain other miraculous +deeds, which I who write have had cognisance of, seen, and heard, beyond +the bounds of this realm. Also, lastly, concerning a certain marvellous +Maiden, who recovered the kingdom of France out of the hands of the +tyrant, Henry, King of England. The aforesaid Maiden I saw, was +conversant with, and was in her company in her said recovery of France, +and till her life’s end I was ever present.” After +“I was ever present” the copies add “etc.,” +perhaps a sign of omission. The monkish author probably said more +about the heroine of his youth, and this the copyists have chosen to +leave out.</p> +<p>The author never fulfilled this promise of telling, in Latin, the +history of the Maid as her career was seen by a Scottish ally and friend. +Nor did he ever explain how a Scot, and a foe of England, succeeded +in being present at the Maiden’s martyrdom in Rouen. At +least he never fulfilled his promise, as far as any of the six Latin +MSS. of his Chronicle are concerned. Every one of these MSS.—doubtless +following their incomplete original—breaks off short in the middle +of the second sentence of Chapter xxxii. Book xii. Here is the +brief fragment which that chapter contains:—</p> +<p>“In those days the Lord stirred up the spirit of a certain +marvellous Maiden, born on the borders of France, in the duchy of Lorraine, +and the see of Toul, towards the Imperial territories. This Maiden +her father and mother employed in tending sheep; daily, too, did she +handle the distaff; man’s love she knew not; no sin, as it is +said, was found in her, to her innocence the neighbours bore witness +. . . ”</p> +<p>Here the Latin narrative of the one man who followed Jeanne d’Arc +through good and evil to her life’s end breaks off abruptly. +The author does not give his name; even the name of the Abbot at whose +command he wrote “is left blank, as if it had been erased in the +original” (Mr. Felix Skene, “Liber Pluscardensis,” +in the “Historians of Scotland,” vii. p. 18). It might +be guessed that the original fell into English hands between 1461 and +1489, and that they blotted out the name of the author, and destroyed +a most valuable record of their conqueror and their victim, Jeanne d’Arc.</p> +<p>Against this theory we have to set the explanation here offered by +Norman Leslie, our author, in the Ratisbon Scots College’s French +MS., of which this work is a translation. Leslie never finished +his Latin Chronicle, but he wrote, in French, the narrative which follows, +decorating it with the designs which Mr. Selwyn Image has carefully +copied in black and white.</p> +<p>Possessing this information, we need not examine Mr. W. F. Skene’s +learned but unconvincing theory that the author of the fragmentary Latin +work was one Maurice Drummond, out of the Lennox. The hypothesis +is that of Mr. W. F. Skene, and Mr. Felix Skene points out the difficulties +which beset the opinion of his distinguished kinsman. Our Monk +is a man of Fife.</p> +<p>As to the veracity of the following narrative, the translator finds +it minutely corroborated, wherever corroboration could be expected, +in the large mass of documents which fill the five volumes of M. Quicherat’s +“Procès de Jeanne d’Arc,” in contemporary chronicles, +and in MSS. more recently discovered in French local or national archives. +Thus Charlotte Boucher, Barthélemy Barrette, Noiroufle, the Scottish +painter, and his daughter Elliot, Capdorat, ay, even Thomas Scott, the +King’s Messenger, were all real living people, traces of whose +existence, with some of their adventures, survive faintly in brown old +manuscripts. Louis de Coutes, the pretty page of the Maid, a boy +of fourteen, may have been hardly judged by Norman Leslie, but he certainly +abandoned Jeanne d’Arc at her first failure.</p> +<p>So, after explaining the true position and character of our monkish +author and artist, we leave his book to the judgment which it has tarried +for so long.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER I—HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN, AND HOW NORMAN LESLIE +FLED OUT OF FIFE</h2> +<p>It is not of my own will, nor for my own glory, that I, Norman Leslie, +sometime of Pitcullo, and in religion called Brother Norman, of the +Order of Benedictines, of Dunfermline, indite this book. But on +my coming out of France, in the year of our Lord One thousand four hundred +and fifty-nine, it was laid on me by my Superior, Richard, Abbot in +Dunfermline, that I should abbreviate the Great Chronicle of Scotland, +and continue the same down to our own time. <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a> +He bade me tell, moreover, all that I knew of the glorious Maid of France, +called Jeanne la Pucelle, in whose company I was, from her beginning +even till her end.</p> +<p>Obedient, therefore, to my Superior, I wrote, in this our cell of +Pluscarden, a Latin book containing the histories of times past, but +when I came to tell of matters wherein, as Maro says, “pars magna +fui,” I grew weary of such rude, barbarous Latin as alone I am +skilled to indite, for of the manner Ciceronian, as it is now practised +by clerks of Italy, I am not master: my book, therefore, I left unfinished, +breaking off in the middle of a sentence. Yet, considering the +command laid on me, in the end I am come to this resolve, namely, to +write the history of the wars in France, and the history of the blessed +Maid (so far at least as I was an eyewitness and partaker thereof), +in the French language, being the most commonly understood of all men, +and the most delectable. It is not my intent to tell all the story +of the Maid, and all her deeds and sayings, for the world would scarcely +contain the books that should be written. But what I myself beheld, +that I shall relate, especially concerning certain accidents not known +to the general, by reason of which ignorance the whole truth can scarce +be understood. For, if Heaven visibly sided with France and the +Maid, no less did Hell most manifestly take part with our old enemy +of England. And often in this life, if we look not the more closely, +and with the eyes of faith, Sathanas shall seem to have the upper hand +in the battle, with whose very imp and minion I myself was conversant, +to my sorrow, as shall be shown.</p> +<p>First, concerning myself I must say some few words, to the end that +what follows may be the more readily understood.</p> +<p>I was born in the kingdom of Fife, being, by some five years, the +younger of two sons of Archibald Leslie, of Pitcullo, near St. Andrews, +a cadet of the great House of Rothes. My mother was an Englishwoman +of the Debatable Land, a Storey of Netherby, and of me, in our country +speech, it used to be said that I was “a mother’s bairn.” +For I had ever my greatest joy in her, whom I lost ere I was sixteen +years of age, and she in me: not that she favoured me unduly, for she +was very just, but that, within ourselves, we each knew who was nearest +to her heart. She was, indeed, a saintly woman, yet of a merry +wit, and she had great pleasure in reading of books, and in romances. +Being always, when I might, in her company, I became a clerk insensibly, +and without labour I could early read and write, wherefore my father +was minded to bring me up for a churchman. For this cause, I was +some deal despised by others of my age, and, yet more, because from +my mother I had caught the Southron trick of the tongue. They +called me “English Norman,” and many a battle I have fought +on that quarrel, for I am as true a Scot as any, and I hated the English +(my own mother’s people though they were) for taking and holding +captive our King, James I. of worthy memory. My fancy, like that +of most boys, was all for the wars, and full of dreams concerning knights +and ladies, dragons and enchanters, about which the other lads were +fain enough to hear me tell what I had read in romances, though they +mocked at me for reading. Yet they oft came ill speed with their +jests, for my brother had taught me to use my hands: and to hold a sword +I was instructed by our smith, who had been prentice to Harry Gow, the +Burn-the-Wind of Perth, and the best man at his weapon in broad Scotland. +From him I got many a trick of fence that served my turn later.</p> +<p>But now the evil time came when my dear mother sickened and died, +leaving to me her memory and her great chain of gold. A bitter +sorrow is her death to me still; but anon my father took to him another +wife of the Bethunes of Blebo. I blame myself, rather than this +lady, that we dwelt not happily in the same house. My father therefore, +still minded to make me a churchman, sent me to Robert of Montrose’s +new college that stands in the South Street of St. Andrews, a city not +far from our house of Pitcullo. But there, like a wayward boy, +I took more pleasure in the battles of the “nations”—as +of Fife against Galloway and the Lennox; or in games of catch-pull, +football, wrestling, hurling the bar, archery, and golf—than in +divine learning—as of logic, and Aristotle his analytics.</p> +<p>Yet I loved to be in the scriptorium of the Abbey, and to see the +good Father Peter limning the blessed saints in blue, and red, and gold, +of which art he taught me a little. Often I would help him to +grind his colours, and he instructed me in the laying of them on paper +or vellum, with white of egg, and in fixing and burnishing the gold, +and in drawing flowers, and figures, and strange beasts and devils, +such as we see grinning from the walls of the cathedral. In the +French language, too, he learned me, for he had been taught at the great +University of Paris; and in Avignon had seen the Pope himself, Benedict +XIII., of uncertain memory.</p> +<p>Much I loved to be with Father Peter, whose lessons did not irk me, +but jumped with my own desire to read romances in the French tongue, +whereof there are many. But never could I have dreamed that, in +days to come, this art of painting would win me my bread for a while, +and that a Leslie of Pitcullo should be driven by hunger to so base +and contemned a handiwork, unworthy, when practised for gain, of my +blood.</p> +<p>Yet it would have been well for me to follow even this craft more, +and my sports and pastimes less: Dickon Melville had then escaped a +broken head, and I, perchance, a broken heart. But youth is given +over to vanities that war against the soul, and, among others, to that +wicked game of the Golf, now justly cried down by our laws, <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a> +as the mother of cursing and idleness, mischief and wastery, of which +game, as I verily believe, the devil himself is the father.</p> +<p>It chanced, on an October day of the year of grace Fourteen hundred +and twenty-eight, that I was playing myself at this accursed sport with +one Richard Melville, a student of like age with myself. We were +evenly matched, though Dickon was tall and weighty, being great of growth +for his age, whereas I was of but scant inches, slim, and, as men said, +of a girlish countenance. Yet I was well skilled in the game of +the Golf, and have driven a Holland ball the length of an arrow-flight, +there or thereby. But wherefore should my sinful soul be now in +mind of these old vanities, repented of, I trust, long ago?</p> +<p>As we twain, Dickon and I, were known for fell champions at this +unholy sport, many of the other scholars followed us, laying wagers +on our heads. They were but a wild set of lads, for, as then, +there was not, as now there is, a house appointed for scholars to dwell +in together under authority. We wore coloured clothes, and our +hair long; gold chains, and whingers <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a> +in our belts, all of which things are now most righteously forbidden. +But I carried no whinger on the links, as considering that it hampered +a man in his play. So the game went on, now Dickon leading “by +a hole,” as they say, and now myself, and great wagers were laid +on us.</p> +<p>Now, at the hole that is set high above the Eden, whence you see +far over the country, and the river-mouth, and the shipping, it chanced +that my ball lay between Dickon’s and the hole, so that he could +in no manner win past it.</p> +<p>“You laid me that stimy of set purpose,” cried Dickon, +throwing down his club in a rage; “and this is the third time +you have done it in this game.”</p> +<p>“It is clean against common luck,” quoth one of his party, +“and the game and the money laid on it should be ours.”</p> +<p>“By the blessed bones of the Apostle,” I said, “no +luck is more common. To-day to me, to-morrow to thee! Lay +it of purpose, I could not if I would.”</p> +<p>“You lie!” he shouted in a rage, and gripped to his whinger.</p> +<p>It was ever my father’s counsel that I must take the lie from +none. Therefore, as his steel was out, and I carried none, I made +no more ado, and the word of shame had scarce left his lips when I felled +him with the iron club that we use in sand.</p> +<p>“He is dead!” cried they of his party, while the lads +of my own looked askance on me, and had manifestly no mind to be partakers +in my deed.</p> +<p>Now, Melville came of a great house, and, partly in fear of their +feud, partly like one amazed and without any counsel, I ran and leaped +into a boat that chanced to lie convenient on the sand, and pulled out +into the Eden. Thence I saw them raise up Melville, and bear him +towards the town, his friends lifting their hands against me, with threats +and malisons. His legs trailed and his head wagged like the legs +and the head of a dead man, and I was without hope in the world.</p> +<p>At first it was my thought to row up the river-mouth, land, and make +across the marshes and fields to our house at Pitcullo. But I +bethought me that my father was an austere man, whom I had vexed beyond +bearing with my late wicked follies, into which, since the death of +my mother, I had fallen. And now I was bringing him no college +prize, but a blood-feud, which he was like to find an ill heritage enough, +even without an evil and thankless son. My stepmother, too, who +loved me little, would inflame his anger against me. Many daughters +he had, and of gear and goods no more than enough. Robin, my elder +brother, he had let pass to France, where he served among the men of +John Kirkmichael, Bishop of Orleans—he that smote the Duke of +Clarence in fair fight at Baugé.</p> +<p>Thinking of my father, and of my stepmother’s ill welcome, +and of Robin, abroad in the wars against our old enemy of England, it +may be that I fell into a kind of half dream, the boat lulling me by +its movement on the waters. Suddenly I felt a crashing blow on +my head. It was as if the powder used for artillery had exploded +in my mouth, with flash of light and fiery taste, and I knew nothing. +Then, how long after I could not tell, there was water on my face, the +blue sky and the blue tide were spinning round—they spun swiftly, +then slowly, then stood still. There was a fierce pain stounding +in my head, and a voice said—</p> +<p>“That good oar-stroke will learn you to steal boats!”</p> +<p>I knew the voice; it was that of a merchant sailor-man with whom, +on the day before, I had quarrelled in the market-place. Now I +was lying at the bottom of a boat which four seamen, who had rowed up +to me and had broken my head as I meditated, were pulling towards a +merchant-vessel, or carrick, in the Eden-mouth. Her sails were +being set; the boat wherein I lay was towing that into which I had leaped +after striking down Melville. For two of the ship’s men, +being on shore, had hailed their fellows in the carrick, and they had +taken vengeance upon me.</p> +<p>“You scholar lads must be taught better than your masters learn +you,” said my enemy.</p> +<p>And therewith they carried me on board the vessel, the “St. +Margaret,” of Berwick, laden with a cargo of dried salmon from +Eden-mouth. They meant me no kindness, for there was an old feud +between the scholars and the sailors; but it seemed to me, in my foolishness, +that now I was in luck’s way. I need not go back, with blood +on my hands, to Pitcullo and my father. I had money in my pouch, +my mother’s gold chain about my neck, a ship’s deck under +my foot, and the seas before me. It was not hard for me to bargain +with the shipmaster for a passage to Berwick, whence I might put myself +aboard a vessel that traded to Bordeaux for wine from that country. +The sailors I made my friends at no great cost, for indeed they were +the conquerors, and could afford to show clemency, and hold me to slight +ransom as a prisoner of war.</p> +<p>So we lifted anchor, and sailed out of Eden-mouth, none of those +on shore knowing how I was aboard the carrick that slipped by the bishop’s +castle, and so under the great towers of the minster and St. Rule’s, +forth to the Northern Sea. Despite my broken head—which +put it comfortably into my mind that maybe Dickon’s was no worse—I +could have laughed to think how clean I had vanished away from St. Andrews, +as if the fairies had taken me. Now having time to reason of it +quietly, I picked up hope for Dickon’s life, remembering his head +to be of the thickest. Then came into my mind the many romances +of chivalry which I had read, wherein the young squire has to flee his +country for a chance blow, as did Messire Patroclus, in the Romance +of Troy, who slew a man in anger over the game of the chess, and many +another knight, in the tales of Charlemagne and his paladins. +For ever it is thus the story opens, and my story, methought, was beginning +to-day like the rest.</p> +<p>Now, not to prove more wearisome than need be, and so vex those who +read this chronicle with much talk about myself, and such accidents +of travel as beset all voyagers, and chiefly in time of war, I found +a trading ship at Berwick, and reached Bordeaux safe, after much sickness +on the sea. And in Bordeaux, with a very sore heart, I changed +the links of my mother’s chain that were left to me—all +but four, that still I keep—for money of that country; and so, +with a lighter pack than spirit, I set forth towards Orleans and to +my brother Robin.</p> +<p>On this journey I had good cause to bless Father Peter of the Abbey +for his teaching me the French tongue, that was of more service to me +than all my Latin. Yet my Latin, too, the little I knew, stood +me in good stead at the monasteries, where often I found bed and board, +and no small kindness; I little deeming that, in time to come, I also +should be in religion, an old man and weary, glad to speak with travellers +concerning the news of the world, from which I am now these ten years +retired. Yet I love even better to call back memories of these +days, when I took my part in the fray. If this be a sin, may God +and the Saints forgive me, for if I have fought, it was in a rightful +cause, which Heaven at last has prospered, and in no private quarrel. +And methinks I have one among the Saints to pray for me, as a friend +for a friend not unfaithful. But on this matter I submit me to +the judgment of the Church, as in all questions of the faith.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II—HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE THE CORDELIER, +CALLED BROTHER THOMAS IN RELIGION: AND OF MIRACLES WROUGHT BY BROTHER +THOMAS</h2> +<p>The ways were rude and long from Bordeaux town to Orleans, whither +I had set my face, not knowing, when I left my own country, that the +city was beleaguered by the English. For who could guess that +lords and knights of the Christian faith, holding captive the gentle +Duke of Orleans, would besiege his own city?—a thing unheard of +among the very Saracens, and a deed that God punished. Yet the +news of this great villainy, namely, the leaguer of Orleans, then newly +begun, reached my ears on my landing at Bordeaux, and made me greatly +fear that I might never meet my brother Robin alive. And this +my doubt proved but too true, for he soon after this time fell, with +many other Scottish gentlemen and archers, deserted shamefully by the +French and by Charles de Bourbon, Comte de Clermont, at the Battle of +the Herrings. But of this I knew nothing—as, indeed, the +battle was not yet fought—and only pushed on for France, thinking +to take service with the Dauphin against the English. My journey +was through a country ruinous enough, for, though the English were on +the further bank of the Loire, the partisans of the Dauphin had made +a ruin round themselves and their holds, and, not being paid, they lived +upon the country.</p> +<p>The further north I held, by ways broken and ruined with rains and +suns, the more bare and rugged grew the whole land. Once, stopping +hard by a hamlet, I had sat down to munch such food as I carried, and +was sharing my meal with a little brown herd-boy, who told me that he +was dinnerless. A few sheep and lean kine plucked at such scant +grasses as grew among rocks, and herbs useless but sweet-scented, when +suddenly a horn was blown from the tower of the little church. +The first note of that blast had not died away, when every cow and sheep +was scampering towards the hamlet and a kind of “barmkyn” +<a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a> they had builded +there for protection, and the boy after them, running with his bare +legs for dear life. For me, I was too amazed to run in time, so +lay skulking in the thick sweet-smelling herbs, whence I saw certain +men-at-arms gallop to the crest of a cliff hard by, and ride on with +curses, for they were not of strength to take the barmkyn.</p> +<p>Such was the face of France in many counties. The fields lay +weedy and untilled; the starving peasant-folk took to the highway, every +man preying on his neighbour. Woods had grown up, and broken in +upon the roads. Howbeit, though robbers harboured therein, none +of them held to ransom a wandering poor Scots scholar.</p> +<p>Slowly I trudged, being often delayed, and I was now nearing Poictiers, +and thought myself well on my road to Chinon, where, as I heard, the +Dauphin lay, when I came to a place where the road should have crossed +a stream—not wide, but strong, smooth, and very deep. The +stream ran through a glen; and above the road I had long noted the towers +of a castle. But as I drew closer, I saw first that the walls +were black with fire and roofless, and that carrion birds were hovering +over them, some enemy having fallen upon the place: and next, behold, +the bridge was broken, and there was neither ford nor ferry! All +the ruin was fresh, the castle still smouldering, the kites flocking +and yelling above the trees, the planks of the bridge showing that the +destruction was but of yesterday.</p> +<p>This matter of the broken bridge cost me little thought, for I could +swim like an otter. But there was another traveller down by the +stream who seemed more nearly concerned. When I came close to +him, I found him standing up to his waist in the water, taking soundings +with a long and heavy staff. His cordelier’s frock was tucked +up into his belt, his long brown legs, with black hairs thick on them, +were naked. He was a huge, dark man, and when he turned and stared +at me, I thought that, among all men of the Church and in religion whom +I had ever beheld, he was the foulest and most fierce to look upon. +He had an ugly, murderous visage, fell eyes and keen, and a right long +nose, hooked like a falcon’s. The eyes in his head shone +like swords, and of all eyes of man I ever saw, his were the most piercing +and most terrible. On his back he carried, as I noticed at the +first, what I never saw on a cordelier’s back before, or on any +but his since—an arbalest, and he had bolts enough in his bag, +the feathers showing above.</p> +<p>“Pax vobiscum,” he cried, in a loud, grating voice, as +he saw me, and scrambled out to shore.</p> +<p>“Et cum anima tua,” I answered.</p> +<p>“Nom de Dieu!” he said, “you have bottomed my Latin +already, that is scarce so deep as the river here. My malison +on them that broke the bridge!” Then he looked me over fiercely.</p> +<p>“Burgundy or Armagnac?” he asked.</p> +<p>I thought the question strange, as a traveller would scarce care +to pronounce for Burgundy in that country. But this was a man +who would dare anything, so I deemed it better to answer that I was +a Scot, and, so far, of neither party.</p> +<p>“Tug-mutton, wine-sack!” he said, these being two of +many ill names which the French gave our countrymen; for, of all men, +the French are least grateful to us, who, under Heaven and the Maid, +have set their King on his throne again.</p> +<p>The English knew this, if the French did not; and their great King, +Harry the Fifth, when he fell ill of St. Fiacre’s sickness, after +plundering that Scots saint’s shrine of certain horse-shoes, silver-gilt, +said well that, “go where he would, he was bearded by Scots, dead +or alive.” But the French are not a thankful people.</p> +<p>I had no answer very ready to my tongue, so stepped down silent to +the water-edge, and was about taking off my doublet and hose, meaning +to carry them on my head and swim across. But he barred the way +with his staff, and, for me, I gripped to my whinger, and watched my +chance to run in under his guard. For this cordelier was not to +be respected, I deemed, like others of the Order of St. Francis, and +all men of Holy Church.</p> +<p>“Answer a civil question,” he said, “before it +comes to worse: Armagnac or Burgundy?”</p> +<p>“Armagnac,” I answered, “or anything else that +is not English. Clear the causeway, mad friar!”</p> +<p>At that he threw down his staff.</p> +<p>“I go north also,” he said, “to Orleans, if I may, +for the foul ‘manants’ and peasant dogs of this country +have burned the castle of Alfonse Rodigo, a good knight that held them +in right good order this year past. He was worthy, indeed, to +ride with that excellent captain, Don Rodrigo de Villandradas. +King’s captain or village labourer, all was fish that came to +his net, and but two days ago I was his honourable chaplain. But +he made the people mad, and a great carouse that we kept gave them their +opportunity. They have roasted the good knight Alfonse, and would +have done as much for me, his almoner, frock and all, if wine had any +mastery over me. But I gave them the slip. Heaven helps +its own! Natheless, I would that this river were between me and +their vengeance, and, for once, I dread the smell of roast meat that +is still in my nostrils—pah!”</p> +<p>And here he spat on the ground.</p> +<p>“But one door closes,” he went on, “and another +opens, and to Orleans am I now bound, in the service of my holy calling.”</p> +<p>“There is, indeed, cause enough for the shriving of souls of +sinners, Father, in that country, as I hear, and a holy man like you +will be right welcome to many.”</p> +<p>“They need little shriving that are opposite my culverin,” +said this strange priest. “Though now I carry but an arbalest, +the gun is my mistress, and my patron is the gunner’s saint, St. +Barbara. And even with this toy, methinks I have the lives of +a score of goddams in my bolt-pouch.”</p> +<p>I knew that in these wild days many clerics were careless as to that +which the Church enjoins concerning the effusion of blood—nay, +I have named John Kirkmichael, Bishop of Orleans, as having himself +broken a spear on the body of the Duke of Clarence. The Abbé +of Cerquenceaux, also, was a valiant man in religion, and a good captain, +and, all over France, clerics were gripping to sword and spear. +But such a priest as this I did not expect to see.</p> +<p>“Your name?” he asked suddenly, the words coming out +with a sound like the first grating of a saw on stone.</p> +<p>“They call me Norman Leslie de Pitcullo,” I answered. +“And yours?”</p> +<p>“My name,” he said, “is Noiroufle”—and +I thought that never had I seen a man so well fitted with a name;—“in +religion, Brother Thomas, a poor brother of the Order of the mad St. +Francis of Assisi.”</p> +<p>“Then, Brother Thomas, how do you mean to cross this water +which lies between you and the exercise of your holy calling? +Do you swim?”</p> +<p>“Like a stone cannon-ball, and, for all that I can find, the +cursed water has no bottom. Cross!” he snarled. “Let +me see you swim.”</p> +<p>I was glad enough to be quit of him so soon, but I noticed that, +as I stripped and packed my clothes to carry in a bundle on my head, +the holy man set his foot in the stirrup of his weapon, and was winding +up his arbalest with a windlass, a bolt in his mouth, watching at the +same time a heron that rose from a marsh on the further side of the +stream. On this bird, I deemed, he meant to try his skill with +the arbalest.</p> +<p>“Adieu, Brother Thomas,” I said, as I took the water; +and in a few strokes I was across and running up and down on the bank +to get myself dry. “Back!” came his grating voice—“back! +and without your clothes, you wine-sack of Scotland, or I shoot!” +and his arbalest was levelled on me.</p> +<p>I have often asked myself since what I should have done, and what +was the part of a brave man. Perchance I might have dived, and +swum down-stream under water, but then I had bestowed my bundle of clothes +some little way off, and Brother Thomas commanded it from his side of +the stream. He would have waited there in ambush till I came shivering +back for hose and doublet, and I should be in no better case than I +was now. Meanwhile his weapon was levelled at me, and I could +see the bolt-point set straight for my breast, and glittering in a pale +blink of the sun. The bravest course is ever the best. I +should have thrown myself on the earth, no doubt, and so crawled to +cover, taking my chance of death rather than the shame of obeying under +threat and force. But I was young, and had never looked death +in the face, so, being afraid and astonished, I made what seemed the +best of an ill business, and, though my face reddens yet at the thought +of it, I leaped in and swam back like a dog to heel.</p> +<p>“Behold me,” I said, making as brave a countenance as +I might in face of necessity.</p> +<p>“Well done, Norman Leslie de Pitcullo,” he snarled, baring +his yellow teeth. “This is the obedience which the young +owe to the Church. Now, ferry me over; you are my boat.”</p> +<p>“You will drown, man,” I said. “Not while +you swim.”</p> +<p>Then, unbuckling his frock, he packed it as he had seen me do, bade +me put it on my head, and so stepped out into the water, holding forth +his arm to put about my neck. I was for teaching him how to lay +it on my shoulder, and was bidding him keep still as a plank of wood, +but he snarled—</p> +<p>“I have sailed on a boat of flesh before to-day.”</p> +<p>To do him justice, he kept still as a log of wood, and so, yielding +partly to the stream, I landed him somewhat further down than the place +where my own clothes were lying. To them he walked, and very quietly +picking up my whinger and my raiment that he gathered under his arm, +he concealed himself in a thick bush, albeit it was leafless, where +no man could have been aware of him. This amazed me not a little, +for modesty did not seem any part of his nature.</p> +<p>“Now,” says he, “fetch over my arbalest. +Lying where I am you have no advantage to shoot me, as, nom de Dieu! +I would have shot you had you not obeyed. And hark ye, by the +way, unwind the arbalest before you cross; it is ever well to be on +the safe side. And be sure you wet not the string.” +He pushed his face through the bush, and held in his mouth my naked +whinger, that shone between his shining eyes.</p> +<p>Now again I say it, I have thought over this matter many a time, +and have even laughed aloud and bitterly, when I was alone, at the figure +of me shivering there, on a cold February day, and at my helpless estate. +For a naked man is no match for a man with a whinger, and he was sitting +on my clothes. So this friar, unworthy as he was of his holy calling, +had me at an avail on every side, nor do I yet see what I could do but +obey him, as I did. And when I landed from this fifth voyage, +he laughed and gave me his blessing, and, what I needed more, some fiery +spirits from a water-gourd, in which Father Thomas carried no water.</p> +<p>“Well done, my son,” he said, “and now we are comrades. +My life was not over safe on yonder side, seeing that the ‘manants’ +hate me, and respect not my hood, and two are better company than one, +where we are going.”</p> +<p>This encounter was the beginning of many evils, and often now the +picture shines upon my eyes, and I see the grey water, and hear the +cold wind whistle in the dry reeds of the river-bank whereon we sat.</p> +<p>The man was my master, Heaven help me! as surely as Sathanas was +his. And though, at last, I slipped his clutches, as you shall +hear (more readily than, I trow, he will scape his lord in the end, +for he still lives), yet it was an ill day that we met—an ill +day for me and for France. Howbeit we jogged on, he merrily enough +singing a sculdudery song, I something surly, under a grey February +sky, with a keen wind searching out the threadbare places in our raiment. +My comrade, as he called himself, told me what passages he chose in +the history of his life: how he came to be frocked (but ‘cucullus +non facit monachum’), and how, in the troubles of these times, +he had discovered in himself a great aptitude for the gunner’s +trade, of which he boasted not a little. He had been in one and +another of these armed companies that took service with either side, +for hire, being better warriors and more skilled than the noblesse, +but a curse to France: for, in peace or war, friend or foe, they plundered +all, and held all to ransom. With Rodrigo de Villandradas, that +blood-hound of Spain, he had been high in favour, but when Rodrigo went +to harry south and east, he had tarried at Ruffec, with another thief +of that nation, Alfonse Rodigo. All his talk, as we went, was +of slaying men in fight; whom he slew he cared not much, but chiefly +he hated the English and them of Burgundy. To him, war was what +hunting and shooting game is to others; a cruel and bloody pastime, +when Christians are the quarry!</p> +<p>“John the Lorrainer, and I, there are no others to be named +with us at the culverin,” he would brag. “We two against +an army, give us good cover, and powder and leaden balls enough. +Hey! Master John and I must shoot a match yet, against English +targets, and of them there are plenty under Orleans. But if I +make not the better speed, the town will have fallen, or yielded, rescue +or no rescue, and of rescue there is no hope at all. The devil +fights for the English, who will soon be swarming over the Loire, and +that King of Bourges of ours will have to flee, and gnaw horse’s +fodder, oats and barley, with your friends in Scotland.”</p> +<p>This was one of the many ungenerous taunts which the French made +often against us Scots, that have been their ancient and leal brethren +in arms since the days of King Achaius and Charlemagne.</p> +<p>“The Dauphin,” he went on, “for King he is none, +and crowned he will never be, should be in Orleans, leading his men; +and lo! he is tied to the belt of fat La Trémouille, and is dancing +of ballets at Chinon—a murrain on him, and on them that make his +music!” Then he fell to cursing his King, a thing terrible +to hear, and so to asking me questions about myself. I told him +that I had fled my own country for a man-slaying, hoping, may Heaven +forgive me! to make him think the higher of me for the deed.</p> +<p>“So we all begin,” said he; “a shrewd blow, or +a fair wench; a death, or a birth unlawful, ’tis all one forth +we are driven to the world and the wars. Yet you have started +well,—well enough, and better than I gave your girl’s face +credit for. Bar steel and rope, you may carry some French gold +back to stinking Scotland yet.”</p> +<p>He gave me so much credit as this for a deed that deserved none, +but rather called for rebuke from him, who, however unworthy, was in +religion, and wore the garb of the Blessed Francis. But very far +from fortifying me in virtuous courses, as was his bounden duty, there +was no wickedness that he did not try to teach me, till partly I hated +him, and partly, I fear, I admired one so skilled in evil. The +truth is, as I said, that this man, for that time, was my master. +He was learned in all the arts by which poor and wandering folk can +keep their bellies full wandering by the way. With women, ugly +and terrible of aspect as he was, he had a great power: a pious saying +for the old; a way with the young which has ever been a mystery to me, +unless, as some of the learned think, all women are naturally lovers +of wickedness, if strength and courage go with it. What by wheedling, +what by bullying, what by tales of pilgrimages to holy shrines (he was +coming from Jerusalem by way of Rome, so he told all we met), he ever +won a welcome.</p> +<p>Other more devilish cantrips he played, one of them at the peasant’s +house where we rested on the first night of our common travel. +The Lenten supper which they gave us, with no little kindness, was ended, +and we were sitting in the firelight, Brother Thomas discoursing largely +of his pilgrimages, and of his favour among the high clergy. Thus, +at I know not what convent of the Clarisses, <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a> +in Italy, the holy Sisters had pressed on him a relic of Monsieur St. +Aignan, the patron of the good town of Orleans. To see this relic, +the farmer, his wife, and his sons and daughters crowded eagerly; it +was but a little blackened finger bone, yet they were fain to touch +it, as is the custom. But this he would not yet allow.</p> +<p>“Perchance some of you,” he said, “are already +corrupt, not knowing it, with the poisonous breath of that damnable +Hussite heresy, which is blowing from the east like wind of the pestilence, +and ye may have doubts concerning the verity of this most holy and miraculous +relic?”</p> +<p>They all crossed themselves, protesting that no such wicked whisper +of Sathanas had ever come into their minds, nor had they so much as +heard of Huss and his blasphemies.</p> +<p>“Nay,” said Brother Thomas, “I could scarcely blame +you if it were partly as I said. For in this latter time of the +world, when I have myself met Jews flocking to Babylon expecting the +birth of Antichrist, there be many false brethren, who carry about feigned +relics, to deceive the simple. We should believe no man, if he +be, as I am, a stranger, unless he shows us a sign, such as now I will +show you. Give me, of your grace, a kerchief, or a napkin.” +The goodwife gave him a clean white napkin from her aumbry, and he tore +it up before their eyes, she not daring to stay his hand.</p> +<p>“Now note this holy relic and its wonderful power,” he +said, holding the blackened bone high in his left hand, and all our +eyes were fixed on it. “Now mark,” he said again, +passing it over the napkin; and lo! there was a clean white napkin in +his hands, and of the torn shreds not a trace!</p> +<p>We were still gaping, and crossing ourselves with blessings on this +happy day and our unworthy eyes that beheld a miracle, when he did a +thing yet more marvellous, if that might be, which I scarce expect any +man will believe. Going to the table, and catching up a glass +vessel on which the goodwife set great store, he threw it against the +wall, and we all plainly heard it shiver into tinkling pieces. +Then, crossing the room into the corner, that was dusky enough, he faced +us, again holding the blessed relic, whereon we stared, in holy fear. +Then he rose, and in his hand was the goodwife’s glass vessel, +without crack or flaw! <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6">{6}</a></p> +<p>“Such,” he said, “are the properties of this miraculous +relic; there is nothing broken but it will mend, ay, a broken limb, +as I can prove on my own sinful body,”—thrusting out his +great brown leg, whereon, assuredly, were signs of a fracture; “ay, +a broken leg, or, my dear daughters, a broken heart.” At +this, of course, they were all eager to touch the blessed relic with +their poor rings of base metal, such as they wear who are not rich. +Nay, but first, he said, they must give their mites for a convent of +the Clarisses, that was building at Castres, by the care of the holy +Colette, whom he might call his patroness, unworthy as he was.</p> +<p>Then he showed us a safe-conduct, signed with that blessed woman’s +own hand, such as she was wont to give to the religious of the Order +of St. Francis. By virtue of this, he said (and, by miracle, for +once he said truly, as I had but too good cause to learn), he could +go freely in and out among the camps of French, English, and Burgundians.</p> +<p>You may conceive how joyous they were in that poor cottage, on a +night so blessed, and how Brother Thomas told us of the holy Colette, +that famous nun and Mother in Christ, as he that had often been in her +company. He had seen her body lifted in the air while she remained +in a pious ecstasy, her mind soaring aloft and her fleshly body following +it some way.</p> +<p>He had often watched that snow-white beast which followed her, such +a creature as is known in no country of the sinful world, but is a thing +of Paradise. And he had tried to caress this wondrous creature +of God, but vainly, for none but the holy sister Colette may handle +it. Concerning her miracles of healing, too, he told us, all of +which we already knew for very truth, and still know on better warranty +than his.</p> +<p>Ye may believe that, late and at last, Brother Thomas had his choice +of the warmest place to sleep in—by the “four,” as +is the wont of pilgrims, for in his humility this holy man would not +suffer the farmer’s wife and the farmer to give him their bed, +as they desired. I, too, was very kindly entreated by the young +lads, but I could scarcely sleep for marvelling at these miracles done +by one so unworthy; and great, indeed, I deemed, must be the virtue +of that relic which wrought such signs in the hands of an evil man. +But I have since held that he feigned all by art magic and very sorcery, +for, as we wended next morning on our road, he plainly told me, truly +or falsely, that he had picked up the blackened finger-bone out of the +loathly ashes of the dead in the burned castle near Ruffec.</p> +<p>Wherefore I consider that when Brother Thomas sold the grace of his +relic, by the touching of rings, he dealt in a devilish black simony, +vending to simple Christians no grace but that of his master, Sathanas. +Thus he was not only evil (if I guess aright, which I submit to the +judgment of my ecclesiastical superiors, and of the Church), but he +had even found out a new kind of wickedness, such as I never read of +in any books of theology wherein is much to be learned. I have +spoken with some, however, knights and men of this world, who deemed +that he did but beguile our eyes by craft and sleight-of-hand.</p> +<p>This other hellish art he had, by direct inspiration, as I hold, +of his master Behemoth, that he could throw his voice whither he would, +so that, in all seeming, it came from above, or from below, or from +a corner of a room, fashioning it to resemble the voice of whom he would, +yet none might see his lips move. With this craft he would affray +the peasants about the fire in the little inns where we sometimes rested, +when he would be telling tales of bogles and eldritch fantasies, and +of fiends that rout and rap, and make the tables and firkins dance. +Such art of speech, I am advised, is spoken of by St. Jerome, in his +comment on the holy prophet the saint Isaiah, and they that use it he +calls “ventriloqui,” in the Latin, or “belly-speakers,” +and he takes an unfavourable sense of them and their doings. So +much I have from the learned William de Boyis, Prior of Pluscarden, +where now I write; with whom I have conversed of these matters privately, +and he thinks this art a thing that men may learn by practice, without +dealing in nigromancy and the black magic. This question I am +content to leave, as is fitting, to the judgment of my superiors. +And indeed, as at that time, Brother Thomas spake not in his belly except +to make sport and affray the simple people, soon turning their fears +to mirth. Certainly the country folk never misdoubted him, the +women for a holy man, the men for a good fellow; though all they of +his own cloth shrank from him, and I have seen them cross themselves +in his presence, but to no avail. He would say a word or two in +their ears, and they straightway left the place where he might be. +None the less, with his tales and arts, Brother Thomas commonly so wrought +that we seldom slept “à la belle étoile” in +that bitter spring weather, but we ordinarily had leave to lie by the +hearth, and got a supper and a breakfast. The good peasants would +find their hen-roosts the poorer often, for all that he could snap up +was to him fortune of war.</p> +<p>I loved these manners little, but leave him I could not. His +eye was ever on me; if I stirred in the night he was awake and watching +me, and by day he never let me out of a bolt’s flight. To +cut the string of his wicked weapon was a thought often in my mind, +but he was too vigilant. My face was his passport, he said; my +face, indeed, being innocent enough, as was no shame to me, but an endless +cause of mirth and mockery to him. Yet, by reason of the serviceableness +of the man in that perilous country, and my constant surprise and wonder +at what he did and said, and might do next (which no man could guess +beforehand), and a kind of foolish pride in his very wickedness, so +much beyond what I had ever dreamed of, and for pure fear of him also, +I found myself following with him day by day, ever thinking to escape, +and never escaping.</p> +<p>I have since deemed that, just as his wickedness was to a boy (for +I was little more), a kind of charm, made up of a sort of admiring hate +and fear, so my guilelessness (as it seemed to him) also wrought on +him strangely. For in part it made sport for him to see my open +mouth and staring eyes at the spectacle of his devilries, and in part +he really hated me, and hated my very virtue of simplicity, which it +was his desire and delight to surprise and corrupt.</p> +<p>On these strange terms, then, now drawn each to other, and now forced +apart, we wended by Poictiers towards Chinon, where the Dauphin and +his Court then lay. So we fared northwards, through Poitou, where +we found evil news enough. For, walking into a village, we saw +men, women, and children, all gathered, gaping about one that stood +beside a horse nearly foundered, its legs thrust wide, its nostrils +all foam and blood. The man, who seemed as weary as his horse, +held a paper in his hands, which the priest of that parish took from +him and read aloud to us. The rider was a royal messenger, one +Thomas Scott of Easter Buccleuch, in Rankel Burn, whom I knew later, +and his tidings were evil. The Dauphin bade his good towns know +that, on the 12th of February, Sir John Stewart, constable of the Scottish +forces in France, had fallen in battle at Rouvray, with very many of +his company, and some Frenchmen. They had beset a convoy under +Sir John Fastolf, that was bringing meat to the English leaguered about +Orleans. But Fastolf had wholly routed them (by treachery, as +we later learned of the Comte de Clermont), and Sir John Stewart, with +his brother Sir William, were slain. Wherefore the Dauphin bade +the good towns send him money and men, or all was lost.</p> +<p>Such were the evil tidings, which put me in sore fear for my brother +Robin, one that, in such an onfall, would go far, as beseemed his blood. +But as touching his fortunes, Thomas Scott could tell me neither good +nor bad, though he knew Robin, and gave him a good name for a stout +man-at-arms. It was of some comfort to me to hear a Scots tongue; +but, for the rest, I travelled on with a heavier heart, deeming that +Orleans must indeed fall ere I could seek my brother in that town.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III—WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE OF CHINON TOWN</h2> +<p>My old nurse, when I was a child, used to tell me a long story of +a prince who, wandering through the world, made friends with many strange +companions. One she called Lynx-eye, that could see through a +mountain; one was Swift-foot, that could outrun the wind; one was Fine-ear, +that could hear the grass growing; and there was Greedy-gut, that could +swallow a river. All these were very serviceable to this gracious +prince, of I know not what country, in his adventures; and they were +often brought into my mind by the companions whom we picked up on the +grass-grown roads.</p> +<p>These wanderers were as strange as the friends of the prince, and +were as variously, but scarce as honourably, gifted. There was +the one-armed soldier, who showed his stump very piteously when it was +a question of begging from a burgess, but was as well furnished with +limbs as other men when no burgess was in sight. There was a wretched +woman violer, with her jackanapes, and with her husband, a hang-dog +ruffian, she bearing the mark of his fist on her eye, and commonly trailing +far behind him with her brat on her back. There was a blind man, +with his staff, who might well enough answer to Keen-eye, that is, when +no strangers were in sight. There was a layman, wearing cope and +stole and selling indulgences, but our captain, Brother Thomas, soon +banished him from our company, for that he divided the trade. +Others there were, each one of them a Greedy-gut, a crew of broken men, +who marched with us on the roads; but we never entered a town or a house +with these discreditable attendants.</p> +<p>Now, it may seem strange, but the nearer we drew to Chinon and the +Court, the poorer grew the country, for the Court and the men-at-arms +had stripped it bare, like a flight of locusts. For this reason +the Dauphin could seldom abide long at one place, for he was so much +better known than trusted that the very cordwainer would not let him +march off in a new pair of boots without seeing his money, and, as the +song said, he even greased his old clouted shoon, and made them last +as long as he might. For head-gear he was as ill provided, seeing +that he had pawned the fleurons of his crown. There were days +when his treasurer at Tours (as I myself have heard him say) did not +reckon three ducats in his coffers, and the heir of France borrowed +money from his very cook. So the people told us, and I have often +marvelled how, despite this poverty, kings and nobles, when I have seen +them, go always in cloth of gold, with rich jewels. But, as you +may guess, near the Court of a beggar Dauphin the country-folk too were +sour and beggarly.</p> +<p>We had to tighten our belts before we came to the wood wherein cross-roads +meet, from north, south, and east, within five miles of the town of +Chinon. There was not a white coin among us; night was falling, +and it seemed as if we must lie out under the stars, and be fed, like +the wolves we heard howling, on wind. By the roadside, at the +crossways, but not in view of the road, a council of our ragged regiment +was held in a deep ditch. It would be late ere we reached the +town, gates would scarce open for us, we could not fee the warders, +houses would be shut and dark; the King’s archers were apt to +bear them unfriendly to wandering men with the devil dancing in their +pouches. Resource we saw none; if there was a cottage, dogs, like +wolves for hunger and fierceness, were baying round it. As for +Brother Thomas, an evil bruit had gone before us concerning a cordelier +that the fowls and geese were fain to follow, as wilder things, they +say, follow the blessed St. Francis. So there sat Brother Thomas +at the cross-roads, footsore, hungry, and sullen, in the midst of us, +who dared not speak, he twanging at the string of his arbalest. +He called himself our Moses, in his blasphemous way, and the blind man +having girded at him for not leading us into the land of plenty, he +had struck the man till he bled, and now stood stanching his wound.</p> +<p>Suddenly Brother Thomas ceased from his twanging, and holding up +his hand for silence, leaned his ear to the ground. The night +was still, though a cold wind came very stealthily from the east.</p> +<p>“Horses!” he said.</p> +<p>“It is but the noise of the brook by the way,” said the +blind man, sullenly.</p> +<p>Brother Thomas listened again.</p> +<p>“No, it is horses,” he whispered. “My men, +they that ride horses can spare somewhat out of their abundance to feed +the poor.” And with that he began winding up his arbalest +hastily. “Aymeric,” he said to one of our afflicted +company, “you draw a good bow for a blind man; hide yourself in +the opposite ditch, and be ready when I give the word ‘Pax vobiscum.’ +You, Giles,” he spoke to the one-armed soldier, “go with +him, and, do you hear, aim low, at the third man’s horse. +From the sound there are not more than five or six of them. We +can but fail, at worst, and the wood is thick behind us, where none +may pursue. You, Norman de Pitcullo, have your whinger ready, +and fasten this rope tightly to yonder birch-tree stem, and then cross +and give it a turn or two about that oak sapling on the other side of +the way. That trap will bring down a horse or twain. Be +quick, you Scotch wine-bag!”</p> +<p>I had seen many ill things done, and, to my shame, had held my peace. +But a Leslie of Pitcullo does not take purses on the high-road. +Therefore my heart rose in sudden anger, I having all day hated him +more and more for his bitter tongue, and I was opening my mouth to cry +“À secours!”—a warning to them who were approaching, +when, quick as lightning, Brother Thomas caught me behind the knee-joints, +and I was on the ground with his weight above me. One cry I had +uttered, when his hand was on my mouth.</p> +<p>“Give him the steel in his guts!” whispered the blind +man.</p> +<p>“Slit his weasand, the Scotch pig!” said the one-armed +soldier.</p> +<p>They were all on me now.</p> +<p>“No, I keep him for better sport,” snarled Brother Thomas. +“He shall learn the Scots for ‘écorcheurs’ +(flayers of men) “when we have filled our pouches.”</p> +<p>With that he crammed a great napkin in my mouth, so that I could +not cry, made it fast with a piece of cord, trussed me with the rope +which he had bidden me tie across the path to trip the horses, and with +a kick sent me flying to the bottom of the ditch, my face being turned +from the road.</p> +<p>I could hear Giles and Aymeric steal across the way, and the rustling +of boughs as they settled on the opposite side. I could hear the +trampling hoofs of horses coming slowly and wearily from the east. +At this moment chanced a thing that has ever seemed strange to me: I +felt the hand of the violer woman laid lightly and kindly on my hair. +I had ever pitied her, and, as I might, had been kind to her and her +bairn; and now, as it appears, she pitied me. But there could +be no help in her, nor did she dare to raise her voice and give an alarm. +So I could but gnaw at my gag, trying to find scope for my tongue to +cry, for now it was not only the travellers that I would save, but my +own life, and my escape from a death of torment lay on my success. +But my mouth was as dry as a kiln, my tongue was doubled back till I +thought that I should have choked. The night was now deadly still, +and the ring of the weary hoofs drew nearer and nearer. I heard +a stumble, and the scramble of a tired horse as he recovered himself; +for the rest, all was silent, though the beating of my own heart sounded +heavy and husky in my ears.</p> +<p>Closer and closer the travellers drew, and soon it was plain that +they rode not carelessly, nor as men who deemed themselves secure, for +the tramp of one horse singled itself out in front of the others, and +this, doubtless, was ridden by an “éclaireur,” sent +forward to see that the way ahead was safe. Now I heard a low +growl of a curse from Brother Thomas, and my heart took some comfort. +They might be warned, if the Brother shot at the foremost man; or, at +worst, if he was permitted to pass, the man would bear swift tidings +to Chinon, and we might be avenged, the travellers and I, for I now +felt that they and I were in the same peril.</p> +<p>The single rider drew near, and passed, and there came no cry of +“Pax vobiscum” from the friar. But the foremost rider +had, perchance, the best horse, and the least wearied, for there was +even too great a gap between him and the rest of his company.</p> +<p>And now their voices might be heard, as they talked by the way, yet +not so loud that, straining my ears as I did, I could hear any words. +But the sounds waxed louder, with words spoken, ring of hoofs, and rattle +of scabbard on stirrup, and so I knew, at least, that they who rode +so late were men armed. Brother Thomas, too, knew it, and cursed +again very low.</p> +<p>Nearer, nearer they came, then almost opposite, and now, as I listened +to hear the traitorous signal of murder—“Pax vobiscum”—and +the twang of bow-strings, on the night there rang a voice, a woman’s +voice, soft but wondrous clear, such as never I knew from any lips but +hers who then spoke; that voice I heard in its last word, “Jesus!” +and still it is sounding in my ears.</p> +<p>That voice said—</p> +<p>“Nous voilà presqu’arrivés, grâce +à mes Frères de Paradis.”</p> +<p>Instantly, I knew not how, at the sound of that blessed voice, and +the courage in it, I felt my fear slip from me, as when we awaken from +a dreadful dream, and in its place came happiness and peace. Scarce +otherwise might he feel who dies in fear and wakes in Paradise.</p> +<p>On the forest boughs above me, my face being turned from the road, +somewhat passed, or seemed to pass, like a soft golden light, such as +in the Scots tongue we call a “boyn,” that ofttimes, men +say, travels with the blessed saints. Yet some may deem it but +a glancing in my own eyes, from the blood flying to my head; howsoever +it be, I had never seen the like before, nor have I seen it since, and, +assuredly, the black branches and wild weeds were lit up bare and clear.</p> +<p>The tramp of the horses passed, there was no cry of “Pax vobiscum,” +no twang of bows, and slowly the ring of hoofs died away on the road +to Chinon. Then came a rustling of the boughs on the further side +of the way, and a noise of footsteps stealthily crossing the road, and +now I heard a low sound of weeping from the violer woman, that was crouching +hard by where I lay. Her man struck her across the mouth, and +she was still.</p> +<p>“You saw it? Saints be with us! You saw them?” +he whispered to Brother Thomas.</p> +<p>“Fool, had I not seen, would I not have given the word? +Get you gone, all the sort of you, there is a fey man in this company, +be he who he will. Wander your own ways, and if ever one of you +dogs speak to me again, in field, or street, or market, or ever mention +this night . . . ye shall have my news of it. Begone! Off!”</p> +<p>“Nay, but, Brother Thomas, saw’st thou what we saw? +What sight saw’st thou?”</p> +<p>“What saw I? Fools, what should I have seen, but an outrider, +and he a King’s messenger, sent forward to warn the rest by his +fall, if he fell, or to raise the country on us, if he passed, and if +afterward they passed us not. They were men wary in war, and travelling +on the Dauphin’s business. Verily there was no profit in +them.”</p> +<p>“And that was all? We saw other things.”</p> +<p>“What I saw was enough for me, or for any good clerk of St. +Nicholas, and of questions there has been more than enough. Begone! +scatter to the winds, and be silent.”</p> +<p>“And may we not put the steel in that Scotch dog who delayed +us? Saints or sorcerers, their horses must have come down but +for him.”</p> +<p>Brother Thomas caught me up, as if I had been a child, in his arms, +and tossed me over the ditch-bank into the wood, where I crashed on +my face through the boughs.</p> +<p>“Only one horse would have fallen, and that had brought the +others on us. The Scot is safe enough, his mouth is well shut. +I will have no blood to-night; leave him to the wolves. And now, +begone with you: to Fierbois, if you will; I go my own road—alone.”</p> +<p>They wandered each his own way, sullen and murmuring, starved and +weary. What they had seen or fancied, and whether, if the rest +saw aught strange, Brother Thomas saw nought, I knew not then, and know +not till this hour. But the tale of this ambush, and of how they +that lay in hiding held their hands, and fled—having come, none +might say whence, and gone, whither none might tell—is true, and +was soon widely spoken of in the realm of France.</p> +<p>The woods fell still again, save for the babble of the brook, and +there I lay, bound, and heard only the stream in the silence of the +night.</p> +<p>There I lay, quaking, when all the caitiffs had departed, and the +black, chill night received me into itself. At first my mind was +benumbed, like my body; but the pain of my face, smarting with switch +and scratch of the boughs through which I had fallen, awoke me to thought +and fear. I turned over to lie on my back, and look up for any +light of hope in the sky, but nothing fell on me from heaven save a +cold rain, that the leafless boughs did little to ward off. Scant +hope or comfort had I; my whole body ached and shuddered, only I did +not thirst, for the rain soaked through the accursed napkin on my mouth, +while the dank earth, with its graveyard smell, seemed to draw me down +into itself, as it drags a rotting leaf. I was buried before death, +as it were, even if the wolves found me not and gave me other sepulture; +and now and again I heard their long hunting cry, and at every patter +of a beast’s foot, or shivering of the branches, I thought my +hour was come—and I unconfessed! The road was still as death, +no man passing by it. This night to me was like the night of a +man laid living in the tomb. By no twisting and turning could +I loosen the rope that Brother Thomas had bound me in, with a hand well +taught by cruel practice. At last the rain in my face grew like +a water-torture, always dropping, and I half turned my face and pressed +it to the ground.</p> +<p>Whether I slept by whiles, or waked all night, I know not, but certainly +I dreamed, seeing with shut eyes faces that came and went, shifting +from beauty such as I had never yet beheld, to visages more and more +hideous and sinful, ending at last in the worst—the fell countenance +of Noiroufle. Then I woke wholly to myself, in terror, to find +that he was not there, and now came to me some of that ease which had +been born of the strange, sweet voice, and the strange words, “Mes +Frères de Paradis.”</p> +<p>“My brethren of Paradise”; who could she be that rode +so late in company of armed men, and yet spoke of such great kinsfolk? +That it might be the holy Colette, then, as now, so famous in France +for her miracles, and good deeds, and her austerities, was a thought +that arose in me. But the holy Sister, as I had heard, never mounted +a horse in her many wanderings, she being a villein’s daughter, +but was carried in a litter, or fared in a chariot; nor did she go in +company with armed men, for who would dare to lay hands on her? +Moreover, the voice that I had heard was that of a very young girl, +and the holy Sister Colette was now entered into the vale of years. +So my questioning found no answer.</p> +<p>And now I heard light feet, as of some beast stirring and scratching +in the trees overhead, and there with a light jingling noise. +Was it a squirrel? Whatever it was, it raced about the tree, coming +nearer and going further away, till it fell with a weight on my breast, +and, shivering with cold, all strained like a harp-string as I was, +I could have screamed, but for the gag in my mouth. The thing +crawled up my body, and I saw two red eyes fixed on mine, and deemed +it had been a wild cat, such as lives in our corries of the north—a +fell beast if brought to bay, but otherwise not hurtful to man.</p> +<p>There the red eyes looked on me, and I on them, till I grew giddy +with gazing, and half turned my head with a stifled sob. Then +there came a sharp cry which I knew well enough, and the beast leaped +up and nestled under my breast, for this so dreadful thing was no worse +than the violer woman’s jackanapes, that had slipped its chain, +or, rather, had drawn it out of her hand, for now I plainly heard the +light chain jingle. This put me on wondering whether they had +really departed; the man, verily, thirsted for my life, but he would +have slain me ere this hour, I thought, if that had been his purpose. +The poor beast a little helped to warm me with the heat of his body, +and he was a friendly creature, making me feel less alone in the night. +Yet, in my own misery, I could not help but sorrow for the poor woman +when she found her jackanapes gone, that was great part of her living: +and I knew what she would have to bear for its loss from the man that +was her master.</p> +<p>As this was in my mind, the first grey stole into the sky so that +I could see the black branches overhead; and now there awoke the cries +of birds, and soon the wood was full of their sweet jargoning. +This put some hope into my heart; but the morning hours were long, and +colder than the night, to one wet to the bone with the rains. +Now, too, I comforted myself with believing that, arrive what might, +I was wholly quit of Brother Thomas, whereat I rejoiced, like the man +in the tale who had sold his soul to the Enemy, and yet, in the end, +escaped his clutches by the aid of Holy Church. Death was better +to me than life with Brother Thomas, who must assuredly have dragged +me with him to the death that cannot die. Morning must bring travellers, +and my groaning might lead them to my aid. And, indeed, foot-farers +did come, and I did groan as well as I could, but, like the Levite in +Scripture, they passed by on the other side of the way, fearing to meddle +with one wounded perchance to the death, lest they might be charged +with his slaying, if he died, or might anger his enemies, if he lived.</p> +<p>The light was now fully come, and some rays of the blessed sun fell +upon me, whereon I said orisons within myself, commanding my case to +the saints. Devoutly I prayed, that, if I escaped with life, I +might be delivered from the fear of man, and namely of Brother Thomas. +It were better for me to have died by his weapon at first, beside the +broken bridge, than to have lived his slave, going in dread of him, +with a slave’s hatred in my heart. So now I prayed for spirit +enough to defend my honour and that of my country, which I had borne +to hear reviled without striking a blow for it. Never again might +I dree this extreme shame and dishonour. On this head I addressed +myself, as was fitting, to the holy Apostle St. Andrew, our patron, +to whom is especially dear the honour of Scotland.</p> +<p>Then, as if he and the other saints had listened to me, I heard sounds +of horses’ hoofs, coming up the road from Chinon way, and also +voices. These, like the others of the night before, came nearer, +and I heard a woman’s voice gaily singing. And then awoke +such joy in my heart as never was there before, and this was far the +gladdest voice that ever yet I heard, for, behold, it was the speech +of my own country, and the tune I knew and the words.</p> +<blockquote><p>“O, we maun part this love, Willie,<br /> +That has been lang between;<br /> +There’s a French lord coming over sea<br /> +To wed me wi’ a ring;<br /> +There’s a French lord coming o’er the sea<br /> +To wed and take me hame!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“And who shall the French lord be, Elliot?” came another +voice, a man’s this time, “though he need not cross the +sea for you, the worse the luck. Is it young Pothon de Xaintrailles? +Faith, he comes often enough to see how his new penoncel fares in my +hands, and seems right curious in painting.”</p> +<p>It may be deemed strange that, even in this hour, I conceived in +my heart a great mislike of this young French lord, how unjustly I soon +well understood.</p> +<blockquote><p>“O, nae French lord for me, father,<br /> +O, nae French lord for me,<br /> +But I’ll ware my heart on a true-born Scot,<br /> +And wi’ him I’ll cross the sea.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“Oh, father, lo you, I can make as well as sing, for that is +no word of the old ballant, but just came on to my tongue!”</p> +<p>They were now right close to me, and, half in fear, half in hope, +I began to stir and rustle in the grass, for of my stifled groaning +had hitherto come no profit. Then I heard the horses stop.</p> +<p>“What stirring is that in the wood, father? I am afraid,” +came the girl’s voice.</p> +<p>“Belike a fox shifting his lair. Push on, Maid Elliot.” +The horses advanced, when, by the blessing of the saints, the jackanapes +woke in my breast.</p> +<p>The creature was used to run questing with a little wooden bowl he +carried for largesse, to beg of horsemen for his mistress. This +trick of his he did now, hearing the horses’ tramp. He leaped +the ditch, and I suppose he ran in front of the steeds, shaking his +little bowl, as was his wont.</p> +<p>“Oh, father,” sounded the girl’s voice, “see +the little jackanapes! Some travelling body has lost him. +Let me jump down and catch him. Look, he has a little coat on, +made like a herald’s tabard, and wears the colours of France. +Here, hold my reins.”</p> +<p>“No, lass. Who can tell where, or who, his owner is? +Take you my reins, and I will bring you the beast.”</p> +<p>I heard him heavily dismount.</p> +<p>“It will not let itself be caught by a lame man,” he +said; and he scrambled up the ditch bank, while the jackanapes fled +to me, and then ran forward again, back and forth.</p> +<p>“Nom Dieu, whom have we here?” cried the man, in French.</p> +<p>I turned, and made such a sound with my mouth as I might, while the +jackanapes nestled to my breast.</p> +<p>“Why do ye not speak, man?” he said again; and I turned +my eyes on him, looking as pitifully as might be out of my blood-bedabbled +face.</p> +<p>He was a burly man, great of growth, with fresh red cheeks, blue +eyes, reddish hair, and a red beard, such as are many in the Border +marches of my own country, the saints bless them for true men! +Withal he dragged his leg in walking, which he did with difficulty and +much carefulness. He “hirpled,” as we say, towards +me very warily; then, seeing the rope bound about me, and the cloth +in my mouth, he drew his dagger, but not to cut my bonds. He was +over canny for that, but he slit the string that kept the cursed gag +in my mouth, and picked it out with his dagger point; and, oh the blessed +taste of that first long draught of air, I cannot set it down in words! +“What, in the name of all the saints, make you here, in this guise?” +he asked in French, but with a rude Border accent.</p> +<p>“I am a kindly Scot,” I said in our own tongue, “of +your own country. Give me water.” And then a dwawm, +as we call it, or fainting-fit, came over me.</p> +<p>When I knew myself again, I was lying with my head in a maiden’s +lap, and well I could have believed that the fairies had carried me +to their own land, as has befallen many, whereof some have returned +to earth with the tale, and some go yet in that unearthly company.</p> +<p>“Gentle demoiselle, are you the gracious Queen of Faerie?” +I asked, as one half-wakened, not knowing what I said. Indeed +this lady was clad all in the fairy green, and her eyes were as blue +as the sky above her head, and the long yellow locks on her shoulders +were shining like the sun.