A MONK OF FIFE 
 
1 
 
1 
 
and reeling she fell into my arras. — p. 155. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 3 Romance of tije soa^a of 3|eant« SD'are 
 
 2)0ira /yytf ENGLISH FROM THE MANUSCRIPT IN 
 THE SCOTS COLLEGE OF RATISBON 
 
 BY 
 
 ANDREW LANG 
 
 NEW YORK 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 AND LONDON 
 
 1895 
 
Copyright, 1895, 
 By LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Typography by J. S. Cushing & Co., Norwood, Mass. 
 
1SI 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTIB PAGB 
 
 I. How this Book was written, and how Norman 
 
 Leslie fled out of Fife 1-2 
 
 II. How Norman Leslie met Noirottfle the Corde- 
 lier, called Brother Thomas in Religion : 
 and of Miracles wrought by Brother Thomas 11 
 
 III. What befell outside of Chinon Town . . 28 
 
 IV. In what Company Norman Leslie entered Chi- 
 
 non : AND HOW HE DEMEANED HIMSELF TO TAKE 
 
 Service 44 
 
 V. Of the Fray on the Drawbridge of Chinon 
 
 Castle 52 
 
 VI. How Norman Leslie escaped out of Chinon 
 
 Castle 62 
 
 VII. Concerning the Wrath of Elliot, and the Jeop- 
 ardy of Norman Leslie 70 
 
 VIH. * Of Certain Quarrels that came on the Hands 
 
 of Norman Leslie 86 
 
 IX. Of the Winning of Elliot 100 
 
 X. How Madame St. Catherine saved Michael Ham- 
 ilton by Miracle, and how Norman Leslie 
 found a Way to ride to the Wars . . .114 
 
 XI. How the Maid came to Orleans, and of the 
 Dolorous Stroke that first she struck in 
 
 War 128 
 
 v 
 
 msg&jw 
 
vi CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEB PAGE 
 
 XII. Of the Fighting at the Bridge Fort and of 
 
 what Norman Leslie won from the River . 142 
 
 XIII. How Norman Leslie was absolved by Brother 
 
 Thomas 162 
 
 XIV. How Sorrow came on Norman Leslie and Jot 
 
 THEREAFTER 176 
 
 XV. How Elliot lost her Jackanapes . . . 193 
 
 XVI. How Norman Leslie rode to the War again . 207 
 
 XVII. How a Hundred Scots went about to take 
 
 Paris Town . 219 
 
 XVIII. How Norman Leslie fared in Paris Town . 232 
 
 XIX. How Elliot's Jackanapes came Home . . 247 
 
 XX. How the Maid heard III Tidings from her 
 
 Voices, and of the Onfall at Pont l'Eveque 258 
 
 xxi. how, and by whose device, the maid was 
 
 taken at Compiegne 269 
 
 XXII. How Norman Leslie fared in Compiegne, with 
 
 the End of that Leaguer .... 28] 
 
 XXIII. How the Burgundians hunted Hares, and the 
 
 End of that Hunting. Also, how Noble 
 was the Duke of Burgundy .... 295 
 
 XXIV. How Norman Leslie took Service with the 
 
 English 307 
 
 XXV. How the Maid was delivered with Great 
 
 Victory, and the Ending of this Chronicle 317 
 
 APPENDIX 332 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF JEANNE D'AEC 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 HOW THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN, AND HOW NORMAN 
 LESLIE FLED OUT OF FIFE 
 
 Not of my own will, nor for my own glory, do I, 
 Norman Leslie, sometime of Piteullo, and in religion 
 called Brother Norman, of the Order of Benedictine, of 
 Dunfermline, indite this book. But on my coming out 
 of France, in the year of our Lord One thousand four 
 hundred and fifty nine it was laid on me by my Superior, 
 Richard, Abbot in Dunfermline, that I should abbreviate 
 the Great Chronicle of Scotland, and continue the same 
 down to our own time.* He bade me tell, moreover, all 
 that I knew of that 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 
 our cell of Pluscarden, a Latin book containing the his- 
 tories of times past, but when I came to tell of matters 
 wherein, as Maro says, pars magna fui, I grew weary of 
 such rude barbarous Latin as alone I am skilled to indite, 
 for of the manner Ciceronian, as it is now practised by 
 clerks of Italy, I am not master : my book, therefore, I 
 left unfinished, breaking off in the middle of a sentence. 
 Yet, considering the command laid on me, in the end I 
 am come to this resolve, namely, to write the history of 
 
 * Several copies of this book, the Liber Pluscardensis, are extant, 
 but the author's original MS. is lost. 
 
 2 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 3 
 
 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 com- 
 monly 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 should 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 band in 
 the battle, whose very imp and minion I myself was con- 
 versant with, to my sorrow, as shall be shewn. 
 
 First concerning myself, I must say some few words, 
 to the end that what follows may be the more readily 
 understood. 
 
 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 Graham of ISTetherby, 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 read- 
 ing of books, and in romances. Being always, when I 
 might, in her company, I became a clerk insensibly, and 
 
4 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 without labour I could early read and write, wherefore 
 my father was minded to bring me up for a churchman. 
 For this cause I was some deal despised by others of 
 my age, and, yet more, because from my mother I had 
 caught the Southron trick of the tongue. They called 
 me " English Norman, " and many a battle I have fought 
 on that quarrel, for I am as true a Scot as any, and 
 I hated the English (my own mother's people though 
 they were), for taking and holding captive our King, 
 James I. of worthy memory. My fancy, like that of 
 most boys, was all for the wars, and full of dreams 
 concerning knights and ladies, dragons and enchanters, 
 about which the other lads were fain enough to hear me 
 tell what I had read in romances, though they mocked 
 at me for reading. Yet they oft came ill speed with 
 their jests, for my brother had taught me to use my 
 hands, and to hold a sword. I was instructed by our 
 smith, who had been prentice to Harry G-ow, 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 sick- 
 ened 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 Bobert 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, arch- 
 
A MONK OF FIFE $ 
 
 ery, 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 cathedral. In the French language, too, he 
 learned me, for he had been taught at the great Uni- 
 versity 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, per- 
 chance, 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,* as the mother of cursing and idleness, mis- 
 chief 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 
 
 * This was written after the Act of the Scots Parliament of 1467. 
 
6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 myself at this accursed sport with one Eichard Melville, 
 a student of like age with myself. We were evenly 
 matched, though Dickon was tall and weighty, being 
 great of growth for his age, whereas I was of but scant 
 inches, slim, and as men said, of a girlish countenance. 
 Yet I was well skilled in the game of the Golf, and have 
 driven a Holland ball the length of an arrow-flight, there 
 or thereby. But wherefore should my sinful soul be 
 now in mind of these old vanities, repented of, I trust, 
 long ago? 
 
 As we twain, Dickon and I, were known for fell cham- 
 pions 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 * in our 
 belts, all of which things are now most righteously for- 
 bidden. But I carried no whinger on the links, as con- 
 sidering 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." 
 
 "It is clean against common luck," quoth one of his 
 party, " and the game and the money laid on it should be 
 ours." 
 
 * Daggers. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 7 
 
 "By the blessed bones of the Apostle," I said, "no 
 luck is more common. To-day to me, to-morrow to 
 thee! Lay it of purpose, I could not if I would." 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 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. My step-mother, too, who loved me 
 little, would inflame his anger against me. Many 
 daughters he had, and of gear and goods no more than 
 enough. Bobin, my elder brother, he had let pass to 
 
8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 step-mother's ill 
 welcome, and of Robin, abroad in the wars against our 
 old enemy of England, it may be that I fell into a kind 
 of half dream, the boat lulling me by its movement on 
 the waters. Suddenly I felt a crushing 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 tow- 
 ing that into which I had leaped after striking down 
 Melville. For two of the ship's men, being on shore, he 
 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 9 
 
 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. Eule's, forth to 
 the Northern Sea. Despite my broken head — which 
 put it comfortably into my mind that maybe Dickon's 
 was no worse — I could have laughed to think how clean 
 I had vanished away from St. Andrews, as if the fairies 
 had taken me. Now having time to reason of it quietly, 
 I picked up hope for Dickon's life, remembering his 
 head to be of the thickest. Then came into my mind 
 the many romances of chivalry which I had read, wherein 
 the young squire has to flee his country for a chance 
 blow, as did Mess ire Patroclus, in the Eomance of Troy, 
 who slew a man in anger over the game of the chess, 
 and many another knight, in the tales of Charlemagne 
 and his paladins. For ever it is thus the story opens, and 
 my story, methought, was beginning to-day like the rest. 
 
 Now, not to prove more wearisome than need be, and 
 so vex those who read this chronicle with much talk 
 about myself, and such accidents of travel as beset all 
 voyagers, and chiefly in time of war, I found a trading 
 ship at Berwick, and reached Bordeaux safe, after much 
 
io A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 deeming that, in time to 
 come, I also should be in religion, an old man and weary, 
 glad to speak with travellers concerning the news of 
 the world, from which I am now these ten years retired. 
 Yet I love even better to call back memories of these 
 days, when I took my part in the fray. If this be a sin, 
 may God and the Saints forgive me, for if I have fought, 
 it was in a rightful cause, which Heaven at last has pros- 
 pered, 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 RELIGION: AND OF 
 MIRACLES WROUGHT BY BROTHER THOMAS 
 
 The ways were rude and long from Bordeaux town to 
 Orleans, whither I had set my face, not knowing, when I 
 left my own country, that the city was beleaguered by 
 the English. For who could guess that lords and knights 
 of the Christian faith, holding captive the gentle Duke of 
 Orleans, would besiege his own city ? — a thing unheard 
 of among the very Saracens, and a deed that God pun- 
 ished. Yet the news of this great villany, namely the 
 leaguer of Orleans, then newly begun, reached my ears 
 on my landing at Bordeaux, and made me greatly fear 
 that I might never meet -my brother Robin alive. And 
 this my doubt proved but too true, for he soon after this 
 time fell, with many other Scottish gentlemen and archers, 
 deserted shamefully by the French and by Charles cle 
 Bourbon, Comte de Clermont, at the Battle of the Her- 
 rings. 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. 
 
 ii 
 
12 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 The further north I held, by ways broken and mined 
 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* they had builded there for protection, and 
 the boy after them, running with his bare legs for dear 
 life. For me, I was too amazed to run in time, so lay 
 skulking in the thick sweet-smelling herbs, whence I saw 
 certain wild men-at-arms gallop to the crest of a cliff 
 hard by, and so 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 untilled ; the starving peasant-folk 
 took to the highway, every man preying on his neigh- 
 bour. Woods had grown up, and broken in upon the 
 roads. Howbeit, though robbers harboured therein, none 
 of them held to ransom a wandering poor Scots scholar. 
 
 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, 
 * Rude wall surrounding a keep. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 13 
 
 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 rooks flocking and calling above the 
 trees, the stones of the bridge showing that the destruc- 
 tion 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 close to him, I found him 
 standing up to his waist in the water, taking soundings 
 with a long and heavy staff. His cordelier's frock was 
 tucked up into his belt, his long, brown legs, with black 
 hairs thick on them, were naked. He was a huge, dark 
 man, and when he turned and stared at me, I thought 
 that, among all men of the Church and in religion whom 
 I had ever beheld, he was the foulest and most fierce to 
 look upon. He had an ugly, murderous visage, fell eyes 
 and keen, and a right long nose, hooked like a falcon's. 
 The eyes in his head shone like swords, and of all eyes 
 of man I ever saw, his were the most piercing and most 
 terrible. On his back he carried, as I noticed at the 
 first, what I never saw on a cordelier's back before, or 
 on any but his since — an arbalest, and he had bolts 
 enough in his bag, the feathers showing above. 
 
 " Pax vobiscum" he cried, in a loud, grating voice, as 
 he saw me, and scrambled but to shore. 
 
 " Et cum anima tua" I answered. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " Burgundy or Armagnac ? " he asked. 
 
 I thought the question strange, as a traveller would 
 
i 4 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 scarce care to pronounce for Burgundy, in that country. 
 But this was a man who would dare anything, so I 
 deemed it better to answer that I was a Scot, and, so 
 far, of neither party. 
 
 " 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 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 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 Kodigo, a good knight that 
 held them in right good order this year past. He was 
 worthy, indeed, to ride with that excellent captain, Don 
 Kodrigo de Villadras. King's captain or village labourer, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 1 5 
 
 all was fish that came to Ms net, and but two days ago I 
 was his honourable chaplain. But he made the people 
 mad, and a great carouse that we kept gave them their 
 opportunity. They have roasted the good knight Alfonse, 
 and would have done as much for me, his almoner, frock 
 and all, if wine had any mastery over me. But I gave 
 them the slip. Heaven helps its own! Natheless, I 
 would that this river were between me and their ven- 
 geance, 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 opens, 
 and to Orleans am I now bound, in the pursuit 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, concerning 
 the effusion of blood — nay, I have named John Kirk- 
 michael, 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. 
 
16 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 "They call me Norman Leslie de Pitcullo," I an- 
 swered. "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 
 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 wind- 
 ing 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. 
 
 "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. Perchance 
 I might have dived, and swum down-stream under water, 
 but then I had bestowed my bundle of clothes some little 
 way off, and Brother Thomas commanded it from his 
 side of the stream. He would have waited there in 
 ambush till I came shivering back for hose and doublet, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE i 7 
 
 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 ray breast, and glitter- 
 ing in a pale blink of the sun. The bravest course is 
 ever the best. I should have thrown myself on the 
 earth, no doubt, and so crawled to cover, taking my 
 chance of death rather than the shame of obeying under 
 threat and force. But I was young, and had never 
 looked death in the face, so, being afraid and astonished, 
 I made what seemed the best of an ill business, and, 
 though my face reddens yet at the thought of it, I leaped 
 in and swam back like a dog to heel. 
 
 "Behold me," I said, making as brave a countenance 
 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 himself in a thick bush, albeit it was 
 leafless, where no man could have been aware of him. 
 c 
 
1 8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 This amazed me not a little, for modesty did not seem 
 any part of his nature. 
 
 "Now," says he, "fetch over my arbalest. Lying 
 where I am you have no advantage to shoot me, as, nam 
 de Dieu! I would have shot you had you not obeyed. 
 And hark ye, by the way, unwind the arbalest before 
 you cross; it is ever well to be on the safe side. And 
 be sure you wet not the string." 
 
 He pushed his face through the bush, and held in his 
 mouth my naked whinger, that shone between his shining 
 eyes. 
 
 Now again I say it, I have thought over this matter 
 many a time, and have even laughed aloud and bitterly, 
 when I was alone, at the figure of me shivering there, 
 on a cold February day, and at my helpless estate. For 
 a naked man is no match for a man with a whinger, and 
 he was sitting on my clothes. So this friar, unworthy 
 as he was of his holy calling, had me at an avail on 
 every side, nor do I yet see what I could do but obey 
 him, as I did. And when I landed from this fifth 
 voyage, he laughed and gave me his blessing, and, what 
 I needed more, some fiery spirits from a water-gourd, in 
 which Father Thomas carried no water. 
 
 "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 company was the beginning of uncounted evils, 
 and often now the picture shines upon my eyes, and I 
 see the grey water, and hear the cold wind whistle in the 
 dry reeds of the river-bank whereon we sat. 
 
 The man was my master, Heaven help me ! as surely 
 as Sathanas was his. And though, at last, I slipped his 
 
A MONK OF FIFE i$ 
 
 clutches, as you shall hear (more readily than, I trow, 
 he will 'scape his lord in the end, for he still lives), yet 
 it was an ill day that we met — an ill day for me and 
 for France. Howbeit we jogged on, he merrily enough 
 singing a sculdudery song, I something surly, under a 
 grey February sky, with a keen wind searching out the 
 threadbare places in our raiment. My comrade, as he 
 called himself, told me what passages he chose in the 
 history of his life: how he came to be frocked (but 
 cucullus non facit monachum), and how, in the troubles 
 of these times, he had discovered in himself a great 
 aptitude for the gunner's trade, of which he boasted not 
 a little. He had been in one and another of these armed 
 companies, that took service with either side, for hire, 
 being better warriors and more skilled than the noblesse, 
 but a curse to France: for, in peace or war, friend or 
 foe, they plundered all, and held all to ransom. With 
 Eodrigo de Villadras, that bloodhound of Spain, he had 
 been high in favour, but when Eodrigo went to harry 
 south and east, he had tarried at Ruffec, with another 
 thief of that nation, Alfonse Bodigo. All his talk, as 
 we went, was of slaying men in fight; whom he slew he 
 cared not much, but chiefly he hated the English and 
 them of Burgundy. To him, war was what hunting 
 and shooting game is to others ; a cruel and bloody pas- 
 time, when Christians are the quarry! 
 
 " John the Lorrainer, and I, there are no others to be 
 named with us at the culverin," he would brag. "We 
 two against an army, give us good cover, and powder 
 and stone 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 chance at all. 
 
20 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 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, "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; 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 de- 
 served none, but rather called for rebuke from him, who, 
 however unworthy, was in religion, and wore the garb 
 of the Blessed Francis. But very far from fortifying 
 me in virtuous courses, as was his bounden duty, there 
 was no wickedness that he did not try to teach me, till 
 partly I hated him, and partly, I fear, I admired one so 
 skilled in evil. The truth is, as I said, that this man, 
 for that time, was my master. He was learned in all 
 the arts by which poor and wandering folk can keep their 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 21 
 
 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 wick- 
 edness, if strength and courage go with it. What by 
 wheedling, what by bullying, what by tales of pilgrim- 
 ages to holy shrines (he was coming from Eome, 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 Thomas discoursing 
 largely of his pilgrimages, and of his favour among the 
 high clergy. Thus, at I know not what convent of the 
 Clarisses,* in Italy, the holy Sisters had pressed on him 
 a relic of Monsieur St. Aignan, the patron of the good 
 town of Orleans. To see this relic, the farmer, his 
 wife, and his sons and daughters crowded eagerly ; it 
 was but a little blackened finger bone, yet they were 
 fain to touch it, as is the custom. But this he would 
 not yet allow. 
 
 " Perchance some of you," he said, " are already cor- 
 rupt, 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. 
 
 * Sisters in the rule of St. Francis. 
 
