A MONK OF FIFE
 
 The Illustrations and the Initial 
 
 Letters are from Drawing's by 
 
 SELWYN IMAGE
 
 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 RE- 
 DEMPTION, MCCCCXXIX-XXXI. NOW 
 FIRST DONE INTO ENGLISH 
 OUT OF THE FRENCH BY 
 ANDREW LANG 
 
 LONGMANS GREEN AND COMPANY 
 
 IN PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 
 NEW YORK AND BOMBAY 
 
 MDCCCXCVI
 
 • « • 
 
 • • * • 
 
 * 
 
 
 • 
 * 
 • 
 
 • 
 1 
 
 * 
 
 • *> * 
 
 
 
 • • 4 
 
 • * * 
 
 • 
 • 
 
 
 H 
 
 t 
 • 
 • 
 
   
 • 
 
 * 
 
 
 • • 
 
 » • 
 • * 
 
 * » • m 
 
 • 
 • 
 
 > 
 • 
 
 • •• * 
 
 • • • 
 
 * 
 
 
 •• 
 
   
 
 
 ■4 M 
 
 • * 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 * • • 
 
 * • 
 
 4 
 
 T 
 
 
 
 ■* 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 • 
 • 
 
 * 
 
 w 
 
 t 
 
 • • 
 
 * 
 
 • • • • 
 
 4 
 < 
 
 * 
 
 •* •» • 
 
 • 
 
 
 • 
 * 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 ; .• 
 
 •* 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 • • 
 
 • 
 • 
 * 
 
 • 
 
 -. 
 
 
 - 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 * •* 
 
 m c * 
 
 • * 
 
 • • 
 
   
 
 • 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 • 
 
 • • 
 • • 
 
 • 
 • 
 
 • « * 
 
 • • 
 
 • • • 
 
 • • 
 
 
 • » 
 
 .' 
 
 * k 
 
 • 
 
 * 
 « 
 • 
 
 • • • 
 
 * • 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 * • , 
 
   
 
 • 
 
 « 
 
 • *• 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
   
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 * • 
 
 
   
 
 • • 
 
 " r 
 
 i 
 
 V 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 + • 
 
 * 
 
 • 
 • 
 
 * 
 
 • 
 
   
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • • 
 
 
   
 
 * * 
 
 b * 
 
 * • 
 
 • 
 
 * 
 
 • * 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 V 
 \ 
 
 i 
 J 
 
 ^ 
 
 >' 
 
 r r\ 
 
 TO HENRIETTA LANG 
 
 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. 
 Yours ever, 
 
 ANDREW LANG. 
 
 454787
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. How this Book was written, and how Norman Leslie fled 
 
 out of Fife, I 
 
 II. How Norman Leslie met Noiroufle the Cordelier, called 
 Brother Thomas in Religion : and of Miracles wrought 
 by Brother Thomas, n 
 
 III. What befell outside of Chinon Town, 31 
 
 IV. In what Company Norman Leslie entered Chinon ; and how 
 
 he demeaned himself to take service, .... 49 
 V. Of the Fray on the Drawbridge at Chinon Castle, . . 59 
 VI. How Norman Leslie escaped out of Chinon Castle, . . 71 
 VII. Concerning the Wrath of Elliot, and the Jeopardy of 
 
 Norman Leslie, 81 
 
 VIII. Of certain Quarrels that came on the Hands of Norman 
 
 Leslie, 99 
 
 IX. Of the Winning of Elliot 115 
 
 X. How Norman Leslie was out of all Comfort, . . . 130 
 XL How Madame Saint Catherine of Fierbois wrought a 
 Miracle for a Scot, and how Norman rode to the 
 
 Wars, 138 
 
 XII. How the Maid came to Orleans, and of the Dolorous Stroke 
 
 that first she struck in War, 147 
 
 XIII. Of the Fighting at Les Augustins and the Prophecy of the 
 
 Maid, 164 
 
 XIV. Of the Fighting at the Bridge, and of the Prize won by 
 
 Norman Leslie from the River, 171
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter R,\ Page 
 
 XV. How Norman Leslie was Absolved by Brother Thomas, . 188 
 
 XVI. How Sorrow came on Norman Leslie, and Joy thereafter, 204 
 
 XVII. How Elliot lost her Jackanapes, 223 
 
 XVIII. How Elliot's Jackanapes was seen at the King's 
 
 Crowning, * 240 
 
 XIX. How Norman Leslie rode again to the "Wars, . . . 249 
 
 XX. Concerning the Maid and the Birds, 254 
 
 XXI. How a Hundred Scots set forth to take Paris Town, . 264 
 
 XXII. How Norman Leslie fared in Paris Town, .... 270 
 
 XXIII. How Elliot's Jackanapes came Home, .... 288 
 XXIV. How the Maid heard 111 Tidings from her Voices, and of 
 
 the Silence of the Birds, 300 
 
 XXV. Of the Onfall at Pont L'Eveque, and how Norman Leslie 
 
 was hurt, 306 
 
 XXVI. How, and by whose Device, the Maid was taken at 
 
 Compiegne, 313 
 
 XXVII. How Norman Leslie fared in Compiegne, with the end of 
 
 that Leaguer, 328 
 
 XXVIII. How the Burgundians hunted Hares, with the end of 
 
 that Hunting, 344 
 
 XXIX. Showeth how very Noble was the Duke of Burgundy, . 354 
 
 XXX. How Norman Leslie took Service with the English, . 359 
 
 XXXI. How Norman Leslie saw the Maid in her Prison, . . 370 
 
 XXXII. The End of this Chronicle, 387 
 
 Appendices, 390
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I.-HOV THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN, AND HOW- 
 NORMAN LESLIE FLED OUT OF FIFE. 
 
 oooo O O OOOO 
 
 T 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, in- 
 dite 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. 1 
 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. 
 Obedient, therefore, to my Superior, I wrote, in this 
 
 1 Several copies of this book, the Liber Pluscardensis, are extant, but 
 the author's original MS. is lost. 
 
 A
 
 2 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 un- 
 finished, 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. 
 First, concerning myself I must say some few words, 
 to the end that what follows may be the more readily 
 understood.
 
 HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN 3 
 
 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
 
 4 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN 5 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 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, 1 as the mother of 
 cursing and idleness, mischief and wastery, of which 
 game, as I verily believe, the devil himself is the 
 father. 
 
 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 
 
 1 This was written after the Act of the Scots Parliament of 1457.
 
 6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 ? 
 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 1 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. 
 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. 
 
 '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.' 
 1 It is clean against common luck,' quoth one of his 
 party, ' and the game and the money laid on it should 
 be ours.' 
 1 By the blessed bones of the Apostle,' I said, ' no 
 
 1 Daggers.
 
 HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN 7 
 
 luck is more common. To-day to me, to-morrow to 
 thee ! Lay it of purpose, I could not if I would.' 
 1 You lie ! ' he shouted in a rage, and gripped to his 
 whinger. 
 
 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. 
 1 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. 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 My stepmother, too, who loved me little, would in- 
 flame 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 Kirk- 
 michael, Bishop of Orleans— he that smote the Duke 
 of Clarence in fair fight at Bauge. 
 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 move- 
 ment 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 — 
 
 'That good oar-stroke will learn you to steal 
 boats ! ' 
 
 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
 
 HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN o 
 
 ship's men, being on shore, had hailed their fellows 
 in the carrick, and they had taken vengeance upon 
 me. 
 
 ' You scholar lads must be taught better than your 
 masters learn you,' said my enemy. 
 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. 
 
 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
 
 10 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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, me- 
 thought, was beginning to-day like the rest. 
 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 be- 
 set 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. 
 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 deem- 
 ing 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
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE n 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER II.— HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE 
 THE CORDELIER, CALLED BROTHER THOMAS IN RELI- 
 GION : AND OF MIRACLES WROUGHT BY BROTHER 
 THOMAS. 
 
 HE 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 be- 
 leaguered 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
 
 12 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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' 1 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, 
 
 1 Rude Weill surrounding- a keep.
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE 13 
 
 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. 
 Such was the face of France in many counties. 
 The fields lay weedy and untitled ; 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 har- 
 boured therein, none of them held to ransom a 
 wandering poor Scots scholar. 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 14 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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, murder- 
 ous 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
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE 15 
 
 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. 
 1 Pax vobiscum,' he cried, in a loud, grating voice, 
 as he saw me, and scrambled out to shore. 
 1 Et cum anima tua,' I answered. 
 1 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. 
 1 Burgundy or Armagnac ? ' he asked. 
 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 any- 
 thing, so I deemed it better to answer that I was a 
 Scot, and, so far, of neither party. 
 1 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. 
 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. 
 
 I had no answer very ready to my tongue, so 
 stepped down silent to the water-edge, and was
 
 16 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 ' Answer a civil question,' he said, ' before it comes 
 to worse : Armagnac or Burgundy ? ' 
 'Armagnac,' I answered, 'or anything else that is 
 not English. Clear the causeway, mad friar ! ' 
 At that he threw down his staff. 
 ' 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 excel- 
 lent 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 ! Nathe- 
 less, 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 ! ' 
 And here he spat on the ground. 
 ' But one door closes,' he went on, ' and another
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE 17 
 
 opens, and to Orleans am I now bound, in the service 
 of my holy calling.' 
 
 '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.' 
 ' They need little shriving that are opposite my cul- 
 verin,' 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.' 
 
 I knew that in these wild days many clerics were 
 careless as to that which the Church enjoins con- 
 cerning 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 Abbe 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. 
 
 'Your name?' he asked suddenly, the words 
 coming out with a sound like the first grating of a 
 saw on stone. 
 
 'They call me Norman Leslie de Pitcullo,' I 
 answered. ' And yours ? ' 
 
 '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.' 
 ' Then, Brother Thomas, how do you mean to cross 
 
 B
 
 18 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 this water which lies between you and the exercise of 
 your holy calling ? Do you swim ? ' 
 '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.' 
 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. 
 
 '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. 
 1 Back ! ' came his grating voice—' back ! and with- 
 out your clothes, you wine-sack of Scotland, or I 
 shoot ! ' and his arbalest was levelled on me. 
 I have often asked myself since what I should have 
 done, and what was the part of a brave man. Per- 
 chance 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
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE 19 
 
 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. 
 'Behold me,' I said, making as brave a counten- 
 ance as I might in face of necessity. 
 ' 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.' 
 'You will drown, man,' I said. 
 ' Not while you swim.' 
 
 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— 
 ' I have sailed on a boat of flesh before to-day.' 
 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 him- 
 self in a thick bush, albeit it was leafless, where no
 
 20 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 man could have been aware of him. This amazed me 
 not a little, for modesty did not seem any part of his 
 nature. 
 
 1 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 arba- 
 lest 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. 
 
 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 shiver- 
 ing 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. 
 
 '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.' 
 This encounter was the beginning of many evils, and
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE 21 
 
 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. 
 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 com- 
 panies 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
 
 22 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 to others ; a cruel and bloody pastime, when Chris- 
 tians are the quarry ! 
 
 'John the Lorrainer, and I, there are no others to 
 be named with us at the culverin,' he would brag. 
 1 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.' 
 
 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. 
 ' The Dauphin,' he went on, l 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 Tremouille, 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. 
 ' So we all begin,' said he ; 'a shrewd blow, or a 
 fair wench ; a death, or a birth unlawful, 'tis all one
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE 23 
 
 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.' 
 
 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 wander- 
 ing 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 wheed- 
 ling, 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. 
 
 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
 
 24 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Thomas discoursing largely of his pilgrimages, and 
 of his favour among the high clergy. Thus, at I 
 know not what convent of the Clarisses, 1 in Italy, 
 the holy Sisters had pressed on him a relic of Mon- 
 sieur 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. 
 
 '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 ? ' 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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 
 
 1 Sisters in the rule of St. Francis.
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE 25 
 
 her aumbry, and he tore it up before their eyes, she 
 not daring to stay his hand. 
 
 '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 ! 
 
 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 catch- 
 ing 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 ! 1 
 
 1 Such,' he said, ' are the properties of this miracu- 
 lous 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, 
 
 1 These tricks of sleight-of-hand are attributed by Jean Nider, in his ' For- 
 micarium,' to the false Jeanne d'Arc— A. L,
 
 26 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ye may believe that, late and at last, Brother Thomas 
 had his choice of the warmest place to sleep in — by
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE 27 
 
 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 mir- 
 acles 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. 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 28 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 fan- 
 tasies, 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 nig- 
 romancy 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 mis- 
 doubted 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 them- 
 selves 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 ' a la belle etoile ' in that 
 bitter spring weather, but we ordinarily had leave to 
 lie by the hearth, and got a supper and a breakfast
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE 20 
 
 The good peasants would find their hen-roosts the 
 poorer often, for all that he could snap up was to 
 him fortune of war. 
 
 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 pass- 
 port, 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. 
 
 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 guile- 
 lessness (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. 
 On these strange terms, then, now drawn each to 
 other, and now forced apart, we wended by Poictiers
 
 30 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Cler- 
 mont), 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. 
 
 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 touch- 
 ing 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
 
 WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE CHINON TOWN 31 
 
 the rest, I travelled on with a heavier heart, deeming 
 that Orleans must indeed fall ere I could seek my 
 brother in that town. 
 
 CHAPTER III.-WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE OF CHINON TOWN. 
 
 O O O O Q O O 
 
 O o o o 00a 
 
 a o ooqoo o 000 00000, 
 
 Y 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 moun- 
 tain ; 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. 
 
 These wanderers were as strange as the friends of the 
 prince, and were as variously, but scarce as honour- 
 ably, 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
 
 32 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 attend- 
 ants. 
 
 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
 
 WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE CHINON TOWN 33 
 
 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. 
 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 blas- 
 phemous 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. 
 
 c
 
 34 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Suddenly Brother Thomas ceased from his twang- 
 ing, 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. 
 1 Horses ! ' he said. 
 
 1 It is but the noise of the brook by the way,' said 
 the blind man, sullenly. 
 Brother Thomas listened again. 
 1 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 Pit- 
 cullo, 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 ! ' 
 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
 
 WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE CHINON TOWN 35 
 
 opening my mouth to cry ' A secours ! ' — a warning to 
 them who were approaching, when, quick as light- 
 ning, 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. 
 
 'Give him the steel in his guts!' whispered the 
 blind man. 
 
 1 Slit his weasand, the Scotch pig ! ' said the one- 
 armed soldier. 
 They were all on me now. 
 
 'No, I keep him for better sport,' snarled Brother 
 Thomas. 'He shall learn the Scots for "dcor- 
 cheurs " ' (flayers of men) ' when we have filled our 
 pouches.' 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 36 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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 'eclaireur,' 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. 
 
 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 
 
 ap between him and the rest of his company. 
 And now their voices might be heard, as they talked
 
 WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE CHINON TOWN 37 
 
 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. 
 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 sound- 
 ing in my ears. 
 That voice said— 
 
 'Nous voila presqu'arrives, grace a mes Freres de 
 Paradis.' 
 
 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. 
 
 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 l 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 
 
 454787
 
 38 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 branches and wild weeds were lit up bare and 
 clear. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 You saw it ? Saints be with us ! You saw them ? ' 
 he whispered to Brother Thomas. 
 ' 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 men- 
 tion this night ... ye shall have my news of it. 
 Begone! Off!' 
 
 'Nay, but, Brother Thomas, saw'st thou what we 
 saw ? What sight saw'st thou ?' 
 1 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.' 
 1 And that was all ? We saw other things.' 
 'What I saw was enough for me, or for any good
 
 WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE CHINON TOWN 39 
 
 clerk of St. Nicholas, and of questions there has been 
 more than enough. Begone ! scatter to the winds, 
 and be silent.' 
 
 1 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.' 
 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. 
 
 '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.' 
 They wandered each his own way, sullen and mur- 
 muring, 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. 
 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. 
 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
 
 40 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 no- 
 thing 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 drop- 
 ping, and I half turned my face and pressed it to the 
 ground. 
 
 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
 
 WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE CHINON TOWN 41 
 
 born of the strange, sweet voice, and the strange 
 words, ' Mes Freres de Paradis.' 
 '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. 
 And now I heard light feet, as of some beast stirring 
 and scratching in the trees overhead, and therewith 
 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 other- 
 wise not hurtful to man. 
 
 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
 
 42 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 jacka- 
 napes, 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. 
 
 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 my- 
 self 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.
 
 WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE CHINON TOWN 43 
 
 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. 
 
 The light was now fully come, and some rays of the 
 blessed sun fell upon me, whereon I said orisons within 
 myself, commending 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. 
 
 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
 
 44 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 yet I heard, for, behold, it was the speech of my own 
 country, and the tune I knew and the words. 
 
 1 " O, we maun part this love, Willie, 
 
 That has been lang between ; 
 There 's a French lord coming over sea 
 
 To wed me wi' a ring ; 
 There 's a French lord coming o'er the sea 
 
 To wed and take me hame ! " ' 
 
 '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.' 
 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. 
 