</p> +<p>“Father, he is not dead,” she said, laughing as sweet +as all the singing-birds in March—“he is not dead, but sorely +wandering in his mind when he takes Elliot Hume for the Fairy Queen.”</p> +<p>“Faith, he might have made a worse guess,” cried the +man. “But now, sir, now that your bonds are cut, I see nothing +better for you than a well-washed face, for, indeed, you are by ordinary +‘kenspeckle,’ and no company for maids.”</p> +<p>With that he brought some water from the burn by the road, and therewith +he wiped my face, first giving me to drink. When I had drunk, +the maid whom he called Elliot got up, her face very rosy, and they +set my back against a tree, which I was right sorry for, as indeed I +was now clean out of fairyland and back in this troublesome world. +The horses stood by us, tethered to trees, and browsed on the budding +branches.</p> +<p>“And now, maybe,” he said, speaking in the kindly Scots, +that was like music in my ear—“now, maybe, you will tell +us who you are, and how you came into this jeopardy.”</p> +<p>I told him, shortly, that I was a Scot of Fife; whereto he answered +that my speech was strangely English. On this matter I satisfied +him with the truth, namely, that my mother was of England. I gave +my name but not that of our lands, and showed him how I had been wandering +north, to take service with the Dauphin, when I was set upon, and robbed +and bound by thieves, for I had no clearness as to telling him all my +tale, and no desire to claim acquaintance with Brother Thomas.</p> +<p>“And the jackanapes?” he asked, whereto I had no better +answer than that I had seen the beast with a wandering violer on the +day before, and that she having lost it, as I supposed, it had come +to me in the night.</p> +<p>The girl was standing with the creature in her arms, feeding it with +pieces of comfits from a pouch fastened at her girdle.</p> +<p>“The little beast is not mine to give,” I went on, seeing +how she had an affection to the ape, “but till the owner claims +it, it is all the ransom I have to pay for my life, and I would fain +see it wear the colours of this gentle maid who saved me. It has +many pretty tricks, but though to-day I be a beggar, I trow she will +not let it practise that ill trick of begging.”</p> +<p>“Sooner would I beg myself, fair sir,” she said, with +such a courtly reverence as surprised me; for though they seemed folks +well to see in the world, they were not, methought, of noble blood, +nor had they with them any company of palfreniers or archers.</p> +<p>“Elliot, you feed the jackanapes and let our countryman hunger,” +said the man; and, blushing again, she made haste to give me some of +the provision she had made for her journey.</p> +<p>So I ate and drank, she waiting on me very gently; but now, being +weary of painful writing, and hearing the call to the refectory, and +the brethren trampling thither, I must break off, for, if I be late, +they will sconce me of my ale. Alas! it is to these little cares +of creature comforts that I am come, who have seen the face of so many +a war, and lived and fought on rat’s flesh at Compiègne.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV—IN WHAT COMPANY NORMAN LESLIE ENTERED CHINON; AND +HOW HE DEMEANED HIMSELF TO TAKE SERVICE</h2> +<p>Not seemly, was it, that I should expect these kind people, even +though they were of my own country, to do more for me than they had +already done. So, when I had eaten and drunk, I made my obeisance +as if I would be trudging towards Chinon, adding many thanks, as well +I might.</p> +<p>“Nay, countryman,” said the man, “for all that +I can see, you may as well bide a while with us; for, indeed, with leave +of my graceless maid, I think we may even end our wild-goose chase here +and get us back to the town.”</p> +<p>Seeing me marvel, perhaps, that any should have ridden some four +miles or five, and yet speak of returning, he looked at the girl, who +was playing with the jackanapes, and who smiled at him as he spoke. +“You must know,” said he, “that though I am the father +of your Fairy Queen, I am also one of the gracious Princess’s +obedient subjects. No mother has she, poor wench,” he added, +in a lower voice; “and faith, we men must always obey some woman—as +it seems now that the King himself must soon do and all his captains.”</p> +<p>“You speak,” I said, “of the gracious Queen of +Sicily and Jerusalem?”—a lady who was thought to be of much +avail, as was but right, in the counsels of her son-in-law, the Dauphin, +he having married her gentle daughter.</p> +<p>“Ay; Queen Yolande is far ben <a name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7">{7}</a> +with the King—would he had no worse counsellors!” said he, +smiling; “but I speak of a far more potent sovereign, if all that +she tells of herself be true. You have heard, or belike you have +not heard, of the famed Pucelle—so she calls herself, I hope not +without a warranty—the Lorrainer peasant lass, who is to drive +the English into the sea, so she gives us all fair warning?”</p> +<p>“Never a word have I heard, or never marked so senseless a +bruit if I heard it; she must be some moon-struck wench, and in her +wits wandering.”</p> +<p>“Moon-struck, or sun-struck, or saint-struck, she will strike +down our ancient enemy of England, and show you men how it is not wine +and wickedness that make good soldiers!” cried the girl whom he +called Elliot, her face rose-red with anger; and from her eyes two blue +rays of light shot straight to mine, so that I believe my face waxed +wan, the blood flying to my heart.</p> +<p>“Listen to her! look at her!” said her father, jestingly. +“Elliot, if your renowned maid can fright the English as you have +affrayed a good Scot, the battle is won and Orleans is delivered.”</p> +<p>But she had turned her back on us pettishly, and was talking in a +low voice to her jackanapes. As for me, if my face had been pale +before, it now grew red enough for shame that I had angered her, who +was so fair, though how I had sinned I knew not. But often I have +seen that women, and these the best, will be all afire at a light word, +wherein the touchiest man-at-arms who ever fought on the turn of a straw +could pick no honourable quarrel.</p> +<p>“How have I been so unhappy as to offend mademoiselle?” +I asked, in a whisper, of her father, giving her a high title, in very +confusion.</p> +<p>“Oh, she will hear no bourde nor jest on this Pucelle that +all the countryside is clashing of, and that is bewitching my maid, +methinks, even from afar. My maid Elliot (so I call her from my +mother’s kin, but her true name is Marion, and the French dub +her Héliote) hath set all her heart and her hope on one that +is a young lass like herself, and she is full of old soothsayings about +a virgin that is to come out of an oak-wood and deliver France—no +less! For me, I misdoubt that Merlin, the Welsh prophet on whom +they set store, and the rest of the soothsayers, are all in one tale +with old Thomas Rhymer, of Ercildoune, whose prophecies our own folk +crack about by the ingle on winter nights at home. But be it as +it may, this wench of Lorraine has, these three-quarters of a year, +been about the Sieur Robert de Baudricourt, now commanding for the King +at Vaucouleurs, away in the east, praying him to send her to the Court. +She has visions, and hears voices—so she says; and she gives Baudricourt +no peace till he carries her to the King. The story goes that, +on the ill day of the Battle of the Herrings, she, being at Vaucouleurs—a +hundred leagues away and more,—saw that fight plainly, and our +countrymen fallen, manlike, around the Constable, and the French flying +like hares before a little pack of English talbots. When the evil +news came, and was approved true, Baudricourt could hold her in no longer, +and now she is on the way with half a dozen esquires and archers of +his command. The second-sight she may have—it is common +enough, if you believe the red-shanked Highlanders; but if maiden she +set forth from Vaucouleurs, great miracle it is if maiden she comes +to Chinon.” He whispered this in a manner that we call “pauky,” +being a free man with his tongue.</p> +<p>“This is a strange tale enough,” I said; “the saints +grant that the Maid speaks truly!”</p> +<p>“But yesterday came a letter of her sending to the King,” +he went on, “but never of her writing, for they say that she knows +not ‘A’ from ‘B,’ if she meets them in her voyaging. +Now, nothing would serve my wilful daughter Elliot (she being possessed, +as I said, with love for this female mystery), but that we must ride +forth and be the first to meet the Maid on her way, and offer her shelter +at my poor house, if she does but seem honest, though methinks a hostelry +is good enough for one that has ridden so far, with men for all her +company. And I, being but a subject of my daughter’s, as +I said, and this a Saint’s Day, when a man may rest from his paints +and brushes, I even let saddle the steeds, and came forth to see what +ferlies Heaven would send us.”</p> +<p>“Oh, a lucky day for me, fair sir,” I answered him, marvelling +to hear him speak of paint and brushes, and even as I spoke a thought +came into my mind. “If you will listen to me, sir,” +I said, “and if the gentle maid, your daughter, will pardon me +for staying you so long from the road, I will tell you that, to my thinking, +you have come over late, for that yesterday the Maiden you speak of +rode, after nightfall, into Chinon.”</p> +<p>Now the girl turned round on me, and, in faith, I asked no more than +to see her face, kind or angry. “You tell us, sir, that +you never heard speak of the Maid till this hour, and now you say that +you know of her comings and goings. Unriddle your riddle, sir, +if it pleases you, and say how you saw and knew one that you never heard +speech of.”</p> +<p>She was still very wroth, and I knew not whether I might not anger +her yet more, so I louted lowly, cap in hand, and said—</p> +<p>“It is but a guess that comes into my mind, and I pray you +be not angry with me, who am ready and willing to believe in this Maid, +or in any that will help France, for, if I be not wrong, last night +her coming saved my life, and that of her own company.”</p> +<p>“How may that be, if thieves robbed and bound you?”</p> +<p>“I told you not all my tale,” I said, “for, indeed, +few would have believed the thing that had not seen it. But, upon +my faith as a gentleman, and by the arm-bone of the holy Apostle Andrew, +which these sinful eyes have seen, in the church of the Apostle in his +own town, somewhat holy passed this way last night; and if this Maid +be indeed sent from heaven, that holy thing was she, and none other.”</p> +<p>“Nom Dieu! saints are not common wayfarers on our roads at +night. There is no ‘wale’ of saints in this country,” +said the father of Elliot; “and as this Pucelle of Lorraine must +needs pass by us here, if she is still on the way, even tell us all +your tale.”</p> +<p>With that I told them how the “brigands” (for so they +now began to call such reivers as Brother Thomas) were, to my shame, +and maugre my head, for a time of my own company. And I told them +of the bushment that they laid to trap travellers, and how I had striven +to give a warning, and how they bound me and gagged me, and of the strange +girl’s voice that spoke through the night of “mes Frères +de Paradis,” and of that golden “boyn” faring in the +dark, that I thought I saw, and of the words spoken by the blind man +and the soldier, concerning some vision which affrayed them, I know +not what.</p> +<p>At this tale the girl Elliot, crossing herself very devoutly, cried +aloud—</p> +<p>“O father, did I not tell you so? This holy thing can +have been no other but that blessed Maiden, guarded by the dear saints +in form visible, whom this gentleman, for the sin of keeping evil company, +was not given the grace to see. Oh, come, let us mount and ride +to Chinon, for already she is within the walls; had we not ridden forth +so early, we must have heard tell of it.”</p> +<p>It seemed something hard to me that I was to have no grace to behold +what others, and they assuredly much more sinful men than myself, had +been permitted to look upon, if this damsel was right in that she said. +And how could any man, were he himself a saint, see what was passing +by, when his head was turned the other way? Howbeit, she called +me a gentleman, as indeed I had professed myself to be, and this I saw, +that her passion of anger against me was spent, as then, and gone by, +like a shower of April.</p> +<p>“Gentleman you call yourself, sir,” said her father; +“may I ask of what house?”</p> +<p>“We are cadets of the house of Rothes,” I answered. +“My father, Leslie of Pitcullo, is the fourth son of the third +son of the last laird of Rothes but one; and, for me, I was of late +a clerk studying in St. Andrews.”</p> +<p>“I will not ask why you left your lore,” he said; “I +have been young myself, and, faith, the story of one lad varies not +much from the story of another. If we have any spirit, it drives +us out to fight the foreign loons in their own country, if we have no +feud at home. But you are a clerk, I hear you say, and have skill +enough to read and write?”</p> +<p>“Yea, and, if need were, can paint, in my degree, and do fair +lettering on holy books, for this art was my pleasure, and I learned +it from a worthy monk in the abbey.”</p> +<p>“O day of miracles!” he cried. “Listen, Elliot, +and mark how finely I have fallen in luck’s way! Lo you, +sir, I also am a gentleman in my degree, simple as you see me, being +one of the Humes of Polwarth; but by reason of my maimed leg, that came +to me with scars many, from certain shrewd blows got at Verneuil fight, +I am disabled from war. A murrain on the English bill that dealt +the stroke! To make up my ransom (for I was taken prisoner there, +where so few got quarter) cost me every crown I could gather, so I even +fell back on the skill I learned, like you, when I was a lad, from a +priest in the Abbey of Melrose. Ashamed of my craft I am none, +for it is better to paint banners and missals than to beg; and now, +for these five years, I am advanced to be Court painter to the King +himself, thanks to John Kirkmichael, Bishop of Orleans, who is of my +far-away kin. A sore fall it is, for a Hume of Polwarth; and strangely +enough do the French scribes write my name—‘Hauves Poulvoir,’ +and otherwise, so please you; but that is ever their wont with the best +names in all broad Scotland. Lo you, even now there is much ado +with banner-painting for the companies that march to help Orleans, ever +and again.”</p> +<p>“When the Maiden marches, father, you shall have banner-painting,” +said the girl.</p> +<p>“Ay, lass, when the Maid marches, and when the lift falls and +smoors the laverocks we shall catch them in plenty. <a name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8">{8}</a> +But, Maid or no Maid, saving your presence, sir, I need what we craftsmen +(I pray you again to pardon me) call an apprentice, and I offer you, +if you are skilled as you say, this honourable post, till you find a +better.”</p> +<p>My face grew red again with anger at the word “apprentice,” +and I know not how I should have answered an offer so unworthy of my +blood, when the girl broke in—</p> +<p>“Till this gentleman marches with the flower of France against +our old enemy of England, you should say, father, and helps to show +them another Bannockburn on Loire-side.”</p> +<p>“Ay, well, till then, if it likes you,” he said, smiling. +“Till then there is bed, and meat, and the penny fee for him, +till that great day.”</p> +<p>“That is coming soon!” she cried, her eyes raised to +heaven, and so fair she looked, that, being a young man and of my complexion +amorous, I could not bear to be out of her company when I might be in +it, so stooped my pride to agree with him.</p> +<p>“Sir,” I said, “I thank you heartily for your offer. +You come of as good a house as mine, and yours is the brag of the Border, +as mine is of the kingdom of Fife. If you can put your pride in +your pouch, faith, so can I; the rather that there is nothing else therein, +and so room enough and to spare. But, as touching what this gentle +demoiselle has said, I may march also, may I not, when the Maid rides +to Orleans?”</p> +<p>“Ay, verify, with my goodwill, then you may,” he cried, +laughing, while the lass frowned.</p> +<p>Then we clapped hands on it, for a bargain, and he did not insult +me by the offer of any arles, or luck penny.</p> +<p>The girl was helped to horse, setting her foot on my hand, that dirled +as her little shoe sole touched it; and the jackanapes rode on her saddle-bow +very proudly. For me, I ran as well as I might, but stiffly enough, +being cold to the marrow, holding by the father’s stirrup-leather +and watching the lass’s yellow hair that danced on her shoulders +as she rode foremost. In this company, then, so much better than +that I had left, we entered Chinon town, and came to their booth, and +their house on the water-side. Then, of their kindness, I must +to bed, which comfort I sorely needed, and there I slept, in fragrant +linen sheets, till compline rang.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V—OF THE FRAY ON THE DRAWBRIDGE AT CHINON CASTLE</h2> +<p>During supper, to which they called me, my master showed me the best +countenance that might be, and it was great joy to me to eat off clean +platters once again, on white linen strewn with spring flowers. +As the time was Lent, we had fare that they called meagre: fish from +the Vienne water, below the town, and eggs cooked in divers fashions, +all to the point of excellence, for the wine and fare of Chinon are +famous in France. As my duty was, I waited on my master and on +the maid Elliot, who was never silent, but babbled of all that she had +heard since she came into the town; as to where the Pucelle had lighted +off her horse (on the edge-stone of a well, so it seemed), and where +and with what goodwife she lodged, and how as yet no message had come +to her from the castle and the King; and great joy it was to watch and +to hear her. But her father mocked, though in a loving manner; +and once she wept at his bourdes, and shone out again, when he fell +on his knees, offering her a knife and baring his breast to the stroke, +for I have never seen more love between father and child, my own experience +being contrary. Yet to my sisters my father was ever debonnair; +for, as I have often marked, the mothers love the sons best and the +sons the mothers, and between father and daughters it is the same. +But of my mother I have spoken in the beginning of this history.</p> +<p>When supper was ended, and all things made orderly, I had no great +mind for my bed, having slept my fill for that time. But the maid +Elliot left us early, which was as if the light had been taken out of +the room.</p> +<p>Beside the fire, my master fell to devising about the state of the +country, as burgesses love to do. And I said that, if I were the +Dauphin, Chinon Castle should not hold me long, for my “spur would +be in my horse’s side, and the bridle on his mane,” <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9">{9}</a> +as the old song of the Battle of Harlaw runs, and I on the way to Orleans. +Thereto he answered, that he well wished it were so, and, mocking, wished +that I were the Dauphin.</p> +<p>“Not that our Dauphin is a coward, the blood of Saint Louis +has not fallen so low, but he is wholly under the Sieur de La Trémouille, +who was thrust on him while he was young, and still is his master, or, +as we say, his governor. Now, this lord is one that would fain +run with the hare and hunt with the hounds, and this side of him is +Burgundian and that is Armagnac, and on which of the sides his heart +is, none knows. At Azincour, as I have heard, he played the man +reasonably well. But he waxes very fat for a man-at-arms, and +is fond of women, and wine, and of his ease. Now, if once the +King ranges up with the Bastard of Orleans, and Xaintrailles, and the +other captains, who hate La Trémouille, then his power, and the +power of the Chancellor, the Archbishop of Rheims, is gone and ended. +So these two work ever to patch up a peace with Burgundy, but, seeing +that the duke has his father’s death to avenge on our King, they +may patch and better patch, but no peace will come of it. And +the captains cry ‘Forward!’ and the archbishop and La Trémouille +cry ‘Back!’ and in the meantime Orleans will fall, and the +Dauphin may fly whither he will, for France is lost. But, for +myself, I would to the saints that I and my lass were home again, beneath +the old thorn-tree at Polwarth on the green, where I have been merry +lang syne.”</p> +<p>With that word he fell silent, thinking, I doubt not, of his home, +as I did of mine, and of the house of Pitcullo and the ash-tree at the +door, and the sea beyond the ploughed land of the plain. So, after +some space of silence, he went to his bed, and I to mine, where for +long I lay wakeful, painting on the dark the face of Elliot, and her +blue eyes, and remembering her merry, changeful ways.</p> +<p>Betimes in the morning I was awakened by the sound of her moving +about through the house, and having dressed and gone forth from my little +chamber, I found her in the house-place, she having come from early +Mass. She took little heed of me, giving me some bread and wine, +the same as she and her father took; and she was altogether less gay +and wilful than she had been, and there seemed to be something that +lay heavy on her mind. When her father asked her if the gossips +at the church door had given her any more tidings of the Maid, she did +but frown, and soon left the chamber, whence my master led me forth +into his booth, and bade me show him my hand in writing. This +pleased him not ill, and next I must grind colours to his liking; and +again he went about his business, while I must mind the booth, and be +cap in hand to every saucy page that came from the castle with an order +from his lord.</p> +<p>Full many a time my hand was on my whinger, and yet more often I +wished myself on the free road again, so that I were out of ill company, +and assuredly the Lorrainer Maid, whatever she might be, was scarcely +longing more than I for the day when she should unfurl her banner and +march, with me at her back, to Orleans. For so irksome was my +servitude, and the laying of colours on the ground of banners for my +master to paint, and the copying of books of Hours and Missals, and +the insolence of customers worse born than myself, that I could have +drowned myself in the Vienne water but for the sight of Elliot. +Yet she was become staid enough, and betimes sad; as it seemed that +there was no good news of her dear Maid, for the King would not see +her, and all men (it appeared), save those who had ridden with her, +mocked the Pucelle for a bold ramp, with a bee in her bonnet. +But the two gentlemen that had been her escort were staunch. Their +names were Jean de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy, good esquires.</p> +<p>Of me Elliot made ofttimes not much more account than of her jackanapes, +which was now in very high favour, and waxing fat, so that, when none +but her father could hear her, she would jest and call him La Trémouille.</p> +<p>Yet I, as young men will, was forward in all ways to serve her, and +to win her grace and favour. She was fain to hear of Scotland, +her own country, which she had never seen, and I was as fain to tell +her. And betimes I would say how fair were the maidens of our +own country, and how any man that saw her would know her to be a Scot, +though from her tongue, in French, none might guess it. And, knowing +that she loved wildflowers, I would search for them and bring them to +her, and would lead her to speak of romances which she loved, no less +than I, and of pages who had loved queens, and all such matters as young +men and maids are wont to devise of; and now she would listen, and at +other seasons would seem proud, and as if her mind were otherwhere. +Young knights many came to our booth, and looked ill-pleased when I +served them, and their eyes were ever on the inner door, watching for +Elliot, whom they seldom had sight of.</p> +<p>So here was I, in a double service, who, before I met Brother Thomas, +had been free of heart and hand. But, if my master’s service +irked me, in that other I found comfort, when I could devise with Elliot, +as concerning our country and her hopes for the Maid. But my own +hopes were not high, nor could I mark any sign that she favoured me +more than another, though I had the joy to be often in her company. +And, indeed, what hope could I have, being so young, and poor, and in +visible station no more than any ’prentice lad? My heart +was much tormented in these fears, and mainly because we heard no tidings +that the Maid was accepted by the Dauphin, and that the day of her marching, +and of my deliverance from my base craft of painting, was at hand.</p> +<p>It so fell out, how I knew not, whether I had shown me too presumptuous +for an apprentice, or because of any other reason, that Elliot had much +forborne my company, and was more often in church at her prayers than +in the house, or, when in the house, was busy in divers ways, and I +scarce ever could get word of her. Finding her in this mood, I +also withdrew within myself, and was both proud and sorely unhappy, +longing more than ever to take my own part in the world as a man-at-arms. +Now, one day right early, I being alone in the chamber, copying a psalter, +Elliot came in, looking for her father. I rose at her coming, +doffing my cap, and told her, in few words, that my master had gone +forth. Thereon she flitted about the chamber, looking at this +and that, while I stood silent, deeming that she used me in a sort scarce +becoming my blood and lineage.</p> +<p>Suddenly she said, without turning round, for she was standing by +a table gazing at the pictures in a Book of Hours—</p> +<p>“I have seen her!”</p> +<p>“The Pucelle?—do you speak of her, gentle maid?”</p> +<p>“I saw her and spoke to her, and heard her voice”; and +here her own broke, and I guessed that she was near to weeping. +“I went up within the castle precinct, to the tower Coudraye,” +she said, “for I knew that she lodged hard by, with a good woman +who dwells there. I passed into the chapel of St. Martin on the +cliff, and there heard the voice of one praying before the image of +Our Lady. The voice was even as you said that day—the sweetest +of voices. I knelt beside her, and prayed aloud for her and for +France. She rested her hand on my hair—her hair is black, +and cut ‘en ronde’ like a man’s. It is true +that they say, she dresses in man’s garb. We came forth +together, and I put my hand into hers, and said, ‘I believe in +you; if none other believes, yet do I believe.’ Then she +wept, and she kissed me; she is to visit me here to-morrow, la fille +de Dieu—”</p> +<p>She drew a long sob, and struck her hand hard on the table; then, +keeping her back ever towards me, she fled swiftly from the room. +I was amazed—so light of heart as she commonly seemed, and of +late disdainful—to find her in this passion. Yet it was +to me that she had spoken—to me that she had opened her heart. +Now I guessed that, if I was ever to win her, it must be through this +Pucelle, on whom her mind was so strangely bent. So I prayed that, +if it might be God’s will, He would prosper the Maid, and let +me be her loyal servitor, and at last bring me to my desire.</p> +<p>Something also I dreamed, as young men will who have read many romances, +of myself made a knight for great feats of arms, and wearing in my salade +my lady’s favour, and breaking a spear on Talbot, or Fastolf, +or Glasdale, in some last great victory for France.</p> +<p>Then shone on my eyesight, as it were, the picture of these two children, +for they were little more, Elliot and the Maid, kneeling together in +the chapel of St. Martin, the gold hair and the black blended; and what +were they two alone against this world and the prince of this world? +Alas, how much, and again how little, doth prayer avail us! These +thoughts were in my mind all day, while serving and answering customers, +and carrying my master’s wares about the town, and up to the castle +on the cliff, where the soldiers and sentries now knew me well enough, +and the Scots archers treated me kindly. But as for Elliot, she +was like her first self again, and merrier than common with her father, +to whom, as far as my knowledge went, she said not a word about the +meeting in the crypt of St. Martin’s chapel, though to me she +had spoken so freely. This gave me some hope; but when I would +have tried to ask her a question, she only gazed at me in a manner that +abashed me, and turned off to toy with her jackanapes. Whereby +I went to my bed perplexed, and with a heavy heart, as one that was +not yet conversant with the ways of women—nay, nor ever, in my +secular life, have I understood what they would be at. Happier +had it been for my temporal life if I had been wiser in woman’s +ways. But commonly, when we have learned a lesson, the lore comes +too late.</p> +<p>Next day my master had business at the castle with a certain lord, +and took me thither to help in carrying his wares. This castle +was a place that I loved well, it is so old, having first been builded +when the Romans were lords of the land; and is so great and strong that +our bishop’s castle of St. Andrews seems but a cottage compared +to it. From the hill-top there is a wide prospect over the tower +and the valley of the Vienne, which I liked to gaze upon. My master, +then, went in by the drawbridge, high above the moat, which is so deep +that, I trow, no foeman could fill it up and cross it to assail the +walls. My master, in limping up the hill, had wearied himself, +but soon passed into the castle through the gateway of the bell-tower, +as they call it, while I waited for him on the further end of the bridge, +idly dropping morsels of bread to the swans that swam in the moat below.</p> +<p>On the drawbridge, standing sentinel, was a French man-at-arms, a +young man of my own age, armed with a long fauchard, which we call a +bill or halberd, a weapon not unlike the Lochaber axes of the Highlandmen. +Other soldiers, French, Scottish, Spaniards, Germans, a mixed company, +were idling and dicing just within the gate.</p> +<p>I was throwing my last piece of crust to a swan, my mind empty of +thought, when I started out of my dream, hearing that rare woman’s +voice which once I had heard before. Then turning quickly, I saw, +walking between two gentlemen, even those who had ridden with her from +Vaucouleurs, one whom no man could deem to be other than that much-talked-of +Maid of Lorraine. She was clad very simply, like the varlet of +some lord of no great estate, in a black cap with a little silver brooch, +a grey doublet, and black and grey hose, trussed up with many points; +a sword of small price hung by her side. <a name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10">{10}</a> +In stature she was something above the common height of women, her face +brown with sun and wind, her eyes great, grey, and beautiful, beneath +black brows, her lips red and smiling. In figure she seemed strong +and shapely, but so slim—she being but seventeen years of age—that, +were it not for her sweet girl’s voice, and for the beauty of +her grey eyes, she might well have passed for a page, her black hair +being cut “en ronde,” as was and is the fashion among men-at-arms. +Thus much have I written concerning her bodily aspect, because many +have asked me what manner of woman was the blessed Maid, and whether +she was beautiful. I gazed at her like one moon-struck, then, +remembering my courtesy, I doffed my cap, and louted low; and she bowed, +smiling graciously like a great lady, but with such an air as if her +mind was far away.</p> +<p>She passed, with her two gentlemen, but the French sentinel barred +the way, holding his fauchard thwartwise.</p> +<p>“On what business come you, and by what right?” he cried, +in a rude voice.</p> +<p>“By the Dauphin’s gracious command, to see the Dauphin,” +said one of the gentlemen right courteously. “Here is his +own letter, and you may know the seal, bidding La Pucelle to come before +him at this hour.”</p> +<p>The fellow looked at the seal, and could not but acknowledge the +arms of France thereon. He dropped his fauchard over his shoulder, +and stood aside, staring impudently at the Maiden, and muttering foul +words.</p> +<p>“So this is the renowned Pucelle,” he cried; “by +God’s name” . . . and here he spoke words such as I may +not set down in writing, blaspheming God and the Maid.</p> +<p>She turned and looked at him, but as if she saw him not; and then, +a light of joy and love transfiguring her face, she knelt down on the +drawbridge, folding her hands, her face bowed, and so abode while one +might count twenty, we that beheld her being amazed. Then she +rose and bent as if in salutation to one we saw not; next, addressing +herself to the sentinel, she said, very gently—</p> +<p>“Sir, how canst thou take in vain the name of God, thou that +art in this very hour to die?”</p> +<p>So speaking, she with her gentlemen went within the gate, while the +soldier stood gazing after her like a man turned to stone.</p> +<p>The Maid passed from our sight, and then the sentinel, coming to +himself, turned in great wrath on me, who stood hard by.</p> +<p>“What make you gaping here, you lousy wine-sack of Scotland?” +he cried; and at the word, my prayer which I had made to St. Andrew +in my bonds came into my mind, namely, that I should not endure to hear +my country defamed.</p> +<p>I stopped not to think of words, wherein I never had a ready wit, +but his were still in his mouth when I had leaped within his guard, +so that he might not swing out his long halberd.</p> +<p>“Blasphemer and liar!” I cried, gripping his neck with +my left hand, while with two up-cuts of my right I sent his lies down +his throat in company, as I deem, with certain of his teeth.</p> +<p>He dropped his halberd against the wooden fence of the bridge, and +felt for his dagger. I caught at his right hand with mine; cries +were in my ears—St. Denis for France! St. Andrew for Scotland!—as +the other men on guard came running forth to see the sport.</p> +<p>We gripped and swayed for a moment, then the staff of his fauchard +coming between his legs, he tripped and fell, I above him; our weight +soused against the low pales of the bridge side, that were crazy and +old; there was a crash, and I felt myself in mid-air, failing to the +moat far below us. Down and down I whirled, and then the deep +water closed over me.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI—HOW NORMAN LESLIE ESCAPED OUT OF CHINON CASTLE</h2> +<p>Down and down I sank, the water surging up into my nostrils and sounding +in my ears; but, being in water, I was safe if it were but deep enough. +Presently I struck out, and, with a stroke or two, came to the surface. +But no sooner did my head show above, and I draw a deep breath or twain, +looking for my enemy, than an arbalest bolt cleft the water with a clipping +sound, missing me but narrowly. I had but time to see that there +was a tumult on the bridge, and swords out (the Scots, as I afterwards +heard, knocking up the arbalests that the French soldiers levelled at +me). Then I dived again, and swam under water, making towards +the right and the castle rock, which ran sheer down to the moat. +This course I chose because I had often noted, from the drawbridge, +a jutting buttress of rock, behind which, at least, I should be out +of arrow-shot. My craft was to give myself all the semblance of +a drowning man, throwing up my arms, when I rose to see whereabout I +was and to take breath, as men toss their limbs who cannot swim. +On the second time of rising thus, I saw myself close to the jut of +rock. My next dive took me behind it, and I let down my feet, +close under the side of this natural buttress, to look around, being +myself now concealed from the sight of those who were on the bridge.</p> +<p>To my surprise I touched bottom, for I had deemed that the water +was very deep thereby. Next I found that I was standing on a step +of hewn stone, and that a concealed staircase, cut in the rock, goes +down, in that place, to the very bottom of the moat; for what purpose +I know not, but so it is. <a name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11">{11}</a> +I climbed up the steps, shook myself, and wrung the water out of my +hair, looking about the while for any sign of my enemy, who had blasphemed +against my country and the Maiden. But there was nothing to see +on the water save my own cloth cap floating. On the other side +of the fosse, howbeit, men were launching a pleasure-boat, which lay +by a stair at the foot of the further wall of the fosse. The sight +of them made me glad to creep further up the steps that rounded a sharp +corner, till I came as far as an iron wicket-gate, which seemed to cut +off my retreat. There I stopped, deeming that the wicket must +be locked. The men were now rowing the boat into the middle of +the water, so, without expecting to find the gate open, I tried the +handle. It turned, to my no little amazement; the gate swang lightly +aside, as if its hinges had been newly oiled, and I followed the staircase, +creeping up the slimy steps in the half-dark. Up and round I went, +till I was wellnigh giddy, and then I tripped and reeled so that my +body struck against a heavy ironed door. Under my weight it yielded +gently, and I stumbled across the threshold of a room that smelled strangely +sweet and was very warm, being full of the sun, and the heat of a great +fire.</p> +<p>“Is that you, Robin of my heart?” said a girl’s +voice in French; and, before I could move, a pair of arms were round +my neck. Back she leaped, finding me all wet, and not the man +she looked for; and there we both stood, in a surprise that prevented +either of us from speaking.</p> +<p>She was a pretty lass, with brown hair and bright red cheeks, and +was dressed all in white, being, indeed, one of the laundresses of the +castle; and this warm room, fragrant with lavender, whereinto I had +stumbled, was part of the castle laundry. A mighty fire was burning, +and all the tables were covered with piles and flat baskets of white +linen, sweet with scented herbs.</p> +<p>Back the maid stepped towards the door, keeping her eyes on mine; +and, as she did not scream, I deemed that none were within hearing: +wherein I was wrong, and she had another reason for holding her peace.</p> +<p>“Save me, gentle maid, if you may,” I cried at last, +falling on my knees, just where I stood: “I am a luckless man, +and stand in much peril of my life.”</p> +<p>“In sooth you do,” she said, “if Robert Lindsay +of the Scottish Archers finds you here. He loves not that another +should take his place at a tryst.”</p> +<p>“Maiden,” I said, beginning to understand why the gate +was unlocked, and wherefore it went so smooth on its hinges, “I +fear I have slain a man, one of the King’s archers. We wrestled +together on the drawbridge, and the palisade breaking, we fell into +the moat, whence I clomb by the hidden stairs.”</p> +<p>“One of the archers!” cried she, as pale as a lily, and +catching at her side with her hand. “Was he a Scot?”</p> +<p>“No, maid, but I am; and I pray you hide me, or show me how +to escape from this castle with my life, and that speedily.”</p> +<p>“Come hither!” she said, drawing me through a door into +a small, square, empty room that jutted out above the moat. “The +other maids are at their dinner,” she went on, “and I all +alone—the season being Lent, and I under penance, and thinking +of no danger.”</p> +<p>For which reason, I doubt not, namely that the others had gone forth, +she had made her tryst at this hour with Robin Lindsay. But he, +if he was, as she said, one of the Scottish archers that guarded the +gate, was busy enough belike with the tumult on the bridge, or in seeking +for the body of mine enemy.</p> +<p>“How to get you forth I know not,” she said, “seeing +that from yonder room you pass into the kitchen and thence into the +guard-room, and thence again by a passage in the wall behind the great +hall, and so forth to the court, and through the gate, and thereby there +is no escape: for see you the soldiers must, and will avenge their comrade.”</p> +<p>Hearing this speech, I seemed to behold myself swinging by a tow +from a tree branch, a death not beseeming one of gentle blood. +Up and down I looked, in vain, and then I turned to the window, thinking +that, as better was not to be, I might dive thence into the moat, and +take my chance of escape by the stairs on the further side. But +the window was heavily barred. Yet again, if I went forth by the +door, and lurked on the postern stair, there was Robin Lindsay’s +dirk to reckon with, when he came, a laggard, to his love-tryst.</p> +<p>“Stop! I have it,” said the girl; and flying into +the laundry, she returned with a great bundle of white women’s +gear and a gown of linen, and a woman’s white coif, such as she +herself wore.</p> +<p>In less time than a man would deem possible, she had my wet hair, +that I wore about my shoulders, as our student’s manner was, tucked +up under the cap, and the clean white smock over my wet clothes, and +belted neatly about my middle.</p> +<p>“A pretty wench you make, I swear by St. Valentine,” +cried she, falling back to look at me, and then coming forward to pin +up something about my coif, with her white fingers.</p> +<p>I reckoned it no harm to offer her a sisterly kiss.</p> +<p>“’Tis lucky Robin Lindsay is late,” cried she, +laughing, “though even were he here, he could scarce find fault +that one maid should kiss another. Now,” she said, snatching +up a flat crate full of linen, “carry these, the King’s +shirts, and sorely patched they are, on your head; march straight through +the kitchen, then through the guard-room, and then by the door on the +left into the long passage, and so into the court, and begone; they +will but take you for a newly come blanchisseuse. Only speak as +little as may be, for your speech may betray you.” She kissed +me very kindly on both cheeks, for she was as frank a lass as ever I +met, and a merry. Then, leading me to the door of the inner room, +she pushed it open, the savoury reek of the kitchen pouring in.</p> +<p>“Make good speed, Margot!” she cried aloud after me, +so that all could hear; and I walked straight up the King’s kitchen, +full as it was of men and boys, breaking salads, spitting fowls, basting +meat (though it was Lent, but doubtless the King had a dispensation +for his health’s sake), watching pots, tasting dishes, and all +in a great bustle and clamour. The basket of linen shading my +face, I felt the more emboldened, though my legs, verily, trembled under +me as I walked. Through the room I went, none regarding me, and +so into the guard-room, but truly this was another matter. Some +soldiers were dicing at a table, some drinking, some brawling over the +matter of the late tumult, but all stopped and looked at me.</p> +<p>“A new face, and, by St. Andrew, a fair one!” said a +voice in the accent of my own country.</p> +<p>“But she has mighty big feet; belike she is a countrywoman +of thine,” quoth a French archer; and my heart sank within me +as the other cast a tankard at his head.</p> +<p>“Come, my lass,” cried another, a Scot, with a dice-box +in his hand, catching at my robe as I passed, “kiss me and give +me luck,” and, striking up my basket of linen, so that the wares +were all scattered on the floor, he drew me on to his knee, and gave +me a smack that reeked sorely of garlic. Never came man nearer +getting a sore buffet, yet I held my hand. Then, making his cast +with the dice, he swore roundly, when he saw that he had thrown deuces.</p> +<p>“Lucky in love, unlucky in gaming. Lug out your losings,” +said his adversary with a laugh; and the man left hold of my waist and +began fumbling in his pouch. Straightway, being free, I cast myself +on the floor to pick up the linen, and hide my face, which so burned +that it must have seemed as red as the most modest maid might have deemed +seemly.</p> +<p>“Leave the wench alone; she is new come, I warrant, and has +no liking for your wantonness,” said a kind voice; and, glancing +up, I saw that he who spoke was one of the gentlemen who had ridden +with the Maiden from Vaucouleurs. Bertrand de Poulengy was his +name; belike he was waiting while the King and the nobles devised with +the Maiden privately in the great hall.</p> +<p>He stooped and helped me to pick up my linen, as courteously as if +I had been a princess of the blood; and, because he was a gentleman, +I suppose, and a stranger, the archers did not meddle with him, save +to break certain soldiers’ jests, making me glad that I was other +than I appeared.</p> +<p>“Come,” he said, “my lass, I will be your escort; +it seems that Fortune has chosen me for a champion of dames.”</p> +<p>With these words he led the way forth, and through a long passage +lit from above, which came out into the court at the stairs of the great +hall.</p> +<p>Down these stairs the Maiden herself was going, her face held high +and a glad look in her eyes, her conference with the King being ended. +Poulengy joined her; they said some words which I did not hear, for +I deemed that it became me to walk forward after thanking him by a look, +and bending my head, for I dared not trust my foreign tongue.</p> +<p>Before I reached the gateway they had joined me, which I was glad +of, fearing more insolence from the soldiers. But these men held +their peace, looking grave, and even affrighted, being of them who had +heard the prophecy of the Maiden and seen its fulfilment.</p> +<p>“Have ye found the body of that man?” said Poulengy to +a sergeant-at-arms.</p> +<p>“Nay, sir, we deem that his armour weighed him down, for he +never rose once, though that Scot’s head was seen thrice and no +more. Belike they are good, peaceful friends at the bottom of +the fosse together.”</p> +<p>“Of what man speak you?” asked the Maiden of Poulengy.</p> +<p>“Of him that blasphemed as we went by an hour ago. Wrestling +with a Scot on some quarrel, they broke the palisade, and—lo! +there are joiners already mending it. ’Tis old and frail. +The gentle Dauphin is over poor to keep the furnishings of his castle +as a king should do.”</p> +<p>The Maiden grew wan as sun-dried grass in summer when she heard this +story told. Crossing herself, she said—</p> +<p>“Alas! I warned him, but he died unconfessed. I +will do what I may to have Masses said for the repose of his soul, poor +man: and he so young!”</p> +<p>With that she wept, for she wept readily, even for a less thing than +such a death as was that archer’s.</p> +<p>We had now crossed the drawbridge, whereat my heart beat more lightly, +and the Maiden told Poulengy that she would go to the house where she +lodged, near the castle.</p> +<p>“And thence,” she said, “I must fare into the town, +for I have promised to visit a damsel of my friends, one Héliote +Poulvoir, if I may find my way thither. Know you, gentle damsel,” +she said to me, “where she abides? Or perchance you can +lead me thither, if it lies on your way.”</p> +<p>“I was even going thither, Pucelle,” I said, mincing +in my speech; whereat she laughed, for of her nature she was merry.</p> +<p>“Scots are Héliote and her father, and a Scot are not +you also, damsel? your speech betrays you,” she said; “you +all cling close together, you Scots, as beseems you well, being strangers +in this sweet land of France”; and her face lighted up as she +spoke the name she loved, and my heart worshipped her with reverence.</p> +<p>“Farewell,” she cried to Poulengy, smiling graciously, +and bowing with such a courtesy as a queen might show, for I noted it +myself, as did all men, that this peasant girl had the manners of the +Court, being schooled, as I deem, by the greatest of ladies, her friends +St. Margaret and St. Catherine.</p> +<p>Then, with an archer, who had ridden beside her from Vaucouleurs, +following after her as he ever did, the Maiden and I began to go down +the steep way that led to the town. Little she spoke, and all +my thought was to enter the house before Elliot could spy me in my strange +disguise.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII—CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT, AND THE JEOPARDY +OF NORMAN LESLIE</h2> +<p>The while we went down into the city of Chinon, a man attired as +a maid, a maiden clad as a man—strange companions!—we held +but little converse. Her mind, belike, was on fire with a great +light of hope, of which afterwards I learned, and the end of the days +of trouble and of men’s disbelief seemed to her to be drawing +near. We may not know what visions of victory and of auxiliary +angels, of her King crowned, and fair France redeemed and at peace, +were passing through her fancy. Therefore she was not fain to +talk, being at all times a woman of few words; and in this, as in so +many other matters, unlike most of her sex.</p> +<p>On my side I had more than enough to think of, for my case and present +jeopardy were enough to amaze older and wiser heads than mine. +For, imprimis, I had slain one of the King’s guards; and, moreover, +had struck the first blow, though my adversary, indeed, had given me +uttermost provocation. But even if my enemies allowed me to speak +in my own defence, which might scarcely be save by miracle, it was scantly +possible for me to prove that the other had insulted me and my country. +Some little hope I had that Sir Patrick Ogilvie, now constable of the +Scottish men-at-arms in France, or Sir Hugh Kennedy, or some other of +our knights, might take up my quarrel, for the sake of our common blood +and country, we Scots always backing each the other when abroad. +Yet, on the other hand, it was more probable that I might be swinging, +with a flock of crows pecking at my face, before any of my countrymen +could speak a word for me with the King.</p> +<p>It is true that they who would most eagerly have sought my life deemed +me already dead, drowned in the fosse, and so would make no search for +me. Yet, as soon as I went about my master’s affairs, as +needs I must, I would be known and taken; and, as we say in our country +proverb, “my craig would ken the weight of my hurdies.” +<a name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12">{12}</a> None the less, +seeing that the soldiers deemed me dead, I might readily escape at once +from Chinon, and take to the roads again, if but I could reach my master’s +house unseen, and get rid of this foolish feminine gear of cap and petticoat +which now I wore to my great shame and discomfort.</p> +<p>But on this hand lay little hope; for, once on the road, I should +be in a worse jeopardy than ever before, as an apprentice fled from +my master, and, moreover, with blood on my hands. Moreover, I +could ill brook the thought of leaving Elliot, to whom my heart went +forth in love, and of missing my chance to strike a blow in the wars +for the Maiden, and against the English; of which reward I had the promise +from my master. Fortune, and fame, and love, if I were to gain +what every young man most desires, were only to be won by remaining +at Chinon; but there, too, the face of death was close to mine—as, +indeed, death, or at least shame and poverty, lay ambushed for me on +all sides.</p> +<p>Here I sadly remembered how, with a light heart, I had left St. Andrews, +deeming that the story of my life was now about to begin, as it did +for many young esquires of Greece and other lands, concerning whom I +had read in romances. Verily in the tale of my adventures hitherto +there had been more cuffs than crowns, more shame than honour; and, +as to winning my spurs, I was more in point to win a hempen rope, and +in my end disgrace my blood.</p> +<p>Now, as if these perils were not enough to put a man beside himself, +there was another risk which, even more than these, took up my thoughts. +Among all my dangers and manifold distresses, this raised its head highest +in my fancy, namely, the fear that my love should see me in my outlandish +guise, clad in woman’s weeds, and carrying on my head a woman’s +burden. It was not so much that she must needs laugh and hold +me in little account. Elliot laughed often, so that now it was +not her mirth, to which she was ever ready, but her wrath (whereto she +was ready also) that I held in awful regard. For her heart and +faith, in a marvellous manner passing the love of women, were wholly +set on this maid, in whose company I now fared. And, if the Maid +went in men’s attire (as needs she must, for modesty’s sake, +who was about men’s business, in men’s company), here was +I attending her in woman’s gear, as if to make a mock of her, +though in my mind I deemed her no less than a sister of the saints. +And Elliot was sure to believe that I carried myself thus in mockery +and to make laughter; for, at that time, there were many in France who +mocked, as did that soldier whose death I had seen and caused. +Thus I stood in no more danger of death, great as was that risk, than +in jeopardy of my mistress’s favour, which, indeed, of late I +had been in some scant hope at last to win. Thus, on all hands, +I seemed to myself as sore bestead as ever man was, and on no side saw +any hope of succour.</p> +<p>I mused so long and deep on these things, that the thought which +might have helped me came to me too late, namely, to tell all my tale +to the Maiden herself, and throw me on her mercy. Nay, even when +at last and late this light shone on my mind, I had shame to speak to +her, considering the marvellous thing which I had just beheld of her, +in the fulfilment of her prophecy. But now my master’s house +was in sight, at the turning from the steep stairs and the wynd, and +there stood Elliot on the doorstep, watching and waiting for the Maid, +as a girl may wait for her lover coming from the wars.</p> +<p>There was no time given me to slink back and skulk in the shadow +of the corner of the wynd; for, like a greyhound in speed, Elliot had +flown to us and was kneeling to the Maid, who, with a deep blush and +some anger in her face—for she loved no such obeisances—bade +her rise, and so kissed and embraced her, as young girls use among themselves +when they are friends and fain of each other. I had turned myself +to go apart into the shadow of the corner, as secretly as I might, when +I ran straight into the arms of the archer that followed close behind +us. On this encounter he gave a great laugh, and, I believe, would +have kissed me; but, the Maiden looking round, he stood erect and grave +as a soldier on guard, for the Maiden would suffer no light loves and +daffing.</p> +<p>“Whither make you, damsel, in such haste?” she cried +to me. “Come, let me present you to this damsel, my friend—and +one of your own country-women. Elliot, ma mie,” she said +to my mistress, “here is this kind lass, a Scot like yourself, +who has guided me all the way from the castle hither, and, faith, the +way is hard to find. Do you thank her for me, and let her sit +down in your house: she must be weary with the weight of her basket +and her linen”—for these, when she spoke to me, I had laid +on the ground. With this she led me up to Elliot by the hand, +who began to show me very gracious countenance, and to thank me, my +face burning all the while with confusion and fear of her anger.</p> +<p>Suddenly a new look, such as I had never seen before on her face +in her light angers, came into her eyes, which grew hard and cold, her +mouth also showing stiff; and so she stood, pale, gazing sternly, and +as one unable to speak. Then—</p> +<p>“Go out of my sight,” she said, very low, “and +from my father’s house! Forth with you for a mocker and +a gangrel loon!”—speaking in our common Scots,—“and +herd with the base thieves from whom you came, coward and mocking malapert!”</p> +<p>The storm had fallen on my head, even as I feared it must, and I +stood as one bereft of speech and reason.</p> +<p>The Maid knew no word of our speech, and this passion of Elliot’s, +and so sudden a change from kindness to wrath, were what she might not +understand.</p> +<p>“Elliot, ma mie,” she said, very sweetly, “what +mean you by this anger? The damsel has treated me with no little +favour. Tell me, I pray, in what she has offended.”</p> +<p>But Elliot, not looking at her, said to me again, and this time tears +leaped up in her eyes—“Forth with you! begone, ere I call +that archer to drag you before the judges of the good town.”</p> +<p>I was now desperate, for, clad as I was, the archer had me at an +avail, and, if I were taken before the men of the law, all would be +known, and my shrift would be short.</p> +<p>“Gracious Pucelle,” I said, in French, turning to the +Maiden, “my life, and the fortune of one who would gladly fight +to the death by your side, are in your hands. For the love of +the blessed saints, your sisters, and of Him who sends you on your holy +mission, pray this demoiselle to let me enter the house with you, and +tell my tale to you and her. If I satisfy you not of my honour +and good intent, I am ready, in this hour, to go before the men of law, +and deliver myself up to their justice. For though my life is +in jeopardy, I dread death less than the anger of this honourable demoiselle. +And verily this is a matter of instant life or death.”</p> +<p>So saying, I clasped my hands in the manner of one in prayer, setting +all my soul into my speech, as a man desperate.</p> +<p>The Maiden had listened very gravely, and sweetly she smiled when +my prayer was ended.</p> +<p>“Verily,” she said to me, “here is deeper water +than I can fathom. Elliot, ma mie, you hear how gently, and in +what distress, this fair lass beseeches us.”</p> +<p>“Fair lass!” cried Elliot: and then broke off between +a sob and a laugh, her hand catching at her side.</p> +<p>“If you love me,” said the Maid, looking on her astonished, +and not without anger—“if you love me, as you have said, +you that are the first of my comforters, and, till this day, my only +friend in your strange town, let the lass come in and tell us her tale. +For, even if she be distraught, and beside herself, as I well deem, +I am sent to be a friend of all them that suffer. Moreover, ma +mie, I have glad tidings for you, which I am longing to speak, but speak +it I will never, while the lass goes thus in terror and fear of death +or shame.”</p> +<p>In saying these last words, the fashion of her countenance was changed +to a sweet entreaty and command, such as few could have beheld and denied +her what she craved, and she laid her hand lightly on Elliot’s +shoulder.</p> +<p>“Come,” said Elliot, “be it as you will; come in +with me; and you”—turning to myself—“do you +follow us.”</p> +<p>They passed into the house, I coming after, and the archer waiting +at the door.</p> +<p>“Let none enter,” said the Maiden to her archer, “unless +any come to me from the King, or unless it be the master of the house.”</p> +<p>We passed into the chamber where my master was wont to paint his +missals and psalters when he would be alone. Then Elliot very +graciously bade the Maiden be seated, but herself stood up, facing me.</p> +<p>“Gracious Maiden, and messenger of the holy saints,” +she said, “this lass, as you deem her, is no woman, but a man, +my father’s apprentice, who has clad himself thus to make of you +a mockery and a laughing-stock, because that you, being a maid, go attired +as a man, by the will of Them who sent you to save France. Have +I said enough, and do I well to be angry?” and her eyes shone +as she spoke.</p> +<p>The Maiden’s brows met in wrath; she gazed upon me steadfastly, +and I looked—sinful man that I am!—to see her hand go to +the hilt of the sword that she wore. But, making no motion, she +only said—</p> +<p>“And thou, wherefore hast thou mocked at one who did thee no +evil, and at this damsel, thy master’s daughter?”</p> +<p>“Gentle Maiden,” I said, “listen to me for but +a little moment. It may be, when thou hast heard all, that thou +wilt still be wroth with me, though not for mockery, which was never +in my mind. But the gentle damsel, thy friend, will assuredly +pardon me, who have already put my life in peril for thy sake, and for +the sake of our dear country of Scotland and her good name.”</p> +<p>“Thy life in peril for me! How mean you? I stood +in no danger, and I never saw your face before.”</p> +<p>“Yet hast thou saved my life,” I said; “but of +that we may devise hereafter. I am, indeed, though a gentleman +by blood and birth, the apprentice of the father of this damsel, thy +friend, who is himself a gentleman and of a good house, but poverty +drives men to strange shifts. This day I went with my master to +the castle, and I was on the drawbridge when thou, with the gentlemen +thy esquires, passed over it to see the King. On that bridge a +man-at-arms spoke to thee shameful words, blaspheming the holy name +of God. No sooner hadst thou gone by than he turned on me, reviling +my native country of Scotland. Then I, not deeming that to endure +such taunts became my birth and breeding, struck him on his lying mouth. +Then, as we wrestled on the bridge, we both struck against the barrier, +which was low, frail, and old, so that it gave way under our weight, +and we both fell into the moat. When I rose he was not in sight, +otherwise I would have saved him by swimming, for I desire to have the +life of no man on my hands in private quarrel. But the archers +shot at me from the drawbridge, so that I had to take thought for myself. +By swimming under the water I escaped, behind a jutting rock, to a secret +stair, whence I pushed my way into a chamber of the castle. Therein +was a damsel, busy with the linen, who, of her goodwill, clad me in +this wretched apparel above my own garb, and so, for that time, saved +my life, and I passed forth unknown; but yet hath caused me to lose +what I prize more highly than life—that is, the gracious countenance +of this gentle lady, thy friend and my master’s daughter, whom +it is my honour and duty in all things to please and serve. Tell +me, then, do I merit your wrath as a jester and a mock-maker, or does +this gentle lady well to be angry with her servitor?”</p> +<p>The Maiden crossed herself, and murmured a prayer for the soul of +him who had died in the moat. But Elliot instantly flew to me, +and, dragging off my woman’s cap, tore with her fair hands at +the white linen smock about my neck and waist, so that it was rent asunder +and fell on the floor, leaving me clad in my wet doublet and hose.</p> +<p>At this sight, without word spoken, she broke out into the merriest +laughter that ever I heard, and the most welcome; and the Maid too, +catching the malady of her mirth, laughed low and graciously, so that +to see and hear her was marvel.</p> +<p>“Begone!” cried Elliot—“begone, and shift +thy dripping gear”; and, as I fled swiftly to my chamber, I heard +her laughter yet, though there came a sob into it; but for the Maid, +she had already stinted in her mirth ere I left the room.</p> +<p>In this strange and unseemly fashion did I first come into the knowledge +of this admirable Maid—whom, alas! I was to see more often sad +than merry, and weeping rather than laughing, though, even in her utmost +need, her heart could be light and her mirth free: a manner that is +uncommon even among brave men, but, in women, never known by me save +in her. For it is the way of women to be very busy and seriously +concerned about the smallest things, whereat a man only smiles. +But she, with her life at stake, could pluck gaiety forth of danger, +if the peril threatened none but herself. These manners of hers +I learned to know and marvel at in the later days that came too soon; +but now in my chamber, I shifted my wet raiment for dry with a heart +wondrous light. My craig <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13">{13}</a> +was in peril, as we say, neither less nor more than half an hour agone, +but I had escaped the anger of Elliot; and even, as I deemed, had won +more of her good countenance, seeing that I had struck a blow for Scotland +and for her friend. This thought made me great cheer in my heart; +as I heard, from the room below, the voices of the two girls devising +together very seriously for nigh the space of an hour. But, knowing +that they might have matters secret between themselves to tell of, for +the Maiden had said that she brought good tidings, I kept coy and to +myself in my little upper chamber. To leave the house, indeed, +was more than my life was worth. Now to fly and hide was what +I could not bring myself to venture; here I would stay where my heart +was, and take what fortune the saints might send. So I endured +to wait, and not gladden myself with the sight of Elliot, and the knowledge +of how I now stood with her. To me this was great penance, but +at last the voices ceased, and, looking secretly from the window, I +saw the Maiden depart, her archer following her.</p> +<p>Now I could no longer bridle in my desire to be with Elliot, and +learn whether I was indeed forgiven, and how I stood in her favour. +So, passing down the stair that led from my cubicle, I stood at the +door of the room wherein she was and knocked twice. But none answered, +and, venturing to enter, I heard the sound of a stifled sob. She +had thrown herself on a settle, her face turned to the wall, and the +afternoon sun was shining on her yellow hair, which lay loose upon her +shoulders.</p> +<p>I dared to say no word, and she only made a motion of her hand towards +me, that I should begone, without showing me the light of her countenance. +On this I went forth stealthily, my heart again very heavy, for the +Maiden had spoken of learning good tidings; and wherefore should my +mistress weep, who, an hour agone, had been so merry? Difficult +are the ways of women, a language hard to be understood, wherefore “love,” +as the Roman says, “is full of anxious fears.”</p> +<p>Much misdoubting how I fared in Elliot’s heart, and devising +within myself what this new sorrow of Elliot’s might signify, +I half forgot my own danger, yet not so much as to fare forth of the +doors, or even into the booth, where customers might come, and I be +known. Therefore I passed into a room behind the booth, where +my master was wont to instruct me in my painting; and there, since better +might not be, I set about grinding and mixing such colours as I knew +that he required.</p> +<p>I had not been long about this task, when I heard him enter the booth +from without, whence he walked straight into my workroom. I looked +up from my colours, whereat his face, which was ruddy, grew wan, he +staggered back, and, being lame, reeled against the wall. There +he brought up, crossing himself, and making the sign of the cross at +me.</p> +<p>“Avaunt!” he said, “in the name of this holy sign, +whether thou art a wandering spirit, or a devil in a dead man’s +semblance.”</p> +<p>“Master,” I said, “I am neither spirit nor devil. +Was it ever yet heard that brownie or bogle mixed colours for a painter? +Nay, touch me, and see whether I am not of sinful Scots flesh and blood”; +and thereon I laughed aloud, knowing what caused his fear, and merry +at the sight of it, for he had ever held tales of “diablerie,” +and of wraiths and freits and fetches, in high scorn.</p> +<p>He sat him down on a chair and gaped upon me, while I could not contain +myself from laughing.</p> +<p>“For God’s sake,” said he, “bring me a cup +of red wine, for my wits are wandering. Deil’s buckie,” +he said in the Scots, “will water not drown you? Faith, +then, it is to hemp that you were born, as shall shortly be seen.”</p> +<p>I drew him some wine from a cask that stood in the corner, on draught. +He drank it at one venture, and held out the cup for more, the colour +coming back into his face.</p> +<p>“Did the archers tell me false, then, when they said that you +had fired up at a chance word, and flung yourself and the sentinel into +the moat? And where have you been wasting your time, and why went +you from the bridge ere I came back, if the archers took another prentice +lad for Norman Leslie?”</p> +<p>“They told you truth,” I said.</p> +<p>“Then, in the name of Antichrist—that I should say so!—how +scaped you drowning, and how came you here?”</p> +<p>I told him the story, as briefly as might be.</p> +<p>“Ill luck go with yon second-sighted wench that has bewitched +Elliot, and you too, for all that I can see. Never did I think +to be frayed with a bogle, <a name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14">{14}</a> +and, as might have been deemed, the bogle but a prentice loon, when +all was done. To my thinking all this fairy work is no more true +than that you are a dead man’s wraith. But they are all +wild about it, at the castle, where I was kept long, doing no trade, +and listening to their mad clatter.”</p> +<p>He took out of his pouch a parcel heedfully wrapped in soft folds +of silk.</p> +<p>“Here is this Book of Hours,” he said, “that I +have spent my eyesight, and gold, purple, and carmine, and cobalt upon, +these three years past; a jewel it is, though I say so. And I +had good hope to sell it to Hugh Kennedy, for he has of late had luck +in taking two English knights prisoners at Orleans—the only profitable +trade that men now can drive,—and the good knight dearly loves +a painted book of devotion; especially if, like this of mine, it be +adorned with the loves of Jupiter, and the Swan, and Danäe, and +other heathen pliskies. We were chaffering over the price, and +getting near a bargain, when in comes Patrick Ogilvie with a tale of +this second-sighted Maid, and how she had been called to see the King, +and of what befell. First, it seems, she boded the death of that +luckless limb of a sentinel, and then you took it upon you to fulfil +her saying, and so you and he were drowned, and I left prenticeless. +Little comfort to me it was to hear Kennedy and Ogilvie praise you for +a good Scot and true, and say that it was great pity of your death.”</p> +<p>At this hearing my heart leaped for joy, first, at my own praise +from such good knights, and next, because I saw a blink of hope, having +friends at Court. My master went on—</p> +<p>“Next, Ogilvie told how he had been in hall, with the Dauphin, +the Chancellor Trémouille, and some scores of knights and nobles, +a great throng. They were all waiting on this Lorrainer wench, +for the Dauphin had been told, at last, that she brought a letter from +Baudricourt, but before he would not see her. This letter had +been kept from him, I guess by whom, and there was other clash of marvels +wrought by her, I know not what. So their wisdom was set on putting +her to a kind of trial, foolish enough! A young knight was dressed +in jewels and a coronet of the King’s, and the King was clad right +soberly, and held himself far back in the throng, while the other stood +in front, looking big. So the wench comes in, and, walking straight +through the press of knights, with her head high, kneels to the King, +where he stood retired, and calls him ‘gentle Dauphin’!</p> +<p>“‘Nay, ma mie,’ says he, ‘’tis not +I who am the Dauphin, but his Highness yonder,’—pointing +to the young knight, who showed all his plumage like a muircock in spring.</p> +<p>“Nay, gentle Dauphin,” she answers, so Ogilvie said, +“it is to thee that I am sent, and no other, and I am come to +save the good town of Orleans, and to lead thee to thy sacring at Rheims.”