22 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 "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 we look daily for the coming 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 good wife gave him a clean white napkin from 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 yet 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 marvel- 
 lous, if that might be, which I scarce expect any man 
 will believe. Going to the table, and catching up a glass 
 vessel on which the good wife 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 hold- 
 ing the blessed relic, whereon we stared, in holy fear. 
 Then he rose, and in his hand was the good wife's glass 
 vessel, without crack or flaw ! * 
 
 " Such," he said, " are the properties of this miraculous 
 relic; "there is nothing broken but it will mend, ay, a 
 broken limb, as I can prove on my own sinful body," — 
 
 * These tricks of sleight of hand are attributed by Jean Nider, in 
 his Formicarium, to the false Jeanne d'Arc. — A. L. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 23 
 
 thrusting out his great brown leg, whereon, assuredly, 
 were signs of a fracture ; " ay, a broken leg, or, my dear 
 daughters, a broken heart." 
 
 At this, of course, they were all eager to touch the 
 blessed relic, with their poor rings of base metal, such 
 as they wear who are not rich. Nay, but first, he said, 
 they must give their mites for a convent of the Clarisses, 
 that was building at Castres, by the care of the holy 
 Colette, whom he might call his patroness, unworthy as 
 he was. 
 
 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 he told us also, 
 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 the 
 
24 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 four, as is the woot of pilgrims, for in his humility this 
 holy man would not suffer the farmer's wife and the 
 farmer to give him their bed, as they desired. I, too, 
 was very kindly entreated by the young lads, but I could 
 scarcely sleep for marvelling at these miracles wrought 
 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 ecclesi- 
 astical 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. 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 
 he would, yet none might see his lips move. With 
 this craft he would affray the peasants about the fire 
 in the little inns where we sometimes rested, when he 
 would be telling tales of bogles, and eldritch fantasies, 
 and of fiends that rout and rap, and make the tables and 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 25 
 
 firkins dance. Such art of speech, I am advised, is 
 spoken of by St. Jerome, in his comment on the holy 
 prophet, the Saint Isaiah, and they that use it he calls 
 ventriloqui, in the Latin, or "belly-speakers," and he 
 takes an unfavourable sense of them and their doings. 
 So much I have from the learned William de Boyis, 
 Prior of Pluscarden, where now I write; with whom I 
 have conversed of these matters privately, and he thinks 
 this art a thing that men may learn by practice, without 
 dealing in nigromancy and the black magic. This ques- 
 tion I am content to leave, as is fitting, to the judgment 
 of my superiors. And indeed, as at that time, Brother 
 Thomas spake not in his belly except to make sport and 
 affray the simple people, soon turning their fears to 
 mirth. Certainly the country folk never misdoubted 
 him, the women for a holy man, the men for a good 
 fellow; though all they of his own cloth shrank from 
 him, and I have seen them cross themselves in his pres- 
 ence, 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. 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 passport, he said; 
 my face, indeed, being innocent enough, as was no shame 
 
26 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 guileless- 
 ness (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 to each other, 
 and now forced apart, we wended by Poictiers towards 
 Chinon, where the Dauphin and his Court then lay. So 
 we fared northwards, through Poitou, where we found 
 evil news enough. For, walking into a village, we saw 
 men, women, and children, all gathered, gaping about 
 one that stood beside a horse nearly foundered, its legs 
 thrust wide, its nostrils all foam and blood. The man, 
 who seemed as weary as his horse, held a paper in his 
 hands, which the priest of that parish took from him 
 and read aloud to us. The rider was a royal~messenger, 
 one Thomas Scott of Easter Buccleuch, in Rankel Burn, 
 whom I knew later, and his tidings were evil. The 
 Dauphin bade his good towns know that, on the 12th of 
 February, Sir John Stewart, constable of the Scottish 
 forces in France, had fallen in battle at Eouvray, with 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 27 
 
 very many of his company, and some Frenchmen. They 
 had beset a convey under Sir John Fastolf, that was 
 bringing meat to the English leaguered about Orleans. 
 But Fastolf had wholly routed them (by treachery, as 
 we later learned of the Comte de Clermont), and Sir 
 John Stewart, with his brother Sir William, were slain. 
 Wherefore the Dauphin bade the good towns send him 
 money and men, or all was lost. 
 
 Such were the evil tidings, which put me in sore fear 
 for my brother Eobin, one that, in such an onfall, would 
 go far, as beseemed his blood. But, as touching his 
 fortunes, Thomas Scott could tell me neither good nor 
 bad, though he knew Eobin, and gave him a good name 
 for a stout man-at-arms. It was of some comfort to me 
 to hear a Scots tongue ; but, for the rest, I travelled on 
 with a heavier heart, deeming that Orleans must indeed 
 fall ere I could seek my brother in that town. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE OP CHINON TOWN 
 
 My old nurse, when I was a child, used to tell me a long 
 story of a prince who, wandering through the world, made 
 friends with many strange companions. One she called 
 Lynx-eye, that could see through a mountain; one was 
 Swift-foot, that could outrun the wind; one was Fine- 
 ear, that could hear the grass growing ; and there was 
 Greedy-gut, that could swallow a river. All these were 
 very serviceable to this gracious prince, of I know not 
 what country, in his adventures ; and they were often 
 brought into my mind by the companions whom we 
 picked up on the grass-grown roads. 
 
 These wanderers were as strange as the friends of the 
 prince, and were variously, but scarce honourably, gifted. 
 There was the one-armed soldier, who showed his stump 
 very piteously when it was a question of begging from a 
 burgess, but was as well furnished with limbs as other men 
 when no burgess was in sight. There was a wretched 
 woman violer, with her jackanapes, and with her hus- 
 band, 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 
 
 28 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 29 
 
 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 discredi- 
 table attendants. 
 
 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, Jean Boucher (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, de- 
 spite this poverty, kings and nobles, when I have seen 
 them, go always in cloth of gold, with rich jewels. But, 
 as you may guess, near the Court of a beggar Dauphin, 
 the country-folk too were sour and beggarly. 
 
 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 road- 
 side, 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 
 
30 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. Kesource 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, followed the blessed St. Francis. 
 
 So there sat Brother Thomas at the cross-roads, foot- 
 sore, hungry, and sullen, in the midst of us, who dared 
 not speak, he twanging at the string of his arbalest. He 
 called himself our Moses, in his blasphemous way, and 
 the blind man having girded at him for not leading us 
 into the land of plenty, he had struck the man till he 
 bled, and now stood staunching his wound. 
 
 Suddenly Brother Thomas Ceased from his twangling, 
 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. 
 
 " Horses ! " he said. 
 
 " It is but the noise of the brook by the way," said the 
 blind man, sullenly. 
 
 Brother Thomas listened again. 
 
 "No, it is horses," he whispered. "My men, they 
 that ride horses can spare somewhat out of their abun- 
 dance to feed the poor." And with that he began wind- 
 ing 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 3I 
 
 behind us, where none may pursue. You, Norman de 
 Pitcullo, have your whinger ready, and fasten this rope 
 tightly to yonder birch-tree stem, and then cross and 
 give it a turn or two about that oak sapling on the other 
 side of the way. That trap will bring down a horse or 
 twain. Be quick, you Scotch wine-bag ! " 
 
 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, having all day hated him more and more 
 for his bitter tongue, and I was opening my mouth to cry 
 Au secours! a warning to them who were approaching, 
 when, quick as lightning, Brother Thomas caught me 
 behind the knee-joints, and I was on the ground with his 
 weight above me. One cry I had uttered, when his hand 
 was on my mouth. 
 
 " Give him the steel in his guts ! " whispered the blind 
 man. 
 
 " 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 Scotch for ecorcheurs" 
 (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, as of horses 
 coming slowly and wearily from the east. At this mo- 
 
32 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 ment 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 seems, she 
 pitied me. But there could be no help in her, nor did she 
 dare to raise her voice and give an alarm. So I could but 
 gnaw at my gag, trying to find scope for my tongue to cry, 
 for now it was not only the travellers that I would save, 
 but my own life, and my escape from a death of torment 
 lay on my success. But my mouth was as dry as a kiln, 
 my tongue was doubled back till I thought that I should 
 have choked. The night was now deadly still, and the 
 ring of the weary hoofs drew nearer and nearer. I heard 
 a stumble, and the scramble of a tired horse as he recov- 
 ered 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, doubt- 
 less, 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 fired 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 gap between him and the 
 rest of his company. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 33 
 
 And now their voices might be heard, as they talked 
 by the way, yet not so loud that, straining my ears as I 
 did, I could hear any words. But the sounds waxed 
 louder, with words spoken, ring of hoofs, and rattle of 
 scabbard on stirrup, and so I knew, at least, that they 
 who rode so late were men armed. Brother Thomas, 
 too, knew it, and cursed again very low. 
 
 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 bowstrings, on the 
 night there rang a voice, a woman's voice, soft but won- 
 drous clear, such as never I knew from any lips but hers 
 who then spoke; that voice I heard in its last word, 
 " Jesus I " and still it is sounding in my ears. 
 
 That voice said — 
 
 "Nous voila presqu' arrives, grace a mes Fr&res 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 a strange 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 boyn, that ofttimes, men say, travels with the blessed 
 saints. Yet some may deem it but a glancing in my own 
 eyes, from the blood flying to my head; howsoever it 
 be, I had never seen the like before, nor have I seen it 
 since, and, assuredly, the black branches and wild weeds 
 were all 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 
 
34 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 speaks to me 
 again, in field, or street, or market, or ever mentions 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 ? " 
 
 " 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 Dau- 
 phin's business. Verily there was no profit in them." 
 " And that was all ? We saw other things." 
 "What I saw was enough for me, or for any good 
 clerk of St. Nicholas, and of questions there has been 
 more than enough. Begone! scatter to the winds, and 
 be silent." 
 
 "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. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 35 
 
 "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 Fier- 
 bois, if you will; I go my own road — alone." 
 
 They wandered each his own way, sullen and murmur- 
 ing, starved and weary. What they had seen or fancied, 
 and whether, if the rest saw aught strange, Brother 
 Thomas saw naught, 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 de- 
 parted, and the black chill night received me into itself. 
 At first my mind was benumbed, like my body ; but the 
 pain of my face, smarting with switch and scratch of the 
 boughs through which I had fallen, awoke me to thought 
 and fear. I turned over to lie on my back, and look up 
 for any light of hope in the sky, but nothing fell on me 
 from heaven save a cold rain, that the leafless boughs 
 did little to ward off. Scant hope or comfort had I, my 
 whole body ached and shuddered, only I did not thirst, 
 for the rain soaked through -the accursed napkin on my 
 mouth, while the dank earth, with its graveyard smell, 
 seemed to draw me down into itself, as it drags a rotting 
 leaf. I was buried before death, as it were, even if the 
 wolves found me not and gave me other sepulture; and 
 now and again I heard their long hunting cry, and at 
 every patter of a beast's foot, or shivering of the 
 
36 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 branches, I thought my hour was come — and I uncon- 
 fessed ! 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 born of the strange sweet voice, 
 and the strange words, " Mes Fibres de Paradise." 
 
 " 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 37 
 
 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 I deemed it had been a wild 
 cat, such as lives in our corries of the north — a fell beast 
 if brought to bay, but otherwise not hurtful to man. 
 
 There the red eyes looked on me, and I on them, till I 
 grew giddy with gazing, and half turned my head with a 
 stifled sob. Then there came a sharp cry which I knew 
 well enough, and the beast leaped up and nestled under 
 my breast, for this so dreadful thing was no worse than 
 the violer woman's jackanapes, that had slipped its chain, 
 or, rather, had drawn it out of her hand, for now I plainly 
 heard the light chain jingle. This put me on wonder- 
 ing 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 myself with believing that, 
 
38 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 arrive what might, I was wholly quit of Brother Thomas, 
 whereat I rejoiced, like the man in the tale who had 
 sold his soul to the Enemy, and yet, in the end, escaped 
 his clutches by the aid of Holy Church. Death was 
 better to me than life with Brother Thomas, who must 
 assuredly have dragged me with him to the death that 
 cannot die. Morning must bring travellers, and my 
 groaning might lead them to my aid. And, indeed, foot- 
 farers did come, and I did groan as well as I could, but, 
 like the Levite in Scripture, they passed by on the other 
 side of the way, fearing to meddle with one wounded 
 perchance to the death, lest they might be charged with 
 his slaying, if he died, or might anger his enemies, if he 
 lived. 
 
 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 de- 
 livered from the fear of man, and mainly 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 dis- 
 honour. On this head I addressed myself, as was fit- 
 ting, 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 39 
 
 in my heart as never was there before, and this was far 
 the gladdest voice that ever yet I heard, for, behold, it 
 was the voice of rny own country, and the tune I knew 
 and the words. 
 
 " '0, 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. 
 
 " *0, nae French lord for me, father, 
 O, nae French lord for me, 
 But I'll ware my heart on a true-born Scot, 
 And wi' him I'll 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. 
 I heard the horses stop. 
 
 "What stirring is that in the wood, father? I am 
 afraid," came the girl's voice. 
 
4 o A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 " Belike a fox shifting Ms lair. Push on, Maid Elliot." 
 
 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 horsemen 
 for his mistress. This trick of his he did now, hearing 
 the horses' tramp. He leaped the ditch, and I suppose 
 he ran in front of the steeds, shaking his little bowl, as 
 was his wont. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 "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. 
 
 u Norn 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 he dragged his 
 leg in walking, which he did with difficulty and much 
 carefulness. He hirpled, as we say, towards me, very 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 41 
 
 warily, then, seeing the rope bound about me, and the 
 cloth in my mouth, he drew his dagger, but not to cut 
 my bonds. He was over canny for that, but he slit the 
 string that kept the cursed gag in my mouth, and picked 
 it out with his dagger point; and, oh the blessed taste 
 of that first long draught of air, I cannot set it down in 
 words ! 
 
 "What, in the name of all the saints, make you here, 
 in this guise ? " he asked in French, but with a rude 
 Border accent. 
 
 "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 be- 
 fallen 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 ; for, 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 shoul- 
 ders were shining like the sun. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " 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, in- 
 deed, you are by ordinary JcenspecMe and no company for 
 maids." 
 
 With that he brought some water from the burn by 
 the road, and therewith lie wiped my face, first giving 
 
42 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 me to drink. When I had drank, the maid whom he 
 called Elliot got up, her face very rosy,' and they set my 
 back against a tree, which I was very sorry for, as indeed 
 I was now clean out of fairyland and back in this trouble- 
 some 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, very shortly, that I was a Scot of Fife; 
 whereto he answered that my speech was strangely Eng- 
 lish. On this matter I satisfied him with the truth, 
 namely, that my mother was of England. I gave my 
 name but not that of our lands, and showed him how I had 
 been wandering north, to take service with the Dauphin, 
 when I was set upon, and robbed and bound by thieves, 
 for I had no clearness as to telling him all my tale, and 
 no desire to claim acquaintance with Brother Thomas. 
 
 "And the jackanapes ? " he asked, when I had no bet- 
 ter answer than that I had seen the beast with a wander- 
 ing violer on the day before, and that she 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 
 practice that ill trick of begging." 
 
 " Sooner would I beg myself, fair sir," she said, with 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 43 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 hearing the 
 call to the refectory, and the brethren trampling thither, 
 I must break off, for, if I be late, they will sconce me of 
 my ale. Alas ! it is to these little cares of creature com- 
 forts 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 
 
 IX WHAT COMPANY NORMAN LESLIE ENTERED CHINON : 
 AND HOW HE DEMEANED HIMSELF TO TAKE SERVICE 
 
 It was not becoming 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. 
 
 " 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 rid- 
 den some four miles or five, and yet speak of returning, 
 he looked at the girl, who was playing with the jacka- 
 napes, and who smiled at him as he spoke. 
 
 "You must know," said he, "that though I am the 
 father of your Fairy Queen, I am also one of the gracious 
 Princess's obedient subjects. No mother has she, poor 
 wench," he added, in a lower voice ; " and faith, we men 
 must always obey some woman — as it seems now that 
 the King himself soon must do and all his captains." 
 
 " You speak," I said, " of the gracious Queen of Sicily 
 and Jerusalem ? " — a lady who was thought to be very 
 much, as was but right, in the counsels of her son-in-law, 
 the Dauphin, he having married her gentle daughter. 
 
 44 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 45 
 
 "Ay; Queen Yolande is far ben* with the King — 
 would he had no worse counsellors ! " said he, smiling ; 
 " but I speak of a far more potent sovereign, if all that 
 she tells of herself be true. You have heard, or belike 
 you have not heard, of the famed Pucelle — so she calls 
 herself, I hope not without a warranty — the Lorrainer 
 peasant lass, who is to drive the English into the sea, so 
 she gives us all fair warning ? " 
 
 "Never a word have I heard, or never marked so 
 senseless a bruit if I heard it ; she must be some moon- 
 struck wench, and in her wits wandering." 
 
 "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. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " How have I been so unhappy as to offend mademoi- 
 selle ? " I asked, in a whisper, of her father, giving her 
 a high title, in very confusion. 
 
 * Very intimate. 
 
46 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 "Oh, she will hear no bourcle nor jest on this Pucelle 
 that all the countryside is clashing of, and that is bewitch- 
 ing my maid, methinks, even from afar. My maid Elliot 
 (so I call her from my mother's kin, but her true name is 
 Marion, and the French dub her Heliote) hath set all her 
 heart and her hope on one that is a young lass like her- 
 self, 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 sooth- 
 sayers, 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 com- 
 manding 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 Baudri- 
 court 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 might 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. 
 
 " This is a strange tale enough," I said ; " the saints 
 grant that the Maid speaks truly ! " 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 47 
 
 "But yesterday came a letter of her sending, to the 
 King," he went on, " but never of her writing, for they 
 say that she knows not A from B, if she meets them 
 in her voyaging. Now, nothing would serve my wilful 
 daughter Elliot (she being possessed, as I said, with love 
 for this female mystery), but that we must ride forth 
 and be the first to meet the Maid on her way, and offer 
 her shelter at my poor house, if she does but seem honest, 
 though methinks a hostelry is good enough for one that 
 has ridden so far, with men for all her company. And I, 
 being but a subject of my daughter's, as I said, and this 
 a Saint's Day, when a man may rest from his paints and 
 brushes, I even let saddle the steeds, and came forth to 
 see what ferlies Heaven would send us." 
 