 ' " O, nae French lord for me, father, 
 O, nae French lord for me, 
 But I '11 ware my heart on a true-born Scot, 
 And wi' him I '11 cross the sea." 
 
 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 ! ' 
 
 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. 
 
 ♦What stirring is that in the wood, father? I am 
 
 afraid,' came the girl's voice. 
 
 1 Belike a fox shifting his lair. Push on, Maid Elliot.'
 
 WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE CHINON TOWN 45 
 
 The horses advanced, when, by the blessing of the 
 saints, the jackanapes woke in my breast. 
 The creature was used to run questing with a little 
 wooden bowl he carried for largesse, to beg of horse- 
 men 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. 
 
 1 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.' 
 ' No, lass. Who can tell where, or who, his owner is ? 
 Take you my reins, and I will bring you the beast.' 
 I heard him heavily dismount. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 1 Nom Dieu, whom have we here ? ' cried the man, in 
 French. 
 
 I turned, and made such a sound with my mouth as I 
 might, while the jackanapes nestled to my breast. 
 '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. 
 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
 
 46 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 \ 
 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 ! 
 1 What, in the name of all the saints, make you here, 
 in this guise ? ' he asked in French, but with a rude 
 Border accent. 
 
 '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. 
 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. 
 
 ' 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. 
 1 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.'
 
 WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE CHINON TOWN 47 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 With that he brought some water from the burn by 
 the road, and therewith he wiped my face, first giv- 
 ing 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. 
 
 '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.' 
 
 I told him, shortly, that I was a Scot of Fife ; where- 
 to 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 ac- 
 quaintance with Brother Thomas. 
 ' 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
 
 4 8 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 having lost it, as I supposed, it had come to me in 
 
 the night. 
 
 The girl was standing with the creature in her arms, 
 
 feeding it with pieces of comfits from a pouch fastened 
 
 at her girdle. 
 
 '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.' 
 1 Sooner would I beg myself, fair sir,' she said, with
 
 HOW NORMAN ENTERED CHINON 49 
 
 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. 
 1 Elliot, you feed the jackanapes and let our country- 
 man hunger,' said the man ; and, blushing again, she 
 made haste to give me some of the provision she had 
 made for her journey. 
 
 So I ate and drank, she waiting on me very gently ; 
 but now, being weary of painful writing, and hear- 
 ing 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 Compiegne. 
 
 CHAPTER IV.— IN WHAT COMPANY NORMAN LESLIE 
 ENTERED CHINON; AND HOW HE DEMEANED HIM- 
 SELF TO TAKE SERVICE. 
 
 OT 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. 
 
 D
 
 50 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 Seeing me marvel, perhaps, that any should have 
 ridden some four miles or five, and yet speak of re- 
 turning, he looked at the girl, who was playing with 
 the jackanapes, and who smiled at him as he spoke. 
 1 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.' 
 
 1 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. 
 
 'Ay; Queen Yolande is far ben 1 with the King — 
 would he had no worse counsellors ! ' said he, smil- 
 ing ; ' 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 ? ' 
 
 1 Very intimate.
 
 HOW NORMAN ENTERED CHINON 51 
 
 'Never a word have I heard, or never marked so 
 senseless a bruit if I heard it; she must be some 
 moonstruck wench, and in her wits wandering.' 
 '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. 
 
 1 Listen to her ! look at her ! ' said her father, jest- 
 ingly. ' Elliot, if your renowned maid can fright the 
 English as you have affrayed a good Scot, the battle 
 is won and Orleans is delivered.' 
 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. 
 
 1 How have I been so unhappy as to offend mademois- 
 elle ? ' I asked, in a whisper, of her father, giving her 
 a high title, in very confusion. 
 
 1 Oh, she will hear no bourde nor jest on this Pucelle 
 that all the countryside is clashing of, and that is be- 
 witching my maid, methinks, even from afar. My 
 maid Elliot (so I call her from my mother's kin, but
 
 52 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 her true name is Marion, and the French dub her 
 HeUiote) 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.
 
 HOW NORMAN ENTERED CHINON 53 
 
 ' This is a strange tale enough,' I said ; • the saints 
 grant that the Maid speaks truly ! ' 
 1 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 host- 
 elry 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.' 
 '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. 
 1 If you will listen to me, sir,' I said, ( and if the 
 gentle maid, your daughter, will pardon me for stay- 
 ing 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 night- 
 fall, into Chinon.' 
 
 Now the girl turned round on me, and, in faith, I 
 asked no more than to see her face, kind or angry. 
 1 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,
 
 54 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 sir, if it pleases you, and say how you saw and knew 
 one that you never heard speech of.' 
 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 — 
 
 I 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.' 
 'How may that be, if thieves robbed and bound 
 you?' 
 
 I 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.' 
 
 1 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.' 
 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 bush- 
 ment that they laid to trap travellers, and how I had 
 striven to give a warning, and how they bound me
 
 HOW NORMAN ENTERED CHINON 55 
 
 and gagged me, and of the strange girl's voice that 
 spoke through the night of ' mes Freres 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. 
 At this tale the girl Elliot, crossing herself very 
 devoutly, cried aloud — 
 
 '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.' 
 
 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 per- 
 mitted 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. 
 
 1 Gentleman you call yourself, sir,' said her father ; 
 1 may I ask of what house ? ' 
 
 ' We are cadets of the house of Rothes,' I answered. 
 1 My father, Leslie of Pitcullo, is the fourth son of
 
 56 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 the third son of the last laird of Rothes but one ; and, 
 for me, I was of late a clerk studying in St. Andrews.' 
 1 1 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 ? ' 
 1 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.' 
 
 ' 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 Kirk- 
 michael, Bishop of Orleans, who is of my far-away 
 kin. A sore fall it is, for a Hume of Polwarth ; and
 
 HOW NORMAN ENTERED CHINON 57 
 
 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.' 
 
 1 When the Maiden marches, father, you shall have 
 
 banner-painting,' said the girl. 
 
 'Ay, lass, when the Maid marches, and when the 
 
 lift falls and smoors the laverocks we shall catch 
 
 them in plenty. 1 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.' 
 
 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 — 
 
 '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.' 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 ' 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 
 
 1 "When the sky falls and smothers the larks.
 
 58 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 to be out of her company when I might be in it, so 
 stooped my pride to agree with him. 
 1 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 ? ' 
 
 'Ay, verily, with my goodwill, then you may,' he 
 cried, laughing, while the lass frowned. 
 Then we clapped hands on it, for a bargain, and he 
 did not insult me by the offer of any arles, or luck 
 penny. 
 
 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.
 
 OF THE FRAY ON THE DRAWBRIDGE 59 
 
 CHAPTER V.— OF THE FRAY ON THE DRAWBRIDGE AT 
 CHINON CASTLE. 
 
 oOoooooao o o a o o o 
 
 URING 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
 
 60 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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,' 1 
 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. 
 
 1 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 Tre'mouille, 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 
 
 1 This quotation makes it certain that Scott's ballad of Harlaw, in ' The 
 Antiquary,' is, at least in part, derived from tradition.
 
 OF THE FRAY ON THE DRAWBRIDGE 61 
 
 ease. Now, if once the King ranges up with the 
 Bastard of Orleans, and Xaintrailles, and the other 
 captains, who hate La Tr6mouille, 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 Tremouille 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.' 
 
 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 remember- 
 ing her merry, changeful ways. 
 
 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
 
 62 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 than she had been, and there seemed to be some- 
 thing 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. 
 
 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 assur- 
 edly 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 servi- 
 tude, 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
 
 OF THE FRAY ON THE DRAWBRIDGE 63 
 
 were Jean de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy, good 
 esquires. 
 
 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 Trdmouille. 
 
 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. 
 
 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
 
 64 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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 with- 
 drew 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. 
 Suddenly she said, without turning round, for she 
 was standing by a table gazing at the pictures in a 
 Book of Hours —
 
 OF THE FRAY ON THE DRAWBRIDGE 65 
 
 ' I have seen her ! ' 
 
 I The Pucelle ?— do you speak of her, gentle maid ? ' 
 
 I 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 ' 
 
 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. 
 
 E
 
 66 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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 con- 
 versant 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
 
 OF THE FRAY ON THE DRAWBRIDGE 67 
 
 had been wiser in woman's ways. But commonly, 
 when we have learned a lesson, the lore comes too 
 late. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 hal- 
 berd, 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. 
 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
 
 68 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 1 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, remember- 
 ing 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. 
 She passed, with her two gentlemen, but the French 
 sentinel barred the way, holding his fau chard thwart- 
 wise. 
 
 1 This description confirms that of the contemporary town-clerk of La 
 Rochelle.
 
 OF THE FRAY ON THE DRAWBRIDGE 69 
 
 * On what business come you, and by what right ? ' 
 he cried, in a rude voice. 
 
 1 By the Dauphin's gracious command, to see the 
 Dauphin,' said one of the gentlemen right cour- 
 teously. 'Here is his own letter, and you may 
 
 know the seal, bidding La Pucelle to come before 
 him at this hour.' 
 
 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 mutter- 
 ing foul words.
 
 70 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 '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. 
 
 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 — 
 
 * Sir, how canst thou take in vain the name of God, 
 
 thou that art in this very hour to die ? ' 
 
 So speaking, she with her gentlemen went within the 
 
 gate, while the soldier stood gazing after her like a 
 
 man turned to stone. 
 
 The Maid passed from our sight, and then the 
 
 sentinel, coming to himself, turned in great wrath on 
 
 me, who stood hard by. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 Blasphemer and liar ! ' I cried, gripping his neck 
 
 with my left hand, while with two up-cuts of my right
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE ESCAPED 71 
 
 I sent his lies down his throat in company, as I deem, 
 with certain of his teeth. 
 
 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. 
 
 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, falling 
 to the moat far below us. Down and down I whirled, 
 and then the deep water closed over me. 
 
 CHAPTER VI.-HOW NORMAN LESLIE ESCAPED OUT OF 
 CHINON CASTLE. 
 
 OWN 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
 
 72 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 where- 
 about 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. 
 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. 1 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 
 
 1 The staircase still exists.
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE ESCAPED 73 
 
 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 stair- 
 case, 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. 
 1 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. 
 
 She was a pretty lass, with brown hair and bright 
 red cheeks, and was dressed all in white, being, in- 
 deed, 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
 
 74 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 with piles and flat baskets of white linen, sweet with 
 scented herbs. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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.' 
 ' 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' 
 4 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 draw- 
 bridge, and the palisade breaking, we fell into the 
 moat, whence I clomb by the hidden stairs.' 
 ' One of the archers ! ' cried she, as pale as a lily, and 
 catching at her side with her hand. 'Was he a 
 Scot?' 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 '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.'
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE ESCAPED 75 
 
 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. 
 1 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 '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. 
 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,
 
 76 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 and the clean white smock over my wet clothes, and 
 belted neatly about my middle. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 I reckoned it no harm to offer her a sisterly 
 kiss. 
 
 1 Tis lucky Robin Lindsay is late,' cried she, laugh- 
 ing, ' 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. 
 ' 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 dispensa- 
 tion 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 em-
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE ESCAPED 77 
 
 boldened, though my legs, verily, trembled under me 
 as I walked. Through the room I went, none regard- 
 ing 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. 
 
 ' A new face, and, by St. Andrew, a fair one ! ' said a 
 voice in the accent of my own country. 
 ' 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. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 1 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.
 
 78 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 1 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 'Come,' he said, ( my lass, I will be your escort; it 
 seems that Fortune has chosen me for a champion 
 of dames.' 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 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
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE ESCAPED 70 
 
 heard the prophecy of the Maiden and seen its 
 
 fulfilment. 
 
 'Have ye found the body of that man?' said Poulengy 
 
 to a sergeant-at-arms. 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 'Of what man speak you?' asked the Maiden of 
 
 Poulengy. 
 
 '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.' 
 
 The Maiden grew wan as sun-dried grass in summer 
 
 when she heard this story told. Crossing herself, 
 
 she said — 
 
 '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 ! ' 
 
 With that she wept, for she wept readily, even for 
 
 a less thing than such a death as was that 
 
 archer's. 
 
 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.
 
 80 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 ' And thence,' she said, ' I must fare into the town, 
 for I have promised to visit a damsel of my friends, 
 one Heliote 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.' 
 
 1 1 was even going thither, Pucelle,' I said, mincing 
 in my speech ; whereat she laughed, for of her nature 
 she was merry. 
 
 'Scots are Heliote 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. 
 
 ' 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. 
 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.
 
 CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT 81 
 
 CHAPTER VII.-CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT, 
 AND THE JEOPARDY OF NORMAN LESLIE. 
 
 I „„     > HE while we went down into 
 
 a ^jmamm m ifli ^ % the city of Chinon, a man 
 
 attired as a maid, a maiden 
 clad as a man — strange com- 
 panions ! — we held but little 
 converse. Her mind, belike, 
 was on fire with a great 
 light of hope, of which after- 
 wards 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. 
 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 
 
 F
 
 82 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 country- 
 men could speak a word for me with the King. 
 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.' 1 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 petti- 
 coat which now I wore to my great shame and dis- 
 comfort. 
 
 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 
 
 1 ' My neck would learn the weight of my more solid proportions. '
 
 CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT 83 
 
 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. 
 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, concern- 
 ing 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. 
 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
 
 84 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 she must, for modesty's sake, who was about men's 
 business, in men's company), here was I attend- 
 ing 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 be- 
 stead as ever man was, and on no side saw any 
 hope of succour. 
 
 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. 
 
 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
 
 CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT 85 
 
 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 them- 
 selves 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. 
 '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, 
 1 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. 
 
 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
 
 86 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 also showing stiff; and so she stood, pale, gazing 
 sternly, and as one unable to speak. Then — 
 ' 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 ! ' 
 The storm had fallen on my head, even as I feared 
 it must, and I stood as one bereft of speech and 
 reason. 
 
 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 under- 
 stand. 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 But Elliot, not looking at her, said to me again, 
 and this time tears leaped up in her eyes — 
 1 Forth with you ! begone, ere I call that archer to 
 drag you before the judges of the good town.' 
 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. 
 
 1 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
 
 CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT 87 
 
 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.' 
 So saying, I clasped my hands in the manner of one 
 in prayer, setting all my soul into my speech, as 
 a man desperate. 
 
 The Maiden had listened very gravely, and sweetly 
 she smiled when my prayer was ended. 
 1 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.' 
 4 Fair lass ! ' cried Elliot : and then broke off between 
 a sob and a laugh, her hand catching at her side. 
 1 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 com- 
 forters, 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.' 
 In saying these last words, the fashion of her 
 countenance was changed to a sweet entreaty and
 
 88 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 command, such as few could have beheld and denied 
 her what she craved, and she laid her hand lightly- 
 on Elliot's shoulder. 
 
 ' Come,' said Elliot, ' be it as you will ; come in with 
 me; and you' — turning to myself— 'do you follow 
 us.' 
 
 They passed into the house, I coming after, and the 
 archer waiting at the door. 
 
 '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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 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— 
 ' And thou, wherefore hast thou mocked at one who
 
 CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT 89 
 
 did thee no evil, and at this damsel, thy master's 
 daughter ? ' 
 
 4 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.' 
 
 1 Thy life in peril for me ! How mean you ? I stood 
 in no danger, and I never saw your face before.' 
 '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
 
 90 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 ? ' 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 1 Begone ! ' cried Elliot—' begone, and shift thy
 
 CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT 91 
 
 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. 
 
 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 1 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 
 
 1 Neck.
 
 92 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 my- 
 self 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. 
 
 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 after- 
 noon sun was shining on her yellow hair, which lay 
 loose upon her shoulders. 
 
 I dared to say no word, and she only made a motion 
 of her hand towards me, that I should begone, with- 
 out 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, 
 1 is full of anxious fears.'
 
 CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT 93 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 'Avaunt!' he sa : d, 'in the name of this holy sign, 
 whether thou art <x wandering spirit, or a devil in a 
 dead man's semblance.' 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 He sat him down on a chair and gaped upon me, while 
 I could not contain myself from laughing. 
 1 For God's sake,' said he, ' bring me a cup of red
 
 94 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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?' 
 
 'They told you truth,' I said. 
 
 1 Then, in the name of Antichrist— that I should say 
 
 so !— how scaped you drowning, and how came you 
 
 here?' 
 
 I told him the story, as briefly as might be. 
 
 1 111 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, 1 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.' 
 
 He took out of his pouch a parcel needfully wrapped 
 
 in soft folds of silk. 
 
 1 ' Frightened by a ghost.'
 
 CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT 95 
 
 1 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 Danae, 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.' 
 