</p> +<p>“Here they were all struck amazed, and the King not least, +who then had some words apart with the girl. And he has given +her rooms in the Tour Coudraye within the castle; and the clergy and +the doctors are to examine her straitly, whether she be from a good +airt, <a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15">{15}</a> or an +ill, and all because she knew the King, she who had never seen him before. +Why should she never have seen him—who warrants me of it?—she +dwelling these last days nigh the castle! Freits are folly, to +my thinking, and fools they that follow them. Lad, you gave me +a gliff; pass me another stoup of wine! Freits, forsooth!”</p> +<p>I served him, and he sat and chuckled in his chair, being pleasured +by the thought of his own wisdom. “Not a word of this to +Elliot, though,” he said suddenly; “when there is a woman +in a house—blessings on her!—it is anything for a quiet +life! But, ‘nom Dieu!’ what with the fright you gave +me, sitting there, whereas I deemed you were meat for eels and carp, +and what with thy tale—ha, ha!—and my tale, and the wine, +maybe, I forgot your own peril, my lad. Faith, your neck is like +to be longer, if we be not better advised.”</p> +<p>Hearing him talk of that marvellous thing, wrought through inspiration +by the Maid—whereat, as his manner was, he mocked, I had clean +forgotten my own jeopardy. Now this was instant, for who knew +how much the archer might have guessed, that followed with the Maid +and me, and men-at-arms might anon be at our door.</p> +<p>“It may be,” said I, “that Sir Patrick Ogilvie +and Sir Hugh Kennedy would say a word for me in the King’s ear.”</p> +<p>“Faith, that is our one chance, and, luckily for you, the lad +you drowned, though in the King’s service, came hither in the +following of a poor knight, who might take blood-ransom for his man. +Had he been La Trémouille’s man, you must assuredly have +fled the country.”</p> +<p>He took up his Book of Hours, with a sigh, and wrapped it again in +its silken parcel.</p> +<p>“This must be your price with Kennedy,” he said, “if +better may not be. It is like parting with the apple of my eye, +but, I know not well how, I love you, my lad, and blood is thicker than +water. Give me my staff; I must hirple up that weary hill again, +and you, come hither.”</p> +<p>He led me to his own chamber, where I had never been before, and +showed me how, in the chimney-neuk, was a way into a certain black hole +of little ease, wherein, if any came in search for me, I might lie hidden. +And, fetching me a cold fish (Lenten cheer), a loaf, and a stoup of +wine, whereof I was glad enough, he left me, groaning the while at his +ill-fortune, but laden with such thanks as I might give for all his +great kindness.</p> +<p>There then, I sat, when I had eaten, my ears pricked to listen for +the tramp of armed men below and the thunder of their summons at the +door. But they came not, and presently my thought stole back to +Elliot, who, indeed, was never out of my mind then—nay, nor now +is. But whether that memory be sinful in a man of religion or +not, I leave to the saints and to good confession. Much I perplexed +myself with marvelling why she did so weep; above all, since I knew +what hopeful tidings she had gotten of her friend and her enterprise. +But no light came to me in my meditations. I did not know then +that whereas young men, and many lasses too, are like the Roman lad +who went with his bosom bare, crying “Aura veni,” and sighing +for the breeze of Love to come, other maidens are wroth with Love when +he creeps into their hearts, and would fain cast him out—being +in a manner mad with anger against Love, and against him whom they desire, +and against themselves. This mood, as was later seen, was Elliot’s, +for her heart was like a wild bird trapped, that turns with bill and +claw on him who comes to set it free. Moreover, I have since deemed +that her passion of faith in the Maid made war on her love for me; one +breast being scantly great enough to contain these two affections, and +her pride taking, against the natural love, the part of the love which +was divine.</p> +<p>But all these were later thoughts, that came to me in musing on the +sorrows of my days; and, like most wisdom, this knowledge arrived too +late, and I, as then, was holden in perplexity.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII—OF CERTAIN QUARRELS THAT CAME ON THE HANDS OF +NORMAN LESLIE</h2> +<p>Belike I had dropped asleep, outwearied with what had befallen me, +mind and body, but I started up suddenly at the sound of a dagger-hilt +smitten against the main door of the house, and a voice crying, “Open, +in the name of the Dauphin.” They had come in quest of me, +and when I heard them, it was as if a hand had given my heart a squeeze, +and for a moment my breath seemed to be stopped. This past, I +heard the old serving-woman fumbling with the bolts, and peering from +behind the curtain of my casement, I saw that the ways were dark, and +the narrow street was lit up with flaring torches, the lights wavering +in the wind. I stepped to the wide ingle, thinking to creep into +the secret hiding-hole. But to what avail? It might have +served my turn if my escape alive from the moat had only been guessed, +but now my master must have told all the story, and the men-at-arms +must be assured that I was within. Thinking thus, I stood at pause, +when a whisper came, as if from within the ingle—</p> +<p>“Unbar the door, and hide not.”</p> +<p>It must be Elliot’s voice, speaking through some tube contrived +in the ingle of the dwelling-room below or otherwise. Glad at +heart to think that she took thought of me, I unbarred the door, and +threw myself into a chair before the fire, trying to look like one unconcerned. +The bolts were now drawn below; I heard voices, rather Scots than French, +to my sense. Then the step of one man climbed up the stair, heavily, +and with the tap of a staff keeping tune to it. It was my master. +His face was pale, and falling into a chair, he wiped the sweat from +his brow. “Unhappy man that I am!” he said, “I +have lost my apprentice.”</p> +<p>I gulped something down in my throat ere I could say, “Then +it is death?”</p> +<p>“Nay,” he said, and smiled. “But gliff for +gliff, <a name="citation16"></a><a href="#footnote16">{16}</a> you put +a fear on me this day, and now we are even.”</p> +<p>“Yet I scarce need a cup of wine for my recovery, master,” +I said, filling him a beaker from the flagon on the table, which he +drained gladly, being sore wearied, so steep was the way to the castle, +and hard for a lame man. My heart was as light as a leaf on a +tree, and the bitterness of shameful death seemed gone by.</p> +<p>“I have lost my prentice another way,” he said, setting +down the cup on the table. “I had much a do to see Kennedy, +for he was at the dice with other lords. At length, deeming there +was no time to waste, I sent in the bonny Book of Hours, praying him +to hear me for a moment on a weighty matter. That brought him +to my side; he leaped at the book like a trout at a fly, and took me +to his own chamber. There I told him your story. When it +came to the wench in the King’s laundry, and Robin Lindsay, and +you clad in girl’s gear, and kissed in the guard-room, he struck +hand on thigh and laughed aloud.</p> +<p>“Then I deemed your cause as good as three parts won, and he +could not hold in, but led me to a chamber where were many lords, dicing +and drinking: Trémouille, Ogilvie, the Bishop of Orleans—that +holy man, who has come to ask for aid from the King,—La Hire, +Xaintrailles, and I know not whom. There I must tell all the chronicle +again; and some said this, and some that, and Trémouille mocks, +that the Maid uttered her prophecy to no other end but to make you fulfil +it, and slay her enemy for the sake of her ‘beaux yeux.’ +The others would hear nothing of this, and, indeed, though I am no gull, +I wot that Trémouille is wrong here, and over cunning; he trusts +neither man nor woman. Howsoever it be, he went with the story +to the King, who is keen to hear any new thing. And, to be short, +the end of it is this: that you have your free pardon, on these terms, +namely, that you have two score of masses said for the dead man, and +yourself take service under Sir Hugh Kennedy, that the King may not +lose a man-at-arms.”</p> +<p>Never, sure, came gladder tidings to any man than these to me. +An hour ago the rope seemed tight about my neck; one day past, and I +was but a prentice to the mean craft of painting and limning, arts good +for a monk, or a manant, but, save for pleasure, not to be melled or +meddled with by a man of gentle blood. And now I was to wear arms, +and that in the best of causes, under the best of captains, one of my +own country—a lord in Ayrshire.</p> +<p>“Ay, even so,” my master said, marking the joy in my +face, “you are right glad to leave us—a lass and a lameter. +<a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17">{17}</a> Well, well, +such is youth, and eld is soon forgotten.”</p> +<p>I fell on my knees at his feet, and kissed his hands, and I believe +that I wept.</p> +<p>“Sir,” I said, “you have been to me as a father, +and more than it has been my fortune to find my own father. Never +would I leave you with my will, and for the gentle demoiselle, your +daughter—” But here I stinted, since in sooth I knew +not well what words to say.</p> +<p>“Ay, we shall both miss you betimes; but courage, man! +After all, this new life beseems you best, and, mark me, a lass thinks +none the worse of a lad because he wears not the prentice’s hodden +grey, but a Scots archer’s green, white, and red, and Charles +for badge on breast and sleeve, and a sword by his side. And as +for the bonny Book of Hours—‘Master,’ I said with +shame, ‘was that my ransom?’</p> +<p>“Kennedy would have come near my price, and strove to make +me take the gold. But what is bred in the bone will out; I am +a gentleman born, not a huckster, and the book I gave him freely. +May it profit the good knight in his devotions! But now, come, +they are weary waiting for us; the hour waxes late, and Elliot, I trow, +is long abed. You must begone to the castle.”</p> +<p>In the stairs, and about the door, some ten of Sir Hugh’s men +were waiting, all countrymen of my own, and the noise they made and +their speech were pleasant to me. They gave me welcome with shouts +and laughter, and clasped my hands: “for him that called us wine-sacks, +you have given him water to his wine, and the frog for his butler,” +they said, making a jest of life and death. But my own heart for +the nonce was heavy enough again, I longing to take farewell of Elliot, +which might not be, nor might she face that wild company. Howbeit, +thinking it good to have a friend at court, I made occasion to put in +the hand of the old serving-woman all of such small coins as I had won +in my life servile, deeming myself well quit of such ill-gotten gear. +And thereafter, with great mirth and noise, they set forth to climb +the hill towards the castle, where I was led, through many a windy passage, +to the chamber of Sir Hugh Kennedy. There were torches lit, and +the knight, a broad-shouldered, fair-haired man, with a stern, flushed +face, was turning over and gazing at his new Book of Hours, like a child +busy with a fresh toy. He laid the book down when we entered, +and the senior of the two archers who accompanied me told him that I +was he who had been summoned.</p> +<p>“Your name?” he asked; and I gave it.</p> +<p>“You are of gentle blood?” And I answering “Yes,” +he replied, “Then see that you are ready to shed it for the King. +Your life that was justly forfeit, is now, by his Royal mercy, returned +to you, to be spent in his service. Rutherford and Douglas, go +take him to quarters, and see that to-morrow he is clad as beseems a +man of my command. Now good night to you—but stay! +You, Norman Leslie, you will have quarrels on your hand. Wait +not for them, but go to meet them, if they are with the French men-at-arms, +and in quarrel see that you be swift and deadly. For the townsfolk, +no brawling, marauding, or haling about of honest wenches. Here +we are strangers, and my men must be respected.”</p> +<p>He bowed his head: his words had been curt, no grace or kindness +had he shown me of countenance. I felt in my heart that to him +I was but a pawn in the game of battle. Now I seemed as far off +as ever I was from my foolish dream of winning my spurs; nay, perchance +never had I sunk lower in my own conceit. Till this hour I had +been, as it were, the hinge on which my share of the world turned, and +now I was no more than a wheel in the carriage of a couleuvrine, an +unconsidered cog in the machine of war. I was to be lost in a +multitude, every one as good as myself, or better; and when I had thought +of taking service, I had not foreseen the manner of it and the nature +of the soldier’s trade. My head, that I had carried high, +somewhat drooped, as I saluted, imitating my companions, and we wheeled +forth of the room.</p> +<p>“Hugh has taken the pride out of you, lad, or my name is not +Randal Rutherford,” said the Border man who had guided me. +“Faith, he has a keen tongue and a short way with him, but there +are worse commanders. And now you must to your quarters, for the +hour is late and the guard-room shut.”</p> +<p>He led me to our common sleeping-place, where, among many snoring +men-at-arms in a great bare hall, a pallet was laid for me, and my flesh +crept as I remembered how this was the couch of him whom I had slain. +Howbeit, being well weary, despite the strangeness of the place, after +brief orisons I slept sound till a trumpet called us in the morning.</p> +<p>Concerning the strangeness of this waking, to me who had been gently +nurtured, and the rough life, and profane words which I must hear (not, +indeed, that they had been wholly banished from our wild days at St. +Andrews), it is needless that I should tell. Seeing that I was +come among rude neighbours, I even made shift to fall back, in semblance, +on such manners as I had used among the students before I left Scotland, +though many perils, and the fear wherein I stood of Brother Thomas, +and the company of the maid Elliot, had caused me half to forget my +swaggering ways. So, may God forgive me! I swore roundly; I made +as if I deemed lightly of that Frenchman’s death, and, in brief, +I so bore me that, ere noon (when I behoved to go into Chinon with Randal +Rutherford, and there provide me with the rich apparel of our company), +I had three good quarrels on my hand.</p> +<p>First, there was the man-at-arms who had kissed me in the guard-room. +He, in a “bourde” and mockery, making pretence that he would +repeat his insult, got that which was owing him, and with interest, +for indeed he could see out of neither of his squint eyes when I had +dealt with him. And for this cause perforce, if he needed more +proof of my manhood than the weight of my fist, he must tarry for the +demonstration which he desired.</p> +<p>Then there was Robin Lindsay, and at his wrath I make no marvel, +for the tale of how he came late to tryst, and at second-hand (with +many such rude and wanton additions as soldiers use to make), was noised +abroad all over the castle. His quarrel was no matter for fisticuffs; +so, being attired in helmet, vambrace rere-brace, gauntlets, and greaves +out of the armoury, where many such suits were stored, I met him in +a certain quiet court behind the castle, where quarrels were usually +voided. And now my practice of the sword at home and the lessons +of our smith came handily to my need. After much clashing of steel +and smiting out of sparks, I chanced, by an art known to me, to strike +his sword out of his hand. Then, having him at an avail, I threw +down my own blade, and so plainly told him the plain truth, and how +to his mistress I owed my life, which I would rather lose now at his +hand than hear her honour blamed, that he forgave me, and we embraced +as friends. Neither was this jest anew cast up against either +of us, men fearing to laugh, as we say, with the wrong side of their +mouths.</p> +<p>After this friendly bout at point and edge, Robin and Randal Rutherford, +being off duty, must needs carry me to the Tennis Court, where Trémouille +and the King were playing two young lords, and that for such a stake +as would have helped to arm a hundred men for the aid of Orleans. +It was pretty to see the ball fly about basted from the walls, and the +players bounding and striking; and, little as I understood the game, +so eager was I over the sport, that a gentleman within the “dedans” +touched me twice on the shoulder before I was aware of him.</p> +<p>“I would have a word with you, sir, if your grace can spare +me the leisure.”</p> +<p>“May it not be spoken here?” I asked, for I was sorry +to lose the spectacle of the tennis, which was new to me, and is a pastime +wherein France beats the world. Pity it is that many players should +so curse and blaspheme God and His saints!</p> +<p>“My business,” replied the stranger, “is of a kind +that will hardly endure waiting.”</p> +<p>With that I rose and followed him out into the open courtyard, much +marvelling what might be toward.</p> +<p>“You are that young gentleman,” said my man, “for +a gentleman I take you to be, from your aspect and common report, who +yesterday were the death of Gilles de Puiseux?”</p> +<p>“Sir, to my sorrow, and not by my will, I am he, and but now +I was going forth to have certain masses said for his soul’s welfare”: +which was true, Randal Rutherford having filled my purse against pay-day.</p> +<p>“I thank you, sir, for your courtesy, and perchance may have +occasion to do the like gentle service for you. Gilles de Puiseux +was of my blood and kin; he has none other to take up his feud for him +in this place, and now your quickness of comprehension will tell you +that the business wherewith I permit myself to break your leisure will +brook no tarrying. Let me say that I take it not upon me to defend +the words of my cousin, who insulted a woman, and, as I believe, a messenger +from the blessed Saints that love France.”</p> +<p>I looked at him in some amazement. He was a young man of about +my own years, delicately and richly clad in furs, silks, and velvets, +a great gold chain hanging in loops about his neck, a gold brooch with +an ancient Roman medal in his cap. But the most notable thing +in him was his thick golden hair, whence La Hire had named him “Capdorat,” +because he was so blond, and right keen in war, and hardy beyond others. +And here he was challenging me, who stood before him in a prentice’s +hodden grey!</p> +<p>“Sir,” I said, “I could wish you a better quarrel, +but not more courtesy. Many a gentleman seeing me such as I am, +would bid me send, ere he crossed swords with me, to my own country +for my bor-brief, <a name="citation18"></a><a href="#footnote18">{18}</a> +which I came away in too great haste to carry with me. Nay, I +was but now to set forth and buy me a sword and other accoutrements; +natheless, from the armoury here they may equip me with sword and body +armour.”</p> +<p>“Of body-armour take no thought,” he answered, “for +this quarrel is of a kind that must needs be voided in our smocks”; +he meaning that it was “à outrance,” till one of +us fell.</p> +<p>Verily, now I saw that this was not to be a matter of striking sparks +from steel, as Robin and I had done, but of life and death.</p> +<p>“I shall be the more speedily at your service,” I made +answer; and as I spoke Randal and Robin came forth from the “dedans,” +the sport being over. They joined me, and I told them in few words +my new business, my adversary tarrying, cap in hand, till I had spoken, +and then proclaiming himself Aymar de Puiseux, a gentleman of Dauphiné, +as indeed my friends knew.</p> +<p>“I shall wait on you, with your leave, at the isle in the river, +where it is of custom, opposite the booths of the gold-workers,” +quoth he, “about the hour of noon”; and so, saluting us, +he went, as he said, to provide himself with friends.</p> +<p>“Blood of Judas!” quoth Robin, who swore terribly in +his speech, “you have your hands full, young Norman. He +is but now crept out of the rank of pages, but when the French and English +pages fought a valliance of late, under Orleans, none won more praise +than he, who was captain of the French party.”</p> +<p>“He played a good sword?” I asked.</p> +<p>“He threw a good stone! Man, it was a stone bicker, and +they had lids of baskets for targes.”</p> +<p>“And he challenges me to the field,” I said hotly, “By +St. Andrew! I will cuff his ears and send him back to the other +boys.”</p> +<p>“Norman, my lad, when were you in a stone bicker last?” +quoth Randal; and I hung my head, for it was not yet six months gone +since the sailors and we students were stoning each other in North Street.</p> +<p>“Yet he does play a very good sword, and is cunning of fence, +for your comfort,” said Randal. So I hummed the old lilt +of the Leslies, whence, they say, comes our name—</p> +<blockquote><p>Between the less lea and the mair,<br /> +He slew the knight and left him there;—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>for I deemed it well to show a good face. Moreover, I had some +conceit of myself as a swordsman, and Randal was laughing like a foolbody +at my countenance.</p> +<p>“Faith, you will make a spoon or spoil a horn, and—let +me have my laugh out—you bid well for an archer,” said Randal; +and Robin counselling me to play the same prank on the French lad’s +sword as late I had done on his own, they took each of them an arm of +mine, and so we swaggered down the steep ways into Chinon.</p> +<p>First I would go to the tailor and the cordwainer, and be fitted +for my new splendours as an archer of the guard.</p> +<p>They both laughed at me again, for, said they very cheerfully, “You +may never live to wear these fine feathers.”</p> +<p>But Randal making the reflection that, if I fell, there would be +none to pay the shopmaster, they both shouted with delight in the street, +so that passers-by turned and marvelled at them. Clearly I saw +that to go to fight a duel is one thing, and to go and look on is another, +and much more gay, for my heart had no desire of all this merriment. +Rather would I have recommended my case to the saints, and chiefly to +St. Andrew, for whose cause and honour I was about to put my life in +jeopardy. But shame, and the fear of seeming fearful, drove me +to jest with the others—such risks of dying unconfessed are run +by sinful men!</p> +<p>Howbeit, they helped me to choose cloth of the best colour and fashion, +laughing the more because I, being short of stature and slim, the tailor, +if I fell, might well find none among the archers to purchase that for +which, belike, I should have no need.</p> +<p>“We must even enlist the Pucelle in our guard, for she might +wear this apparel,” quoth Randal.</p> +<p>Thus boisterously they bore themselves, but more gravely at the swordsmith’s, +where we picked out a good cut-and-thrust blade, well balanced, that +came readily to my hand. Then, I with sword at side, like a gentleman, +we made to the river, passing my master’s booth, where I looked +wistfully at the windows for a blink of Elliot, but saw none that I +knew, only, from an open casement, the little jackanapes mopped and +mowed at me in friendly fashion. Hard by the booth was a little +pier, and we took boat, and so landed on the island, where were waiting +for us my adversary and two other gentlemen. Having saluted each +other, we passed to a smooth grassy spot, surrounded on all sides by +tall poplar trees. Here in places daffodils were dancing in the +wind; but otherwhere the sward was much trampled down, and in two or +three spots were black patches that wellnigh turned my courage, for +I was not yet used to the sight of men’s blood, here often shed +for little cause.</p> +<p>The friends of us twain adversaries, for enemies we could scarce +be called, chose out a smooth spot with a fair light, the sun being +veiled, and when we had stripped to our smocks, we drew and fell to +work. He was very quick and light in his movements, bounding nimbly +to this side or that, but I, using a hanging guard, in our common Scots +manner, did somewhat perplex him, to whom the fashion was new. +One or two scratches we dealt each other, but, for all that, I could +see we were well matched, and neither closed, as men rarely do in such +a combat, till they are wroth with hurts and their blood warm. +Now I gashed his thigh, but not deeply, and with that, as I deemed, +his temper fired, for he made a full sweep at my leg above the knee. +This I have always reckoned a fool’s stroke, as leaving the upper +part of the body unguarded, and avoiding with my right leg, I drove +down with all my force at his head. But, even as I struck, came +a flash and the sudden deadness of a deep wound, for he had but feinted, +and then, avoiding me so that I touched him not, he drove his point +into my breast. Between the force of my own blow and this stab +I fell forward on my face, and thence rolled over on my back, catching +at my breast with my hands, as though to stop the blood, but, in sooth, +not well knowing what I did.</p> +<p>He had thrown down his sword, and now was kneeling by my side.</p> +<p>“I take you to witness,” he said, “that this has +befallen to my great sorrow, and had I been where this gentleman was +yesterday, and heard my cousin blaspheme, I would myself have drawn +on him, but—” And here, as I later heard, he fainted +from loss of blood, my sword having cut a great vein; and I likewise +lost sense and knowledge. Nor did I know more till they lifted +me and laid me on a litter of poplar boughs, having stanched my wound +as best they might. In the boat, as they ferried us across the +river, I believe that I fainted again; and so, “between home and +hell,” as the saying is, I lay on my litter and was carried along +the street beside the water. Folk gathered around us as we went. +I heard their voices as in a dream, when lo! there sounded a voice that +I knew right well, for Elliot was asking of the people “who was +hurt?” At this hearing I hove myself up on my elbow, beckoning +with my other hand; and I opened my mouth to speak, but, in place of +words, came only a wave of blood that sickened me, and I seemed to be +dreaming, in my bed, of Elliot and her jackanapes; and then feet were +trampling, and at length I was laid down, and so seemed to fall most +blessedly asleep, with a little hand in mine, and rarely peaceful and +happy in my heart, though wherefore I knew not. After many days +of tossing on the waves of the world, it was as if I had been brought +into the haven where I would be. Of what was passing I knew or +I remember nothing. Later I heard that a good priest had been +brought to my bedside, and perchance there was made some such confession +as the Church, in her mercy, accepts from sinful men in such case as +mine. But I had no thought of life or death, purgatory or paradise; +only, if paradise be rest among those we love, such rest for an unknown +while, and such sense of blissful companionship, were mine. But +whether it was well to pass through and beyond this scarce sensible +joy, or whether that peace will ever again be mine and unending, I leave +with humility to them in whose hands are Christian souls.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX—OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT</h2> +<p>The days of fever and of dreams went by and passed, leaving me very +weak, but not ignorant of where I was, and of what had come and gone. +My master had often been by my bedside, and Elliot now and again; the +old housewife also watched me by night, and gave me drink when I thirsted. +Most of the while I deemed I was at home, in the house of Pitcullo; +yet I felt there was something strange, and that there was pain somewhere +in the room. But at length, as was said, I came to knowledge of +things, and could see Elliot and remember her, when she knelt praying +by my bed, as oft she did, whiles I lay between life and death. +I have heard speak of men who, being inflamed with love, as I had been, +fell into a fever of the body, and when that passed, lo! their passion +had passed with it, and their longing. And so it seemed to be +with me. For some days I was not permitted to utter a word, and +later, I was as glad in Elliot’s company as you may have seen +a little lad and lass, not near come to full age, who go playing together +with flowers and such toys. So we were merry together, the jackanapes +keeping us company, and making much game and sport.</p> +<p>Perchance these were my most blessed days, as of one who had returned +to the sinless years, when we are happier than we know, and not yet +acquainted with desire. Now and again Rutherford and Lindsay would +come to visit me, seeming strangely still and gentle, speaking little, +but looking at me with kind eyes, and vowing that my tailor should yet +be paid for his labour. Capdorat also came, for he had but suffered +a flesh wound with much loss of blood, and we showed each other the +best countenance. So time went by, while I grew stronger daily; +and now it was ordained by the leech, a skilful man, that I might leave +my bed, and be clothed, and go about through the house, and eat stronger +food, whereof I had the greatest desire, and would ever be eating like +a howlet. <a name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19">{19}</a> +Now, when I was to rise, I looked that they should bring me my old prentice’s +gabardine and hose, but on the morning of that day Elliot came, bearing +in her arms a parcel of raiment very gay and costly.</p> +<p>“Here is your fine clothing new come from the tailor’s +booth,” she cried merrily. “See, you shall be as bright +as spring, in green, and white, and red!”</p> +<p>There was the bonnet, with its three coloured plumes, and the doublet, +with Charles wrought in silver on the arm and breast, and all other +things seemly—a joy to mine eyes.</p> +<p>She held them up before me, her face shining like the return of life, +with a happy welcome; and my heart beat to see and hear her as of old +it was wont to do.</p> +<p>“And wherefore should not I go to the wars,” she cried, +“and fight beside the Maid? I am as tall as she, if scantly +so strong, and brave—oh, I am very brave Glacidas, I bid you beware!” +she said, putting the archer’s bonnet gallantly cocked on her +beautiful head, and drawing forth the sword from his scabbard, as one +in act to fight, but in innocent unwarlike wise.</p> +<p>There she stood before me in the sunlight, like the Angel of Victory, +all glad and fair, and two blue rays from her eyes shot into my heart, +and lo! I was no more a child, but a man again and a lover.</p> +<p>“O Elliot,” I said, ere ever I wist what I was saying, +and I caught her left hand into mine—“O Elliot, I love you! +Give me but your love, and I shall come back from the wars a knight, +and claim my love to be my lady.”</p> +<p>She snatched her hand suddenly, as if angered, out of mine, and therewith, +being very weak, I gave a cry, my wound fiercely paining me. Then +her face changed from rose-red to lily-white, she dropped on her knees +by my bed, and her arms were about my neck, and all over my face her +soft, sweet-scented hair and her tears.</p> +<p>“Oh, I have slain you, I have slain you, my love!” she +sobbed, making a low, sweet moan, as a cushat in the wild wood, for +I lay deadly still, being overcome with pain and joy. And there +I was, my love comforting me as a mother comforts her child.</p> +<p>I moved my hand, to take hers in mine—her little hand; and +so, for a space, there was silence between us, save for her kind moaning, +and in my heart was such gladness as comes but once to men, and may +not be spoken in words of this world.</p> +<p>There was silence between us; then she rose very gently and tossed +back her hair, showing her face wet with tears, but rosy-red with happiness +and sweet shame. Had it not been for that chance hurt, how long +might I have wooed ere I won her? But her heart was molten by +my anguish.</p> +<p>“Hath the pain passed?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“Sweet was the pain, my love, and sweetly hast thou healed +it with thy magic.”</p> +<p>Then she kissed me, and so fled from the room, as one abashed, and +came not back that day, when, indeed, I did not rise, nor for two days +more, being weaker than we had deemed. But happiness is the greatest +leech on earth, and does the rarest miracles of healing; so in three +days’ space I won strength to leave my bed and my room, and could +sit by the door, at noon, in the sun of spring, that is warmer in France +than in our own country.</p> +<p>Now it could not be but that Elliot and I must meet, when her father +was in town about his affairs, or busy in the painting-room, and much +work he had then on his hands. But Elliot was right coy, hiding +herself from me, who watched warily, till one day, when my master was +abroad, I had the fortune to find her alone in the chamber, putting +spring flowers in a very fair vessel of glass. I made no more +ado, but coming in stealthily, I caught her boldly about the body, saying—</p> +<p>“Yield you, rescue or no rescue, and strive not against me, +lest you slay a wounded man-at-arms.”</p> +<p>For very fear, as I believe, lest she might stir my wound again, +she was still as a bird that lies in your hands when once you have caught +it. And all that passes of kiss and kind word between happy lovers +passed between us, till I prayed of her grace, that I might tell her +father how things stood, for well I had seen by his words and deeds +that he cherished me as a son. So she granted this, and we fell +to devising as to what was to be in days to come. Lackland was +I, and penniless, save for my pay, if I got it; but we looked to the +common fortune of young men-at-arms, namely, spoil of war and the ransom +of prisoners of England or Burgundy. For I had set up my resolve +either to die gloriously, or to win great wealth and honour, which, +to a young man and a lover, seem things easily come by. Nor could +my master look for a great fortune in marriage, seeing that, despite +his gentle birth, he lived but as a burgess, and by the work of his +hands.</p> +<p>As we thus devised, she told me how matters now were in the country, +of which, indeed, I still knew but little, for, to a man sick and nigh +upon death, nothing imports greatly that betides beyond the walls of +his chamber. What I heard was this: namely, that, about Orleans, +the English ever pressed the good town more closely, building new bastilles +and other great works, so as to close the way from Blois against any +that came thence of our party with victual and men-at-arms. And +daily there was fighting without the walls, wherein now one side had +the better, now the other; but food was scant in Orleans, and many were +slain by cannon-shots. Yet much was spoken of a new cannonier, +lately come to aid the men of Orleans, and how he and John of Lorraine +slew many of the hardiest of the English with their couleuvrines.</p> +<p>At this telling I bethought me of Brother Thomas, but spoke no word +concerning him, for my mistress began very gladly to devise of her dear +Maid, concerning whom, indeed, she could never long be silent. +“Faithless heart and fickle,” I said in a jest, “I +believe you love that Maid more than you love me, and as she wears sword +at side, like a man, I must even challenge her to fight in the island.”</p> +<p>Here she stayed my speech in the best manner and the most gracious, +laughing low, so that, verily, I was clean besotted with love, and marvelled +that any could be so fair as she, and how I could have won such a lady.</p> +<p>“Beware how you challenge my Maid,” said she at last, +“for she fights but on horseback, with lance and sperthe, <a name="citation20"></a><a href="#footnote20">{20}</a> +and the Duc d’Alençon has seen her tilt at the ring, and +has given her the best steed in his stables, whereon she shall soon +lead her army to Orleans.”</p> +<p>“Then I must lay by my quarrel, for who am I to challenge my +captain? But, tell me, hath she heard any word of thee and me?”</p> +<p>Elliot waxed rosy, and whispered—</p> +<p>“We had spoken together about thee, ere she went to Poictiers +to be examined and questioned by the doctors of law and learning, after +thou wert wounded.” Concerning this journey to Poictiers +I knew nothing, but I was more concerned to hear what the Maid had said +about Elliot and me. For seeing that the Maid herself was vowed +(as men deemed) to virginity, it passed into my mind that she might +think holy matrimony but a low estate, and might try to set my mistress’s +heart on following her own example. And then, I thought, but foolishly, +Elliot’s love for me might be weaker than her love for the Maid.</p> +<p>“Yes,” my lady went on, “I could not but open my +heart about thee and me, to one who is of my own age, and so wise, unlike +other girls. Moreover, I scarce knew well whether your heart was +like disposed with my heart. Therefore I devised with her more +than once or twice.”</p> +<p>Hiding her face on my breast, she spoke very low; and as my fancy +had once seen the children, the dark head and the golden, bowed together +in prayer for France and the Dauphin, so now I saw them again, held +close together in converse, and that strange Maid and Prophetess listening, +like any girl, to a girl’s tale of the secrets of her heart.</p> +<p>“And what counsel gave the Maid?” I said; “or had +she any prophecy of our fortune?”</p> +<p>“Nay, on such matters she knows no more than you or I, or knows +but seldom, nor seeks to learn from her counsel. Only she is bidden +that she must rescue Orleans, and lead the Dauphin to his sacring at +Rheims. But she wished me well, and comforted me that your heart +was even as my own, as she saw on that day when you wore woman’s +gear and slew him that blasphemed her. And of you she spoke the +best words, for that you, who knew her not, took her part against her +enemy. And for your wound she sorrowed much, not knowing, more +than I who am simple, whether it would turn to life or death. +And if to life, then, if she could but persuade the doctor and clergy +and the King’s counsellors to let her go, she said that you should +follow with her to the wars, and she, if so the saints pleased, would +be the making of your fortune, you and I being her first friends.”</p> +<p>“The saints fight for her!” I said, “for we have +done our part thus far, and I would that I may be well ere she raises +her standard.”</p> +<p>But here Elliot turned right pale, at the thought of my going to +the wars, she holding my face off and gazing steadily upon me with wistful +eyes.</p> +<p>“O God, send that the Maid go speedily!” she cried, “for +as now you are not fit to bear arms.”</p> +<p>“Thou wouldst not have me lag behind, when the Maid’s +banner is on the wind?”</p> +<p>“Nay,” she said, but slowly, “thee and all that +I have would I give for her and for her cause, and for the saints. +But now thou must not go,”—and her eyes yearned upon me—“now +that I could overthrow thee if we came to war.”</p> +<p>So here she laughed again, being like the weather without—a +changeful thing of shower and shine.</p> +<p>Thus we continued devising, and she told me that, some days after +my wounding, the Maid had held converse apart with the King, and then +gave him to wit of certain marvellous matters, that none might know +save by heavenly inspiration. But what these matters might be +none could tell, save the King and the Maiden only.</p> +<p>That this was sooth I can affirm, having myself been present in later +years, when one that affected to be the very Pucelle, never slain, or +re-arisen by miracle, came before the King, and truly she had beguiled +many. Then the King said, “Welcome Pucelle, ma mie, thou +art welcome if thou hast memory of that secret thing which is between +thee and me.” Whereon this false woman, as one confounded, +fell on her knees and confessed her treason.</p> +<p>This that Elliot told me, therefore, while the sun shone into the +chamber through the bare vine-tendrils, was sooth, and by this miracle, +it seems, the Maid had at last won the ear of the King. So he +bade carry her to Poictiers, where the doctors and the learned were +but now examining into her holy life, and her knowledge of religion, +being amazed by the wisdom of her answers. The noble ladies about +her, too, and these mendicant friars that were sent to hold inquisition +concerning her at Domremy, had found in her nothing but simplicity and +holy maidenhood, pity and piety. But, as for a sign of her sending, +and a marvel to convince all men’s hearts, that, she said, she +would only work at Orleans. So now she was being accepted, and +was to raise her standard, as we had cause to believe.</p> +<p>“But,” said Elliot, “the weeks go by, and much +is said, and men and victual are to be gathered, and still they tarry, +doing no great deed. Oh, would that to-day her standard were on +the wind! for to-day, and for these many days, I must have you here, +and tend you till you be fit to bear arms.”</p> +<p>Therewith she made me much good cheer; then, very tenderly taking +her arms from about me, lest I should be hurt again, she cried—</p> +<p>“But we speak idly, and thou hast not seen the standard, and +the banner, and the pennon of the Maid that my father is painting.”</p> +<p>Then I must lean on her shoulder, as, indeed, I still had cause to +do, and so, right heedfully, she brought me into the painting-chamber. +There, upon great easels, were stretched three sheets of “bougran,” +<a name="citation21"></a><a href="#footnote21">{21}</a> very white and +glistering—a mighty long sheet for the standard, a smaller one, +square, for the banner, and the pennon smaller yet, in form of a triangle, +as is customary.</p> +<p>The great standard, in the Maiden’s wars, was to be used for +the rallying of all her host; the pennon was a signal to those who fought +around her, as guards of her body; and about the banner afterwards gathered, +for prayer and praise, those men, confessed and clean of conscience, +whom she had called and chosen.</p> +<p>These cloths were now but half painted, the figures being drawn, +by my master’s hands, and the ground-colours laid; but some portions +were quite finished, very bright and beautiful. On the standard +was figured God the Father, having the globe in His hand; two angels +knelt by Him, one holding for His blessing the lily of France. +The field was to be sown with fleurs-de-lys, and to bear the holy names: +Jhesu—Maria. On the banner was our Lord crucified between +the Holy Virgin and St. John. And on the pennon was wrought the +Annunciation, the angel with a lily kneeling to the Blessed Virgin. +On the standard, my master, later, fashioned the chosen blazon of the +Maid—a dove argent, on a field azure. But the blazon of +the sword supporting the crown, between two lilies, that was later given +to her and her house, she did not use, as her enemies said she did, +out of pride and vainglory, mixing her arms with holy things, even at +Rheims at the sacring. For when she was at Rheims, no armorial +bearings had yet been given to her. Herein, then, as always, they +lied in their cruel throats; for, as the Psalmist says, “Quare +fremuerunt gentes?”</p> +<p>All these evil tongues, and all thought of evil days, were far from +us as we stood looking at the work, and praising it, as well we might, +for never had my master wrought so well. Now, as I studied on +the paintings, I well saw that my master had drawn the angel of the +pennon in the likeness of his own daughter Elliot. Wonderful it +was to see her fair face and blue eyes, holy and humble, with the gold +halo round her head.</p> +<p>“Ah, love,” I said, “that banner I could follow +far, pursuing fame and the face of my lady!”</p> +<p>With that we fell into such dalliance and kind speech as lovers use, +wholly rapt from the world in our happiness.</p> +<p>Even then, before we so much as heard his step at the door, my master +entered, and there stood we, my arm about her neck and hers about my +body, embracing me.</p> +<p>He stood with eyes wide open, and gave one long whistle.</p> +<p>“Faith!” he cried, “our surgery hath wrought miracles! +You are whole beyond what I looked for; but surely you are deaf, for +my step is heavy enough, yet, me thinks, you heard me not.”</p> +<p>Elliot spoke no word, but drawing me very heedfully to a settle that +was by the side of the room, she fled without looking behind her.</p> +<p>“Sir,” I said, as soon as she was gone, “I need +make no long story—”</p> +<p>“Faith, no!” he answered, standing back from the banner +and holding his hands at each side of his eyes, regarding his work as +limners do. “You twain, I doubt not, were smitten senseless +by these great masterpieces, and the thought of the holy use to which +they were made.”</p> +<p>“That might well have been, sir, but what we had covenanted +to tell you this day we have told unwittingly, methinks, already. +I could not be in your daughter’s company, and have the grace +of her gentle ministerings—”</p> +<p>“But you must stand senseless before her father’s paintings? +Faith, you are a very grateful lad! But so it is, and I am not +one of those blind folk who see not what is under their eyes. +And now, what now? Well, I can tell you. You are to be healed, +and follow these flags to war, and win your spurs, and much wealth by +ransoms, and so make my lass your lady. Is it not so?”</p> +<p>I was abashed by his “bourdes,” and could say nought, +for, being still very weak, the tears came into my eyes. Then +he drew near me, limping, and put his hand on my shoulder, but very +gently, saying—</p> +<p>“Even so be it, my son, as better may not be. ’Tis +no great match, but I looked, in this country, for nothing nobler or +more wealthy. That my lass should be happy, and have one to fend +for her, there is my affair, and I am not one of those fathers who think +to make their daughters glad by taking from them their heart’s +desire. So cheer up! What, a man-at-arms weeping! +Strange times, when maids lead men-at-arms and men-at-arms weep at home!”</p> +<p>With these words he comforted me, and made me welcome, for indeed +he was a kind man and a wise; so many there are that cause shrewd sorrow +when there should be joy in their houses! This was never his way, +and wise do I call him, for all that has come and gone.</p> +<p>In a little time, when I had thanked him, and shown him, I trow, +how he stood in my love, he bade me go to my chamber and be at rest, +saying that he must take thought as to how matters stood.</p> +<p>“For you are not yet fit to bear arms, nor will be for these +many days. Nor is it seemly, nor our country’s custom, that +my maid should dwell here in the house with you, as things are between +you, and I must consider of how I may bestow her till you march with +your troop, if marching there is to be.”</p> +<p>This I dared not gainsay, and so I went to my chamber with a heart +full of grief and joy, for these hours that are all of gladness come +rarely to lovers, and to me were scantly measured. Perchance it +was for my soul’s welfare, to win me from the ways of the world.</p> +<p>But to Elliot and me that night bore no joy, but sorrow, albeit passing. +At supper we met, indeed, but she stayed with us not long after supper, +when my master, with a serious countenance, told me how he had taken +counsel with a very holy woman, of his own kin, widow of an archer, +and how she was going on pilgrimage to our Lady of Puy en Velay, by +reason of the jubilee, for this year Good Friday and the Annunciation +fell on the same day.</p> +<p>“To-morrow she sets forth, and whatsoever prayer can do for +France and the King shall be done. Always, after this day of jubilee, +they say that strange and great matters come to pass. That there +will be strange matters I make no doubt, for when before, save under +holy Deborah in Scripture, did men follow a woman to war? May +good come of it! However it fall out, Elliot is willing to go +on pilgrimage, for she is very devout. Moreover, she tells me +that it had been in her mind before, for the mother of that Maid is +to be at Puy, praying for her daughter, as, certes, she hath great need, +if ever woman had. And Elliot is fain to meet her and devise with +her about the Maid. And for you, you still need our nursing, and +the sooner you win strength, the nearer you are to that which you would +win. Still, I am sorry, lad, for I remember my courting days and +the lass’s mother, blessings on her!”</p> +<p>To all this I could make no answer but that his will was mine; and +so the day ended in a mingling of gladness and sorrow.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X—HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS OUT OF ALL COMFORT</h2> +<p>My brethren the good Benedictine Fathers here in Pluscarden Priory, +are wont betimes to be merry over my penitents, for all the young lads +and lasses in the glen say they are fain to be shriven by old Father +Norman and by no other.</p> +<p>This that my brethren report may well be true, and yet I take no +shame in the bruit or “fama.” For as in my hot youth +I suffered sorrows many from love, so now I may say, like that Carthaginian +queen in Maro, “miseris succurrere disco.” The years +of the youth of most women and men are like a tourney, or jousts courteous, +and many fall in the lists of love, and many carry sorer wounds away +from Love’s spears, than they wot of who do but look on from the +safe seats and secure pavilions of age. Though all may seem but +a gentle and joyous passage of arms, and the weapons that they use but +arms of courtesy, yet are shrewd blows dealt and wounds taken which +bleed inwardly, perchance through a whole life long. To medicine +these wounds with kind words is, it may be, part of my poor skill as +a healer of souls in my degree, and therefore do the young resort to +Father Norman.</p> +<p>Some confessors there be who laugh within their hearts at these sorrows +of lovers, as if they were mere “nugae” and featherweights: +others there are who wax impatient, holding all love for sin in some +degree, and forgetting that Monseigneur St. Peter himself was a married +man, and doubtless had his own share of trouble and amorous annoy when +he was winning the lady his wife, even as other men. But if I +be of any avail (as they deem) in the healing of hearts, I owe my skill +of that surgery to remembrance of the days of my youth, when I found +none to give me comfort, save what I won from a book that my master +had in hand to copy and adorn, namely, “The Book of One Hundred +Ballades, containing Counsel to a Knight, that he should love loyally”; +this counsel offered by Messire Lyonnet de Coismes, Messire Jehan de +Mailly, the Sieur d’Yvry, and many other good knights that were +true lovers. Verily, in sermons of preachers and lives of holy +men I found no such comfort.</p> +<p>Almost the sorest time of my sorrowing was for very grief of heart +when Elliot set forth on pilgrimage to Puy en Velay, for we were but +newly come together; “twain we were with one heart,” as +a maker sang whom once I met in France ere I came back to Scotland; +sweetly could he make, but was a young clerk of no godly counsel, and +had to name Maître Françoys Villon. Our heart was +one, the heart of Elliot and mine own, and lo! here, in a day, it was +torn asunder and we were set apart by the wisdom of men.</p> +<p>I remember me how I lay wakeful on the night before the day when +Elliot should depart. Tossing and turning, I lay till the small +fowls brake forth with their songs, and my own thought seemed to come +and go, and come again in my head, like the “ritournelle” +of the birds. At last I might not endure, but rose and attired +myself very early, and so went down into the chamber. Thither +presently came Elliot, feigning wonder to find me arisen, and making +pretence that she was about her housewiferies, but well I wot that she +might sleep no more than I. The old housewife coming and going +through the room, there we devised, comforting each other with hopes +and prayers; indeed we sorely wanted comfort, because never till we +were wed, if ever that should be, might we have such solace of each +other’s presence as we desired. Then I brought from the +workshop a sheet of vellum and colours, and the painting tools, and +so fashioned a little picture of her, to wear within the breast of my +doublet. A rude thing it was and is, for what gold, however finely +handled, could match with her golden hair, whereof, at my desire, she +gave me a lock; and of all worldly gear from my secular life, these +and the four links of my mother’s chain alone are still mine, +and where my heart is there is my treasure. And she, too, must +clip a long curl of my hair, for as yet it was not cut “en ronde,” +as archers use to wear it, but when she came again, she said she would +find me shrewdly shaven, and then would love me no longer. Then +she laughed and kissed me, and fell to comforting me for that she would +not be long away.</p> +<p>“And in three months or four,” she said, “the King +will be sacred at Rheims, and the Maid will give you red wine to drink +in Paris town, and the English will be swept into the sea, and then +we shall have peace and abundance.”</p> +<p>“And then shall we be wedded, and never part,” I cried; +whereat she blushed, bidding me not be over bold, for her heart might +yet change, and so laughed again; and thus we fleeted the time, till +her father came and sent her about disposing such things as she must +take with her. Among these she was set on carrying her jackanapes, +to make her merry on the road, though here I was of another counsel. +For in so great a gathering there must be many gangrel folk, and among +them, peradventure, the violer woman, who would desire to have the creature +given back to her. But, if it were so, Elliot said she would purchase +the jackanapes, “for I am no lifter of other men’s cattle, +as all you Scots are, and I am fain to own my jackanapes honestly.”</p> +<p>So she carried him with her, the light chain about her wrist, and +he riding on her saddle-bow, for presently, with many banners waving +and with singing of hymns, came the troop who wended together on pilgrimage. +Many townsfolk well armed were there to guard their women; the flags +of all the crafts were on the wind; the priests carried blessed banners; +so with this goodly company, and her confessor, and her father’s +old kinswoman, Elliot rode away. The jackanapes was screeching +on her saddle-bow, her yellow hair was lifted on her shoulder with the +light breeze; her father rode the first two stages with them. +Merry enough they seemed that went, and the bells were chiming, but +I was left alone, my heart empty, or only full of useless longings. +I betook myself, therefore, to a chapel hard by, and there made my orisons +for their safety and for good speed to the Maid and her holy enterprise.</p> +<p>Thereafter there was no similitude for me and my unhappy estate, +save that of a dog who has lost his master in a strange place, and goes +questing everywhere, and comfortless. Then Randal Rutherford, +coming to visit me, found me such a lackmirth, he said, and my wits +so distraught, that a love-sick wench were better company for a man-at-arms.</p> +<p>“Cheer up, man,” he said. “Look at me, did +I not leave my heart at Branxholme Mains with Mally Grieve, and so in +every town where I have been in garrison, and do you see me cast down? +Off with this green sickness, or never will you have strength to march +with the Maid, where there is wealth to be won, and golden coronets, +and gaudy stones, such as Saunders Macausland took off the Duke of Clarence +at Baugé. Faith, between the wound Capdorat gave you and +this arrow of Dan Cupid’s in your heart, I believe you will not +be of strength to carry arms till there is not a pockpudding left in +broad France. Come forth, and drain a pot or two of wine, or, +if the leech forbids it, come, I will play you for all that is owing +between you and me.”</p> +<p>With that he lugged out his dice and fetched a tablier, but presently +vowed that it was plain robbery, for I could keep no count of the game. +Therewith he left me, laughing and mocking, and saying that I had been +bolder with Robin Lindsay’s lass.</p> +<p>Being alone and out of all comfort, I fell to wandering in the workroom, +and there lit, to my solace, on that blessed book of the hundred ballades, +which my master was adorning with pictures, and with scarlet, blue, +and gold. It set forth how a young knight, in sorrow of love, +was riding between Pont de Cé and Angiers, and how other knights +met him and gave him counsel. These lines I read, and getting +them by rote, took them for my device, for they bid the lover thrust +himself foremost in the press, and in breach, mine, and escalade.</p> +<blockquote><p>S’en assault viens, devant te lance,<br /> +En mine, en eschielle, en tous lieux<br /> +Ou proesce les bons avance,<br /> +Ta Dame t’en aimera mieux.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But reading soon grew a weariness to me, as my life was, and my master +coming home, bade me be of better cheer.</p> +<p>“By St. Andrew,” quoth he, “this is no new malady +of thine, but well known to leeches from of old, and never yet was it +mortal! Remede there is none, save to make ballades and rondels, +and forget sorrow in hunting rhymes, if thou art a maker. Thou +art none? Nay, nor ever was I, lad; but I have had this disease, +and yet you see me whole and well. Come, lend me a hand at painting +in these lilies; it passes not thy skill.”</p> +<p>So I wrought some work whereof I have reason to be proud, for these +lilies were carried wheresoever blows and honour were to be won, ay, +and where few might follow them. Meanwhile, my master devised +with me about such sights as he had seen on the way, and how great a +concourse was on pilgrimage to Puy, and how, if prayers availed, the +cause of France was won; “and yet, in England too, wives are praying +for their lords, and lasses for their lads in France. But ours +is the better quarrel.”</p> +<p>So that weary day went by, one of the longest that I have known, +and other days, till now the leech said that I might go back to the +castle, though that I might march to the wars he much misdoubted. +Among the archers I had the best of greetings, and all quarrels were +laid by, for, as was said, we were to set forth to Orleans, where would +be blows enough to stay the greediest stomach. For now the Maid +had won all hearts, taking some with her piety, and others with her +wit and knowledge, that confounded the doctors, how she, a simple wench, +was so subtle in doctrine, which might not be but by inspiration. +Others, again, were moved by her mirth and good-fellowship, for she +would strike a man-at-arms on the shoulder like a comrade, and her horsemanship +and deftness with sword and lance bewitched others, she seeming as valiant +and fair as these lady crusaders of whom old romances tell. And +others, again, she gained by bourdes and jests; others by her manners, +the fairest and most courtly that might be, for she, a manant’s +daughter, bore herself as an equal before the blood of France, and was +right dear to the young bride of the fair Duc d’Alençon. +Yet was there about her such a grace of purity, as of one descended +from the skies, that no man of them all was so hardy as to speak to +her of love, or even so much as to think thereof in the secret of his +heart.</p> +<p>So all reported of her, and she had let write a letter to the English +at Orleans, bidding them yield to God and the Maid, and begone to their +own country, lest a worse thing befall them. At this letter they +mocked, swearing that they would burn her heralds who carried the message. +But the King had named her chief of war, and given her a household, +with a good esquire, Jean d’Aulon, to govern it, and all that +beseems noble or royal blood. New armour had been made for her, +all of steel and silver, and there was talk of a sword that she had +come by in no common way, but through revelation of the saints. +For she being in Tours had it revealed to her that a certain ancient +sword, with five crosses on the blade, lay buried behind the altar of +St. Catherine of Fierbois. An armourer of Tours was therefore +sent thither, and after much labour and search they of St. Catherine’s +Church found that sword, very ancient, and much bestained with rust. +Howbeit, they cleaned it and made for it a sheath of cloth of gold. +Nevertheless, the Maid wore it in a leathern scabbard.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI—HOW MADAME CATHERINE OF FIERBOIS WROUGHT A MIRACLE +FOR A SCOT, AND HOW NORMAN RODE TO THE WARS</h2> +<p>Now, in this place I cannot withhold me from telling of an adventure +which at this very time befell, though it scarce belongs to my present +chronicle. But it may be that, in time to come, faith will wax +cold, and the very saints be misdoubted of men. It therefore behoves +me not to hold back the truth which I know, and which this tale makes +plain and undeniable even by Hussites, Lollards, and other miscreants. +For he who reads must be constrained to own that there is no strait +so terrible but the saints can bring safely forth therefrom such men +as call upon them.</p> +<p>There came at this season to Chinon from Fierbois (where the Maid’s +sword was found by miracle) a Scottish archer, not aforetime of our +company, though now he took service with us. He was named Michael +Hamilton, and was a tall man and strong, grim of face, sudden in anger, +heavy of hand, walked a little lame, and lacked one ear. That +which follows he himself told to us and to our chaplain, Father Urquhart, +and I myself have read it in the Book of the Miracles of Madame St. +Catherine of Fierbois. <a name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22">{22}</a></p> +<p>You must know that Brittany, as at this time, held for the English, +and Michael Hamilton had gone thither reiving and pillaging the country +with a company of Scots men-at-arms. Hard by a place called Clisson +they had seized a deserted tower and held it for some days. It +so fell out that they took a burgess of the country, who was playing +the spy on their quarters; him they put to the torture, and so learned +that the English were coming against them with a great company of men-at-arms +and of the country folk, on that very night. They therefore delayed +no longer than to hang the spy from a sufficient bough of a tree, this +Michael doing what was needful, and so were hurrying to horse, when, +lo! the English were upon them. Not having opportunity to reach +the stables and mount, Michael Hamilton fled on foot, with what speed +he might, but sorely impeded by the weight of his armour. The +country folk, therefore, being light of foot, easily overtook him, and +after slaying one and wounding more, he was caught in a noose of rope +thrown over him from behind. Now, even as he felt the noose tighten +about his arms, he (though not commonly pious beyond the wont of men-at-arms) +vowed in his heart to make a pilgrimage to Fierbois, and to the shrine +of Madame St. Catherine, if she would but aid him. And, indeed, +he was ever a worshipper of St. Catherine, she being the patroness of +his own parish kirk, near Bothwell. None the less, he was overcome +and bound, whereon he that had thrown the noose, and was son of the +spy whom Michael had hanged, vowed that he would, with his own hands, +hang Michael. No ransom would this manant take, nor would he suffer +Michael, as a gentleman of blood and birth, to die by the sword. +So hanged Michael was; doubt not but it was done in the best manner, +and there he was left hanging.</p> +<p>Now, that night of Maundy Thursday the curé of Clisson was +in his chamber and was about to go to bed. But as he made ready +for bed he heard, from a corner of the chamber, a clear voice saying, +“Go forth and cut down the Scots man-at-arms who was hanged, for +he yet lives.”</p> +<p>The curé, thinking that he must be half asleep and dreaming, +paid no manner of regard to these commands. Thereon the voice, +twice and thrice, spoke aloud, none save the curé being present, +and said, “Go forth and cut down the Scots man-at-arms who was +hanged, for he yet lives.”</p> +<p>It often so chances that men in religion are more hard of heart to +believe than laymen and the simple. The curé, therefore, +having made all due search, and found none living who could have uttered +that voice, went not forth himself, but at noon of Good Friday, his +service being done, he sent his sexton, as one used not to fear the +sight and company of dead men. The sexton set out, whistling for +joy of the slaying of the Scot, but when he came back he was running +as fast as he might, and scarce could speak for very fear. At +the last they won from him that he had gone to the tree where the dead +Scot was hanging, and first had heard a faint rustle of the boughs. +Not affrighted, the sexton drew out a knife and slit one of Michael’s +bare toes, for they had stripped him before they hanged him. At +the touch of the knife the blood came, and the foot gave a kick, whereon +the sexton hastened back with these tidings to the curé. +The holy man, therefore, sending for such clergy as he could muster, +went at their head, in all his robes canonical, to the wild wood, where +they cut Michael down and rubbed his body and poured wine into his throat, +so that, at the end of half an hour, he sat up and said, “Pay +Waiter Hay the two testers that I owe him.”</p> +<p>Thereon most ran and hid themselves, as if from a spirit of the dead, +but the manant, he whose father Michael had hanged, made at him with +a sword, and dealt him a great blow, cutting off his ear. But +others who had not fled, and chiefly the curé, held the manant +till his hands were bound, that he might not slay one so favoured of +Madame St. Catherine. Not that they knew of Michael’s vow, +but it was plain to the curé that the man was under the protection +of Heaven. Michael then, being kindly nursed in a house of a certain +Abbess, was wellnigh recovered, and his vow wholly forgotten, when lo! +he being alone, one invisible smote his cheek, so that the room rang +with the buffet, and a voice said to him, “Wilt thou never remember +thy pilgrimage?” Moved, therefore, to repentance, he stole +the curé’s horse, and so, journeying by night till he reached +France, he accomplished his vows, and was now returned to Chinon. +This Michael Hamilton was hanged, not very long afterwards, by command +of the Duc d’Alençon, for plundering a church at Jargeau.</p> +<p>The story I have thought it behoved me to tell in this place, because +it shows how good and mild is Madame St. Catherine of Fierbois, also +lest memory of it be lost in Scotland, where it cannot but be of great +comfort to all gentlemen of Michael’s kin and of the name and +house of Hamilton. Again, I tell it because I heard it at this +very season of my waiting to be recovered of my wound. Moreover, +it is a tale of much edification to men-at-arms, as proving how ready +are the saints to befriend us, even by speaking as it were with human +voices to sinful men. Of this I myself, later, had good proof, +as shall be told, wherefore I praise and thank the glorious virgin, +Madame St. Catherine of Fierbois.</p> +<p>This tale was the common talk in Chinon, which I heard very gladly, +taking pleasure in the strangeness of it. And in the good fortune +of the Maid I was yet more joyful, both for her own sake and for Elliot’s, +to whom she was so dear. But, for my own part, the leeches gave +me little comfort, saying that I might in no manner set forth with the +rest, for that I could not endure to march on foot, but must die by +the way.</p> +<p>Poor comfort was this for me, who must linger in garrison while the +fortune of France was on the cast of the dice, and my own fortune was +to be made now or never. So it chanced that one day I was loitering +in the gateway, watching the soldiers, who were burnishing armour, sharpening +swords, and all as merry and busy as bees in spring. Then to me +comes my master, with a glad countenance, and glad was I, for these +eight days or nine I had no tidings of him, and knew not if Elliot had +returned from pilgrimage. I rose to greet him, and he took my +hand, bidding me be of good cheer, for that he had good tidings. +But what his news might be he would not tell me; I must come with him, +he said, to his house.</p> +<p>All about his door there was much concourse of people, and among +them two archers led a great black charger, fairly caparisoned, and +covered with a rich silk hucque of colour cramoisie, adorned with lilies +of silver. As I marvelled who the rider might be, conceiving that +he was some great lord, the door of my master’s house opened, +and there, within, and plain to view, was Elliot embracing a young knight; +and over his silver armour fell her yellow hair, covering gorget and +rere-brace. Then my heart stood still, my lips opened but gave +no cry, when, lo! the knight kissed her and came forth, all in shining +armour, but unhelmeted. Then I saw that this was no knight, but +the Maid herself, boden in effeir of war, <a name="citation23"></a><a href="#footnote23">{23}</a> +and so changed from what she had been that she seemed a thing divine. +If St. Michael had stepped down from a church window, leaving the dragon +slain, he would have looked no otherwise than she, all gleaming with +steel, and with grey eyes full of promise of victory: the holy sword +girdled about her, and a little battle-axe hanging from her saddle-girth. +She sprang on her steed, from the mounting-stone beside the door, and +so, waving her hand, she cried farewell to Elliot, that stood gazing +after her with shining eyes. The people went after the Maid some +way, shouting Noël! and striving to kiss her stirrup, the archers +laughing, meanwhile, and bidding them yield way. And so we came, +humbly enough, into the house, where, her father being present and laughing +and the door shut, Elliot threw her arms about me and wept and smiled +on my breast.</p> +<p>“Ah, now I must lose you again,” she said; whereat I +was half glad that she prized me so; half sorry, for that I knew I might +not go forth with the host. This ill news I gave them both, we +now sitting quietly in the great chamber.</p> +<p>“Nay, thou shalt go,” said Elliot. “Is it +not so, father? For the Maid gave her promise ere she went to +Poictiers, and now she is fulfilling it. For the gentle King has +given her a household—pages, and a maïtre d’hôtel, +a good esquire, and these two gentlemen who rode with her from Vaucouleurs, +and an almoner, Brother Jean Pasquerel, an Augustine, that the Maid’s +mother sent with us from Puy, for we found her there. And the +Maid has appointed you to go with her, for that you took her part when +men reviled her. And money she has craved from the King; and Messire +Aymar de Puiseux, that was your adversary, is to give you a good horse, +for that you may not walk. And, above all, the Maid has declared +to me that she will bring you back to us unscathed of sword, but, for +herself, she shall be wounded by an arrow under Orleans, yet shall she +not die, but be healed of that wound, and shall lead the King to his +sacring at Rheims. So now, verily, for you I have no fear, but +my heart is sore for the Maid’s sake, and her wound.”</p> +<p>None the less, she made as if she would dance for joy, and I could +have done as much, not, indeed, that as then I put my faith in prophecies, +but for gladness that I was to take my fortune in the wars. So +the hours passed in great mirth and good cheer. Many things we +spoke of, as concerning the mother of the Maid—how wise she was, +yet in a kind of amazement, and not free from fear, wherefore she prayed +constantly for her child.