 " Oh, a lucky day for me, fair sir," I answered him, 
 marvelling to hear him speak of paint and brushes, and 
 even as I spoke, a thought came into my mind. " If you 
 will listen to me, sir," I said, "and if the gentle maid, 
 your daughter, will pardon me for staying you so long 
 from the road, I will tell you that, to my thinking, you 
 have come over-late, for that yesterday the Maiden you 
 speak of rode, after nightfall, into Chinon." 
 
 Now the girl turned round on me, and, in faith, I asked 
 no more than to see her face, kind or angry. 
 
 " You tell us, sir, that you never heard speak of the 
 Maid till this hour, and now you say that you know of 
 her comings and goings. Unriddle your riddle, sir, if it 
 pleases you, and say how you saw and knew one that 
 you never heard speech of." 
 
 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 — 
 
 " 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 
 
48 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 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." 
 
 " Nom Dieu ! saints are not common wayfarers on our 
 roads at night. There is no choice of them 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 bushment that they 
 laid to trap travellers, and how I had striven to give a 
 warning, and how they bound me and gagged me, and of 
 the strange girl's voice that spoke through the night of 
 mes Fr&res 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 — 
 
 " Oh, 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 49 
 
 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 permitted to look 
 upon, if this damsel was right in what 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. 
 
 "Gentleman you call yourself, sir," said her father; 
 " may I ask of what house ? " 
 
 " We are cadets of the house of Bothes," I answered. 
 " My father, Leslie of Pitcullo, is the fourth son of the 
 third son of the last laird of Eothes but one ; and, for 
 me, I was of late a clerk studying in St. Andrews." 
 
 " I will not ask why you left your lore," he said ; " I 
 have been young myself, and, faith, the story of one lad 
 varies not much from the story of another. If we have 
 any spirit, it drives us out to fight the foreign loons in 
 their own country, if we have no feud at home. But you 
 are a clerk, I hear you say, and have skill enough to read 
 and write ? " 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " Oh, 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 
 
 E 
 
5 o A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 many, from certain shrewd blows got at Yerneuil 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 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." 
 
 "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* 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 " appren- 
 tice," 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." 
 
 * When the sky falls and smothers the larks. 
 
A MO NIC OF FIFE 51 
 
 " 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 to be 
 out of her company when I might be in it, so stooped my 
 pride to agree with him. 
 
 " 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 good will, 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-bows 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. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 OF THE FRAY ON THE DRAWBRIDGE AT CHINON CASTLE 
 
 At 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 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 be- 
 tween father and child, my own experience being contrary. 
 Yet to my sisters my father was ever debonair ; for, as 
 I have often marked, the mothers love the sons best and 
 the sons the mothers, and between father and daughters 
 it is the same. But of my mother I have spoken in the 
 beginning of this history. 
 
 52 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 53 
 
 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 when 
 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," * as the old song of 
 the Battle of Harlaw runs, and I on the way to Orleans. 
 Thereto he said, that he well wished it were so, and, 
 mocking, wished that I were the Dauphin. 
 
 " 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 Tremouille, 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 who would fain run 
 with the hare and hunt with the hounds, and this side of 
 him is Burgundian and that is Armagnac, and on which 
 of the sides his heart is, none knows. At Azincour, as I 
 have heard, he played the man reasonably well. But he 
 waxes very fat for a man-at-arms, and is fond of women, 
 and wine, and of his ease. Now, if once the King ranges 
 up with the Bastard of Orleans, and Xaintrailles, and the 
 other captains, who hate La Tremouille, 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 mean time Orleans 
 
 * This quotation makes it certain that Scott's Ballad of Harlaw, in 
 " The Antiquary," is, at least in part, derived from tradition. 
 
54 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 now he fell silent, thinking, I doubt not, of 
 his home, as I did of mine, and of the house of Pitcullo 
 and the ash tree at the door, and the sea beyond the 
 ploughed land of the plain. So, after some space of 
 silence, he went to his bed, and I to mine, where for long 
 I lay wakeful, painting on the dark the face of Elliot, 
 and her blue eyes, and remembering her merry changeful 
 ways. 
 
 Betimes in the morning I was wakened by the sound 
 of her moving about through the house, and having 
 dressed and gone forth from my little chamber, I found 
 her in the house-place, she having come from early Mass. 
 She took little heed of me, giving me some bread and 
 wine, the same as she and her father took ; and she was 
 altogether less, gay and wilful than she had been, and 
 there seemed to be something that lay heavy on her 
 mind. When her father asked her if the gossips at the 
 church door had given her any more tidings of the Maid, 
 she did but frown, and soon left the chamber, whence my 
 master led me forth into his booth, and bade me show him 
 my hand in writing. This pleased him not ill, and next 
 I must grind colours to his liking ; and again he went about 
 his business, while I must mind the booth, and be cap in 
 hand to every saucy page that came from the castle with 
 an order from his lord. 
 
 Full many a time my hand was on my whinger, and 
 yet more often I wished myself on the free road again, 
 so that I were out of ill company, and assuredly the Lor- 
 rainer Maid, whatever she might be, was scarcely long- 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 55 
 
 ing more than I for the day when she should unfurl her 
 banner and march, with me at her back, to Orleans. For 
 so irksome was my servitude, and the laying of colours 
 on the ground of banners for my master to paint, and the 
 copying of books of Hours and Missals, and the insolence 
 of customers worse born than myself, that I could have 
 drowned myself in the Vienne water but for the sight of 
 Elliot. Yet she was become staid enough, and betimes sad ; 
 as it seemed that there was no good news of her dear Maid, 
 for the King would not see her, and all men (it appeared), 
 save those who had ridden with her, mocked the Pucelle 
 for a bold ramp, with a bee in her bonnet. But the two 
 gentlemen that had been her escort were staunch. Their 
 names were Jean de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy, 
 good esquires. 
 
 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 
 Tremouille. 
 
 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 wild 
 flowers, 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 sea- 
 sons would seem proud and as if her mind were other- 
 
5 6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 where. 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 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 withdrew within myself, 
 and was both proud and sorely unhappy, longing more 
 than ever to take my own, part in the world as a man-at- 
 arms. Now, one day right early, I being alone in the 
 chamber, copying a psalter, Elliot came in, looking for 
 her father. I rose at her coming, doffing my cap, and 
 told her, in few words, that my master had gone forth. 
 Thereon she flitted about the chamber, looking at this 
 and that, while I stood silent, deeming that she used me 
 in a sort scarce becoming my blood and lineage. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 57 
 
 Suddenly she said, without turning round, for she was 
 standing by a table gazing at the pictures in a book of 
 Hours — 
 
 " I have seen her ! " 
 
 " The Pucelle — do you speak of her, gentle maid ? " 
 
 "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, lafille 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. Something also I dreamed, 
 as young men will who have read many romances, of my- 
 self made a knight for great feats of arms, and wearing 
 
5 8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 in my salade my lady's favours, 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 serv- 
 ing 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 knew me well enough, 
 and the Scotch 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 knowl- 
 edge 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 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 59 
 
 compared to it. From the hilltop 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, but I waited 
 for him on the further end of the bridge, idly dropping mor- 
 sels 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 fan chard, which we call a bill or halberd, a weapon not 
 unlike the Lochaber axes of the Highlandmen. Other 
 soldiers, French, Scottish, Spaniards, Germans, a mixed 
 company, were idling and dicing just within the gate. 
 
 I was throwing my last piece of crust to a swan, my 
 mind empty of thought, when I started out of my dream, 
 hearing that rare woman's voice which once I had heard 
 before. Then turning quickly, I saw, walking between 
 two gentlemen, even those who had ridden with her from 
 Vaucouleurs, one whom no man could deem to be other 
 than that much-talk ed-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 no great price hung by her side.* 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 
 
 * This description confirms that of the contemporary town clerk of 
 La Ruchelle. 
 
60 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 age — that, were it not for her sweet girl's voice, and for 
 the beauty of her grey eyes, she might well have passed 
 for a page, her black hair being cut en ronde, as was and 
 is the fashion among men-at-arms. Thus much have I 
 written concerning her bodily aspect, because many have 
 asked me what manner of woman was the blessed Maid, 
 and whether she was beautiful. I gazed at her like one 
 moon-struck, then, remembering my courtesy, I doffed 
 my cap, and louted low; and she bowed, smiling gra- 
 ciously 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 fauchard thwartwise. 
 
 " On what business came you, and by what right ? " 
 he cried, in a rude voice. 
 
 "By the Dauphin's gracious command, to see the 
 Dauphin," said one of the gentlemen right courteously. 
 " Here is his own letter, and you may know the seal, 
 bidding La Pucelle to come before him at this hour." 
 
 The fellow looked at the seal, and could not but 
 acknowledge the arms of France thereon. He dropped 
 his fauchard over his shoulder, and stood aside, staring 
 impudently at the Maiden, and muttering foul words. 
 
 " 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 strange light of great 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 saw 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 — 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 61 
 
 " Sir, how can'st 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. 
 
 " 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 coun- 
 try 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. 
 
 " Blasphemer and liar ! " I cried, gripping his neck 
 with my left hand, while with two up-cuts of my right 
 I sent his lies down his throat in company, as I deem, 
 with certain of his teeth. 
 
 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 
 
 Down and down I sank, the water surging up into my 
 nostrils and sounding in my ears, but, being in water, 
 I was safe if it were but deep enough. Presently I 
 struck out, and, with a stroke or two, came to the sur- 
 face. But no sooner did my head show above, and I draw 
 a deep breath or twain, looking for my enemy, than an 
 arbalest bolt cleft the water with a clipping sound, miss- 
 ing 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), and then I dived again, 
 and swam under water, making for the right, and for the 
 castle rock, which ran sheer down to the moat. This 
 course I chose because I had often noted, from the draw- 
 bridge, a jutting buttress of rock, behind which, at least, 
 I should be out of arrow-shot. My craft was to give my- 
 self all the semblance of a drowning man, throwing up my 
 arms, when I rose to see whereabout I was, and to take 
 breath, as men toss their limbs who cannot swim. On the 
 second time of rising thus, I saw myself close to the jut 
 of rock, my next dive took me behind it, and I let down 
 my feet, close under the side of this natural buttress, to 
 look around, myself being now concealed from the sight of 
 those who were on the bridge. 
 
 To my surprise, I touched bottom, for I had deemed 
 62 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 63 
 
 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. I climbed up the steps, and 
 shook myself, and wrung the water out of my hair, look- 
 ing about for any sign of my enemy, who had blas- 
 phemed against my country and the Maiden. But there 
 was nothing to see on the water save my own cloth cap 
 floating. On the other side of the fosse, howbeit, men 
 were launching a pleasure-boat, which lay by a stair at 
 the foot of the further wall of the fosse. The sight of 
 them made me glad to creep further up the steps that 
 rounded a sharp corner, till I came as far as an iron 
 wicket-gate, which seemed to cut off my retreat. There 
 I stopped, deeming that the wicket must be locked; 
 the men, howbeit, were now rowing the boat into the 
 middle of the water, so, without expecting to find the 
 gate open, I tried the handle. It turned, to my no 
 little amazement; the gate swang lightly aside, as if 
 its hinges had been newly oiled, and I followed the 
 staircase, creeping up the slimy steps in the half-dark. 
 Up and round I went, till I was well nigh giddy, and 
 there 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. 
 
 " Is that you, Eobin 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. 
 
64 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 She was a pretty lass, with, brown hair and bright 
 red cheeks, and was dressed all in white, being, indeed, 
 one of the laundresses of the castle, and this warm 
 room, fragrant with lavender, whereinto I had stumbled, 
 was part of the castle laundry. A mighty fire was burn- 
 ing, all the tables were covered with piles and flat bas- 
 kets 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. 
 
 " Save me, gentle maid, if you may," I cried at last, 
 falling on my knees, just where I stood; " I am a sack- 
 less man, but 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." . 
 
 " Maiden," I said, beginning to understand why the 
 gate was unlocked, and wherefore it went so smooth on 
 his hinges, " I fear I have slain a man, one of the King's 
 archers. We wrestled together on the drawbridge, and 
 the palisade breaking, we fell into the moat, whence I 
 clomb by the hidden stairs." 
 
 " One of the archers ! " cried she, as pale as a lily, 
 and catching at her side with her hand. " Was he a 
 Scot ? " 
 
 "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." 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 65 
 
 For which reason, I doubt not, namely that the others 
 had gone forth, she had made her tryst at this hour 
 with Eobin 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. 
 
 " How to get you forth I know not," she said, " see- 
 ing that from yonder room you pass into the kitchen 
 and thence into the guard-room, and thence by a pas- 
 sage 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 swing- 
 ing 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 Eobin 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 w r et hair, that I wore about my shoulders, as our 
 student's manner was, tucked up under the cap, and 
 the clean w r hite smock over my wet clothes, and belted 
 neatly about my middle. 
 
 " A pretty wench you make, I swear, by St. Valentine," 
 cried she, falling ba.ck to look at me, and then coming f or- 
 
 F 
 
66 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 ward to pin up something about my coif, with her white 
 ringers. 
 
 I reckoned it no harm to offer her a sisterly kiss. 
 
 " 'Tis lucky Kobin 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 this, 
 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 dispensation for his health's 
 sake), watching pots, tasting dishes, and all in a bustle 
 and clamour. The basket of linen shading my face, I 
 felt the more emboldened, though my legs, verily, 
 trembled under me as I walked. Through the room I 
 went, none regarding me, and so into the guard-room, 
 but truly this was another matter. Some soldiers were 
 dicing at a table, some drinking, some brawling over the 
 matter of the late tumult, but all stopped and looked 
 at me. 
 
 " 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 coun- 
 trywoman of thine," quoth a French archer; and my 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 67 
 
 heart sank within me as the other cast a tankard at 
 his head. 
 
 " Come, my lass," cries 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. 
 
 "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. 
 
 " 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 Vau- 
 couleurs. 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 stopped 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." 
 
68 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 confer- 
 ence 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, as they who had 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 unconf essed ! I will 
 do that I may to have Masses said for the repose of his 
 soul, poor man : and he so young ! " 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 69 
 
 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 now the Maiden told Poulengy 
 that she would go to the house where she lodged, near 
 the castle. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " I was even going thither, Pucelle," I said, mincing in 
 my speech ; and she laughed, for of her nature she was 
 merry. 
 
 " Scots are Heliote and her father, and a Scot, or Eng- 
 lish, which may not be, are you, 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 with her from 
 Vaucouleurs, following after her, as he ever did, the 
 Maiden and I began to go down the steep stairs 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. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 CONCERNING THE WRATH OF ELLIOT, AND THE JEOP- 
 ARDY OF NORMAN LESLIE 
 
 As we went down into the city of Chinon, a man 
 attired as a maid, a maiden clad as a man — strange 
 companions ! — we held but little converse. Her mind, 
 belike, was on fire with a great light of hope, as after- 
 wards I learned, and the end of her 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 auxili- 
 ary angels, and 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 I had that Sir Patrick Ogil- 
 vie, now constable of the Scottish men-at-arms in France, 
 or Sir Hugh Kennedy, or some other of our knights, 
 
 70 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 71 
 
 might take up my quarrel, for the sake of our common 
 blood and country, we Scots always backing each the 
 other when abroad. Yet I might be swinging, with a 
 flock of crows pecking at my face, before any of my 
 countrymen could speak a word for me with the King. 
 It is true that they who would 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." * Yet, 
 seeing that the soldiers deemed me dead, I might readily 
 escape at once from Chinon, and take to the roads again, 
 if but I could reach my master's house unseen, and get 
 rid of this foolish feminine gear of cap and petticoat 
 which now I wore to my great shame and discomfort. 
 
 But on this hand lay a little hope, for, once on the 
 road, I were in a worse jeopardy than ever before, as 
 an apprentice fled from my master, and, moreover, with 
 blood on my hands. Wheresoever I went, some of the 
 King's French soldiers might meet and know me, nor had 
 I much money to help me on my way, nor any hold to 
 which I could flee for shelter. 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 Eng- 
 lish ; of which reward I had the promise from my master. 
 Fortune, and fame, and love, if I were to gain what every 
 young man most desires, were only to be won by remain- 
 ing 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 
 
 * " My neck would learn the weight of my more solid proportions." 
 
72 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 had left St. Andrews, deeming that the story of my life 
 was now about to begin, as it did for many young es- 
 quires of Greece and other lands, concerning whom I had 
 read in romances. Verily in the tale of my adventures 
 hitherto there had been more cuffs than crowns, and 
 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. To such as are old, 
 and have forgotten their young days, it will seem a little 
 matter, and even in me, if another told me of such a 
 thing, as concerning himself, it might now waken more 
 laughter than pity. Yet it is true that, 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, but now it was 
 not her mirth, to which she was ever ready, but her 
 wrath (whereto she was ready also) that I held in awful 
 regard. For her heart and faith, in a marvellous manner 
 passing the love of women, were wholly set on this Maid, 
 in whose company I now fared. And, if the Maid went 
 in men's attire (as needs she must, for modesty's sake, 
 who was about men's business, in men's company), here 
 was I attending her in woman's gear, as if to make a 
 mock of her, though in my mind I deemed her no less 
 than a sister of the saints. And Elliot was sure to 
 believe that I carried myself thus in mockery and to 
 make laughter, for, at that time, there were many in 
 France who mocked, as did that soldier whose death I 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 73 
 
 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 
 scant hope at last to win. Thus, on all hands, I seemed 
 to myself as sore bestead as ever man was, and on no 
 side saw any hope of succour. 
 
 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. And 
 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 grey- 
 hound in speed, Elliot had flown to us, and was kneeling 
 to the Maid, who, with a deep blush and some anger in 
 her face — for she loved no such obeisances — bade her 
 rise, and so kissed and embraced her, as young girls use 
 among themselves when they are friends and fain of each 
 other. 
 
 I had turned myself to go apart into the shadow of the 
 corner, as secretly as I might, when I ran straight into 
 the arms of the archer that followed close behind us. On 
 this encounter he gave a great laugh, and, I believe, would 
 have kissed me, but, the Maiden looking round, he stood 
 erect and grave as a soldier on guard, for the Maiden 
 would suffer no light loves and daffing. 
 
 " Whither make you, damsel, in such haste ? " she cried 
 to me. "Come, let me present you to this damsel, my 
 
74 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 friend — and one of your own countrywomen. Elliot, ma 
 mie," she said to my mistress, " here is this kind lass, a 
 Scot like yourself, who has guided me all the way from 
 the castle hither, and, faith, the way is hard to find. Do 
 you thank her for me, and let her sit down in your house, 
 for 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 con- 
 fusion 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 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 pas- 
 sion of Elliot's, and so sudden a change from kindness 
 to wrath was what she might not understand. 
 