 At this hearing my heart leaped for joy, first, at my 
 own praise from such good knights, and next, be- 
 cause I saw a blink of hope, having friends at Court. 
 My master went on — 
 
 ' Next, Ogilvie told how he had been in hall, with 
 the Dauphin, the Chancellor Tr^mouille, 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
 
 96 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 " ! 
 
 '"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. 
 
 1 " 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." 
 1 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, 1 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. 
 
 1 'Airt,' i.e. ' quarter.'
 
 CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT 97 
 
 Lad, you gave me a gliff ; pass me another stoup of 
 wine ! Freits, forsooth ! ' 
 
 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, "nora 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 1 It may be,' said I, 'that Sir Patrick Ogilvie and Sir 
 Hugh Kennedy would say a word for me in the 
 King's ear.' 
 
 ' 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 Tr^mouille's man, you must assuredly have fled 
 the country.' 
 
 He took up his Book of Hours, with a sigh, and 
 wrapped it again in its silken parcel. 
 
 G
 
 98 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 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
 
 OF CERTAIN QUARRELS 
 
 99 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. -OF CERTAIN QUARRELS THAT CAME 
 ON THE HANDS OF NORMAN LESLIE. 
 
 ELIKE 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
 
 ioo A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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— 
 ' Unbar the door, and hide not.' 
 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 fall- 
 ing into a chair, he wiped the sweat from his brow. 
 1 Unhappy man that I am ! ' he said, ' I have lost my 
 apprentice.' 
 
 I gulped something down in my throat ere I could 
 say, ' Then it is death ? '
 
 OF CERTAIN QUARRELS ioi 
 
 1 Nay,' he said, and smiled. ' But gliff for gliff, l you 
 put a fear on me this day, and now we are even.' 
 1 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. 
 
 'I have lost my prentice another way,' he said, 
 setting down the cup on the table. ' I had much ado 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. 
 
 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 drink- 
 ing : Tr^mouille, 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 Tremouille mocks, 
 
 1 ' Fright for fright.'
 
 102 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Tre'mouille is wrong here, and over 
 cunning ; he trusts neither man nor woman. How- 
 soever 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.' 
 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. 
 'Ay, even so,' my master said, marking the joy in my 
 face, 'you are right glad to leave us— a lass and a 
 lameter. 1 Well, well, such is youth, and eld is soon 
 forgotten.' 
 
 I fell on my knees at his feet, and kissed his hands, 
 and I believe that I wept. 
 
 'Sir,' I said, 'you have been to me as a father, and 
 more than it has been my fortune to find my own 
 
 1 Lameter, a lame man.
 
 OF CERTAIN QUARRELS 103 
 
 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. 
 
 '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 be- 
 cause 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 ' 
 
 1 Master,' I said with shame, 'was that my ransom ? ' 
 '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 be- 
 gone to the castle.' 
 
 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
 
 104 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 there- 
 after, 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. 
 1 Your name ? ' he asked ; and I gave it. 
 1 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 be- 
 seems 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.' 
 He bowed his head: his words had been curt, no 
 grace or kindness had he shown me of countenance.
 
 OF CERTAIN QUARRELS 105 
 
 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 couleuv- 
 rine, 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, imitat- 
 ing my companions, and we wheeled forth of the 
 room. 
 
 ' 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.' 
 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. 
 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,
 
 io6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 com- 
 pany 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. 
 
 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 in- 
 terest, 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. 
 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, rerebrace, gauntlets, and greaves out of the
 
 OF CERTAIN QUARRELS 107 
 
 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. 
 After this friendly bout at point and edge, Robin and 
 Randal Rutherford, being off duty, must needs 
 carry me to the Tennis Court, where Tr^mouille 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. 
 1 1 would have a word with you, sir, if your grace can 
 spare me the leisure.' 
 
 '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
 
 108 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 the world. Pity it is that many players should so 
 
 curse and blaspheme God and His saints ! 
 
 ' My business,' replied the stranger, 'is of a kind that 
 
 will hardly endure waiting.' 
 
 With that I rose and followed him out into the 
 
 open courtyard, much marvelling what might be 
 
 toward. 
 
 '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?' 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 1 1 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 o .her 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.' 
 
 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
 
 OF CERTAIN QUARRELS 109 
 
 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 ! 
 ' 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, 1 
 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.' 
 
 1 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 'a outrance,' 
 till one of us fell. 
 
 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. 
 
 '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 Dauphine, as indeed my 
 friends knew. 
 ' I shall wait on you, with your leave, at the isle in 
 
 1 Bor-brief, certificate of gentle birth.
 
 no A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 ' He played a good sword ? ' I asked. 
 1 He threw a good stone ! Man, it was a stone bicker, 
 and they had lids of baskets for targes.' 
 'And he challenges me to the field,' I said hotly, 
 4 By St. Andrew ! I will cuff his ears and send him 
 back to the other boys.' 
 
 1 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. 
 
 'Yet he does play a very good sword, and is cun- 
 ning of fence, for your comfort,' said Randal. So I 
 hummed the old lilt of the Leslies, whence, they 
 say, comes our name — 
 
 Between the less lea and the mair, 
 
 He slew the knight and left him there ;— 
 
 for I deemed it well to show a good face. Moreover, 
 I had some conceit of myself as a swordsman, and
 
 OF CERTAIN QUARRELS in 
 
 Randal was laughing like a foolbody at my counten- 
 ance. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 First I would go to the tailor and the cordwainer, 
 and be fitted for my new splendours as an archer of 
 the guard. 
 
 They both laughed at me again, for, said they very 
 cheerfully, ' You may never live to wear these fine 
 feathers.' 
 
 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! 
 
 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,
 
 112 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 might well find none among- the archers to purchase 
 that for which, belike, I should have no need. 
 ' We must even enlist the Pucelle in our guard, for 
 she might wear this apparel,' quoth Randal. 
 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 jacka- 
 napes 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 wait- 
 ing 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. 
 
 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
 
 OF CERTAIN QUARRELS 113 
 
 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. 
 He had thrown down his sword, and now was kneel- 
 ing by my side. 
 
 'I take you to witness,' he said, 'that this has be- 
 fallen to my great sorrow, and had I been where this 
 gentleman was yesterday, and heard my cousin blas- 
 pheme, 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 like- 
 wise 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 
 
 H
 
 114 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 the river, I believe that I fainted again ; and so, ' be- 
 tween 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, beck- 
 oning 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 dream- 
 ing, 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, pur- 
 gatory 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.
 
 OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT 115 
 
 CHAPTER IX.-OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT. 
 
 0000 oooooooooooooo 
 
 HE 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 pray- 
 ing 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 long- 
 ing. 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.
 
 n6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 1 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. 
 
 1 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 ! ' 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 Howlet, a young owl ; a proverb for voracity.
 
 OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT 117 
 
 '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. 
 
 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. 
 ' 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 '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 over- 
 come with pain and joy. And there I was, my love 
 comforting me as a mother comforts her child. 
 I moved my hand, to take hers in mine— her little 
 hand ; and so, for a space, there was silence between
 
 n8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 us, save for her kind moaning 1 , and in my heart was 
 such gladness as comes but once to men, and may 
 not be spoken in words of this world. 
 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. 
 • Hath the pain passed ? ' she whispered. 
 1 Sweet was the pain, my love, and sweetly hast thou 
 healed it with thy magic' 
 
 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. 
 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 —
 
 OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT 119 
 
 'Yield you, rescue or no rescue, and strive not 
 against me, lest you slay a wounded man-at-arms.' 
 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. 
 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
 
 120 A MONK OF FIFE . 
 
 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. 
 
 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, con- 
 cerning whom, indeed, she could never long be silent. 
 1 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.' 
 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. 
 
 'Beware how you challenge my Maid,' said she at 
 last, 'for she fights but on horseback, with lance 
 and sperthe, 1 and the Due d'Alencon 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.' 
 
 '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 ? ' 
 Elliot waxed rosy, and whispered — 
 
 1 Battle-axe.
 
 OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT 121 
 
 1 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. 
 1 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 dis- 
 posed with my heart. Therefore I devised with her 
 more than once or twice.' 
 
 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. 
 1 And what counsel gave the Maid ? ' I said ; ' or had 
 she any prophecy of our fortune ? ' 
 1 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
 
 122 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 ' 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.' 
 
 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. 
 * O God, send that the Maid go speedily ! ' she cried, 
 1 for as now you are not fit to bear arms.' 
 1 Thou wouldst not have me lag behind, when the 
 Maid's banner is on the wind ? ' 
 1 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.' 
 
 So here she laughed again, being like the weather 
 without — a changeful thing of shower and shine. 
 Thus we continued devising, and she told me that,
 
 OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT 123 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 Dom- 
 remy, 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.
 
 124 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 '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.' 
 Therewith she made me much good cheer; then, 
 very tenderly taking her arms from about me, lest I 
 should be hurt again, she cried — 
 ' 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.' 
 
 Then I must lean on her shoulder, as, indeed, I still 
 had cause to do, and so, right needfully, she brought 
 me into the painting-chamber. There, upon great 
 easels, were stretched three sheets of 'bougran,' 1 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 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 
 
 1 Bougran, lustrous white linen.
 
 OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT 125 
 
 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 ? ' 
 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. 
 
 'Ah, love,' I said, 'that banner I could follow far, 
 pursuing fame and the face of my lady ! ' 
 With that we fell into such dalliance and kind speech
 
 126 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 as lovers use, wholly rapt from the world in our 
 
 happiness. 
 
 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. 
 
 mm esm 
 
 He stood with eyes wide open, and gave one long 
 
 whistle. 
 
 ' 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' 
 
 Elliot spoke no word, but drawing me very needfully
 
 OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT 127 
 
 to a settle that was by the side of the room, she fled 
 
 without looking behind her. 
 
 ' Sir,' I said, as soon as she was gone, ' I need make 
 
 no long story ' 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 1 That might well have been, sir, but what we had 
 covenanted to tell you this day we have told unwit- 
 tingly, methinks, already. I could not be in your 
 daughter's company, and have the grace of her gentle 
 
 ministerings ' 
 
 1 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 ? ' 
 
 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, say- 
 ing— 
 
 ' 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
 
 128 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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!' 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 '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.' 
 
 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. 
 But to Elliot and me that night bore no joy,
 
 OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT 129 
 
 but sorrow, albeit passing. At supper we met, in- 
 deed, 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. 
 
 '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 pilgrim- 
 age, 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 de- 
 vise 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 ! ' 
 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.
 
 130 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 CHAPTER X.— HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS OUT OF ALL 
 COMFORT. 
 
 Y brethren the good Bene- 
 dictine 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. 
 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.
 
 HOW NORMAN WAS OUT OF COMFORT 131 
 
 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 remem- 
 brance 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, con- 
 taining Counsel to a Knight, that he should love 
 loyally'; this counsel offered by Messire Lyon- 
 net 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. 
 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 Scot- 
 land ; sweetly could he make, but was a young clerk 
 of no godly counsel, and had to name Maitre 
 Francoys 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.
 
 132 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 de- 
 vised, 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 com- 
 forting me for that she would not be long away.
 
 HOW NORMAN WAS OUT OF COMFORT 133 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 '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.' 
 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 sing- 
 ing 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 con- 
 fessor, and her father's old kinswoman, Elliot rode 
 away. The jackanapes was screeching on her 
 saddle-bow, her yellow hair was lifted on her
 
 134 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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 every- 
 where, 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. 
 1 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 Bauge\ 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.' 
 With that he lugged out his dice and fetched a
 
 HOW NORMAN WAS OUT OF COMFORT 135 
 
 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. 
 Being alone and out of all comfort, I fell to wander- 
 ing 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 Ce* 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. 
 
 S'en assault viens, devant te lance, 
 En mine, en eschielle, en tous lieux 
 Ou proesce les bons avance, 
 Ta Dame t'en aimera mieux. 
 
 But reading soon grew a weariness to me, as my life 
 was, and my master coming home, bade me be of 
 better cheer. 
 
 1 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.'
 
 136 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 
 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
 
 HOW NORMAN WAS OUT OF COMFORT 137 
 
 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 Due d'Alencon. 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. 
 
 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.
 
 138 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XI.-HOW MADAME CATHERINE OF FIERBOIS 
 WROUGHT A MIRACLE FOR A SCOT, AND HOW 
 NORMAN RODE TO THE WARS. 
 
 OW, 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 mis- 
 doubted 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 there- 
 from such men as call upon them. 
 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
 
 A MIRACLE 139 
 
 of the Miracles of Madame St Catherine of Fier- 
 bois. 1 
 
 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 
 
 1 There are some slight variations, as is natural, in the Fierbois record.
 
 140 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 Now, that night of Maundy Thursday the cure* 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.' 
 The curd, thinking that he must be half asleep and 
 dreaming, paid no manner of regard to these com- 
 mands. Thereon the voice, twice and thrice, spoke 
 aloud, none save the cure* being present, and said, 
 ' Go forth and cut down the Scots man-at-arms who 
 was hanged, for he yet lives.' 
 
 It often so chances that men in religion are more 
 hard of heart to believe than laymen and the simple. 
 The curd, 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
 
 A MIRACLE 141 
 
 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 cure. The holy man, therefore, send- 
 ing 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 Walter Hay 
 the two testers that I owe him.' 
 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 cure, 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 cure that the man was under the pro- 
 tection 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 curb's
 
 142 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Due d'Alencon, for plundering a church at 
 Jargeau. 
 
 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 Fier- 
 bois. 
 
 This tale was the common talk in Chinon, which 
 I heard very gladly, taking pleasure in the strange- 
 ness 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. 
 Poor comfort was this for me, who must linger in
 
 A MIRACLE 143 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 1 and so changed from what she had been that 
 she seemed a thing divine. If St. Michael had 
 
 1 Equipped for battle.
 
 144 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Noel ! 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. 
 
 '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. 
 
 '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 maitre d'hotel, 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
 
 A MIRACLE 145 
 
 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.' 
 
 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 amaze- 
 ment, and not free from fear, wherefore she prayed 
 constantly for her child. 
 
 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 
 
 K
 
 146 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 1 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 inspira- 
 tion of the saints, that no man should sally forth 
 from among the English, but that we should all 
 pass unharmed. 
 
 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 
 
 1 That is, in the ' Liber Pluscardensis.'
 
 HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS 147 
 
 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 smok- 
 ing 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 favour- 
 able 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XII.— HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS, AND 
 OF THE DOLOROUS STROKE THAT FIRST SHE STRUCK 
 IN WAR. 
 
 ONCERNING the ways of 
 the saints, and their holy 
 counsel, it is not for sinful 
 men to debate, but verily 
 their ways are not as our 
 ways, as shall presently be 
 shown, in the matter of the 
 Maid's march to Orleans. 
 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
 
 148 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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,
 
 HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS 149 
 
 slew my Lord of Salisbury, a good knight. Thus 
 plainly that tower was to be of little comfort to the 
 English. 
 
 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. Priv6, 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 be- 
 tween 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. 
 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,
 
 150 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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 Lore", 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 com- 
 pany 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 pilgrim- 
 age; 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. 
 
 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
 
 HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS 151 
 
 greater glory of the Maid and to the confusion of 
 them that disbelieved, which presently befell, as I 
 shall relate. 
 
 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. 
 
 The Maid spurred to the front, where were De 
 Rais, Lord, 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
 
 152 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 glitter- 
 ing 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 — 
 
 1 Are you the Bastard of Orleans ? ' 
 ' I am,' he said, ' and right glad of your coming.' 
 1 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 ? ' 
 She spoke as a master to a faulty groom, fierce 
 and high, and to hear her was marvel. 
 'I, and wiser men than I, gave that counsel,' said 
 he, ' deeming this course the surer.' 
 'Norn 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
 
 HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS 153 
 
 succour than ever came to knight or town — the help 
 of the King of Heaven.' 
 
 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. 
 ' This is the work of our Lord,' said the Bastard of 
 Orleans, crossing himself: and the anger passed 
 from the eyes of the Maid. 
 
 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 com- 
 pany, 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 them- 
 selves 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. 
 
 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
 
 154 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Noel ! 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. 
 
 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
 
 HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS 155 
 
 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. 
 
 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 Scot- 
 land, 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 Cham- 
 bers. 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. 
 
 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
 
 156 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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 gun- 
 ner, 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. 
 
 ' 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 Neufchateau, 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. 
 
 Concerning the English in this wonderful adven- 
 ture of the siege, I have never comprehended, nor do
 
 HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS 157 
 
 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'llliers 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 fir- 
 ing 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 ter- 
 rible 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. 
 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
 
 158 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 cried aloud to the English, who were in the fort on 
 the other side of the bridge that is called Les Tour- 
 elles, 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 be- 
 thought 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. 
 
 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
 
 HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS 159 
 
 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. 
 
 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'llliers, 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— 
 'Wretched boy, the blood of France is being shed, 
 and you told me no word of it ! ' 
 1 Demoiselle,' said he, trembling, ' I wotted not of it. 
 What mean you ? ' 
 
 And I also stood in amaze, for we had heard no 
 sound of arms.
 