</p> +<p>Moreover Elliot told me that the jackanapes was now hers of right, +for that the woman, its owner, had been at Puy, but without her man, +and had sold it to her, as to a good mistress, yet with tears at parting. +This news was none of the gladdest to me, for still I feared that tidings +of us might come to Brother Thomas. Howbeit, at last, with a light +heart, though I was leaving Elliot, I went back to the castle. +There Aymar de Puiseux, meeting me, made me the best countenance, and +gave me a right good horse, that I named Capdorat after him, by his +good will. And for my armour, which must needs be light, they +gave me a maillet—a coat of slender mail, which did not gall my +old wound. So accoutred, I departed next day, in good company, +to Blois, whence the Maid was to set forth to Orleans. Marvel +it was to find the road so full of bestial—oxen, cows, sheep, +and swine—all gathered, as if to some great market, for the victualling +of Orleans. But how they were to be got through the English lines +into the city men knew not. For the English, by this time, had +girdled the city all about with great bastilles, each joined to other +by sunken ways dug in the earth, wherein were streets, and marts, and +chambers with fires and chimneys, as I have written in my Latin chronicle. +<a name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24">{24}</a> There false +Frenchmen came, as to a fair, selling and buying, with store of food, +wine, arms, and things of price, buying and selling in safety, for the +cannon and couleuvrines in the town could not touch them. But +a word ran through the host how the Maid knew, by inspiration of the +saints, that no man should sally forth from among the English, but that +we should all pass unharmed.</p> +<p>Meantime the town of Blois was in great turmoil—the cattle +lowing in the streets, the churches full to the doors of men-at-arms, +waiting their turn to be shrived, for the Maid had ordained that all +who followed her must go clean of sin. And there was great wailing +of light o’ loves, and leaguer lasses that had followed the army, +as is custom, for this custom the Maid did away, and drove these women +forth, and whither they wandered I know not. Moreover, she made +proclamation that all dice, and tabliers, and instruments of gambling +must be burned, and myself saw the great pile yet smoking in the public +place, for this was to be a holy war. So we lodged at Blois, where +the Maid showed me the best countenance, speaking favourable words of +Elliot and me, and bidding me keep near her banner in battle, which +I needed no telling to make me resolve to do. So there, for that +night, we rested.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII—HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS, AND OF THE DOLOROUS +STROKE THAT FIRST SHE STRUCK IN WAR</h2> +<p>Concerning the ways of the saints, and their holy counsel, it is +not for sinful men to debate, but verify their ways are not as our ways, +as shall presently be shown, in the matter of the Maid’s march +to Orleans.</p> +<p>For the town of Blois, where now we lay, is, as all men know, on +the right bank of the water of Loire, a great river, wider and deeper +and stronger by far than our Tay or Tweed, and the town of Orleans, +whither we were bound, is also on the same side, namely, the right side +of the river. Now, Orleans was beleaguered in this manner: The +great stone bridge had been guarded, on the left, or further side of +the stream, first by a boulevard, or strong keep on the land, whence +by a drawbridge men crossed to a yet stronger keep, called “Les +Tourelles,” builded on the last arches of the bridge. But +early in the siege the English had taken from them of Orleans the boulevard +and Les Tourelles, and an arch of the bridge had been broken, so that +in nowise might men-at-arms of the party of France enter into Orleans +by way of that bridge from the left bank through the country called +Sologne.</p> +<p>Yet that keep, Les Tourelles, had not been a lucky prize to our enemies +of England. For their great captain, the Lord Salisbury, had a +custom to watch them of Orleans and their artillery from a window in +that tower, and, to guard him from arrow-shots, he had a golden shield +pierced with little holes to look through, that he held before his face. +One day he came into this turret when they who worked the guns in Orleans +were all at their meat. But it so chanced that two boys, playing +truant from school, went into a niche of the wall, where was a cannon +loaded and aimed at Les Tourelles. They, seeing the gleam of the +golden shield at the window of the turret, set match to the touch-hole +of the cannon, and, as Heaven would have it, the ball struck a splinter +of stone from the side of the window, which, breaking through the golden +shield, slew my Lord of Salisbury, a good knight. Thus plainly +that tower was to be of little comfort to the English.</p> +<p>None the less, as they held Les Tourelles and the outer landward +boulevard thereof, the English built but few works on the left side +of the river, namely, Champ St. Privé, that guarded the road +by the left bank from Blois; Les Augustins, that was a little inland +from the boulevard of Les Tourelles, so that no enemy might pass between +these two holds; and St. Jean le Blanc, that was higher up the river, +and a hold of no great strength. On the Orleans side, to guard +the road from Burgundy, the English had but one fort, St. Loup, for +Burgundy and the north were of their part, and by this way they expected +no enemy. But all about Orleans, on the right bank of the river, +to keep the path from Blois on that hand, the English had builded many +great bastilles, and had joined them by hollow ways, wherein, as I said, +they lived at ease, as men in a secure city underground. And the +skill of it was to stop convoys of food, and starve them of Orleans, +for to take the town by open force the English might in nowise avail, +they being but some four thousand men-at-arms.</p> +<p>Thus Matters stood, and it was the Maid’s mind to march her +men and all the cattle clean through and past the English bastilles +on the right side of the river, and by inspiration she well knew that +no man would come forth against us. Moreover, she saw not how, +by the other way, and the left bank, the cattle might be ferried across, +and the great company of men-at-arms, into Orleans town, under the artillery +of the English. For the English held the pass of the broken bridge, +as I said, and therefore all crossing of the water must be by boat.</p> +<p>Now, herein it was shown, as often again, that the ways of the saints +are not as our ways. For the captains, namely, the Sieur de Rais +(who afterwards came to the worst end a man might), and La Hire, and +Ambroise de Loré, and De Gaucourt, in concert with the Bastard +of Orleans, then commanding for the King in that town, gave the simple +Maid to understand that Orleans was on the left bank of the river. +This they did, because they were faithless and slow of belief, and feared +that so great a company as ours might in nowise pass Meun and Beaugency, +towns of the English, and convey so many cattle through the bastilles +on the right bank. Therefore, with many priests going before, +singing the Veni Creator, with holy banners as on a pilgrimage; with +men-at-arms, archers, pages, and trains of carts; and with bullocks +rowting beneath the goad, and swine that are very hard to drive, and +slow-footed sheep, we all crossed the bridge of Blois on the morning +of April 25th.</p> +<p>Now, had the holy saints deemed it wise and for our good to act as +men do, verily they would have spoken to the Maid, telling her that +we were all going clean contrary to her counsel. Nevertheless, +the saints held their peace, and let us march on. Belike they +designed that this should turn to the greater glory of the Maid and +to the confusion of them that disbelieved, which presently befell, as +I shall relate.</p> +<p>All one day of spring we rode, and slept beneath the stars, the Maid +lying in her armour, so that as one later told me who knew, namely, +Elliot, her body was sorely bruised with her harness. Early in +the morning we mounted again, and so rode north, fetching a compass +inland; after noontide we came to a height, and lo! beneath us lay the +English bastilles and holds on the left bank, and, beyond the glittering +river and the broken bridge, the towers and walls of Orleans. +Then I saw the Maid in anger, for well she knew that she had been deceived +by them who should have guided her. Between us and the town of +Orleans lay the wide river, the broken bridge, and the camps of the +English. On the further shore we beheld the people swarming on +the walls and quays, labouring to launch boats with sails, and so purposing +to ascend the river against the stream and meet us two leagues beyond +the English lines. But this they might not do, for a strong wind +was blowing down stream, and all their vessels were in disarray.</p> +<p>The Maid spurred to the front, where were De Rais, Loré, Kennedy, +and La Hire. We could see her pointing with her staff, and hear +speech high and angry, but the words we could not hear. The captains +looked downcast, as children caught in a fault, and well they might, +for we were now as far off victualling Orleans as ever we had been. +The Maid pointed to the English keep at St. Jean le Blanc, on our side +of the water, and, as it seems, was fain to attack it; but the English +had drawn off their men to the stronger places on the bridge, and to +hold St. Jean le Blanc against them, if we took it, we had no strength. +So we even wended, from the height of Olivet, for six long miles, till +we reached the stream opposite Checy, where was an island. A rowing-boat, +with a knight in glittering arms, was pulled across the stream, and +the Maid, in her eagerness, spurred her steed deep into the water to +meet him. He was a young man, brown of visage, hardy and fierce, +and on his shield bore the lilies of Orleans, crossed with a baton sinister. +He bowed low to the Maid, who cried—</p> +<p>“Are you the Bastard of Orleans?”</p> +<p>“I am,” he said, “and right glad of your coming.”</p> +<p>“Was it you who gave counsel that I should come by this bank, +and not by the other side, and so straight against Talbot and the English?”</p> +<p>She spoke as a master to a faulty groom, fierce and high, and to +hear her was marvel.</p> +<p>“I, and wiser men than I, gave that counsel,” said he, +“deeming this course the surer.”</p> +<p>“Nom Dieu!” she cried. “The council of Messire +is safer and wiser than yours.” She pointed to the rude +stream, running rough and strong, a great gale following with it, so +that no sailing-boats might come from the town. “You thought +to beguile me, and are yourselves beguiled, for I bring you better succour +than ever came to knight or town—the help of the King of Heaven.”</p> +<p>Then, even as she spoke, and as by miracle, that fierce wind went +right about, and blew straight up the stream, and the sails of the vessels +filled.</p> +<p>“This is the work of our Lord,” said the Bastard of Orleans, +crossing himself: and the anger passed from the eyes of the Maid.</p> +<p>Then he and Nicole de Giresme prayed her to pass the stream with +them, and to let her host march back to Blois and so come to Orleans, +crossing by the bridge of Blois. To this she said nay, that she +could not leave her men out of her sight, lest they fell to sin again, +and all her pains were lost. But, with many prayers, her confessor +Pasquerel joining in them, she was brought to consent. So the +host, with priests and banners, must set forth again to Blois, while +the Maid, and we that were of her company, crossed the river in boats, +and so rode towards the town. On this way (the same is a road +of the old Romans) the English held a strong fort, called St. Loup, +and well might they have sallied forth against us. But the people +of Orleans, who ever bore themselves more hardily than any townsfolk +whom I have known, made an onfall against St. Loup, that the English +within might not sally out against us, where was fierce fighting, and +they took a standard from the English.</p> +<p>So, at nightfall, the Maid, with the Bastard and other captains at +her side, rode into the town, all the people welcoming her with torches +in hand, shouting Noël! as to a king, throwing flowers before her +horse’s feet, and pressing to touch her, or even the harness of +her horse, which leaped and plunged, for the fire of a torch caught +the fringe of her banner. Lightly she spurred and turned him, +and lightly she caught at the flame with her hand and quenched it, while +all men marvelled at her grace and goodly bearing.</p> +<p>Never saw I more joy of heart, for whereas all had feared to fall +into the hands of the English, now there was such courage in them, as +if Monseigneur St. Michael himself, or Monseigneur St Aignan, had come +down from heaven to help his good town. If they were hardy before, +as indeed they were, now plainly they were full of such might and fury +that man might not stand against them. And soon it was plain that +no less fear had fallen on the English. But the Maid, with us +who followed her, was led right through the great street of Orleans, +from the Burgundy gate to the gate Regnart, whereby the fighting was +ever most fell, and there we lodged in the house of the Treasurer of +the Duke of Orleans, Jacquet Boucher. Never was sleep sweeter +to me, after the two weary marches, and the sounds of music and revelry +in the street did not hum a moment in my ears, before I had passed into +that blessed world of slumber without a dream.</p> +<p>But my waking next day brought instantly the thought of my brother +Robin, concerning whom I had ever feared that he fell with the flower +of Scotland, when the Comte de Clermont deserted us so shamefully on +the day of the Battle of the Herrings. No sooner did this doubt +come into my mind, than I leaped from my bed, attired myself, and went +forth to the quarters of the Scots under Sir Christian Chambers. +Little need I had to tell my errand, for they that met me guessed who +I was, because, indeed, Robin and I favoured each other greatly in face +and bodily presence.</p> +<p>It was even as I had deemed: my dear brother and friend and tutor +of old days had died, charging back upon the English who pursued us, +and fighting by the side of Pothon de Xaintrailles. All that day, +and in the week which followed, my thought was ever upon him; a look +in a stranger’s face, a word on another’s lips, by some +magic of the mind would bring my brother almost visibly before me, ay, +among the noise of swords on mail, and the screaming of arrows, and +of great cannon-balls.</p> +<p>If I heard ill news, it was no more than I looked for; but better +news, as it seemed, I also heard, though, in my sorrow, I marked it +little. For the soldiers were lamenting the loss of their famed +gunner, not John the Lorrainer, but one who had come to them, they said, +now some weeks agone, in the guise of a cordelier, though he did not +fight in that garb, but in common attire, and ever wore his vizor down, +which men deemed strange. Whither he had gone, or how disappeared, +they knew not, for he had not been with those who yesterday attacked +St. Loup.</p> +<p>“He could never thole the thought of the Blessed Maid,” +said Allan Rutherford, “but would tell all that listened how she +was a brain-sick wench, or a witch, and under her standard he would +never fight. He even avowed to us that she had been a chamber-wench +of an inn in Neufchâteau, and there had learned to back a horse, +and many a worse trick,” which was a lie devised by the English +and them of Burgundy. But, go where he would, or how he would, +I deemed it well that Brother Thomas and I (for of a surety it was Brother +Thomas) were not to meet in Orleans.</p> +<p>Concerning the English in this wonderful adventure of the siege, +I have never comprehended, nor do I now know, wherefore they bore them +as they did. That they sallied not out on the trains which the +Maid led and brought into the town, a man might set down to mere cowardice +and faint heart—they fearing to fight against a witch, as they +deemed her. In later battles, when she had won so many a victory, +they may well have feared her. But, as now, they showed no dread +where honour was to be won, but rather pride and disdain. On this +very Saturday, the morrow of our arrival, La Hire, with Florent d’Illiers +and many other knights, pushed forth a matter of two bowshots from the +city walls, and took a keep that they thought to have burned. +They were very hardy men, and being comforted by the Maid’s coming, +were full of courage and goodwill; yet the English rallied and drove +them back, with much firing of guns, and now first I heard the din of +war and saw the great stone balls fly, scattering, as they fell, into +splinters that screamed in the air, with a very terrible sound. +Truly the English had the better of that fray, and were no whit adread, +for at sunset the Maid sent them two heralds, bidding them begone; yet +they answered only that they would burn her for a witch, and called +her a ribaulde, or loose wench, and bade her go back and keep her kine.</p> +<p>I was with her when this message came, and her brows met and her +eyes flashed with anger. Telling us of her company to follow, +she went to the Fair Cross on the bridge, where now her image stands, +fashioned in bronze, kneeling before the Cross, with the King kneeling +opposite. There she stood and cried aloud to the English, who +were in the fort on the other side of the bridge that is called Les +Tourelles, and her voice rang across the water like a trumpet, so that +it was marvel. Then came out on to the bridge a great knight and +a tall, Sir William Glasdale; no bigger man have I seen, and I bethought +me of Goliath in Holy Scripture. He spoke in a loud, north-country +voice, and, whereas she addressed him courteously, as she did all men, +he called her by the worst of names, mocking at her for a ribaulde. +She made answer that he lied, and that he should die in four days’ +time or five, without stroke of sword; and so, waving her hand haughtily, +turned and went back. But I, who walked close by her, noted that +she wept like any girl at his evil and lying accusations.</p> +<p>Next day was Sunday, and no stroke was struck, but the Bastard of +Orleans set forth to bring back the army from Blois. And on Monday +the Maid rode out and under the very walls of the English keeps, the +townsfolk running by her rein, as if secure in her company; yet no man +came forth against them, which was marvel. And on the Wednesday, +the Maid, with many knights, rode forth two leagues, and met the Bastard +of Orleans and all the array from Blois, and all the flocks and herds +that were sent to Orleans by the good towns. Right beneath the +forts of the English they rode and marched, with chanting of hymns, +priests leading the way, but none dared meddle with them. Yet +a child might have seen that now or never was the chance: howbeit Talbot +and Glasdale and Scales, men well learned in war, let fire not even +a single cannon. It may be that they feared an attack of the Orleans +folk on their bastilles, if they drew out their men. For, to tell +the plain truth, the English had not men-at-arms enough for the task +they took in hand; but they oft achieve much with but little force, +and so presume the more, sometimes to their undoing. And, till +the Maid came, ten of them could chase a hundred of the French.</p> +<p>So the Maid returned, leading the army, and then, being very weary, +she went into her chamber, and lay down on a couch to sleep, her esquire, +D’Aulon, also resting in the room, where were the lady and a daughter +of the house, one Charlotte Boucher. There was I, devising idly +with her page, Louis de Coutes, a boy half Scots by birth, and good-brother +to Messire Florent d’Illiers, who had married his sister. +But alas! he was more French than Scots, and later he left the Maid. +But then we were playing ourselves at the door of the house, and all +was still, the men-at-arms reposing, as we deemed, after their march. +Then suddenly the Maid ran forth to us, her face white and her eyes +shining, and cried to Louis de Coutes, in great anger—</p> +<p>“Wretched boy, the blood of France is being shed, and you told +me no word of it!”</p> +<p>“Demoiselle,” said he, trembling, “I wotted not +of it. What mean you?”</p> +<p>And I also stood in amaze, for we had heard no sound of arms.</p> +<p>“Go, fetch my horse,” she said, and was gone.</p> +<p>I went with him, and we saddled and bridled a fresh courser speedily; +but when we reached the door, she stood there already armed, and sprang +on the horse, crying for her banner, that De Coutes gave her out of +the upper window. Then her spurs were in her horse’s side, +and the sparks flying from beneath his hoofs, as she galloped towards +St. Loup, the English fort on the Burgundy road. Thither we followed +her, with what speed we might, yet over tardily; and when we came through +crowds of people, many bearing the wounded on litters, there was she, +under the wall of that fort, in a rain of arrows, holding up her banner, +and crying on the French and Scots to the charge. They answered +with a cry, and went on, De Coutes and I pressing forward to be with +them; but ere ever we could gain the fosse, the English had been overwhelmed, +and, for the more part, slain. For, as we found, the French captains +had commanded an attack on St. Loup, and had told the Maid no word of +it, whether as desiring to win honour without her, or to spare her from +the peril of the onslaught, I know not. But their men were giving +ground, when by the monition of the saints, as I have shown, she came +to them and turned the fray.</p> +<p>Of the English, as I said, most were slain, natheless certain men +in priests’ raiment came forth from the Church of St. Loup, and +very humbly begged their lives of the Maid, who, turning to D’Aulon, +her esquire, bade him, with De Coutes and me, and such men as we could +gather, to have charge of them and be answerable for them.</p> +<p>So, while the French were plundering, we mustered these priests orderly +together, they trembling and telling their beads, and we stood before +them for their guard. False priests, I doubt, many of them were, +Englishmen who had hastily done on such holy robes as they found in +the church of St Loup. Now Louis de Coutes, being but a boy, and +of a mad humour, cried—</p> +<p>“‘Cucullus non facit monachum!’ Good sirs, let +us see your reverend tonsures.”</p> +<p>With that he twitched the hood from the head of a tall cordelier, +who, without more ado, felled him to the earth with his fist.</p> +<p>The hood was off but for a flash of time, yet I saw well the shining +wolf’s eyes and the long dark face of Brother Thomas. So, +in the pictures of the romance of Renard Fox, have I seen Isengrim the +wolf in the friar’s hood.</p> +<p>“Felon and traitor!” I cried, and drawing my sword, was +about to run him through the body, when my hand was stunned by a stroke, +and the sword dropped from it. I turned, in great anger, and saw +the Maid, her sword in her hand, wherewith she had smitten me flatlings, +and not with the edge.</p> +<p>“Knave of a Scot,” she cried, “wouldst thou strike +a holy man and my prisoner? Verily they say well that the Scots +are all savages. Begone home, till I speak with the captains about +thy case! And for these holy men,” she said to D’Aulon, +in a soft voice, “see that they are safely housed and ministered +to in the Church of Monseigneur St. Aignan.”</p> +<p>With that I shrank back like a beaten hound, and saw the Maid no +more that night, as fearing her wrath. So was I adread and out +of all comfort. But, when first I might, I sought D’Aulon +and told him all the tale of Brother Thomas, and all the evil I knew +of him, as well as I could, and I showed him wherefore I had sought +to slay the man, as forsworn and a traitor, who had manifestly fled +to the English, being by his doggish nature the enemy of the Maid. +I so wrought with him, though he was weary, and would scarce listen +to my tale, that he promised to speak for me to the Maid, without whom +I was a man lost. Moreover, he swore that, as early as might be, +he would visit the Church of St. Aignan, and there examine into the +matter of this cordelier, whom some knew, and could testify against, +if he was my man.</p> +<p>No more could I do that night, but next morning D’Aulon awoke +me a little after dawn.</p> +<p>“It is a true tale,” he said, “and worse than I +deemed, for your bird has flown! Last night he so spoke with me +in the church when I lodged him there, that I reckoned him a simple +man and a pious. But he has vanished from among his brethren, +none knows how or whither.”</p> +<p>“The devil, his master, knows,” I said. “Faith, +he has a shrewd care of his own. But this, I misdoubt me, is the +beginning of evil to us and to the Maid.”</p> +<p>“A knave more or less is of little count in the world,” +said he; “but now I must make your peace with the Maid, for she +speaks of no less than sending you forth from her household.”</p> +<p>His promise he kept so well—for he was a very honourable man, +as any in France—that the Maid sent for me and showed me the best +countenance, even begging my pardon with all sweetness, and in so fair +a manner that I could have wept.</p> +<p>“It was my first blow in war,” she said, smiling kindly, +as was her manner, “and I hope to strike no more as with my own +hand, wherefore I carry my banner to avoid the slaying of men. +But verily I deemed that you were about stabbing my prisoner, and him +a priest. Belike we shall hear no more of him, and I misdoubt +that he is no true son of Holy Church. To-day let me see you bear +yourself as boldly against armed men, that I may report well of you +to your lady and my friend.”</p> +<p>Therewith she held out her hands and took mine, as frankly as does +one brother in arms with another. And I kissed her hand, and kept +my tears in my own heart. But no deadlier blow for France and +for herself was ever dealt than when the Maid struck down my sword, +that was thirsting for the blood of Brother Thomas, and was within an +inch of his throat. Often have I marvelled how the saints, who, +as then, guarded her, gave her no warning, as they did of the onslaught +on St. Loup; but it might not be, or it was not their will, to which +we must humbly submit ourselves. And now I think I see that wolf’s +face, under the hood, with anger and fear in the ominous eyes. +In the Church of St. Loup we found him, and he was a wolf of the holy +places. None the less, the words of the Maid brought more keenly +to my mind the thought of Elliot, whom in these crowded hours, between +my sorrow and anger, and fear of the Maid’s wrath, I had to some +degree forgotten. They were now ordering an onslaught on a post +of the English beyond the river, and there came into my heart that verse +of the “Book of a Hundred Ballades”: how a lover must press +into breach, and mine, and escalade to win advancement and his lady’s +favour; and I swore within myself that to-day I would be among the foremost.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII—OF THE FIGHTING AT LES AUGUSTINS AND THE PROPHECY +OF THE MAID</h2> +<p>Just above the broken bridge of Orleans there is a broad island, +lying very near the opposite shore, with a narrow, swift passage of +water between bank and island. Some two furlongs higher up the +river, and on the further bank, the English had built a small fort, +named St. Jean le Blanc, to guard the road, and thither they sent men +from Les Augustins. The plan of our captains was to cross by boats +on to the island, and thence by a bridge of planks laid on boats to +win over the narrow channel, and so make an onslaught on St. Jean le +Blanc. For this onslaught the Maid had now been armed by her women, +and with all her company, and many knights, was making ready to cross. +But before she, or we with her, could attain the shore, horses being +ill beasts in a boat ferry, the light-armed townsfolk had crossed over +against St. Jean le Blanc to spy on it, and had found the keep empty, +for the English had drawn back their men to the Bastille of Les Augustins.</p> +<p>Thus there was no more to do, for the captains deemed not that we +were of any avail to attack Les Augustins. They were retreating +then to the bridge of boats, and Messires de Gaucourt, De Villars, and +other good knights were guarding the retreat, all orderly, lest the +English might sally out from Les Augustins, and, taking us in the rear, +might slay many in the confusion of crossing the boat-bridge, when the +Maid and La Hire, by great dint of toil, passed their horses in a ferry-boat +on to the further bank. At this moment the English sallied forth, +with loud cries, from Les Augustins, and were falling on our men, who, +fearing to be cut off, began to flee disorderly, while the English called +out ill words, as “cowards” and “ribaulds,” +and were blaspheming God that He should damn all Frenchmen.</p> +<p>Hereon the Maid, with her banner, and La Hire, with lance in rest, +they two alone, spurred into the press, and now her banner was tossing +like the flag of a ship in the breakers, and methought there was great +jeopardy lest they should be taken. But the other French and Scots, +perceiving the banner in such a peril, turned again from their flight, +and men who once turn back to blows again are ill to deal with. +Striking, then, and crying, Montjoie! St. Denis! and St. Andrew for +Scotland! they made the English give ground, till they were within the +palisade of Les Augustins, where they deemed them safe enough. +Now I had struggled through the throng on the island, some flying, some +advancing, as each man’s heart bade him, till I leaped into the +water up to my waist and won the land. There I was running to +the front of the fight when D’Aulon would have stopped me, for +he had a command to hold a certain narrow way, lest the English should +drive us to the water again.</p> +<p>All this was rightly done, but I, hearing the cry of St. Andrew, +was as one possessed, and paying no heed to D’Aulon, was for thrusting +me forward, when a certain Spaniard, Alphonse de Partada, caught me +by the arm, and told me, with an oath, that I might well bide where +better men than I were content to be. At this I made answer that +my place was with the Maid, and, as for better men, bigger he might +well be, but I, for one, was not content to look on idly where blows +were being dealt. He answered in such terms that I bade him follow +me, and see which of us would fare furthest into the press.</p> +<p>“And for that you may be swifter of foot than I, as you have +longer legs,” I cried, “clasp hands on this bargain, and +let us reach the palisades with the same step.”</p> +<p>To this he agreed, and D’Aulon not refusing permission (for +he loved to look on a vaillance), we, clasping hands, ran together swiftly, +and struck our swords in the same moment against the wooden fence. +A little opening there was, not yet closed, or he that kept it deemed +he might win more honour by holding it with his body. He was a +great knight and tall, well armed, the red cross of St. George on his +breast, and he fought with a mighty sword. Together, then, we +made at him, two to one, as needs must be, for this was no gentle passage +of arms, but open battle. One sweep of his sword I made shift +to avoid, but the next lighting on my salade, drove me staggering back +for more yards than two or three, and I reeled and fell on my hands. +When I rose, Alphonse de Partada was falling beneath a sword-stroke, +and I was for running forward again; but lo! the great English knight +leaped in the air, and so, turning, fell on his face, his hands grasping +at the ground and his feet kicking.</p> +<p>Later I heard from D’Aulon that he had bidden John the Lorrainer +mark the man with his couleuvrine, for that he did overmuch mischief. +But, thinking of nought save to be foremost in the breach, I ran in, +stumbling over the dead man’s body, and shouldered at the same +time by Alphonse, who warded off a stab of a pike that was dealt at +me. Then it was a fair mellay, our men pressing after us through +the gap, and driving us forward by mere weight of onset, they coming +with all speed against our enemies that ran together from all parts +of the keep, and so left bare the further wall. It was body to +body, weight against weight, short strokes at close quarters, and, over +our heads, bills striking and foining at the English. Each man +smote where he could; we wavered and swayed, now off our feet in the +press, now making some yard of ground, and evil was the smell and thick +the dust that arose. Meanwhile came the sound of the riving of +planks from the other side of the palisade; above the steel points and +the dust I saw the Maid’s pennon advancing with the face of my +lady painted thereon, and I pressed towards it, crying “St. Andrew” +with such breath as was in me. Then rang out the Maid’s +voice, like a clarion, “St. Denis!” and so, stroke echoing +stroke, and daggers going at close quarters, beaten on and blinded, +deaf and breathless, now up, now down, we staggered forward, till I +and the Maid stood side by side, and the English broke, some falling, +some flying to the out-gate.</p> +<p>And, when all was done, there was I, knowing little enough of what +had come and gone, dazed, with my sword bloody and bent, my head humming, +and my foot on the breast of an English knight, one Robert Heron. +Him I took to prisoner, rescue or no rescue, and so sat we down, very +weary, in the midst of blood and broken arms, for many had been slain +and a few taken, though the more part had fled into the boulevard of +Les Tourelles. And here, with a joyous face, and the vizor of +her helm raised, stood the Maid, her sword sheathed, waving her banner +in the sight of the English that were on the bridge fort.</p> +<p>Natheless, her joy was but for a moment, and soon was she seated +lowly on the ground, holding in her arms the head of an English knight, +sore wounded, for whom her confessor, Father Pasquerel, was doing the +offices of religion. Tears were running down her cheeks, even +as if he had been one of her own people; and so, comforting and helping +the wounded as she might, she abode till the darkness came, and the +captains had made shift to repair the fortress and had set guards all +orderly. And all the river was dark with boats coming and going, +their lanterns glittering on the stream, and they were laden with food +and munitions of war. In one of these boats did the Maid cross +the river, taking with her us of her company, and speaking to me, above +others, in the most gracious manner, for that I had been the first, +with that Spanish gentleman, to pass within the English palisade. +And now my heart was light, though my flesh was very weary, for that +I had done my devoir, and taken the firstfruits of Elliot’s wedding +portion. No heavy ransom I put on that knight, Sir Robert Heron, +and it was honourably paid in no long time, though he ill liked yielding +him to one that had not gained his spurs. But it was fortune of +war. So, half in a dream, we reached our house, and there was +the greatest concourse of townsfolk clamouring in the praise of the +Maid, who showed herself to them from the window, and promised that +to-morrow they should take Les Tourelles. That night was Friday, +yet, so worn were we all that the Maid bade us sup, and herself took +some meat and a little wine in her water, though commonly she fasted +on Friday. And now we were about to boun us for bed, and the Maid +had risen, and was standing with her arms passed about the neck of the +daughter of the house, a fair lass and merry, called Charlotte Boucher, +who always lay with her (for she had great joy to be with girls of her +own age), when there came the sound of a dagger-hilt beating at the +door. We opened, and there stood a tall knight, who louted low +to the Maid, cap in hand, and she bade him drink to the taking of Les +Tourelles that should be to-morrow.</p> +<p>But he, with the flagon full in his hands, and withal a thirsty look +upon his face, shook his head.</p> +<p>“To another pledge, Maiden, I will gladly drink, namely, to +the bravest damsel under the sky.”</p> +<p>And therewith he drank deep.</p> +<p>“But now I am sent from Gaucourt, and the Bastard, for all +the captains are in counsel again. And they bid me tell you that +enough hath been done, and they are right well content. But we +are few against so great a host, in a place so strong that men may not +avail to master it by main force. The city is now well seen in +all manner of victual; moreover, we can now come and go by Sologne and +the left bank. The skill is therefore to hold the city till the +English wax weary and depart, or till we have succour anew from the +King. Therefore to-morrow the men-at-arms shall take rest, having +great need thereof; and therefore, gentle Maid, pardon me that I drank +not to the pledge which a lady called.”</p> +<p>Then he drained the flagon.</p> +<p>The Maid, holding the girl Charlotte yet closer to her, smote her +right hand on the table, so that it dirled, and the cups and dishes +leaped.</p> +<p>“You have been with your counsel,” she cried, “and +I have been with mine! The counsel of Messire will stand fast +and prevail, and yours shall perish, for it is of men. Go back, +and bear my words to the captains,” quoth she; and then, turning +to us, who looked on her in amazement, she said—</p> +<p>“Do ye all rise right early, and more than ye have done to-day +shall ye do. Keep ever close by me in the mellay, for to-morrow +I shall have much to do, and more than ever yet I did. And to-morrow +shall my blood leap from my body, above my breast, for an arrow shall +smite here!” and she struck the place with her hand.</p> +<p>Thereon the knight, seeing that she was not to be moved, made his +obeisance, and went back to them that sent him, and all we lay down +to sleep while we might.</p> +<p>These words of the Maid I, Norman Leslie, heard, and bear record +that they are true.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV—OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE, AND OF THE PRIZE +WON BY NORMAN LESLIE FROM THE RIVER</h2> +<p>On that night I slept soft, and woke oft, being utterly foredone. +In the grey dawn I awoke, and gave a little cough, when, lo! there came +a hot sweet gush into my mouth, and going to the window, I saw that +I was spitting of blood, belike from my old wound. It is a strange +thing that, therewith, a sickness came over me, and a cold fit as of +fear, though fear I had felt none where men met in heat of arms. +None the less, seeing that to-day, or never, I was to be made or marred, +I spoke of the matter neither to man nor woman, but drinking a long +draught of very cold water, I spat some deal more, and then it stanched, +and I armed me and sat down on my bed.</p> +<p>My thoughts, as I waited for the first stir in the house, were not +glad. Birds were singing in the garden trees; all else was quiet, +as if men were not waking to slay each other and pass unconfessed to +their account. There came on me a great sickness of war. +Yesterday the boulevard of Les Augustins, when the fight was over, had +been a shambles; white bodies that had been stripped of their armour +lay here and there like sheep on a hillside, and were now smirched with +dust, a thing unseemly. I put it to myself that I was engaged, +if ever man was, in a righteous quarrel, fighting against cruel oppression; +and I was under the protection of one sent, as I verily believed, by +Heaven.</p> +<p>But blood runs tardy in the cold dawn; my thoughts were chilled, +and I deemed, to speak sooth, that I carried my death within me, from +my old wound, and, even if unhurt, could scarce escape out of that day’s +labour and live. I said farewell to life and the sun, in my own +mind, and to Elliot, thinking of whom, with what tenderness she had +nursed me, and of her mirth and pitiful heart, I could scarce forbear +from weeping. Of my brother also I thought, and in death it seemed +to me that we could scarcely be divided. Then my thought went +back to old days of childhood at Pitcullo, old wanderings by Eden banks, +old kindness and old quarrels, and I seemed to see a vision of a great +tree, growing alone out of a little mound, by my father’s door, +where Robin and I would play “Willie Wastle in his castle,” +for that was our first manner of holding a siege. A man-at-arms +has little to make with such fancies, and well I wot that Randal Rutherford +troubled himself therewith in no manner. But now there came an +iron footstep on the stairs, and the Maid’s voice rang clear, +and presently there arose the sound of hammers on rivets, and all the +din of men saddling horses and sharpening swords, so I went forth to +join my company.</p> +<p>Stiff and sore was I, and felt as if I could scarce raise my sword-arm; +but the sight of the Maid, all gleaming in her harness, and clear of +voice, and swift of deed, like St. Michael when he marshalled his angels +against the enemies of heaven, drove my brooding thoughts clean out +of mind. The sun shone yellow and slanting down the streets; out +of the shadow of the minster came the bells, ringing for war. +The armed townsfolk thronged the ways, and one man, old and ill-clad, +brought to the Maid a great fish which he had caught overnight in the +Loire. Our host prayed her to wait till it should be cooked, that +she might breakfast well, for she had much to do. Yet she, who +scarce seemed to live by earthly meat, but by the will of God, took +only a sop of bread dipped in wine, and gaily leaping to her selle and +gathering the reins, as a lady bound for a hunting where no fear was, +she cried, “Keep the fish for supper, when I will bring back a +goddon <a name="citation25"></a><a href="#footnote25">{25}</a> prisoner +to eat his part. And to-night, gentle sir, my host, I will return +by the bridge!”—which, as we deemed, might in no manner +be, for an arch of the bridge was broken. Thereon we all mounted, +and rode down to the Burgundy gate, the women watching us, and casting +flowers before the Maiden. But when we won the gate, behold, it +was locked, and two ranks of men-at-arms, with lances levelled, wearing +the colours of the Sieur de Gaucourt, were drawn up before it. +That lord himself, in harness, but bareheaded, stood before his men, +and cried, “Hereby is no passage. To-day the captains give +command that no force stir from the town.”</p> +<p>“To-day,” quoth the Maid, “shall we take Les Tourelles, +and to-morrow not a goddon, save prisoners and slain men, shall be within +three leagues of Orleans. Gentle sir, bid open the gate, for to-day +have I work to do.”</p> +<p>Thereat Gaucourt shook his head, and from the multitude of townsfolk +rose one great angry shout. They would burn the gate, they cried; +they would fire the town, but they would follow the Maid and the guidance +of the saints.</p> +<p>Thereon stones began to fly, and arbalests were bended, till the +Maid turned, and, facing the throng, her banner lifted as in anger—</p> +<p>“Back, my good friends and people of Orleans,” she said, +“back and open the postern door in the great tower on the river +wall. By one way or another shall I meet the English this day, +nor shall might of man prevent me.”</p> +<p>Then many ran back, and soon came the cry that the postern was opened, +and thither streamed the throng. Therefore Gaucourt saw well that +an onslaught would verily be made; moreover, as a man wise in war, he +knew that the townsfolk, that day, would be hard to hold, and would +go far. So he even yielded, not ungraciously, and sending a messenger +to the Bastard and the captains, he rode forth from the Burgundy Gate +by the side of the Maid. He was, indeed, little minded to miss +his part of the honour; nor were the other captains more backward, for +scarce had we taken boat and reached the farther bank, when we saw the +banners of the Bastard and La Hire, Florent d’Illiers and Xaintrailles, +Chambers and Kennedy, above the heads of the armed men who streamed +forth by the gate of Burgundy. Less orderly was no fight ever +begun, but the saints were of our party. It was the wise manner +of the Maid to strike swift, blow upon blow, each stroke finding less +resistance among the enemy, that had been used to a laggard war, for +then it was the manner of captains to dally for weeks or months round +a town, castle, or other keep, and the skill was to starve the enemy. +But the manner of the Maid was ever to send cloud upon cloud of men +to make escalade by ladders, their comrades aiding them from under cover +with fire of couleuvrines and bows. Even so fought that famed +Knight of Brittany, Sir Bertrand du Guesclin. But he was long +dead, and whether the Maid (who honoured his memory greatly) fought +as she did through his example, or by direct teaching of the saints, +I know not.</p> +<p>If disorderly we began, the fault was soon amended; they who had +beleaguered the boulevard all night were set in the rear, to rest out +of shot; the fresh men were arrayed under their banners, in vineyards +and under the walls of fields, so that if one company was driven back +another was ready to come on, that the English might have no repose +from battle.</p> +<p>Now, the manner of the boulevard was this: first, there was a strong +palisade, and many men mustered within it; then came a wide, deep, dry +fosse; then a strong wall of earth, bound in with withes and palisaded, +and within it the gate of the boulevard. When that was won, and +the boulevard taken, men defending it might flee across a drawbridge, +over a stream, narrow and deep and swift, into Les Tourelles itself. +Here they were safe from them on the side of Orleans, by reason of the +broken arch of the bridge. So strong was this tower, that Monseigneur +the Duc d’Alençon, visiting it later, said he could have +staked his duchy on his skill to hold it for a week at least, with but +few men, against all the forces in France. The captain of the +English was that Glasdale who had reviled the Maid, and concerning whom +she had prophesied that he should die without stroke of sword. +There was no fiercer squire in England, and his men were like himself, +being picked and chosen for that post; moreover their backs were at +the wall, for the French and Scots once within the boulevard, it was +in nowise easy for Talbot to bring the English a rescue, as was seen.</p> +<p>The battle began with shooting of couleuvrines at the palisade, to +weaken it, and it was marvel to see how the Maid herself laid the guns, +as cunningly as her own countryman, the famed Lorrainer. Now, +when there was a breach in the palisade, Xaintrailles led on his company, +splendid in armour, for he was a very brave young knight. We saw +the pales fall with a crash, and the men go in, and heard the cry of +battle; but slowly, one by one, they staggered back, some falling, some +reeling wounded, and rolling their bodies out of arrow-shot. And +there, in the breach, shone the back-plate of Xaintrailles, his axe +falling and rising, and not one foot he budged, till the men of La Hire, +with a cry, broke in to back him, and after a little space, swords fell +and rose no more, but we saw the banners waving of Xaintrailles and +La Hire. Soon the side of the palisade towards us was all down, +as if one had swept it flat with his hand, but there stood the earthen +wall of the boulevard, beyond the fosse. Then, all orderly, marched +forth a band of men in the colours of Florent d’Illiers, bearing +scaling-ladders, and so began the escalade, their friends backing them +by shooting of arbalests from behind the remnant of the palisade. +A ladder would be set against the wall, and we could see men with shields, +or doors, or squares of wood on their heads to fend off stones, swarm +up it, and axes flashing on the crest of the wall, and arrows flying, +and smoke of guns: but the smoke cleared, and lo! the ladder was gone, +and the three libbards grinned on the flag of England. So went +the war, company after company staggering thinned from the fosse, and +re-forming behind the cover of the vineyards; company after company +marching forth, fresh and glorious, to fare as their friends had fared. +And ever, with each company, went the Maid at their head, and D’Aulon, +she crying that the place was theirs and now was the hour! But +the day went by, till the sun turned in heaven towards evening, and +no more was done. The English, in sooth, showed no fear nor faint +heart; with axe, and sword, and mace, and with their very hands they +smote and grappled with the climbers, and I saw a tall man, his sword +being broken, strike down a French knight with his mailed fist, and +drag another from a ladder and take him captive. Boldly they showed +themselves on the crest, running all risk of our arrows, as our men +did of theirs.</p> +<p>Now came the Scots, under Kennedy. A gallant sight it was to +see them advance, shoulder to shoulder—Scots of the Marches and +the Lennox, Fife, Argyll, and the Isles, all gentlemen born.</p> +<p>“Come on!” cried Randal Rutherford. “Come +on, men of the Marches, Scots of the Forest, Elliots, Rutherfords, Armstrongs, +and deem that, wheresoever a Southron slinks behind a stone, there is +Carlisle wall!”</p> +<p>The Rough Clan roared “Bellenden!” the Buchanans cried +“Clare Innis,” a rag of a hairy Highlander from the Lennox +blew a wild skirl on the war-pipes, and hearing the Border slogan shouted +in a strange country, nom Dieu! my blood burned, as that of any Scotsman +would. Contrary to the Maid’s desire, for she had noted +that I was wan and weary, and had commanded me to bide in cover, I cried +“A Leslie! a Leslie!” and went forward with my own folk, +sword in hand and buckler lifted.</p> +<p>Beside good Randal Rutherford I ran, and we both leaped together +into the ditch. There was a forest of ladders set against the +wall, and I had my foot on a rung, when the Maid ran up and cried, “Nom +Dieu! what make you here? Let me lead my Scots”; and so, +pennon and axe in her left hand, she lightly leaped on the ladder, and +arrows ringing on her mail, and a great stone glancing harmless from +her salade, she so climbed that my lady’s face on the pennon above +her looked down into the English keep.</p> +<p>But, even then, I saw a face at an archère, an ill face and +fell, the wolf’s eyes of Brother Thomas glancing along the stock +of an arbalest.</p> +<p>“Gardez-vous, Pucelle, gardez-vous!” I cried in her ear, +for I was next her on the ladder; but a bolt whistled and smote her +full, and reeling, she fell into my arms.</p> +<p>I turned my back to guard her, and felt a bolt strike my back-piece; +then we were in the fosse, and all the Scots that might be were between +her and harm. Swiftly they bore her out of the fray, into a little +green vineyard, where was a soft grassy ditch. But the English +so cried their hurrah, that it was marvel, and our men gave back in +fear; and had not the Bastard come up with a fresh company, verify we +might well have been swept into the Loire.</p> +<p>Some while I remained with Rutherford, Kennedy, and many others, +for what could we avail to help the Maid? and to run has an ill look, +and gives great heart to an enemy. Moreover, that saying of the +Maid came into my mind, that she should be smitten of a bolt, but not +unto death. So I even abode by the fosse, and having found an +arbalest, my desire was to win a chance of slaying Brother Thomas, wherefore +I kept my eyes on that archère whence he had shot. But +no arbalest was pointed thence, and the fight flagged. On both +sides men were weary, and they took some meat as they might, no ladders +being now set on the wall.</p> +<p>Then I deemed it no harm to slip back to the vineyard where the Maid +lay, and there I met the good Father Pasquerel, that was her confessor. +He told me that now she was quiet, either praying or asleep, for he +had left her as still as a babe in its cradle, her page watching her. +The bolt had sped by a rivet of her breast-piece, clean through her +breast hard below the shoulder, and it stood a hand-breadth out beyond. +Then she had wept and trembled, seeing her own blood; but presently, +with such might and courage as was marvel, she had dragged out the bolt +with her own hands. Then they had laid on the wound cotton steeped +with olive oil, for she would not abide that they should steep the bolt +with weapon salve and charm the hurt with a song, as the soldiers desired. +Then she had confessed herself to Pasquerel, and so had lain down among +the grass and the flowers. But it was Pasquerel’s desire +to let ferry her across secretly to Orleans. This was an ill hearing +for me, yet it was put about in the army that the Maid had but taken +a slight scratch, and again would lead us on, a thing which I well deemed +to be impossible. So the day waxed late, and few onslaughts were +made, and these with no great heart, the English standing on the walls +and openly mocking us.</p> +<p>They asked how it went with the Maid, and whether she would not fain +be at home among her kine, or in the greasy kitchen? We would +cry back, and for my own part I bade them seek the kitchen as pock-puddings +and belly-gods, and that I cried in their own tongue, while they, to +my great amaze, called me “prentice boy” and “jackanapes.” +Herein I saw the craft and devilish enmity of Brother Thomas, and well +I guessed that he had gotten sight of me; but his face I saw not.</p> +<p>Ill names break no bones, and arrows from under cover wrought slight +scathe; so one last charge the Bastard commanded, and led himself, and +a sore tussle there was that time on the wall-crest, one or two of our +men leaping into the fort, whence they came back no more.</p> +<p>Now it was eight hours of the evening, the sky grey, the men out-worn +and out of all heart, and the captains were gathered in council. +Of this I conceived the worst hope, for after a counsel men seldom fight. +So I watched the fort right sullenly, and the town of Orleans looking +black against a red, lowering sky in the west. Some concourse +of townsfolk I saw on the bridge, beside the broken arch, and by the +Boulevard Belle Croix; but I deemed that they had only come to see the +fray as near as might be. Others were busy under the river wall +with a great black boat, belike to ferry over the horses from our side.</p> +<p>All seemed ended, and I misdoubted that we would scarce charge again +so briskly in the morning, nay, we might well have to guard our own +gates.</p> +<p>As I sat thus, pondering by the vineyard ditch, the Maid stood by +me suddenly. Her helmet was off, her face deadly white, her eyes +like two stars.</p> +<p>“Bring me my horse,” she said, so sternly that I crushed +the answer on my lips, and the prayer that she would risk herself no +more.</p> +<p>Her horse, that had been cropping the grass near him happily enough, +I found, and brought to her, and so, with some ado, she mounted and +rode at a foot’s pace to the little crowd of captains.</p> +<p>“Maiden, ma mie,” said the Bastard. “Glad +I am to see you able to mount. We have taken counsel to withdraw +for this night. Martin,” he said to his trumpeter, “sound +the recall.”</p> +<p>“I pray you, sir,” she said very humbly, “grant +me but a little while”; and so saying, she withdrew alone from +the throng of men into the vineyard.</p> +<p>What passed therein I know not and no man knows; but in a quarter +of an hour’s space she came forth, like another woman, her face +bright and smiling, her cheeks like the dawn, and so beautiful that +we marvelled on her with reverence, as if we had seen an angel.</p> +<p>“The place is ours!” she cried again, and spurred towards +the fosse. Thence her banner had never gone back, for D’Aulon +held it there, to be a terror to the English. Even at that moment +he had given it to a certain Basque, a very brave man, for he himself +was out-worn with its weight. And he had challenged the Basque +to do a vaillance, or boastful deed of arms, as yesterday I and the +Spaniard had done. So D’Aulon leaped into the fosse, his +shield up, defying the English; but the Basque did not follow, for the +Maid, seeing her banner in the hands of a man whom she knew not, laid +hold of it, crying, “Ha, mon estandart! mon estandart!”</p> +<p>There, as they struggled for it, the Basque being minded to follow +D’Aulon to the wall foot, the banner wildly waved, and all men +saw it, and rallied, and flocked amain to the rescue.</p> +<p>“Charge!” cried the Maid. “Forward, French +and Scots; the place is yours, when once my banner fringe touches the +wall!”</p> +<p>With that word the wind blew out the banner fringe, and so suddenly +that, though I saw the matter, I scarce knew how it was done, the whole +host swarmed up and on, ladders, lifted, and so furiously went they, +that they won the wall crest and leaped within the fort. Then +the more part of the English, adread, as I think, at the sight of the +Maid whom they had deemed slain, fled madly over the drawbridge into +Les Tourelles.</p> +<p>Then standing on the wall crest, whither I had climbed, I beheld +strange sights. First, through the dimness of the dusk, I saw +a man armed, walking as does a rope-dancer, balancing himself with his +spear, across the empty air, for so it seemed, above the broken arch +of the bridge. This appeared, in very sooth, to be a miracle; +but, gazing longer, I saw that a great beam had been laid by them of +Orleans to span the gap, and now other beams were being set, and many +men, bearing torches, were following that good knight, Nicole Giresme, +who first showed the way over such a bridge of dread. So now were +the English in Les Tourelles between two fires.</p> +<p>Another strange sight I saw, for in that swift and narrow stream +which the drawbridge spanned whereby the English fled was moored a great +black barge, its stem and stern showing on either side of the bridge. +Boats were being swiftly pulled forth from it into the stream, and as +I gazed, there leaped up through the dark one long tongue of fire. +Then I saw the skill of it, namely, to burn down the drawbridge, and +so cut the English off from all succour. Fed with pitch and pine +the flame soared lustily, and now it shone between the planks of the +drawbridge. On the stone platform of the boulevard, wherein the +drawbridge was laid, stood a few English, and above them shone the axe +of a tall squire, Glasdale, as it fell on shield and helm of the French. +Others held us at bay with long lances, and never saw I any knight do +his devoir more fiercely than he who had reviled the Maid. For +on his head lay all the blame of the taking of the boulevard. +To rear of him rang the shouts of them of Orleans, who had crossed the +broken arch by the beam; but he never turned about, and our men reeled +back before him. Then there shone behind him the flames from the +blazing barge; and so, black against that blaze, he smote and slew, +not knowing that the drawbridge began to burn.</p> +<p>On this the Maid ran forth, and cried to him—</p> +<p>“Rends-toi, rends-toi! Yield thee, Glacidas; yield thee, +for I stand in much sorrow for thy soul’s sake.”</p> +<p>Then, falling on her knees, her face shining transfigured in that +fierce light, she prayed him thus—</p> +<p>“Ah! Glacidas, thou didst call me ribaulde, but I have sorrow +for thy soul. Ah! yield thee, yield thee to ransom”; and +the tears ran down her cheeks, as if a saint were praying for a soul +in peril.</p> +<p>Not one word spoke Glasdale: he neither saw nor heard. But +the levelled spears at his side flew up, a flame caught his crest, making +a plume of fire, and with a curse he cast his axe among the throng, +and the man who stood in front of it got his death. Glasdale turned +about as he threw; he leaped upon the burning drawbridge, where the +last of his men were huddled in flight, and lo! beneath his feet it +crashed; down he plunged through smoke and flame, and the stream below +surged up as bridge and flying men went under in one ruin.</p> +<p>The Maid gave a cry that rang above the roar of fire and water.</p> +<p>“Saints! will no man save him?” she shrieked, looking +all around her on the faces of the French.</p> +<p>A mad thought leaped up in my mind.</p> +<p>“Unharness me!” I cried; and one who stood by me undid +the clasps of my light jaseran. I saw a head unhelmeted, I saw +a hand that clutched at a floating beam. I thought of the Maid’s +desire, and of the ransom of so great a squire as Glasdale, and then +I threw my hands up to dive, and leaped head foremost into the water.</p> +<p>Deep down I plunged, and swam far under water, to avoid a stroke +from floating timber, and then I rose and glanced up-stream. All +the air was fiercely lit with the blaze of the burning barge; a hand +and arm would rise, and fall ere I could seize it. A hand was +thrown up before me, the glinting fingers gripping at empty air. +I caught the hand, swimming strongly with the current, for so the man +could not clutch at me, and if a drowning man can be held apart, it +is no great skill to save him. In this art I was not unlearned, +and once had even saved two men from a wrecked barque in the long surf +of St. Andrews Bay. Save for a blow from some great floating timber, +I deemed that I had little to fear; nay, now I felt sure of the Maid’s +praise and of a rich ransom.</p> +<p>A horn of bank with alder bushes ran out into the stream, a smooth +eddy or backwater curling within. I caught a bough of alder, and, +though nigh carried down by the drowning man’s weight, I found +bottom, yet hardly, and drew my man within the backwater. He lay +like a log, his face in the stream. Pushing him before me, I rounded +the horn, and, with much ado, dragged him up to a sloping gravelly beach, +where I got his head on dry land, his legs being still in the water. +I turned him over and looked eagerly. Lo! it was no Glasdale, +but the drowned face of Brother Thomas!</p> +<p>Then something seemed to break in my breast; blood gushed from my +mouth, and I fell on the sand and gravel. Footsteps I heard of +men running to us. I lifted my hand faintly and waved it, and +then I felt a hand on my face.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV—HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED BY BROTHER THOMAS</h2> +<p>Certain Scots that found me, weak and bleeding, by the riverside, +were sent by the Maid, in hopes that I had saved Glasdale, whereas it +was the accursed cordelier I had won from the water. What they +did with him I knew not then, but me they laid on a litter, and so bore +me to a boat, wherein they were ferrying our wounded men across to Orleans. +The Maid herself, as she had foretold, returned by way of the bridge, +that was all bright with moving torches, as our groaning company were +rowed across the black water to a quay. Thence I was carried in +a litter to our lodgings, and so got to bed, a physician doing what +he might for me. A noisy night we passed, for I verily believe +that no man slept, but all, after service held in the Church of St. +Aignan, went revelling and drinking from house to house, and singing +through the streets, as folk saved from utter destruction.</p> +<p>With daybreak fell a short silence; short or long, it seemed brief +to me, who was now asleep at last, and I was rueful enough when a sound +aroused me, and I found the Maid herself standing by my bedside, with +one in the shadow behind her. The chamber was all darkling, lit +only by a thread of light that came through the closed shutters of wood, +and fell on her pale face. She was clad in a light jaseran of +mail, because of her wound, and was plainly eager to be gone and about +her business, that is, to meet the English in open field.</p> +<p>“Leslie, my friend,” she said, in her sweet voice, “there +were many brave men in the fight yesterday, but, in God’s name, +none did a braver deed than thou! Nay, speak not,” she said, +as I opened my lips to thank her, “for the leech that tended thee +last night forbids it, on peril of thy very life. So I have brought +thee here a sheet of fair paper, and a pen and horn of ink, that thou, +being a clerk, mayst write what thou hast to say. Alas! such converse +is not for me, who know not A from his brother B. But the saints +who helped thee have rewarded thee beyond all expectation. Thou +didst not save that unhappy Glacidas, whom God in His mercy forgive! +but thou hast taken a goodlier prize—this holy man, that had been +prisoner in the hands of the English.”</p> +<p>Here she stood a little aside, and the thread of light shone on the +fell face of Brother Thomas, lowering beneath his hood.</p> +<p>Then I would have spoken, leech or no leech, to denounce him, for +the Maid had no memory of his face, and knew him not for the false friar +taken at St. Loup. But she laid her mailed finger gently on my +lips.</p> +<p>“Silence! Thou art my man-at-arms and must obey thy captain. +This worthy friar hath been long in the holy company of the blessed +Colette, and hath promised to bring me acquainted with that daughter +of God. Ay, and he hath given to me, unworthy as I am, a kerchief +which has touched her wonder-working hands. Almost I believe that +it will heal thee by miracle, if the saints are pleased to grant it.”</p> +<p>Herewith she drew a kerchief across my lips, and I began, being most +eager to instruct her innocence as to this accursed man—</p> +<p>“Lady—” but alas! no miracle was wrought for a +sinner like me. Howbeit I am inclined to believe that the kerchief +was no saintly thing, and had never come near the body of the blessed +Colette, but rather was a gift from one of the cordelier’s light-o’-loves. +Assuredly it was stained red with blood from my lungs ere I could utter +two words.</p> +<p>The Maid stanched the blood, saying—</p> +<p>“Did I not bid thee to be silent? The saints forgive +my lack of faith, whereby this blessed thing has failed to heal thee! +And now I must be gone, to face the English in the field, if they dare +to meet us, which, methinks, they will not do, but rather withdraw as +speedily as they may. So now I leave thee with this holy man to +be thy nurse-tender, and thou canst write to him concerning thy needs, +for doubtless he is a clerk. Farewell!”</p> +<p>With that she was gone, and this was the last I saw of her for many +a day.</p> +<p>Never have I known such a horror of fear as fell on me now, helpless +and dumb, a sheep given over to the slaughter, in that dark chamber, +which was wondrous lown, <a name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26">{26}</a> +alone with my deadly foe.</p> +<p>Never had any man more cause for dread, for I was weak, and to resist +him was death. I was speechless, and could utter no voice that +the people in the house might hear. As for mine enemy, he had +always loathed and scorned me; he had a long account of vengeance to +settle with me; and if—which was not to be thought of—he +was minded to spare one that had saved his life, yet, for his own safety, +he dared not. He had beguiled the Maid with his false tongue, +and his face, not seen by her in the taking of St. Loup, she knew not. +But he knew that I would disclose all the truth so soon as the Maid +returned, wherefore he was bound to destroy me, which he would assuredly +do with every mockery, cruelty, and torture of body and mind. +Merely to think of him when he was absent was wont to make my flesh +creep, so entirely evil beyond the nature of sinful mankind was this +monster, and so set on working all kinds of mischief with greediness. +Whether he had suffered some grievous wrong in his youth, which he spent +his life in avenging on all folk, or whether, as I deem likely, he was +the actual emissary of Satan, as the Maid was of the saints, I know +not, and, as I lay there, had no wits left to consider of it. +Only I knew that no more unavailing victim than I was ever so utterly +in the power of a foe so deadly and terrible.</p> +<p>The Maid had gone, and all hope had gone with her. For a time +that seemed unending mine enemy neither spoke nor moved, standing still +in the chink of light, a devil where an angel had been.</p> +<p>There was silence, and I heard the Maid’s iron tread pass down +the creaking wooden stairs, and soon I heard the sound of singing birds, +for my window looked out on the garden.</p> +<p>The steps ceased, and then there was a low grating laughter in the +dark room, as if the devil laughed.</p> +<p>Brother Thomas moved stealthily to the door, and thrust in the wooden +bolt. Then he sat him heavily down on my bed, and put his fiend’s +face close to mine, his eyes stabbing into my eyes. But I bit +my lip, and stared right back into his yellow wolf’s eyes, that +shone like flames of the pit with evil and cruel thoughts.</p> +<p>So I lay, with that yellow light on me; and strength came strangely +to me, and I prayed that, since die I must, I might at least gladden +him with no sign of fear. When he found that he could not daunton +me, he laughed again.</p> +<p>“Our chick of Pitcullo has picked up a spirit in the wars,” +he said; and turning his back on me, he leaned his face on his hand, +and so sat thinking.</p> +<p>The birds of May sang in the garden; there was a faint shining of +silver and green, from the apple-boughs and buds without, in the little +chamber; and the hooded back of the cordelier was before me on my bed, +like the shape of Death beside the Sick Man, in a picture. Now +I did not even pray, I waited.</p> +<p>Doubtless he knew that no cruel thing which the devil could devise +was more cruel than this suspense.</p> +<p>Then he turned about and faced me, grinning like a dog.</p> +<p>“These are good words,” said he, “in that foolish +old book they read to the faithful in the churches, ‘Vengeance +is Mine, saith the Lord.’ Ay, it is even too sweet a morsel +for us poor Christian men, such as the lowly Brother Thomas of the Order +of St. Francis. Nevertheless, I am minded to put my teeth in it”; +and he bared his yellow dog’s fangs at me, smiling like a hungry +hound. “My sick brother,” he went on, “both +as one that has some science of leech-craft and as thy ghostly counsellor, +it is my duty to warn thee that thou art now very near thine end. +Nay, let me feel thy pulse”; and seizing my left wrist, he grasped +it lightly in his iron fingers. “Now, ere I administer to +thee thy due, as a Christian man, let me hear thy parting confession. +But, alas! as the blessed Maid too truly warned thee, thou must not +open thy poor lips in speech. There is death in a word! +Write, then, write the story of thy sinful life, that I may give thee +absolution.”</p> +<p>So saying, he opened the shutter, and carefully set the paper and +inkhorn before me, putting the pen in my fingers.</p> +<p>“Now, write what I shall tell thee”; and here he so pressed +and wrung my wrist that his fingers entered into my living flesh with +a fiery pang. I writhed, but I did not cry.</p> +<p>“Write—”</p> +<p>“I, Norman Leslie of Pitcullo—” and, to escape +that agony, I wrote as he bade me.</p> +<p>“—being now in the article of death—”</p> +<p>And I wrote.</p> +<p>“—do attest on my hope of salvation—” +And I wrote.</p> +<p>“—and do especially desire Madame Jeanne, La Pucelle, +and all Frenchmen and Scots loyal to our Sovereign Lord the Dauphin, +to accept my witness, that Brother Thomas, of the Order of St. Francis, +called Noiroufle while of the world, has been most falsely and treacherously +accused by me—”</p> +<p>I wrote, but I wrote not his false words, putting my own in their +place—“has been most truly and righteously accused by me—”</p> +<p>“—of divers deeds of black treason, and dealing with +our enemies of England, against our Lord the Dauphin, and the Maid, +the Sister of the Saints, and of this I heartily repent me,—”</p> +<p>But I wrote, “All which I maintain—”</p> +<p>“—as may God pardon my sins, on the faith of a sinful +and dying man.”