 "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 — 
 
 "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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 75 
 
 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. 
 
 " Gracious Pucelle," I said, in French, turning to the 
 Maiden, " my life, and all the fortune of one who would 
 gladly fight to the death by your side, are in your hands. 
 For the love of the blessed saints, your sisters, and of 
 Him who sends you on your holy mission, pray this 
 demoiselle to let me enter the house with you, and tell 
 all 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 my life it is in jeopardy, but 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. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " Fair lass ! " cried Elliot : and then broke off between 
 a sob and a laugh, her hand catching at her side. 
 
 " If you love me," said the Maid, looking on her aston- 
 ished, and not without anger — " if you love me, as you 
 have said, you that are the first of my comforters, and, till 
 this day, my only friend in your strange town, let the 
 lass come in and tell us all 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." 
 
76 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 In saying these last words, the fashion of her counte- 
 nance was changed to a sweet entreaty and command, 
 such as few could have beheld and denied her what 
 she craved, and she laid her hand lightly on Elliot's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " 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, for 
 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 
 did thee no evil, and at this damsel, thy master's 
 daughter ? " 
 
 " 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 mock- 
 
A MONK OF FIFE yy 
 
 ery, 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.-' 
 
 " Thy life in peril for me ! How mean you ? I stood 
 in no danger, and I never saw thy face before." 
 
 " Yet hast thou saved my life," I said ; " but of that 
 we may devise hereafter. I am, indeed, though a gen- 
 tleman 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 
 gentleman 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. iSTo 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 in his lying mouth. Then, as we wrestled 
 on the bridge, we both fell against the barrier, which 
 was low, frail, and old, so that it gave way under our 
 weight, and we both fell into the moat. When I rose he 
 was not in sight, otherwise I would have saved him by 
 swimming, for I desire to have the life of no man on my 
 hands in private quarrel. But the archers shot at me 
 from the drawbridge, so that I had to take thought for 
 myself. By swimming under the water I escaped, be- 
 hind 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 good will, 
 clad me in this wretched apparel, above my own garb, 
 and so, for that time, saved my life, for I passed forth 
 
78 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 unknown, but yet caused me to lose what I prized 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, and it rent asunder, and fell 
 on the floor, leaving me clad in my wet doublet and hose. 
 
 At that 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, as it were, laughed low and graciously, so that to 
 see and hear her was marvel. 
 
 " Begone ! " cried Elliot — " begone, and shift thy drip- 
 ping gear ; " and, as I fled swiftly to my chamber, I heard 
 her laughter yet, but there came a sob into it ; and 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. Eor 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 
 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 79 
 
 
 of hers I learned to know and marvel at in later days 
 that came too soon, but, as now in my chamber, I shifted 
 my wet raiment for dry with a heart wondrous light. 
 
 My craig* 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; also I heard, from the room 
 below, the voices of the two girls devising together very 
 seriously for nigh the space of an hour. But, as know- 
 ing that they might have matters secret between them- 
 selves to tell of, for the Maiden had said that she brought 
 good tidings, I kept coy and to myself in my little upper 
 chamber. To leave the house, indeed, was more than my 
 life was worth. Now to fly and hide was what I could 
 not bring myself to venture ; here I would stay, where my 
 heart was, and take what fortune the saints might send. 
 So I endured to wait, and not gladden myself, as then, 
 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 win- 
 dow, 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 afternoon sun was shining on her yel- 
 low hair, which lay loose upon her shoulders. 
 
 I dared to say no word, and she only made a motion 
 * Neck. 
 
80 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 of her hand towards me, that I should begone, without 
 showing me the light of her countenance. On this I 
 went forth stealthily, my heart again very heavy, for the 
 Maiden had spoken of learning good tidings, and where- 
 fore should my mistress weep, who, an hour agone, had 
 been so merry ? Difficult are the ways of women, a lan- 
 guage hard to be understood, wherefore "love," as the 
 Eoman says, " is full of anxious fears." 
 
 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. There- 
 fore I passed into a room behind my booth, where my 
 master was wont to instruct me in my painting, and 
 there, as better might not be, I set about grinding and 
 mixing colours as I knew that he required. 
 
 I had not been long about this task,, when I heard him 
 enter the booth, from without, when he walked straight 
 into my workroom. I looked up from my colours, when 
 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 said, " in the name of this holy sign, 
 whether thou art a 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. 
 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 81 
 
 He sat him down on a chair and gaped upon me, while 
 I could not contain myself from laughing. 
 
 "For God's sake," said he, "bring me a cup of red 
 wine, for my wits are wandering. DeiVs bucTcie," 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. 
 
 " Did the archers tell me false, then, when they said 
 that you had fired up at a chance word, and flung your- 
 self 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 'pren- 
 tice lad for Norman Leslie ? " 
 
 " They told you truth," I said. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 111 luck go with that 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,* and, as 
 might have been deemed, the bogle was but a 'prentice 
 loon, when all was done. To my thinking, all this fairy 
 work is no more true than 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. 
 
 * Frightened by a ghost. 
 
82 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 " Here is this Book of Hours," he said, " that I have 
 spent my eye-sight, and gold, purple, and carmine, and 
 cobalt on, 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 ; especiaUy 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 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, because 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 Tremouille, and some scores of 
 knights and nobles, a great throng. They were all wait- 
 ing on this Lorrainer wench, for the Dauphin had been 
 told, at last, that she brought a letter from Baudricourt, 
 and before he would not see her. This letter had been 
 kept from him, I guess by whom, and there was other 
 clash of marvels wrought by her, I know not what. So 
 their wisdom was set on putting her to a kind of trial, 
 foolish enough! A young knight was dressed in jewels 
 and a coronet of the King's, and the King was clad right 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 83 
 
 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 slyws all his plumage like a black 
 cock in spring. 
 
 "'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 Eheims.' 
 
 "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 straightly, whether she be from a good 
 airt,* or an ill, and all because she knew the King, she 
 who had never seen him before. Why should she never 
 have seen him — who warrants me of it? — she dwelling 
 these last days nigh the castle? Freits are folly, to my 
 thinking, and fools they that follow them. Lad, you 
 gave me a gliff; pass me another stoup of wine ! Freits, 
 forsooth ! " 
 
 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 sud- 
 denly; "when there is a woman in a house — blessings 
 on her ! — it is anything for a quiet life ! But, nom Dieu ! 
 what with the fright you gave me, sitting there, whereas 
 I deemed you were meat for eels and carp, and what 
 with thy tale — ha, ha ! — and my tale, and the wine, 
 *" Airt," i.e. "quarter." 
 
84 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 "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 Tremouille'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. 
 
 "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 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 85 
 
 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 con- 
 fession. Much I perplexed myself with marvelling why 
 she did so weep ; above all, as now, I knew what hope- 
 ful tidings she had gotten of her friend and her enter- 
 prise. 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 Koman lad who went with his 
 bosom bare, crying Aura veni, and sighing for the breeze 
 of Love to come, other maidens are wroth with Love 
 when he creeps into their hearts, and would fain cast 
 him out, being in a manner mad with anger against 
 Love, and against him whom they desire, and against 
 themselves. This mood, as was later seen, was Elliot's, 
 for her heart was like a wild bird trapped, that turns 
 with bill and claw on him who comes to set it free. 
 Moreover, I have since deemed that her passion of faith 
 in the Maid made war on her love for me; one breast 
 scarce 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 wis- 
 dom, this knowledge arrived too late, and I, as then, 
 was holden in perplexity. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 OF CERTAIN QUARRELS THAT CAME ON THE HANDS OP 
 NORMAN LESLIE 
 
 Belike I had dropped asleep, out-wearied with what 
 had befallen me, mind and body, but I started up sud- 
 denly 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 king." 
 
 They had come in quest of me, and, when I heard 
 them, it was as if a hand had given my heart a squeeze, 
 and for a moment, my breath seemed to be stopped. 
 This passed ; 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? I might have served my turn, if my escape 
 alive from the moat had but 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, 
 
 86 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 87 
 
 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 accompanying it. It 
 was my master. His face was pale, and, falling into a 
 chair, he wiped the sweat from his brow. 
 
 " Unhappy man that I am," he said, "I have lost my 
 apprentice." 
 
 I gulped something down in my throat, ere I could 
 say, "Then it is death?" 
 
 " Nay, " he said, and smiled. " But, glffffor gliff, * you 
 put a fear on me this day, and now we are even." 
 
 "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, pray- 
 ing 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 Eobin 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 
 
 * " 
 
 Fright for fright." 
 
88 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 drinking, Tremouille, 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 who. 
 There, I must tell you all the chronicle again, and some 
 said this, and some that, and Tremouille mocks that the 
 Maid uttered her prophecy to no other end but to make 
 you fulfil it, and slay her enemy for the sake of her 
 beaux yeux. The others would hear nothing of this, 
 and, indeed, though I am no gull, I wot that Tremouille 
 is wrong here, and over-cunning; he trusts neither man 
 nor woman. Howsoever it be, he went with the story 
 to the King, who is keen to hear any new thing. And, 
 to be short, the end of it is this, that you have your free 
 pardon, on these terms, namely that you have twoscore 
 of masses said for the dead man, and yourself take ser- 
 vice 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.* 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 
 
 * Lameter, a lame man. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 89 
 
 more than it has been my own fortune to find my own 
 father. Never would I leave you with my will, and for 
 the gentle demoiselle, your daughter," . . . but here I 
 stinted, for 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 because 
 he wears not the 'prentice's hodden grey, but a Scots 
 archer's green, white, and red, and Charles for badge on 
 breast and sleeve, and a sword by his side. And as for 
 the bonny Book of Hours, ..." 
 
 " Master," I said, with shame, "was that my ransom?" 
 
 " 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 wait- 
 ing 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 laugh- 
 ter, and clasped my hands. "For him that called us 
 wine-sacks, you have given him water to his wine : and 
 the frog to his butler," they said, making a jest of life 
 and death. But my own heart for the nonce was heavy 
 enough again, I longing to take farewell of Elliot, which 
 might not be, nor might she face that wild company. 
 Howbeit, thinking it good to have a friend at court, I 
 made occasion to put in the hand of the old serving 
 woman all of such small coins as I had won in my life 
 servile, deeming myself well quit of such ill-gotten gear. 
 And thereafter, with great mirth and noise, they set 
 
9 o A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 "Your name?" he asked, and I told him. 
 
 "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 employed in his 
 service. Eutherford and Douglas, go take him to quar- 
 ters, and see that to-morrow he is clad as beseems a man 
 of my command. Now good-night to you, . . . but stay ! 
 You, Norman Leslie, you will have quarrels on your 
 hand. Wait not for them, but go to meet them, if they 
 are with the French men-at-arms, and, in quarrel, see 
 that you be swift and deadly. For the townsfolk, no 
 brawling, marauding, or haling about of honest wenches. 
 Here we are strangers, and my men must be respected." 
 
 He bowed his head, his words had been curt, no grace 
 or kindness had he shewn me of countenance ; I felt in 
 my heart that to him I was but a pawn in the game of 
 battle. Now I seemed as far off as ever I was from my 
 foolish dream of winning my spurs, nay, perchance never 
 had I sunk lower in my own conceit. Till this hour I 
 had been, as it were, the hinge on which my share of the 
 world turned, and now I was no more than a wheel in 
 the carriage of a couleuvrine, an unconsidered cog in the 
 machine of war. I was to be lost in a multitude, every 
 one as good as myself, or better, and, when I had thought 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 91 
 
 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, imi- 
 tating 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 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 pro- 
 fane words which I must hear (not, indeed, that they 
 had been wholly banished from our wild days at St. 
 Andrews), it is needless that I should tell. Seeing that 
 I was come among rude neighbours, I even made shift 
 to fall back, in semblance, on such manners as I had 
 used among the students before I left Scotland, though 
 many perils, and the fear wherein I stood of Brother 
 Thomas, and the company of the maid Elliot, had caused 
 me half to forget my swaggering ways. So, may God 
 forgive me, I swore roundly; I made as if I deemed 
 lightly of that Frenchman's death, and, in brief, I so 
 bore me that, ere noon (when I behoved to go into 
 Chinon with Randal Rutherford, and there provide me 
 with the rich apparel of our Company), I had three good 
 quarrels on my hands. 
 
 First, there was the man-at-arms who had kissed me 
 in the guard-room. He, in a bourde and mockery, mak- 
 
9 2 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 ing pretence that he would repeat his insult, got that 
 which was owing him, and with interest, for indeed he 
 could see out of neither of his squint eyes, when I had 
 dealt with him. And for this cause, perforce, if he 
 needed more proof of my manhood than the weight of 
 my fist, he must tarry for the demonstration which he 
 desired. Then there was Eobin 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, vam- 
 brace, rerebrace, corselets, and greaves out of the ar- 
 moury, where many such suits were stored, I met him 
 in a certain quiet court, behind the castle, where such 
 quarrels were usually voided. And now my practice of 
 the sword at home 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 again 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, Eobin and 
 Eandal Eutherford, being off duty, must needs carry me 
 to the Tennis Court, where Tremouille 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, 
 boasted from the walls, and the players bounding and 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 93 
 
 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. 
 
 " I 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 which France beats 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 com- 
 mon report, who yesterday were the death of Gilles de 
 Puisseux?" 
 
 " 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, Eandal Euth- 
 erford having filled my purse, against pay day. 
 
 "I thank you sir for your courtesy, and perchance 
 may have occasion to do the like gentle service for you. 
 Gilles de Puisseux was of my blood and kin; he has 
 none other to take up his feud for him in this place, 
 and now your quickness of comprehension will tell you 
 that the business wherewith I permit myself to break 
 your leisure will brook no tarrying. Let me say that I 
 take it not upon me to defend the words of my cousin, 
 who insulted a woman, and, as I believe, a messenger 
 from the blessed Saints that love France." 
 
 I looked at him in some amazement. He was a young 
 
94 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 
 Eoman medal in his cap. But the most notable thing 
 in him was his thick golden hair, whence La Hire had 
 named him Capdorat, because he was so blond and right 
 keen in war, and hardy beyond others. And here he 
 was challenging me, who stood before him in a 'prentice's 
 hodden grey. 
 
 "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 borbrief,* which I came 
 away in over 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." 
 
 "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 d, outrance till one 
 of us fell. 
 
 Verily, now I saw that this was not to be a matter of 
 striking sparks from steel, as Eobin 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, Eandal and Eobin came forth 
 from the dedcms, 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 of 
 Puiseux, a gentleman of Dauphine, as indeed my friends 
 knew. 
 
 " I shall wait on you, with your leave, at the isle in 
 
 * Borbrief, certificate of gentle birth. 
 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 95 
 
 the river, where it is of custom, opposite the booths of 
 the gold- workers," he said, "about the hour of noon," 
 and so, saluting us, he went, as he said, to provide him- 
 self with friends. 
 
 " Blood of Judas, " quoth Kobin, 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. 
 
 " He threw a good stone ! Man, it was a stone bicker, 
 and they had lids of baskets for targets." 
 
 "And he challenges me to the field," I said hotly. 
 "By St. Andrew, I will cuff his ears and send him back 
 to the other boys." 
 
 "Norman, my lad, when were you in a stone bicker 
 last?" quoth Eandal, and I hung my head, for it was 
 not yet six months gone since the sailors and we stu- 
 dents were stoning each other in North Street. 
 
 " Yet he does play a very good sword, and is cunning 
 of fence, for your comfort," said Eandal. 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 Eandal 
 was laughing like a foolbody at my countenance. 
 
 " Faith, you will make a spoon, or spoil a horn, and, 
 — let me have my laugh out, — you bid well for an 
 archer," said Eandal, and Eobin counselling me play 
 the same prank on the French lad's sword as late I had 
 
96 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Eandal 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 
 dafiing. Kather 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, 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," 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 gentle- 
 man, 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 97 
 
 casement, the little jackanapes moped and mowed at me 
 in friendly fashion. Hard by the booth was a little pier, 
 and we took boat and so landed on the island, where 
 were waiting for us my adversary and two other gentle- 
 men. 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 well nigh 
 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 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 avoid- 
 ing 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, 
 
98 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 as though to stop the blood, but in sooth, not well know- 
 ing what I did. 
 
 He had thrown down his sword and now was kneeling 
 by ray 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 likewise lost 
 sense and knowledge. Nor did I know more till they 
 lifted me and laid me on a litter of poplar boughs, 
 having staunched my wound as best they might. In the 
 boat, as they ferried us across the river, I believe that 
 I fainted again, and so, "between home and hell," as the 
 saying is, I lay on my litter and was carried along the 
 street beside the water. Folk gathered around us as we 
 went; I heard their voices as in a dream, when, lo, there 
 sounded a voice that I knew right well, for Elliot was 
 asking of the people "Who was hurt? " At this hearing 
 I hove myself up on my elbow, beckoning with my other 
 hand, and I opened my mouth to speak, but in place of 
 words came only a wave of blood that sickened me, and 
 I seemed to be dreaming in my bed of Elliot and of 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 1 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 confessions the Church, in her mercy, accepts 
 
A MONK OF FIFE gg 
 
 from sinful men in such case as mine. But I had no 
 thought of life or death, purgatory or paradise; only if 
 paradise be rest among those we love, such rest for an 
 unknown while and such sense of blissful companion- 
 ship were mine. But whether it was well to pass 
 through and beyond such 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. 
 
CHAPTEE IX 
 
 OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT 
 
 The days of fever and of dreams went by, and passed, 
 leaving me very weak, but not ignorant of where I was, 
 and of what had come and gone. My master had often 
 been by my bedside, and Elliot now and again ; the old 
 house-wife also watching me by night, and giving 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 some- 
 where in the room. But at length, as was said, I came 
 to knowledge of things, and could see Elliot and remem- 
 ber her, when she knelt praying by my bed, as oft she 
 did, whiles I lay between life and death. I have heard 
 speak of men who, being inflamed with love, as I had 
 been, fell into a fever of the body, and when that passed, 
 lo, their passion had passed with it, and their longing. 
 And so it seemed to be with me. For some days I was 
 not permitted to utter a word, and later, I was as glad in 
 Elliot's company as you may have seen a little lad and 
 lass, not near come to full age, who go playing together 
 with flowers and such toys. So we were merry, the jack- 
 anapes keeping us company and making much game and 
 sport. 
 