 160 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 1 Go, fetch my horse,' she said, and was gone. 
 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 bear- 
 ing 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 com- 
 manded 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. 
 
 Of the English, as I said, most were slain, nathe- 
 less 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
 
 HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS 161 
 
 men as we could gather, to have charge of them and 
 
 be answerable for them. 
 
 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 — 
 
 1 " Cucullus non facit monachum ! " Good sirs, let 
 
 us see your reverend tonsures.' 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 '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. 
 
 1 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 
 
 L
 
 162 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 these holy men,' she said to D'Aulon, in a soft voice, 
 1 see that they are safely housed and ministered to in 
 the Church of Monseigneur St. Aignan.' 
 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. 
 
 No more could I do that night, but next morning 
 D'Aulon awoke me a little after dawn. 
 '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.' 
 
 '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.'
 
 HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS 163 
 
 '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.' 
 
 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 counten- 
 ance, even begging my pardon with all sweet- 
 ness, and in so fair a manner that I could have 
 wept. 
 
 * 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.' 
 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 her- 
 self 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
 
 164 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 submit ourselves. And now I think I see that wolfs 
 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 for- 
 gotten. 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII.-OF THE FIGHTING AT LES AUGUSTINS 
 AND THE PROPHECY OF THE MAID. 
 
 I o o o o o o o o Q.o o 
 
 UST 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,J;o guard the road, and thither they sent 
 
 a o o q o a a O
 
 THE FIGHTING AT LES AUGUSTINS 165 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 Hereon the Maid, with her banner, and La Hire, with 
 lance in rest, they two alone, spurred into the press,
 
 166 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 THE FIGHTING AT LES AUGUSTINS 167 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 To this he agreed, and D'Aulon not refusing per- 
 mission (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. To- 
 gether, 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. 
 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
 
 168 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 THE FIGHTING AT LES AUGUSTINS 169 
 
 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. 
 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 honour- 
 ably 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
 
 170 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 showed herself to them from the window, and pro- 
 mised 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. 
 
 But he, with the flagon full in his hands, and withal a 
 thirsty look upon his face, shook his head. 
 'To another pledge, Maiden, I will gladly drink, 
 namely, to the bravest damsel under the sky.' 
 And therewith he drank deep. 
 
 1 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 FIGHTING AT LES AUGUSTINS 171 
 
 the King. Therefore to-morrow the men-at-arms 
 shall take rest, having great need thereof; and there- 
 fore, gentle Maid, pardon me that I drank not to the 
 pledge which a lady called.' 
 Then he drained the flagon. 
 
 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. 
 '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 — 
 '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. 
 
 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. 
 
 These words of the Maid I, Norman Leslie, heard, 
 and bear record that they are true.
 
 172 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XIV.-OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE, AND 
 OF THE PRIZE WON BY NORMAN LESLIE FROM THE 
 RIVER. 
 
 N that night I slept soft, and 
 woke oft, being utterly fore- 
 done. 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. 
 
 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
 
 OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE 173 
 
 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. 
 
 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 kind- 
 ness 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. 
 Stiff and sore was I, and felt as if I could scarce raise 
 my sword-arm ; but the sight of the Maid, all gleaming
 
 174 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 slant- 
 ing 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 x 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 him- 
 self, in harness, but bare-headed, stood before his men, 
 and cried, ' Hereby is no passage. To-day the cap- 
 tains give command that no force stir from the town.' 
 'To-day,' quoth the Maid, 'shall we take Les 
 
 1 Englishman.
 
 OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE 175 
 
 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 Thereon stones began to fly, and arbalests were 
 bended, till the Maid turned, and, facing the throng, 
 her banner lifted as in anger — 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 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'llliers and Xaintrailles, Chambers
 
 176 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE 177 
 
 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 Due 
 d'AlenQon, 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. 
 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 
 
 M
 
 178 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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'llliers, bear- 
 ing 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 to- 
 wards 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
 
 OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE 179 
 
 showed themselves on the crest, running all risk of 
 our arrows, as our men did of theirs. 
 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. 
 1 Come on ! ' cried Randal Rutherford. ' Come on, 
 men of the Marches, Scotts of the Forest, Elliots, 
 Rutherfords, Armstrongs, and deem that, whereso- 
 ever a Southron slinks behind a stone, there is Carlisle 
 wall!' 
 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 180 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 But, even then, I saw a face at an archere, an ill face 
 and fell, the wolf's eyes of Brother Thomas glancing 
 along the stock of an arbalest. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 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, verily we 
 might well have been swept into the Loire. 
 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 archere 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. 
 
 Then I deemed it no harm to slip back to the vine- 
 yard where the Maid lay, and there I met the good
 
 182 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE 183 
 
 well I guessed that he had gotten sight of me ; but 
 his face I saw not. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 con- 
 ceived 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. 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 '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. 
 Her horse, that had been cropping the grass near
 
 184 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 '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.' 
 
 ' 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. 
 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 mar- 
 velled on her with reverence, as if we had seen an 
 angel. 
 
 '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 boast- 
 ful 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!' 
 There, as they struggled for it, the Basque being 
 minded to follow D'Aulon to the wall foot, the banner
 
 OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE 185 
 
 wildly waved, and all men saw it, and rallied, and 
 flocked amain to the rescue. 
 
 'Charge!' cried the Maid. 'Forward, French and 
 Scots ; the place is yours, when once my banner 
 fringe touches the wall ! ' 
 
 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 furi- 
 ously 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. 
 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, walk- 
 ing 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. 
 
 Another strange sight I saw, for in that swift and 
 narrow stream which the drawbridge spanned where- 
 by the English fled was moored a great black barge,
 
 186 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 On this the Maid ran forth, and cried to him— 
 'Rends-toi, rends-toi! Yield thee, Glacidas; yield 
 thee, for I stand in much sorrow for thy soul's sake.' 
 Then, falling on her knees, her face shining trans- 
 figured in that fierce light, she prayed him thus— 
 1 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.
 
 OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE 187 
 
 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. 
 The Maid gave a cry that rang above the roar of fire 
 and water. 
 
 'Saints! will no man save him?' she shrieked, 
 looking all around her on the faces of the 
 French. 
 
 A mad thought leaped up in my mind. 
 1 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 fore- 
 most into the water. 
 
 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 grip- 
 ping at empty air. I caught the hand, swimming
 
 188 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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 back- 
 water. 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 ! 
 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.
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED 189 
 
 CHAPTER XV.— HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED 
 BY BROTHER THOMAS. 
 
 ftlPflFJf hill llif 1 IH 
 o o o o 00 
 
 ERTAIN 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. 
 
 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
 
 190 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 'Leslie, my friend,' she said, in her sweet voice, 
 1 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.' 
 Here she stood a little aside, and the thread of light 
 shone on the fell face of Brother Thomas, lowering 
 beneath his hood. 
 
 Then I would have spoken, leech or no leech, to de- 
 nounce 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. 
 ' 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 pro- 
 mised to bring me acquainted with that daughter of
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED 191 
 
 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' 
 Herewith she drew a kerchief across my lips, and I 
 began, being most eager to instruct her innocence as 
 to this accursed man— 
 
 * 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. 
 The Maid stanched the blood, saying — 
 ' 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 ! ' 
 
 With that she was gone, and this was the last I saw 
 of her for many a day. 
 
 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, 1 alone with my deadly foe. 
 
 1 Heavy and still.
 
 192 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Never had any man more cause for dread, for I was 
 weak, and to resist him was death. I was speech- 
 less, 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 con- 
 sider 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. 
 
 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.
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED 193 
 
 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. 
 
 The steps ceased, and then there was a low grating 
 laughter in the dark room, as if the devil laughed. 
 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 wolfs eyes, 
 that shone like flames of the pit with evil and cruel 
 thoughts. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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. 
 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. 
 Doubtless he knew that no cruel thing which the 
 devil could devise was more cruel than this suspense. 
 Then he turned about and faced me, grinning like a 
 dog. 
 
 N
 
 194 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 'These are good words,' said he, 'in that foolish old 
 book they read to the faithful in the churches, " Ven- 
 geance 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, smil- 
 ing 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.' 
 So saying, he opened the shutter, and carefully set 
 the paper and inkhorn before me, putting the pen in 
 my fingers. 
 
 1 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. 
 'Write— 
 
 ' I, Norman Leslie of Pitcullo— ' and, to escape that 
 agony, I wrote as he bade me. 
 '—being now in the article of death — ' 
 And I wrote,
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED 195 
 
 '—do attest on my hope of salvation—' 
 
 And I wrote. 
 
 1 — 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 — ' 
 
 I wrote, but I wrote not his false words, putting my 
 
 own in their place — 'has been most truly and 
 
 righteously 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,—' 
 
 But I wrote, ' All which I maintain — ' 
 
 ' — as may God pardon my sins, on the faith of a sinful 
 
 and dying man.' 
 
 'Now sign thy name, and that of thy worshipful 
 
 cabbage-garden and dunghill in filthy Scotland.' 
 
 So I signed, ' Norman Leslie, the younger, of Pit- 
 
 cullo,' and added the place, Orleans, with the date of 
 
 day and year of our Lord, namely, May the eighth, 
 
 fourteen hundred and twenty-nine. 
 
 '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
 
 196 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 clergy myself, and thou mayst have beguiled me by in- 
 diting 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.' 
 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. 
 1 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
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED i# 
 
 throat. An emblem of this false friar it was, the out- 
 side of whom was as that of a holy man, while within 
 he was a murdering sword. 
 
 1 Read ! ' he whispered again, pricking my throat with 
 the dagger's point. 
 
 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 — 
 
 ' Read, and if one word is wrong, thine absolution 
 shall come all the swifter.' 
 
 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. 
 '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 
 Noiroufie 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 Eng- 
 land, 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 sin- 
 ful 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.' 
 
 When I had ended, he took away his blasphemous 
 dagger-point from my throat.
 
 198 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 '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 wit- 
 ness 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 ! 
 
 '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
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED 199 
 
 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.' 
 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. 
 ' Open, in the name of the Dauphin ! ' came a voice I 
 knew well, the voice of D'Aulon. 
 'The rope of Judas strangle thee!' said Brother 
 Thomas, dropping the pillow and turning to the 
 casement. But it was heavily barred with stan- 
 chions of iron, as the manner is, and thereby he 
 might not flee. 
 
 Then came fiercer knocking with a dagger hilt, and 
 the cry, ' Open, in the name of the Dauphin, or we 
 burst the door ! ' 
 
 Brother Thomas hastily closed the wooden shutter, 
 to darken the chamber as much as might be. 
 1 Gently, gently,' he said. ' Disturb not my penitent, 
 who is newly shrived, and about to pass ' ; and so 
 speaking, he withdrew the bolt. 
 D'Aulon strode in, dagger in hand, followed by the 
 physician. 
 
 'What make you here with doors barred, false 
 priest?' he said, laying his hand on the frock of 
 Noiroufle. 
 ' And what make you here, fair squire, with arms in
 
 200 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 '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.' 
 Brother Thomas cast up his eyes to heaven. 
 '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 
 verily 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.' 
 
 'Thou liest in thy throat,' said D'Aulon. 'This is a 
 brave man-at-arms, and a loyal.' 
 'Would that thou wert not beguiled, fair sir, for
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED 201 
 
 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 false- 
 hood. 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.' 
 
 With these words, uttered in a voice of sorrowing 
 and humble honesty, the friar stretched out the 
 written sheet of paper to D'Aulon. 
 • 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 'Norn 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
 
 202 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 is beyond my clerkhood,' he said at last. 'You, 
 Messire Saint-Mesmin,' — turning to the physician — 
 ' must interpret this.' 
 
 '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. 
 
 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. 
 
 'I, Norman Leslie, of— of Peet What name is 
 
 this? Peet — I cannot utter it' 
 ' Passez outre,' quoth D'Aulon. 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 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
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED 203 
 
 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. 
 
 1 Nom Dieu ! ' he stammered, ' Nom Dieu ! here is 
 business more to my mind and my trade than 
 chasing after mad cordeliers that stab with cruci- 
 fixes 1 ' 
 
 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
 
 204 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 D'Aulon's battered armour there was no deeper 
 dint than that dealt by the murderous crucifix. 
 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. 
 
 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 commended 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.
 
 HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN 205 
 
 CHAPTER XVI.— HOW SORROW CANE ON NORMAN 
 LESLIE, AND JOY THEREAFTER 
 
 T little concerns any man to know 
 how I slowly recovered my health 
 after certain fallings 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 mul- 
 berry 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, Char- 
 lotte 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.
 
 206 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 1 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 pilgrim- 
 age to the shrine of the saint, your friend ? ' 
 Here she smiled at me gaily, for she was a right 
 merry damsel, and a goodly. 
 
 ' 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 ? ' 
 
 '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.' 
 'She is very beautiful,' said Charlotte; 'nay, show 
 her to me again ! ' 
 
 With that I pressed the spring and opened the case, 
 for there is no lover but longs to hear his lady com- 
 mended, 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. 
 '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 ? ' 
 I told her at Chinon, or at Tours, or commonly 
 wheresoever the Court might be, for that her father 
 was the King's painter. 
 ' And you love her very dearly ? '
 
 HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN 207 
 
 1 More than my life,' I said. • And may the saints send 
 you, demoiselle, as faithful a lover, to as fair a lady.' 
 '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 ? ' 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 '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.' 
 
 ' O they of little faith ! ' I said, sighing. 
 ' 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 ! " 1 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 
 
 J Daughter of God, go on, and I will be thine aid. Go on !
 
 208 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 
 1 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 ? ' 
 'There are many messengers coming and going to 
 Tours, for the Dauphin is gathering force under the 
 Maid, and has set the fair Due d'Alencon to be her 
 lieutenant, with the Bastard, and La Hire, and 
 Messire Florent d'llliers. 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
 
 HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN 209 
 
 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. 
 Meanwhile all the town was full of joy, in early 
 June, because the Maid was to visit the city, 
 with D'Alencon 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 Hotel 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 
 
 o
 
 210 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 filled the air, with fragrance of incense, for the priests 
 were walking in front, swinging censers and chant- 
 ing the Te Deum laudamus. And then came a com- 
 pany 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. 
 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 ' Noel ' with the rest, I dared not, 
 because of my infirmity. Now, it so fell that, glanc- 
 ing 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 hand- 
 ful 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
 
 HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN 211 
 
 at that moment as she went by, but they lit in 
 the lap of a damsel that rode at her rein, on a 
 lyart l 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. 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 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 
 
 1 Lyart, grey.
 
 212 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 '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.' 
 
 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 — 
 
 ' 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. 
 1 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
 
 HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN 213 
 
 whom you have spoken to me more than once ' ; for, 
 indeed, I had told her all the story of my loves. 
 Then I was confused, for I could no longer deny the 
 truth, and not having one word to say, I sighed from 
 my heart. 
 
 '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.' 
 
 ' You must not speak, nor I hear, such words of my 
 lady,' I said ; 'it is not seemly.' 
 ' Such words of your lady, and of Aymeric's lady, and
 
 214 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 
 ' Shall I find out her lodgings, and be carried thither 
 straightway in a litter? Her heart may be soft- 
 ened when she sees that I cannot walk or mount a 
 horse ? ' 
 
 1 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. 
 
 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,
 
 HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN 215 
 
 I say, I turned from her angrily, as if I would leave 
 the balcony. 
 
 1 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. 
 1 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 ! ' 
 ' You speak of yourself, how you would do this or
 
 216 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 ? ' 
 
 ' At a word from you, good youth ! Nay, at a word 
 from me ! Did you speak of me in your letter to her 
 father?' 
 'Nay! 'said I. 
 
 '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.' 
 
 '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.' 
 '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 ? ' 
 
 To this I answered nothing, but, with a very sour 
 countenance, was rising to go, when my name was 
 called in the street. 
 
 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. 
 
 Up he came, whom Charlotte welcomed very de- 
 murely, and so left us, saying that she must go about
 
 HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN 217 
 
 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. 
 
 'Well, my son,' cried my master, taking my hand, 
 1 why so pale ? Sure thou hast had a sore bout, but 
 thou art mending.' 
 
 I could but stammer my lady's name — 
 1 Elliot — shall I see her soon ? ' 
 
 He scratched his rough head and pulled his russet 
 beard, and so laughed shamefacedly. 
 1 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 lodg- 
 ing, 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.' 
 '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.' 
 'I see him plainer than ever I did in the Merse,
 
 218 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 'But how am I to make my peace, and win my 
 pardon, being innocent as I am ? ' 
 'Faith, I know not!' said he, and laughed again, 
 which angered me some deal, for what was there to 
 laugh at ? 
 
 ' May I let bring a litter, for I cannot yet walk, and 
 so go back with you to her ? ' 
 
 ' 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.' 
 I myself could see no better hope or comfort. 
 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
 
 HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN 219 
 
 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. 
 