</p> +<p>“Now sign thy name, and that of thy worshipful cabbage-garden +and dunghill in filthy Scotland.” So I signed, “Norman +Leslie, the younger, of Pitcullo,” and added the place, Orleans, +with the date of day and year of our Lord, namely, May the eighth, fourteen +hundred and twenty-nine.</p> +<p>“A very laudable confession,” quoth Brother Thomas; “would +that all the sinners whom I have absolved, as I am about to absolve +thee, had cleansed and purged their sinful souls as freely. And +now, my brother, read aloud to me this scroll; nay, methinks it is ill +for thy health to speak or read. A sad matter is this, for, in +faith, I have forgotten my clergy myself, and thou mayst have beguiled +me by inditing other matter than I have put into thy lying mouth. +Still, where the safety of a soul is concerned, a few hours more or +less of this vain, perishable life weigh but as dust in the balance.”</p> +<p>Here he took from about his hairy neck a heavy Italian crucifix of +black wood, whereon was a figure of our Lord, wrought in white enamel, +with golden nails, and a golden crown of thorns.</p> +<p>“Now read,” he whispered, heaving up the crucifix above +me. And as he lifted it, a bright blade, strong, narrow, and sharp, +leaped out from beneath the feet of our Lord, and glittered within an +inch of my throat. An emblem of this false friar it was, the outside +of whom was as that of a holy man, while within he was a murdering sword.</p> +<p>“Read!” he whispered again, pricking my throat with the +dagger’s point.</p> +<p>Then I read aloud, and as I read I was half choked with my blood, +and now and then was stopped; but still he cried—</p> +<p>“Read, and if one word is wrong, thine absolution shall come +all the swifter.”</p> +<p>So I read, and, may I be forgiven if I sinned in deceiving one so +vile! I uttered not what I had written, but what he had bidden +me to write.</p> +<p>“I, Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, being now in the article of +death, do attest on my hope of salvation, and do especially desire Madame +Jeanne, La Pucelle, and all Frenchmen and Scots loyal to our Sovereign +Lord the Dauphin, to accept my witness that Brother Thomas, of the Order +of St. Francis, called Noiroufle while of the world, has been most falsely +and treacherously accused by me of divers deeds of black treason, and +dealing with our enemies of England, against our Lord the Dauphin, and +the Maid, the Sister of the Saints, and of this I heartily repent me, +as may God pardon my sins, on the faith of a sinful and dying man. +Signed, at Orleans, Norman Leslie, the younger, of Pitcullo, this eighth +of May, in the year of our Lord fourteen hundred and twenty-nine.”</p> +<p>When I had ended, he took away his blasphemous dagger-point from +my throat.</p> +<p>“Very clerkly read,” he spake, “and all runs smooth; +methinks myself had been no poor scribe, were I but a clerk. Hadst +thou written other matter, to betray my innocence, thou couldst not +remember what I said, even word for word,” he added gleefully. +“Now I might strangle thee slowly”; and he set his fingers +about my throat, I being too weak to do more than clutch at his hand, +with a grasp like a babe’s. “But that leaves black +finger-marks, another kind of witness than thine in my favour. +Or I might give thee the blade of this blessed crucifix; yet dagger +wounds are like lips and have a voice, and blood cries from the ground, +says Holy Writ. Pardon my tardiness, my poor brother, but this +demands deep thought, and holy offices must not be hurried unseemly.” +He sat now with his back to me, his hand still on my throat, so deep +in thought that he heard not, as did my sharpened ears, a door shut +softly, and foot-falls echoing in the house below. If I could +only cry aloud! but he would stifle me ere the cry reached my throat!</p> +<p>“This will serve,” he said. “Thou wilt have +died of thy malady, and I will go softly forth, and with hushed voice +will tell how the brave young Scot passed quietly to the saints. +Yet, after all, I know not. Thou hast been sent by Heaven to my +aid; clearly thou art an instrument of God to succour the unworthy Brother +Thomas. Once and twice thou hast been a boat to carry me on my +way, and to save my useful life. A third time thou mightst well +be serviceable, not by thy will, alas! but by God’s, my poor brother”; +and he mockingly caressed my face with his abhorred hand. “Still, +this must even serve, though I would fain find for thee a more bitter +way to death”; and he gently and carefully drew the pillow from +beneath my head. “This leaves no marks and tells no tales, +and permits no dying cry.”</p> +<p>He was looking at me, the pillow in his hands, his gesture that of +a tender nurse, when a light tap sounded on the door. He paused, +then came a louder knock, one pushed, and knocked again.</p> +<p>“Open, in the name of the Dauphin!” came a voice I knew +well, the voice of D’Aulon.</p> +<p>“The rope of Judas strangle thee!” said Brother Thomas, +dropping the pillow and turning to the casement. But it was heavily +barred with stanchions of iron, as the manner is, and thereby he might +not flee.</p> +<p>Then came fiercer knocking with a dagger hilt, and the cry, “Open, +in the name of the Dauphin, or we burst the door!”</p> +<p>Brother Thomas hastily closed the wooden shutter, to darken the chamber +as much as might be. “Gently, gently,” he said. +“Disturb not my penitent, who is newly shrived, and about to pass”; +and so speaking, he withdrew the bolt.</p> +<p>D’Aulon strode in, dagger in hand, followed by the physician.</p> +<p>“What make you here with doors barred, false priest?” +he said, laying his hand on the frock of Noiroufle.</p> +<p>“And what make you here, fair squire, with arms in a sick man’s +chamber, and loud words to disturb the dying? And wherefore callest +thou me ‘false priest’? But an hour agone, the blessed +Maid herself brought me hither, to comfort and absolve her follower, +to tend him, if he lived and, if he must die, to give him his dues as +a Christian man. And the door was bolted that the penitent might +be private with his confessor, for he has a heavy weight to unburden +his sinful soul withal.”</p> +<p>“Ay, the Maid sent thee, not knowing who thou wert, the traitor +friar taken at St. Loup, and thou hast a tongue that beguiled her simplicity. +But one that knew thee saw thy wolfs face in her company, and told me, +and I told the Maid, who sent me straightway back from the gate, that +justice might be done on thee. Thou art he whom this Scot charged +with treason, and would have slain for a spy, some nights agone.”</p> +<p>Brother Thomas cast up his eyes to heaven.</p> +<p>“Forgive us our trespasses,” said he, “as we forgive +them that trespass against us. Verily and indeed I am that poor +friar who tends the wounded, and verify I am he against whom this young +Scot, as, I fear, is the manner of all his benighted people, brought +a slanderous accusation falsely. All the more reason was there +that I should hear his last confession, and forgive him freely, as may +I also be forgiven.”</p> +<p>“Thou liest in thy throat,” said D’Aulon. +“This is a brave man-at-arms, and a loyal.”</p> +<p>“Would that thou wert not beguiled, fair sir, for I have no +pleasure in the sin of any man. But, if thou wilt believe him +rather than me, even keep thy belief, and read this written confession +of his falsehood. Of free will, with his own hand, my penitent +hereby absolves me from all his slanders. As Holy Church enjoins, +in the grace of repentance he also makes restitution of what he had +stolen, namely, all my wealth in this world, the good name of a poor +and lowly follower of the blessed Francis. Here is the scroll.”</p> +<p>With these words, uttered in a voice of sorrowing and humble honesty, +the friar stretched out the written sheet of paper to D’Aulon.</p> +<p>“Had I been a false traitor,” he said, “would not +her brethren of heaven have warned the blessed Maid against me? +And I have also a written safe-conduct from the holy sister Colette.”</p> +<p>Then I knew that he had fallen into my trap, and, weak as I was, +I could have laughed to think of his face, when the words I had written +came out in place of the words he had bidden me write. For a clerk +hath great power beyond the simple and unlettered of the world, be they +as cunning even as Brother Thomas.</p> +<p>“Nom Dieu! this is another story,” said D’Aulon, +turning the paper about in his hands and looking doubtfully at me. +But I smiled upon him, whereby he was the more perplexed. “The +ink is hardly dry, and in some places has run and puddled, so that, +poor clerk as I am, I can make little of it”; and he pored on +it in a perplexed sort. “Tush, it is beyond my clerkhood,” +he said at last. “You, Messire Saint-Mesmin,”—turning +to the physician—“must interpret this.”</p> +<p>“Willingly, fair sir,” said the physician, moving round +to the shutter, which he opened, while the cordelier’s eyes glittered, +for now there was one man less between him and the half-open door. +I nodded to D’Aulon that he should shut it, but he marked me not, +being wholly in amaze at the written scroll of my confession.</p> +<p>The physician himself was no great clerk, and he read the paper slowly, +stumbling over the words, as it were, while Brother Thomas, clasping +his crucifix to his breast, listened in triumph as he heard what he +himself had bidden me write.</p> +<p>“I, Norman Leslie, of—of Peet—What name is this? +Peet—I cannot utter it.”</p> +<p>“Passez outre,” quoth D’Aulon.</p> +<p>“I, Norman Leslie, being now in the article of death”—here +the leech glanced at me, shaking his head mournfully—“do +attest on my hope of salvation, and do especially desire Madame Jeanne +La Pucelle, and all Frenchmen and Scots loyal to our Sovereign Lord +the Dauphin, to accept my witness that Brother Thomas, of the Order +of St. Francis, called Noiroufle while of the world, has been most truly +and righteously accused by me of divers deeds of black treason.”</p> +<p>At these words the cordelier’s hand leaped up from his breast, +his crucifix dagger glittered bright, he tore his frock from D’Aulon’s +grip, leaving a rag of it in his hand, and smote, aiming at the squire +where the gorget joins the vambrace. Though he missed by an inch, +yet so terrible was the blow that D’Aulon reeled against the wall, +while the broken blade jingled on the stone floor. Then the frock +of the friar whisked through the open door of the chamber; we heard +the stairs cleared in two leaps, and D’Aulon, recovering his feet, +rushed after the false priest. But he was in heavy armour, the +cordelier’s bare legs were doubtless the nimbler, and the physician, +crossing himself, could only gape and stare on the paper in his hand. +As he gazed with his mouth open his eyes fell on me, white as my sheets, +that were dabbled with the blood from my mouth.</p> +<p>“Nom Dieu!” he stammered, “Nom Dieu! here is business +more to my mind and my trade than chasing after mad cordeliers that +stab with crucifixes!”</p> +<p>Then, coming to my side, he brought water, bathed my face, and did +what his art might do for a man in such deadly extremity as was mine. +In which care he was still busy when D’Aulon returned, panting, +having sent a dozen of townsfolk to hunt the friar, who had made good +his flight over garden walls, and was now skulking none knew where. +D’Aulon would fain have asked me concerning the mystery of the +confession in which Brother Thomas had placed his hope so unhappily, +but the physician forbade him to inquire, or me to answer, saying that +it was more than my life was worth. But on D’Aulon’s +battered armour there was no deeper dint than that dealt by the murderous +crucifix.</p> +<p>Thus this second time did Brother Thomas make his way out of our +hands, the devil aiding him, as always; for it seemed that ropes could +not bind or water drown him.</p> +<p>But, for my part, I lay long in another bout of sore fever, sick +here at Orleans, where I was very kindly entreated by the people of +the house, and notably by the daughter thereof, a fair maid and gentle. +To her care the Maid had commanded me when she left Orleans, the English +refusing battle, as later I heard, and withdrawing to Jargeau and Paris. +But of the rejoicings in Orleans I knew little or nothing, and had no +great desire for news, or meat, or drink, but only for sleep and peace, +as is the wont of sick men. Now as touches sickness and fever, +I have written more than sufficient, as Heaven knows I have had cause +enow. A luckless life was mine, save for the love of Elliot; danger +and wounds, and malady and escape, where hope seemed lost, were and +were yet to be my portion, since I sailed forth out of Eden-mouth. +And so hard pressed of sickness was I, that not even my outwitting of +Brother Thomas was a cause of comfort to me, though to this day I cannot +think of it without some mirthful triumph.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI—HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN LESLIE, AND JOY THEREAFTER</h2> +<p>It little concerns any man to know how I slowly recovered my health +after certain failings back into the shadow of death. Therefore +I need not tell how I was physicked, and bled, and how I drew on from +a diet of milk to one of fish, and so to a meal of chicken’s flesh, +till at last I could sit, wrapped up in many cloaks, on a seat in the +garden, below a great mulberry tree. In all this weary time I +knew little, and for long cared less, as to what went on in the world +and the wars. But so soon as I could speak it was of Elliot that +I devised, with my kind nurse, Charlotte Boucher, the young daughter +of Jacques Boucher, the Duke’s treasurer, in whose house I lay. +She was a fair lass, and merry of mood, and greatly hove up my heart +to fight with my disease. It chanced that, as she tended me, when +I was at my worst, she marked, hanging on a silken string about my neck, +a little case of silver artfully wrought, wherein was that portrait +of my mistress, painted by me before I left Chinon. Being curious, +like all girls, and deeming that the case held some relic, she opened +it, I knowing nothing then of what she did. But when I was well +enough to lie abed and devise with her, it chanced that I was playing +idly with my fingers about the silver case.</p> +<p>“Belike,” said Charlotte, “that is some holy relic, +to which, maybe, you owe your present recovery. Surely, when you +are whole again, you have vowed a pilgrimage to the shrine of the saint, +your friend?” Here she smiled at me gaily, for she was a +right merry damsel, and a goodly.</p> +<p>“Nay,” she said, “I have done more for you than +your physician, seeing that I, or the saint you serve, have now brought +the red colour into these wan cheeks of yours. Is she a Scottish +saint, then? perchance St. Margaret, of whom I have read? Will +you not let me look at the sacred thing?”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said I. “Methinks, from your smiling, +that you have taken opportunity to see my treasure before to-day, being +a daughter of our mother Eve.”</p> +<p>“She is very beautiful,” said Charlotte; “nay, +show her to me again!”</p> +<p>With that I pressed the spring and opened the case, for there is +no lover but longs to hear his lady commended, and to converse about +her. Yet I had spoken no word, for my part, about her beauty, +having heard say that he who would be well with one woman does ill to +praise another in her presence.</p> +<p>“Beautiful, indeed, she is,” said Charlotte. “Never +have I seen such eyes, and hair like gold, and a look so gracious! +And for thy pilgrimage to the shrine of this fair saint, where does +she dwell?”</p> +<p>I told her at Chinon, or at Tours, or commonly wheresoever the Court +might be, for that her father was the King’s painter.</p> +<p>“And you love her very dearly?”</p> +<p>“More than my life,” I said. “And may the +saints send you, demoiselle, as faithful a lover, to as fair a lady.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” she said, reddening. “This is high +treason, and well you wot that you hold no lady half so fair as your +own. Are you Scots so smooth-spoken? You have not that repute. +Now, what would you give to see that lady?”</p> +<p>“All that I have, which is little but my service and goodwill. +But she knows not where I am, nor know I how she fares, which irks me +more than all my misfortunes. Would that I could send a letter +to her father, and tell him how I do, and ask of their tidings.”</p> +<p>“The Dauphin is at Tours,” she said, “and there +is much coming and going between Tours and this town. For the +Maid is instant with the Dauphin to ride forthwith to Reims, and there +be sacred and crowned; but now he listens and believes, and anon his +counsellors tell him that this is foolhardy, and a thing impossible.”</p> +<p>“O they of little faith!” I said, sighing.</p> +<p>“None the less, word has come that the Maid has been in her +oratory at prayers, and a Voice from heaven has called to her, saying, +‘Fille de Dieu, va, va, va! Je serai en ton aide. +Va!’ <a name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27">{27}</a> +The Dauphin is much confirmed in his faith by this sign, and has vowed +that he will indeed march with the Maid to Reims, though his enemies +hold all that country which lies between. But first she must take +the towns which the English hold on Loire side, such as Jargeau. +Now on Jargeau, while you lay knowing nothing, the Bastard of Orleans, +and Xaintrailles, and other good knights, made an onslaught, and won +nothing but loss for their pains, though they slew Messire Henry Bisset, +the captain of the town. But if the Maid takes Jargeau, the Dauphin +will indeed believe in her and follow her.”</p> +<p>“He is hard of heart to believe, and would that I were where +he should be—under her holy pennon, for thereon, at least, I should +see the face painted of my lady. But how does all this bring me +nearer the hope of hearing about her, and how she fares?”</p> +<p>“There are many messengers coming and going to Tours, for the +Dauphin is gathering force under the Maid, and has set the fair Duc +d’Alençon to be her lieutenant, with the Bastard, and La +Hire, and Messire Florent d’Illiers. And all are to be here +in Orleans within few days; wherefore now write to the father of thy +lady, and I will myself write to her.” With that she gave +me paper and pen, and I indited a letter to my master, telling him how +I had lain near to death of my old wound, in Orleans, and that I prayed +him of his goodness to let me know how he did, and to lay me at the +feet of my lady. Then Charlotte showed me her letter, wherein +she bade Elliot know that I had hardly recovered, after winning much +fame (for so she said) and a ransom of gold from an English prisoner, +which now lay in the hands of her father, the Duke’s treasurer. +Then she said that a word from Elliot, not to say the sight of her face, +the fairest in the world (a thing beyond hope), would be of more avail +for my healing than all the Pharaoh powders of the apothecaries. +These, in truth, I had never taken, but put them away secretly, as doubting +whether such medicaments, the very dust of the persecuting Egyptian +and idolatrous race, were fit for a Christian to swallow, with any hope +of a blessing. Thus my kind nurse ended, calling herself my lady’s +sister in the love of France and of the Maid, and bidding my lady be +mindful of so true a lover, who lay sick for a token at her hands. +These letters she sealed, and intrusted to Colet de Vienne, the royal +messenger, the same who rode from Vaucouleurs to Chinon, in the beginning +of the Maid’s mission, and who, as then, was faring to Tours with +letters from Orleans.</p> +<p>Meanwhile all the town was full of joy, in early June, because the +Maid was to visit the city, with D’Alençon and the Bastard, +on her way to besiege Jargeau. It was June the ninth, in the year +of our Lord fourteen hundred and twenty-nine, the sun shining warm in +a clear blue sky, and all the bells of Orleans a-ringing, to welcome +back the Maiden. I myself sat in the window, over the doorway, +alone with Charlotte sitting by my side, for her father had gone to +the Hôtel de Ville, with her mother, to welcome the captains. +Below us were hangings of rich carpets, to make the house look gay, +for every house was adorned in the best manner, and flags floated in +the long street, and flowers strewed the road, to do honour to our deliverer. +Thus we waited, and presently the sound of music filled the air, with +fragrance of incense, for the priests were walking in front, swinging +censers and chanting the Te Deum laudamus. And then came a company +of girls strewing flowers, and fair boys blowing on trumpets, and next, +on a black horse, in white armour, with a hucque of scarlet broidered +with gold, the blessed Maid herself, unhelmeted, glancing every way +with her happy eyes, while the women ran to touch her armour with their +rings, as to a saint, and the men kissed her mailed feet.</p> +<p>To be alive, and to feel my life returning in a flood of strength +and joy in that sweet air, with the gladness of the multitude pulsing +through it as a man’s heart beats in his body, seemed to me like +Paradise. But out of Paradise our first parents were driven long +ago, as anon I was to be from mine. For, as the Maid passed, I +doffed my cap and waved it, since to shout “Noël” with +the rest, I dared not, because of my infirmity. Now, it so fell +that, glancing around, she saw and knew me, and bowed to me, with a +gesture of her hand, as queenly as if she, a manant’s child, had +been a daughter of France. At that moment, noting the Maid’s +courtesy towards me, Charlotte stood up from beside me, with a handful +of red roses, which she threw towards her. As it chanced, belike +because she was proud to be with one whom the Maid honoured, or to steady +herself as she threw, she laid her left hand about my neck, and so standing, +cast her flowers, and then looked laughing back into my eyes, with a +happy face. The roses missed the Maid, whose horse caracoled at +that moment as she went by, but they lit in the lap of a damsel that +rode at her rein, on a lyart <a name="citation28"></a><a href="#footnote28">{28}</a> +palfrey, and she looking up, I saw the face of Elliot, and Elliot saw +me, and saw Charlotte leaning on me and laughing. Then Elliot’s +face grew deadly pale, her lower lip stiff, as when she was angered +with me at Chinon, and so, wrying her neck suddenly to the left, she +rode on her way, nor ever looked towards us again.</p> +<p>“Who may that proud damsel be, and what ails her at my roses?” +quoth Charlotte, sitting herself down again and still following them +with her eyes. “Methinks I have seen her face before; and +what ails you?” she asked, looking earnestly on me, “for +you are as white as the last snow ere it melts in spring.”</p> +<p>I had good reason to be pale, for I very well guessed that Elliot, +having ridden in the Maiden’s company to see me, and to surprise +me with the unlooked-for gladness of her coming, had marked Charlotte +as she so innocently leaned on me and laughed to me, and had conceived +anger against us both, for of a truth Charlotte was very fair and of +a joyous aspect. Yet, taken so suddenly as I was, between the +extreme of delight in looking on my lady beyond hope, and the very deep +of sorrow that she had so bitterly slighted me, I was yet wary of betraying +myself. For the girl beside me had, in all honest and maidenly +service that woman may do for man, been kinder to me than a sister, +and no thought or word of earthly love had ever passed between us. +That she should wot of Elliot’s anger, and of its cause, and so +hold my lady lightly, ay, and triumph over her in her heart (as is the +nature of a woman, her ministry being thus churlishly repaid), was more +than I could endure. So, may the saints forgive me! I lied, and +it is a strange thing, but true, that howsoever a gentleman may hate +the very thought of a lie, yet often he finds it hard to tell the truth +to a woman.</p> +<p>“Do I look white?” I said. “Then it is because +I have a sudden pang of sorrow. For one moment I deemed that proud +damsel was the lady of my love, whom, in verity, she most strangely +favours, so that you might think them sisters. But alas! she is +but the daughter of a good Scots knight at Chinon, whom I have seen +there before to-day, and marvelled how much she and my lady favour each +other. Therefore am I pale, because that hope of mine is broken. +And you know her face, belike, from my poor picture of my lady.”</p> +<p>Charlotte looked at me steadily, and flushed red; but even then, +one who rode by among the men-at-arms noted me, and, waving his arm +towards me, cried in a loud voice—</p> +<p>“Hail, fair son, soon will I be with thee!” and so, turning +in his saddle to watch me, he laughed a loud laugh and rode onwards. +He was my master, and as my eyes followed him, Charlotte spoke.</p> +<p>“And who is that great Scot, with his Scots twang of the tongue, +who called you ‘son’? By the Mass, she was your lady, +and yonder wight is her father, of whom you have spoken to me more than +once”; for, indeed, I had told her all the story of my loves.</p> +<p>Then I was confused, for I could no longer deny the truth, and not +having one word to say, I sighed from my heart.</p> +<p>“O faint-spirited man-at-arms!” cried Charlotte, blushing, +and laughing as if some exquisite jest were abroad. “Do +you so terribly dread your mistress’s anger? Nay, be of +good cheer! Me she will never forgive while the world stands; +for have I not been your nurse, and won you back to life and to her +service? And has she not seen us twain together in one place, +and happy, because of the coming of the Maid? She will pardon +me never, because, also for my sake, she has been wroth with you, and +shown you her wrath, and all without a cause. Therefore she will +be ashamed, and all the more cruel. Nay, nor would I forgive her, +in the same case, if it befell me, for we women are all alike, hearts +of wolves when we love! Hast thou never marked a cat that had +kittens, or a brachet that had whelps, how they will fly at man or horse +that draws near their brood, even unwittingly. And so, when we +love, are we all, and the best of us are then the worst. Verily +the friendship of you and me is over and done; but for your part be +glad, not sorry, for with all her heart and soul she loves you. +Else she had not been angered.”</p> +<p>“You must not speak, nor I hear, such words of my lady,” +I said; “it is not seemly.”</p> +<p>“Such words of your lady, and of Aymeric’s lady, and +of Giles’s lady, and of myself were I any man’s lady, as +I am no man’s lady, I will think and speak,” said Charlotte, +“for my words are true, and we maids are, at best, pretty fools, +and God willed us to be so for a while, and then to be wiser than the +rest of you. For, were we not pretty, would you wed us? and were +we not fools, would we wed you? and where would God’s world be +then? But now you have heard enough of my wisdom: for I love no +man, being very wise; or you have heard enough of my folly that my mirth +bids me speak, as you shall deem it. And now, we must consider +how this great feud may be closed, and the foes set at one again.”</p> +<p>“Shall I find out her lodgings, and be carried thither straightway +in a litter? Her heart may be softened when she sees that I cannot +walk or mount a horse?”</p> +<p>“Now, let me think what I should deem, if I had ridden by, +unlooked for, and spied my lover with a maid, not unfriendly, or perchance +uncomely, sitting smiling in a gallant balcony. Would I be appeased +when he came straight to seek me, borne in a litter? Would I—?” +And she mused, her finger at her mouth, and her brow puckered, but with +a smile on her lips and in her eyes.</p> +<p>Then I, seeing her so fair, yet by me so undesired; and beholding +her so merry, while my heart was amazed with the worst sorrow, and considering, +too, that but for her all this would never have been, but I sitting +happy by my lady’s side,—thinking on all this, I say, I +turned from her angrily, as if I would leave the balcony.</p> +<p>“Nay, wait,” she cried, “for I must see all the +show out, and here come the Scots Guard, thy friends, and I need time +to take counsel with my wisdom on this weighty matter. See, they +know you”; and, indeed, many a man in that gallant array waved +his hand to me merrily, as they filed past under their banners—the +Douglas’s bloody heart, the Crescent moon of Harden, the Napier’s +sheaf of spears, the blazons of Lindsays and Leslies, Homes, and Hepburns, +and Stuarts. It was a sight to put life into the dying breast +of a Scot in a strange country, and all were strong men and young, ruddy +and brown of cheek, high of heart and heavy of hand. And most +beckoned to me, and pointed onwards to that way whither they were bound, +in chase of fame and fortune. All this might have made a sick +man whole, but my spirit was dead within me, so that I could scarce +beckon back to them, or even remember their faces.</p> +<p>“Would I forgive you,” said Charlotte, after she had +thrown the remnant of her roses to her friends among the Scots, “if +you hurried to me, pale, and borne in a litter? Nay, methinks +not, or not for long; and then I should lay it on you never to see her +face again;—she is I, you know, for the nonce. But if you +waited and did not come, then my pride might yield at length, and I +send for you. But then, if so, methinks I would hate her (that +is, me) more than ever. Oh, it is a hard case when maids are angry!”</p> +<p>“You speak of yourself, how you would do this or that; but +my lady is other than you, and pitiful. Did she not come all these +leagues at a word from me, hearing that I was sick?”</p> +<p>“At a word from you, good youth! Nay, at a word from +me! Did you speak of me in your letter to her father?”</p> +<p>“Nay!” said I.</p> +<p>“You did well. And therefore it was that I wrote, for +I knew she would move heaven and earth and the Maid or she would come +when she heard of another lass being in your company. Nay, trust +me, we women understand each other, and she would ask the Maid, who +lodged here with us, what manner of lass I was to look upon, and the +Maid’s answer would bring her.”</p> +<p>“You have been kind,” I said. “And to you +and the saints I owe it that I yet live to carry a sore heart and be +tormented with your ill tongue.”</p> +<p>“And had you heard that a fair young knight, and renowned in +arms, lay sick at your lady’s house, she nursing him, would you +not have cast about for ways of coming to her?”</p> +<p>To this I answered nothing, but, with a very sour countenance, was +rising to go, when my name was called in the street.</p> +<p>Looking down, I saw my master, who doffed his cap to the daughter +of the house, and begging leave to come up, fastened his horse’s +bridle to the ring in the wall, by the door.</p> +<p>Up he came, whom Charlotte welcomed very demurely, and so left us, +saying that she must go about her household business; but as she departed +she cast a look back at me, making a “moue,” as the French +say, with her red lips.</p> +<p>“Well, my son,” cried my master, taking my hand, “why +so pale? Sure thou hast had a sore bout, but thou art mending.”</p> +<p>I could but stammer my lady’s name—</p> +<p>“Elliot—shall I see her soon?”</p> +<p>He scratched his rough head and pulled his russet beard, and so laughed +shamefacedly.</p> +<p>“Why, lad, to that very end she came, and now—St. Anthony’s +fire take me if I well know why—she will none of it. The +Maid brought us in her company, for, as you know, she will ever have +young lasses with her when she may, and as far as Orleans the roads +are safe. And who so glad as Elliot when the Maid put this command +on her, after we got thy letter? I myself was most eager to ride, +not only for your sake, but to see how Orleans stood after the long +pounding. But when we had come to our lodging, and I was now starting +off to greet you, Elliot made no motion of rising. Nay, when I +bade her make haste, she said that haste there was none; and when I, +marvelling, asked, ‘Wherefore?’ answered that she was loth +to spoil good company, and had seen you, as I did myself, happy enough +with the lass who nursed you, and who had written to her.”</p> +<p>“And wherefore, in Heaven’s name, should we not be happy +on such a day as this was an hour agone? But now the sun is out +of the sky.”</p> +<p>“I see him plainer than ever I did in the Merse,” said +my master, looking up where the sun was bright in the west. “But +what would you? Women have been thus since Eve had a daughter, +for our father Adam, I trow, had no trouble with other ladies than his +wife—and that was trouble enough.”</p> +<p>“But how am I to make my peace, and win my pardon, being innocent +as I am?”</p> +<p>“Faith, I know not!” said he, and laughed again, which +angered me some deal, for what was there to laugh at?</p> +<p>“May I let bring a litter, for I cannot yet walk, and so go +back with you to her?”</p> +<p>“Indeed, I doubt if it were wise,” said he; and so we +stood gazing at each other, while I could have wept for very helpless +anger. “I have it, I think,” said he at last. +“The Maid is right busy, as needs must be, gathering guns and +food for her siege of Jargeau. But it is not fitting that she +should visit Orleans without seeing you, nor would she wish to be so +negligent. Yet if she were, I would put it in her mind, and then, +when you are with her, which Elliot shall not know, I will see that +Elliot comes into the chamber, and so leave all to you, and to her, +and to the Maid. For she hath great power with that silly wench +of mine, who has no other desire, I trow, than a good excuse to be rid +of her sudden anger. If she loved you less, she would be never +so fiery.”</p> +<p>I myself could see no better hope or comfort.</p> +<p>Then he began to devise with me on other matters, and got from me +the story of my great peril at the hands of Brother Thomas. He +laughed at the manner of my outwitting that miscreant, who had never +been taken, but was fled none knew whither, and my master promised to +tell the tale to the Maid, and warn her against this enemy. And +so bidding me be of good cheer, he departed; but for my part, I went +into my chamber, drew the bolt, and cast myself on the bed, refusing +meat or drink, or to see the face of man or woman.</p> +<p>I was devoured by a bitter anger, considering how my lady had used +me, and what was most sore of all, reflecting that I could no longer +hold her for a thing all perfect, and almost without touch of mortal +infirmity. Nay, she was a woman like another, and unjust, and +to deem thus of her was to me the most cruel torment. We could +never forgive each the other, so it seemed to me, nor be again as we +had been. And all the next day no message came for me, and I kept +myself quiet, apart in my chamber. Lest they who read mock at +me in their hearts, and at my lady, let them remember how young we both +were, and how innocent of other experience in love. For the Roman +says that “the angers of lovers are love’s renewal,” +as the brief tempests of April bring in the gladness of May. But +in my heart it was all white sleet, and wind, and snow unseasonable, +and so I lay, out of all comfort, tossing on my bed.</p> +<p>I heard the watchmen call the hours through the night, and very early, +having at length fallen on sleep, I was wakened by a messenger from +the Maid. It was her page, Louis de Coutes, most richly attired, +but still half asleep, grumbling, and rubbing his eyes.</p> +<p>“My mistress bids you come with me instantly,” he said, +when we had saluted each other, “and I have brought a litter and +men to carry it. Faith, if I lay in it, I should be asleep ere +ever they had borne me ten paces. What a life it is that I lead! +Late to bed and up by prime, so busy is my mistress; and she lives as +it were without sleep, and feeds on air.”</p> +<p>Here he threw himself down in a great chair, and verily, by the time +I had washed and attired myself, I had to shake him by the shoulder +to arouse him. Thus I was carried to the Maid’s lodging, +my heart beating like a hammer with hopes and fears.</p> +<p>We found her already armed, for that day she was to ride to Jargeau, +and none was with her but her confessor. She gave me the best +of greetings, and bade me eat bread and drink wine. “And +soon,” she said, “if you recover the quicker, I trust to +give you wine to drink in Paris.”</p> +<p>She herself dipped a crust in wine and water, and presently, bidding +her confessor, Pasquerel, wait for her in the little oratory, she asked +me how I did, and told me what fear she had been in for me, as touching +Brother Thomas, when she learned who he was, yet herself could not return +from the field to help me.</p> +<p>“But now,” said she, smiling with a ravishing sweetness, +“I hear you are in far greater peril from a foe much harder and +more cruel—ma mie Elliot. Ah! how you lovers put yourselves +in jeopardy, and take me from my trade of war to play the peacemaker! +Surely I have chosen the safer path in open breach and battle, though +would that my war was ended, and I sitting spinning again beside my +dear mother.” Hereon her face grew more tender and sad than +ever I had seen it, and there came over me forgetfulness of my private +grief, as of a little thing, and longing to ride at the Maiden’s +rein, where glory was to be won.</p> +<p>“Would that even now I could march with you,” I said; +and she, smiling, made answer—</p> +<p>“That shall yet be; yea, verily,” and here the fashion +of her countenance altered wondrously, “I know, and know not how +I know, that thou shalt be with me when all have forsaken me and fled.”</p> +<p>Then she fell silent, and I also, marvelling on her face and on the +words which she spoke. There came a light tap at the door, and +she awoke as it were from a trance which possessed her. She drew +her hands over her face, with a long sigh; she knelt down swiftly, and +crossed herself, making an obeisance, for I deem that her saints had +been with her, wherefore I also crossed myself and prayed. Then +she rose and cried “Enter!” and ere I could speak she had +passed into the oratory, and I was alone with Elliot.</p> +<p>Elliot gave one low cry, and cast her arms about my neck, hiding +her face on my breast, and sobbing as if her heart would break.</p> +<p>“I have been mad, I have been bad!” she moaned. +“Oh! say hard words to me, and punish me, my love.”</p> +<p>But I had no word to say, only I fell back into a great chair for +very weakness, holding my lady in my arms.</p> +<p>And thus, with words few enough, but great delight, the minutes went +past, till she lifted her wet face and her fragrant hair; and between +laughing and crying, studied on my face and caressed me, touching my +thin cheek, and wept and laughed again. “I was mad,” +she whispered; “it seemed as if a devil entered into me. +But She spoke to me and cast him out, and she bade me repent.”</p> +<p>“And do penance,” I said, kissing her till she laughed +again, saying that I was a hard confessor, and that the Maid had spoken +no word of penances.</p> +<p>“Yet one I must do and suffer,” she said, “and +it is more difficult to me than these austerities of thine.”</p> +<p>Here her face grew very red, and she hid it with her hands.</p> +<p>“What mean you?” I asked, wondering.</p> +<p>“I must see her, and thank her for all her kindness to thee.”</p> +<p>“The Maid?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Nay, that other, thy—fair nurse. Nay, forbid me +not, I have sworn it to myself, and I must go. And the Maiden +told me, when I spoke of it, that it was no more than right.” +Then she threw her arms about me again, in the closest embrace, and +hid her head. Now, this resolve of hers gave me no little cause +of apprehension, as not knowing well how things might pass in such an +encounter of two ladies. But even then one touched me on the shoulder +from behind, and the Maid herself stood beside us.</p> +<p>“O joy!” she said, “my peacemaking has been blessed! +Go, you foolish folk, and sin no more, and peace and happiness be with +you, long years, and glad children at your knees. Yet hereof I +know nothing from my counsel. And now I must go forth about the +Dauphin’s business, and to do that for which I was sent. +They that brought thee in the litter will carry thee back again; so +farewell.”</p> +<p>Thus saying, she stooped and kissed Elliot, who leaped up and caught +the Maid in her arms, and they embraced, and parted for that time, Elliot +weeping to lose her, and at the thought of the dangers of war.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII—HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES</h2> +<p>The Maid’s confessor, Pasquerel, stood in the chamber where +we had met, with his eyes bent on the ground, so that Elliot and I had +no more free speech at that time. Therefore I said farewell, not +daring to ask of her when her mind was to visit my hosts, and, indeed, +my trust was that she might leave this undone, lest new cause of sorrow +should arise. Thus we parted, with very courtly leave-taking, +the priest regarding us in his manner, and I was carried in the litter +through the streets, that had been so quiet when I came forth in the +morning, but now they were full of men and of noise. Herds of +cattle were being driven for the food of the army marching against Jargeau; +there were trains of carts full of victual, and the citizens having +lent the Maid their great pieces of ordnance, the bombard called “The +Shepherdess,” and the gun “Montargis,” these were +being dragged along by clamorous companies of apprentices, and there +were waggons charged with powder, and stone balls, and boxes of arrows, +spades and picks for trenching, and all manner of munition of war. +By reason of the troops of horses and of marching men, they that bore +me were often compelled to stop. Therefore, lest any who knew +me should speak with me, I drew the curtains of the litter, for I had +much matter to think on, and was fain to be private. But this +was to be of no avail, for I heard loud voices in my own tongue.</p> +<p>“What fair lady is this who travels so secretly?” and, +with this, one drew the curtains, and there was the face of Randal Rutherford, +with others behind him. Then he uttered a great cry—</p> +<p>“Faith, it is our lady of the linen-basket, and no other”; +and leaning within, he gave me a rough embrace and a kiss of his bearded +lips. “Why so early astir, our sick man?” he cried. +“Get yourself healed anon, and be with us when we take Paris town, +Norman, for there is booty enough to furnish all Scotland. Shalt +thou be with us yet?”</p> +<p>“If my strength backs my will, Randal; and truly your face +is a sight for sair eyne, and does me more good than all the powers +of the apothecary.”</p> +<p>“Then here is to our next merry meeting,” he cried, “under +Paris walls!”</p> +<p>With that the Scots gave a shout, and, some of them crowding round +to press my hand, they bade me be of good cheer, and all went onward, +singing in the tune of “Hey, tuttie tattie,” which the pipers +played when we broke the English at Bannockburn.</p> +<p>So I was borne back to the house of Jacques Boucher, and, in the +sunny courtyard, there stood Charlotte, looking gay and fair, yet warlike, +as I deemed. She was clad in a long garment of red over a white +robe, and had sleeves of green, so that she wore the spring’s +own colours, and she was singing a French ditty concerning a lady who +has a lover, and vows that she will never be a nun.</p> +<blockquote><p>Seray-je nonnette, oui ou non,<br /> +Serray-je nonnette, je croy que non!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Seeing me, she stinted in her singing, and in feeding a falcon that +was perched on her wrist.</p> +<p>“You are early astir for a sick man,” she said. +“Have you been on pilgrimage, or whither have you been faring?”</p> +<p>“The Maid sent for me right early, for to-day she rides to +Jargeau, and to you she sends a message of her love,”—as +indeed she had done, “but, for the great press of affairs she +might not visit you.”</p> +<p>“And Mistress Elliot Hume, has she forgiven her lover yet? +nay, I see by your face that you are forgiven! And you go south, +this very day, is it not so?”</p> +<p>“Indeed,” I said, “if it is your will that we part, +part we must, though I sorrow for it; but none has given me the word +to march, save you, my fair nurse and hostess.”</p> +<p>“Nay, it is not I who shall speed you; nevertheless the Maid +is not the only prophetess in this realm of France, and something tells +me that we part this day. But you are weary; will you get you +to your chamber, or sit in the garden under the mulberry-tree, and I +shall bring you out a cup of white wine.”</p> +<p>Weary I was indeed, and the seat in the garden among the flowers +seemed a haven most desirable. So thither I went, leaning on her +shoulder, and she returned to bring the wine, but was some while absent, +and I sat deep in thought. I was marvelling, not only as to what +my mistress would next do, and when I should see her again (though that +was uppermost in my mind), but also concerning the strange words of +the Maid, that I alone should be with her when all forsook her and fled. +How might this be, and was she not to be ever victorious, and drive +the English forth of France? To my thinking the Maid dwelt ever +in two worlds, with her brethren of Paradise, and again with sinful +men. And I have often considered that she did not always remember, +in this common life, what had befallen her, and what she knew when, +as the Apostle says, she “was out of the body.” For +I have heard her say, more than once, that she “would last but +one year, or little more,” and, again, she would make plans for +three years to come, or four, which is a mystery.</p> +<p>So I was pondering, when I looked up, and saw Charlotte standing +in the entrance between the court and garden, looking at me and smiling, +as she shaded her eyes with her hand from the sun, and then she ran +to me lightly as a lapwing.</p> +<p>“They are coming down the street, looking every way for our +house, your lady and her father,” she said, putting the wine-cup +into my hand. “Now is it war or peace?” and she fled +back again within the house.</p> +<p>My heart stood still, for now everything was on the fall of the dice. +Would this mad girl be mocking or meek? Would she anger my lady +to my ruin with her sharp tongue? For Charlotte was of a high +temper, and wont to rule all the house by reason of her beauty and kind +wild ways. Nor was Elliot the meekest of women, as well I knew, +and a word, nay a smile, or a glance of mockery, might lightly turn +her heart from me again for ever. Oh! the lot of a lover is hard, +at least if he has set all his heart on the cast, as I had done, and +verily, as our Scots saw runs, “women are kittle cattle.” +It is a strange thing that one who has learned not to blench from a +bare blade, or in bursting of cannon-balls and flight of arrows, should +so easily be daunted where a weak girl is concerned; yet so it was in +my case. I know not if I feared more than now when Brother Thomas +had me in the still chamber, alone at his mercy.</p> +<p>So the minutes went by, the sun and shade flickering through the +boughs of the mulberry-tree, and the time seemed long. Perchance, +I thought, there had been war, as Charlotte had said, and my lady had +departed in anger with her father, and I was all undone. Yet I +dared not go to seek them in the house, not knowing how matters were +passing, and whether I should do good or harm. So I waited, and +at length Charlotte came forth alone. Now she walked slowly, her +eyes bent on the ground, and, as she drew near, I saw that they were +red, and I guessed that she had been weeping. So I gave up all +for lost, and my heart turned to water within me.</p> +<p>“I am sent to bid you come in,” she said gravely.</p> +<p>“What has passed?” I cried. “For the saints’ +sake, tell me all!”</p> +<p>“This has passed, that I have seen such a lady as I never dreamed +I should see, and she has made me weep—foolish that I am!”</p> +<p>“Why, what did she? Did she speak unkindly then, to my +kind nurse?”</p> +<p>For this I could in no manner have endured, nor have abased myself +to love one that was unjust, how dear soever; and none could be dearer +than Elliot. Yet unjust she might have been; and this thought +to me was the greatest torment.</p> +<p>“Speak unkind words? Oh, I remember my foolish talk, +how I said that she would never forgive me while the world stands. +Nay, while her father was with mine and with my mother, thanking them +for what they did for you, she led me apart to devise with me, and I +took her to my chamber, and there, with tears in her eyes, and in the +sweetest manner, she prayed me to pardon her for that she had been mad +for a moment; and so, looking meek as an angel, she awaited my word. +And I could not but weep, though to weep is never my way, and we embraced +each the other, and I told her how all your converse had ever been of +her, even when you were beside yourself, in your fever, and how never +was so faithful a lover. Nay, I bid you be glad, for I never deemed +that any woman living on earth would so repent and so confess herself +to another, where she herself had first been wroth, but would blame +all the world rather, and herself—never. So we women are +not all alike, as I thought; for I would hardly have forgiven, if I +know myself; and yet I am no worse than another. Truly, she has +been much with the Maid, and has caught from her this, to be like her, +who is alone among women, and of the greatest heart.”</p> +<p>Here she ceased to speak very gravely, as she had till now done, +and breaking out into a sweet laughter, she cried—</p> +<p>“Nevertheless I am not wholly a false prophetess, for to-day +you go with them southward, to Tours, to change the air, as the physician +counsels, and so now we part. O false Scot!” she said, laughing +again, “how have you the ill courtesy to look so joyous? +Nay, I shall change your cheer”; and with that she stooped and +kissed my cheek, saying, “Go, and joy go with you, as joy abides +with me, to see my sick man look so strong again. Come, they are +waiting for us, and you know we must not tarry.”</p> +<p>Then, giving me her arm, she led me in, and if one of us twain had +a shamefaced guise, verify it was not Charlotte Boucher.</p> +<p>“I yield you back your esquire, fair lady,” she said +merrily, making obeisance to Elliot, who stood up, very pale, to receive +us.</p> +<p>“He has got no ill in the bower of the enchantress,” +said my master; whereat, Elliot seeming some deal confused, and blushing, +Charlotte bustled about, bringing wine and meat, and waiting upon all +of us, and on her father and mother at table. A merry dinner it +was among the elder folk, but Elliot and I were somewhat silent, and +a great joy it was to me, and a heavy weight off my heart, I do confess, +when, dinner being ended, and all courtesies done and said, my raiment +was encased in wallets, and we all went through the garden, to Loire +side; and so, with many farewells, took boat and sailed down the river, +under the Bridge of Orleans, towards Blois. But Charlotte I never +saw again, nor did I ever speak of her to Elliot, nor Elliot of her +to me, from that day forth.</p> +<p>But within short space came tidings, how that Charlotte was wedding +a young burgess of Orleans, with whom, as I hear, she dwelt happily, +and still, for all I know, dwells in peace. As I deem, she kept +her lord in a merry life, yet in great order and obedience. So +now there is no more to tell of her, save that her picture comes back +before me—a tall, brown girl, with black hair and eyes like the +hue of hazel boughs glassed in running water, clad in white and green +and red, standing smiling beneath the red-and-white blossoms of an apple-tree, +in the green garden of Jacques Boucher.</p> +<p>Elliot was silent enough, and sat telling her beads, in the beginning +of our journey down the water-way, that is the smoothest and the easiest +voyaging for a sick man. She was in the stern of the boat, her +fingers, when her beads were told, trailing in the smooth water, that +was green with the shade of leaves. But her father stood by me, +asking many questions concerning the siege, and gaping at the half-mended +arch of the bridge, where through we sailed, and at the blackened walls +of Les Tourelles, and all the ruin that war had wrought. But now +masons and carpenters were very busy rebuilding all, and the air was +full of the tinkling of trowels and hammers. Presently we passed +the place where I had drawn Brother Thomas from the water; but thereof +I said no word, for indeed my dreams were haunted by his hooded face, +like that of the snake which, as travellers tell, wears a hood in Prester +John’s country, and is the most venomous of beasts serpentine. +So concerning Brother Thomas I held my peace, and the barque, swinging +round a corner of the bank, soon brought us into a country with no sign +of war on it, and here the poplar-trees had not been felled for planks +to make bulwarks, but whispered by the riverside.</p> +<p>The wide stream carried many a boat, and shone with sails, white, +and crimson, and brown; the boat-men sang, or hailed each other from +afar. There was much traffic, stores being carried from Blois +to the army. Some mile or twain above Beaugency we were forced +to land, and, I being borne in a litter, we took a cross-path away from +the stream, joining it again two miles below Beaugency, because the +English held that town, though not for long. The sun had set, +yet left all his gold shining on the water when we entered Blois, and +there rested at a hostel for the night. Next day—one of +the goodliest of my life, so soft and clear and warm it was, yet with +a cool wind on the water—we voyaged to Tours; and now Elliot was +glad enough, making all manner of mirth.</p> +<p>Her desire, she said, was to meet a friend that she had left at their +house in Tours, one that she had known as long as she knew me, my friend +he was too, yet I had never spoken of him, or asked how he did. +Now I, being wrapped up wholly in her, and in my joy to see her kind +again, and so beautiful, had no memory of any such friend, wherefore +she mocked me, and rebuked me for a hard heart and ungrateful. +“This friend of mine,” she said, “was the first that +made us known each to other. Yea, but for him, the birds might +have pecked out your eyne, and the ants eaten your bones bare, yet”—with +a sudden anger, and tears in her eyes at the words she spoke—“you +have clean forgotten him!”</p> +<p>“Ah, you mean the jackanapes. And how is the little champion?”</p> +<p>“Like the lads of Wamfray, aye for ill, and never for good,” +said my master; but she frowned on him, and said—</p> +<p>“Now you ask, because I forced you on it; but, sir, I take +it very ill that you have so short a memory for a friend. Now, +tell me, in all the time since you left us at Chinon, how often have +you thought of him?”</p> +<p>“Nigh as often as I thought of you,” I answered. +“For when you came into my mind (and that was every minute), as +in a picture, thither too came your playfellow, climbing and chattering, +and holding out his little bowl for a comfit.”</p> +<p>“Nay, then you thought of me seldom, or you would have asked +how he does.”</p> +<p>Here she turned her face from me, half in mock anger. But, +just as it is with children, so it was with Elliot, for indeed my dear +was ever much of a child, wherefore her memory is now to me so tender. +And as children make pretence to be in this humour or that for sport, +and will affect to be frighted till they really fear and weep, so Elliot +scarce knew how deep her own humour went, and whether she was acting +like a player in a Mystery, or was in good earnest. And if she +knew not rightly what her humour was, far less could I know, so that +she was ever a puzzle to me, and kept me in a hundred pretty doubts +and dreads every day. Alas! how sorely, through all these years, +have I longed to hear her rebuke me in mirth, and put me adread, and +laugh at me again I for she was, as it were, wife and child to me, at +once, and I a child with her, and as happy as a child.</p> +<p>Thus, nothing would now jump with her humour but to be speaking of +her jackanapes, and how he would come louting and leaping to welcome +her, and forsake her old kinswoman, who had followed with them to Tours. +And she had much to report concerning his new tricks: how he would leap +over a rod for the Dauphin or the Maid, but not if adjured in the name +of the English King, or the Duke of Burgundy. Also, if you held +him, he would make pretence to bite any that you called Englishman or +false Frenchman. Moreover, he had now been taught to fetch and +carry, and would climb into Elliot’s window, from the garden, +and bring her little basket of silks, or whatsoever she desired, or +carry it thither, as he was commanded.</p> +<p>“And he wrung the cat’s neck,” quoth my master; +but Elliot bade him hold his peace.</p> +<p>In such sport the hours passed, till we were safely come to Tours, +and so to their house in a street running off the great place, where +the cathedral stands. It was a goodly dwelling, with fair carved-work +on the beams, and in the doorway stood the old Scots kinswoman, smiling +wide and toothless, to welcome us. Elliot kissed her quickly, +and she fondled Elliot, and held a hand out over her shoulder to greet +me.</p> +<p>“But where is my jackanapes, that should have been here to +salute his mistress?” Elliot cried.</p> +<p>“Out and alas!” said the old wife in our country tongue—“out +and alas! for I have ill news. The poor beast is missing these +three days past, and we fear he is stolen away by some gangrel bodies, +for the town is full of them. There came two to our door, three +days agone, and one was a blind man, and the other a one-armed soldier, +maimed in the wars, and I gave them bite and sup, as a Christian should +do. Now, they had not been gone but a few minutes, and I was in +the spence, putting away the dishes, when I heard a whistle in the street, +and anon another. I thought little of it, and so was about my +business for an hour, when I missed the jackanapes. And then there +was a hue and cry, and all the house was searched, and the neighbours +were called on, but since that day there has been no word of the jackanapes. +But, for the blind man and the armless soldier, the town guard saw them +leaving by the North Gate, with a violer woman and her husband, an ill-looking +loon, in their company.” Elliot sat her down and wept sore. +“They have stolen my little friend,” she cried, “and +now he that was so fat I called him Trémouille will go hungry +and lean, and be whipped to make him do his tricks, and I shall never +see him more.”</p> +<p>Then she ran out of the chamber, to weep alone, as I guessed, for +she was pitiful and of very tender affection, and dumb things came near +about her heart, as is the manner of many women.</p> +<p>But I made no doubt in my mind that the husband of the ape’s +old mistress had stolen him, and I, too, sorrowed for the poor beast +that my mistress loved, and that, in very deed, had been the saving +of my own life. Then I spoke to my master, and said that we must +strive to buy her a new ape, or a little messan dog, to be her playfellow.</p> +<p>But he shook his head. “Say nothing more of the beast,” +he muttered, “unless she speaks of him first, and that, methinks, +will be never. For it is not her wont to speak of what lies very +deep in her heart, and if you talk of the beast it will please her little.”</p> +<p>And, indeed, I heard no word more of the jackanapes from Elliot, +save that, coming back from the minster next day, she whispered, “I +have prayed for him,” and so fled to her own chamber.</p> +<p>As then I deemed it a strange thing, and scarcely to be approved +by Holy Church, that my lady should pray for a dumb beast who had no +soul to be saved. But a faithful, loving prayer is not unavailing +or unheard of Him who made the beasts, as well as He made us; for whose +sin, or the sin of our father Adam, they now suffer, silently. +And the answer to this prayer was to be known in the end.</p> +<p>As the week went on, tidings came that made Elliot glad again, if +before she had been sad enough. For this was that great week of +wonders which shall never be forgotten while France is France, and the +lilies bloom.</p> +<p>On June the thirteenth the Maid took Jargeau, whence the famed Bastard +of Orleans had been driven some weeks agone; and the Earl of Suffolk +yielded him her prisoner, saying that she was “the most valiant +woman in the world.” Scarce had tidings of this great victory +come, when messengers followed, declaring that the Maid had seized the +Bridge of Meun and driven the English into the Castle.</p> +<p>Next she marched against Beaugency, and, at midnight of June the +seventeenth, the English made terms, that they might go forth with their +lives, but without baggage or arms, and with but one mark of silver +apiece. Next morning came Talbot, the best knight then on ground, +and Fastolf, the wariest of captains, with a great army of English. +First they made for Jargeau, but they came too late, and then they rode +to Meun, and would have assailed the French in the bridge-fort, but, +even then, they heard how Beaugency had yielded to La Pucelle, and how +the garrison was departed into Normandy, like pilgrims, without swords, +and staff in hand. Thus all the Loire and the water-way was in +the power of France, wherefore the English marched off through the country +called La Beauce, which then lay desert and overgrown with wild wood, +by reason of the war. And there, in a place named Coynce, near +Patay, the Maid overtook the English, having with her La Hire and Xaintrailles, +and she charged them so rudely, that ere the English could array them +in order of battle, they were already flying for their lives. +There were Talbot and Warwick taken and held to ransom, but Fastolf +fled as fast as his horse could carry him.</p> +<p>Thus in one week, between June the eleventh and June the eighteenth, +the Maid had delivered three strong towns from the English, and had +utterly routed them in fair field. Then, at Orleans, on June the +nineteenth, the army went to the churches, thanking God, and the Blessed +Virgin, and all the saints, for such great signs and marvels wrought +through the Maid only.</p> +<p>Sorrow it is to me to write of such things by report, and not to +have seen them done. But, as Talbot said to the Duc d’Alençon, +when they took him at Patay, “it is fortune of war.”</p> +<p>But, as day by day messengers came, their horses red with spurring, +to the cross in the market-place of Tours, and as we that gathered round +heard of some fresh victory, you may consider whether we rejoiced, feasted, +filled the churches with our thanksgivings, and deemed that, in a few +weeks, there would be no living Englishman on French soil. And +of all that were glad my lady was the happiest, for she had believed +in the Maid from the very beginning, when her father mocked. And +a hard life she now led him with her sallies, day by day, as more and +ever more glad tidings were brought, and we could hear Elliot singing +through the house.</p> +<p>Yea, I found her once dancing in the garden all alone, a beautiful +sight to look upon, as the sun fell on her and the shadow, she footing +it as if to music, but the music was made by her own heart. Leaning +against an apple-tree, I watched her, who waved her hand to me, and +still danced on; this was after we had heard the news of Beaugency. +As she so swayed and moved, dancing daintily, came a blast of a trumpet +and a gay peal from the minster bells. Then forth rushed Elliot, +and through the house, and down the street into the market-place, nor +did I know where I was, till I found myself beside her, and heard the +Maire read a letter to all the folk, telling how the English were routed +at Pathay in open field. Thereon the whole multitude fell a-dancing, +and I, for all my malady, was fain to dance with them; but Elliot led +me home, her head high, and blue rays darting from her eyes. From +that day my life seemed to come back to me, and I was no longer the +sick man. So the weeks went by, in all delight, my master working +hard, and I helping him in my degree, for new banners would be wanted +when the Dauphin went for his sacring to his good town of Reims. +As we all deemed, this could no longer be delayed; and thereafter our +armies would fall on Paris, and so strong grew I, that I was in hopes +to be with them, where, at last, fortune was to be won. But of +this my hope I said little to Elliot, waiting till I could wear armour, +and exercising myself thereat privately in the garden, before folk had +risen in the mornings.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII—HOW ELLIOT’S JACKANAPES WAS SEEN AT THE +KING’S CROWNING</h2> +<p>“The hearts of kings are in His hand,” says Holy Scripture, +and it is of necessity to be believed that the hearts of kings, in an +especial sense, are wisely governed. Yet, the blindness of our +sinful souls, we often may not see, nor by deep consideration find out, +the causes wherefore kings often act otherwise, and, as we might deem, +less worthily than common men. For it is a truth and must be told, +that neither before he was anointed with the blessed oil from the holy +vessel, or ampulla, which the angel brought to St. Remigius, nor even +after that anointing (which is more strange), did Charles VII., King +of France, bear him kingly as regards the Maiden. Nay, I have +many a time thought with sorrow that if Xaintrailles, or La Hire, ay, +or any the meanest esquire in all our army, had been born Dauphin, in +three months after the Maid’s victories in June Paris would have +been ours, and not an Englishman left to breathe the air of France. +For it needed but that the King should obey the Maid, ride straight +to Reims, and thence on Paris town, and every city would have opened +its gates to him, as the walls of Jericho fell at the mere sound of +the trumpets of Israel.</p> +<p>This is no foolish fancy of an old man dreaming in a cloister about +what might have been. For the Regent of the English, brother of +their King Harry the Fifth, and himself a wise man, and brave, if cruel, +was of this same mind. First, he left Paris and shut himself up +in the strong castle of Vincennes, dreading an uproar among the people; +and next, he wholly withdrew himself to Rouen, for he had now no force +of men to guard the walls of Paris. Our Dauphin had but to mount +and ride, and all would have been his at one blow, ay, or without a +blow. The Maid, as we daily heard, kept praying him, even with +tears, to do no more than this; and from every side came in men free +and noble, ready to serve at their own charges. The poorest gentlemen +who had lost all in the troubles, and might not even keep a horse to +ride, were of goodwill to march as common foot-soldiers.</p> +<p>But, while all France called on her King, he was dwelling at Sully, +in the castle of La Trémouille, a man who had a foot in either +camp, so that neither English nor Burgundians had ever raided on his +rich lands, when these lay in their power. So, what with the self-seeking, +and sloth, and jealousy of La Trémouille; what with the worldly +policy of the Archbishop of Reims, crying Peace, where there was no +peace, the Maid and the captains were not listened to, or, if they were +heard, their plans were wrought out with a faint heart, so that, at +last, if it is lawful to say so, the will of men prevailed over the +will of Heaven.</p> +<p>Never, I pray, may any prince of my own country be so bestead, and +so ill-served, that, when he has won battles and gained cities two or +three, and needs but to ride forward and win all his kingdom, he shall +be turned back by the little faith of his counsellors! Never may +such a thing befall a prince of Scotland! Concerning these matters +of State, as may be believed, we devised much at Tours, while messengers +were coming and going, and long, weary councils were being held at Sully +and at Gien. D’Alençon, we got news, was all for +striking a blow yet more bold than the march to Reims, and would have +attacked the English where they were strongest, and nearest their own +shores, namely, at Rouen. The counsellors of the peaceful sort +were inclined to waste time in besieging La Charité, and other +little towns on Loire-side. But her Voices had bidden the Maid, +from the first, to carry the Dauphin to Reims, that there he might be +anointed, and known to France for the very King. So at last, finding +that time was sorely wasted, whereas all hope lay in a swift stroke, +ere the English could muster men, and bring over the army lately raised +by the Cardinal of Winchester to go crusading against the miscreants +of Bohemia—the Maid rode out of Gien, with her own company, on +June the twenty-seventh, and lodged in the fields, some four leagues +away, on the road to Auxerre. And next day the King and the Court +followed her perforce, with a great army of twelve thousand men. +Thenceforth there came news to us every day in Tours, and all the news +was good. Town after town opened its gates at the summons of the +Maid, and notably Troyes and Chalons, in despite of the English garrisons.</p> +<p>We were all right glad, and could scarce sleep for joy, above all +when a messenger rode in, one Thomas Scott, whom I had encountered before, +as I have written, bidding my master come straightway to Reims, to join +the King, and exercise his craft in designing a great picture of the +coronation. So with much ado he bestowed his canvases, brushes, +paints, and all other gear of his trade in wallets, and, commending +his daughter to his old kinswoman, to obey her in all things, he set +off on horseback with Thomas Scott. But for myself, I was to lodge, +while he was at Reims, with a worthy woman of Tours, for the avoiding +of evil tongues, and very tardily the time passed with me, for that +I might not be, as before, always in the company of Elliot.</p> +<p>As for my lady, she was, during most of these days, on her knees +at the altar in the great minster, praying to the saints for the Dauphin, +and the Maid, and for her father, that he might come and go safely on +his journey. Nor did she pray in vain, for, no more than two days +after the first tidings had arrived that the sacring was done, and that +all had gone well, my master rode to his own door, weary, but glad at +heart, and hobbled into his house. One was sent running to bring +me this good news, and I myself ran, for now I was able, and found him +seated at his meat, as well as he could eat it for Elliot, that often +stopped his mouth with kisses.</p> +<p>He held forth his hand to me, saying, “All is as well as heart +could desire, and the Maid bids you follow her, if you may, to the taking +of Paris, for there she says will be your one chance to win your spurs. +And now let me eat and drink, for the heat is great, the ways dusty, +and I half famished. Thereafter ask me what you will, and you, +Elliot, come not between a hungry man and his meat.”