 Perchance these were my most blessed days, as of one 
 who had returned to the sinless years, when we are hap- 
 pier than we know, and not yet acquainted with desire. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 101 
 
 Now and again Kutherford 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 counte- 
 nance. 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.* 
 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, bringing in her arms a 
 parcel of raiment, very gay and costly. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 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 ! Graci- 
 das, I bid you beware ! " she said, putting the archer's 
 bonnet gallantly cocked on her beautiful head, and draw- 
 ing 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 
 
 * Howlet, a young owl, a proverb for voracity. 
 
102 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 from her eyes shot into my heart, and, lo, I was no more 
 a child, but a man again, and a lover. 
 
 " Oh, Elliot," I said, ere ever I wist what I was say- 
 ing, and I caught her left hand into mine. " Oh, 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 fell 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 overcome 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 us, save 
 for her kind moaning, and in my heart was such glad- 
 ness 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, shewing 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. 
 
 " Sweet was the pain, my love, and sweetly thou hast 
 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 103 
 
 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 the 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 — 
 
 " 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, that 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 Bur- 
 gundy. For I had set up my resolve either to die glori- 
 ously, 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 mar- 
 riage, seeing that, despite his gentle birth, he lived but 
 as a burgess, and by the work of his hands. 
 
104 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 As we thus devised, she told me how matters now 
 were in the country, of which, indeed, I still knew but 
 little, for, to a man sick and nigh upon death, nothing 
 imports greatly that betides beyond the walls of his 
 chamber. What I heard was this; namely that, about 
 Orleans, the English ever pressed the good town more 
 closely, building new bastilles and other great works, so 
 as to close the way from Blois against any that came 
 thence of our party with victual and men-at-arms. And 
 daily there was fighting without the walls, wherein now 
 one side had the better, now the other, but food was 
 scant in Orleans, and many were slain by cannon shots. 
 Yet much was spoken of a new cannonier, lately come to 
 aid the men of Orleans, and how he and John of Lor- 
 raine slew many of the hardiest of the English with their 
 couleucrines. 
 
 At this telling I bethought me of Brother Thomas, but 
 spoke no word concerning him, for my mistress began 
 very gladly to devise of her dear Maid, concerning whom, 
 indeed, she could never long be silent. 
 
 " Faithless heart and fickle," I said in a jest, " I believe 
 you love that Maid more than you love me, and, as she 
 wears sword at side, like a man, I must even challenge 
 her to fight in the island." 
 
 Here she stopped my mouth in the best manner and 
 the most gracious, laughing low, so that, verily, I was 
 clean besotten 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,* and the Due d'Alen^on 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." 
 
 * Battle-axe. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 105 
 
 " 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 right rosy, and whispered, "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 said) 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. 
 
 " Yes," my lady went on, " I could not but open my 
 heart about thee and me, to one who is of my own age, 
 and so wise, unlike other girls. Moreover, I scarce knew 
 well, whether your heart was like disposed with my 
 heart. Therefore I devised with her more than once or 
 twice." 
 
 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 to- 
 gether in converse, and that strange Maid and Prophetess 
 listening, like any girl, to a girl's tale of the secrets of 
 her heart. 
 
 " And what counsel gave the Maid ? " I said, " or had 
 she any prophecy of our fortune ? " 
 
 " Kay, 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, 
 
106 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 and lead the Dauphin to his sacring at the 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 doctors 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: "Oh, God, send 
 that the Maid go speedily," she cried, " for as now you 
 are not fit to bear arms." 
 
 "Thou would'st not have me lag behind, when the 
 Maid's banner is on the wind ? " 
 
 " Nay," she said but slowly, " thee, and all that I have 
 would I give for her and her cause, and for the Saints. 
 But now, thou must not go," — and her eyes yearned 
 upon me, — "now that / 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 Ave continued devising, and she told me, as 
 touching the Maid, that, some days after my wounding, 
 she had held converse apart from the King, and then 
 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 107 
 
 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 con- 
 fessed 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 
 I at her home, had found in her nothing but simplicity 
 and holy maidenhood, pity and piety. But, 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. 
 "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." 
 
108 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 yet 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,* 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, these 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 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 sewn with Jleurs de lys, and 
 to bear the Holy Names, Jhesus Maria. On the banner 
 was Our Lord crucified between the Holy Virgin and St. 
 John. And on the pennon was wrought the Annuncia- 
 tion, 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 
 * Bougran, lustrous white linen. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 109 
 
 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 vain glory, mixing her arms with holy 
 things, even at Eheims at the sacring. For when she 
 was at Eheims, 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 fremierunt 
 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 
 as lovers use, wholly rapt from the world in our hap- 
 piness. 
 
 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. 
 
 He stood with eyes wide open and gave one long 
 whistle. "Faith," he cried, "our surgery has wrought 
 miracles! You are whole beyond what I looked for, 
 but, surely, you are deaf, for my step is heavy enough, 
 yet, methinks, you heard me not." 
 
 Elliot spoke no word, but drawing me very needfully 
 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 — " 
 
no A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " That might well have been, sir, but that which we had 
 covenanted to tell you this day, we have told unwittingly, 
 methinks, already. I could not be in your daughter's com- 
 pany and have the grace of her gentle ministerings — " 
 
 "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, put his hand on my 
 shoulder, but very gently, and said — 
 
 " Even so be it, my son, as better may not be. " 'Tis no 
 great match, but I looked in this country for nothing 
 nobler nor more wealthy. That my lass should be happy, 
 and have one to fend for her, there is my affair, and I am 
 not one of those fathers who think to make their daughters 
 glad by taking from them their heart's desire. So cheer 
 up ! What, a man-at-arms weeping ! Strange times, when 
 maids lead men-at-arms, and men-at-arms weep at home." 
 
 With these words he comforted me, and made me wel- 
 come, 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. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE in 
 
 In a little time, when I had thanked him, and shewn 
 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 went to my chamber, 
 with a heart full both of grief and joy, for these hours 
 that are all of gladness come rarely to lovers, and to me 
 were scantly measured. Perchance it is for my soul's 
 welfare, to win me from the ways of the world. 
 
 Moreover, I grew old, and the earthly time to come 
 is short, and there abides 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 is weak, and at last dies with 
 the bodily death. Wherein they not only make Holy 
 Church a liar, but are wistfully confounded by this truth 
 which I know and feel, namely that while my flesh 
 wastes hourly towards old age, and of many things my 
 memory is weakened, yet of that day in Chinon I mind 
 me as clearly, and see my love as well, and hear her 
 sweet voice as plain, as if she had but now left the room. 
 Herein memory does not fail, nor does love faint, grow- 
 ing 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 
 
 
H2 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 on, Time, till all the current of my soul rushes whither 
 she is, and 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. 
 
 Thus it is with us, who are old, yet must ever be look- 
 ing forward to joy, no less than when we were young. 
 But to Elliot and me, that night bore no joy, but sorrow, 
 albeit passing. At supper we met, indeed, but she stayed 
 with us not long after supper, when my master, with a 
 serious countenance, told me how he had taken counsel 
 with a very holy woman, of his own kin, widow of an 
 archer, and how she was going on pilgrimage to Our Lady 
 of Puy en Velay, by reason of the Jubilee, for this year 
 Good Friday and the Annunciation fell on the same day. 
 
 " 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 strange and great matters 
 come to pass. That there will be strange matters I make 
 no doubt, for when before, save under holy Deborah in 
 Scripture, did men follow a woman to war ? May good 
 come of it ! However it fall out, Elliot is willing to go 
 on pilgrimage, for she is very devout. Moreover, she 
 tells me that it had been in her mind before, for the 
 mother of that Maid is to be at Puy, praying for her 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 113 
 
 daughter, as certes she has great need, if ever woman 
 had. And Elliot is fain to meet her, and devise with her 
 about the Maid. And for you, you still need our nursing, 
 and the sooner you win strength, the nearer you are to 
 that which you would win. Still, I am sorry, lad, for I 
 remember my courting days, and the lass's mother, bless- 
 ings 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. 
 
CHAPTEE X 
 
 HOW MADAME ST. CATHERINE SAVED MICHAEL HAMILTON 
 BY MIRACLE, AND HOW NORMAN LESLIE FOUND A 
 WAY TO RIDE TO THE WARS. 
 
 My brethren, the good Benedictine fathers here in 
 Pluscarden Priory, are wont betimes to be merry over 
 my penitents. For all the yonng lads and lasses in the 
 glen say they are fain to be shriven by old Father Nor- 
 man 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 yonth 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 these that they use but arms of courtesy, yet 
 are shrewd blows dealt, and wounds taken that bleed 
 inwardly, perchance through a whole life long. To medi- 
 cine these wounds with kind words is, it may be, part of 
 my poor skill as a healer of souls in my degree, and there- 
 fore do the young resort to Father Norman. Some con- 
 fessors there be who laugh within their hearts at these 
 sorrows of lovers, as if they were mere nugae and feather 
 
 114 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 115 
 
 weights : others there are who wax impatient, holding all 
 love for sin in some degrees, and forgetting that Monseig- 
 neur St. Peter himself was a married man, and doubtless, 
 had his own share of trouble and amorous annoy when he 
 was winning the lady his wife, even as other men. But if 
 I be of any avail (as they deem) in the healing of hearts, 
 I owe my skill of that surgery to remembrance of the days 
 of my youth, when I found none to give me comfort, 
 save that I won from a book that my master had in hand 
 to copy and adorn, namely, " The Book of One Hundred 
 Ballades, containing Counsel to a Knight, that he should 
 love loyally : " this counsel offered by Messire Lyonnet 
 de Coismes, Messire Jehan de Mailly, the Sieur d'Yvry, 
 and many other good knights that were true lovers. 
 Truly, 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 Scotland ; 
 sweetly could he make, but was a young clerk of no godly 
 counsel, and had to name Maitre Franqoys Villon. Our 
 heart was one, the heart of Elliot and mine own, and, lo, 
 here, in a day, it was torn asunder, and we set apart by 
 the wisdom of men. 
 
 I remember me how I lay wakeful on the night before 
 the day when Elliot should depart. Tossing and turn- 
 ing 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, in the 
 blue light of morning. Thither presently came Elliot ; 
 
u6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 com- 
 ing and going through the room, there we devised, com- 
 forting each other with hopes, and prayers, and kisses ; 
 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, how- 
 ever 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 yet mine, and 
 where my heart is there is my treasure. And she, too, 
 must clip a long curl of my hair, for as yet it was not 
 cut en ronde, as archers use to wear it, but when she 
 came again, she said, she would find me shrewdly shaven, 
 and then would love me no longer. Then she laughed, 
 and kissed me, and fell to comforting me, for that she 
 would not be long away. 
 
 "And in three months or four," she said, "the King 
 will be sacred at Eheims, 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 117 
 
 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, per- 
 adventure, 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 singing of hymns, 
 came the troop who wended together on pilgrimage. 
 Many townsfolk well armed were there, to guard their 
 women; the flags of all the crafts were on the wind, the 
 priests carried blessed standards ; so with this goodly com- 
 pany, and her confessor, and her father's old kinswoman, 
 Elliot rode away. The jackanapes was screeching on her 
 saddle-bow, her yellow hair was lifted on her shoulder with 
 the light breeze, her father rode the first two stages with 
 them ; merry enough they all seemed that went, and all 
 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 ori- 
 sons, for their safety and good speed, and 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 everywhere, 
 and comfortless. Then Randal Rutherford, coming to 
 visit me, found me such a lack-mirth, he said, and my 
 wits so distraught, that a love-sick wench were better 
 company for a man-at-arms. 
 
 "Cheer up, man," he said. "Look at me, did I not 
 leave my heart in Teviotdale, with Mally Grieve, and so 
 
n8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 in every town where I have been in garrison, and do yon 
 see me cast down? Off with this green sickness, or 
 never will yon have strength to march with the Maid, 
 where there is wealth to be won, and golden coro- 
 nets and gaudy stones, such as Saunders Macausland 
 took off the Duke of Clarence at Bauge. Faith, be- 
 tween 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 
 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 Kobin 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. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 119 
 
 " 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 ! Eemede 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," 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 pil- 
 grimage 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 clays, 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 inspira- 
 tion. 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 deft- 
 ness 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 
 
I20 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 and jests ; others by her manners, the fairest and most 
 courtly that might be, for she, a mananfs daughter, bore 
 herself on an equal before the blood of France, and was 
 right dear to the young bride of the fair Due d'Alenqon. 
 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 hardly as to speak to her of love, or even so much 
 as to think thereof in the secret of his heart So all re- 
 ported 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 that 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 pages, 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 by revelation of the Saints. For, 
 she being in Tours, had it revealed to her that a certain 
 ancient sword, with five crosses in the blade, lay buried 
 behind the altar of St. Catherine of Fierbois. An ar- 
 mourer 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. 
 
 Now in this place, I cannot withhold me from telling 
 of an adventure which at this very time befell, though it 
 scarce belongs to my present chronicle. £ut it may be 
 that, in time to come, Faith will wax cold. It therefore 
 behoves me not to hold back the truth which I know, 
 and which this tale makes plain and undeniable even by 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 121 
 
 Hussites, Lollards, and other miscreants. For he who 
 reads must be constrained to own, that there is no strait 
 so terrible, but the Saints can bring safely forth therefrom 
 such men as call upon them. 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, and walked 
 a little lame, and lacked one ear. That which follows he 
 himself told to us, and to our chaplain, Father Urquhart, 
 by whose care it is now written in the Book of the Miracles 
 of Madame St. Catherine of Fierbois. 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 to 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 op- 
 portunity to reach the stables and mount, Michael Ham- 
 ilton 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- 
 
122 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 arms vowed in his heart to make a pilgrimage to Fier- 
 bois, and to the shrine of Madame St. Catherine, if she 
 would but aid him. 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 the cure of Clisson was in his cham- 
 ber, 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 cure, thinking that already he must be half 
 asleep and dreaming, paid no manner of regard to 
 these commands. Thereon the Voice, twice and thrice, 
 spoke aloud, none save the 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 cure, therefore, having made all due search, and 
 found none living who could have uttered that Voice, 
 went not forth himself, but 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 Scots, but when he came back, he was running as 
 fast as he might and scarce could speak for very fear. 
 At the last they won from him that he had gone to the 
 tree where the dead Scot was hanging and first had 
 heard a faint rustle of the boughs. Not affrighted, the 
 sexton drew out a knife, and slit one of Michael's bare 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 123 
 
 toes, for they had stripped him before they hanged 
 hirn. 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, there- 
 fore, sending for such clergy as he could muster, went 
 at their head, in all his robes canonical, to the wild 
 wood, where they cut Michael down, and rubbed his 
 body, and poured wine into his throat, so that, at the 
 end of half an hour, he sat up, and said, " Pay 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 protection of heaven. Michael then, being 
 kindly nursed in a house of the Clarisses, was well nigh 
 recovered, and his vow wholly forgotten, when, lo, he 
 being alone, a Voice said to him, "Wilt thou never re- 
 member thy pilgrimage ? " Moved, therefore, to repen- 
 tance, he stole the cure's horse, and so, by journeying at 
 night till he reached France, he accomplished his vows 
 and was now returned from Fierbois to Chinon. This 
 Michael Hamilton was hanged, not very long afterwards, 
 by command of the Due d'Alen^on for plundering a 
 church at Jargeau. 
 
 This story I have thought it behoved me to tell in this 
 place, because it shews 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 
 
124 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 house of Hamilton. Again, I tell it, because I heard it 
 at this very season of my waiting to be recovered of my 
 wound. And, finally, it is a story 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. 
 
 All this was the common talk in Chinon, which I 
 heard very gladly, taking pleasure in the strangeness of 
 the tale. 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 en- 
 dure to march on foot, but must die by the way. 
 
 Poor comfort was this for me who must linger in garri- 
 son while the fate of France was in 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, sharp- 
 ening 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 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 the 
 door there was great concourse of people, and among them 
 two archers led a great black charger, fairly caparisoned 
 and covered with a rich silk hucque of colour scarlet, 
 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 ; 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 125 
 
 and over his silver armour fell her yellow hair, covering 
 gorget and rerebrace. 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 her- 
 self, boden in effeir of war, * and so changed from that 
 she had been, that she seemed a thing divine. If St. 
 Michael had stepped down from the church window, leav- 
 ing the dragon slain, he would have looked no otherwise 
 than she, all gleaming with steel, and with glad 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 great mount- 
 ing 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 Poic- 
 tiers, and now she is fulfilling it. For the gentle King 
 has given her a household, pages, and a maltre d'hdtel, a 
 good esquire, and these two gentlemen who rode with her 
 from Vaucouleurs, and an almoner, Brother Jean Pasque- 
 * Equipped for battle. 
 
126 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 rel, an Augustine, that the Maid's mother sent with us 
 from Puy, for we found her there. And the Maid has 
 appointed you to go with her, for that you took her part 
 when men reviled her. And money she has craved from 
 the King, and Messire Aymar de Puiseux, that was your 
 adversary, is to give you a good horse for that you may 
 not walk. And, above all, the Maid has declared to me 
 that she will bring you back to us unscathed of sword, 
 but, for herself, she shall be wounded by an arrow under 
 Orleans, yet shall she not die, but be healed of that 
 wound, and shall lead the King to his sacring at Rheims. 
 So now, verily, for you I have no fear, but my heart is 
 sore for the Maid's Liake, and her wound." 
 