 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 in- 
 firmity. 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. 
 
 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
 
 220 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 richly attired, but still half asleep, grumbling, and 
 rubbing his eyes. 
 
 '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.' 
 
 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. 
 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.' 
 
 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 touch- 
 ing Brother Thomas, when she learned who he was, 
 yet herself could not return from the field to help 
 me. 
 
 ' But now,' said she, smiling with a ravishing sweet- 
 ness, ' I hear you are in far greater peril from a foe 
 much harder and more cruel— ma mie Elliot. Ah !
 
 HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN 221 
 
 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. 
 
 'Would that even now I could march with you,' I 
 said ; and she, smiling, made answer — 
 '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.' 
 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 obeis- 
 ance, 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. 
 
 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. 
 'I have been mad, I have been bad!' she moaned.
 
 222 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 'Oh! say hard words to me, and punish me, my 
 love.' 
 
 But I had no word to say, only I fell back into a 
 great chair for very weakness, holding my lady in 
 my arms. 
 
 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, touch- 
 ing my thin cheek, and wept and laughed again. 
 1 1 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.' 
 
 ' 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. 
 1 Yet one I must do and suffer,' she said, ' and it is 
 more difficult to me than these austerities of thine.' 
 Here her face grew very red, and she hid it with her 
 hands. 
 
 I What mean you ? ' I asked, wondering. 
 
 I I must see her, and thank her for all her kindness 
 to thee.' 
 
 ♦The Maid?' I asked. 
 
 '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
 
 HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES 223 
 
 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. 
 1 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 fare- 
 well.' 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII.-HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES. 
 
 HE Maid's confessor, Pas- 
 querel, 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 fare- 
 well, not daring to ask of her 
 when her mind was to visit 
 my hosts, and, indeed, my trust was that she might
 
 224 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 leave this undone, lest new cause of sorrow should 
 arise. Thus we parted, with very courtly leave-tak- 
 ing, 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 com- 
 pelled 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. 
 ' 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— 
 
 '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
 
 HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES 225 
 
 town, Norman, for there is booty enough to furnish 
 
 all Scotland. Shalt thou be with us yet ? ' 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 ' Then here is to our next merry meeting,' he cried, 
 
 1 under Paris walls ! ' 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Seray-je nonnette, oui ou non, 
 Seray-je nonnette, je croy que non ! 
 
 Seeing me, she stinted in her singing, and in feeding 
 a falcon that was perched on her wrist. 
 1 You are early astir for a sick man,' she said. ' Have 
 you been on pilgrimage, or whither have you been 
 faring ? ' 
 
 'The Maid sent for me right early, for to-day she 
 rides to Jargeau, and to you she sends a message 
 
 p
 
 226 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 of her love,' — as indeed she had done, ' but, for the 
 great press of affairs she might not visit you.' 
 'And Mistress Elliot Hume, has she forgiven her 
 lover yet ? nay, I see by your face that you are for- 
 given ! And you go south, this very day, is it not 
 so?' 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 ' 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.
 
 HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES 227 
 
 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.' 
 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 upper- 
 most 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 Para- 
 dise, 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 'They are coming down the street, looking every 
 way for our house, your lady and her father,' she
 
 228 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 said, putting the wine-cup into my hand. ' Now is it 
 war or peace ? ' and she fled back again within the 
 house. 
 
 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. 
 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 de- 
 parted 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,
 
 HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES 229 
 
 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. 
 
 • I am sent to bid you come in,' she said gravely. 
 
 1 What has passed ? ' I cried. ' For the saints' sake, 
 
 tell me all ! ' 
 
 1 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 ! ' 
 
 ' Why, what did she ? Did she speak unkindly, then, 
 
 to my kind nurse ? ' 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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 mymother, 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
 
 230 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 living on earth would so repent and so confess her- 
 self 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' 
 
 Here she ceased to speak very gravely, as she had till 
 now done, and breaking out into a sweet laughter, 
 she cried — 
 
 ' 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.' 
 Then, giving me her arm, she led me in, and if one of 
 us twain had a shamefaced guise, verily it was not 
 Charlotte Boucher. 
 
 'I yield you back your esquire, fair lady,' she said 
 merrily, making obeisance to Elliot, who stood up, 
 very pale, to receive us. 
 
 ' 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,
 
 HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES 231 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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
 
 232 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 leaves. But her father stood by me, asking many 
 questions concerning the siege, and gaping at the 
 half-mended arch of the bridge, wherethrough 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. 
 
 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
 
 HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES 233 
 
 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. 
 
 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 !' 
 
 'Ah, you mean the jackanapes. And how is the 
 
 little champion ? ' 
 
 ' Like the lads of Wamfray, aye for ill, and never for 
 
 good,' said my master ; but she frowned on him, and 
 
 said — 
 
 ' 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?' 
 
 '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
 
 234 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 playfellow, climbing and chattering, and holding out 
 his little bowl for a comfit.' 
 
 1 Nay, then you thought of me seldom, or you would 
 have asked how he does.' 
 
 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 ! 
 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. 
 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 for- 
 sake her old kinswoman, who had followed with 
 them to Tours. And she had much to report con- 
 cerning 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
 
 HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES 235 
 
 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. 
 'And he wrung the cat's neck,' quoth my master; 
 but Elliot bade him hold his peace. 
 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. 
 
 ' But where is my jackanapes, that should have been 
 here to salute his mistress ? ' Elliot cried. 
 '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
 
 236 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Tr£mouille will go hungry 
 and lean, and be whipped to make him do his tricks, 
 and I shall never see him more.' 
 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. 
 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. 
 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.' 
 
 And, indeed, I heard no word more of the jackanapes 
 from Elliot, save that, coming back from the minster
 
 HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES 237 
 
 next day, she whispered, ' I have prayed for him,' and 
 so fled to her own chamber. 
 
 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 un- 
 heard 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. 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Next she marched against Beaugency, and, at mid- 
 night 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 cap- 
 tains, with a great army of English. First they made
 
 238 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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, where- 
 fore the English marched off through the country 
 called La Beauce, which then lay desert and over- 
 grown 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. 
 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, thank- 
 ing God, and the Blessed Virgin, and all the saints, 
 for such great signs and marvels wrought through 
 the Maid only. 
 
 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 Due d'Alencon, when they took him at 
 Patay, 'it is fortune of war.' 
 
 But, as day by day messengers came, their horses 
 red with spurring, to the cross in the market-place
 
 HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES 239 
 
 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 thanks- 
 givings, 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 begin- 
 ning, 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. 
 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,
 
 240 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII.-HOW ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES WAS SEEN 
 AT THE KING'S CROWNING. 
 
 HE hearts of kings are in 
 His hand,' says Holy Scrip- 
 ture, and it is of necessity 
 to be believed that the 
 hearts of kings, in an 
 especial sense, are wisely 
 
 I governed. Yet, for the 
 
 g l"oi?'o £^vto , I ' blindness of our sinful souls, 
 
 we often may not see, nor 
 by deep consideration find out, the causes where- 
 fore 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
 
 HOW ELLIOTS JACKANAPES WAS SEEN 241 
 
 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 Xain- 
 trailles, 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. 
 
 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 pray- 
 ing 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 
 
 Q
 
 242 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 ride, were of goodwill to march as common foot- 
 soldiers. 
 
 But, while all France called on her King, he was 
 dwelling at Sully, in the castle of La Trdmouille, 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 
 Tr£mouille; 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. 
 
 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 be- 
 lieved, we devised much at Tours, while messengers 
 were coming and going, and long, weary councils 
 were being held at Sully and at Gien. D'Alencon, 
 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 Charite, and other little
 
 HOW ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES WAS SEEN 243 
 
 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. 
 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 my- 
 self, I was to lodge, while he was at Reims, with a 
 worthy woman of Tours, for the avoiding of evil
 
 244 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 tongues, and very tardily the time passed with me, 
 for that I might not be, as before, always in the 
 company of Elliot. 
 
 As for my lady, she was, during most of these days, 
 on her knees at the altar in the great minster, pray- 
 ing 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. 
 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.' 
 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
 
 HOW ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES WAS SEEN 245 
 
 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 corve'e, 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.
 
 246 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 I And, Jeannot, do you fear nothing ? * one of them 
 asked her, who had known her from a child. 
 
 I I fear nothing but treason,' my master heard her 
 reply, a word that we had afterwards too good cause 
 to remember. 
 
 ' And is she proud now that she is so great ? ' asked 
 
 Elliot. 
 
 • 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 ' 
 
 1 In mind of what?' 
 
 1 Of nought. Faith, I remember not what I was 
 going to say, for I am well weary.' 
 ' 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 Bur- 
 gundy, 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
 
 HOW ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES WAS SEEN 247 
 
 touch the sick and heal the crewels. 1 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.' 
 * 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.' 
 '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. 
 
 1 The king's evil : ' ecrouelles,' scrofula.
 
 248 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 1 is still to do. But here comes Elliot, so no 
 word of the jackanapes.' 
 
 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. 
 
 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 Bur- 
 gundy, 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— 
 
 'Ores viegne la Belle,' 
 
 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. 
 
 1 Darg, day's work.
 
 HOW NORMAN RODE TO THE WARS 249 
 
 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. Mean- 
 while 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 
 Compiegne, 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX.-HOW NORMAN LESLIE RODE AGAIN TO 
 THE WARS. 
 
 IDINGS of these parleys, and 
 marches, and surrenders of 
 cities came to us at Tours, 
 the King sending letters to 
 his good towns by mes- 
 sengers. 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.
 
 250 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 '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.' 
 
 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 Compiegne. 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 HOW NORMAN RODE TO THE WARS 251 
 
 I kneeled beside her, and in my hands I took her little 
 hand, that was cold as ice. 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 1 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 ? ' 
 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. 
 1 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. 
 ' 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. 
 
 '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
 
 252 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 
 Therewith he embraced me, and I set forth to the 
 hostel where I was to lie that night. 
 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 candle- 
 shine 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. 
 '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.' 
 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
 
 HOW NORMAN RODE TO THE WARS 253 
 
 rode northwards before the full coming of the 
 dawn. 
 
 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 Mon- 
 strelet, a very learned knight, and deep in the counsels 
 of the Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 'You were all sold,' he said to me, at Dijon, in the 
 year of our Lord fourteen hundred and forty-seven — 
 1 you were all sold when you marched against Paris 
 town. For the Maid, with D'Alencon, rode from 
 Compiegne 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 Compiegne, but on 
 the twenty-eighth of that month the Archbishop of 
 Reims entered the town, and there he met the am- 
 bassadors 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 Noel, 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 ? Mani- 
 festly 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.'
 
 254 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 BIRDS. 
 
 CONCERNING THE MAID AND THE 
 
 E rode northwards, 
 first through lands 
 that I had travelled 
 in before to Or- 
 leans, and so in- 
 to 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 Due d'Alencon 
 for the King. And the fair Duke had sent thither
 
 THE MAID AND THE BIRDS 255 
 
 Messire Ambrose de Lor6, a very good knight, with 
 Messire Jehan Foucault, and many men-at-arms. 
 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 stand- 
 ing 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 ' Hang- 
 ing 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. 
 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.' 
 
 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 Due d'Alencon ride forth with her from 
 Compiegne 'to see Paris closer than yet she had
 
 256 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 seen it' The Due d'Alencon, 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. 
 
 1 Nom Dieu ! ' said one of those who spoke with us. 
 1 You might deem that our King is nowise pressed 
 to see the place where his forefathers lie. For 
 D'Alengon 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 with- 
 out 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.' 
 
 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
 
 THE MAID AND THE BIRDS 257 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 might, through the press, hearing oaths enough if 
 
 R
 
 258 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 our horses trod over near any man, and seeing 
 daggers drawn. 
 
 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 com- 
 pany seemed to scale upwards from the filth of the 
 street, and the darkness, and the din, right on to- 
 wards 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. 
 
 '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,
 
 THE MAID AND THE BIRDS 259 
 
 to give these pock-puddings a taste of Scottish 
 
 steel.' 
 
 ' And the Maid, where is she, Randal ? ' 
 
 1 She lodges beyond the Paris gate, at the windmill, 
 
 wherefrom she drove the English some days agone.' 
 
 1 Wherefore not in the town ? ' I asked. 
 
 1 Mayhap because she likes to be near her work, and 
 
 I 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.' 
 
 I I like not the omen,' said I. 
 
 1 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.' 
 I dismounted, and he gave me an embrace, and, hold- 
 ing me at arms'-length, laughed — 
 1 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
 
 260 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 
 And so, smiling, he took my horse and went his way, 
 
 whistling, ' Hey, tuttie, tattie ! ' 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 '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.' 
 
 1 Why, what ails all of you ? ' I asked. ' I have seen 
 
 never a hopeful face, save that of one of my own
 
 THE MAID AND THE BIRDS 261 
 
 countrymen. You are not afraid of a crack on your 
 curly pate, are you ? ' 
 
 1 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 com- 
 fort. When there is fighting toward, she is like her- 
 self, 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.' 
 
 I 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 ? ' 
 
 I I will go with you,' he said, ' for she said that you 
 would come, and bade me bring you to her.' 
 
 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
 
 262 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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— 
 ' Tres doulx Dieu, en l'onneur de vostre saincte pas- 
 sion, je vous requier, se vous me aimes, que vous me 
 revelez ce que je doy faire demain pour vostre 
 gloire 1 ' 
 
 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. 
 ' Have you ever seen it in this manner? ' I whispered, 
 when we were again without the farmyard. 
 1 Never,' said he, trembling, ' though once I saw a 
 stranger thing.'
 
 264 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 1 And what may that have been ? ' 
 c 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.' 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI.— HOW A HUNDRED SCOTS SET FORTH 
 TO TAKE PARIS TOWN. 
 
 ! NTERING the tavern of 'The 
 Crane,' I found the door- 
 ways crowded with archers 
 of our Guard, among whom 
 was Randal Rutherford. 
 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 heed- 
 fully lest there should be any hole whereby what
 
 HOW A HUNDRED SCOTS SIEGE PARIS 265 
 
 passed among us might be heard in another part of 
 
 the house, but he found nothing of the kind. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 '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.' 
 
 1 1 saw him at Troyes,' said one, ' where he kneeled 
 
 before the Maid, and they seemed very loving.' 
 
 1 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 cedule
 
 266 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 signed by them with their names or marks, and this 
 he gave me as a proof of good faith.' 
 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. 
 1 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.' 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 '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, arid 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
 
 HOW A HUNDRED SCOTS SIEGE PARIS 267 
 
 English gate-wards will open to you all the more 
 
 eagerly.' 
 
 ' By the bones of St. Boswell,' cried Randal in his 
 
 loud voice, but the good Father put a hand on his 
 
 mouth. 
 
 1 Quiet, man ! ' he said. 
 
 * 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.' 
 
 They all shouted, laughing, and beating the tables 
 with hands and tankards. 
 
 * Silence ! ' cried Robin Lindsay. 
 
 1 Nay, the louder we laugh, the less will any suspect 
 
 what is forward,' said Randal Rutherford. 
 
 1 Norman, will you play this part in the mumming ? ' 
 
 I was ashamed to say no, though I liked it not over 
 
 well, and I nodded with my head. 
 
 1 How maidenly he blushes!' cried one, and there was 
 
 another clamour, till the walls rang. 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 'We played the same game before Verneuil fight,
 
 268 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 and won it,' said one; 'will the English have for- 
 gotten the trick ? ' 
 
 '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 !' 
 ' I am not so old as you all in the wars,' I began. 
 'No, Mademoiselle la Lavandiere, but you are of 
 the right spirit, with your wench's face.' 
 ' 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.' 
 '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 ' 
 
 'Father, you have not lived long on the Highland 
 line for nothing,' quoth Robin Lindsay.
 
 HOW A HUNDRED SCOTS SIEGE PARIS 269 
 
 *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.' 
 
 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 shame-faced. 
 
 '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!"' 
 
 Every man grinned gladly on his neighbour, in dead 
 stillness. 
 
 'Now,' said Randal, 'slip out by threes and fours, 
 quietly, and to quarters ; but you, Norman, wait with 
 
 me.'
 
 270 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 CHAPTER XXII.-HOW 
 PARIS TOWN. 
 
 NORMAN LESLIE FARED IN 
 
 ooooooooo o o o o 
 
 OOOOQQOOOOOOOOQ 
 
 ORMAN, 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.' 
 '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. 
 
 ' Is a Leslie turning recreant ? ' he asked in a low 
 voice. ' A pretty tale to tell in the kingdom of Fife ! ' 
 I stood still, my heart very hot with anger, and said 
 no word, while his grip closed on me. 
 'Leave hold,' I cried at last, and I swore an oath, 
 may the Saints forgive me, — ' I will not go ! ' 
 He loosed his grasp on me, and struck one hand 
 hard into the other. 
 