</p> +<p>So he spoke, sitting at his table with his tankard in his hand, and +his wallets lying about him on the floor. Elliot was therefore +fain not to be embracing him, but rather to carve for him, and serve +in the best manner, that he might sup the quicker and tell us all his +tale. This he did at last, Elliot sitting on his knee, with her +arm about his neck. But, as touches the sacring, how it was done, +though many of the peers of France were not there to see, and how noble +were the manners of the King and the Maid, who stood there with her +banner, and of the only reward which she would take, namely, that her +townsfolk should live free of tax and corvée, all this is known +and written of in Chronicles. Nor did I see it myself, so I pass +by. But, next to actual beholding of that glorious rite, the best +thing was to hear my master tell of it, taking out his books, wherein +he had drawn the King, and the Maid in her harness, and many of the +great lords. From these pictures a tapestry was afterwards wrought, +and hung in Reims Cathedral, where it is to this day: the Maid on horseback +beckoning the King onward, the Scots archers beside him in the most +honourable place, as was their lawful due, and, behind all, the father +of the Maid entering Reims by another road. By great good fortune, +and by virtue of being a fellow-traveller with Thomas Scott, the rider +of the King’s stable, my master found lodgings easily enough. +So crowded was the town that, the weather being warm, in mid July, many +lay in tabernacles of boughs, in the great place of Reims, and there +was more singing that night than sleeping. But my master had lain +at the hostelry called L’Asne Roye, in the parvise, opposite to +the cathedral, where also lay Jean d’Arc, the father of the Maid. +Thither she herself came to visit him, and she gave gifts to such of +the people of her own countryside as were gathered at Reims.</p> +<p>“And, Jeannot, do you fear nothing?” one of them asked +her, who had known her from a child.</p> +<p>“I fear nothing but treason,” my master heard her reply, +a word that we had afterwards too good cause to remember.</p> +<p>“And is she proud now that she is so great?” asked Elliot.</p> +<p>“She proud! No pride has she, but sat at meat, and spoke +friendly with all these manants, and it was ‘tu’ and ‘toy,’ +and ‘How is this one? and that one?’ till verily, I think, +she had asked for every man, woman, child, and dog in Domremy. +And that puts me in mind—”</p> +<p>“In mind of what?”</p> +<p>“Of nought. Faith, I remember not what I was going to +say, for I am well weary.”</p> +<p>“But Paris?” I asked. “When march we on Paris?” +My master’s face clouded. “They should have set forth +for Paris the very day after the sacring, which was the seventeenth +of July. But envoys had come in from the Duke of Burgundy, and +there were parleys with them as touching peace. Now, peace will +never be won save at the point of the lance. But a truce of a +fortnight has been made with Burgundy, and then he is to give up Paris +to the King. Yet, ere a fortnight has passed, the new troops from +England will have come over to fight us, and not against the heretics +of Bohemia, though they have taken the cross and the vow. And +the King has gone to Saint Marcoul, forsooth, seeing that, unless he +goes there to do his devotions, he may not touch the sick and heal the +crewels. <a name="citation29"></a><a href="#footnote29">{29}</a> +Faith, they that have the crewels might even wait till the King has +come to his own again; they have waited long enough to learn patience +while he was Dauphin. It should be Paris first, and Saint Marcoul +and the crewels afterwards, but anything to waste time and keep out +of the brunt of the battle.” Here he struck his hand on +the table so that the vessels leaped. “I fear what may come +of it,” he said. “For every day that passes is great +loss to us and much gain to our enemies of England, who will anon garrison +Paris.”</p> +<p>“Faint-heart,” cried Elliot, plucking his beard. +“You will never believe in the Maid, who has never yet failed +to help us, by the aid of the saints.”</p> +<p>“The saints help them that help themselves,” he answered. +“And Paris town has walls so strong, that once the fresh English +are entered in, even the saints may find it a hard bargain. But +you, Elliot, run up and see if my chamber be ready, for I am well weary.” +She ran forth, and my master, turning to me, said in a low voice, “I +have something for your own ear, but I feared to grieve her. In +a booth at Reims I saw her jackanapes doing his tricks, and when he +came round questing with his bowl the little beast knew me and jumped +up into my arms, and wailed as if he had been a Christian. Then +I was for keeping him, but I was set on by three or four stout knaves, +and, I being alone, and the crowd taking their part, I thought it not +well to draw sword, and so break the King’s peace that had just +then begun to be King. But my heart was sore for the poor creature, +and, in very truth, I bring back no light heart, save to see you twain +again, for I fear me that the worst of the darg <a name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30">{30}</a> +is still to do. But here comes Elliot, so no word of the jackanapes.”</p> +<p>Therewith he went off to his chamber, and I to mine, with less pleasure +than I had looked for. Still, the thought came into my heart that, +the longer the delay of the onslaught on Paris, the better chance I +had to take part therein; and the harder the work, the greater the glory.</p> +<p>The boding words of my master proved over true. The King was +sacred on July the sixteenth, and Paris then stood empty of English +soldiers, being garrisoned by Burgundians only. But, so soon as +he was anointed, the King began to parley with Burgundy, and thus they +spun out the time, till, on July the twenty-fifth, a strong army of +Englishmen had entered Paris. Whether their hearts were high may +not be known, but on their banner they had hung a distaff, and had painted +the flag with the words—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Ores viegne la Belle,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>meaning, “Let the fair Maid come, and we shall give her wool +to spin.” Next we heard, and were loth to believe it, that +a new truce of fifteen days more had been made with Burgundy. +The Maid, indeed, said openly that she loved not the truce, and that +she kept it only for the honour of the King, which was dearer to her +than her life, as she proved in the end.</p> +<p>Then came marchings, this way and that, all about the Isle of France, +Bedford leaving Paris to fight the King, and then refusing battle, though +the Maid rode up to the English palisades, and smote them with her sword, +defying the English to come out, if they were men. So the English +betook them back to Paris, after certain light skirmishes only. +Meanwhile some of his good towns that had been in the hands of the English +yielded to the King, or rather to the Maid. Among these the most +notable was Compiègne, a city as great as Orleans. Many +a time it had been taken and retaken in the wars, but now the burgesses +swore that they would rather all die, with their wives and children, +than open their gates again to the English. And this oath they +kept well, as shall be seen in the end.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX—HOW NORMAN LESLIE RODE AGAIN TO THE WARS</h2> +<p>Tidings of these parleys, and marches, and surrenders of cities came +to us at Tours, the King sending letters to his good towns by messengers. +One of these, the very Thomas Scott of whom I have before spoken, a +man out of Rankelburn, in Ettrick Forest, brought a letter for me, which +was from Randal Rutherford.</p> +<p>“Mess-John Urquhart writes for me, that am no clerk,” +said Randal, “and, to spare his pains, as he writes for the most +of us, I say no more than this: come now, or come never, for the Maid +will ride to see Paris in three days, or four, let the King follow or +not as he will.”</p> +<p>There was no more but a cross marked opposite the name of Randal +Rutherford, and the date of place and day, August the nineteenth, at +Compiègne.</p> +<p>My face fired, for I felt it, when I had read this, and I made no +more ado, but, covenanting with Thomas Scott to be with him when he +rode forth at dawn, I went home, put my harness in order, and hired +a horse from him that kept the hostelry of the “Hanging Sword,” +whither also I sent my harness, for that I would sleep there. +This was all done in the late evening, secretly, and, after supper, +I broke the matter to my master and Elliot. Her face changed to +a dead white, and she sat silent, while my master took the word, saying, +in our country speech, that “he who will to Cupar, maun to Cupar,” +and therewith he turned, and walked out and about in the garden.</p> +<p>We were alone, and now was the hardest of my work to do, to comfort +Elliot, when, in faith, I sorely needed comfort myself. But honour +at once and necessity called me to ride, being now fit to bear harness, +and foreseeing no other chance to gain booty, or even, perchance, my +spurs. Nor could I endure to be a malingerer. She sat there, +very white, her lip quivering, but her eyes brave and steadfast.</p> +<p>I kneeled beside her, and in my hands I took her little hand, that +was cold as ice.</p> +<p>“It is for the Maid, and for you, Elliot,” I whispered; +and she only bent her head on my shoulder, but her cold hand gripped +mine firmly.</p> +<p>“She did say that you should come back unharmed of sword,” +whispered Elliot, looking for what comfort she might. “But, +O my dear! you may be taken, and when shall I see you again? Oh! +this life is the hardest thing for women, who must sit and tremble and +pray at home. Sure no danger of war is so terrible! Ah, +must you really go?”</p> +<p>Then she clung so closely about me, that it seemed as if I could +never escape out of her arms, and I felt as if my heart must break in +twain.</p> +<p>“How could I look men in the face, and how could I ever see +the Maid again, if I go not?” I said; and, loosening her grasp, +she laid her hands on my shoulders, and so gazed on me steadfastly, +as if my picture could be fixed on the tablets of her brain.</p> +<p>“On your chin is coming a little down, at last,” she +said, smiling faintly, and then gave a sob, and her lips met mine, and +our very souls met; but, even then, we heard my master’s steps +hobbling to the door, and she gave a cry, and fled to her chamber. +And this was our leave-taking—brief, but I would not have had +it long.</p> +<p>“It is ill work parting, Heaven help us,” said my master. +“Faith, I remember, as if it were to-day, how I set forth for +Verneuil; a long time I was gone, and came back a maimed man. +But it is fortune of war! The saints have you in their keeping, +my son, and chiefly St. Andrew. Come back soon, and whole, and +rich, for, meseems, if I lose one of you, I am to lose both.”</p> +<p>Therewith he embraced me, and I set forth to the hostel where I was +to lie that night.</p> +<p>Now, see how far lighter is life to men than to women, for, though +I left the house with the heaviest heart of any man in Tours, often +looking back at the candleshine in my lady’s casement, yet, when +I reached the “Hanging Sword,” I found Thomas Scott sitting +at his wine, and my heart and courage revived within me. He lacked +nothing but one to listen, and soon was telling tales of the war, and +of the road, and of how this one had taken a rich prisoner, and that +one had got an arrow in his thigh, and of what chances there were to +win Paris by an onslaught.</p> +<p>“For in no other can we take it,” said he, “save, +indeed, by miracle. For they are richly provisioned, and our hope +is that, if we can make a breach, there may be a stir of the common +folk, who are well weary of the English and the Burgundians.”</p> +<p>Now, with his talk of adventures, and with high hopes, I was so heartened +up, that, to my shame, my grief fell from me, and I went to my bed to +dream of trenches and escalades, glory and gain. But Elliot, I +fear me, passed a weary night, and a sorry, whereas I had scarce laid +my head on my pillow, as it seemed, when I heard Thomas shouting to +the grooms, and clatter of our horses’ hoofs in the courtyard. +So I leaped up, though it was scarce daylight, and we rode northwards +before the full coming of the dawn.</p> +<p>Here I must needs write of a shameful thing, which I knew not then, +or I would have ridden with a heavier heart, but I was told concerning +the matter many years after, by Messire Enguerrand de Monstrelet, a +very learned knight, and deep in the counsels of the Duke of Burgundy.</p> +<p>“You were all sold,” he said to me, at Dijon, in the +year of our Lord fourteen hundred and forty-seven—“you were +all sold when you marched against Paris town. For the Maid, with +D’Alençon, rode from Compiègne towards Paris, on +the twenty-third of August, if I remember well”; and here he turned +about certain written parchments that lay by him. “Yea, +on the twenty-third she left Compiègne, but on the twenty-eighth +of that month the Archbishop of Reims entered the town, and there he +met the ambassadors of the Good Duke of Burgundy. There he and +they made a compact between them, binding your King and the Duke, that +their truce should last till Noël, but that the duke might use +his men in the defence of Paris against all that might make onfall. +Now, the Archbishop and the King knew well that the Maid was, in that +hour, marching on Paris. To what purpose make a truce, and leave +out of the peace the very point where war should be? Manifestly +the French King never meant to put forth the strength of his army in +helping the Maid. There was to be truce between France and Burgundy, +but none between England and the Maid.”</p> +<p>So Messire Enguerrand told me, a learned knight and a grave, and +thus was the counsel of the saints defeated by the very King whom they +sought to aid. But of this shameful treaty we men-at-arms knew +nothing, and so hazarded our lives against loaded dice.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX—CONCERNING THE MAID AND THE BIRDS</h2> +<p>We rode northwards, first through lands that I had travelled in before +to Orleans, and so into a country then strange to me, passing by way +of Lagny, with intent to go to Senlis, where we deemed the King lay. +The whole region being near Paris, and close under the English power, +was rich and peaceful of aspect, the corn being already reaped, and +standing in sheaves about the fields, whether to feed Englishmen or +Frenchmen, none could tell. For the land was in a kind of hush, +in expectancy and fear, no man knowing how things should fall out at +Paris. Natheless the Prior of Lagny, within that very week wherein +we came, had gone to St. Denis, and yielded his good town into the hands +of the Duc d’Alençon for the King. And the fair Duke +had sent thither Messire Ambrose de Loré, a very good knight, +with Messire Jehan Foucault, and many men-at-arms.</p> +<p>To Messire Ambrose we were brought, that we might give and take his +news. I remember well that I dropped out of the saddle at the +door of his lodgings, and could scarce stand on my legs, so weary was +I with the long and swift riding. Never had I ridden so far, and +so fast, fresh horses standing saddled and bridled for Thomas Scott +and me at every stage, but the beast which I had hired I sent back from +the first stage to mine host of the “Hanging Sword.” +Not without labour I climbed the stairs to the chamber of Messire Ambrose, +who bade us sit down, and called for wine to be given us, whereof Thomas +Scott drank well, but I dared take none, lest my legs should wholly +refuse their office.</p> +<p>When Thomas had told how all the country lay at the King’s +peace, and how our purpose was to ride to the King at Senlis, the knight +bade us rather make what haste we might to St. Denis. “For +there, by to-morrow or next day, the King is like to be, and the assault +will be delivered on Paris, come of it what will.”</p> +<p>With this he bade us good speed, but, to guess from his countenance, +was in no high hopes. And, at supper, whereto we had the company +of certain of his men-at-arms, I could well perceive that they were +not in the best heart. For now we heard how the Maid, being sorrowful +for the long delays, had bidden the Duc d’Alençon ride +forth with her from Compiègne “to see Paris closer than +yet she had seen it.” The Duc d’Alençon, who +in late days has so strangely forgotten the loyalty of his youth, was +then fain to march with her, for they two were the closest friends that +might be. Therefore they had passed by way of Senlis, where they +were joined by some force of men-at-arms, and so, on the third day’s +march, they came to St. Denis, where they were now lying. Here +it is that the kings of France have been buried for these eight hundred +years, in the great Abbey.</p> +<p>“Nom Dieu!” said one of those who spoke with us. +“You might deem that our King is nowise pressed to see the place +where his forefathers lie. For D’Alençon is riding, +now and again, to Senlis, to rouse the King, and make him march to St. +Denis, with the army, that the assault may be given. But if they +were bidding him to his own funeral, instead of to a gentle passage +of arms, he could not make more excuses. There are skirmishes +under Paris walls, and at the gates, day by day, and the Maid rides +here and there, considering of the best place for the onslaught. +But the King tarries, and without him and the army they can venture +on no great valiance. Nevertheless, come he must, if they bring +him bound in a cart. Wherefore, if you want your part in what +is toward, you do well to make no long tarrying here.”</p> +<p>I was of the same mind, and as the King was shortly to be looked +for at St. Denis, we rode thither early next morning, with what speed +we might. On our left, like a cloud, was the smoke of Paris, making +me understand what a great city it was, much greater than Orleans. +Before us, far away, were the tall towers of the chapel of St. Denis, +to be our guide! We heard, also, the noise of ordnance being fired, +and therefore made the greater haste, and we so rode that, about six +hours after noon, on the Eve of the Nativity of our Blessed Lady, we +reached the gates of the town. Here we found great press of folk, +men coming and going, some carrying the wounded, for there had been +a skirmish that day, at one of the Paris gates, whence came the sound +of cannon and culverins, and we had won little advantage.</p> +<p>At the gates of St. Denis we asked where the quarters of the Scots +men-at-arms might be, and were told in the chapel, whither we needed +no guide. But, as we went up the street, we saw women leaning +forth from the windows, laughing with the men-at-arms, and beckoning +to them, and by the tavern doors many were sitting drinking, with girls +beside them, and others were playing dice, and many an oath we heard, +and foul words, as is customary in a camp. Verily I saw well that +this was not the army of men clean confessed and of holy life who had +followed the Maid from Blois to Orleans. In place of priests, +here were harlots, and, for hymns, ribald songs, for men had flocked +in from every quarter; soldiers of the robber companies, Bretons, Germans, +Italians, Spaniards, all talking in their own speech, rude, foul, and +disorderly. So we took our way, as best we knight, through the +press, hearing oaths enough if our horses trod over near any man, and +seeing daggers drawn.</p> +<p>It was a pleasure to come out on the great parvise, where the red, +white, and green of our Scots were the commonest colours, and where +the air was less foul and noisome than in the narrow wynds. High +above us the great towers of the abbey shone red and golden in the light +of the sinking sun, while beneath all was brown, dusk, and dim with +smoke. On these towers I could gladly have looked long, and not +wearied. For they are all carven with the holy company of the +martyrs and saints, like the Angels whom Jacob saw ascending by the +ladder into heaven; even so that blessed company seemed to scale upwards +from the filth of the street, and the darkness, and the din, right on +towards the golden heights of the City of God. And beneath them +lie the sacred bones of all the kings of France, from the days of St. +Dagobert even to our own time, all laid there to rest where no man shall +disturb them, till the Angels’ Trumpet calls, and the Day of Judgment +is at hand. Verily it is a solemn place for a Christian man to +think on, and I was gazing thereupon, as in a dream, when one plucked +my sleeve, and turning, I saw Randal Rutherford, all his teeth showing +in a grin.</p> +<p>“Welcome,” he cried. “You have made good +speed, and the beginning of a fray is better than the end of a feast. +And, by St. Boswell, to-morrow we shall have it, lad! The King +came in to-day—late is better than never—and to-morrow we +go with the Maid, to give these pock-puddings a taste of Scottish steel.”</p> +<p>“And the Maid, where is she, Randal?”</p> +<p>“She lodges beyond the Paris gate, at the windmill, wherefrom +she drove the English some days agone.”</p> +<p>“Wherefore not in the town?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Mayhap because she likes to be near her work, and would that +all were of her mind. And mayhap she loves not the sight of the +wenches whom she was wont to drive from the camp, above all now that +she has broken the Holy Sword of Fierbois, smiting a lass with the flat +of the blade.”</p> +<p>“I like not the omen,” said I.</p> +<p>“Freits follow them that freits fear,” said Randal, in +our country speech. “And the Maid is none of these. +‘Well it was,’ said she, ‘that I trusted not my life +to a blade that breaks so easily,’ and, in the next skirmish, +she took a Burgundian with her own hands, and now wears his sword, which +is a good cut and thrust piece. But come,” he cried, “if +needs you must see the Maid, you have but to walk to the Paris gate, +and so to the windmill hard by. And your horse I will stable with +our own, and for quarters, we living Scots men-at-arms fare as well +as the dead kings of France, for to-night we lie in the chapel.”</p> +<p>I dismounted, and he gave me an embrace, and, holding me at arms’-length, +laughed—</p> +<p>“You never were a tall man, Norman, but you look sound, and +whole, and tough for your inches, like a Highlandman’s dirk. +Now be off on your errand, and when it is done, look for me yonder at +the sign of ‘The Crane,’” pointing across the parvise +to a tavern, “for I keep a word to tell in your lug that few wot +of, and that it will joy you to hear. To-morrow, lad, we go in +foremost.”</p> +<p>And so, smiling, he took my horse and went his way, whistling, “Hey, +tuttie, tattie!”</p> +<p>Verily his was the gladdest face I had seen, and his words put some +heart into me, whereas, of the rest save our own Scots, I liked neither +what I saw, nor what I heard.</p> +<p>I had but to walk down the street, through elbowing throngs of grooms, +pages, men-at-arms, and archers, till I found the Paris Gate, whence +the windmill was plain to behold. It was such an old place as +we see in Northern France, plain, strong, with red walls which the yellow +mosses stain, and with high grey roofs. The Maid’s banner, +with the Holy Dove, and the Sacred Name, drooped above the gateway, +and beside the door, on the mounting-stone, sat the boy, Louis des Coutes, +her page. He was a lad of fifteen years, merry enough of his nature, +and always went gaily clad, and wearing his yellow hair long. +But now he sat thoughtful on the mounting-stone, cutting at a bit of +wood with his dagger.</p> +<p>“So you have come to take your part,” he said, when we +had saluted each the other. “Faith, I hope you bring good +luck with you, and more joy to my mistress, for we need all that you +can bring.”</p> +<p>“Why, what ails all of you?” I asked. “I +have seen never a hopeful face, save that of one of my own countrymen. +You are not afraid of a crack on your curly pate, are you?”</p> +<p>“Curly or not, my head knows better than to knock itself against +Paris walls. They are thick, and high, and the windows of every +house on the wall are piled with stones, to drop upon us. And +I know not well why, but things go ill with us. I never saw Her,” +and he nodded towards the open gateway, “so out of comfort. +When there is fighting toward, she is like herself, and she is the first +to rise and the last to lie down. But, in all our waiting here, +she has passed many an hour praying in the chapel, where the dead kings +lie, yet her face is not glad when she comes forth. It was wont +to shine strangely, when she had been praying, at the chapel in Couldray, +while we were at Chinon. But now it is otherwise. Moreover, +we saw Paris very close to-day, and there were over many red crosses +of St. George upon the walls. And to-morrow is the Feast of the +Blessed Virgin, no day for bloodshed.”</p> +<p>“Faint heart!” said I (and, indeed, after the assault +on Paris, Louis des Coutes went back, and rode no more with the maid). +“The better the day, the better the deed! May I go within?”</p> +<p>“I will go with you,” he said, “for she said that +you would come, and bade me bring you to her.”</p> +<p>We entered the gateway together, and before us lay the square of +the farm, strewn with litter, and from within the byre we heard the +milk ring in the pails, for the women were milking the cows. And +there we both stood astonished, for we saw the Maid as never yet I had +seen her. She was bareheaded, but wore the rest of her harness, +holding in her hand a measure of corn. All the fowls of the air +seemed to be about her, expecting their meat. But she was not +throwing the grain among them, for she stood as still as a graven image, +and, wonderful to tell, a dove was perched on her shoulder, and a mavis +was nestling in her breast, while many birds flew round her, chiefly +doves with burnished plumage, flitting as it were lovingly, and softly +brushing her now and again with their wings. Many a time had I +heard it said that, while she was yet a child, the wild birds would +come and nestle in the bosom of the Maid, but I had never believed the +tale. Yet now I saw this thing with mine own eyes, a fair sight +and a marvellous, so beautiful she looked, with head unhelmeted, and +the wild fowl and tame flitting about her and above her, the doves crooning +sweetly in their soft voices. Then her lips moved, and she spoke—</p> +<p>“Très doulx Dieu, en l’onneur de vostre saincte +passion, je vous requier, se vous me aimes, que vous me revelez ce que +je doy faire demain pour vostre gloire!”</p> +<p>So she fell silent again, and to me it seemed that I must not any +longer look upon that holy mystery, so, crossing myself, I laid my hand +on the shoulder of the page, and we went silently from the place.</p> +<p>“Have you ever seen it in this manner?” I whispered, +when we were again without the farmyard.</p> +<p>“Never,” said he, trembling, “though once I saw +a stranger thing.”</p> +<p>“And what may that have been?”</p> +<p>“Nay, I spoke of it to her, and she made me swear that I never +would reveal it to living soul, save in confession. But she is +not as other women.”</p> +<p>What he had in his mind I know not, but I bade him good even, and +went back into the town, where lights were beginning to show in the +casements. In the space within the gates were many carts gathered, +full of faggots wherewith to choke up the fosse under Paris, and tables +to throw above the faggots, and so cross over to the assault.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI—HOW A HUNDRED SCOTS SET FORTH TO TAKE PARIS TOWN</h2> +<p>Entering the tavern of “The Crane,” I found the doorways +crowded with archers of our Guard, among whom was Randal Rutherford.</p> +<p>When I had come, they walked into a chamber on the ground floor, +calling for wine, and bidding certain French burgesses go forth, who +needed no second telling. The door was shut, two sentinels of +ours were posted outside, and then Randal very carefully sounded all +the panels of the room, looking heedfully lest there should be any hole +whereby what passed among us might be heard in another part of the house, +but he found nothing of the kind.</p> +<p>The room being full, some sitting and some standing, as we could, +Randal bade Father Urquhart, our chaplain, tell us to what end we had +been called together.</p> +<p>The good father thereupon stood up, and spoke in a low voice, but +so that all could hear, for we were all hushed to listen.</p> +<p>“There is,” he said, “within Paris, a certain Carmelite, +a Frenchman, and a friend of Brother Richard, the Preacher, whom, as +you know, the English drove from the town.”</p> +<p>“I saw him at Troyes,” said one, “where he kneeled +before the Maid, and they seemed very loving.”</p> +<p>“That is the man, that is Brother Richard. Now, as I +was busy tending the wounded, in the skirmish three days agone, this +Carmelite was about the same duty for those of his party. He put +into my hand a slip of paper, wherein Brother Richard commended him +to any Scot or Frenchman of the King’s party, as an honest man, +and a friend of the King’s. When I had read this, the Carmelite +spoke with me in Latin, and in a low voice. His matter was this: +In Paris, he said, there is a strong party of Armagnacs, who have, as +we all know, a long score to settle with them of Burgundy. They +are of the common folk and labourers, but among them are many rich burgesses. +They have banded themselves together by an oath to take our part, within +the town, if once we win a gate. Here is a cédule signed +by them with their names or marks, and this he gave me as a proof of +good faith.”</p> +<p>Here he handed a long slip of parchment, all covered with writing, +to Randal, and it went round among us, but few there were clerks, save +myself. I looked on it, and the names, many of them attested by +seals with coat armour, were plain to be read.</p> +<p>“Their counsel is to muster in arms secretly, and to convey +themselves, one by one, into certain houses hard by the Port St. Denis, +where certain of their party dwell. Now, very early to-morrow +morning, before dawn, the purpose of the English is to send forth a +company of a hundred men-at-arms, who will make a sudden onset on the +windmill, where the Maid lies to-night, and so will take her, if they +may.”</p> +<p>“By St. Bride of Douglas,” said one of us, “they +will get their kail through the reek, for our guard is to lie in arms +about the windmill, and be first in the field to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“The craft is, then,” Father Urquhart went on, “that +we shall destroy this English company with sword or arrow, but with +no alarm of culverins or cannon. Meanwhile, some five score of +you will put on to-night the red cross of St. George, with plain armour, +so that the English shall mistake you for their own men returning from +the sally, and some few men in our own colours and coats you will hale +with you as prisoners. And, if one of you can but attire himself +in some gear of the Maid’s, with a hucque of hers, scarlet, and +dight with the Lilies of France, the English gate-wards will open to +you all the more eagerly.”</p> +<p>“By the bones of St. Boswell!” cried Randal in his loud +voice, but the good Father put a hand on his mouth.</p> +<p>“Quiet, man!” he said.</p> +<p>“By the blessed bones of St. Boswell,” Randal said again, +as near a whisper as he could attain to, “the lady of the linen-basket +shall come as the Maid. We have no man so maidenly.”</p> +<p>They all shouted, laughing, and beating the tables with hands and +tankards.</p> +<p>“Silence!” cried Robin Lindsay.</p> +<p>“Nay, the louder we laugh, the less will any suspect what is +forward,” said Randal Rutherford.</p> +<p>“Norman, will you play this part in the mumming?”</p> +<p>I was ashamed to say no, though I liked it not over well, and I nodded +with my head.</p> +<p>“How maidenly he blushes!” cried one, and there was another +clamour, till the walls rang.</p> +<p>“So be it then,” says Father Urquhart, “and now +you know all. The honest Armagnacs will rise so soon as you are +well within the gate. They command both sides of the street that +leads to the Port St. Denis, and faith, if the English want to take +it, when a hundred Scots are within, they will have to sally forth by +another gate, and come from the outside. And you are to run up +the banner of Scotland over the Port, when once you hold it, so the +French attack will be thereby.”</p> +<p>“We played the same game before Verneuil fight, and won it,” +said one; “will the English have forgotten the trick?”</p> +<p>“By St. Bride, when once they see us haling the Maid along, +they will forget old stratagems of war. This is a new device! +Oh to see their faces when we cry ‘St. Andrew,’ and set +on!”</p> +<p>“I am not so old as you all in the wars,” I began.</p> +<p>“No, Mademoiselle la Lavandière, but you are of the +right spirit, with your wench’s face.”</p> +<p>“But,” I said, “how if the English that are to +attack the windmill in the first grey of the morning come not to hand-strokes, +or take to their heels when they find us awake, and win back to Paris +before us? Our craft, methinks, is to hold them in an ambush, +but what if we catch them not? Let but one runaway be swift of +foot, and we are undone.”</p> +<p>“There is this to be said,” quoth Father Urquhart, “that +the English company is to sally forth by the Port St. Denis, and it +is the Port St. Denis that our Armagnacs will be guarding. Now +I speak as a man of peace, for that is my calling. But how would +it be if your hundred men and Norman set forth in the dark, and lay +hid not very far from the St. Denis Gate? Then some while after +the lighting of the bale-fires from the windmill, to be lit when the +English set on, make straight for the gate, and cry, ‘St. George +for England!’ If you see not the bale-fires ere daylight, +you will come back with what speed you may; but if you do see them, +then—”</p> +<p>“Father, you have not lived long on the Highland line for nothing,” +quoth Robin Lindsay.</p> +<p>“A very proper stratagem indeed,” I said, “but +now, gentlemen, there is one little matter; how will Sir Hugh Kennedy +take this device of ours? If we try it and fail, without his privity, +we had better never return, but die under Paris wall. And, even +if we hold the gate, and Paris town is taken, faith I would rather affront +the fire of John the Lorrainer than the face of Sir Hugh.”</p> +<p>No man spoke, there were not two minds on this matter, so, after +some chaffer of words, it was agreed to send Father Urquhart with Randal +to show the whole scheme to Sir Hugh, while the rest of us should await +their coming back with an answer. In no long time they were with +us, the father very red and shamefaced.</p> +<p>“He gave the good father the rough side of his tongue,” +quoth Randal, “for speaking first to me, and not to him. +Happily we were over cunning to say aught of our gathering here. +But when he had let his bile flow, he swore, and said that he could +spare a hundred dyvour loons of his command, on the cast of the dice, +and, now silence all! not a word or a cry,” here he held up his +hand, “we are to take ‘fortune of war’!”</p> +<p>Every man grinned gladly on his neighbour, in dead stillness.</p> +<p>“Now,” said Randal, “slip out by threes and fours, +quietly, and to quarters; but you, Norman, wait with me.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII—HOW NORMAN LESLIE FARED IN PARIS TOWN</h2> +<p>“Norman, my lad, all our fortunes are made,” said Randal +to me when we were left alone. “There will be gilt spurs +and gold for every one of us, and the pick of the plunder.”</p> +<p>“I like it not,” I answered; whereon he caught me rudely +by both shoulders, looking close into my face, so that the fume of the +wine he had been drinking reached my nostrils.</p> +<p>“Is a Leslie turning recreant?” he asked in a low voice. +“A pretty tale to tell in the kingdom of Fife!”</p> +<p>I stood still, my heart very hot with anger, and said no word, while +his grip closed on me.</p> +<p>“Leave hold,” I cried at last, and I swore an oath, may +the Saints forgive me,—“I will not go!”</p> +<p>He loosed his grasp on me, and struck one hand hard into the other.</p> +<p>“That I should see this, and have to tell it!” he said, +and stepping to the table, he drank like one thirsty, and then fell +to pacing the chamber. He seemed to be thinking slowly, as he +wiped and plucked at his beard.</p> +<p>“What is it that ails you?” he asked. “Look +you, this onfall and stratagem of war may not miscarry. Perdition +take the fool, it is safe!”</p> +<p>“Have I been seeking safety since you knew me?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Verily no, and therefore I wonder at you the more; but you +have been long sick, and men’s minds are changeful. Consider +the thing, nom Dieu! If there be no two lights shown from the +mill, we step back silently, and all is as it was; the English have +thought worse of their night onfall, or the Carmelite’s message +was ruse de guerre. But if we see the two lights, then the hundred +English are attempting the taking of the mill; the St. Denis Gate is +open for their return, and we are looked for by our Armagnacs within +Paris. We risk but a short tussle with some drowsy pock-puddings, +and then the town is ours. The Gate is as strong to hold against +an enemy from within as from without. Why, man, run to Louis de +Coutes, and beg a cast suit of the Maid’s; she has plenty, for +she is a woman in this, that dearly she loves rich attire.”</p> +<p>“Randal,” I said, “I will go with you, and the +gladdest lad in France to be going, but I will go in my own proper guise +as a man-at-arms. To wear the raiment of the Blessed Maid, a man +and a sinner like me, I will in nowise consent; it is neither seemly +nor honourable. Take your own way, put me under arrest if you +will, and spoil my fortunes, and make me a man disgraced, but I will +not wear her holy raiment. It is not the deed of a gentleman, +or of a Christian.”</p> +<p>He plucked at his beard. “I am partly with you,” +he said. “And yet it were a great bourde to play off on +the English, and most like to take them and to be told of in ballad +and chronicle, like one of Wallace’s onfalls. For, seeing +the Pucelle, as they will deem, in our hands, they will think all safe, +and welcome us open armed. O Norman, can we do nothing? +Stop, will you wear another woman’s short kirtle over your cuisses +and taslet? She shall be no saint, I warrant you, but, for a sinner, +a bonny lass and a merry. As a gentleman I deem this fair stratagem +of war. If I were your own brother,—the Saints have his +soul in their keeping,—I would still be of this counsel. +Will you, my lad?”</p> +<p>He looked so sad, and yet withal so comical, that I held out my hand +to him, laughing.</p> +<p>“Disguise me as you will,” I said, “I have gone +mumming as Maid Marion before now, in the Robin Hood play, at St. Andrews”; +and as I spoke, I saw the tall thatched roofs of South Street, and the +Priory Gates open, the budding elms above the garden wall of St. Leonard’s, +and all the May-day revel of a year agone pouring out into the good +town.</p> +<p>“You speak like yourself now, bless your beardless face! +Come forth,” he said, taking a long pull at a tankard,—“that +nothing might be wasted,”—and so we went to quarters, and +Randal trudged off, soon coming back, laughing, with the red kirtle. +Our men had been very busy furbishing up the red cross of St. George +on their breasts, and stripping themselves of any sign of our own colours. +As for my busking, never had maid such rough tire-women; but by one +way or another, the apparel was accommodated, and they all said that, +at a little distance of ground, the English would be finely fooled, +and must deem that the Maid herself was being led to them captive.</p> +<p>It was now in the small hours of morning, dark, save for the glimmer +of stars, here and there in a cloudy sky. Father Urquhart himself +went up to the roof of the mill, to say his orisons, having with him +certain faggots of pitch-wood, for lighting the beacon-fires if need +were; and, as it chanced, braziers to this end stood ready on the roof, +as is custom on our own Border keeps.</p> +<p>We Scots, a hundred in all, in English colours, with three or four +as prisoners, in our own badges, fared cautiously, and with no word +spoken, through dewy woods, or lurking along in dry ditches where best +we might, towards the St. Denis Gate of Paris. I had never been +on a night surprise or bushment before, and I marvelled how orderly +the others kept, as men used to such work, whereas I went stumbling +and blindlings. At length, within sight of the twinkling lights +of Paris, and a hundred yards or thereby off the common way, we were +halted in a little wood, and bidden to lie down; no man was so much +as to whisper. Some slept, I know, for I heard their snoring, +but for my part, I never was less in love with sleep. When the +sky first grew grey, so that we could dimly see shapes of things, we +heard a light noise of marching men on the road.</p> +<p>“The English!” whispered he that lay next me. “Hush!” +breathed Randal, and so the footsteps went by, none of us daring to +stir, for fear of the rustle in the leaves.</p> +<p>The sound soon ceased; belike they had struck off into these very +fields wherethrough we had just marched.</p> +<p>“Now, Robin Lindsay, climb into yonder ash-tree, and keep your +eyes on the mill and the beacon-fires,” said Randal.</p> +<p>Robin scrambled up, not easily, because of his armour, and we waited, +as it seemed, for an endless time.</p> +<p>“What is that sound,” whispered one, “so heavy +and so hoarse?”</p> +<p>It was my own heart beating, as if it would burst my side, but I +said nought, and even then Robin slid from the tree, as lightly as he +might. He held up two fingers, without a word, for a sign that +the beacons were lighted, and nodded.</p> +<p>“Down all,” whispered Randal.</p> +<p>“Give them time, give them time.”</p> +<p>So there we lay, as we must, but that was the hardest part of the +waiting, and no sound but of the fowls and wild things arousing, and +the cry of sentinels from Paris walls, came to our ears.</p> +<p>At length Randal said, “Up all, and onwards!”</p> +<p>We arose, loosened our swords in their sheaths, and so crossed to +the road. We could now see Paris plainly, and were close by the +farm of the Mathurins, while beyond was the level land they call “Les +Porcherons,” with slopes above it, and many trees.</p> +<p>“Now, Norman,” said Randal, “when we come within +clear sight of the gate, two of us shall seize you by the arms as prisoner; +then we all cry ‘St. George!’ and set off running towards +Paris. The quicker, the less time for discovery.”</p> +<p>So, having marched orderly and speedily, while the banks of the roadway +hid us, we set off to run, Randal and Robin gripping me when we were +full in sight of the moat, of the drawbridge (which was down), and the +gate.</p> +<p>Then our men all cried, “St. George for England! The +witch is taken!” And so running disorderly and fast we made +for the Port, while English men-at-arms might be plainly seen and heard, +gazing, waving their hands, and shouting from the battlements of the +two gate-towers. Down the road we ran, past certain small houses +of peasants, and past a gibbet with a marauder hanging from it, just +over the dry ditch.</p> +<p>Our feet, we three leading, with some twenty in a clump hard behind +us, rang loud on the drawbridge over the dry fosse. The bridge +planks quivered strangely; we were now within the gateway, when down +fell the portcullis behind us, the drawbridge, creaking, flew up, a +crowd of angry faces and red crosses were pressing on us, and a blow +fell on my salade, making me reel. I was held in strong arms, +swords shone out above me, I stumbled on a body—it was Robin Lindsay’s—I +heard Randal give a curse as his blade broke on a helmet, and cry, “I +yield me, rescue or no rescue.” Then burst forth a blast +of shouts, and words of command and yells, and English curses. +Cannon-shot roared overhead, and my mouth was full of sulphur smoke +and dust. They were firing on those of our men who had not set +foot on the drawbridge when it flew up. Soon the portcullis rose +again, and the bridge fell, to let in a band of English archers, through +whom our Scots were cutting their way back towards St. Denis.</p> +<p>Of all this I got glimpses, rather than clear sight, as the throng +within the gateway reeled and shifted, crushing me sorely. Presently +the English from without trooped in, laughing and cursing, welcomed +by their fellows, and every man of them prying into my face, and gibing. +It had been a settled plan: we were betrayed, it was over clear, and +now a harsh voice behind making me turn, I saw the wolf’s face +of Father Thomas under his hood, and his yellow fangs.</p> +<p>“Ha! fair clerk, they that be no clerks themselves may yet +hire clerks to work for them. How like you my brother, the Carmelite?”</p> +<p>Then I knew too well how this stratagem had all been laid by that +devil, and my heart turned to water within me.</p> +<p>Randal was led away, but round me the crowd gathered in the open +space, for I was haled into the greater gate tower beyond the wet fosse, +and from all quarters ran soldiers, and men, women, and children of +the town to mock me.</p> +<p>“Behold her,” cried Father Thomas, climbing on a mounting-stone, +as one who would preach to the people, while the soldiers that held +me laughed.</p> +<p>“Behold this wonderful wonder of all wonders, the miraculous +Maid of the Armagnacs! She boasted that, by help of the Saints, +she would be the first within the city, and lo! she is the first, but +she has come without her army. She is every way a miracle, mark +you, for she hath a down on her chin, such as no common maidens wear; +and if she would but speak a few words of counsel, methinks her tongue +would sound strangely Scottish for a Lorrainer.”</p> +<p>“Speak, speak!” shouted the throng.</p> +<p>“Dogs,” I cried, in French, “dogs and cowards! +You shall see the Maid closer before nightfall, and fly from her as +you have fled before.”</p> +<p>“Said I not so?” asked Brother Thomas.</p> +<p>“A miracle, a miracle, the Maid hath a Scots tongue in her +head.”</p> +<p>Therewith stones began to fall, but the father, holding up his hand, +bade the multitude refrain.</p> +<p>“Harm her not, good brethren, for to-morrow this Maid shall +be tried by the ordeal of fire if that be the will of our governors. +Then shall we see if she can work miracles or not,” and so he +went on gibing, while they grinned horribly upon me. Never saw +I so many vile faces of the basest people come together, from their +filthy dens in Paris. But as my eyes ran over them with loathing, +I beheld a face I knew; the face of that violer woman who had been in +our company before we came to Chinon, and lo! perched on her shoulder, +chained with a chain fastened round her wrist, was Elliot’s jackanapes! +To see the poor beast that my lady loved in such ill company, seemed +as if it would break my heart, and my head fell on my breast.</p> +<p>“Ye mark, brethren and sisters, she likes not the name of the +ordeal by fire,” cried Brother Thomas, whereon I lifted my face +again to defy him, and I saw the violer woman bend her brows, and place +her finger, as it were by peradventure, on her lips; wherefore I was +silent, only gazing on that devil, but then rang out a trumpet-note, +blowing the call to arms, and from afar came an answering call, from +the quarter of St. Denis.</p> +<p>“Carry him, or her, or whatever the spy is, into the outer +gate tower,” said a Captain; “put him in fetters and manacles; +lock the door and leave him; and then to quarters. And you, friar, +hold your gibing tongue; lad or lass, he has borne him bravely.”</p> +<p>Six men-at-arms he chose out to do his bidding; and while the gates +were cleared of the throng, and trumpets were sounding, and church bells +were rung backwards, for an alarm, I was dragged, with many a kick and +blow, over the drawbridge, up the stairs of the tower, and so was thrown +into a strong room beneath the battlements. There they put me +in bonds, gave me of their courtesy a jug of water and a loaf of black +bread by me, and then, taking my dagger, my sword, and all that was +in my pouch, they left me with curses.</p> +<p>“You shall hear how the onfall goes, belike,” they said, +“and to-morrow shall be your judgment.”</p> +<p>With that the door grated and rang, the key was turned in the lock, +and their iron tread sounded on the stone stairs, going upwards. +The room was high, narrow, and lit by a barred and stanchioned window, +far above my reach, even if I had been unbound. I shame to say +it, but I rolled over on my face and wept. This was the end of +my hopes and proud heart. That they would burn me, despite their +threats I scarce believed, for I had in nowise offended Holy Church, +or in matters of the Faith, and only for such heretics, or wicked dealers +in art-magic, is lawfully ordained the death by fire. But here +was I prisoner, all that I had won at Orleans would do little more than +pay my own ransom; from the end of my risk and travail I was now further +away than ever.</p> +<p>So I mused, weeping for very rage, but then came a heavy rolling +sound overhead, as of moving wheeled pieces of ordnance. Thereon +(so near is Hope to us in our despair) I plucked up some heart. +Ere nightfall, Paris might be in the hands of the King, and all might +be well. The roar and rebound of cannon overhead told me that +the fighting had begun, and now I prayed with all my heart, that the +Maid, as ever, might again be victorious. So I lay there, listening, +and heard the great artillery bellow, and the roar of guns in answer, +the shouting of men, and clang of church bells. Now and again +the walls of the tower rang with the shock of a cannon-ball, once an +arrow flew through the casement and shattered itself on the wall above +my head. I scarce know why, but I dragged me to the place where +it fell, and, put the arrow-point in my bosom. Smoke of wood and +pitch darkened the light; they had come, then, to close quarters. +But once more rang the rattle of guns; the whizzing rush of stones, +the smiting with axe or sword on wooden barrier and steel harness, the +cries of war, “Mont joye St. Denis!” “St. George +for England!” and slogans too, I heard, as “Bellenden,” +“A Home! a Home!” and then I knew the Scots were there, +fighting in the front. But alas, how different was the day when +first I heard our own battle-cries under Orleans walls! Then I +had my life and my sword in my hands, to spend and to strike; but now +I lay a lonely prisoner, helpless and all but hopeless; yet even so +I clashed my chains and shouted, when I heard the slogan.</p> +<p>Thus with noise and smoke, and trumpets blowing the charge or the +recall, and our pipes shrieking the pibroch high above the din, with +dust floating and plaster dropping from the walls of my cell till I +was wellnigh stifled, the day wore on, nor could I tell, in anywise, +how the battle went. The main onslaught, I knew, was not on the +gate behind the tower in which I lay, though that tower also was smitten +of cannon-balls.</p> +<p>At length, well past mid-day, as I deemed by the light, came a hush, +and then a thicker smoke, and taste of burning pitch-wood, and a roar +as if all Paris had been blown into mid-air, so that my tower shook, +while heavy beams fell crashing to earth.</p> +<p>Again came a hush, and then one voice, clear as a clarion call, even +the voice of the Maid, “Tirez en avant, en avant!” +How my blood thrilled at the sound of it!</p> +<p>It must be now, I thought, or never, but the guns only roared the +louder, the din grew fierce and fiercer, till I heard a mighty roar, +the English shouting aloud as one man for joy, for so their manner is. +Thrice they shouted, and my heart sank within me. Had they slain +the Maid? I knew not, but for torment of soul there is scarce +any greater than so to lie, bound and alone, seeing nought, but guessing +at what is befalling.</p> +<p>After these shouts it was easy to know that the fighting waned, and +was less fierce. The day, moreover, turned to thunder, and waxed +lowering and of a stifling heat. Yet my worst fears were ended, +for I heard, now and again, the clear voice of the Maid, bidding her +men “fight on, for all was theirs.” But the voice +was weaker now, and other than it had been. So the day darkened, +only once and again a shot was fired, and in the dusk the shouts of +the English told me over clearly that for to-day our chance and hope +were lost. Then the darkness grew deeper, and a star shone through +my casement, and feet went up and down upon the stairs, but no man came +near me. Below there was some faint cackle of mirth and laughter, +and at last the silence fell.</p> +<p>Once more came a swift step on the stairs, as of one stumbling up +in haste. The key rattled in the wards, a yellow light shone in, +a man-at-arms entered; he held a torch to my face, looked to my bonds, +and then gave me a kick, while one cried from below, “Come on, +Dickon, your meat is cooling!” So he turned and went out, +the door clanging behind him, and the key rattling in the wards.</p> +<p>In pain and fierce wrath I gnawed my black bread, drank some of the +water, and at last I bethought me of that which should have been first +in the thoughts of a Christian man, and I prayed.</p> +<p>Remembering the story of Michael Hamilton, which I have already told, +and other noble and virtuous miracles of Madame St. Catherine of Fierbois, +I commanded me to her, that, by God’s grace, she would be pleased +to release me from bonds and prison. And I promised that, if she +would so favour me, I would go on pilgrimage to her chapel of Fierbois. +I looked that my chains should now fall from my limbs, but, finding +no such matter, and being very weary (for all the last night I had slept +none), I fell on slumber and forgot my sorrow.</p> +<p>Belike I had not lain long in that blessed land where trouble seldom +comes when I was wakened, as it were, by a tugging at my clothes. +I sat up, but the room was dark, save for a faint light in the casement, +high overhead, and I thought I had dreamed. Howbeit, as I lay +down again, heavy at heart, my clothes were again twitched, and now +I remembered what I had heard, but never believed, concerning “lutins” +or “brownies,” as we call them, which, being spirits invisible, +and reckoned to have no part in our salvation, are wont in certain houses +to sport with men. Curious rather than affrighted, I sat up once +more, and looked around, when I saw two bright spots of light in the +dark. Then deeming that, for some reason unknown to me, the prison +door had been opened while I slept, and a cat let in, I stretched out +my hands towards the lights, thence came a sharp, faint cry, and something +soft and furry leaped on to my breast, stroking me with little hands.</p> +<p>It was Elliot’s jackanapes, very meagre, as I could feel, and +all his ribs standing out, but he made much of me, fondling me after +his manner; and indeed, for my lady’s sake, I kissed him, wondering +much how he came there. Then he put something into my hands, almost +as if he had been a Christian, for it was a wise beast and a kind. +Even then there shone into my memory the thought of how my lady had +prayed for her little friend when he was stolen (which I had thought +strange, and scarcely warranted by our Faith), and with that, hope wakened +within me. My eyes being now more accustomed to the darkness, +I saw that the thing which the jackanapes gave me was a little wallet, +for he had been taught to fetch and carry, and never was such a marvel +at climbing. But as I was caressing him, I found a string about +his neck, to which there seemed to be no end. Now, at length, +I comprehended what was toward, and pulling gently at the string, I +found, after some time, that it was attached to something heavy, on +the outside of the casement. Therefore I set about drawing in +string from above, and more string, and more, and then appeared a knot +and a splice, and the end of a thick rope. So I drew and drew, +till it stopped, and I could see a stout bar across the stanchions of +the casement. Thereon I ceased drawing, and opening the little +wallet, I found two files, one very fine, the other of sturdier fashion.</p> +<p>Verily then I blessed the violer woman, who at great peril of her +own life, and by such witty device as doubtless Madame St. Catherine +put into her heart, had sent the jackanapes up from below, and put me +in the way of safety. I wasted no time, but began filing, not +at the thick circlet on my wrist, but at a link of the chain whereto +it was made fast. And such was the temper of the file, that soon +I got the stouter weapon into the cut, and snapped the link; and so +with the others, working long hours, and often looking fearfully for +the first glimmer of dawn. This had not come in, when I was now +free of bonds, but there was yet the casement to be scaled. With +all my strength I dragged and jerked at the rope, whereby I meant to +climb, lest the stanchions should be rusted through, and unable to bear +my weight, but they stood the strain bravely. Then I cast off +my woman’s kirtle, and took from my pouch the arrow-point, and +therewith scratched hastily on the plastered wall, in great letters: +“Norman Leslie of Pitcullo leaves his malison on the English.”</p> +<p>Next I bound the jackanapes within the bosom of my doublet, with +a piece of the cord whereto the rope had been knotted, for I could not +leave the little beast to die the death of a traitor, and bring suspicion, +moreover, on the poor violer woman. Then, commanding myself to +the Saints, and especially thanking Madame St. Catherine, I began to +climb, hauling myself up by the rope, whereon I had made knots to this +end; nor was the climbing more difficult than to scale a branchless +beech trunk for a bird’s nest, which, like other boys, I had often +done. So behold me, at last, with my legs hanging in free air, +seated on the sill of the casement. Happily, of the three iron +stanchions, though together they bore my weight, one was loose in the +lower socket, for lack of lead, and this one I displaced easily enough, +and so passed through. Then I put the wooden bar at the rope’s +end, within the room, behind the two other stanchions, considering that +they, by themselves, would bear my weight, but if not, rather choosing +to trust my soul to the Saints than my body to the English.</p> +<p>The deep below me was very terrible to look upon, and the casement +being above the dry ditch, I had no water to break my fall, if fall +I must. Howbeit, I hardened my heart, and turning my face to the +wall, holding first the wooden bar, and then shifting my grasp to the +rope, I let myself down, clinging to the rope with my legs, and at first +not a little helped by the knots I had made to climb to the casement. +When I had passed these, methought my hands were on fire; nevertheless, +I slid down slowly and with caution, till my feet touched ground.</p> +<p>I was now in the dry ditch, above my head creaked and swung the dead +body of the hanged marauder, but he did no whit affray me. I ran, +stooping, along the bed of the dry ditch, for many yards, stumbling +over the bodies of men slain in yesterday’s fight, and then, creeping +out, I found a hollow way between two slopes, and thence crawled into +a wood, where I lay some little space hidden by the boughs. The +smell of trees and grass and the keen air were like wine to me; I cooled +my bleeding hands in the deep dew; and presently, in the dawn, I was +stealing towards St. Denis, taking such cover of ditches and hedges +as we had sought in our unhappy march of yesterday. And I so sped, +by favour of the Saints, that I fell in with no marauders; but reaching +the windmill right early, at first trumpet-call, I was hailed by our +sentinels for the only man that had won in and out of Paris, and had +carried off, moreover, a prisoner, the jackanapes. To see me, +scarred, with manacles on my wrists and gyves on my ankles, weaponless, +with an ape on my shoulder, was such a sight as the Scots Guard had +never beheld before, and carrying me to the smith’s, they first +knocked off my irons, and gave me wine, ere they either asked me for +my tale, or told me their own, which was a heartbreak to bear.</p> +<p>For no man could unfold the manner of that which had come to pass, +if, at least, there were not strong treason at the root of all. +For our part of the onfall, the English had made but a feigned attack +on the mill, wherefore the bale-fires were lit, to our undoing. +This was the ruse de guerre of the accursed cordelier, Brother Thomas. +For the rest, the Maid had led on a band to attack the gate St. Honoré, +with Gaucourt in her company, a knight that had no great love either +of her or of a desperate onslaught. But D’Alençon, +whom she loved as a brother, was commanded to take another band, and +wait behind a butte or knowe, out of danger of arrow-shot. The +Maid had stormed all day at her gate, had taken the boulevard without, +and burst open and burned the outer port, and crossed the dry ditch. +But when she had led up her men, now few, over the slope and to the +edge of the wet fosse, behold no faggots and bundles of wood were brought +up, whereby, as is manner of war, to fill up the fosse, and so cross +over. As she then stood under the wall, shouting for faggots and +scaling-ladders, her standard-bearer was shot to death, and she was +sorely wounded by an arbalest bolt. Natheless she lay by the wall, +still crying on her men, but nought was ready that should have been, +many were slain by shafts and cannon-shot, and in the dusk, she weeping +and crying still that the place was theirs to take, D’Alençon +carried her off by main force, set her on her horse, and so brought +her back to St. Denis.</p> +<p>Now, my mind was, and is to this day, that there was treason here, +and a black stain on the chivalry of France, to let a girl go so far, +and not to follow her. But of us Scots many were slain, and more +wounded, while Robin Lindsay died in Paris gate, and Randal Rutherford +lay a prisoner in English hands.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII—HOW ELLIOT’S JACKANAPES CAME HOME</h2> +<p>Of our Blessed Lord Himself it is said in the Gospel of St. Matthew, +“et non fecit ibi virtutes multas propter incredulitatem illorum.” +These words I willingly leave in the Roman tongue; for by the wisdom +of Holy Church it is deemed that many mysteries should not be published +abroad in the vulgar speech, lest the unlearned hear to their own confusion. +But if even He, doubtless by the wisdom of His own will, did not many +great works “propter incredulitatem,” it is the less to +be marvelled at that His Saints, through the person of the Blessed Maid, +were of no avail where men utterly disbelieved. And that, where +infidelity was, even she must labour in vain was shown anon, even on +this very day of my escape out of Paris town. For I had scarce +taken some food, and washed and armed myself, when the Maid’s +trumpets sounded, and she herself, armed and on horseback, despite her +wound, rode into St. Denis, to devise with the gentle Duc d’Alençon. +Together they came forth from the gate, and I, being in their company, +heard her cry—</p> +<p>“By my baton, I will never go back till I take that city.” +<a name="citation31"></a><a href="#footnote31">{31}</a></p> +<p>These words Percival de Cagny also heard, a good knight, and maître +d’hôtel of the house of Alençon. Thereon arose +some dispute, D’Alençon being eager, as indeed he always +was, to follow where the Maiden led, and some others holding back.</p> +<p>Now, as they were devising together, some for, some against, for +men-at-arms not a few had fallen in the onfall, there came the sound +of horses’ hoofs, and lo! Messire de Montmorency, who had been +of the party of the English, and with them in Paris, rode up, leading +a company of fifty or sixty gentlemen of his house, to join the Maid. +Thereat was great joy and new courage in all men of goodwill, seeing +that, within Paris itself, so many gentlemen deemed ours the better +cause and the more hopeful.</p> +<p>Thus there was an end of all dispute, our companies were fairly arrayed, +and we were marching to revenge ourselves for the losses of yesterday, +when two knights came spurring after us from St. Denis. They were +the Duc de Bar, and that unhappy Charles de Bourbon, Comte de Clermont, +by whose folly, or ill-will, or cowardice, the Scots were betrayed and +deserted at the Battle of the Herrings, where my own brother fell, as +I have already told. This second time Charles de Bourbon brought +evil fortune, for he came on the King’s part, straitly forbidding +D’Alençon and the Maid to march forward another lance’s +length. Whereat D’Alençon swore profane, and the +Maiden, weeping, rebuked him. So, with heavy hearts, we turned, +all the host of us, and went back to quarters, the Maid to pray in the +chapel, and the men-at-arms to drink and speak ill of the King.</p> +<p>All this was on the ninth of September, a weary day to all of us, +though in the evening word came that we were to march early next morning +and attack Paris in another quarter, crossing the river by a bridge +of boats which the Duc d’Alençon had let build to that +end. After two wakeful nights I was well weary, and early laid +me down to sleep, rising at dawn with high hopes. And so through +the grey light we marched silently to the place appointed, but bridge +there was none; for the King, having heard of the Maid’s intent, +had caused men to work all night long, destroying that which the gentle +Duke had builded. Had the King but heard the shouts and curses +of our company when they found nought but the bare piles standing, the +grey water flowing, and the boats and planks vanished, he might have +taken shame to himself of his lack of faith. Therefore I say it +boldly, it was because of men’s unbelief that the Maid at Paris +wrought no great works, save that she put her body in such hazard of +war as never did woman, nay, nor man, since the making of the world.</p> +<p>I have no heart to speak more of this shameful matter, nor of these +days of anger and blasphemy. It was said and believed that her +voices bade the Maid abide at St. Denis till she should take Paris town, +but the King, and Charles de Bourbon, and the Archbishop of Reims refused +to hearken to her. On the thirteenth day of September, after dinner, +the King, with all his counsellors, rode away from St. Denis, towards +Gien on the Loire. The Maiden, for her part, hung up all her harness +that she had worn, save the sword of St. Catherine of Fierbois, in front +of the altar of Our Lady, and the blessed relics of St. Denis in the +chapel. Thereafter she rode, as needs she must, and we of her +company with her, to join the King, for so he commanded.</p> +<p>And now was the will of the Maid and of the Duc d’Alençon +broken, and broken was all that great army, whereof some were free lances +out of many lands, but more were nobles of France with their men, who +had served without price or pay, for love of France and of the Maid. +Never again were they mustered; nay when, after some weeks passed, the +gentle Duc d’Alençon prayed that he might have the Maiden +with him, and burst into Normandy, where the English were strongest, +by the Marches of Maine, even this grace was refused to him, by the +malengin and ill-will of La Trémouille and the Archbishop of +Reims. And these two fair friends met never more again, neither +at fray nor feast. May she, among the Saints, so work by her prayers +that the late sin and treason of the gentle Duke may be washed out and +made clean, for while she lived there was no man more dear to her, nor +any that followed her more stoutly in every onfall.</p> +<p>Now concerning the times that came after this shameful treason at +Paris, I have no joy to write. The King’s counsellors, as +their manner was, ever hankered after a peace with Burgundy, and they +stretched the false truce that was to have ended at Christmas to Easter +Day, “pacem clamantes quo non fuit pax.” For there +was no truce with the English, who took St. Denis again, and made booty +of the arms which the Maid had dedicated to Our Lady. On our part +La Hire and Xaintrailles plundered, for their own hand, the lands of +the Duke of Burgundy, and indeed on every side there was no fair fighting, +such as the Maid loved, but a war of wastry, the peasants pillaged, +and the poor held to ransom. For her part, she spent her days +in prayer for the poor and the oppressed, whom she had come to deliver, +and who now were in worse case than before, the English harrying certain +of the good towns that had yielded to King Charles.</p> +<p>Now her voices ever bade the Maid go back to the Isle of France, +and assail Paris, where lay no English garrison, and the Armagnacs were +stirring as much as they might. But Paris, being at this time +under the government of the Duke of Burgundy, was forsooth within the +truce. The King’s counsellors, therefore, setting their +wisdom against that of the Saints, bade the Maid go against the towns +of St. Pierre le Moustier and La Charité, then held by the English +on the Loire. This was in November, when days were short, and +the weather bitter cold. The Council was held at Mehun sur Yèvre, +and forthwith the Maid, glad to be doing, rode to Bourges, where she +mustered her men, and so marched to St. Pierre le Moustier, a small +town, but a strong, with fosses, towers, and high walls.</p> +<p>There we lay some two days or three, plying the town with our artillery, +and freezing in the winter nights. At length, having made somewhat +of a breach, the Maid gave the word for the assault, and herself leading, +with her banner in hand, we went at it with what force we might. +But twice and thrice we were driven back from the fosse, and to be plain, +our men were fled under cover, and only the Maid stood within arrow-shot +of the wall, with a few of her household, of whom I was one, for I could +not go back while she held her ground. The arrows and bolts from +the town rained and whistled about us, and in faith I wished myself +other where. Yet she stood, waving her banner, and crying, “Tirez +en avant, ils sont à nous,” as was her way in every onfall. +Seeing her thus in jeopardy, her maître d’hôtel, D’Aulon, +though himself wounded in the heel so that he might not set foot to +ground, mounted a horse, and riding up, asked her “why she abode +there alone, and did not give ground like the others?”</p> +<p>At this the Maid lifted her helmet from her head, and so, uncovered, +her face like marble for whiteness, and her eyes shining like steel, +made answer—</p> +<p>“I am not alone; with me there are of mine fifty thousand! +Hence I will not give back one step till I have taken the town.”</p> +<p>Then I wotted well that, sinful man as I am, I was in the company +of the hosts of Heaven, though I saw them not. Great heart this +knowledge gave me and others, and the Maid crying, in a loud voice, +“Aux fagots, tout le monde!” the very runaways heard her +and came back with planks and faggots, and so, filling up the fosse +and passing over, we ran into the breach, smiting and slaying, and the +town was taken.</p> +<p>For my own part, I was so favoured that two knights yielded them +my prisoners (I being the only man of gentle birth among those who beset +them in a narrow wynd), and with their ransoms I deemed myself wealthy +enough, as well I might. So now I could look to win my heart’s +desire, if no ill fortune befell. But little good fortune came +in our way. From La Charité, which was beset in the last +days of November, we had perforce to give back, for the King sent us +no munitions of war, and for lack of more powder and ball we might not +make any breach in the walls of that town. And so, by reason of +the hard winter, and the slackness of the King, and the false truce, +we fought no more, at that season, but went, trailing after the Court, +from castle to castle.