 None the less she made as if she would dance for joy, 
 and I could have done uo less, not, indeed, that as then 
 I put much faith in prophecies, but for gladness that I 
 was to take my fortune in the wars. So the hours passed 
 in great mirth and good cheer. Many things we spoke 
 of, as concerning the mother of the Maid, how wise she 
 was, yet in a kind of amazement, and not free from fear, 
 wherefore she prayed constantly for her child. More- 
 over, Elliot told me that the jackanapes was now hers of 
 right, but that the woman, its owner, had been at Puy, 
 but without her man, and had sold it to her, as to a good 
 mistress, yet with tears at parting. This news was none 
 of the gladdest to me, for still I feared that tidings of us 
 might come to Brother Thomas. Howbeit, at last, with 
 a light heart, though I was leaving Elliot, I went back to 
 the castle. There Aymar de Puiseux, meeting me, made 
 me the best countenance, and gave me a right good horse, 
 that I named Capdorat after him, by his good will. And 
 for my armour, which mast 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 127 
 
 company, to Blois, whence the Maid was to set forth to 
 Orleans. Marvel it was to find the road, so full of bes- 
 tial, 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. 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 can- 
 non and culverins in the town might not touch them. 
 But a word ran through the host, how the Maid knew, by 
 inspiration of the Saints, that no man should sally forth 
 from among the English, but that we should all pass un- 
 harmed. Meantime the town of Blois was all in great 
 turmoil, the cattle lowing in the streets, the churches 
 full to the doors of men-at-arms waiting their turn to be 
 shrived, . . . for the Maid had ordained that all who 
 followed her must go clean of sin. And there was great 
 wailing of light o' loves, and leaguer lasses that had 
 followed the army, as is custom; for this custom the 
 Maid did away, and drove these women forth, and 
 whither they wandered I know not. Moreover she made 
 proclamation that all dice, and tabliers, and instruments 
 of gambling must be burned, and myself saw the great 
 pile yet smoking in the public place, for this was to be a 
 holy war. So we lodged at Blois, where the Maid showed 
 me the best countenance, speaking favourable words of 
 Elliot and me, and bidding me keep near her banner in 
 battle, which I needed no counsel to make me resolve 
 to do. So there, for that night, we rested. 
 
CHAPTEE XI 
 
 HOW THE MAID CAME TO ORLEANS, AND OF THE DOLO- 
 ROUS STROKE THAT FIRST SHE STRUCK IX WAR. 
 
 Concerning 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 shewn 
 in the matter of the Maid's march to Orleans. For the 
 town of Blois, where we now 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. Now, the town of Orleans, whither we were 
 bound, is also on the same side, namely, the right side 
 of the river. Now Orleans was beleaguered in this 
 manner. The great stone bridge had been guarded on 
 the left or further side of the stream, first, by a boule- 
 vard, or strong keep on the land, whence by a draw- 
 bridge 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 no wise 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 cus- 
 tom to watch them of Orleans and their artillery from 
 
 128 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 129 
 
 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 that worked the guns 
 in Orleans were all at their meat. But it so chanced 
 that two boys, playing truant from school, went into a 
 niche of the wall, where was a cannon loaded, and aimed 
 at Les Tourelles. They, seeing the gleam of the golden 
 shield at the window of the turret, set match to the 
 touch-hole of the cannon; and, as heaven would have 
 it, the ball struck a splinter of stone from the side of 
 the window, which, breaking through the golden shield, 
 slew my Lord of Salisbury, a good knight. Thus plainly 
 that tower was to be of little comfort to the English. 
 None the less, as they held Les Tourelles, and the boule- 
 vard thereof, the English built but few works on the 
 left side of the river, namely, Champ St. Prive, that 
 guarded the road by the left bank from Blois ; Les 
 Augustins, that was a little way inland from the boule- 
 vard 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 guard 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 no wise avail. 
 
 Thus matters stood, and it was the Maid's mind to 
 
i 3 o A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 march her men and all the cattle clean through and past 
 the English bastilles, on the right side of the river, and 
 by inspiration she well knew that no man would come 
 forth against us. Moreover, she saw not how, by the 
 other way, and the left bank, the cattle might be ferried 
 across, and the great company of men-at-arms, into 
 Orleans town, under the artillery of the English. For 
 the English held the pass of the broken bridge, as I 
 said, and therefore all crossing of the water must be by 
 boat. 
 
 Now herein it was shewn, as often again, that the 
 ways of the Saints are not as our ways. For the cap- 
 tains, namely the Sieur de Rais (that 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, as then commanding for the 
 King in that town, gave the simple Maid to understand 
 that Orleans was on the left bank of the river. This 
 they did because they were faithless and slow of belief, 
 and feared that so great a company as ours might in no 
 wise pass Meun and Beaugency, towns of the English, 
 and convey so many cattle through the bastilles on the 
 right bank. Therefore, with many priests going before, 
 singing the Veni Creator; with holy banners as on a 
 pilgrimage; with men-at-arms, archers, pages, and trains 
 of carts; and with bullocks rowting beneath the goad, 
 and swine that are very hard to drive, and slow-footed 
 sheep, we all crossed the bridge of Blois on the morning 
 of April the twenty-fifth. 
 
 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 con- 
 trary to her counsel. Nevertheless the Saints held their 
 peace and let us march on. Belike they designed that 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 131 
 
 this should turn to the greater glory of the Maid, and 
 to the confusion of them that disbelieved, which pres- 
 ently 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, that 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 that 
 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, 
 Lore, Kennedy, and La Hire. We could see her point- 
 ing with her staff, and hear speech high and angry, but 
 the words we could not hear. The captains looked down- 
 cast, as children caught in a fault, and well they might, 
 for we were now as far off victualling Orleans as ever we 
 had been. The Maid pointed to the English keep at St. 
 Jean le Blanc, on our side of the water, and, as it seems, 
 was fain to attack it, but the English had drawn off their 
 men to the stronger places on the bridge, and to hold 
 St. Jean le Blanc, against them, if we took it, we had 
 no strength. So we even wended, from the height of 
 
132 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Olivet, for six long miles, till we reached the stream 
 opposite Checy, where was an island. A rowing-boat, 
 with a knight in glittering arms, was pulled across the 
 stream, and the Maid, in her eagerness, spurred her 
 steed deep into the water to meet him. He was a 
 young man, brown of visage, hardy and fierce, and on 
 his shield bore the lilies of France, crossed with a baton 
 sinister. He bowed low to the Maid, who cried — 
 
 "Are you the Bastard of Orleans?" 
 
 "I am," he said, "and right glad of your coming." 
 
 " 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 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." 
 
 " Nom Dieu" she cried. "The counsel 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 be- 
 guiled, for I bring you better 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 cross 
 with them, and to let her host march back to Blois, and 
 so come to Orleans, crossing by the bridge of Blois. To 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 133 
 
 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, Pas- 
 querel, 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 
 Eomans) the English held a strong fort called St. Loup, 
 and well might they have sallied forth against us. But 
 the people of Orleans, whoever bore themselves more 
 hardily than any townsfolk whom I have known, made 
 an onfall against St. Loup (that the English within might 
 not sally out against us), where was fierce fighting, and 
 they took a standard from the English. So, at nightfall, 
 the Maid, with the Bastard and other captains riding by 
 her side, rode into the town, all the people welcoming her 
 with torches in hand, shouting Noel! as to a king; throw- 
 ing flowers before her horse's feet, and pressing to touch 
 her, or even the harness of her horse, that 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 hands, 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 Eng- 
 lish, now there was such heart in them as if Monsei- 
 gneur St. Michael himself, or Monseigneur St. Aignan, 
 had come down from heaven to help the good town. If 
 they were hardy before, as indeed they were, now plainly 
 they were full of such might and fury that man might 
 not stand against them. And soon it was plain that no 
 less fear had fallen on the English. But the Maid, with 
 us who followed her, was led right through the great 
 
134 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 street of Orleans, from the Burgundy gate to the gate 
 Regnart, whereby the fighting was ever most fell, and 
 there we were 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 streets 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 Scotland, when the Comte 
 de Clermont deserted us so shamefully on the day of the 
 Battle of the Herrings. No sooner did this doubt come 
 into my mind than I leaped from my bed, attired myself, 
 and went forth to the quarters of the Scots under Sir 
 Christian Chambers. Little need had I 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 that pursued us, and fighting by the 
 side of Pothon de Xaintrailles. All that day, and in 
 the week which followed, my thought was ever upon 
 him; a look in a stranger's face, a word on another's 
 lips, by some magic of the mind, would bring my brother 
 almost visibly before me, ay, among the noise of swords 
 on mail, and the screaming of arrows, and of great can- 
 non 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 gunner, not John the 
 Lorrainer, but one that had come to them, they said, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 135 
 
 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 yes- 
 terday attacked St. Loup. 
 
 "He could never thole the thought of the Blessed 
 Maid," said Randal 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 Neuf chateau, 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 (for of a surety it was Brother 
 Thomas) and I were not to meet in Orleans. 
 
 Concerning the English, in this wonderful adventure 
 of the siege, I have never comprehended, nor do I now 
 know, wherefore they bore them as they did. That they 
 sallied not out on the trains, which the Maid led and 
 brought into the town, a man might set down to mere 
 cowardice and faint heart; they fearing to fight against 
 a witch, as they deemed her. In later battles, when she 
 had won so many a victory, they may well have feared 
 her. But as now they showed no fear 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 good will, yet the 
 English rallied, and drove them back with much firing 
 
136 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 of guns ; and now first I heard the din of war, and saw 
 the great stone balls fly, scattering as they fell into 
 splinters that screamed in the air, with a very terrible 
 sound. Truly the English had the better of that fray, 
 and were no whit adread, for at sunset the Maid sent 
 them two heralds, bidding them begone, yet they 
 answered only that they would burn her for a witch, 
 and called her a ribaulde, or loose wench, and bade her 
 go back and keep her kine. 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 to our Lord, with the King kneeling opposite. 
 There she stood and cried aloud to the English, who 
 were in the fort on the other side of the bridge that is 
 called Les Tourelles, and her voice rang across the water 
 like a trumpet, so that it was marvel. Then came out 
 on to the bridge a great knight and a tall, Sir William 
 G-lasdale ; no bigger man have I seen, and I bethought 
 me of Goliah 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 towns- 
 folk running by her rein, as if secure in her company, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 137 
 
 yet no man came forth against them, which was marvel. 
 And on the Wednesday the Maid, with many knights, 
 rode forth two leagues and met the Bastard of Orleans 
 and all the array from Blois, and all the flocks and herds 
 that were sent to Orleans by the good towns. Right 
 beneath the forts of the English they rode and marched, 
 with chanting of hymns, priests leading the way, but 
 none dared meddle with them. Yet a child might have 
 seen that now or never was the chance ; howbeit Talbot, 
 and Glasdale, and Scales, men well learned in war, let 
 fire not even a single cannon. 
 
 It may be that they feared an attack of the Orleans 
 folk on their bastilles if they drew out their men. For 
 to tell plain truth, the English had not men-at-arms 
 enough for the task they took in hand; but they oft do 
 achieve much with but little force, and so presume the 
 more, to their undoing. And till the Maid came ten of 
 them could balk 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 Madelon Boucher. Then was I devis- 
 ing idly with her page, Louis de Contes, 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 shin- 
 ing, and cried to Louis de Contes, in great anger — 
 
 "Wretched boy, the blood of France is being shed, 
 and you told me no word of it." 
 
 "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. 
 
1 38 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 "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 Contes gave her out of the upper 
 window. Then her spurs were in her horse's side, and 
 the sparks flying from beneath his hoofs, as she galloped 
 towards St. Loup, the English fort on the Burgundy road. 
 Thither we followed her, with what speed we might, 
 yet over tardily, and when we came through crowds of 
 people, many bearing the wounded on litters, there was 
 she under the wall of that fort, in a rain of arrows, hold- 
 ing up her banner and crying the French and Scots on 
 to the charge. They answered with a cry, and went on, 
 de Contes and I pressing forward to be with them, but 
 ere ever we could gain the trench the English had been 
 overwhelmed, and for the more part slain. For, as we 
 found, the French captains had commanded an attack on 
 St. Loup, and had told the Maid no word of it, either 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, natheless 
 certain men in priests' raiment came forth from the 
 Church of St. Loup and very humbly begged their lives 
 of the Maid, who, turning to d'Aulon, her esquire, bade 
 him, with de Contes and me, and such men as we could 
 gather, 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 139 
 
 in the church of St. Loup. Now Louis de Contes, being 
 but a boy, and of a mad humour, cried — 
 
 " Cucullus non facit monachum I 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 
 Eenard Fox have I seen 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. 
 
 "Knave of a Scot," she cried, "wouldst thou strike 
 a holy man, and my prisoner? Verily they say well 
 that the Scots are all savages. Begone! home, till I 
 speak with the captains about thy case ! " 
 
 "And for these holy men," she said to d'Aulon, in a 
 soft kind voice, "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 might, and I showed him wherefore I had sought to 
 slay the man, as forsworn and a traitor, who manifestly 
 had 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 
 
i 4 o A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 woke me a little after dawn. 
 
 " It is a true tale," he said, "and worse than I deemed; 
 for your bird is 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." 
 
 "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 countenance, even 
 begging my pardon, with all sweetness, 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 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 141 
 
 frankly as does one brother in arms with another. And 
 I kissed her hand and kept my fears in my own heart. 
 But no deadlier blow for France and for herself was ever 
 dealt than when the Maid struck down my sword, 
 that was thirsting for the blood of Brother Thomas, 
 and within an inch of his throat. Often have 1 marvelled 
 how the Saints, who as then guarded her, gave her no 
 warning, as they did of the onslaught on St. Loup, but 
 it might not be, or it was not their will, to which we 
 must humbly submit ourselves. And now I think I see 
 that wolf's face under the hood, with anger and fear in 
 the ominous eyes. In St. Loup we found him, and a 
 wolf of the holy places he was. None the less the words 
 of the Maid brought more keenly to my mind the thought 
 of Elliot, that in these crowded hours, between my sor- 
 row and anger and fear of the Maid's wrath, I had to 
 some degree forgotten. They were now ordering an 
 onslaught on a post of the English beyond the river, 
 and there came into my heart that verse of the Book of 
 a Hundred Ballades, how a lover must press into breach, 
 and mine, and escalade, to win advancement and his 
 lady's favour, and I swore within myself that to-day I 
 would be among the foremost. 
 
CHAPTEK XII 
 
 OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE FORT AND OF WHAT 
 NORMAN LESLIE WON FROM THE RIVER 
 
 Just above the broken bridge of Orleans, there is a 
 broad island, lying very near the opposite shore, with a 
 narrow, swift passage of water between bank and island. 
 Some two furlongs higher up the river, and on the fur- 
 ther bank, the English had built a small fort named St. 
 Jean le Blanc, to guard the road, and thither they had 
 sent men from Les Augustins, the great wooden keep, 
 some way more inland from the shore than the boulevard 
 in front of the bridge end, and Les Tourelles. 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, be- 
 fore she, or we with her, could attain the shore, horses 
 being ill beasts in a boat ferry, the light-armed towns- 
 folk had crossed over against St. Jean le Blanc to spy 
 on it, and had found the keep empty, for the English 
 had drawn in their men to the Bastille of Les Augus- 
 tins. Thus there was no more to do, for the captains 
 deemed not that we were of any avail to attack Les Aug- 
 ustins. They were retreating then, to the bridge of boats, 
 and Messires de Gaucourt, de Villars, and other good 
 
 142 
 
A MONK OF FIFE i 43 
 
 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 cross- 
 ing 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 fall- 
 ing 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, 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 Mont-joie St. Denis, 
 and St Andrew for Scotland, they made the English give 
 ground, till they were within the palisade of Les Augus- 
 tins, 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 pos- 
 sessed, and paying no heed to d'Aulon, was for thrust- 
 ing me forward, when a certain Spaniard, Alphonse de 
 Partada, caught me by the arms, and told me, with an 
 oath, that I might well bide where better men than I 
 
144 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 " And for that you may be swifter of foot than I, as 
 you have longer legs/' I cried, " clasp hands on this bar- 
 gain, and let us reach the palisades with the same step." 
 
 To this he agreed, and, d'Aulon not refusing permis- 
 sion, 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 held it deemed he might win more honour by hold- 
 ing it with his body. He was a great knight and tall, 
 well armed, the red cross of St. George on his breast, and 
 he fought with a mighty sword. Together, then, we 
 made at him, two to one, as needs must be, for this was 
 no gentle passage of arms, but open battle. One sweep 
 of his sword I made shift to avoid, but the next, lighting 
 on my salade, drove me staggering back for more yards 
 than two or three, and I reeled and fell on my hands. 
 When I rose, Alphonse de Partada was falling beneath 
 a sword-stroke, and I was for running forward again, but 
 lo, the great English knight leaped in the air, and so, 
 turning, fell on his face, his hands grasping at the 
 ground, and his feet kicking. 
 
 Later I heard from d'Aulon that he had bidden John 
 the Lorrainer mark the man with his culverin, for that 
 he did over much mischief. But, thinking of nought 
 save to be foremost in the breach, I ran in, stumbling 
 over the dead man's body, and shouldered, at the same 
 time, by Alphonse, who warded off a stab of a pike that 
 was dealt at me. Then it was a fair mellay, our men 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 145 
 
 pressing after us through the gap, and so driving us for- 
 ward by mere weight of onset, they coining 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 
 f oining 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 riving of planks from the other fence of the 
 palisade ; above the steel points and the dust, I saw the 
 Maid's pennon advancing from the other part 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. Den is I 
 and so, stroke echoing stroke, and daggers going at close 
 quarters, beaten on and blinded, 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 boulevard of Les Tou- 
 relles. And there, with a joyous face, and the vizor of 
 her helm raised, stood the Maid, her sword undrawn, 
 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, 
 
i 4 6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 first fruits of Elliot's 
 wedding portion. Xo heavy ransom I put on that knight, 
 Sir Eobert Heron, and it was honourably paid in no 
 long time, though he ill liked yielding him to one that 
 had not gained his spurs. But it was fortune of war. 
 So, half in a dream, we reached our house, and there was 
 the greatest concourse of townsfolk, clamouring in the 
 praise of the Maid, who shewed herself to them from the 
 window, and promised that to-morrow they should take 
 Les Tourelles. 
 
 That night was Friday, yet, so worn were we all, 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 Madelon Boucher, who always 
 lay with her (for she had great joy to be with girls of 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 147 
 
 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 drained the flagon. 
 
 " 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 mas- 
 ter 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 now to hold the 
 city, till the English wax weary, and depart, or till we 
 have succour anew from the King. Therefore to-morrow 
 the men-at-arms shall rest, having great need thereof, — 
 and therefore, gentle Maid, pardon me that I drank not 
 to the pledge which a lady called." 
 
 Then he drank deep. 
 
 The Maid, holding the girl, Madelon, 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 j. 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 
 
i 4 8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 close by rue in the mellay, for to-morrow I shall have 
 much to do, and more than ever yet I did. And to-mor- 
 row 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 as we 
 might. 
 
 These words of the Maid, I, Norman Leslie, heard, and 
 bear record that they are true. 
 