 1 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. 
 'What is it that ails you?' he asked. 'Look you,
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN PARIS TOWN 271 
 
 this onfall and stratagem of war may not miscarry. 
 Perdition take the fool, it is safe ! ' 
 ' Have I been seeking safety since you knew me? ' I 
 asked. 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 1 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 honour- 
 able. 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.' 
 He plucked at his beard. ' I am partly with you,' he
 
 272 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 ? ' 
 
 He looked so sad, and yet withal so comical, that I 
 held out my hand to him, laughing. 
 1 Disguise me as you will,' I said, ' I have gone mum- 
 ming 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. 
 1 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
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN PARIS TOWN 273 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 
 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 twink- 
 ling 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. 
 1 The English ! ' whispered he that lay next me. 
 1 Hush ! ' breathed Randal, and so the footsteps went 
 
 s
 
 274 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 by, none of us daring to stir, for fear of the rustle in 
 the leaves. 
 
 The sound soon ceased ; belike they had struck off 
 into these very fields wherethrough we had just 
 marched. 
 
 1 Now, Robin Lindsay, climb into yonder ash-tree, 
 and keep your eyes on the mill and the beacon-fires,' 
 said Randal. 
 
 Robin scrambled up, not easily, because of his 
 armour, and we waited, as it seemed, for an end- 
 less time. 
 
 c What is that sound,' whispered one, ' so heavy and 
 so hoarse ? ' 
 
 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. 
 1 Down all,' whispered Randal. 
 ' Give them time, give them time.' 
 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. 
 At length Randal said, ' Up all, and onwards ! ' 
 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. 
 1 Now, Norman,' said Randal, ' when we come within
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN PARIS TOWN 275 
 
 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.' 
 
 So, having marched orderly and speedily, while the 
 banks of the roadway hid us, we set off to run, Ran- 
 dal and Robin gripping me when we were full in 
 sight of the moat, of the drawbridge (which was 
 down), and the gate. 
 
 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 battle- 
 ments 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. 
 
 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,
 
 276 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 
 'Ha! fair clerk, they that be no clerks themselves 
 may yet hire clerks to work for them. How like you 
 my brother, the Carmelite ? ' 
 
 Then I knew too well how this stratagem had all 
 been laid by that devil, and my heart turned to water 
 within me. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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.
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN PARIS TOWN 277 
 
 * 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.' 
 
 * Speak, speak ! ' shouted the throng. 
 
 1 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.' 
 1 Said I not so ? ' asked Brother Thomas. 
 'A miracle, a miracle, the Maid hath a Scots tongue 
 in her head.' 
 
 Therewith stones began to fall, but the father, 
 holding up his hand, bade the multitude refrain. 
 '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,
 
 278 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 seemed as if it would break my heart, and my head 
 fell on my breast. 
 
 '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. 
 
 ' 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.' 
 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. 
 
 'You shall hear how the onfall goes, belike,' they 
 said, 'and to-morrow shall be your judgment' 
 With that the door grated and rang, the key was 
 turned in the lock, and their iron tread sounded on
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN PARIS TOWN 279 
 
 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 un- 
 bound. 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. 
 
 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 night- 
 fall, 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 righting 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
 
 280 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 * Bellen- 
 den,' ' 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. 
 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 on- 
 slaught, I knew, was not on the gate behind the 
 tower in which I lay, though that tower also was 
 smitten of cannon-balls. 
 
 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. 
 
 Again came a hush, and then one voice, clear as a 
 clarion call, even the voice of the Maid, 'Tirez en
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN PARIS TOWN 281 
 
 avant, en avant!' How my blood thrilled at the 
 sound of it ! 
 
 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 shout- 
 ing 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 tor- 
 ment of soul there is scarce any greater than so to 
 lie, bound and alone, seeing nought, but guessing at 
 what is befalling. 
 
 After these shouts it was easy to know that the 
 fighting waned, and was less fierce. The day, more- 
 over, 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. 
 
 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
 
 282 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 Remembering the story of Michael Hamilton, which 
 I have already told, and other noble and virtuous 
 miracles of Madame St. Catherine of Fierbois, I 
 commended 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 Fier- 
 bois. 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. 
 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. How- 
 beit, 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 sal- 
 vation, are wont in certain houses to sport with men. 
 Curious rather than affrighted, I sat up once more,
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN PARIS TOWN 283 
 
 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. 
 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, wonder- 
 ing 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
 
 284 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN PARIS TOWN 285 
 
 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 stan- 
 chions 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.' 
 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 sus- 
 picion, moreover, on the poor violer woman. Then, 
 commending 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
 
 286 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN PARIS TOWN 287 
 
 hailed by our sentinels for the only man that had 
 won in and out of Paris, and had carried off, more- 
 over, 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. 
 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 cor- 
 delier, Brother Thomas. For the rest, the Maid 
 had led on a band to attack the gate St. Honore', 
 with Gaucourt in her company, a knight that 
 had no great love either of her or of a desperate 
 onslaught. But D'Alencon, 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, be- 
 hold 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
 
 288 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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'Alencon carried her off by main force, 
 set her on her horse, and so brought her back to 
 St. Denis. 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII.- 
 HOME. 
 
 HOW ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES CAME 
 
 F our Blessed Lord Himself 
 it is said in the Gospel of 
 St. Matthew, *et non fecit 
 ibi virtutes multas prop- 
 ter 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
 
 ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES CAME HOME 289 
 
 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 Due 
 d'Alencon. Together they came forth from the gate, 
 and I, being in their company, heard her cry — 
 1 By my baton, I will never go back till I take that 
 city.' 1 
 
 These words Percival de Cagny also heard, a good 
 knight, and maitre d'hotel of the house of Alencon. 
 Thereon arose some dispute, D'Alencon being eager, 
 as indeed he always was, to follow where the Maiden 
 led, and some others holding back. 
 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, 
 
 1 ' Par mon martin,' the oath which she permitted to La Hire. 
 
 T
 
 290 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 within Paris itself, so many gentlemen deemed ours 
 the better cause and the more hopeful. 
 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 Due 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'Alencon 
 and the Maid to march forward another lance's length. 
 Whereat D'Alencon 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. 
 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 Due 
 d'Alencon 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
 
 ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES CAME HOME 291 
 
 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. 
 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 Fier- 
 bois, in front of the altar of Our Lady, and the 
 blessed relics of St. Denis in the chapel. There- 
 after she rode, as needs she must, and we of her 
 company with her, to join the King, for so he 
 commanded. 
 
 And now was the will of the Maid and of the Due 
 d'Alencon 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
 
 292 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 the Maid. Never again were they mustered ; nay 
 when, after some weeks passed, the gentle Due 
 d'Alencon prayed that he might have the Maiden 
 with him, and burst into Normandy, where the Eng- 
 lish were strongest, by the Marches of Maine, even 
 this grace was refused to him, by the malengin and ill- 
 will of La Trdmouille 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. 
 
 Now concerning the times that came after this shame- 
 ful treason at Paris, I have no joy to write. The 
 King's counsellors, as their manner was, ever hank- 
 ered 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. 1 
 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
 
 ELLIOTS JACKANAPES CAME HOME 293 
 
 harrying - certain of the good towns that had yielded 
 to King Charles. 
 
 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 for- 
 sooth 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 Charitd, 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 Yevre, 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. 
 
 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
 
 294 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 stood, waving her banner, and crying-, ' Tirez en avant, 
 ils sont a nous,' as was her way in every onfall. See- 
 ing her thus in jeopardy, her maitre d'hotel, 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 ? ' 
 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 — 
 1 1 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 Charite', which was beset in the last days of November, 
 we had perforce to give back, for the King sent us
 
 ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES CAME HOME 295 
 
 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, trail- 
 ing after the Court, from castle to castle. 
 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. 
 
 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 back- 
 ward 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 Ger- 
 many, 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
 
 296 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 com- 
 pany 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. 
 
 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 whereso- 
 ever we went, as at Sully, Gien, and Bourges, only I 
 took him not to the leaguers of St. Pierre le Moustier 
 and La Charitd, 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. 
 
 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
 
 ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES CAME HOME 297 
 
 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 fare- 
 well, with many kind words on her part, I rode to- 
 wards 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
 
 298 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 
 1 In Our Lady's name, what is this ? ' came the voice 
 of Elliot. 'My dear, dear little friend, what make 
 you here ? ' 
 
 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 kins- 
 woman, 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
 
 ELLIOT'S JACKANAPES CAME HOME 299 
 
 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. 
 
 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 MARL IHS. Thereon Elliot kissed it 
 humbly, and avowed herself to be, that night, the 
 gladdest damsel in all France. 
 
 4 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
 
 3oo 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV.— HOW THE MAID HEARD ILL TIDINGS 
 FROM HER VOICES, AND OF THE SILENCE OF THE BIRDS. 
 
 ASTERTIDE came at last, 
 and that early, Easter Day 
 falling on March the twenty- 
 seventh. Our King kept his 
 Paques 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, 
 
 1 See Appendix B, ' Norman's Miracle,' Appendix C, ' Elliot's Ring.'
 
 HOW THE MAID HEARD ILL TIDINGS 301 
 
 a town which lies some eight leagues to the north 
 and west of Compiegne. 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 
 Compiegne, whereby the garrison there promised to 
 lie idle, and make no onslaught against them of Bur- 
 gundy, unless the King brought them a rescue. 
 Therefore the Duke went back to Noyon on the Oise, 
 some eight leagues north and east of Compiegne, 
 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. 
 
 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 Compiegne, 
 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
 
 302 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Compiegne was like, in no long time, to be master of 
 Paris. But as now Guillaume de Flavy commanded 
 in Compiegne 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. 
 
 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 com- 
 pany, 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'Eveque, 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 Compiegne, 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 strata- 
 gem of war. 
 
 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
 
 HOW THE MAID HEARD ILL TIDINGS 303 
 
 little book. Now we two, and no other, were walk- 
 ing by the dry fosse of Melun, the day being very 
 fair and warm for that season, the flowers blossom- 
 ing, and the birds singing so sweet and loud as 
 never I heard them before or since that day. 
 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. 
 
 As I marvelled, for there was not a cloud in the sky, 
 nor a breath of cold wind, I beheld the Maid stand- 
 ing 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 Thereafter she arose, and beholding me wan, I doubt 
 not, she gently laid her hand upon my shoulder, and, 
 smiling most sweetly, she said— 
 1 1 know not what thou hast seen or heard, but 
 promise, on thine honour, that thou wilt speak no
 
 304 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 word to any man, save in confession only, while I 
 
 bear arms for France.' 
 
 Then humbly, and with tears, I vowed as she had 
 
 bidden me, whereto she only said— 
 
 ' Come, we loiter, and I have much to do, for the day 
 
 is short.' 
 
 But whether the birds sang again, or stinted, I know 
 
 not, for I marked it not. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 HOW THE MAID HEARD ILL TIDINGS 305 
 
 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. 
 
 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, hav- 
 ing 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. 
 
 u
 
 306 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 CHAPTER. XXV.-OF THE ONFALL AT PONT L'EVEQUE, 
 AND HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS HURT. 
 
 o o o O o O O OO© 
 
 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 Compiegne, 
 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. 
 
 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 Compiegne, 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 Fon- 
 taines, Messire Poton de Xaintrailles, the best 
 knight then on ground, and many other gentlemen, 
 some four hundred lances in all. 1 With these 
 lances the Maid consorted to attack Pont l'Eveque 
 by a night onfall. This is a small but very strong 
 hold, on the Oise, some six leagues from Compiegne, 
 as you go up the river, and it lies near the town of 
 Noyon, which was held by the English. In Pont 
 
 1 That is to say, some two thousand combatants.
 
 OF THE ONFALL AT PONT L'EVEQUE 307 
 
 l'liveque 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 Compiegne but six years agone, 
 wherefore our hope was the higher. About five of 
 the clock on an April day we rode out of Compiegne, 
 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. 
 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 — 
 
 'Madame, it is not thus that we have taken great 
 keeps and holds, in my country, from our enemies of 
 England.' 
 
 1 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.' 
 'Madame,' I said, 'it was with a little force, and 
 lightly moving, that Messire Thomas Randolph 
 scaled the Castle rock and took Edinburgh Castle
 
 308 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 
 ( 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.' 
 
 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 Compiegne, 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'Eveque stand out 
 against the clear sky of morning, a light mist gird- 
 ling 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
 
 OF THE ONFALL AT PONT L'EVEQUE 309 
 
 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. How- 
 beit, 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. 
 
 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 him- 
 self, who commanded in Pont l'Eveque. 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
 
 310 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 frays wherein, may be, he has borne himself not 
 unmanly. 
 
 This was my lot at Pont l'liveque, 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 Compiegne, having lost, indeed, but 
 thirty men slain, but having wholly failed in our on- 
 fall. 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'llveque. 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. 
 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
 
 OF THE ONFALL AT PONT L'EVEQUE 311 
 
 which this was the worst, that I could not be with 
 the Maid: nay, never again did I ride under her 
 banner. 
 
 She, for her part, was not idle, but, after tarrying 
 certain days in Compiegne 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 with- 
 out 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 dchevins 1 
 of Lagny, claiming Franquet d'Arras as a common 
 thief, traitor, and murderer, tried him, and, on his con- 
 fession, 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 
 
 1 Iichevins— magistrates.
 
 312 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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 com- 
 mandments 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 be- 
 lieve. For my part, when I have been where gentle- 
 men 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
 
 HOW THE MAID WAS TAKEN 313 
 
 the cruel Jews:, 'Tolle hunc, et dimitte nobis 
 Barabbam.' 1 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. 
 Meantime the Maid rode from Lagny, now to Sois- 
 sons, now to Senlis, now to Crepy-en-Valois, and in 
 Crepy she was when that befell which I am about to 
 relate. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. — HOW, AND BY WHOSE DEVICE, THE 
 FIAID WAS TAKEN AT COMPIEGNE. 
 
 ERILY and indeed the Maid 
 is of wonderful excellence,' 
 quoth Father Francois to 
 me, in my chamber at the 
 Jacobins, where I was heal- 
 ing of my hurts. 
 'Any man may know that, 
 who is in your company,' the 
 father went on speaking. 
 
 1 And how, good father ? ' I asked him ; ' sure I have 
 
 caught none of her saintliness.' 
 
 'A saint I do not call you, but I scarce call you a 
 
 Scot. For you are a clerk.' 
 
 'The Maid taught me none of my clergy, father, 
 
 nor have I taught her any of mine.' 
 
 1 She needs it not. But you are peaceful and gentle ; 
 
 you brawl not, nor drink, nor curse . . .' 
 
 1 < 
 
 Away with this man, and release unto us Barabbas.'
 
 314 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 ' Nay, father, with whom am I to brawl, or how 
 should I curse in your good company? Find you 
 Scots so froward ? ' 
 
 ' But now, pretending to be our friends, a band of 
 them is harrying the Sologne country . . .' 
 1 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.' 
 1 Yours, then, is a very large country ? ' 
 '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 king- 
 dom, 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.' 
 
 'Whence comes your great captain, Sir Hugh 
 Kennedy?' 
 
 '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.'
 
 HOW THE MAID WAS TAKEN 31 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 Hereat I waxed red as fire. 
 
 1 He will be in arrears of his pay, no doubt,' I made 
 
 answer. 
 
 I It is very like,' said Father Francois ; ' but consider- 
 ing 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 ' 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 Compiegne 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.' 
 
 '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.' 
 
 I I pray that you speak sooth,' said Father Francois. 
 On the next day, being May the twentieth, he came 
 to me again, with a wan face. 
 
 'Burgundians are in Claroix,' said he, 'across the 
 river, and yet others, with Jean de Luxembourg,
 
 316 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 '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.' 
 
 1 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.' 
 1 And praying is yours, father, wherefore you should 
 be bolder than I.' 
 But he shook his head. 
 
 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 Francois, 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. 
 
 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 Francois came
 
 HOW THE MAID WAS TAKEN 317 
 
 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. 
 
 So, by the goodwill of Father Francois, 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. 
 
 The town of Compiegne 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. 
 
 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 Francois showed me the church 
 tower of Venette, where the English camped ; to the 
 right, a league off, was the tower of Clairoix ; and at
 
 318 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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. Every- 
 thing 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. 
 
 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 pre- 
 sently 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, ' Noel !
 
 HOW THE MAID WAS TAKEN 319 
 
 Noel ! ' 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 maitre d'hotel, D'Aulon. But of the cap- 
 tains in Compiegne 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. 
 
 Be this as it may, and a captain of hers, BartheUemy 
 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 Francois, and others in the 
 chamber, strained our eyes after them. All the
 
 320 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 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 cause- 
 way towards Compiegne, and then, alas ! forth from it
 
 HOW THE MAID WAS TAKEN 321 
 
 broke little knots of our men, foot-soldiers, all run- 
 ning- 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 bleed- 
 ing. 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. 
 