</p> +<p>Many feasts were held, and much honour was done to the Maid, as by +gifts of coat armour, and the ennobling of all her kith and kin, but +these things she regarded not, nor did she ever bear on her shield the +sword supporting the crown, between the lilies of France.</p> +<p>If these were ill days for the Maid, I shame to confess that they +were merry days with me. There are worse places than a king’s +court, when a man is young, and light of heart, full of hope, and with +money in his purse. I looked that we should take the field again +in the spring; and having gained some gold, and even some good words, +as one not backward where sword-strokes were going, I know not what +dreams I had of high renown, ay, and the Constable’s staff to +end withal. For many a poor Scot has come to great place in France +and Germany, who began with no better fortune than a mind to put his +body in peril. Moreover, the winning of Elliot herself for my +wife seemed now a thing almost within my reach. Therefore, as +I say, I kept a merry Yule at Jargeau, going bravely clad, and dancing +all night long with the merriest. Only the wan face of the Maid +(that in time of war had been so gallant and glad) came between me and +my pleasures. Not that she was wilfully and wantonly sad, yet +now and again we could mark in her face the great and loving pity that +possessed her for France. Now I would be half angered with her, +but again far more wroth with myself, who could thus lightly think of +that passion of hers. But when she might she was ever at her prayers, +or in company of children, or seeking out such as were poor and needy, +to whom she was abundantly lavish of her gifts, so that, wheresoever +the Court went, the people blessed her.</p> +<p>In these months I had tidings of Elliot now and again; and as occasion +served I wrote to her, with messages of my love, and with a gift, as +of a ring or a jewel. But concerning the manner of my escape from +Paris I had told Elliot nothing for this cause. My desire was, +when soonest I had an occasion, to surprise her with the gift of her +jackanapes anew, knowing well that nothing could make her greater joy, +save my own coming, or a victory of the Maid. The little creature +had been my comrade wheresoever we went, as at Sully, Gien, and Bourges, +only I took him not to the leaguers of St. Pierre le Moustier and La +Charité, but left him with a fair lady of the Court. He +had waxed fat again, for as meagre as he was when he came to me in prison, +and he was full of new tricks, warming himself at the great fire in +hall, like a man.</p> +<p>Now in the middle of the month of January, in the year of Grace fourteen +hundred and thirty, the Maid told us of her household that she would +journey to Orleans, to abide for some space with certain ladies of her +friends, namely, Madame de St. Mesmin and Madame de Mouchy, who loved +her dearly. To the most of us she gave holiday, to see our own +friends. The Maid knew surely that in France my friends were few, +and well she guessed whither I was bound. Therefore she sent for +me, and bidding me carry her love to Elliot, she put into my hands a +gift to her friend. It was a ring of silver-gilt, fashioned like +that which her own father and mother had given her. At this ring +she had a custom of looking often, so that the English conceived it +to be an unholy talisman, though it bore the Name that is above all +names. That ring I now wear in my bosom. So, saying farewell, +with many kind words on her part, I rode towards Tours, where Elliot +and her father as then dwelt, in that same house where I had been with +them to be healed of my malady, after the leaguer of Orleans. +To Tours I rode, telling them not of my coming, and carrying the jackanapes +well wrapped up in furs of the best. The weather was frosty, and +folk were sliding on the ice of the flooded fields near Tours when I +came within sight of the great Minster. The roads rang hard; on +the smooth ice the low sun was making paths of gold, and I sang as I +rode. Putting up my horse at the sign of the “Hanging Sword,” +I took the ape under my great furred surcoat, and stole like a thief +through the alleys, towards my master’s house. The night +was falling, and all the casement of the great chamber was glowing with +the colour and light of a leaping fire within. There came a sound +of music too, as one touched the virginals to a tune of my own country. +My heart was beating for joy, as it had beaten in the bushment outside +Paris town.</p> +<p>I opened the outer door secretly, for I knew the trick of it, and +I saw from the thin thread of light on the wall of the passage that +the chamber door was a little ajar. The jackanapes was now fretting +and struggling within my surcoat, so, opening the coat, I put him down +by the chamber door. He gave a little scratch, as was his custom, +for he was a very mannerly little beast, and the sound of the virginals +ceased. Then, pushing the door with his little hands, he ran in, +with a kind of cry of joy.</p> +<p>“In Our Lady’s name, what is this?” came the voice +of Elliot. “My dear, dear little friend, what make you here?”</p> +<p>Then I could withhold myself no longer, but entered, and my lady +ran to me, the jackanapes clinging about her neck with his arms. +But mine were round her too, and what words we said, and what cheer +we made each the other, I may not write, commending me to all true lovers, +whose hearts shall tell them that whereof I am silent. Much was +I rebuked for that I did not write to warn them of my coming, which +was yet the more joyful that they were not warned. And then the +good woman, Elliot’s kinswoman, must be called (though in sooth +not at the very first), and then a great fire must be lit in my old +chamber; and next my master came in, from a tavern where he had been +devising with some Scots of his friends; and all the while the jackanapes +kept such a merry coil, and played so many of his tricks, and got so +many kisses from his mistress, that it was marvel. But of all +that had befallen me in the wars, and of how the Maiden did (concerning +which Elliot had questioned me first of all), I would tell them little +till supper was brought.</p> +<p>And then, indeed, out came all my tale, and they heard of what had +been my fortune in Paris, and how the jackanapes had delivered me from +durance, whereon never, surely, was any beast of his kind so caressed +since our father Adam gave all the creatures their names. But +as touching the Maid, I told how she had borne herself at St. Pierre +le Moustier, and of all the honours that had been granted to her, and +I bade them be of good heart and hope, for that her banner would be +on the wind in spring, after Easter Day. All the good news that +might be truly told I did tell, as how La Hire had taken Louviers town, +and harried the English up to the very gates of Rouen. And I gave +to Elliot the ring which the Maid had sent to her, fashioned like that +she herself wore, but of silver gilt, whereas the Maid’s was of +base metal, and it bore the Holy Names MARI. IHS. Thereon Elliot +kissed it humbly, and avowed herself to be, that night, the gladdest +damsel in all France.</p> +<p>“For I have gotten you, mon ami, and my little friend that +I had lost, beyond all hope, and I have a kind word and a token from +Her, la fille de Dieu,” whereat her speech faltered, and her eyes +swam in tears. But some trick of her jackanapes brought back her +mirth, and so the hours passed, as happy as any in my life. Truly +the memory of these things tells me how glad this world might be, wherein +God has placed us, were it not troubled by the inordinate desires of +men. In my master’s house of Tours, then, my days of holiday +went merrily by, save for one matter, and that of the utmost moment. +For my master would in no manner permit me to wed his daughter while +this war endured; and Elliot herself, blushing like any rose, told me +that, while the Maid had need of me, with the Maid I must abide at my +duty, and that she herself had no mind for happiness while her friend +was yet labouring in the cause of France. Howbeit, I delivered +me of my vow, by pilgrimage to the chapel in Fierbois. <a name="citation32"></a><a href="#footnote32">{32}</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV—HOW THE MAID HEARD ILL TIDINGS FROM HER VOICES, +AND OF THE SILENCE OF THE BIRDS</h2> +<p>Eastertide came at last, and that early, Easter Day falling on March +the twenty-seventh. Our King kept his Pâques at Sully with +great festival, but his deadly foe, the Duke of Burgundy, lay at the +town of Peronne. So soon as Eastertide was over, the Duke drew +all the force he had to Montdidier, a town which lies some eight leagues +to the north and west of Compiègne. Hence he so wrought +that he made a pact with the captain of the French in Gournay, a town +some four leagues north and west of Compiègne, whereby the garrison +there promised to lie idle, and make no onslaught against them of Burgundy, +unless the King brought them a rescue. Therefore the Duke went +back to Noyon on the Oise, some eight leagues north and east of Compiègne, +while his captain, Jean de Luxembourg, led half his army west, towards +Beauvais. There he took the castle of Provenlieu, an old castle, +and ruinous, that the English had repaired and held. And there +he hanged certain English, who were used to pillage all the country +about Montdidier. Thence Jean de Luxembourg came back to the Duke, +at Noyon, and took and razed Choisy, which was held for France.</p> +<p>Now all these marchings, and takings of towns, were designed to one +end, namely, that the Duke might have free passage over the river Oise, +so that his men and his victual might safely come and go from the east. +For, manifestly, it was his purpose to besiege and take the good town +of Compiègne, which lies on the river Oise some fifteen leagues +north and east of Paris. This town had come in, and yielded to +the Maid, some weeks before the onfall of Paris, and it was especially +dear to her, for the people had sworn that they would all die, and see +their wives and children dead, rather than yield to England or Burgundy. +Moreover, whosoever held Compiègne was like, in no long time, +to be master of Paris. But as now Guillaume de Flavy commanded +in Compiègne for the King, a very good knight and skilled captain, +but a man who robbed and ravished wheresoever he had power. His +brother, Louis de Flavy, also joined him after Choisy fell, as I have +told.</p> +<p>All this I have written that men may clearly know how the Maid came +by her end. For, so soon as Eastertide was over, and the truce +ended, she made no tarrying, nor even said farewell to the King, who +might have held her back, but drew out all her company, and rode northward, +whither she knew that battle was to be. Her mind was to take some +strong place on the Oise, as Pont l’Évêque, near +Noyon, that she might cut off them of Burgundy from all the country +eastward of Oise, and so put them out of the power to besiege Compiègne, +and might destroy all their host at Montdidier and in the Beauvais country. +For the Maid was not only the first of captains in leading a desperate +onslaught, but also (by miracle, for otherwise it might not be) she +best knew how to devise deep schemes and subtle stratagem of war.</p> +<p>Setting forth, therefore, early in April, on the fifteenth day of +the month she came to Melun, a town some seven leagues south of Paris, +that had lately yielded to the King. Bidding me walk with her, +she went afoot about the walls, considering what they lacked of strength, +and how they might best be repaired, and bidding me write down all in +a little book. Now we two, and no other, were walking by the dry +fosse of Melun, the day being very fair and warm for that season, the +flowers blossoming, and the birds singing so sweet and loud as never +I heard them before or since that day.</p> +<p>The Maid stood still to listen, holding up her hand to me for silence, +when, lo! in one moment, in the midst of merry music, the birds hushed +suddenly.</p> +<p>As I marvelled, for there was not a cloud in the sky, nor a breath +of cold wind, I beheld the Maid standing as I had seen her stand in +the farmyard of the mill by St. Denis. Her head was bare, and +her face was white as snow. So she stood while one might count +a hundred, and if ever any could say that he had seen the Maid under +fear, it was now. As I watched and wondered, she fell on her knees, +like one in prayer, and with her eyes set and straining, and with clasped +hands, she said these words—“Tell me of that day, and that +hour, or grant me, of your grace, that in the same hour I may die.”</p> +<p>Then she was silent for short space, and then, having drawn herself +upon her knees for three paces or four, she very reverently bowed down, +and kissed the ground.</p> +<p>Thereafter she arose, and beholding me wan, I doubt not, she gently +laid her hand upon my shoulder, and, smiling most sweetly, she said—</p> +<p>“I know not what thou hast seen or heard, but promise, on thine +honour, that thou wilt speak no word to any man, save in confession +only, while I bear arms for France.”</p> +<p>Then humbly, and with tears, I vowed as she had bidden me, whereto +she only said—</p> +<p>“Come, we loiter, and I have much to do, for the day is short.”</p> +<p>But whether the birds sang again, or stinted, I know not, for I marked +it not.</p> +<p>But she set herself, as before, to consider the walls and the fosses, +bidding me write down in my little book what things were needful. +Nor was her countenance altered in any fashion, nor was her wit less +clear; but when we had seen all that was to be looked to, she bade me +call the chief men of the town to her house, after vespers, and herself +went into the Church of St. Michael to pray.</p> +<p>Though I pondered much on this strange matter, which I laid up in +my heart, I never knew what, belike, the import was, till nigh a year +thereafter, at Rouen.</p> +<p>But there one told me how the Maid, before her judges, had said that, +at Melun, by the fosse, her Saints had told her how she should be made +prisoner before the feast of St. John. And she had prayed them +to warn her of that hour, or in that hour might she die, but they bade +her endure all things patiently, and with a willing mind. At that +coming, then, of the Saints, I was present, though, being a sinful man, +I knew not that the Holy Ones were there. But the birds knew, +and stinted in their singing.</p> +<p>Now that the Maid, knowing by inspiration her hour to be even at +the doors, and wotting well what the end of her captivity was like to +be, yet had the heart to put herself in jeopardy day by day, this I +deem the most valiant deed ever done by man or woman since the making +of the world. For scarce even Wallace wight would have stood to +his standard had he known, by teaching of them who cannot lie, what +end awaited him beyond all hope. Nay, he would have betaken him +to France, as once he did in time of less danger.</p> +<p>Now, I pray you, consider who she was that showed this courage and +high heart. She was but the daughter of a manant, a girl of eighteen +years of age. Remember, then, what manner of creature such a girl +is of her nature; how weak and fearful; how she is discomfited and abashed +by the company of even one gentleman or lady of noble birth; how ignorant +she is of war; how fond to sport and play with wenches of her own degree; +how easily set on fire of love; and how eager to be in the society of +young men amorous. Pondering all these things in your hearts, +judge ye whether this Maid, the bravest leader in breach, the wisest +captain, having foreknowledge of things hidden and of things to come, +the most courteous lady who ever with knights sat in hall, not knowing +carnal love, nor bodily fear, was aught but a thing miraculous, and +a sister of the Saints.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV—OF THE ONFALL AT PONT L’ÉVÊQUE, +AND HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS HURT</h2> +<p>I have now shown wherefore the fighting, in this spring, was to be +up and down the water of Oise, whence the villagers had withdrawn themselves, +of necessity, into the good towns. For the desire of the Duke +of Burgundy was to hold the Oise, and so take Compiègne, the +better to hold Paris. And on our side the skill was to cut his +army in two, so that from east of the water of Oise neither men nor +victual might come to him.</p> +<p>Having this subtle device of war in her mind, the Maid rode north +from Melun, by the King’s good towns, till she came to Compiègne, +that was not yet beleaguered. There they did her all the honour +that might be, and thither came to her standard Messire Jacques de Chabennes, +Messire Rigault de Fontaines, Messire Poton de Xaintrailles, the best +knight then on ground, and many other gentlemen, some four hundred lances +in all. <a name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33">{33}</a> +With these lances the Maid consorted to attack Pont l’Évêque +by a night onfall. This is a small but very strong hold, on the +Oise, some six leagues from Compiègne, as you go up the river, +and it lies near the town of Noyon, which was held by the English. +In Pont l’Évêque there was a garrison of a hundred +lances of the English, and our skill was to break on them in the grey +of dawn, when men least fear a surprise, and are most easily taken. +By this very device La Hire had seized Compiègne but six years +agone, wherefore our hope was the higher. About five of the clock +on an April day we rode out of Compiègne, a great company,—too +great, perchance, for that we had to do. For our army was nigh +a league in length as it went on the way, nor could we move swiftly, +for there were waggons with us and carts, drawing guns and couleuvrines +and powder, fascines wherewith to fill the fosses, and ladders and double +ladders for scaling the walls. So the captains ordered it to be, +for ever since that day by Melun fosse, when the Saints foretold her +captivity, the Maid submitted herself in all things to the captains, +which was never her manner before.</p> +<p>As we rode slowly, she was now at the head of the line, now in the +midst, now at the rear, wherever was need; and as I rode at her rein, +I took heart to say—</p> +<p>“Madame, it is not thus that we have taken great keeps and +holds, in my country, from our enemies of England.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” said she, checking her horse to a walk, and smiling +on me in the dusk with her kind eyes. “Then tell me how +you order it in your country.”</p> +<p>“Madame,” I said, “it was with a little force, +and lightly moving, that Messire Thomas Randolph scaled the Castle rock +and took Edinburgh Castle out of the hands of the English, a keep so +strong, and set on a cliff so perilous, that no man might deem to win +it by sudden onfall. And in like manner the good Messire James +Douglas took his own castle, more than once or twice, by crafty stratagem +of war, so that the English named it Castle Perilous. But in every +such onfall few men fought for us, of such as could move secretly and +swiftly, not with long trains of waggons that cover a league of road, +and by their noise and number give warning to an enemy.”</p> +<p>“My mind is yours,” she said, with a sigh, “and +so I would have made this onslaught. But I submitted me to the +will of the captains.”</p> +<p>Through the night we pushed our way slowly, for in such a march none +may go swifter than the slowest, namely, the carts and the waggons. +Thus it befell that the Maid and the captains were in more thoughts +than one to draw back to Compiègne, for the night was clear, +and the dawn would be bright. And, indeed, after stumbling and +wandering long, and doubting of the way, we did, at last, see the church +towers and walls of Pont l’Évêque stand out against +the clear sky of morning, a light mist girdling the basement of the +walls. Had we been a smaller and swifter company, we should have +arrived an hour before the first greyness shows the shapes of things. +But now, alas! we no sooner saw the town than we heard the bells and +trumpets calling the townsfolk and men-at-arms to be on their ward. +The great guns of the keep roared at us so soon as we were in reach +of shot; nevertheless, Pothon and the Maid set companies to carry the +double ladders, for the walls were high, and others were told off to +bring up the fascines, and so, leaving our main battle to wait out of +shot, and come on as they were needed, the Maid and Pothon ran up the +first rampart, she waving her standard and crying that all was ours. +As we ran, for I must needs be by her side, the din of bells and guns +was worse than I had heard at Orleans, and on the top of the church +towers were men-at-arms waving flags, as if for a signal. Howbeit, +we sprang into the fosse, under shield, wary of stones cast from above, +and presently three ladders were set against the wall, and we went up, +the Maid leading the way.</p> +<p>Now of what befell I know but little, save that I had so climbed +that I looked down over the wall, when the ladder whereon I stood was +wholly overthrown by two great English knights, and one of them, by +his coat armour, was Messire de Montgomery himself, who commanded in +Pont l’Évêque. Of all that came after I remember +no more than a flight through air, and the dead stroke of a fall on +earth with a stone above me. For such is the fortune of war, whereof +a man knows but his own share for the most part, and even that dimly. +The eyes are often blinded with swift running to be at the wall, and, +what with a helm that rings to sword-blows, and what with smoke, and +dust, and crying, and clamour, and roar of guns, it is but little that +many a man-at-arms can tell concerning the frays wherein, may be, he +has borne himself not unmanly.</p> +<p>This was my lot at Pont l’Évêque, and I knew but +little of what passed till I found myself in very great anguish. +For I had been laid in one of the carts, and so was borne along the +way we had come, and at every turn of the wheels a new pang ran through +me. For my life I could not choose but groan, as others groaned +that were in the same cart with me. For my right leg was broken, +also my right arm, and my head was stounding as if it would burst. +It was late and nigh sunset or ever we won the gates of Compiègne, +having lost, indeed, but thirty men slain, but having wholly failed +in our onfall. For I heard in the monastery whither I was borne +that, when the Maid and Xaintrailles and their men had won their way +within the walls, and had slain certain of the English, and were pushing +the others hard, behold our main battle was fallen upon in the rear +by the English from Noyon, some two miles distant from Pont l’Évêque. +Therefore there was no help for it but retreat we must, driving back +the English to Noyon, while our wounded and all our munitions of war +were carried orderly away.</p> +<p>As to the pains I bore in that monastery of the Jacobins, when my +broken bones were set by a very good surgeon, there is no need that +I should write. My fortune in war was like that of most men-at-arms, +or better than that of many who are slain outright in their first skirmish. +Some good fortune I had, as at St. Pierre, and again, bad fortune, of +which this was the worst, that I could not be with the Maid: nay, never +again did I ride under her banner.</p> +<p>She, for her part, was not idle, but, after tarrying certain days +in Compiègne with Guillaume de Flavy, she rode to Lagny, “for +there,” she said, “were men that warred well against the +English,” namely, a company of our Scots. And among them, +as later I heard in my bed, was Randal Rutherford, who had ransomed +himself out of the hands of the French in Paris, whereat I was right +glad. At Lagny, with her own men and the Scots, the Maid fought +and took one Franquet d’Arras, a Burgundian “routier,” +or knight of the road, who plundered that country without mercy. +Him the Maid would have exchanged for an Armagnac of Paris, the host +of the Bear Inn, then held in duresse by the English, for his share +in a plot to yield Paris to the King. But this burgess died in +the hands of the English, and the échevins <a name="citation34"></a><a href="#footnote34">{34}</a> +of Lagny, claiming Franquet d’Arras as a common thief, traitor, +and murderer, tried him, and, on his confession, put him to death. +This was counted a crime in the Maid by the English and Burgundian robbers, +nay, even by French and Scots. “For,” said they, “if +a gentleman is to be judged like a manant, or a fat burgess by burgesses, +there is no more profit or glory in war.” Nay, I have heard +gentlemen of France cry out that, as the Maid gave up Franquet to such +judges as would surely condemn him, so she was rightly punished when +Jean de Luxembourg sold her into the hands of unjust judges. But +I answer that the Maid did not sell Franquet d’Arras, as I say +De Luxembourg sold her: not a livre did she take from the folk of Lagny. +And as for the slaying of robbers, this very Jean de Luxembourg had +but just slain many English of his own party, for that they burned and +pillaged in the Beauvais country.</p> +<p>Yet men murmured against the Maid not only in their hearts, but openly, +and many men-at-arms ceased to love her cause, both for the slaying +of Franquet d’Arras, and because she was for putting away the +leaguer-lasses, and, when she might, would suffer no plundering. +Whether she was right or wrong, it behoves me not to judge, but this +I know, that the King’s men fought best when she was best obeyed. +And, like Him who sent her, she was ever of the part of the poor and +the oppressed, against strong knights who rob and ravish and burn and +torture, and hold to ransom. Therefore the Archbishop of Reims, +who was never a friend of the Maid, said openly in a letter to the Reims +folk that “she did her own will, rather than obeyed the commandments +of God.” But that God commands knights and gentlemen to +rob the poor and needy (though indeed He has set a great gulf between +a manant and a gentleman born) I can in nowise believe. For my +part, when I have been where gentlemen and captains lamented the slaying +of Franquet d’Arras, and justified the dealings of the English +with the Maid, I have seemed to hear the clamour of the cruel Jews: +“Tolle hunc, et dimitte nobis Barabbam.” <a name="citation35"></a><a href="#footnote35">{35}</a> +For Barabbas was a robber. Howbeit on this matter, as on all, +I humbly submit me to the judgment of my superiors and to Holy Church.</p> +<p>Meantime the Maid rode from Lagny, now to Soissons, now to Senlis, +now to Crepy-en-Valois, and in Crepy she was when that befell which +I am about to relate.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI—HOW, AND BY WHOSE DEVICE, THE MAID WAS TAKEN +AT COMPIÈGNE</h2> +<p>“Verily and indeed the Maid is of wonderful excellence,” +quoth Father François to me, in my chamber at the Jacobins, where +I was healing of my hurts.</p> +<p>“Any man may know that, who is in your company,” the +father went on speaking.</p> +<p>“And how, good father?” I asked him; “sure I have +caught none of her saintliness.”</p> +<p>“A saint I do not call you, but I scarce call you a Scot. +For you are a clerk.”</p> +<p>“The Maid taught me none of my clergy, father, nor have I taught +her any of mine.”</p> +<p>“She needs it not. But you are peaceful and gentle; you +brawl not, nor drink, nor curse . . . ”</p> +<p>“Nay, father, with whom am I to brawl, or how should I curse +in your good company? Find you Scots so froward?”</p> +<p>“But now, pretending to be our friends, a band of them is harrying +the Sologne country . . . ”</p> +<p>“They will be Johnstons and Jardines, and wild wood folk of +Galloway,” I said. “These we scarce reckon Scots, +but rather Picts, and half heathen. And the Johnstons and Jardines +are here belike, because they have made Scotland over hot to hold them. +We are a poor folk, but honest, let by the clans of the Land Debatable +and of Ettrick Forest, and the Border freebooters, and the Galloway +Picts, and Maxwells, and Glendinnings, and the red-shanked, jabbering +Highlanders and Islesmen, and some certain of the Angus folk, and, maybe, +a wild crew in Strathclyde.”</p> +<p>“Yours, then, is a very large country?”</p> +<p>“About the bigness of France, or, may be, not so big. +And the main part of it, and the most lawful and learned, is by itself, +in a sort, a separate kingdom, namely Fife, whence I come myself. +The Lothians, too, and the shire of Ayr, if you except Carrick, are +well known for the lands of peaceful and sober men.”</p> +<p>“Whence comes your great captain, Sir Hugh Kennedy?”</p> +<p>“There you name an honourable man-at-arms,” I said, “the +glory of Scotland; and to show you I was right, he is none of your marchmen, +or Highlanders, but has lands in Ayrshire, and comes of a very honourable +house.”</p> +<p>“It is Sir Hugh that hath just held to ransom the King’s +good town of Tours, where is that gracious lady the mother of the King’s +wife, the Queen of Sicily.”</p> +<p>Hereat I waxed red as fire.</p> +<p>“He will be in arrears of his pay, no doubt,” I made +answer.</p> +<p>“It is very like,” said Father François: “but +considering all that you tell me, I crave your pardon if I still think +that the Blessed Maid has won you from the common ways of your countrymen.”</p> +<p>To which, in faith, I had no answer to make, but that my fortune +was like to be the happier in this world and the next.</p> +<p>“Much need have all men of her goodness, and we of her valour,” +said the father, and he sighed. “This is now the fourth +siege of Compiègne I have seen, and twice have the leads from +our roofs and the metal of our bells been made into munition of war. +Absit omen Domine! And now they say the Duke of Burgundy has sworn +to slay all, and spare neither woman nor child.”</p> +<p>“A vaunt of war, father. Call they not him the Good Duke? +When we lay before Paris, the English put about a like lying tale concerning +us, as if we should sack and slay all.”</p> +<p>“I pray that you speak sooth,” said Father François.</p> +<p>On the next day, being May the twentieth, he came to me again, with +a wan face.</p> +<p>“Burgundians are in Claroix,” said he, “across +the river, and yet others, with Jean de Luxembourg, at Margny, scarce +a mile away, at the end of the causeway through the water meadows, beyond +the bridge. And the Duke is at Coudun, a league off to the right +of Claroix, and I have clomb the tower-top, and thence seen the English +at Venette, on the left hand of the causeway. All is undone.”</p> +<p>“Nay, father, be of better cheer. Our fort at the bridge +end is stronger than Les Tourelles were at Orleans. The English +shot can scarce cross the river. Bridge the enemy has none, and +northward and eastward all is open. Be of better heart, Heaven +helps France.”</p> +<p>“We have sent to summon the Maid,” said he, “from +Crepy-en-Valois. In her is all my hope; but you speak lightly, +for you are young, and war is your trade.”</p> +<p>“And praying is yours, father, wherefore you should be bolder +than I.”</p> +<p>But he shook his head.</p> +<p>So two days passed, and nothing great befell, but in the grey dawn +of May the twenty-third I was held awake by clatter of horsemen riding +down the street under the window of my chamber. And after matins +came Father François, his face very joyful, with the tidings +that the Maid, and a company of some three hundred lances of hers, had +ridden in from Crepy-en-Valois, she making her profit of the darkness +to avoid the Burgundians.</p> +<p>Then I deemed that the enemy would soon have news of her, and all +that day I heard the bells ring merry peals, and the trumpets sounding. +About three hours after noonday Father François came again, and +told me that the Maid would make a sally, and cut the Burgundians in +twain; and now nothing would serve me but I must be borne in a litter +to the walls, and see her banner once more on the wind.</p> +<p>So, by the goodwill of Father François, some lay brethren +bore me forth from the convent, which is but a stone’s-throw from +the bridge. They carried me across the Oise to a mill hard by +the boulevard of the Bridge fort, whence, from a window, I beheld all +that chanced. No man sitting in the gallery of a knight’s +hall to see jongleurs play and sing could have had a better stance, +or have seen more clearly all the mischief that befell.</p> +<p>The town of Compiègne lies on the river Oise, as Orleans on +the Loire, but on the left, not the right hand of the water. The +bridge is strongly guarded, as is custom, by a tower at the further +end, and, in front of that tower, a boulevard. All the water was +gay to look on, being covered with boats, as if for a holiday, but these +were manned by archers, whom Guillaume de Flavy had set to shoot at +the enemy, if they drove us back, and to rescue such of our men as might +give ground, if they could not win into the boulevard at the bridge +end.</p> +<p>Beyond the boulevard, forth to the open country, lay a wide plain, +and behind it, closing it in, a long, low wall of steep hills. +On the left, a mile and a half away, Father François showed me +the church tower of Venette, where the English camped; to the right, +a league off, was the tower of Clairoix; and at the end of a long raised +causeway that ran from the bridge across the plain, because of the winter +floods, I saw the tower and the village of Margny. All these towns +and spires looked peaceful, but all were held by the Burgundians. +Men-at-arms were thick on the crest of our boulevard, and on the gate-keep, +all looking across the river towards the town, whence the Maid should +sally by way of the bridge. So there I lay on a couch in the window +and waited, having no fear, but great joy.</p> +<p>Nay, never have I felt my spirit lighter within me, so that I laughed +and chattered like a fey man. The fresh air, after my long lying +in a chamber, stirred me like wine. The May sun shone warm, yet +cooled with a sweet wind of the west. The room was full of women +and maids, all waiting to throw flowers before the Maid, whom they dearly +loved. Everything had a look of holiday, and all was to end in +joy and great victory. So I laughed with the girls, and listened +to a strange tale, how the Maid had but of late brought back to life +a dead child at Lagny, so that he got his rights of Baptism, and anon +died again.</p> +<p>So we fleeted the time, till about the fifth hour after noon, when +we heard the clatter of horses on the bridge; and some women waxed pale. +My own heart leaped up. The noise drew nearer, and presently She +rode across and forth, carrying her banner in the noblest manner, mounted +on a grey horse, and clad in a rich hucque of cramoisie; she smiled +and bowed like a queen to the people, who cried, “Noël! +Noël!” Beside her rode Pothon le Bourgignon (not Pothon +de Xaintrailles, as some have falsely said), her confessor Pasquerel +on a palfrey; her brother, Pierre du Lys, with his new arms bravely +blazoned; and her maître d’hôtel, D’Aulon. +But of the captains in Compiègne no one rode with her. +She had but her own company, and a great rude throng of footmen of the +town that would not be said nay. They carried clubs, and they +looked, as I heard, for no less than to take prisoner the Duke of Burgundy +himself. Certain of these men also bore spades and picks and other +tools; for the Maid, as I deem, intended no more than to take and hold +Margny, that so she might cut the Burgundians in twain, and sunder from +them the English at Venette. Now as the night was not far off, +then at nightfall would the English be in sore straits, as not knowing +the country and the country roads, and not having the power to join +them of Burgundy at Clairoix. This, one told me afterwards, was +the device of the Maid.</p> +<p>Be this as it may, and a captain of hers, Barthélemy Barrette, +told me the tale, the Maid rode gallantly forth, flowers raining on +her, while my heart longed to be riding at her rein. She waved +her hand to Guillaume de Flavy, who sat on his horse by the gate of +the boulevard, and so, having arrayed her men, she cried, “Tirez +avant!” and made towards Margny, the foot-soldiers following with +what speed they might, while I and Father François, and others +in the chamber, strained our eyes after them. All the windows +and roofs of the houses and water-mills on the bridge were crowded with +men and women, gazing, and it came into my mind that Flavy had done +ill to leave these mills and houses standing. They wrought otherwise +at Orleans. This was but a passing thought, for my heart was in +my eyes, straining towards Margny. Thence now arose a great din, +and clamour of trumpets and cries of men-at-arms, and we could see tumult, +blown dust, and stir of men, and so it went for it may be half of an +hour. Then that dusty cloud of men and horses drove, forward ever, +out of our sight.</p> +<p>The sun was now red and sinking above the low wall of the western +hills, and the air was thicker than it had been, and confused with a +yellow light. Despite the great multitude of men and women on +the city walls, there came scarcely a sound of a voice to us across +the wide river, so still they kept, and the archers in the boats beneath +us were silent: nay, though the chamber wherein I lay was thronged with +the people of the house pressing to see through the open casement, yet +there was silence here, save when the father prayed.</p> +<p>A stronger wind rising out of the west now blew towards us with a +sweet burden of scent from flowers and grass, fragrant upon our faces. +So we waited, our hearts beating with hope and fear.</p> +<p>Then I, whose eyes were keen, saw, blown usward from Margny, a cloud +of flying dust, that in Scotland we call stour. The dust rolled +white along the causeway towards Compiègne, and then, alas! forth +from it broke little knots of our men, foot-soldiers, all running for +their lives. Behind them came more of our men, and more, all running, +and then mounted men-at-arms, spurring hard, and still more and more +of these; and ever the footmen ran, till many riders and some runners +had crossed the drawbridge, and were within the boulevard of the bridge. +There they stayed, sobbing and panting, and a few were bleeding. +But though the foremost runaways thus won their lives, we saw others +roll over and fall as they ran, tumbling down the sides of the causeway, +and why they fell I knew not.</p> +<p>But now, in the midst of the causeway, between us and Margny, our +flying horsemen rallied under the Maiden’s banner, and for the +last time of all, I heard that clear girl’s voice crying, “Tirez +en avant! en avant!”</p> +<p>Anon her horsemen charged back furiously, and drove the Picards and +Burgundians, who pursued, over a third part of the raised roadway.</p> +<p>But now, forth from Margny, trooped Burgundian men-at-arms without +end or number, the banner of the Maid waved wildly, now up, now down, +in the mad mellay, and ever they of Burgundy pressed on, and still our +men, being few and outnumbered, gave back. Yet still some of the +many clubmen of the townsfolk tumbled over as they ran, and the drawbridge +was choked with men flying, thrusting and thronging, wild and blind +with the fear of death. Then rose on our left one great cry, such +as the English give when they rejoice, or when they charge, and lo! +forth from a little wood that had hidden them, came galloping and running +across the heavy wet meadowland between us and Venette, the men-at-arms +and the archers of England. Then we nigh gave up all for lost, +and fain I would have turned my eyes away, but I might not.</p> +<p>Now and again the English archers paused, and loosed a flight of +clothyard shafts against the stream of our runaways on the bridge. +Therefore it was that some fell as they ran. But the little company +of our horsemen were now driven back so near us that I could plainly +see the Maid, coming last of all, her body swung round in the saddle +as she looked back at the foremost foemen, who were within a lance’s +length of her. And D’Aulon and Pierre du Lys, gripping each +at her reins, were spurring forward. But through the press of +our clubmen and flying horsemen they might not win, and now I saw, what +never man saw before, the sword of the Maid bare in battle! She +smote on a knight’s shield, her sword shivered in that stroke, +she caught her steel sperthe into her hand, and struck and hewed amain, +and there were empty saddles round her.</p> +<p>And now the English in the meadow were within four lances’ +lengths of the causeway between her and safety. Say it I must, +nor cannon-ball nor arrow-flight availed to turn these English. +Still the drawbridge and the inlet of the boulevard were choked with +the press, and men were leaping from bank and bridge into the boats, +or into the water, while so mixed were friends and foes that Flavy, +in a great voice, bade archers and artillerymen hold their hands.</p> +<p>Townsfolk, too, were mingled in the throng, men who had come but +to gape as curious fools, and among them I saw the hood of a cordelier, +as I glanced from the fight to mark how the Maid might force her way +within. Still she smote, and D’Aulon and Pierre du Lys smote +manfully, and anon they gained a little way, backing their horses, while +our archers dared not shoot, so mixed were French, English, and Burgundians.</p> +<p>Flavy, who worked like a man possessed, had turned about to give +an order to the archers above him; his back, I swear, was to the press +of flying men, to the inlet of the boulevard, and to the drawbridge, +when his own voice, as all deemed who heard it, cried aloud, “Up +drawbridge, close gates, down portcullis!” The men whose +duty it was were standing ready at the cranks and pulleys, their tools +in hand, and instantly, groaning, the drawbridge flew up, casting into +the water them that were flying across, down came the portcullis, and +slew two men, while the gates of the inlet of the boulevard were swung +to and barred, all, as it might he said, in the twinkling of an eye.</p> +<p>Flavy turned in wrath and great amaze: “In God’s name, +who cried?” he shouted. “Down drawbridge, up portcullis, +open gates! To the front, men-at-arms, lances forward!”</p> +<p>For most of the mounted men who had fled were now safe, and on foot, +within the boulevard.</p> +<p>All this I heard and saw, in a glance, while my eyes were fixed on +the Maid and the few with her. They were lost from our sight, +now and again, in a throng of Picards, Englishmen, Burgundians, for +all have their part in this glory. Swords and axes fell and rose, +steeds countered and reeled, and then, they say, for this thing I myself +did not see, a Picard archer, slipping under the weapons and among the +horses’ hoofs, tore the Maid from saddle by the long skirts of +her hucque, and they were all upon her. This befell within half +a stone’s-throw of the drawbridge. While Flavy himself toiled +with his hands, and tore at the cranks and chains, the Maid was taken +under the eyes of us, who could not stir to help her. Now was +the day and the hour whereof the Saints told her not, though she implored +them with tears. Now in the throng below I heard a laugh like +the sound of a saw on stone, and one struck him that laughed on the +mouth. It was the laugh of that accursed Brother Thomas!</p> +<p>I had laid my face on my hands, being so weak, and was weeping for +very rage at that which my unhappy eyes had seen, when I heard the laugh, +and lifting my head and looking forth, I beheld the hood of the cordelier.</p> +<p>“Seize him!” I cried to Father François, pointing +down at the cordelier. “Seize that Franciscan, he has betrayed +her! Run, man, it was he who cried in Flavy’s voice, bidding +them raise drawbridge and let fall portcullis. The devil gave +him that craft to counterfeit men’s voices. I know the man. +Run, Father François, run!”</p> +<p>“You are distraught with very grief,” said the good father, +the tears running down his own cheeks; “that is Brother Thomas, +the best artilleryman in France, and Flavy’s chief trust with +the couleuvrine. He came in but four days agone, and there was +great joy of his coming.”</p> +<p>Thus was the Maid taken, by art and device of the devil and Brother +Thomas, and in no otherwise. They who tell that Flavy sold her, +closing the gates in her face, do him wrong; he was an ill man, but +loyal to France, as was seen by the very defence he made at Compiègne, +for there was none like it in this war. But of what avail was +that to us who loved the Maid? Rather, many times, would I have +died in that hour than have seen what I saw. For our enemies made +no more tarrying, nor any onslaught on the boulevard, but rode swiftly +back with the prize they had taken, with her whom they feared more than +any knight or captain of France. This page whereon I work, in +a hand feeble and old, and weary with much writing, is blotted with +tears that will not be held in. But we must bow humbly to the +will of God and of His Saints. “Dominus dedit, et Dominus +abstulit; benedictum sit nomen Domini.”</p> +<p>Wherefore should I say more? They carried me back in litter +over the bridge, through the growing darkness. Every church was +full of women weeping and praying for her that was the friend of them, +and the playmate of their children, for all children she dearly loved.</p> +<p>Concerning Flavy, it was said, by them who loved him not, that he +showed no sign of sorrow. But when his own brother Louis fell, +later in the siege, a brother whom he dearly loved, none saw him weep, +or alter the fashion of his countenance; nay, he bade musicians play +music before him.</p> +<p>I besought the Prior, when I was borne home, that I might be carried +to Flavy, and tell him that I knew. But he forbade me, saying +that, in very truth, I knew nought, or nothing that could be brought +against a Churchman, and one in a place of trust. For I had not +seen the lips of the cordelier move when that command was given—nay, +at the moment I saw him not at all. Nor could I even prove to +others that he had this devilish art, there being but my oath against +his, and assuredly he would deny the thing. And though I might +be assured and certain within myself, yet other witness I had none at +all, nor were any of my friends there who could speak with me. +For D’Aulon, and Pasquerel, and Pierre du Lys had all been taken +with the Maid. It was long indeed before Pierre du Lys was free, +for he had no money to ransom himself withal. Therefore Flavy, +knowing me only for a wounded Scot of the Maid’s, would think +me a brain-sick man, and as like as not give me more of Oise river to +drink than I craved.</p> +<p>With these reasonings it behoved me to content myself. The +night I passed in prayers for the Maid, and for myself, that I might +yet do justice on that devil, or, at least, might see justice done. +But how these orisons were answered shall be seen in the end, whereto +I now hasten.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII—HOW NORMAN LESLIE FARED IN COMPIÈGNE, +WITH THE END OFTHAT LEAGUER</h2> +<p>About all that befell in the besieged city of Compiègne, after +that wicked day of destiny when the Maid was taken, I heard for long +only from the Jacobin brothers, and from one Barthélemy Barrette. +He was a Picardy man, more loyal than most of his country, who had joined +the Maid after the fray at Paris. Now he commanded a hundred of +her company, who did not scatter after she was taken, and he was the +best friend I then had.</p> +<p>“The burgesses are no whit dismayed,” said he, coming +into my chamber after the day of the Ascension, which was the second +after the capture of the Maid. “They have sent a messenger +to the King, and expect succour.”</p> +<p>“They sue for grace at a graceless face,” said I, in +the country proverb; for my heart was hot against King Charles.</p> +<p>“That is to be seen,” said be. “But assuredly +the Duke of Burgundy is more keen about his own business.”</p> +<p>“How fare the Burgundians?” I asked, “for, indeed, +I have heard the guns speak since dawn, but none of the good fathers +cares to go even on to the roof of the church tower and bring me tidings, +for fear of a stray cannon-ball.”</p> +<p>“For holy men they are wondrous chary of their lives,” +said Barthélemy, laughing. “Were I a monk, I would +welcome death that should unfrock me, and let me go a-wandering in Paradise +among these fair lady saints we see in the pictures.”</p> +<p>“It is written, Barthélemy, that there is neither marrying +nor giving in marriage.”</p> +<p>“Faith, the more I am fain of it,” said Barthélemy, +“and may be I might take the wrong track, and get into the Paradise +of Mahound, which, I have heard, is no ill place for a man-at-arms.”</p> +<p>This man had no more faith than a paynim, but, none the less, was +a stout carl in war.</p> +<p>“But that minds me,” quoth he, “of the very thing +I came hither to tell you. One priest there is in Compiègne +who takes no keep of his life, a cordelier. What ails you, man? +does your leg give a twinge?”</p> +<p>“Ay, a shrewd twinge enough.”</p> +<p>“Truly, you look pale enough.”</p> +<p>“It is gone,” I said. “Tell me of that cordelier.”</p> +<p>“Do you see this little rod?” he asked, putting in my +hand a wand of dark wood, carven with the head of a strange beast in +a cowl.</p> +<p>“I see it.”</p> +<p>“How many notches are cut in it?”</p> +<p>“Five,” I said. “But why spoil you your rod?”</p> +<p>“Five men of England or Burgundy that cordelier shot this day, +from the creneaux of the boulevard where the Maid,” crossing himself, +“was taken. A fell man he is, strong and tall, with a long +hooked nose, and as black as Sathanas.”</p> +<p>“How comes he in arms?” I asked.</p> +<p>“Flavy called him in from Valenciennes, where he was about +some business of his own, for there is no greater master of the culverin. +And, faith, as he says, he ‘has had rare sport, and will have +for long.’”</p> +<p>“Was there an onfall of the enemy?”</p> +<p>“Nay, they are over wary. He shot them as they dug behind +pavises. <a name="citation36"></a><a href="#footnote36">{36}</a> For +the Duke has moved his quarters to Venette, where the English lay, hard +by the town. And, right in the middle of the causeway to Margny, +two arrow-shots from our bridge end, he is letting build a great bastille, +and digging a trench wherein men may go to and fro. The cordelier +was as glad of that as a man who has stalked a covey of partridges. +‘Keep my tally for me,’ he said to myself; ‘cut a +notch for every man I slay’; and here,” said Barthélemy, +waving his staff, “is his first day’s reckoning.”</p> +<p>Now I well saw what chance I had of bringing that devil to justice, +for who would believe so strange a tale as mine against one so serviceable +in the war? Nor was D’Aulon here to speak for me, the enemy +having taken him when they took the Maid. Thinking thus, I groaned, +and Barthélemy, fearing that he had wearied me, said farewell, +and went out.</p> +<p>Every evening, after sunset, he would come in, and partly cheer me, +by telling how hardily our people bore them, partly break my heart with +fresh tidings of that devil, Brother Thomas.</p> +<p>“Things go not ill, had we but hope of succour,” he said. +“The Duke’s bastille is rising, indeed, and the Duke is +building taudis <a name="citation37"></a><a href="#footnote37">{37}</a> +of oaken beams and earth, between the bastille and our boulevard. +The skill is to draw nearer us, and nearer, till he can mine beneath +our feet. Heard you any new noise of war this day?”</p> +<p>“I heard such a roar and clatter as never was in my ears, whether +at Orleans or Paris.”</p> +<p>“And well you might! This convent is in the very line +of the fire. They have four great bombards placed, every one of +them with a devilish Netherland name of its own. There is Houpembière,—that +means the beer-barrel, I take it,—and La Rouge Bombarde, and Remeswalle +and Quincequin, every one shooting stone balls thirty inches in girth. +The houses on the bridge are a heap of stones, the mills are battered +down, and we must grind our meal in the city, in a cellar, for what +I can tell. Nom Dieu! when they take the boulevard we lose the +river, and if once they bar our gates to the east, whence shall viands +come?”</p> +<p>“Is there no good tidings from the messenger?”</p> +<p>“The King answers ever like a drawer in a tavern, ‘Anon, +anon, sir!’ He will come himself presently, always presently, +with all his host.”</p> +<p>“He will never come,” I said. “He is a . +. . ”</p> +<p>“He is my King,” said Barthélemy. “Curse +your own King of Scots, if you will. Scots, by the blood of Iscariot, +traitors are they; well, I crave your pardon, I spake in haste and anger. +Know you Nichole Cammet?”</p> +<p>“I have heard of the man,” I said. “A town’s +messenger, is he not?”</p> +<p>“The same. But a week agone, Cammet was sent on a swift +horse to Château Thierry. The good town craved of Pothon +de Xaintrailles, who commands there, to send them what saltpetre he +could spare for making gunpowder. The saltpetre came in this day +by the Pierrefonds Gate, and Cammet with it, but on another horse, a +jade.”</p> +<p>“Well, and what have the Scots to do with that?”</p> +<p>“No more than this. A parcel of them, routiers and brigands, +have crept into an old castle on the road, and hold it for their own +hands. Thence they sallied forth after Cammet, and so chased him +that his horse fell down dead under him in the gateway of Château +Thierry.”</p> +<p>“They would be men of the Land Debatable,” I cried: “Elliots +and Armstrongs, they never do a better deed, being corrupted by dwelling +nigh our enemies of England. Fain would I pay for that horse; +see here,” and I took forth my purse from under my pillow, “take +that to the attournés, and say a Scot atones for what Scots have +done.”</p> +<p>“Norman, I take back my word; I crave your pardon, and I am +shamed to have spoken so to a sick man of his own country-folk. +But for your purse, I am ill at carrying purses; I have no skill in +that art, and the dice draw me when I hear the rattle of them. +But look at the cordelier’s tally: four men to-day, three yesterday; +faith, he thins them!”</p> +<p>Indeed, to shorten a long story, by the end of Barthélemy’s +count there were two hundred and thirty-nine notches on the rod. +That he kept a true score (till he stinted and reckoned no more), I +know, having proof from the other side. For twelve years thereafter, +I falling into discourse with Messire Georges Chastellain, an esquire +of the Duke of Burgundy, and a maker both of verse and prose, he told +me the same tale to a man, three hundred men. And I make no doubt +but that he has written it in his book of the praise of his prince, +and of these wars, to witness if I lie.</p> +<p>Consider, then, what hope I had of being listened to by Flavy, or +by the attournés (or, as we say, bailies), of the good town, +if, being recovered from my broken limbs, I brought my witness to their +ears.</p> +<p>None the less, the enemy battered at us every day with their engines, +destroying, as Barthélemy had said, the houses on the bridge, +and the mills, so that they could no longer grind the corn.</p> +<p>And now came the Earls of Huntingdon and Arundel, with two thousand +Englishmen, while to us appeared no succour. So at length, being +smitten by balls from above, and ruined by mines dug under earth from +below, our company that held the boulevard at the bridge end were surprised +in the night, and some were taken, some drowned in the river Oise. +Wherefore was great sorrow and fear, the more for that the Duke of Burgundy +let build a bridge of wood from Venette, to come and go across Oise, +whereby we were now assailed on both hands, for hitherto we had been +free to come and go on the landward side, and through all the forest +of Pierrefonds. We had but one gate unbeleaguered, the Chapel +Gate, leading to Choisy and the north-east. Now were we straitened +for provender, notably for fresh meat, and men were driven, as in a +city beleaguered, to eat the flesh of dead horses, and even of rats +and dogs, whereof I have partaken, and it is ill food.</p> +<p>None the less we endured, despite the murmuring of the commons, so +strong are men’s hearts; moreover, all France lay staked on this +one cast of the dice, no less than at Orleans in the year before.</p> +<p>Somewhat we were kept in heart by tidings otherwise bitter. +For word came that the Maid, being in ward at Beaurevoir, a strong place +of Jean de Luxembourg, had leaped in the night from the top of the tower, +and had, next morning, been taken up all unhurt, as by, miracle, but +astounded and bereft of her senses. For this there was much sorrow, +but would to God that He had taken her to Himself in that hour!</p> +<p>Nevertheless, when she was come to herself again, she declared, by +inspiration of the Saints, that Compiègne should be delivered +before the season of Martinmas. Whence I, for one, drew great +comfort, nor ever again despaired, and many were filled with courage +when this tidings came to our ears, hoping for some miracle, as at Orleans.</p> +<p>Now, too, God began to take pity upon us; for, on August the fifteenth, +the eighty-fifth day of the siege, came news to the Duke of Burgundy +that Philip, Duke of Brabant, was dead, and he must go to make sure +of that great heritage. The Duke having departed, the English +Earls had far less heart for the leaguer; I know not well wherefore, +but now, at least, was seen the truth of that proverb concerning the +“eye of the master.” The bastille, too, which our +enemies had made to prevent us from going out by our Pierrefonds Gate +on the landward side, was negligently built, and of no great strength. +All this gave us some heart, so much that my hosts, the good Jacobins, +and the holy sisters of the Convent of St. John, stripped the lead from +their roofs, and bestowed it on the town, for munition of war. +And when I was in case to walk upon the walls, and above the river, +I might see men and boys diving in the water and searching for English +cannon-balls, which we shot back at the English.</p> +<p>It chanced, one day, that I was sitting and sunning myself in the +warm September weather, on a settle in a secure place hard by the Chapel +Gate. With me was Barthélemy Barrette, for it was the day +of Our Lady’s Feast, that very day whereon we had failed before +Paris last year, and there was truce for the sacred season. We +fell to devising of what had befallen that day year, and without thought +I told Barthélemy of my escape from prison, and so, little by +little, I opened my heart to him concerning Brother Thomas and all his +treasons.</p> +<p>Never was man more astounded than Barthélemy; and he bade +me swear by the Blessed Trinity that all this tale was true.</p> +<p>“Mayhap you were fevered,” he said, “when you lay +in the casement seat, and saw the Maid taken by device of the cordelier.”</p> +<p>“I was no more fevered than I am now, and I swear, by what +oath you will, and by the bones of St. Andrew, which these sinful hands +have handled, that Flavy’s face was set the other way when that +cry came, ‘Down portcullis, up drawbridge, close gates!’ +And now that I have told you the very truth, what should I do?”</p> +<p>“Brother Thomas should burn for this,” quoth Barthélemy; +“but not while the siege endures. He carries too many English +lives in his munition-box. Nor can you slay him in single combat, +or at unawares, for the man is a priest. Nor would Flavy, who +knows you not, listen to such a story.”</p> +<p>So there he sat, frowning, and plucking at his beard. “I +have it,” he said; “D’Aulon is no further off than +Beaulieu, where Jean de Luxembourg holds him till he pays his ransom. +When the siege is raised, if ever we are to have succour, then purchase +safe-conduct to D’Aulon, take his testimony, and bring it to Flavy.”</p> +<p>As he spoke, some stir in the still air made me look up, and suddenly +throw my body aside; and it was well, for a sword swept down from the +low parapet above our heads, and smote into the back of that settle +whereon we were sitting.</p> +<p>Ere I well knew what had chanced, Barthélemy was on his feet, +his whinger flew from his hand, and he, leaping up on to the parapet, +was following after him who smote at me.</p> +<p>In the same moment a loud grating voice cried—</p> +<p>“The Maid shall burn, and not the man,” and a flash of +light went past me, the whinger flying over my head and clipping into +the water of the moat below.</p> +<p>Rising as I best might, but heedfully, I spied over the parapet, +and there was Barthélemy coming back, his naked sword in his +hand.</p> +<p>“The devil turned a sharp corner and vanished,” he said. +“And now where are we? We have a worse foe within than all +the men of Burgundy without. There goes the devil’s tally!” +he cried, and threw the little carven rod far from him into the moat, +where it fell and floated.</p> +<p>“No man saw this that could bear witness; most are in church, +where you and I should have been,” I said.</p> +<p>Then we looked on each other with blank faces.</p> +<p>“My post is far from his, and my harness is good,” said +Barthélemy; “but for you, beware!” Thenceforth, +if I saw any cowl of a cordelier as I walked, I even turned and went +the other way.</p> +<p>I was of no avail against this wolf, whom all men praised, so serviceable +was he to the town.</p> +<p>Once an arbalest bolt struck my staff from my hand as I walked, and +I was fain to take shelter of a corner, yet saw not whence the shot +came.</p> +<p>Once a great stone fell from a turret, and broke into dust at my +feet, and it is not my mind that a cannon-ball had loosened it.</p> +<p>Thus my life went by in dread and watchfulness. No more bitter +penance may man dree than was mine, to be near this devil, and have +no power to avenge my deadly quarrel. There were many heavy hearts +in the town; for, once it was taken, what man could deem his life safe, +or what woman her honour? But though they lay down and rose up +in fear, and were devoured by desire of revenge, theirs was no such +thirst as mine.</p> +<p>So the days went on, and darkened towards the promised season of +Martinmas, but there dawned no light of hope. Now, on the Wednesday +before All Saints, I had clambered up into the tower of the Church of +the Jacobins, on the north-east of the city, whence there was a prospect +far and wide. With me were only two of the youngest of the fathers. +I looked down into the great forest of Pierrefonds, and up and down +Oise, and beheld the army of our enemies moving in divers ways. +The banners of the English and their long array were crossing the Duke +of Burgundy’s new bridge of wood, that he had builded from Venette, +and with them the men of Jean de Luxembourg trooped towards Royaulieu. +On the crest of their bastille, over against our Pierrefonds Gate, matches +were lighted and men were watching in double guard, and the same on +the other side of the water, at the Gate Margny. Plainly our foes +expected a rescue sent to us of Compiègne by our party. +But the forest, five hundred yards from our wall, lay silent and peaceable, +a sea of brown and yellow leaves.</p> +<p>Then, while the English and Burgundian men-at-arms, that had marched +south and east, were drawn up in order of battle away to the right between +wood and water, behold, trumpets sounded, faint enough, being far off. +Then there was a glitter of the pale sun on long lines of lance-points, +under the banners of French captains, issuing out from the forest, over +against the enemy. We who stood on the tower gazed long at these +two armies, which were marshalled orderly, with no more than a bowshot +and a half between them, and every moment we looked to see them charge +upon each other with the lance. Much we prayed to the Saints, +for now all our hope was on this one cast. They of Burgundy and +of England dismounted from their horses, for the English ever fight +best on foot, and they deemed that the knights of France would ride +in upon them, and fall beneath the English bows, as at Azincour and +Crecy. We, too, looked for nought else; but the French array never +stirred, though here and there a knight would gallop forth to do a valiance. +Seldom has man seen a stranger sight in war, for the English and Burgundians +could not charge, being heavy-armed men on foot, and the French would +not move against them, we knew not wherefore.</p> +<p>All this spectacle lay far off, to the south, and we could not be +satisfied with wondering at it nor turn away our eyes, when, on the +left, a trumpet rang out joyously. Then, all of us wheeling round +as one man, we saw the most blessed sight, whereto our backs had been +turned; for, into the Chapel Gate—that is, far to the left of +the Pierrefonds Gate on the north-east—were streaming cattle, +sheep and kine, pricked on and hastened by a company of a hundred men-at-arms. +They had come by forest paths from Choisy way, and anon all our guns +on the boulevard of the Pierrefonds Gate burst forth at once against +the English bastille over against it. Now this bastille, as I +have said, had never been strongly builded, and, in some sort, was not +wholly finished.</p> +<p>After one great volley of guns against the bastille, we, looking +down into our boulevard of the Pierrefonds Gate, saw the portcullis +raised, the drawbridge lowered, and a great array of men-at-arms carrying +ladders rush out, and charge upon the bastille. Then, through +the smoke and fire, they strove to scale the works, and for the space +of half an hour all was roar of guns; but at length our men came back, +leaving many slain, and the running libbards grinned on the flag of +England.</p> +<p>I might endure no longer, but, clambering down the tower stairs as +best I might, for I was still lame, I limped to my lodgings at the Jacobins, +did on my harness, and, taking a horse from the stable, I mounted and +rode to the Pierrefonds Gate. For Brother Thomas and his murderous +ways I had now no care at all.</p> +<p>Never, sure, saw any man such a sight. Our boulevard was full, +not only of men-at-arms, but of all who could carry clubs, burgesses +armed, old men, boys, yea, women and children, some with rusty swords, +some with carpenters’ axes, some bearing cudgels, some with hammers, +spits, and knives, all clamouring for the portcullis to rise and let +them forth. Their faces were lean and fierce, their eyes were +like eyes of wolves, for now, they cried, was the hour, and the prophecy +of the Maid should be fulfilled! Verily, though she lay in bonds, +her spirit was with us on that day!</p> +<p>But still our portcullis was down, and the long tail of angry people +stretched inwards, from the inner mouth of the boulevard, along the +street, surging like a swollen loch against its barrier.</p> +<p>On the crest of the boulevard was Flavy, baton in hand, looking forth +across field and forest, watching for I knew not what, while still the +people clamoured to be let go. But he stood like the statue of +a man-at-arms, and from the bastille of the Burgundians the arrows rained +around him, who always watched, and was still. Now the guards +of the gate had hard work to keep the angry people back, who leaped +and tore at the men-at-arms arrayed in front of them, and yelled for +eagerness to issue forth and fight.</p> +<p>Suddenly, on the crest of the boulevard, Flavy threw up his arm and +gave one cry—</p> +<p>“Xaintrailles!”</p> +<p>Then he roared to draw up portcullis and open gates; the men-at-arms +charged forth, the multitude trampled over each other to be first in +field, I was swept on and along with them through the gate, and over +the drawbridge, like a straw on a wave, and, lo! a little on our left +was the banner of Pothon de Xaintrailles, his foremost men dismounting, +the rearguard just riding out from the forest. The two bands joined, +we from Compiègne, the four hundred of Xaintrailles from the +wood, and, like two swollen streams that meet, we raced towards the +bastille, under a rain of arrows and balls. Nothing could stay +us: a boy fell by my side with an arrow thrilling in his breast, but +his brother never once looked round. I knew not that I could run, +but run I did, though not so fast as many, and before I reached the +bastille our ladders were up, and the throng was clambering, falling, +rising again, and flowing furiously into the fort. The townsfolk +had no thought but to slay and slay; five or six would be at the throat +of one Burgundian man-at-arms; hammers and axes were breaking up armour, +knives were scratching and searching for a crevice; women, lifting great +stone balls, would stagger up to dash them on the heads of the fallen. +Of the whole garrison, one-half, a hundred and sixty men-at-arms, were +put to the sword. Only Pothon de Xaintrailles, and the gentlemen +with him, as knowing the manner of war, saved and held to ransom certain +knights, as Messire Jacques de Brimeu, the Seigneur de Crepy, and others; +while, for my own part, seeing a knight assailed by a knot of clubmen, +I struck in on his part, for gentle blood must ever aid gentle blood, +and so, not without shrewd blows on my salade, I took to ransom Messire +Collart de Bertancourt.</p> +<p>Thereafter, very late, and in the twilight of October the twenty-fifth, +we turned back to Compiègne, leaving the enemies’ bastille +in a flame behind us, while in front were blazing the bonfires of the +people of the good town. And, in Compiègne, we heard how +the English and the main army of Burgundians had turned, late in the +day, and crossed by the Duke of Burgundy’s bridge, leaving men +to keep guard there. So our victory was great, and wise had been +the prudence of the French captains, subtlety being the mother of victory; +for, without a blow struck, they had kept Jean de Luxembourg, and the +Earls of Huntingdon and Arundel, waiting idle all day, while their great +bastille was taken by Xaintrailles and the townsfolk, and food was brought +into Compiègne. Thus for the second time I passed a night +of joy in a beleaguered town, for there was music in every street, the +churches full of people praising God for this great deliverance, men +and maids dancing around bonfires, yet good watch was kept at the gates +and on the towers. Next day we expected battle, but our spies +brought in tidings that Burgundians and English had decamped in the +dawn, their men deserting. That day was not less joyful than the +night had been; for at Royaulieu, in the abbey where Jean de Luxembourg +had lain, the townsfolk found all manner of meat, and of wine great +plenty, so right good cheer we made, for it cost us nothing.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII—HOW THE BURGUNDIANS HUNTED HARES, WITH THE +END OF THAT HUNTING</h2> +<p>“Tell me, what tidings of him?” Barthélemy Barrette +asked me, on the day after that unbought feast at Royaulieu.</p> +<p>He was sitting in the noonday sun on the bridge of Compiègne, +and strange it was to see the place so battered yet so peaceful after +five months of war. The Oise sliding by and rippling on the piers +was not more quiet than this bridge of many battles, yet black in places +with dried-up blood of men slain. “Tidings can I find none,” +I answered. “He who saw the cordelier last was on guard +in the boulevard during the great charge. He marked Brother Thomas +level his couleuvrine now and again, as we ran for the bastille, and +cried out to him to aim higher, for that the ball would go amongst us.”