 That night I slept soft, and woke oft, being utterly 
 foredone. In the grey dawn, I awoke, and gave a little 
 cough, when, lo, there came a hot sweet gush into my 
 mouth, and, going to the window, I saw that I was spit- 
 ting 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 or woman, but, drinking a long 
 draught of very cold water, I spat some deal more, and 
 then it staunched, 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 lay here and there, 
 that had been stripped of their armour, and were now 
 smirched with dust, a thing unseemly. I put it to 
 myself that I was engaged, if ever man was, in a 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 149 
 
 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 are 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 Pit- 
 cullo, old wanderings by Eden banks, old kindness, and 
 old quarrels, and I seemed to see a vision of a great tree, 
 growing alone out of a little mound, by my father's door, 
 where Robin and I would play "Willy 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 Eutherford 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 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 slantwise down the streets ; out of the great 
 shadow of the minster, came the bells ringing for war. 
 The armed townsfolk thronged the ways, and one man, 
 
ISO 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 old and ill-clad, brought to the Maid a great fish which 
 he had caught over-night in the Loire. Our host prayed 
 her to wait till it should be cooked, that she might break- 
 fast 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 leap- 
 ing 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 * pris- 
 oner 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 Ave all mounted, and rode down to the 
 Burgundy gate, the women watching us, and casting flow- 
 ers 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 G-aucourt, 
 were drawn up before it. That lord himself, in harness 
 but bareheaded, stood before his men and cried — 
 
 "Hereby is no passage. To-day the captains give 
 command that no force stir from the town." 
 
 "To-day," quoth the Maid, "shall we take Les Tou- 
 relles, and to-morrow not a goddon, save prisoners and 
 slain men, shall be within three leagues of Orleans. Gen- 
 tle sir, bid open the gate, for to-day have I work to do." 
 
 Thereat Gaucourt shook his head, and from the multi- 
 tude 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 — 
 
 * Englishman. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 151 
 
 " 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 could 
 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 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. It was then 
 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 culverins and bows. Even so fought that 
 famed Knight of Brittany, Sir Bertrand de Guesclin. 
 But he was long dead, and whether the Maid (who hon- 
 oured his memory greatly) fought as she did through his 
 example, or by direct teaching of the Saints, I know not. 
 
152 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 palisades of stone, and, 
 within it, the gate of the boulevard. When that was won, 
 and the boulevard taken, men defending it might flee 
 across a drawbridge, over a stream, narrow and deep and 
 swift, into Les Tourelles itself. Here they were safe 
 from them on the side of Orleans, by reason of the 
 broken arch of the bridge. So strong was that tower, 
 that Monseigneur le Due l'Alencon, 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 knight in England, and his men 
 were like himself, being picked and chosen for that post, 
 moreover their back was at the wall, for, the French and 
 Scots once within the boulevard, it was in no wise easy 
 for Talbot to bring the English a rescue, as was seen. 
 
 The battle began with shooting of culverins at the 
 palisade, to weaken it, and it was a marvel to see how the 
 Maid herself laid the guns, as cunningly as her own coun- 
 tryman, 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. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 53 
 
 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 fall- 
 ing and rising, and not one foot he budged till the men 
 of La Hire, with a cry, broke in to back him, and after a 
 little space, swords fell and rose no more, but we saw the 
 banners waving of Xaintrailles and La Hire. Soon the 
 side of the palisade towards us was all down, as if one 
 had swept it flat with his hand, but there stood the 
 earthen wall of the boulevard, beyond the fosse. Then, 
 all orderly, marched forth a band of men in the colours 
 of Florent d'llliers, bearing scaling ladders, and so began 
 the escalade, their friends backing them by shooting of 
 arbalests from behind the remnant of the palisade. A 
 ladder would be set against the wall, and we could see 
 men with shields, or doors, or squares of wood on their 
 heads to fend off stones, swarm up it, and axes flashing 
 on the crest of the wall, and arrows flying, and smoke of 
 guns : but the smoke cleared, and, lo, the ladder was gone, 
 and the three libbards grinned on the flag of England. 
 So went the war, company after company staggering 
 thinned from the fosse, and re-forming behind the cover 
 of the vineyards ; company after company marching forth, 
 fresh and glorious, to fare as their friends had fared. And 
 ever, with each company, went the Maid at their head, and 
 d'Aulon ; she crying that the place was theirs, and now 
 was the hour ! 
 
 But the day went by, till the sun turned in heaven 
 towards evening, and no more was done. The English, 
 in very sooth, shewed 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 
 
! 54 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 shewed them- 
 selves 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, Argyll and the Isles, 
 all gentlemen born. 
 
 " Come on," cried Eandal Eutherford, " come on, men 
 of the Marches, Scotts of the Forest; Elliots, Buther- 
 fords, Armstrongs, and deem that, wheresoever a South- 
 ron slinks behind a stone, there is Carlisle wall." 
 
 The Eough 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 that strange country, nom 
 Bieu, 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 Eandal Eutherford 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 Bieu, 
 what make you here ? Let me lead my Scots," and so, 
 banner 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 banner above her looked down 
 into the English keep. 
 
 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. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 SS 
 
 " 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. 
 
 My back I turned, 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 Butherford, 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, hav- 
 ing found an arbalest, my desire was to have a chance of 
 slaying Brother Thomas, wherefore I kept my eyes on 
 that arctere 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 vineyard 
 where the Maid lay, and there I met the good Father 
 Pasquerel, that was her confessor. He told me that, as 
 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-plate, 
 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 
 
I5 6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 soft green grasses, and 
 the white and blue flowers. But it was Pasquerel's desire 
 to let ferry her across secretly to Orleans. This was 
 an ill hearing for me, but 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 back among her kine, or in the greasy kitchen ? 
 We would cry back, and, for my own part, I bade them 
 seek the kitchen as pock-puddings, and belly-gods, and 
 that I cried in their own tongue, while they to my great 
 amaze, called me " 'prentice boy," and "jackanapes." 
 Herein I saw the craft and devilish enmity of Brother 
 Thomas, and well I guessed that he had gotten news of 
 me, but his face I saw not. 
 
 But ill names break no bones, and arrows from under 
 cover wrought slight scathe, so one last charge the Bas- 
 tard 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 
 gathered in counsel. Of this I conceived the worse 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 157 
 
 concourse of townsfolk I saw on the bridge, beside the 
 broken arch, and by the boulevard of 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 all the grass near 
 him happily enough, I found, and brought to her, and so, 
 with some ado, she mounted, and rode at a foot's pace to 
 the little crowd of captains. 
 
 "Maiden, ma mie" said the Bastard, "glad I am to 
 see you able to mount. We have taken counsel to with- 
 draw 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 
 a new woman, her face bright and smiling, her cheeks 
 like the dawn, and so beautiful that we marvelled on her 
 with reverence, as if we had seen an angel. 
 
 " 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 
 
x 5 8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 English. Even at that moment, he had given it to a 
 certain Basque, a very brave man, for he himself was 
 out-worn with its weight. And he had challenged the 
 Basque to do a vaillance, or boastful deed of arms, as 
 yesterday I and the Spaniard had done. So d'Aulon 
 leaped into the fosse, his shield up, defying the English, 
 but the Basque did not follow, for the Maid, seeing her 
 banner in the hands of a man whom she knew not, laid 
 hold of it, crying, Ha, mon estandart ! mon estandart ! 
 
 There, as they struggled for it, the Basque being 
 minded to follow d'Aulon to the wall foot, the banner 
 wildly waved, and all men saw it, and rallied, and flocked 
 amain to the rescue. 
 
 "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 furiously went they, that they 
 won the wall crest, and leaped within the fort. Then 
 the more part of the English, adread, as I think, at the 
 sight of the Maid whom they had deemed slain, fled 
 madly over the drawbridge, into Les Tourelles. 
 
 Then standing on the wall-crest, whither I had climbed, 
 I beheld strange sights. First, through the dimness of 
 the dusk, I saw a man armed, walking as does a rope- 
 dancer, balancing himself with his spear, across the 
 empty air, for so it seemed above the broken arch of the 
 bridge. This appeared in very sooth, to be a miracle, 
 but, gazing longer, I saw that a great beam had been 
 laid by them of Orleans, to span the gap, and how other 
 beams were being set, and many men, bearing torches, 
 were following that good knight, Nicole Giresme, who 
 
A MONK "OF FIFE i 59 
 
 first shewed 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, whereby 
 the English fled, was moored a great black barge, its 
 stem and stern shewing 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 knight, 
 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. Behind him rang the 
 shouts of them who had crossed the broken arch by the 
 beam, but he never turned his head ; 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 bridge 
 began to burn. 
 
 On this the Maid ran forth, and cried to him — 
 
 "Kends-toi, rends-toi ! Yield thee, Olacidas, 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 — 
 
 " Ah, Glacidas, thou didst call me ribaulde, but I have 
 sorrow for thy soul. Ah, yield thee, yield thee to ran- 
 
160 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 som," and the tears ran down her cheeks, as if a saint 
 were praying for a sonl in peril. 
 
 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, 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, look- 
 ing all around her on the faces of the French. 
 
 A mad thought leaped up in my mind. 
 
 " Unharness ! " I cried ; and one who stood by me 
 undid the clasps of my light jaseran. I saw a head un- 
 helmeted, 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 knight as Glasdale, and then I threw my hands 
 up to dive, and leaped head foremost 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 mailed hand was thrown 
 up before me, the glinting fingers gripping at empty air. 
 I caught the hand, swimming strongly with the current, 
 for so the man could not clutch at me ; and if a drown- 
 ing man can be held apart, it is no great skill to save 
 him. In this art I was not unlearned, and once had 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 161 
 
 even saved two men from a wrecked barque in the long 
 surf of St. Andrews Bay. But 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, though 
 hardly, and drew my man within the backwater. He 
 lay like a log, his face in the stream. Pushing him be- 
 fore me, I rounded the horn, and, with much ado, 
 dragged him up to a sloping, gravelly beach. 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 
 knew clearly nothing more, but felt a hand on my 
 face. 
 
 M 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE WAS ABSOLVED BY BROTHER 
 THOMAS 
 
 They 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 certain 
 of 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 litter to our lodg- 
 ings, 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 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 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 
 
 162 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 163 
 
 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, 
 " 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 re- 
 warded 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 be- 
 neath 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 promised to 
 bring me acquainted with that daughter of God, ay, and 
 he hath given to me, unworthy as I am, a kerchief which 
 has touched her wonder-working hands. Almost I believe 
 that it will heal thee by miracle, if the Saints are pleased 
 to grant it." 
 
 Herewith she drew a kerchief across my lips, and I 
 began, being most eager to instruct her innocence as to 
 this accursed man, — 
 
1 64 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 " Lady ! " but alas no miracle was wrought for a sinner 
 like me. Howbeit I am inclined to hold that the ker- 
 chief 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 staunched 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 Eng- 
 lish 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 can'st 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 horror of fear as fell on me 
 now, helpless and dumb, a sheep given over to the slaugh- 
 ter, in that dark chamber that was wondrous lown, # alone 
 with my deadly foe. 
 
 Never had any man more cause for dread, for I was 
 weak, and to resist him was death ; I was speechless and 
 could utter no voice that the people in the house might 
 hear. As for mine enemy, he had always loathed and 
 scorned me, he had a long account of vengeance to settle 
 with me ; and if (which was not to be thought of) he was 
 minded to spare one that had saved his life, yet, for his 
 own safety, he dared not. He had beguiled the Maid 
 with his false tongue, and his face, seen only for a 
 moment in the taking of St. Loup, she had forgotten. 
 But he knew that I would disclose all the truth, so soon 
 as the Maid returned, wherefore he was bound to destroy 
 * Heavy and still. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 165 
 
 me. And this he would assuredly do with every mock- 
 ery, 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 man- 
 kind 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 on 
 avenging on all folk, or whether, as I deem likely, he 
 was the actual emissary of Satan, as the Maid was of the 
 Saints, I know not, and, as I lay there, had no wits left 
 to consider of it. Only I knew that no more unavailing 
 victim than I was ever so utterly in the power of a foe 
 so deadly and terrible. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 narrow wolf's 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, as 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. 
 
166 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 " 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 again, grinning like a dog. 
 
 " There 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. Neverthe- 
 less, I am minded to put my teeth in it," and he bared 
 his long sharp yellow dog's fangs at me, smiling like a 
 hungry hound. " My sick brother," he went on, " both 
 as one that has some science of leech craft, and as thy 
 ghostly counsellor, it is my duty to warn thee that thou 
 art now very near thine end. Nay, let me feel thy pulse," 
 and, seizing my left wrist, he grasped it lightly in his iron 
 fingers. 
 
 " Now, ere I administer to thee thy due, as a Christian 
 man, let me hear thy parting confession. But, alas, as 
 the blessed Maid too truly warned thee, thou must not 
 open thy poor lips in speech. There is death in a word ! 
 Write then, write the story of thy sinful life, that I may 
 give thee absolution." 
 
 So saying, he opened the shutter, and carefully set the 
 paper and ink horn before me, putting the pen in my 
 fingers. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 167 
 
 "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 ; — 
 
 " ' Do attest on my hope of salvation,' " — 
 
 And I wrote ; — 
 
 " ' 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,' " — 
 
 "'Has been most truly and righteously accused by 
 me,' " 
 
 I wrote ; — 
 
 " l 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, all which I maintain, as may God 
 pardon my sins,' " — 
 
 I wrote ; — 
 
 " ' 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, four- 
 teen hundred and twenty-nine. 
 
 "A very laudable confession," quoth Brother Thomas, 
 " would that all the sinners whom I have absolved, as I 
 
1 68 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 
 am myself no clerk, and thou mayst have beguiled me 
 by inditing other matter than I have put into thy lying 
 mouth. Still, where the safety of a soul is concerned, 
 a few hours, more or less, of this vain, perishable life 
 weigh but as dust in the balance." 
 
 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. 
 
 "Now read," he whispered, heaving up the crucifix 
 above me. And, as he lifted it, a bright blade, strong, 
 narrow, and sharp, leaped out from beneath the feet of 
 Our Lord, and glittered within an inch of my throat. 
 An emblem of this false friar it was, the outside of 
 whom was as that of a holy man, while within he was a 
 murdering sword. 
 
 " Bead ! " 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 — 
 
 "Eead, 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 deceiv- 
 ing 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 espe- 
 cially desire Madame Jeanne, la Pucelle, and all French- 
 men and Scots loyal to our Sovereign Lord, the Dauphin, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 169 
 
 to accept my witness, that Brother Thomas of the Order 
 of St. Francis, called Noiroufle while of the world, has 
 been most falsely and treacherously accused by me of 
 divers deeds of black treason, and dealing with our 
 enemies of England, against our Lord the Dauphin, and 
 the Maid, the Sister of the Saints, and of this I heartily 
 repent me, all which I maintain, as may God pardon my 
 sins, on the faith of a sinful and dying man. Signed at 
 Orleans, Norman Leslie, the younger of Pitcullo, this 
 eighth of May, in the year of Our Lord, fourteen hundred 
 and twenty-nine.' " 
 
 When I had ended, he took away his blasphemous 
 dagger point from my throat. 
 
 "Very clerkly read," he spake, "and all runs smooth; 
 methinks myself has been no poor author, were I but a 
 clerk. Hadst thou written other matter, to betray my 
 innocence, thou couldst not remember what I said even 
 word for word, " he added gleefully. 
 
 "Now, I might strangle thee, slowly," and he set his 
 fingers about my throat, I being too weak to do more 
 than clutch at his hand, with a grasp like a babe's. 
 
 "But that leaves black finger-marks, another kind of 
 witness than thine in my favour. Or I might give thee 
 the blade of this blessed crucifix, yet dagger wounds are 
 like lips and have a voice, and blood cries from the 
 ground, says Holy Writ. Pardon my tardiness, my poor 
 brother, but this demands deep thought, and holy offices 
 must not be hurried unseemly." 
 
 He sat now, with his back to me, his hand still on my 
 throat, so deep in thought that he heard not, as did my 
 sharpened ears, a door shut softly, and footfalls 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 
 
i 7 o A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Providence to succour the unworthy 
 Brother Thomas. Once and twice thou hast been a 
 boat to carry me on my way, and to save my useful life. 
 A third time thou mightst well be serviceable, not by 
 thy will, alas, but by God's, my poor brother," and he 
 mockingly caressed my face with his abhorred hand. 
 
 " Still, this must even serve, though I would fain find 
 a more bitter way of 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 case- 
 ment. But it was heavily barred with stanchions 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. 
 
 " Gently, gently," he said. " Disturb not my penitent, 
 who is newly shrived, and about to pass," and, so speak- 
 ing, he withdrew the bolt. 
 
 D'Aulon strode in, dagger in hand, followed by the 
 physician. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 171 
 
 "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 knight, with arms in 
 a sick man's chamber, and loud words to disturb the 
 dying? And wherefore callest thou me 'false priest' ? 
 But an hour agone the Blessed Maid herself brought me 
 hither, to comfort and absolve her follower, to tend 
 him, if he lived, and, if he must die, to give him his 
 dues as a Christian man. And the door was bolted that 
 the penitent might be private with his confessor, for he 
 has a heavy weight to unburden his sinful soul withal." 
 
 " 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 wolf's 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 slander- 
 ous 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 knight, for 
 I have no pleasure in the sin of any man. But, if thou 
 wilt believe him rather than me, even keep thy belief, 
 
1 72 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 and read this written confession of his falsehood. Of 
 free will, with his own hand, my penitent hereby absolves 
 me from all his slanders. As Holy Church enjoins, in 
 the grace of repentance, he also makes restitution of 
 what he had stolen, namely, all my wealth in this 
 world, the good name of a poor and lowly follower of 
 the Blessed Francis. Here is the scroll." 
 
 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. 
 
 " Nom Dieu! this is another story," said d'Aulon, 
 turning the paper about in his hands, and looking 
 doubtfully at me. But I smiled upon him, whereby he 
 was the more perplexed. 
 
 " The ink is hardly dry, and in some places has run 
 and puddled, so that, poor clerk as I am, I can make 
 little of it," and he pored on it in a puzzled sort. 
 
 "Tush, it is beyond my clerkhood," he said at last. 
 "You, Master Saint-Mesmin," turning to the physician, 
 "must interpret this." 
 