 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 ! ' 
 
 Anon her horsemen charged back furiously, and 
 drove the Picards and Burgundians, who pursued, 
 over a third part of the raised roadway. 
 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 draw- 
 bridge 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, 
 
 x
 
 322 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 
 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
 
 HOW THE MAID WAS TAKEN 323 
 
 voice, bade archers and artillerymen hold their 
 hands. 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 
 1 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 in- 
 stantly, 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 be said, in the twinkling 
 of an eye. 
 
 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 ! ' 
 
 For most of the mounted men who had fled were 
 now safe, and on foot, within the boulevard.
 
 324 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 draw- 
 bridge. 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 ! 
 
 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. 
 
 'Seize him!' I cried to Father Francois, 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
 
 h 
 
 s ™%m
 
 326 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 counterfeit men's voices. I know the man. Run, 
 Father Francois, run ! ' 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 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 Compiegne, 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 on- 
 slaught 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.' 
 
 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
 
 HOW THE MAID WAS TAKEN 327 
 
 the playmate of their children, for all children she 
 dearly loved. 
 
 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. 
 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, know- 
 ing me only for a wounded Scot of the Maid's, 
 would think me a brainsick man, and as like as 
 not give me more of Oise river to drink than I 
 craved. 
 
 With these reasonings it behoved me to content 
 myself. The night I passed in prayers for the Maid,
 
 328 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. — HOW NORMAN LESLIE FARED IN 
 COMPIEGNE, WITH THE END OF THAT LEAGUER. 
 
 BOUT all that befell in the 
 besieged city of Compiegne, 
 after that wicked day of 
 destiny when the Maid was 
 taken, I heard for long only 
 from the Jacobin brothers, 
 and from one Barthdlemy 
 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. 
 'The burgesses are no whit dismayed,' said he, 
 coming into my chamber after the day of the Ascen- 
 sion, which was the second after the capture of the 
 Maid. 'They have sent a messenger to the King, 
 and expect succour.' 
 
 1 They sue for grace at a graceless face,' said I, in the 
 country proverb ; for my heart was hot against 
 King Charles. 
 'That is to be seen,' said he. 'But assuredly the
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN COMPIIiGNE 329 
 
 Duke of Burgundy is more keen about his own 
 
 business.' 
 
 '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.' 
 
 'For holy men they are wondrous chary of their 
 
 lives,' said Barthelemy, 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.' 
 
 'It is written, Barthelemy, that there is neither 
 
 marrying nor giving in marriage.' 
 
 ' Faith, the more I am fain of it,' said Barth&emy, 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 This man had no more faith than a paynim, but, 
 
 none the less, was a stout carl in war. 
 
 ' But that minds me,' quoth he, ' of the very thing I 
 
 came hither to tell you. One priest there is in Com- 
 
 piegne who takes no keep of his life, a cordelier. 
 
 What ails you, man ? does your leg give a twinge ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, a shrewd twinge enough.' 
 
 'Truly, you look pale enough.' 
 
 ' It is gone,' I said. ' Tell me of that cordelier.' 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 ' I see it'
 
 330 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 1 How many notches are cut in it ? ' 
 ' Five,' I said. ' But why spoil you your rod ? ' 
 '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.' 
 1 How comes he in arms?' I asked. 
 '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.'" 
 
 1 Was there an onfall of the enemy ? ' 
 4 Nay, they are over wary. He shot them as they dug 
 behind pavises. 1 For the Duke has moved his quar- 
 ters 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 my- 
 self ; "cut a notch for every man I slay"; and here,' 
 said Barthelemy, waving his staff, ' is his first day's 
 reckoning.' 
 
 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 
 
 1 Pavises— large portable shelters.
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN COMPIEGNE 331 
 
 having taken him when they took the Maid. Think- 
 ing thus, I groaned, and Barthdlemy, fearing that he 
 had wearied me, said farewell, and went out. 
 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. 
 
 I 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 l of oaken beams and earth, 
 between the bastille and our boulevard. The skill 
 is to draw nearer us, and nearer, till he can mine be- 
 neath our feet. Heard you any new noise of war 
 this day ? ' 
 
 I I heard such a roar and clatter as never was in my 
 ears, whether at Orleans or Paris.' 
 
 1 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 Houpembiere,— 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?' 
 1 Is there no good tidings from the messenger ? ' 
 
 1 Block-houses.
 
 332 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 ' The King answers ever like a drawer in a tavern, 
 
 " Anon, anon, sir ! ' He will come himself presently, 
 
 always presently, with all his host.' 
 
 1 He will never come,' I said. ' He is a . . .' 
 
 1 He is my King,' said Barth£lemy. ' 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?' 
 
 I I have heard of the man,' I said. ' A town's mes- 
 senger, is he not ? ' 
 
 'The same. But a week agone, Cammet was sent 
 on a swift horse to Chateau Thierry. The good 
 town craved of Pothon de Xaintrailles, who com- 
 mands 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.' 
 1 Well, and what have the Scots to do with that ? ' 
 1 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 
 Chateau Thierry.' 
 
 '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 attournds,
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN COMPIEGNE 333 
 
 and say a Scot atones for what Scots have 
 done.' 
 
 1 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 countryfolk. 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 ! ' 
 Indeed, to shorten a long story, by the end of Bar- 
 thelemy'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 there- 
 after, 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. 
 
 Consider, then, what hope I had of being listened to 
 by Flavy, or by the attournds (or, as we say, bailies), 
 of the good town, if, being recovered from my broken 
 limbs, I brought my witness to their ears. 
 None the less, the enemy battered at us every day 
 with their engines, destroying, as Barthe*lemy had 
 said, the houses on the bridge, and the mills, so that 
 they could no longer grind the corn. 
 And now came the Earls of Huntingdon and Arundel, 
 with two thousand Englishmen, while to us appeared
 
 334 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 Somewhat we were kept in heart by tidings other- 
 wise bitter. For word came that the Maid, being in 
 ward at Beaurevoir, a strong place of Jean de Luxem- 
 bourg, 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 ! 
 Nevertheless, when she was come to herself again,
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN COMPIEGNE 335 
 
 she declared, by inspiration of the Saints, that Com- 
 piegne 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. 
 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 de- 
 parted, 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. 
 
 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 Barth&emy Barrette, for it was the day of Our 
 Lady's Feast, that very day whereon we had failed
 
 336 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 
 Barth&emy of my escape from prison, and so, little 
 by little, I opened my heart to him concerning Brother 
 Thomas and all his treasons. 
 
 Never was man more astounded than Barth&emy; 
 and he bade me swear by the Blessed Trinity that 
 all this tale was true. 
 
 'Mayhap you were fevered,' he said, 'when you lay 
 in the casement seat, and saw the Maid taken by 
 device of the cordelier.' 
 
 ' 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?' 
 
 ' Brother Thomas should burn for this,' quoth Bar- 
 theUemy; '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.' 
 So there he sat, frowning, and plucking at his beard. 
 
 I 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.'
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN COMPIEGNE 337 
 
 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. 
 
 Ere I well knew what had chanced, Barthdlemy 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. 
 
 In the same moment a loud grating voice cried — 
 
 4 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.' 
 
 Rising as I best might, but needfully, I spied over 
 
 the parapet, and there was Barthelemy coming back, 
 
 his naked sword in his hand. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 4 No man saw this that could bear witness ; most are 
 
 in church, where you and I should have been,' I 
 
 said. 
 
 Then we looked on each other with blank faces. 
 
 1 My post is far from his, and my harness is good,' 
 
 said Barthelemy ; ' but for you, beware ! ' 
 
 Thenceforth, if I saw any cowl of a cordelier as I 
 
 walked, I even turned and went the other way. 
 
 Y
 
 338 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 I was of no avail against this wolf, whom all men 
 praised, so serviceable was he to the town. 
 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. 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN COMPIEGNE 339 
 
 On the crest of their bastille, over against our Pierre- 
 fonds 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 Compiegne 
 by our party. But the forest, five hundred yards 
 from our wall, lay silent and peaceable, a sea of brown 
 and yellow leaves. 
 
 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
 
 340 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 charge, being heavy-armed men on foot, and the 
 French would not move against them, we knew not 
 wherefore. 
 
 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. 
 After one great volley of guns against the bastille, 
 we, looking down into our boulevard of the Pierre- 
 fonds 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. 
 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 har-
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN COMPIEGNE 341 
 
 ness, 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. 
 
 Never, sure, saw any man such a sight. Our boule- 
 vard 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 clamour- 
 ing 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 ! 
 
 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. 
 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.
 
 342 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Suddenly, on the crest of the boulevard, Flavy threw 
 up his arm and gave one cry — 
 1 Xaintrailles ! ' 
 
 Then he roared to draw up portcullis and open 
 gates ; the men-at-arms charged forth, the multi- 
 tude 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 dismount- 
 ing, the rearguard just riding out from the forest. 
 The two bands joined, we from Compiegne, the four 
 hundred of Xaintrailles from the wood, and, like two 
 swollen streams that meet, we raced towards the bas- 
 tille, 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
 
 s 
 
 HOW NORMAN FARED IN COMPIEGNE 343 
 
 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. 
 Thereafter, very late, and in the twilight of October 
 the twenty-fifth, we turned back to Compiegne, leav- 
 ing the enemies' bastille in a flame behind us, while 
 in front were blazing the bonfires of the people of 
 the good town. And, in Compiegne, 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 Compiegne. 
 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 Burgun- 
 dians and English had decamped in the dawn, their 
 men deserting. That day was not less joyful than
 
 344 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 the night had been ; for at Royaulieu, in the abbey 
 where Jean de Luxembourg had lain, the towns- 
 folk found all manner of meat, and of wine great 
 plenty, so right good cheer we made, for it cost us 
 nothing. 
 
 CHAPTER. XXVIII.-HOW THE BURGUNDIANS HUNTED 
 HARES, WITH THE END OF THAT HUNTING. 
 
 o o e o o o o o o o o o o a o c oo 
 
 &J*K ° 
 
 oooo O OOOOOOoOOOOOO 
 
 ELL me, what tidings of 
 him?' Barthelemy Barrette 
 asked me, on the day after 
 that unbought feast at 
 Royaulieu. 
 
 He was sitting in the noon- 
 day sun on the bridge of 
 Compiegne, 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. 
 1 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.' 
 1 You were his target, I make no doubt,' said Barthd-
 
 HOW BURGUNDIANS HUNTED HARES 345 
 
 lemy, ' but by reason of the throng he had no certain 
 
 aim.' 
 
 1 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. 
 
 I 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 ? ' 
 
 I 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.' 
 
 1 My mind is the same,' he said, and fell into a muse. 
 1 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 Compiegne ; there, far to the west, is the sea, 
 and here is Rouen. That straight line,' which he 
 scratched, 'goes to Rouen from Compiegne. Here, 
 midway, is Beauvais, whereof we spoke, which town 
 we hold. But there, between us and Beauvais, is 
 Clermont, held by Crevecceur 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 compre- 
 hend? We must first take Clermont ere we can 
 ride to rescue the Maid at Rouen ! '
 
 346 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 'The King should help us,' I said. 'For what is 
 the army that has delivered Compiegne 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.' 
 
 ' 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'Alencon 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 Arch- 
 bishop 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. 
 
 ' Whoever stays at home, we take the field,' I said ; 
 'let us seek counsel of Xaintrailles.' 
 We rose and went to the Jacobins, where Xaintrailles 
 was lodged, and there found him at his dejeuner. 
 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.
 
 HOW BURGUNDIANS HUNTED HARES 347 
 
 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. 
 
 ' 1 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.' 
 
 'Messire, I have a handful of horse of the Maid's 
 
 company,' said Barthe'lemy, hardily; 'but when do 
 
 we march, for to-day is better than to-morrow.' 
 
 'As soon as may be,' said the knight ; 'the Mardchal 
 
 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 ! ' 
 
 He stood like one in prayer, crossing himself, and 
 
 our hearts turned to him in loyalty. 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 'Ay, if!' quoth Xaintrailles, and his face grew darker, 
 
 'but we must make good speed, for the midwinter 
 
 draws nigh.' 
 
 Therewith we left him, and, in few days, were 
 
 marching on Clermont, dragging with long trains of 
 
 horses the great bombards of the Burgundians. 
 
 To our summons Messire de Crevecceur answered
 
 348 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 fore- 
 boded 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 be seen. 
 
 And the cause of our going was that the Earl of 
 Huntingdon had ridden out of Gournay, in Nor- 
 mandy, 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 Barthdlemy and I, sorry 
 enough, rode behind Xaintrailles, due north to Guer- 
 migny, whence we threatened Amiens. 
 At Guermigny, then, for a short season, lay Xain- 
 trailles, 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. 
 I was glad, therefore, when Xaintrailles himself rode
 
 HOW BURGUNDIANS HUNTED HARES 349 
 
 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 BartheUemy, 
 asked, ' You know this land well ? ' 
 1 1 have ridden over it, in war or peace, since I was 
 a boy.' 
 
 ' How far to Lihons ? ' 
 1 A matter of two leagues.' 
 1 What manner of country lies between ? ' 
 1 Chiefly plain, rude and untitled, because of the dis- 
 tresses of these times. There is much heath and 
 long grasses, a great country for hares.' 
 ' Know you any covert nigh the road ? ' 
 '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.' 
 ' You can guide me thither ? ' 
 1 There is no missing the road.' 
 
 'God could not have made this land better for me, if 
 He had asked my counsel,' said Xaintrailles. ' You 
 can keep your own ? ' 
 1 Nom Dieu, yea ! ' said Barthdlemy. 
 1 And your Scots friend I can trust. A good-day to 
 you, and thanks many.' 
 Thereupon he went forth. 
 
 1 What has he in his mind ? ' I asked Barthe'lemy. 
 1 Belike an ambush. The Duke of Burgundy lies at 
 Peronne, and has mustered a great force. Lihons
 
 350 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 be- 
 mused 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.' 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 
 1 Let no man stir, or speak, save when I speak to 
 him, whatever befalls, on peril of his life,' said Xain- 
 trailles, when we were all disposed in hiding. Then
 
 HOW BURGUNDIANS HUNTED HARES 351 
 
 touching me on the shoulder that I should rise, he 
 said — 
 
 'You are young enough to climb a tree; are your 
 eyes good ? ' 
 
 ' I commonly was the first that saw the hare in her 
 form, when we went coursing at home, sir.' 
 ' 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 lowsun 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 busi- 
 ness of their farm, but there was no remedy. 
 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 Barthe'lemy and another to waken any that 
 slept, and bade all be ready at a word. 
 Now there came shouts on the wind, cries of venerie, 
 loud laughter, and snatches of songs. 
 And now, up in my perch, I myself broke into a 
 laugh at that I saw.
 
 352 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 1 Silence, fool ! ' whispered Xaintrailles. ' Why laugh 
 you, in the name of Behemoth ? ' 
 ' 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. 
 
 '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. 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 HOW BURGUNDIANS HUNTED HARES 353 
 
 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 Barthe'lemy Barrette, with a 
 blow of a casse-tete. 
 
 For this Barthelemy 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 ! 
 
 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 Guer- 
 migny, 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. 
 
 z
 
 354 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 On the morrow we left Guermigny to the garrison of 
 the place for their ill-fortune, and rode back towards 
 Compiegne. 
 
 And this was the sport that the Burgundians had in 
 hare-hunting. 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX.-SHOWETH HOW VERY NOBLE WAS 
 THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY. 
 
 LL 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 Compiegne broke up, on 
 the twenty-sixth of October. 
 The Duke of Burgundy, we 
 learned, was like a man mad 
 when he heard of the Battle of the Hares. Nothing 
 
 
 
 ooooo o o oo 
 
 O O O 
 
 OOOOO 
 
 
 
 
 k/.'Ao 
 c//(i ft) 
 
 
 
 W V 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 webs* 
 
 
 O M%^ \M 
 
 
 s0j\ ^qP 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ooop oooo 
 
 O O O 
 
 OOOOO 
 
 

 
 HOW NOBLE WAS THE DUKE 355 
 
 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. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 Compiegne. 
 
 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
 
 356 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 myself heard from Messire Saint-Remy, who is still 
 a pursuivant, and a learned man, and a maker of 
 books. 
 
 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. 
 
 Of all this we, in Compiegne, 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, Amadee 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 The Duke received the herald, and made as if he 
 would hear him as beseems a gentleman under
 
 HOW NOBLE WAS THE DUKE 357 
 
 challenge. But his wise counsellors forbade him, 
 because he was so noble. 
 
 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. 
 
 I stood by Xaintrailles when the pursuivant bore 
 back this message. 
 Pothon spat on the ground. 
 
 ' 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 knight- 
 hood?' 
 
 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. 
 And so we drew half a league nearer to Roye. 
 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.
 