</p> +<p>“You were his target, I make no doubt,” said Barthélemy, +“but by reason of the throng he had no certain aim.”</p> +<p>“After we broke into the bastille, I can find no man who has +set eyes on him,” and I cursed the cordelier for very rage.</p> +<p>“He is well away, if he stays away: you and I need scarce any +longer pray for eyes in the backs of our heads. But what make +we next?”</p> +<p>“I have but one thought,” I said: “to pluck the +Maid out of the hands of the English, for now men say that she is sold +to them by Jean of Luxembourg. They mean to take her to Arras, +and so by Crotoy at the mouth of Seine, and across Normandy to Rouen. +Save her France must, for the honour of France.”</p> +<p>“My mind is the same,” he said, and fell into a muse. +“Hence the straight road, and the shortest,” he said at +last, “is by Beauvais on to Rouen, where she will lie in chains,” +and drawing his dagger he scratched lines on the bridge parapet with +its point. “Here is Compiègne; there, far to the +west, is the sea, and here is Rouen. That straight line,” +which he scratched, “goes to Rouen from Compiègne. +Here, midway, is Beauvais, whereof we spoke, which town we hold. +But there, between us and Beauvais, is Clermont, held by Crêvecoeur +for the Burgundians, and here, midway between Beauvais and Rouen, is +Gournay, where Kyriel and the Lord Huntingdon lie with a great force +of English. Do you comprehend? We must first take Clermont +ere we can ride to rescue the Maid at Rouen!”</p> +<p>“The King should help us,” I said. “For what +is the army that has delivered Compiègne but a set of private +bands, under this gentleman’s flag or that, some with Boussac, +some with Xaintrailles, some with a dozen others, and victuals are hard +to come by.”</p> +<p>“Ay, many a peaceful man sits by the fire and tells how great +captains should have done this, and marched there, never thinking that +men fight on their bellies. And the King should help us, and march +with D’Alençon through Normandy from the south, while our +companies take Clermont if we may, and drive back the English and Burgundians. +But you know the King, and men say that the Archbishop of Reims openly +declares that the Maid is rightly punished for her pride. He has +set up a mad shepherd-boy to take her place, Heaven help him! who can +fight as well as that stone can swim,” and he dropped a loose +stone over the bridge into the water.</p> +<p>“Whoever stays at home, we take the field,” I said; “let +us seek counsel of Xaintrailles.”</p> +<p>We rose and went to the Jacobins, where Xaintrailles was lodged, +and there found him at his déjeuner.</p> +<p>He was a tall young knight, straight as a lance, lean as a greyhound; +for all his days his sword had won his meat; and he was hardy, keen, +and bright, with eyes of steel in a scarred face, and his brow was already +worn bald with the helmet. When he walked his legs somewhat straggled +apart, by reason of his much riding.</p> +<p>Xaintrailles received us in the best manner, we telling him that +we had ridden with the Maid, that I was of her own household, and that +to save her we were willing to go far, and well knew that under no banner +could we be so forward as under his.</p> +<p>“I would all my company were as honest as I take you twain +to be,” he said, “and I gladly receive you under my colours +with any men you can bring.”</p> +<p>“Messire, I have a handful of horse of the Maid’s company,” +said Barthélemy, hardily; “but when do we march, for to-day +is better than to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“As soon as may be,” said the knight; “the Maréchal +de Boussac leads us against Clermont. That town we cannot leave +behind us when we set forth from Beauvais. But, with these great +bombards, which we have won from the Burgundians, we may have reason +of Clermont, and then,” clapping his hands together, and looking +up, “then for Rouen! We shall burst the cage and free the +bird, God willing!”</p> +<p>He stood like one in prayer, crossing himself, and our hearts turned +to him in loyalty.</p> +<p>“If but the King will send a force to join hands with La Hire +in Louviers, the English shall have news of you, Messire!” I made +bold to say.</p> +<p>“Ay, if!” quoth Xaintrailles, and his face grew darker, +“but we must make good speedy for the midwinter draws nigh.”</p> +<p>Therewith we left him, and, in few days, were marching on Clermont, +dragging with long trains of horses the great bombards of the Burgundians.</p> +<p>To our summons Messire de Crêvecoeur answered knightly, that +Clermont he would hold till death or rescue, so we set to battering +his house about his ears. But, alas! after four days a sentinel +of ours saw, too late, an English knight with nine men slip through +the vines, under cover of darkness, and win a postern gate in the town +wall. Soon we heard a joy-fire of guns within Clermont town, and +foreboded the worst. At midnight came a peasant to Xaintrailles, +with tidings that a rescue was riding to Clermont, and next morning +it was boots and saddles and away, so hastily that we left behind us +the great bombards of the Burgundians. On this they made much +mirth; but they laugh best who laugh last, as shall he seen.</p> +<p>And the cause of our going was that the Earl of Huntingdon had ridden +out of Gournay, in Normandy, with a great force of English, to deliver +Clermont. Against foes within the town and foes without the town +the captains judged that we were of no avail. So we departed, +heavy at heart. Now the companies scattered, and Barthélemy +and I, sorry enough, rode behind Xaintrailles, due north to Guermigny, +whence we threatened Amiens.</p> +<p>At Guermigny, then, for a short season, lay Xaintrailles, gathering +all the force he might along the Picardy marches, for the Duke of Burgundy +was in Peronne, full of wrath and sorrow, so many evils had befallen +him. For ourselves, we were in no gentler temper, having lost +our hope of pushing on to Rouen.</p> +<p>I was glad, therefore, when Xaintrailles himself rode one day to +the door of our lodging in Guermigny, strode clanging into our chamber, +and asked if we were alone? We telling him that none was within +ear-shot, he sat him down on the table, playing with his dagger hilt, +and, with his hawk’s eye on Barthélemy, asked, “You +know this land well?”</p> +<p>“I have ridden over it, in war or peace, since I was a boy.”</p> +<p>“How far to Lihons?”</p> +<p>“A matter of two leagues.”</p> +<p>“What manner of country lies between?”</p> +<p>“Chiefly plain, rude and untilled, because of the distresses +of these times. There is much heath and long grasses, a great +country for hares.”</p> +<p>“Know you any covert nigh the road?”</p> +<p>“There runs a brook that the road crosses by a bridge, midway +between Guermigny and Lihons. The banks are steep, and well wooded +with such trees and undergrowth as love water.”</p> +<p>“You can guide me thither?”</p> +<p>“There is no missing the road.”</p> +<p>“God could not have made this land better for me, if He had +asked my counsel,” said Xaintrailles. “You can keep +your own?”</p> +<p>“Nom Dieu, yea!” said Barthélemy.</p> +<p>“And your Scots friend I can trust. A good-day to you, +and thanks many.”</p> +<p>Thereupon he went forth.</p> +<p>“What has he in his mind?” I asked Barthélemy.</p> +<p>“Belike an ambush. The Duke of Burgundy lies at Peronne, +and has mustered a great force. Lihons is midway between us and +Peronne, and is in the hands of Burgundy. I deem Xaintrailles +has tidings that they intend to ride from Peronne to Lihons to-night, +and thence make early onfall on us to-morrow. Being heavy-pated +men of war, and bemused with their strong wine, they know not, belike, +that we have more with us than the small garrison of Guermigny. +And we are to await them on the road, I doubt not. You shall see +men that wear your cross of St. Andrew, but not of your colour.”</p> +<p>I shame not to say that of bushments in the cold dawn I had seen +as much as I had stomach for, under Paris. But if any captain +was wary in war, and knew how to discover whatsoever his enemy designed, +that captain was Xaintrailles. None the less I hoped in my heart +that his secret tidings of the Burgundian onfall had not come through +a priest, and namely a cordelier.</p> +<p>Dawn found us mounted, and riding at a foot’s-pace through +the great plain which lies rough and untilled between Guermigny and +Lihons. All grey and still it was, save for a cock crowing from +a farmstead here and there on the wide wold, broken only by a line of +trees that ran across the way.</p> +<p>Under these trees, which were mainly poplars and thick undergrowth +of alders about the steep banks of a little brook, we were halted, and +here took cover, our men lying down.</p> +<p>“Let no man stir, or speak, save when I speak to him, whatever +befalls, on peril of his life,” said Xaintrailles, when we were +all disposed in hiding. Then touching me on the shoulder that +I should rise, he said—</p> +<p>“You are young enough to climb a tree; are your eyes good?”</p> +<p>“I commonly was the first that saw the hare in her form, when +we went coursing at home, sir.”</p> +<p>“Then up this tree with you! keep outlook along the road, and +hide yourself as best you may in the boughs. Throw this russet +cloak over your harness.” It was shrewdly chill in the grey +November morning, a hoarfrost lying white on the fields. I took +the cloak gladly and bestowed myself in the tree, so that I had a wide +view down Lihons way, whence we expected our enemies, the road running +plain to see for leagues, like a ribbon, when once the low sun had scattered +the mists. It was a long watch, and a weary, my hands being half +frozen in my steel gauntlets. Many of our men slept; if ever a +wayfarer crossed the bridge hard by he was stopped, gagged, and trussed +in a rope’s end. But wayfarers were few, and all were wandering +afoot. I was sorry for two lasses, who crossed on some business +of their farm, but there was no remedy.</p> +<p>These diversions passed the time till nigh noon, when I whispered +to Xaintrailles that I saw clouds of dust (the roads being very dry) +a league away. He sent Barthélemy and another to waken +any that slept, and bade all be ready at a word.</p> +<p>Now there came shouts on the wind, cries of venerie, loud laughter, +and snatches of songs.</p> +<p>And now, up in my perch, I myself broke into a laugh at that I saw.</p> +<p>“Silence, fool!” whispered Xaintrailles. “Why +laugh you, in the name of Behemoth?”</p> +<p>“The Burgundians are hunting hares,” I whispered; “they +are riding all disorderly, some on the road, some here and there about +the plain. One man has no lance, another is unhelmeted, many have +left their harness behind with the baggage!” Even as I spoke +rose up a great hunting cry, and a point of the chase was blown on a +trumpet. The foremost Burgundians were spurring like madmen after +some beast, throwing at it with their lances, and soon I saw a fox making +our way for its very life.</p> +<p>“To horse,” cried Xaintrailles, and, leaving thirty men +to hold the bridge, the whole of our company, with spears in rest, drove +down on these hare-hunters of Burgundy.</p> +<p>Two hundred picked men in all, fully armed, were we, and we scattered +the foremost riders as they had scattered the hares. Saddles were +emptied, archers were cut down or speared ere they could draw bows, +the Burgundians were spurring for their lives, many cried mercy, and +were taken to ransom, of whom I had my share, as I shall tell.</p> +<p>But a few men made a right good end. Thomas Kyriel, a knight +of England, stood to his banner, his archers rallied about it, with +three or four knights of Burgundy. There, unhelmeted for the most +part, they chose the way of honour, but they were of no avail where +so many lances were levelled and so many swords were hewing at so few. +There was a great slaughter, but Geoffrey de Thoisy, nephew to the Bishop +of Tournay, plucked from danger fortune, for he so bore him that he +being fully armed we took him for Messire Antoine de Vienne, a very +good knight. For his courage we spared him, but Antoine, being +unhelmeted and unknown, was smitten on the head by Barthélemy +Barrette, with a blow of a casse-tête.</p> +<p>For this Barthélemy made much sorrow, not only that so good +a knight was slain, but that he had lost a great ransom, whereby he +should have been a rich man. Yet such is the fortune of war! +Which that day was strangely seen; for a knight having yielded to me +because his horse threw him, and he lost for a moment all sense with +the fall and found my boot on his neck when he came to himself, who +should he be but Messire Robert Heron, the same whom I took at Orleans!</p> +<p>Who, when he knew me, took off his salade for greater ease, and, +sitting down on a rock by the way, swore as never I heard man swear, +French, English, Spaniard, or Scot; and at length laughed, and said +it was fortune of war, and so was content. This skirmish being +thus ended, we returned, blithe and rich men every one of us, what with +prisoners, horses, arms, and all manner of treasure taken with the baggage. +That night we slept little in Guermigny, but feasted and drank deep. +For my own part, I know not well where I did sleep, or how I won to +what bed, which shames me some deal after all these years.</p> +<p>On the morrow we left Guermigny to the garrison of the place for +their ill-fortune, and rode back towards Compiègne.</p> +<p>And this was the sport that the Burgundians had in hare-hunting.</p> +<p>This Battle of the Hares was the merriest passage of arms for our +party, and bourdes were made on it, and songs sung, as by the English +on that other Battle of the Herrings. Now, moreover, I might be +called rich, what with ransoms, what with my share of the plunder in +horses, rings, chains of gold, jewels, silver dishes, and rich cloths, +out of the baggage of the enemy. Verily lack of wealth could no +more sunder Elliot and me! For Pothon was as open of hand as he +was high of heart, and was no greedy captain, wherefore men followed +him the more gladly.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX—SHOWETH HOW VERY NOBLE WAS THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY</h2> +<p>All this was well, but we were no nearer Rouen, and the freeing of +the Maid, on this twentieth of November, than we had been when the siege +of Compiègne broke up, on the twenty-sixth of October.</p> +<p>The Duke of Burgundy, we learned, was like a man mad when he heard +of the Battle of the Hares. Nothing would serve him that day but +to lead all his host to Guermigny from Peronne, whence he would have +got little comfort of vengeance, for we were in a place of safety. +But Jean de Luxembourg told him that he must not venture his nobility +among routiers like us, wherein he pleased the Duke, but spoke foolishly. +For no man, be he duke or prince, can be of better blood than we of +the House of Rothes, not to speak of Xaintrailles and many other gentlemen +of our company.</p> +<p>The Duke, then, put not his noble person in any jeopardy, but, more +wisely, he sent messengers after my Lord of Huntingdon that he should +bring up the English to aid the Burgundian hare-hunters. But Huntingdon +had departed to Rouen, where then lay Henry, King of England, a boy +on whom and on whose House God has avenged the Maid with terrible judgments, +and will yet the more avenge her, blessed be His name!</p> +<p>The Duke of Burgundy comforted himself after his kind, for when he +did pluck up heart to go against Guermigny, he, finding us departed, +sacked the place, and razed it to the very ground, and so withdrew to +Roye, and there waited for what help England would send him. Now +Roye is some sixteen leagues due north of Compiègne.</p> +<p>So the days went by, for Messire Lefebvre Saint-Remy, the pursuivant, +was hunting for my Lord of Huntingdon, all up and down Normandy, and +at last came to Rouen, and to the presence of the Duke of Bedford, the +uncle of the English King. All this I myself heard from Messire +Saint-Remy, who is still a pursuivant, and a learned man, and a maker +of books.</p> +<p>Bedford then, who was busy hounding that devil, Cauchon, sometime +Bishop of Beauvais, against the Maid, sent the Comte de Perche and Messire +Loys Robsart, to bid the Duke of Burgundy be of what courage he might, +for succour of England he should have. Wherein Bedford was no +true prophet.</p> +<p>Of all this we, in Compiègne, knew so much as that it was +wiser to strike the Duke at Roye, before he could add English talbots +to his Burgundian harriers. Therefore all the captains of companies, +as Boussac, Xaintrailles, Alain Giron, Amadée de Vignolles, and +Loys de Naucourt, mustered their several companies, to the number of +some five thousand men-at-arms. We had news of six hundred English +marching to join the Duke, and on them we fell at Couty, hard by Amiens, +and there slew Loys Robsart, a good knight, of the Order of the Garter, +and drove the English that fled into the castle of Couty, and we took +all their horses, leaving them shamed, for they kept no guard.</p> +<p>Thence we rode to within a league of Roye, and thence sent a herald, +in all due form, to challenge the Duke to open battle for his honour’s +sake. This we did, because we had no store of victual, and must +fight or ride home.</p> +<p>The Duke received the herald, and made as if he would hear him as +beseems a gentleman under challenge. But his wise counsellors +forbade him, because he was so noble.</p> +<p>We were but “routiers,” they said, and had no Prince +in all our company; so we must even tarry till the morrow, and then +the Duke would fight. In truth he expected the English, who were +footing it to Castle Couty.</p> +<p>I stood by Xaintrailles when the pursuivant bore back this message.</p> +<p>Pothon spat on the ground.</p> +<p>“Shall we be more noble to-morrow than to-day, or to-morrow +can this huxter of maids, the Duke, be less noble than he is, every +day that he soils knighthood?”</p> +<p>Thereon he sent the herald back, to say that the Duke should have +battle at his gates if he gave no better answer, for that wait for his +pleasure we could not, for want of victuals.</p> +<p>And so we drew half a league nearer to Roye.</p> +<p>The Duke sent back our herald with word that of victuals he would +give us half his own store; for he had read, as I deem, the romance +of Richard Lion-Heart, another manner of man than himself. We +said nought to this, not choosing to dine in such high company, but +rode up under the walls of Roye, defying the Duke with open ribaldry, +such as no manant could bear but he would take cudgel in hand to defend +his honour. Our intent was, if the Duke accepted battle, to fight +with none but him, if perchance we might take him, and hold him as hostage +for the Maid’s life.</p> +<p>Howbeit, so very noble was the Duke this day, that he did not put +lance in rest (as belike he would have done on the morrow), but, drawing +up his men on foot, behind certain mosses and marshes, all in firm array, +he kept himself coy behind them, and not too far from the gate of Roye.</p> +<p>To cross these mosses and marshes was beyond our cunning, nor could +we fast all that night, and see if the Duke would feel himself less +noble, and more warlike, on the morrow.</p> +<p>So, with curses and cries of shame, we turned bridle, and, for that +we could not hold together, being in lack of meat, the companies broke +up, and went each to his own hold.</p> +<p>I have heard Messire Georges Chastellain tell, in times that were +still to come, how fiercely the Duke of Burgundy bore him in council +that night, after that we had all gone, and how he blamed his people +who would not let him fight. But, after he had well supped, he +even let this adventure slip by, as being ordained by the will of God, +who, doubtless, holds in very high honour men of birth princely, and +such, above all, as let sell young virgins to the tormentors. +And thus ended our hope to save the Maid by taking captive the Duke +of Burgundy.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX—HOW NORMAN LESLIE TOOK SERVICE WITH THE ENGLISH</h2> +<p>“What make we now?” I asked of Barthélemy Barrette, +one day, after the companies had scattered, as I have said, and we had +gone back into Compiègne. “What stroke may France +now strike for the Maid?” He hung his head and plucked at +his beard, ere he spoke.</p> +<p>“To be as plain with you as my heart is with myself, Norman,” +he answered at last, “deliverance, or hope of deliverance, see +I none. The English have the bird in the cage, and Rouen is not +a strength that can be taken by sudden onslaught. And, were it +so, where is our force, in midwinter? I rather put my faith, that +can scarce move mountains, in some subtle means, if any man might devise +them.”</p> +<p>“We cannot sit idle here,” I said. “And for +three long months there will be no moving of armies in open field.”</p> +<p>“And in three months these dogs of false French doctors of +Paris will have tried and condemned the Maid. For my part, I ride +with my handful of spears to the Loire. Perchance there is yet +some hope in the King.”</p> +<p>“Then I ride with you, granted your goodwill, for I must needs +to Tours, and I have overmuch treasure in my wallet to ride alone.”</p> +<p>Indeed, I was now a rich man, more by luck than by valour; and though +I said nought of it, I hoped that my long wooing might now come to a +happy end.</p> +<p>Barthélemy clasped hands gladly on that offer; and not to +make a long tale, he and his men were my escort to Tours, and thence +he rode to Sully to see the King.</p> +<p>I had no heart for glad surprises this time, but having sent on a +letter to my master, by a King’s messenger who rode from Compiègne +ere we did, I was expected and welcomed by Elliot and my master, with +all the joy that might be, after our long severance. And in my +master’s hands I laid my newly gotten gear, and heard privily +from him that, with his goodwill, I and his daughter might wed so soon +as she would.</p> +<p>“For she is pining with grief, and prayer, and fasting, and +marriage is the best remede for such maladies.”</p> +<p>Of this grace I was right glad; yet Christmas went by and I dared +not speak, for Elliot seemed set on far other things than mirth, and +was ever and early in the churches, above all when service and prayer +were offered up for the Maid. She was very willing to hear all +the tale of the long siege, and her face, that was thin and wan, unlike +her bright countenance of old, flushed scarlet when she heard how we +had bearded and shamed the noble Duke of Burgundy, and what words Xaintrailles +had spoken concerning his nobleness.</p> +<p>“There is one true knight left in France!” she said, +and fell silent again.</p> +<p>Then, we being alone in the chamber, I tried to take her hand, but +she drew it away.</p> +<p>“My dear love,” she said, “I know all that is in +your heart, and all my love that is in mine you know well. But +in mine there is no care for happiness and joy, and to speak as plain +as a maiden may, I have now no will to marry. While the Sister +of the Saints lies in duresse, or if she be unjustly slain, I have set +up my rest to abide unwed, for ever, as the Bride of Heaven. And, +if the last evil befall her, as well I deem it must, I shall withdraw +me from the world into the sisterhood of the Clarisses.”</p> +<p>Had the great mid-beam of the roof fallen and smitten me, I could +not have been stricken more dumb and dead. My face showed what +was in my mind belike, for, looking fearfully and tenderly on me, she +took my hand between hers and cherished it.</p> +<p>“My love,” I said at last, “you see in what case +I am, that can scarce speak for sorrow, after all I have ventured, and +laboured, and won, for you and for the Maid.”</p> +<p>“And I,” she answered, “being but a girl, can venture +and give nothing but my poor prayers; and if she now perish, then I +must pray the more continually for the good rest of her soul, and the +forgiveness of her enemies and false friends.”</p> +<p>“Sure, she hath already the certain promise of Paradise, and +even in this world her life is with the Saints. And if men slay +her body, we need her prayers more than she needs ours.”</p> +<p>But Elliot said no word, being very wilful.</p> +<p>“Consider what manner of friend the Maid is,” I said, +“who desires nothing but joy and happy life to all whom she loves, +as she loves you. Verily, I am right well assured that, could +she see us in this hour, she would bid you be happy with me, and not +choose penance for love of her.”</p> +<p>“If she herself bids me do as you desire,” said Elliot +at last, “then I would not be disobedient to that Daughter of +God.”</p> +<p>Here I took some comfort, for now a thought came into my mind.</p> +<p>“But,” said Elliot, “as we read of the rich man +and Lazarus, between her and us is a great gulf fixed, and none may +come from her to us, or from us to her.”</p> +<p>“Elliot!” I said, “if either the Maid be delivered, +or if she sends you sure and certain tidings under her own hand that +she wills you to put off this humour, will you then be persuaded, and +make no more delay!”</p> +<p>“Indeed, if either of these miracles befall, or both, right +gladly will I obey both you and her. But now her Saints, methinks, +have left her, wearied by the wickedness of France.”</p> +<p>“I ask no more,” I answered, “for, Elliot, either +the Maid shall be free, or she shall send you this command, or you shall +see my face no more.”</p> +<p>My purpose was now clear before me, even as I executed it, as shall +be seen.</p> +<p>“Indeed, if my vow must be kept, never may I again behold you; +for oh! my love, my heart would surely break in twain, being already +weak with grief and fasting, and weary with prayer.”</p> +<p>Whereon she laid her kind arms about my neck, and, despite my manhood, +I wept no less than she.</p> +<p>For Holy Writ says well, that hope deferred maketh the heart sick; +and mine was sick unto death.</p> +<p>Of my resolve I spoke no word more to Elliot, lest her counsel should +change when she knew the jeopardy whereinto I was firmly minded to go. +And to my master I said no more than that I was minded to ride to the +Court, and for that end I turned into money a part of my treasure, for +money I should need more than arms.</p> +<p>One matter in especial, which I deemed should stand me in the greatest +stead, I purchased for gold of the pottinger at Tours, the same who +had nursed me after my wound. This draught I bestowed in a silver +phial, graven with strange signs, and I kept it ever close and secret, +for it was my chief mainstay.</p> +<p>Secretly as I wrought, yet I deem that my master had some understanding +of what was in my mind, though I told him nothing of the words between +me and Elliot. For I was in no way without hope that, when the +bitterness of her grief was overpast, Elliot might change her counsel. +And again, I would not have him devise and dispute with her, as now, +whereby I very well knew that she would be but the more unhappy, and +the more set on taking her own wilful way. I therefore said no +more than that it behoved me to see such captains as were about the +King.</p> +<p>Thereafter I bade them farewell, nor am I disposed to write concerning +what passed at the parting of Elliot and me. For thrice ere now +I had left her to pass into the mouth of war, but now I went into other +peril, and with fainter hope.</p> +<p>I did indeed ride to the Court, which was at Sully, and there I met, +as I desired, Barthélemy Barrette. He greeted me well, +and was richly clad, and prosperous to behold. But it gave me +greater joy that he spoke of some secret enterprise which should shortly +be put in hand, when the spring came.</p> +<p>“For I have good intelligence,” he said, “that +the Bastard of Orleans will ride privily to Louviers with men-at-arms. +Now Louviers, where La Hire lies in garrison, is but seven leagues from +Rouen town, and what secret enterprise can he purpose there, save to +break the cage and set free the bird?”</p> +<p>In this hope I tarried long, intending to ride with the spears of +Barthélemy, and placing my trust on two knights so good and skilled +in war as La Hire and the Bastard, the Maid’s old companions in +fight.</p> +<p>But the days waxed long, and it was March the thirteenth ere we rode +north, and already the doctors had begun to entrap the Maid with their +questions, whereof there could be but one end.</p> +<p>Without adventure very notable, riding much at night, through forests +and byways, we came to Louviers, where they received us joyfully. +For it was very well known that the English were minded to besiege this +town, that braved them so near their gates at Rouen, and that they only +held back till they had slain the Maid. While she lived they dared +not stir against us, knowing well that their men feared to follow their +flag.</p> +<p>Now, indeed, I was in good hope, but alas! there were long counsels +of the captains, there was much harrying of Normandy, and some outlying +bands of English were trapped, and prisoners were taken. But of +an assault on Rouen we heard no word, and, indeed, the adventure was +desperate, though, for the honour of France, I marvel yet that it was +not put to the touch.</p> +<p>“There is nought to be done,” Barthélemy said +to me; “I cannot take Rouen with a handful of spears, and the +captains will not stir.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said I, “farewell, for under the lilies +I fight never again. One chance remains, and I go to prove it.”</p> +<p>“Man, you are mad,” he answered me. “What +desperate peril are you minded to run?”</p> +<p>“I am minded to end this matter,” I said. “My +honour and my very life stand upon it. Ask me not why, and swear +that you will keep this secret from all men, if you would do the last +service to me, and to Her, whom we both love. I tell you that, +help me or hinder me, I have no choice but this; yet so much I will +say to you, that I put myself in this jeopardy for my honour and the +honour of Scotland, and for my lady.”</p> +<p>“The days are past for the old chivalry,” he said; “but +no more words. I swear by St. Ouen to keep your counsel, and if +more I can do, without mere madness and risk out of all hope, I will +do it.”</p> +<p>“This you can do without risk. Let me have the accoutrements +of one of the Englishmen who lie in ward, and let me ride with your +band at daybreak to-morrow. It is easy to tell some feigned tale, +when you ride back without me.”</p> +<p>“You will not ride into Rouen in English guise? They +will straightway hang you for a spy, and therein is little honour.”</p> +<p>“My purpose is some deal subtler,” I said, with a laugh, +“but let me keep my own counsel.”</p> +<p>“So be it,” said he, “a wilful man must have his +way. And now I drink to your better wisdom, and may you escape +that rope on which your heart seems to be set!”</p> +<p>I grasped his hand on it, and by point of day we were riding out +seawards. We made an onslaught on a village, burned a house or +twain, and seized certain wains of hay, so, in the confusion, I slipped +forward, and rode alone into a little wood. There I clad myself +in English guise, having carried the gear in a wallet on my saddle-bow, +and so pushed on, till at nightfall I came to a certain little fishing-village. +There, under cover of the dark, I covenanted with a fisherman to set +me across the Channel, I feigning to be a deserter who was fleeing from +the English army, for fear of the Maid.</p> +<p>“I would well that I had to carry all the sort of you,” +said the boat-master, for I had offered him my horse, and a great reward +in money, part down, and the other part to be paid when I set foot in +England. Nor did he make any tarrying, but, taking his nets on +board, as if he would be about his lawful business, set sail, with his +two sons for a crew. The east wind served us to a miracle, and, +after as fair a passage as might be, they landed me under cloud of night +not far from the great port of Winchelsea.</p> +<p>That night I slept none, but walking fast and warily, under cover +of a fog, I fetched a compass about, and ended by walking into the town +of Rye by the road from the north. Here I went straight to the +best inn of the place, and calling aloud for breakfast, I bade the drawer +bring mine host to me instantly. For, at Louviers, we were so +well served by spies, the country siding with us rather than with the +English, that I knew how a company of the Earl of Warwick’s men +was looked for in Winchelsea to sail when they had a fair wind for Rouen.</p> +<p>Mine host came to me in a servile English fashion, and asked me what +I would?</p> +<p>“First, a horse,” said I, “for mine dropped dead +last night, ten miles hence on the north road, in your marshes, God +damn them, and you may see by my rusty spur and miry boot that I have +walked far. Here,” I cried, pulling off my boots, and flinging +them down on the rushes of the floor, “bid one of your varlets +clean them! Next, breakfast, and a pot of your ale; and then I +shall see what manner of horses you keep, for I must needs ride to Winchelsea.”</p> +<p>“You would join the men under the banner of Sir Thomas Grey +of Falloden, I make no doubt?” he answered. “Your +speech smacks of the Northern parts, and the good knight comes from +no long way south of the border. His men rode through our town +but few days agone.”</p> +<p>“And me they left behind on the way,” I answered, “so +evil is my luck in horse-flesh. But for this blessed wind out +of the east that hinders them, my honour were undone.”</p> +<p>My tale was not too hard of belief, and before noon I was on my way +to Winchelsea, a stout nag enough between my legs.</p> +<p>The first man-at-arms whom I met I hailed, bidding him lead me straight +to Sir Thomas Grey of Falloden. “What, you would take service?” +he asked, in a Cumberland burr that I knew well, for indeed it came +ready enough on my own tongue.</p> +<p>“Yea, by St. Cuthbert,” I answered, “for on the +Marches nothing stirs; moreover, I have slain a man, and fled my own +country.”</p> +<p>With that he bade God damn his soul if I were not a good fellow, +and so led me straight to the lodgings of the knight under whose colours +he served. To him I told the same tale, adding that I had heard +late of his levying of his men, otherwise I had ridden to join him at +his setting forth.</p> +<p>“You have seen war?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Only a Warden’s raid or twain, on the moss-trooping +Scots of Liddesdale. Branxholme I have seen in a blaze, and have +faced fire at the Castle of the Hermitage.”</p> +<p>“You speak the tongue of the Northern parts,” he said; +“are you noble?”</p> +<p>“A poor cousin of the Storeys of Netherby,” I answered, +which was true enough; and when he questioned me about my kin, I showed +him that I knew every name and scutcheon of the line, my mother having +instructed me in all such lore of her family. <a name="citation38"></a><a href="#footnote38">{38}</a></p> +<p>“And wherefore come you here alone, and in such plight?”</p> +<p>“By reason of a sword-stroke at Stainishawbank Fair,” +I answered boldly.</p> +<p>“Faith, then, I see no cause why, as your will is so good, +you should not soon have your bellyful of sword-strokes. For, +when once we have burned that limb of the devil, the Puzel” (for +so the English call the Maid), “we shall shortly drive these forsworn +dogs, the French, back beyond the Loire.”</p> +<p>I felt my face reddening at these ill words, so I stooped, as if +to clear my spur of mire.</p> +<p>“Shortly shall she taste the tar-barrel,” I answered, +whereat he swore and laughed; then, calling a clerk, bade him write +my indenture, as is the English manner. Thus, thanks to my northern +English tongue, for which I was sore beaten by the other boys when I +was a boy myself, behold me a man-at-arms of King Henry, and so much +of my enterprise was achieved.</p> +<p>I make no boast of valour, and indeed I greatly feared for my neck, +both now and later. For my risk was that some one of the men-at-arms +in Rouen, whither we were bound, should have seen my face either at +Orleans, at Paris (where I was unhelmeted), or in the taking of the +Bastille at Compiègne. Yet my visor was down, both at Orleans +and Compiègne, and of those few who marked me in girl’s +gear in Paris none might chance to meet me at Rouen, or to remember +me in changed garments. So I put a bold brow on it, for better +might not be. None cursed the Puzel more loudly than I, and, without +feigning, none longed so sorely as I for a fair wind to France, wherefore +I was ever going about Winchelsea with my head in the air, gazing at +the weather-cocks. And, as fortune would have it, the wind went +about, and we on board, and with no long delay were at Rouen town.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI—HOW NORMAN LESLIE SAW THE MAID IN HER PRISON</h2> +<p>On arriving in the town of Rouen, three things were my chief care, +whereof the second helped me in the third. The first was to be +lodged as near as I might to the castle, wherein the Maid lay, being +chained (so fell was the cruelty of the English) to her bed. The +next matter was to purvey me three horses of the fleetest. Here +my fortune served me well, for the young esquires and pages would ever +be riding races outside of the gates, they being in no fear of war, +and the time till the Maid was burned hung heavy on their hands. +I therefore, following the manner of the English Marchmen, thrust myself +forward in these sports, and would change horses, giving money to boot, +for any that outran my own. My money I spent with a very free +hand, both in wagers and in feasting men-at-arms, so that I was taken +to be a good fellow, and I willingly let many make their profit of me. +In the end, I had three horses that, with a light rider in the saddle, +could be caught by none in the whole garrison of Rouen.</p> +<p>Thirdly, I was most sedulous in all duty, and so won the favour of +Sir Thomas Grey, the rather that he counted cousins with me, and reckoned +that we were of some far-off kindred, wherein he spoke the truth. +Thus, partly for our common blood, partly for that I was ever ready +at call, and forward to do his will, and partly because none could carry +a message swifter, or adventure further to spy out any bands of the +French, he kept me close to him, and trusted me as his galloper. +Nay, he gave me, on occasion, his signet, to open the town gates whensoever +he would send me on any errand. Moreover, the man (noble by birth, +but base by breeding) who had the chief charge and custody of the Maid, +was the brother’s son of Sir Thomas. He had to name John +Grey, and was an esquire of the body of the English King, Henry, then +a boy. This miscreant it was often my fortune to meet, at his +uncle’s table, and to hear his pitiless and cruel speech. +Yet, making friends, as Scripture commands us, of the Mammon of unrighteousness, +I set myself to win the affection of John Grey by laughing at his jests +and doing him what service I might.</p> +<p>Once or twice I dropped to him a word of my great desire to see the +famed Puzel, for the trials that had been held in open hall were now +done in the dungeon, where only the bishop, the doctors of law, and +the notaries might hear them. Her noble bearing, indeed, and wise +answers (which were plainly put into her mouth by the Saints, for she +was simple and ignorant) had gained men’s hearts.</p> +<p>One day, they told me, an English lord had cried—“The +brave lass, pity she is not English.” For to the English +all the rest of God’s earth is as Nazareth, out of which can come +no good thing. Thus none might see the Maid, and, once and again, +I let fall a word in John Grey’s ear concerning my desire to look +on her in prison. I dared make no show of eagerness, though now +the month of May had come, which was both her good and ill month. +For in May she first went to Vaucouleurs and prophesied, in May she +delivered Orleans, and in May she was taken at Compiègne. +Wherefore I deemed, as men will, that in May she should escape her prison, +or in May should die. Moreover, on the first day of March they +had asked her, mocking her—</p> +<p>“Shalt thou be delivered?”</p> +<p>And she had answered—</p> +<p>“Ask me on this day three months, and I shall declare it to +you.”</p> +<p>The English, knowing this, made all haste to end her ere May ended, +wherefore I had the more occasion for speed.</p> +<p>Now, on a certain day, being May the eighth, the heart of John Grey +was merry within him. He had well drunk, and I had let him win +of me, at the dice, that one of my three horses which most he coveted.</p> +<p>He then struck me in friendly fashion on the back, and cried—</p> +<p>“An unlucky day for thee, and for England. This very +day, two years agone, that limb of the devil drove us by her sorceries +from before Orleans. But to-morrow—” and he laughed +grossly in his beard. “Storey, you are a good fellow, though +a fool at the dice.”</p> +<p>“Faith, I have met my master,” I said. “But +the lesson you gave me was worth bay Salkeld,” for so I had named +my horse, after a great English house on the Border who dwell at the +Castle of Corby.</p> +<p>“I will do thee a good turn,” he said. “You +crave to see this Puzel, ere they put on her the high witch’s +cap for her hellward journey.”</p> +<p>“I should like it not ill,” I said; “it were something +to tell my grandchildren, when all France is English land.”</p> +<p>“Then you shall see her, for this is your last chance to see +her whole.”</p> +<p>“What mean you, fair sir?” I asked, while my heart gave +a turn in my body, and I put out my hand to a great tankard of wine.</p> +<p>“To-morrow the charity of the Church hath resolved that she +shall be had into the torture-chamber.”</p> +<p>I set my lips to the tankard, and drank long, to hide my face, and +for that I was nigh swooning with a passion of fear and wrath.</p> +<p>“Thanks to St. George,” I said, “the end is nigh!”</p> +<p>“The end of the tankard,” quoth he, looking into it, +“hath already come. You drink like a man of the Land Debatable.”</p> +<p>Yet I was in such case that, though by custom I drink little, the +great draught touched not my brain, and did but give me heart.</p> +<p>“You might challenge at skinking that great Danish knight who +was with us under Orleans, Sir Andrew Haggard was his name, and his +bearings were . . . ” <a name="citation39"></a><a href="#footnote39">{39}</a></p> +<p>So he was running on, for he himself had drunk more than his share, +when I brought him back to my matter.</p> +<p>“But as touching this Puzel, how may I have my view of her, +that you graciously offered me?”</p> +<p>“My men change guard at curfew,” he said; “five +come out and five go in, and I shall bid them seek you here at your +lodgings. So now, farewell, and your revenge with the dice you +shall have when so you will.”</p> +<p>“Nay, pardon me one moment: when relieve you the guard that +enters at curfew?”</p> +<p>“An hour after point of day. But, now I bethink me, you +scarce will care to pass all the night in the Puzel’s company. +Hast thou paper or parchment?”</p> +<p>I set paper and ink before him, who said—</p> +<p>“Nay, write yourself; I am no great clerk, yet I can sign and +seal.”</p> +<p>Therewith, at his wording, I set down an order to the Castle porter +to let me forth as early in the night as I would. This pass he +signed with his name, and sealed with his ring, bearing his arms.</p> +<p>“So I wish you joy of this tryst and bonne fortune,” +he said, and departed.</p> +<p>I had two hours before me ere curfew rang, and the time was more +than I needed. Therefore I went first to the Church of St. Ouen, +which is very great and fair, and there clean confessed me, and made +my orisons that, if it were God’s will, this enterprise might +turn to His honour, and to the salvation of the Maid. And pitifully +I besought Madame St. Catherine of Fierbois, that as she had delivered +me, a sinner, she would deliver the Sister of the Saints.</p> +<p>Next I went back to my lodgings, and there bade the hostler to have +my two best steeds saddled and bridled in stall, by point of day, for +a council was being held that night in the Castle, and I and another +of Sir Thomas’s company might be sent early with a message to +the Bishop of Avranches. This holy man, as then, was a cause of +trouble and delay to the Regent and Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, +because he was just, and fell not in with their treasons.</p> +<p>Next I clad myself in double raiment, doublet above doublet, and +hose over hose, my doublets bearing the red cross of St. George. +Over all I threw a great mantle, falling to the feet, as if I feared +the night chills. Thereafter I made a fair copy of my own writing +in the pass given to me by John Grey, and copied his signature also, +and feigned his seal with a seal of clay, for it might chance that two +passes proved better than one. Then I put in a little wallet hanging +to my girdle the signet of Sir Thomas Grey, and the pass given to me +by John Grey, also an inkhorn with pen and paper, and in my hand, secretly, +I held that phial which I had bought of the apothecary in Tours. +All my gold and jewels I hid about my body; I sharpened my sword and +dagger, and then had no more to do but wait till curfew rang.</p> +<p>This was the weariest part of all; for what, I thought, if John Grey +had forgotten his promise, the wine being about his wits. Therefore +I walked hither and thither in my chamber, in much misdoubt; but at +the chime of curfew I heard rude voices below, and a heavy step on the +stairs. It was a man-at-arms of the basest sort, who, lurching +with his shoulder against my door, came in, and said that he and his +fellows waited my pleasure. Thereon I showed him the best countenance, +and bade my host fill a pannier with meat and cakes and wine, to pass +the hours in the prison merrily. I myself ran down into the host’s +cellar, and was very busy in tasting wine, for I would have the best. +And in making my choice, while the host stooped over a cask to draw +a fresh tankard, I poured all the drugs of my phial into a large pewter +vessel with a lid, filled it with wine, and, tasting it, swore it would +serve my turn. This flagon, such as we call a ‘tappit hen’ +in my country, but far greater, I bore with me up the cellar stairs, +and gave it to one of the guard, bidding him spill not a drop, or he +should go thirsty.</p> +<p>The lourdaud, that was their captain, carried the pannier, and, laughing, +we crossed the street and the moat, giving the word “Bedford.” +To the porter I showed my pass, telling him that, though I was loath +to disturb him, I counted not to watch all night in the cell, wherefore +I gave him a gold piece for the trouble he might have in letting me +go forth at an hour untimely. Herewith he was well content, and +so, passing the word to the sentinel at each post, we entered.</p> +<p>And now, indeed, my heart beat so that my body seemed to shake with +hope and fear as I walked. At the door of the chamber wherein +the Maid lay we met her guards coming forth, who cried roughly, bidding +her good even, and to think well of what waited her, meaning the torments. +They tumbled down the stairs laughing, while we went in, and I last. +It was a dark vaulted chamber with one window near the roof, narrow +and heavily barred. In the recess by the window was a brazier +burning, and casting as much shadow as light by reason of the smoke. +Here also was a rude table, stained with foul circles of pot-rims, and +there were five or six stools. On a weighty oaken bed lay one +in man’s raiment, black in hue, her face downwards, and her arms +spread over her neck. It could scarce be that she slept, but she +lay like one dead, only shuddering when the lourdaud, the captain of +the guard, smote her on the shoulder, asking, in English, how she did?</p> +<p>“Here she is, sir, surly as ever, and poor company for Christian +men. See you how cunningly all her limbs are gyved, and chained +to the iron bolts of the bed? What would my lady Jeanne give me +for this little master-key?”</p> +<p>Here he showed a slender key, hung on a steel chain about his neck.</p> +<p>“Never a saint of the three, Michael, Margaret, and Catherine, +can take this from me; nay, nor the devils who wear their forms.”</p> +<p>“Have you seen this fair company of hers?” I whispered +in English, crossing myself.</p> +<p>“No more than she saw the white lady that goes with that other +witch, Catherine of La Rochelle. But, sir, she is sullen; it is +her manner. With your good leave, shall we sup?”</p> +<p>This was my own desire, so putting the pannier on the table, I carved +the meat with my dagger, and poured out the wine in cups, and they fell +to, being hungry, as Englishmen are at all times. They roared +over their meat, eating like wolves and drinking like fishes, and one +would sing a lewd song, and the others strike in with the over-word, +but drinking was their main avail.</p> +<p>“This is better stuff,” says the lourdaud, “than +our English ale. Faith, ’tis strong, my lads! Wake +up, Jenkin; wake up, Hal,” and then he roared a snatch, but stopped, +looking drowsily about him.</p> +<p>O brothers in Christ, who hear this tale, remember ye that, for now +four months and more, the cleanest soul in Christenty, and the chastest +lady, and of manners the noblest, had endured this company by night +and by day!</p> +<p>“Nay, wake up,” I cried; “ye are dull revellers; +what say ye to the dice?”</p> +<p>Therewith I set out my tablier and the dice. Then I filled +up the cup afresh, pretending to drink, and laid on the foul table a +great shining heap of gold. Their dull eyes shone like the metal +when I said—</p> +<p>“Myself will be judge and umpire; play ye, honest fellows, +for I crave no gains from you. Only, a cup for luck!”</p> +<p>They camped at the table, all the five of them, and some while their +greed kept them wakeful, and they called the mains, but their drought +kept them drinking. And, one by one, their heads fell heavy on +the table, or they sprawled on their stools, and so sank on to the floor, +so potent were the poppy and mandragora of the leech in Tours.</p> +<p>At last they were all sound on sleep, one man’s hand yet clutching +a pile of my gold that now and again would slip forth and jingle on +the stone floor.</p> +<p>Now all this time she had never stirred, but lay as she had lain, +her face downwards, her arms above her neck.</p> +<p>Stealthily I took the chain and the key from about the neck of the +sleeping lourdaud, and then drew near her on tiptoe.</p> +<p>I listened, and, from her breathing, I believe that she slept, as +extreme labour and weariness and sorrow do sometimes bring their own +remede.</p> +<p>Then a thought came into my mind, how I should best awake her, and +stooping, I said in her ear—</p> +<p>“Fille Dé!”</p> +<p>Instantly she turned about, and, sitting up, folded her hands as +one in prayer, deeming, belike, that she was aroused by the voices of +her Saints. I kneeled down beside the bed, and whispered—“Madame, +Jeanne, look on my face!”</p> +<p>She gazed on me, and now I saw her brave face, weary and thin and +white, and, greater than of old, the great grey eyes.</p> +<p>“I said once,” came her sweet voice, “that thou +alone shouldst stand by me when all had forsaken me. Fair Saints, +do I dream but a dream?”</p> +<p>“Nay, Madame,” I said, “thou wakest and dost not +dream. One has sent me who loves thee, even my lady Elliot; and +now listen, for the time is short. See, here I have the master-key, +and when I have unlocked thy bonds . . . ”</p> +<p>“Thou hast not slain these men?” she asked. “That +were deadly sin.”</p> +<p>“Nay, they do but sleep, and will waken belike ere the fresh +guard comes, wherefore we must make haste.”</p> +<p>“When I have freed thee, do on thy body, above thy raiment, +this doublet of mine, for it carries the cross of England, and, I being +of little stature, you may well pass for me. Moreover, this cloak +and its hood, which I wore when I came in, will cover thee. Then, +when thou goest forth give the word ‘Bedford’ to the sentinels; +and, to the porter in the gate, show this written pass of John Grey’s. +He knows it already, having seen it this night. Next, when thou +art without the castle, fare to the hostelry called ‘The Rose +and Apple,’ which is nearest the castle gate, and so straight +into the stable, where stand two steeds, saddled and bridled. +Choose the black, he is the swifter. If the hostler be awake, +he expects me, and will take thee for me; mount, with no word, and ride +to the eastern port. There show to the gate ward this signet of +Sir Thomas Grey, and he will up with portcullis and down with drawbridge, +for he has often done no less for me and that signet.</p> +<p>“Then, Madame, ride for Louviers, and you shall break your +fast with the Bastard and La Hire.” Her white face changed +to red, like the morning light, as on that day at Orleans, before she +took Les Tourelles.</p> +<p>Then the flush faded, and she grew ashen pale, while she said—</p> +<p>“But thou, how shalt thou get forth?”</p> +<p>“Madame,” I said, “fear not for me. I will +follow after thee, and shame the sleepy porter to believe that he has +dreamed a dream. And I have written this other pass, on seeing +which he will needs credit me, being adrowse, and, moreover, I will +pay him well. And I shall be at the stable as soon almost as thou, +and I have told the hostler that belike I shall ride with a friend, +carrying a message to the Bishop of Avranches. For I have beguiled +the English to believe me of their party, as Madame Judith wrought to +the tyrant Holofernes.”</p> +<p>“Nay,” she answered simply, “this may not be. +Even if the porter were to be bought or beguiled, thou couldst not pass +the sentinels. It may not be.”</p> +<p>“The sentinels, belike, are sleeping, or wellnigh sleeping, +and I have a dagger. O Madame! for the sake of the fortune of +France, and the honour of the King”—for this, I knew, was +my surest hope—“delay not, nor reck at all of me. +I have but one life, and it is thine freely.”</p> +<p>“They will burn thee, or slay thee with other torments.”</p> +<p>“Not so,” I said; “I shall not be taken alive.”</p> +<p>“That were deadly sin,” she answered. “I +shall not go and leave thee to die for me. Then were my honour +lost, and I could not endure to live. Entreat me not, for I will +not go forth, as now. Nay more, I tell thee as I have told my +judges, that which the Saints have spoken to me. ‘Bear this +thy martyrdom gently,’ they say, ‘tu t’en viendras +en royaume du Paradis.’ Moreover, this I know, that I am +to be delivered with great victory!”</p> +<p>Here she clasped her hands, looking upwards, and her face was as +the face of an angel.</p> +<p>“Fair victory it were to leave thee in my place, and so make +liars of my brethren of Paradise.”</p> +<p>Then, alas! I knew that I was of no more avail to move her; yet one +last art I tried.</p> +<p>“Madame,” I said, “I have prayed you in the name +of the fortune of France, and the honour of the King, which is tarnished +for ever if you escape not.”</p> +<p>“I shall be delivered,” she answered.</p> +<p>“I pray you in the dear name of your lady mother, Madame du +Lys.”</p> +<p>“I shall be delivered,” she said, “and with great +victory!”</p> +<p>“Now I pray thee in my own name, and in that of thy first friend, +my lady. She has made a vow to give her virginity to Heaven unless +either thou art set free, or she have tidings from thee that thou willest +her to wed me, without whom I have no desire to live, but far rather +this very night to perish. For I am clean confessed, within these +six hours, knowing that I was like to be in some jeopardy.”</p> +<p>“Then,” she said, smiling sweetly, and signing that I +should take her hand—“Then live, Norman Leslie, for this +is to me an easy thing and a joyous. Thou art a clerk, hast thou +wherewithal to write?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Madame, here in my wallet.”</p> +<p>“Then write as I tell thee:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“JHESU MARIA”</p> +<p>“‘I, Jehanne la Pucelle, send from prison here in Rouen +my tidings of love to Elliot Hume, my first friend among women, and +bid her, for my sake, wed him who loves her, Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, +my faithful servant, praying that all happiness may go with them. +In witness whereto, my hand being guided to write, I set my name, Jehanne +la Pucelle, this ninth day of May, in the year Fourteen hundred and +thirty-one.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“So guide my hand,” she said, taking the pen from my +fingers; and thus guided, while my tears fell on her hand, she wrote +JEHANNE LA PUCELLE.</p> +<p>“Now,” quoth she, smiling as of old, “we must seal +this missive. Cut off one lock of my hair with your dagger, for +my last gift to my first friend, and make the seal all orderly.”</p> +<p>I did as she bade, and, bringing a lighted stick from the brazier, +I melted wax. Then, when it was smooth, she laid on it two hairs +from the little sundered lock (as was sometimes her custom), and bade +me seal with my own signet, and put the brief in my wallet.</p> +<p>“Now, all is done,” she said.</p> +<p>“Nay, nay,” I said, “to die for thee is more to +me than to live in love. Ah, nay, go forth, I beseech thee!”</p> +<p>“With victory shall I go forth, and now I lay my last commands +on the last of all my servants. If in aught I have ever offended +thee, in word or deed, forgive me!”</p> +<p>I could but bow my head, for I was weeping, though her eyes were +dry.</p> +<p>“And so, farewell,” she said—</p> +<p>“As thou art leal and true, begone; it is my order, and make +no tarrying. To-morrow I have much to do, and needs must I sleep +while these men are quiet. Say to thy lady that I love her dearly, +and bid her hope, as I also hope. Farewell!”</p> +<p>She moved her thin hand, which I kissed, kneeling.</p> +<p>Again she said “Farewell,” and turned her back on me +as if she would sleep.</p> +<p>Then I hung the chain and key again on the neck of the lourdaud; +I put some of the fallen coins in the men’s pouches, but bestowed +the dice and tablier in my wallet. I opened the door, and went +forth, not looking back; and so from the castle, showing my pass, and +giving the porter another coin. Then I went home, in the sweet +dawn of May, and casting myself on my bed, I wept bitterly, for to-day +she should be tormented.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Of the rest I have no mind to tell (though they had not the heart +to torture the Maid), for it puts me out of charity with a people who +have a name to be Christians, and it is my desire, if I may, to forgive +all men before I die.</p> +<p>At Rouen I endured to abide, even until the day of unjust doom, and +my reason was that I ever hoped for some miracle, even as her Saints +had promised. But it was their will that she should be made perfect +through suffering, and being set free through the gate of fire, should +win her victory over unfaith and mortal fear. Wherefore I stood +afar off at the end, seeing nothing of what befell; yet I clearly heard, +as did all men there, the last word of her sweet voice, and the cry +of JHESUS!</p> +<p>Then I passed through the streets where men and women, and the very +English, were weeping, and, saddling my swiftest horse, I rode to the +east port. When the gate had closed behind me, I turned, and, +lifting my hand, I tore the cross of St. George from my doublet.</p> +<p>“Dogs!” I cried, “ye have burned a Saint! +A curse on cruel English and coward French! St Andrew for Scotland!” +The shafts and bolts hailed past me as I wheeled about; there was mounting +of steeds, and a clatter of hoofs behind me, but the sound died away +ere I rode into Louviers.</p> +<p>There I told them the tale which was their shame, and so betook me +to Tours, and to my lady.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII—THE END OF THIS CHRONICLE</h2> +<p>It serves not to speak of my later fortunes, being those of a private +man, nor have I the heart to recall old sorrows. We were wedded +when Elliot’s grief had in some sort abated, and for one year +we were happier than God has willed that sinful men should long be in +this world. Then that befell which has befallen many. I +may not write of it: suffice it that God took from me both her and her +child. Then, after certain weeks and days of which I am blessed +enough to keep little memory, I forswore arms, and served in the household +of the Lady Margaret of Scotland, who married the Dauphin on an unhappy +day. I have known much of Courts and of the learned, I have seen +the wicked man exalted, and Brother Thomas Noiroufle in great honour +with Charles VII. King of France, and offering before him, with his +murderous hands, the blessed sacrifice of the Mass.</p> +<p>The death of the Lady Margaret, slain by lying tongues, and the sudden +sight of that evil man, Brother Thomas, raised to power and place, drove +me from France, and I was certain years with the King’s ambassadors +at the Courts of Italy. There I heard how the Holy Inquisition +had reversed that false judgment of the English and false French at +Rouen, which made me some joy. And then, finding old age come +upon me, I withdrew to my own country, where I have lived in religion, +somewhile in the Abbey of Dunfermline, and this year gone in our cell +of Pluscardine, where I now write, and where I hope to die and be buried.</p> +<p>Here ends my tale, in my Latin Chronicle left untold, of how a Scots +Monk was with the Maid both in her victories and recoveries of towns, +and even till her death.</p> +<p>For myself, I now grow old, and the earthly time to come is short, +and there remaineth a rest for all souls Christian. Miscreants +I have heard of, men misbelieving and heretics, who deny that the spirit +abides after the death of the body, for in the long years, say they, +the spirit with the flesh wanes, and at last dies with the bodily death. +Wherein they not only make Holy Church a liar, but are visibly confounded +by this truth which I know and feel, namely, that while my flesh wastes +hourly towards old age, and of many things my memory is weakened, yet +of that day in Chinon I mind me as clearly, and see my love as well, +and hear her sweet voice as plain, as if she had but now left the room.</p> +<p>Herein my memory does not fail, nor does love faint, growing stronger +with the years, like the stream as it races to the fall. Wherefore, +being more strong than Time, Love shall be more strong than Death. +The river of my life speeds yearly swifter, the years like months go +by, the months like weeks, the weeks like days. Even so fleet +on, O Time, till I rest beside her feet! Nay, never, being young, +did I more desire my love’s presence when we were apart than to-day +I desire it, the memory of her filling all my heart as fragrance of +flowers fills a room, till it seems as if she were not far away, but +near me, as I write of her. And, foolish that I am! I look up +as if I might see her by my side. I know not if this be so with +all men, for, indeed, I have asked none, nor spoken to any of the matter +save in confession. For I have loved this once, and no more; wherefore +I deem me happier than most, and more certain of a good end to my love, +where the blessed dwell in the Rose of Paradise, beholding the Beatific +Vision.</p> +<p>To this end I implore the prayers of all Christian souls who read +this book, and of all the Saints, and of that Sister of the Saints whom, +while I might, I served in my degree.</p> +<p>VENERABILIS JOHANNA</p> +<p>ORA PRO NOBIS</p> +<h2>APPENDIX A—NORMAN’S MIRACLE</h2> +<p>(See “Livre des Miracles de Madame Sainte Katherine de Fierboys”. +MSS. Bib. Nat. 7335, fol. lxxxiv.)</p> +<p>Le xvi jour du moys de janvier, l’an mil cccc. xxx., vint en +la chapelle de céans Norman Leslie de Pytquhoulle, escoth, escuyer +de la compagnie de Hugues Cande, capitaine. <a name="citation40"></a><a href="#footnote40">{40}</a> +Lequel dist et afferma par serment estre vray le miracle cy après +declairé. C’est assavoir que le dit Leslie fut prins +des Anglois à Paris le jour de la Nativité de Nostre Dame +de l’an dernier passé. Lequel Norman Leslie avoit +entré dans la ville de Paris avec c. Escossoys en guise +d’Angloys, lesqueuls Escossoys furent prins des Angloys, et ledit +Norman fut mis en fers et en ceps. Et estoit l’intention +de ceux qui l’avoient pris de le faire lendemain ardre, parce +qu’il portoit robe de femme par manière de ruse de guerre.</p> +<p>Si s’avint que ledit Norman se voua à Madame Sainte +Katherine, qu’il luy pleust prier Dieu qu’il le voulsist +delivrer de la prison ou il estoit; et incontinent qu’il pourroit +estre dehors, il yroit mercier Madame Sainte Katherine en sa chapelle +de Fierboys. Et incontinent son veu fait si s’en dormit, +et au reveiller trouva en la tour avecques luy un Singe, qui lui apporta +deux files, et un petit cousteau. Ainsi il trouva manière +de se deferrer, et adoncques s’en sortit de la prison emportant +avecques luy le singe. Si se laissoit cheoir a val en priant Madame +Sainte Katherine et chut a bas, et oncques ne se fist mal, et se rendit +à Saint Denys ou il trouvoit des compagnons Escossoys.</p> +<p>Et ainsy ledit Norman Leslie s’en est venu audit lieu de Fierboys, +tout sain et sauf, emportant avecques luy ledit singe, qui est beste +estrange et fol de son corps. Et a juré ledit Norman ce +estre vray par la foy et serment de son corps.</p> +<p>Presens messire Richart Kyrthrizian, frère Giles Lacourt, +prestres gouverneurs de la dite chapelle, et messire Hauves Polnoire, +peintre du Roy, et plusieurs aultres.</p> +<h2>APPENDIX B—ELLIOT’S RING</h2> +<p>The Ring of the Maid, inscribed with the Holy Names, is often referred +to in her Trial (“Procès,” i. 86, 103, 185, 236, +238), and is mentioned by Bower, the contemporary Scottish chronicler +(“Procès,” iv. 480), whose work was continued in +the “Liber Pluscardensis.” We have also, in the text, +Norman’s statement that a copy of this ring was presented by the +Maid to Elliot Hume.</p> +<p>While correcting the proof-sheets of this Chronicle, the Translator +received from Mr. George Black, Assistant Keeper of the National Museum +of Antiquities in Edinburgh, a copy of his essay on “Scottish +Charms and Amulets” (“Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries +of Scotland,” May 8, 1893, p. 488). There, to his astonishment, +the Translator read: “The formula MARI. IHS. occurs on two finger-rings +of silver-gilt, one of which was found at Pluscarden, Elginshire, and +the other in an old graveyard near Fintray House, Aberdeenshire.” +Have we in the Pluscarden ring a relic of the Monk of Pluscarden, the +companion of Jeanne d’Arc, the author of “Liber Pluscardensis”?</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> Several +copies of this book, the Liber Pluscardensis, are extant, but the author’s +original MS. is lost.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> This was +written after the Act of the Scots Parliament of 1457.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> Daggers.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> Rude wall +surrounding a keep.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> Sisters +in the rule of St. Francis.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6">{6}</a> These +tricks of sleight-of-hand are attributed by Jean Nider, in his “Formicarium,” +to the false Jeanne d’Arc.—A. L.</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7">{7}</a> Very intimate.</p> +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8">{8}</a> When the +sky falls and smothers the larks,</p> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9">{9}</a> This quotation +makes it certain that Scott’s ballad of Harlaw, in “The +Antiquary,” is, at least in part, derived from tradition.</p> +<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10">{10}</a> This +description confirms that of the contemporary town-clerk of La Rochelle.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11">{11}</a> The +staircase still exists.</p> +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12">{12}</a> “My +neck would learn the weight of my more solid proportions.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13">{13}</a> Neck.</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14">{14}</a> “Frightened +by a ghost.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15">{15}</a> “Airt,” +i.e. “quarter.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16">{16}</a> “Fright +for fright.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17">{17}</a> Lameter, +a lame.</p> +<p><a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18">{18}</a> Bor-brief, +certificate of gentle birth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19">{19}</a> Howlet, +a young owl; a proverb for voracity.</p> +<p><a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20">{20}</a> Battle-axe.</p> +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21">{21}</a> Bougran, +lustrous white linen.</p> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22">{22}</a> There +are some slight variations, as is natural, in the Fierbois record.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23">{23}</a> Equipped +for battle.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24">{24}</a> That +is, in the “Liber Pluscardensis.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25">{25}</a> Englishman.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26">{26}</a> Heavy +and still.</p> +<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27">{27}</a> Daughter +of God, go on, and I will be thine aid. Go on!</p> +<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28">{28}</a> Lyrat, +grey.</p> +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29">{29}</a> The +king’s evil: “écrouelles,” scrofula.</p> +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30">{30}</a> Darg, +day’s work.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31"></a><a href="#citation31">{31}</a> “Par +mon martin,” the oath which she permitted to La Hire.</p> +<p><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32">{32}</a> See +Appendix A, ‘Norman’s Miracle,’ Appendix B, ‘Elliot’s +Ring.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33">{33}</a> That +in to say, some two thousand combatants.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34">{34}</a> Échevins—magistrates.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35">{35}</a> “Away +with this man, and release unto us Barabbas.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote36"></a><a href="#citation36">{36}</a> Pavises—large +portable shelters.</p> +<p><a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37">{37}</a> Block-houses.</p> +<p><a name="footnote38"></a><a href="#citation38">{38}</a> The +Grahames had not yet possessed themselves of Netherby.—A. L.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39">{39}</a> Substituting +‘or’ for ‘argent,’ his bearings were those of +the distinguished modern novelist of the same name.—A. L.</p> +<p><a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40">{40}</a> Cande += Kennedy.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MONK OF FIFE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1631-h.htm or 1631-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/3/1631 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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