 358 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE TOOK SERVICE 359 
 
 CHAPTER XXX.-HOW NORMAN LESLIE TOOK SERVICE 
 WITH THE ENGLISH. 
 
 HAT makewe now?' 
 I asked of Bar- 
 thelemy Barrette, 
 one day, after the 
 companies had 
 scattered, as I 
 have said, and we 
 had gone back 
 into Compiegne. 
 1 What stroke may France now strike for the Maid ? ' 
 He hung his head and plucked at his beard, ere he 
 spoke. 
 
 ' 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.' 
 'We cannot sit idle here,' I said. 'And for three 
 long months there will be no moving of armies in 
 open field.' 
 
 '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
 
 360 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 to the Loire. Perchance there is yet some hope in 
 the King.' 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 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. 
 Barthdlemy 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. 
 
 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 Compiegne ere we did, I 
 was expected and welcomed by Elliot and my master, 
 with all the joy that might be, after our long sever- 
 ance. 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. 
 
 1 For she is pining with grief, and prayer, and fasting, 
 and marriage is the best remede for such maladies.' 
 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 counten- 
 ance of old, flushed scarlet when she heard how we
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE TOOK SERVICE 361 
 
 had bearded and shamed the noble Duke of Bur- 
 gundy, and what words Xaintrailles had spoken con- 
 cerning' his nobleness. 
 
 * There is one true knight left in France ! ' she said, 
 and fell silent again. 
 
 Then, we being alone in the chamber, I tried to take 
 her hand, but she drew it away. 
 1 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.' 
 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. 
 '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.' 
 
 * 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.'
 
 362 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 ' Sure, she hath already the certain promise of Para- 
 dise, 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.' 
 But Elliot said no word, being very wilful. 
 ' 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.' 
 ' If she herself bids me do as you desire,' said Elliot 
 at last, 'then I would not be disobedient to that 
 Daughter of God.' 
 
 Here I took some comfort, for now a thought came 
 into my mind. 
 
 '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.' 
 ' 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 ! ' 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 ' 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.'
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE TOOK SERVICE 363 
 
 My purpose was now clear before me, even as I 
 executed it, as shall be seen. 
 
 1 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.' 
 Whereon she laid her kind arms about my neck, and, 
 despite my manhood, I wept no less than she. 
 For Holy Writ says well, that hope deferred maketh 
 the heart sick ; and mine was sick unto death. 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 364 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 I did indeed ride to the Court, which was at Sully, 
 and there I met, as I desired, Barthelemy Barrette. 
 He greeted me well, and was richly clad, and pro- 
 sperous 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. 
 1 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 ? ' 
 In this hope I tarried long, intending to ride with 
 the spears of Barth&emy, 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. 
 
 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. 
 Without adventure very notable, riding much at
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE TOOK SERVICE 365 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 1 There is nought to be done,' BartheUemy said to me; 
 ' I cannot take Rouen with a handful of spears, and 
 the captains will not stir.' 
 
 'Then,' said I, 'farewell, for under the lilies I fight 
 never again. One chance remains, and I go to 
 prove it.' 
 
 'Man, you are mad,' he answered me. 'What de- 
 sperate peril are you minded to run ? ' 
 ' 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
 
 366 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 for my honour and the honour of Scotland, and for 
 my lady.' 
 
 '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, with- 
 out mere madness and risk out of all hope, I will 
 do it.' 
 
 '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.' 
 'You will not ride into Rouen in English guise? 
 They will straightway hang you for a spy, and 
 therein is little honour.' 
 
 'My purpose is some deal subtler,' I said, with a 
 laugh, ' but let me keep my own counsel.' 
 ' 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!' 
 
 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
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE TOOK SERVICE 367 
 
 feigning to be a deserter who was fleeing from the 
 English army, for fear of the Maid. 
 1 1 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. 
 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. 
 Mine host came to me in a servile English fashion, 
 and asked me what I would ? 
 
 1 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
 
 368 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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.' 
 ' 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.' 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 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. 
 
 The first man-at-arms whom I met I hailed, bidding 
 him lead me straight to Sir Thomas Grey of Falloden. 
 1 What, you would take service ? ' he asked, in a Cum- 
 berland burr that I knew well, for indeed it came 
 ready enough on my own tongue. 
 'Yea, by St. Cuthbert,' I answered, 'for on the 
 Marches nothing stirs ; moreover, I have slain a man, 
 and fled my own country.' 
 
 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. 
 ' You have seen war ? ' he asked.
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE TOOK SERVICE 369 
 
 1 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.' 
 
 1 You speak the tongue of the Northern parts,' he 
 said ; ' are you noble ? ' 
 
 '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. 1 
 'And wherefore come you here alone, and in such 
 plight?' 
 
 'By reason of a sword-stroke at Stainishawbank 
 Fair,' I answered boldly. 
 
 ' 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 for- 
 sworn dogs, the French, back beyond the Loire.' 
 I felt my face reddening at these ill words, so I 
 stooped, as if to clear my spur of mire. 
 ' 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. 
 
 1 The Grahames had not yet possessed themselves of Netherby.— A. L. 
 
 2A
 
 370 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Com- 
 piegne. Yet my visor was down, both at Orleans 
 and Compiegne, 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, with- 
 out feigning, none longed so sorely as I for a fair wind 
 to France, wherefore I was ever going about Win- 
 chelsea 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI.— HOW NORMAN LESLIE SAW THE MAID 
 IN HER PRISON. 
 
 N 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
 
 HOW NORMAN SAW JEANNE IN PRISON 371 
 
 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. 
 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
 
 372 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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 dun- 
 geon, 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. 
 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 Compiegne. 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 —
 
 HOW NORMAN SAW JEANNE IN PRISON 373 
 
 1 Shalt thou be delivered ? ' 
 And she had answered — 
 
 1 Ask me on this day three months, and I shall de- 
 clare it to you.' 
 
 The English, knowing this, made all haste to end 
 her ere May ended, wherefore I had the more occa- 
 sion for speed. 
 
 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. 
 
 He then struck me in friendly fashion on the back, 
 and cried — 
 
 '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.' 
 
 '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. 
 
 ' 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.' 
 
 ' I should like it not ill,' I said ; 'it were something to 
 
 tell my grandchildren, when all France is English 
 
 land.' "
 
 374 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 ' Then you shall see her, for this is your last chance 
 to see her whole.' 
 
 ' 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. 
 
 'To-morrow the charity of the Church hath re- 
 solved that she shall be had into the torture- 
 chamber.' 
 
 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. 
 
 1 Thanks to St. George,' I said, ' the end is nigh ! ' 
 1 The end of the tankard,' quoth he, looking into it, 
 4 hath already come. You drink like a man of the 
 Land Debatable.' 
 
 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. 
 
 1 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 . . . n 
 So he was running on, for he himself had drunk more 
 than his share, when I brought him back to my 
 matter. 
 
 'But as touching this Puzel, how may I have my 
 view of her, that you graciously offered me ? ' 
 '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 
 
 1 Substituting ' or ' for ' argent, ' his bearings were those of the dis- 
 tinguished modern novelist of the same name.— A. L.
 
 HOW NORMAN SAW JEANNE IN PRISON 375 
 
 your revenge with the dice you shall have when so 
 you will.' 
 
 ' Nay, pardon me one moment : when relieve you the 
 guard that enters at curfew ? ' 
 
 ' 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 parch- 
 ment ? ' 
 
 I set paper and ink before him, who said— 
 'Nay, write yourself; I am no great clerk, yet I can 
 sign and seal.' 
 
 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. 
 'So I wish you joy of this tryst and bonne fortune,' 
 he said, and departed. 
 
 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. Cathe- 
 rine of Fierbois, that as she had delivered me, a 
 sinner, she would deliver the Sister of the Saints. 
 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 an- 
 other of Sir Thomas's company might be sent early
 
 376 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Beau- 
 vais, because he was just, and fell not in with their 
 treasons. 
 
 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 ink- 
 horn 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. 
 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
 
 HOW NORMAN SAW JEANNE IN PRISON 377 
 
 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 f L him spill not a 
 drop, or he should go thirsty. 
 
 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. 
 
 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
 
 378 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 ? 
 
 * 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 ? ' 
 
 Here he showed a slender key, hung on a steel chain 
 about his neck. 
 
 ' Never a saint of the three, Michael, Margaret, and 
 Catherine, can take this from me ; nay, nor the devils 
 who wear their forms.' 
 
 1 Have you seen this fair company of hers ?' I whis- 
 pered in English, crossing myself. 
 1 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 ? ' 
 
 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
 
 HOW NORMAN SAW JEANNE IN PRISON 379 
 
 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. 
 
 '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. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 1 Nay, wake up,' I cried ; ' ye are dull revellers ; what 
 say ye to the dice ? ' 
 
 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— 
 
 1 Myself will be judge and umpire ; play ye, honest 
 fellows, for I crave no gains from you. Only, a cup 
 for luck!' 
 
 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 drink- 
 ing. 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 man- 
 dragora of the leech in Tours.
 
 380 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 Now all this time she had never stirred, but lay as 
 
 she had lain, her face downwards, her arms above 
 
 her neck. 
 
 Stealthily I took the chain and the key from about 
 
 the neck of the sleeping lourdaud, and then drew near 
 
 her on tiptoe. 
 
 I listened, and, from her breathing, I believe that she 
 
 slept, as extreme labour and weariness and sorrow 
 
 do sometimes bring their own remede. 
 
 Then a thought came into my mind, how I should 
 
 best awake her, and stooping, I said in her 
 
 ear — 
 
 'FilleD^!* 
 
 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 — 
 
 I Madame, Jeanne, look on my face ! ' 
 
 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. 
 
 I 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?' 
 
 1 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.
 
 HOW NORMAN SAW JEANNE IN PRISON 381 
 
 See, here I have the master-key, and when I have 
 unlocked thy bonds. . . . ' 
 
 ' Thou hast not slain these men ? ' she asked. ' That 
 were deadly sin.' 
 
 1 Nay, they do but sleep, and will waken belike ere 
 the fresh guard comes, wherefore we must make 
 haste. 
 
 1 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. 
 '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.
 
 382 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Then the flush faded, and she grew ashen pale, while 
 she said— 
 
 1 But thou, how shalt thou get forth ? ' 
 1 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.' 
 
 1 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.' 
 '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 — 
 1 delay not, nor reck at all of me. I have but one 
 life, and it is thine freely.' 
 
 1 They will burn thee, or slay thee with other tor- 
 ments.' 
 
 1 Not so,' I said ; ' I shall not be taken alive.' 
 * 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
 
 HOW NORMAN SAW JEANNE IN PRISON 383 
 
 Saints have spoken to me. " Bear this thy martyr- 
 dom gently," they say, "tu t'en viendras en royaume 
 du Paradis." Moreover, this I know, that I am to be 
 delivered with great victory ! • 
 
 Here she clasped her hands, looking upwards, and 
 her face was as the face of an angel. 
 1 Fair victory it were to leave thee in my place, and 
 so make liars of my brethren of Paradise.' 
 Then, alas ! I knew that I was of no more avail to 
 move her ; yet one last art I tried. 
 
 I 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.' 
 
 I I shall be delivered,' she answered. 
 
 1 1 pray you in the dear name of your lady mother, 
 
 Madame du Lys.' 
 
 'I shall be delivered,' she said, 'and with great 
 
 victory ! ' 
 
 1 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 wiliest 
 
 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.' 
 
 1 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 ? ' 
 
 1 Yes, Madame, here in my wallet'
 
 384 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 1 Then write as I tell thee : — 
 
 '"^JHESU MARIAN 
 
 c << 
 
 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.' 
 
 1 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. 
 1 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.' 
 
 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 sun- 
 dered lock (as was sometimes her custom), and bade 
 me seal with my own signet, and put the brief in my 
 wallet. 
 
 1 Now, all is done,' she said. 
 
 1 Nay, nay,' I said, ' to die for thee is more to me than 
 to live in love. Ah, nay, go forth, I beseech thee ! ' 
 1 With victory shall I go forth, and now I lay my last
 
 HOW NORMAN SAW JEANNE IN PRISON 385 
 
 commands on the last of all my servants. If in aught 
 I have ever offended thee, in word or deed, forgive me !' 
 I could but bow my head, for I was weeping, though 
 her eyes were dry. 
 1 And so, farewell,' she said— 
 
 ' 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 ! ' 
 She moved her thin hand, which I kissed, kneel- 
 ing. 
 
 2 B
 
 386 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Again she said ' Farewell,' and turned her back on 
 me as if she would sleep. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 ! 
 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,
 
 THE END OF THIS CHRONICLE 387 
 
 lifting- my hand, I tore the cross of St. George from 
 
 my doublet. 
 
 1 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. 
 
 There I told them the tale which was their shame, 
 
 and so betook me to Tours, and to my lady. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII.— THE END OF THIS CHRONICLE. 
 
 0000000000 
 
 OOOO O O OOOO 
 
 T 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
 
 388 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 Here ends my tale, in my Latin Chronicle left un- 
 told, of how a Scots Monk was with the Maid both 
 in her victories and recoveries of towns, and even till 
 her death. 
 
 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 con- 
 founded by this truth which I know and feel, namely, 
 that while my flesh wastes hourly towards old age,
 
 THE END OF THIS CHRONICLE 389 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 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. 
 
 VENERABILIS JOHANNA 
 ORA PRO NOBIS 
 
 2 B 2
 
 390 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 APPENDIX A, p. I. 
 
 Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, whose narrative the reader 
 has in his hands, refers more than once to his unfin- 
 ished 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. 
 
 The date of the lost Latin original is 1461, as 
 the author himself avers. He also, in his Pro- 
 logue, states the purpose of his work. At the 
 bidding of an unnamed Abbot of Dunfermline, who 
 must have been Richard Bothwell, he is to abbre- 
 viate '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
 
 APPENDIX 391 
 
 sign of omission. The monkish author probably said 
 more about the heroine of his youth, and this the 
 copyists have chosen to leave out. 
 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 con- 
 tains : — 
 
 1 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. . . . ' 
 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 com- 
 mand 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.
 
 392 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 'Proces de Jeanne d'Arc,' in contemporary 
 chronicles, and in MSS. more recently discovered in 
 French local or national archives. Thus Charlotte 
 Boucher, Barthelemy Barrette, Noiroufle, the Scot- 
 tish 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 aban- 
 doned Jeanne d'Arc at her first failure. 
 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.
 
 APPENDIX 393 
 
 APPENDIX B, p. 300. 
 
 NORMAN'S MIRACLE 
 
 (See ' Livre des Miracles de Madame Sainte Katherine de Fierboys.' 
 MSS. Bib. Nat. 7335, fol. lxxxiv.) 
 
 Le xvi e jour du moys de Janvier, l'an mil cccc. xxx., 
 vint en la chapelle de c£ans Norman Leslie de 
 Pytquhoulle, escoth, escuyer de la compagnie de 
 Hugues Cande, capitaine. 1 Lequel dist et afferma 
 par serment estre vray le miracle cy apres declaire. 
 C'est assavoir que le dit Leslie fut prins des Anglois 
 a Paris le jour de la Nativity de Nostre Dame de l'an 
 dernier passe\ Lequel Norman Leslie avoit entre 
 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 maniere de ruse de guerre. 
 Si s'avint que ledit Norman se voua a Madame 
 Sainte Katherine, qu'il luy pleust prier Dieu qu'il le 
 voulsist delivrer de la prison ou il estoit ; et incon- 
 tinent qu'il pourroit estre dehors, il yroit mercier 
 Madame Sainte Katherine en sa chapelle de Fier- 
 boys. 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 maniere de se deferrer, et adoncques 
 s'en sortit de la prison emportant avecques luy le 
 
 1 Cande— Kennedy.
 
 394 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 a Saint Denys ou il trouvoit des 
 compagnons Escossoys. 
 
 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 jure ledit Norman ce estre vray par la 
 foy et serment de son corps. 
 
 Presens messire Richart Kyrthrizian, frere Giles 
 Lacourt, prestres gouverneurs de la dite chapelle, 
 et messire Hauves Polnoire, peintre du Roy, et 
 plusieurs aultres.
 
 APPENDIX 395 
 
 APPENDIX C, pp. 299, 300. 
 
 ELLIOT'S RING. 
 
 The Ring of the Maid, inscribed with the Holy 
 Names, is often referred to in her Trial (' Proces,' i. 
 86, 103, 185, 236, 238), and is mentioned by Bower, 
 the contemporary Scottish chronicler ('Proces,' 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. 
 
 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 ' ?
 
 
 jeoanne lapuceiLe *
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 DEC 141949 
 
 JAN 2 7 1951 
 FEB 2 1953 
 REC'D LO-WC 
 
 jUN* 01984 
 
 Form L-9 
 25m -2, '43(5205) 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF QAUFGRN1* 
 
 AT 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 367 189 8