 "Willingly, fair knight," said the physician, moving 
 round to the shutter, which he opened, while the cor- 
 delier's eyes glittered, for now there was one man less 
 between him and the half-open door. I nodded to 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 173 
 
 d'Aulon, that he should shut it, but he marked me not, 
 being wholly in amaze at the written scroll of my con- 
 fession. 
 
 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 it in his 
 hand, and smote, aiming at the knight where the gorget 
 joins the vambrace. Though he missed by an inch, yet 
 so terrible was the blow that d'Aulon loosed his grasp on 
 the friar's frock, and 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 
 
i 7 4 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 " Nom Diea!" he stammered, " Nom Dieu, here is 
 business more to my mind and my trade than chasing 
 after mad cordeliers, that stab with crucifixes ! " 
 
 Then coming to my side, he brought water, bathed my 
 face, and did what his art might do for a man in such 
 deathly 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, that had made 
 good his flight over garden walls, and was now skulk- 
 ing, none knew where. D'Aulon would fain have asked 
 me concerning the mystery of the confession, in which 
 Brother Thomas had placed his hope so unhappily, but 
 the physician forbade him to inquire, or me to answer, 
 saying that it was more than my life was worth. But, 
 on d'Aulon's battered armour there was no deeper dint 
 than that dealt by the murderous crucifix. 
 
 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, nor 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 commanded me, when she left Orleans, — 
 the English refusing battle, as 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. But as touching sickness and 
 fever, I have written more than sufficient; as Heaven 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 175 
 
 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 can think 
 of it not without some mirthful triumph. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 HOW SORROW CAME ON NORMAN LESLIE AND JOY THERE- 
 AFTER 
 
 It little concerns any man to know how I slowly recov- 
 ered 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 mulberry tree. In all this weary 
 time I knew little, and for long cared less, as to what 
 went on in the world and the wars. But, so soon as I 
 could speak, it was of Elliot that I devised, with my 
 kind nurse, Madelon Boucher, the young daughter of 
 Jacques Boucher, the Dauphin'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 deem- 
 ing that the case held some relic, she opened it, I know- 
 ing 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. 
 
 "Belike," said Madelon, "that is some holy relic, to 
 176 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 177 
 
 which, maybe, you owe your present recovery. Surely, 
 when you are whole again, you have vowed a pilgrimage 
 to the shrine of the Saint, your friend? " 
 
 Here she smiled at me gaily, for she was a right merry 
 damsel, and a goodly. 
 
 "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, "niethinks, 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 Madelon. "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 said no word, 
 for my part, about her beauty, having noted that he who 
 would be well with one woman does ill to praise another 
 in her presence. 
 
 "Beautiful indeed she is," said Madelon. "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 where- 
 soever the Court might be, for that her father was the 
 King's painter. 
 
 "And you love her very dearly?" 
 
 "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, 
 
 N 
 
i 7 8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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?" 
 
 " All that I have, which is little but my service and 
 good will. But she knows not where I am, nor know I 
 how she fares, which irks me more than all my misfort- 
 unes. 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 forth- 
 with to Eheims, 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." 
 
 "Oh, 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!'* The Dauphin is much con- 
 firmed in his faith by this sign, and has vowed that he 
 will indeed march with the Maid to Eheims, though his 
 enemies hold all that country which lies between. But 
 first she must take the towns which the English hold on 
 Loire side, such as Jargeau. Now on Jargeau, while you 
 lay knowing nothing, the Bastard of Orleans, and Xain- 
 trailles, 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 D»auphin will indeed believe 
 in her and follow her." 
 
 " He is hard of heart to believe, and would that I were 
 where he should be, under her holy banner ; for thereon, 
 * Daughter of God, go on, and I will be thine aid. Go on ! 
 
A MONK OF FIFE tjg 
 
 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 does?" 
 
 "There are many messengers coming and going to 
 Tours, for the Dauphin is gathering force under the 
 Maid, and has sent 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 Madelon 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 Dauphin's 
 treasurer. Then she said that a word from Elliot, not 
 to say the sight of her face, the fairest in the world (a 
 thing beyond hope), would be of more avail, for my 
 healing, than all the Pharaoh powders of the apothe- 
 caries ; which, in very truth, I had never taken, but put 
 them away secretly, as doubting whether such medica- 
 ments, the very dust of a persecuting and idolatrous 
 race, were fit for a Christian to swallow with any hope 
 of 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 entrusted to Colet de 
 Vienne, the royal messenger, the same who rode with 
 the Maid from Yaucouleurs to Chinon, in the beginning 
 
180 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 of her mission, and who, as then, was faring to Tours 
 with letters from Orleans. 
 
 Meanwhile all the town was full of joy, in the early 
 June weather, 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 Madelon sit- 
 ting 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 waved in the long street, and flowers strewed 
 the road, to do honour to our Deliverer. Thus we 
 waited, and presently the sound of music filled the air, 
 with fragrance of incense, for the priests were walking 
 in front, swinging censers, and chanting the Te Deum 
 laudamus. And then came a company of girls strewing 
 flowers, and fair boys blowing on trumpets, and next, on 
 a black horse, in white armour, with a hucque of scarlet 
 broidered with gold, the Blessed Maid herself, unhel- 
 meted, glancing every way with dark happy eyes, while 
 the women ran to touch her armour with their rings, as 
 to a saint, and the men kissed her mailed foot. 
 
 To be alive, and to feel my life returning in a flood of 
 strength and joy, in that warm fragrant air, with the 
 gladness of the multitude pulsing in 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, for to shout Noel with the 
 rest I dared not, because of my infirmity. Now it so 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 181 
 
 fell that, glancing round, 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, 
 Madelon stood up from beside me, with a handful of red 
 roses, which she threw towards her. As it chanced, 
 belike because she was proud to be with one whom the 
 Maid honoured, or to steady herself as she threw, she 
 laid her left hand about my neck, and, so standing, cast 
 her flowers, and then looked, laughing, back into my 
 eyes, with a happy face of joy. The roses missed the 
 Maid, whose horse caracoled at that moment as she went 
 by, but they lit in the lap of a damsel that rode at her 
 rein, on a lyart * palfrey, and she, looking up, I saw the 
 face of Elliot, and Elliot saw me, and saw Madelon lean- 
 ing 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, twisting her neck suddenly to 
 the left, she rode on her way, nor ever looked towards 
 us again. 
 
 "Who may that proud damsel be, and what ails her at 
 my roses?" quoth Madelon, 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 glad- 
 ness of her coming, had marked Madelon as she so inno- 
 cently leaned on me, and laughed to me, and had con- 
 ceived anger against us both, for, of a truth, Madelon was 
 very fair, and of a joyous aspect. Yet, taken so suddenly 
 * Lyart, grey. 
 
1 82 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 as I was, between the extreme of delight, in looking 
 on my lady beyond hope, and the very deep of sorrow 
 that she had so bitterly slighted me, I was yet wary 
 of betraying myself. For the girl beside me had, in all 
 honest and maidenly service that woman may do for 
 man, been kinder to me than a sister, and no thought or 
 word of earthly love had ever passed between us. That 
 she should wot of Elliot's anger, and of its cause, and so 
 hold my lady lightly, ay, and triumph over her in her 
 heart (as is the nature of 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 1 
 deemed that proud damsel was the lady of my love, 
 whom, in verity, she most strangely favours, so that you 
 might deem 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." 
 
 Madelon looked at me steadily, and flushed red, but 
 even then a man 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 great 
 laugh, and rode onwards. He was my master, and, as 
 xay eyes followed him, Madelon spoke. 
 
 " A-nd who is that great Scot, with his Scot's twang of 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 183 
 
 the tongue, who called you ' son ' ? By the Mass, she 
 ivas your lady, and yonder wight is her father, of whom 
 you have spoken to me more than once ; " for, indeed, I 
 had told her all the story of my loves. 
 
 Then I was confused, for I could no longer deny the 
 truth, and, not having one word to say, I sighed from 
 my heart. 
 
 "Oh, faint-spirited man-at-arms," cried Madelon, 
 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 for- 
 give 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 shewn 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 all are alike, 
 hearts of wolves when we love! Hast thou never 
 marked a cat that had kittens, or a bracket 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 
 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 Made- 
 
1 84 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Ion, " for they are true, and we are, at best, pretty fools, 
 and God made 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 there 
 straightway, in a litter? Her heart may be softened 
 when she sees that I cannot walk, or mount a horse?" 
 
 "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, I say, 
 I turned from her angrily as if I would leave the balcony. 
 
 " 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' Bloody Heart, the Crescent Moon of Har- 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 185 
 
 den, the Napiers' sheaf of spears, the blazons of Lind- 
 says and Leslies, Homes and Hepburns, and Stuarts. 
 It was a sight to put life in 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. 
 
 "Would I forgive you? " said Madelon, 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 
 that, but my lady is other than you, and pitiful. Did 
 she not come all these leagues at a word from me, hear- 
 ing 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 
 
1 86 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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, and Madelon welcomed him very de- 
 murely, and so left us, saying that she must go about 
 her household business, but as she departed she cast a 
 look back at me, making a moue, as the French say, 
 with her red lips. 
 
 "Well, my son," cried my master, taking my hand. 
 "Why so pale? Sure thou hast had a sore bout, but 
 thou art mending." 
 
 I could but stammer my lady's name. " Elliot, shall 
 I see her soon?" 
 
 He scratched his rough head, and pulled his russet 
 beard, and so laughed shamefacedly. 
 
 "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 com- 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 187 
 
 mand 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 all the long pounding. But, 
 when we had come to our lodging, and I was now start- 
 ing off to greet you, Elliot made no motion of coining. 
 Nay, when I bade her make haste, she said that haste 
 there was none, and when I, marvelling, asked ( Where- 
 fore?' answered that she was loth to spoil good com- 
 pany, 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 Mearns," 
 said my master, looking up where the evening was red 
 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 on each other, while I could have wept for 
 very helpless anger. 
 
 "I have it, I think," said he at last. 
 
 " The Maid is very busy, as needs must be, gathering 
 guns and food for her siege of Jargeau. But it is not 
 
1 88 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 fitting that she should visit Orleans without seeing you, 
 nor would she wish to be so negligent. But 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 
 conies into the chamber, and then leave all to you, and 
 to her, and to the Maid. Eor 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 of other matters, and got 
 from me the story of my great peril at the hands of 
 Brother Thomas. He laughed at the manner of my out- 
 witting 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, re- 
 flecting that I could no longer hold her for a thing all 
 perfect, and almost without touch of mortal infirmity. 
 Xay, 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 re- 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 189 
 
 newal," as the brief tempests of April bring in the glad- 
 ness 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 Contes, most richly attired, but yet half asleep, 
 grumbling and rubbing his eyes. 
 
 " My mistress bids you come with me, instantly," he 
 said, when we had saluted each other, a 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 is it 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 thou recover the quicker, I trust to give you 
 wine to drink in Paris." 
 
 She herself dipped a crust in wine and water, and pres- 
 ently bidding her confessor, Pasquerel, wait for her in 
 the little oratory, she asked me how I did, and told me 
 what fear she had been in for me, as touching Brother 
 Thomas, when she learned who he was, yet herself 
 could not return from the field to help me. 
 
 " But now," said she, smiling with a ravishing sweet- 
 
igo A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 ness, " I hear you are in far greater peril, from a foe 
 much, harder and more cruel, my sister, Elliot. Ah, how 
 you lovers put yourselves in jeopardy, and take me from 
 my trade of war, to play the peace-maker! 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 a strange forget- 
 fulness of my private pain, as of a little thing, and a 
 great 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 the trance 
 which possessed her. She passed her hands over her 
 face, with a long sigh; she knelt down rapidly, and 
 crossed herself, making an obeisance. Then she cried, 
 " Enter ! " and, ere I could speak, she had passed into 
 the oratory, and I was alone with Elliot. 
 
 And Elliot gave one little 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. 
 " Oh, say hard words to me, and punish me, my love." 
 
 But I had no words to say, only I fell back into a great 
 chair for very weakness, holding my lady in my arms. 
 
 And so, with words few enough, but great delight, the 
 
A MONK OF FIFE i 9 i 
 
 minutes went past, till she lifted her wet face, and her 
 fragrant hair, and so, between laughing and crying, 
 studied on my countenance, and caressed me, touching 
 my thin cheek, and so wept and laughed again. 
 
 " I was mad," she whispered; "it seemed as if a devil 
 entered into me. But she spoke to me, and cast him out, 
 and she bade me repent." 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " What mean you ? " I asked, wondering. 
 
 " 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 pass 
 in such an encounter. But even then, one touched me on 
 the shoulder from behind, and the Maid herself stood 
 beside us. 
 
 "Oh, joy!" she said. "My peace-making 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. 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 
 
i 9 2 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 thee back again ; so farewell ! " and so saying she stooped 
 and kissed Elliot, who leaped up, and caught the Maid in 
 her arms, and so they embraced, and parted for that time, 
 Elliot weeping to lose her, and at the thought of the 
 dangers of war. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 HOW ELLIOT LOST HER JACKANAPES 
 
 The Maid's confessor, Pasquerel, stood in the chamber 
 where we had met, with his eyes bent on the ground so 
 that Elliot and I had no more free speech at that time. 
 Therefore I said farewell, not daring to ask of her when 
 her mind was to visit my hosts, and, indeed, my trust 
 was that she might leave this undone, lest new cause of 
 sorrow should arise. Thus we parted, with very courtly 
 leave-taking, the priest regarding us in his manner, and 
 I was carried in the litter through the streets that had 
 been so quiet when I came forth in the morning, but 
 now they were full of men and of noise. Herds of cattle 
 were being driven, for the food of the army marching 
 against Jargeau ; there were trains of carts full of victual, 
 and the citizens having lent the Maid their great pieces 
 of ordnance, the bombard called The Shepherdess, and 
 the gun Montargis, these were being dragged along by 
 clamorous companies of apprentices, and there were 
 waggons charged with powder, and stone balls, and chests 
 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. 
 
 o 193 
 
i 9 4 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 " 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 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 powders of the apothecary." 
 
 " Then here is to our next merry meeting," he cried. 
 
 " Under Paris walls ! " 
 
 With that the Scots gave a shout, and, some of them 
 crowding round to press my hand, then bade me be of 
 good cheer, and all went onward, singing in the tune of 
 Hey, tuttie tattle, that the piper played when we broke 
 the English at Bannockburn. 
 
 So I was borne back to the house of Jacques Boucher, 
 and, in the sunny court-yard, there stood Madelon, look- 
 ing 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. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 195 
 
 " You are early astir for a sick man," she said. " Have 
 you been on pilgrimage, or whither have you been far- 
 ing ? " 
 
 "The Maid sent for me, right early, for to-day she rides 
 to Jargeau, and to you she sends a message of her love," 
 — as indeed she had done, — " but for the great stress 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 forgiven ! 
 And you go south this very day, is it not so ? " 
 
 " 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 but 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. 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 uppermost in my mind), but also 
 concerning the strange words of the Maid, that I alone 
 should be with her when all forsook her and fled. How 
 might this be, and was she not to be ever victorious, and 
 drive the English forth of France ? To my thinking the 
 Maid dwelt ever in two worlds, with her brethren of 
 Paradise, and again with sinful men. And I have often 
 considered that she did not always remember, in this 
 common life, what had befallen her, and what she knew, 
 
196 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Madelon 
 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 lap-wing. 
 
 " They are coming down the street, looking every way 
 for our house, your lady and her father," she said, put- 
 ting 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 Madelon 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, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 197 
 
 as Madelon had said, and iny lady had departed in anger, 
 with her father, and I was all undone. Yet I dared not 
 go to seek them in the house, not knowing how matters 
 were passing, and whether I should do good or harm. So 
 I waited, and at length Madelon came forth alone. Now 
 she walked slowly, her eyes bent on the ground, and as 
 she drew near, I saw that they were red, and I guessed 
 that she had been weeping. So I gave up all for lost, 
 and my heart turned to water within me. 
 
 " I am sent to bid you come in," she said gravely. 
 
 " What has passed ? " I cried. " For the Saints' sake, 
 tell me all!" 
 
 " This has passed, that I have seen such a lady as I 
 never deemed 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 
 so abased myself as 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. 
 
 " Speak unkind words ? Oh, I remember my foolish 
 talk, how I said that she never would forgive me while 
 the world stands. Nay, while her father was with mine, 
 and with my mother, thanking them for what they did 
 for you, she led me apart to devise with me, and I took 
 her to my chamber, and there, with tears in her eyes, and 
 in the sweetest manner, she prayed me to pardon her for 
 that she had been mad, she said, 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 
 
I9 8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 yourself in your fever, aud how never was so faithful a 
 lover. Nay, I bid you be glad, for I never deemed that 
 any woman living on earth would so repent and so con- 
 fess herself to another where she herself had first been 
 wroth, but would blame all the world rather, and herself 
 — never. So we women are not all alike, as I thought, for 
 I would never 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. 
 Oh, 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 
 Madelon 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 con- 
 fused, and blushing, Madelon bustled about, bringing 
 wine and meat, and waiting upon all of us, and on her 
 father and mother at table. A merry dinner it was, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 199 
 
 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 down 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 Madelon 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 Madelon 
 was wedding a young knight of the Due d'Alencon's, with 
 whom, as I hear, she dwelt happily in Normandy, and 
 still, for all I know, dwells there in peace. As I deem 
 she kept her lord in a merry life, yet in great order and 
 obedience. Had I known of this marriage in time I 
 would fain have sent Madelon some memorial of my grati- 
 tude, but soon I was lying where gold and jewels were in 
 no manner to be won. 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 leaves. But her father stood 
 by me, asking many questions concerning the siege, and 
 gaping at the half-mended arch of the bridge, where 
 through we sailed, and at the blackened walls of Les 
 
200 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Tourelles, and all the ruin that war had wrought. But 
 as 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 of that 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 swing- 
 ing 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 river-side. 
 
 The wide stream carried many a boat, and shone with 
 sails white and crimson and brown; the boatmen sang, 
 or hailed each other from afar ; there was much traffic, 
 stores being carried from Blois to the army. Some mile 
 or twain above Beaugency we were forced to land, and, 
 I being borne in a litter, we took a cross-path away from 
 the stream, joining it again two miles below Beaugency, 
 because the English held that town, though not for long. 
 The sun had set, yet left all his gold shining on the 
 water when we entered Blois, and there rested at a hostel 
 for the night. Next day, one of the goodliest of my life, 
 so soft and clear and warm it was, yet with a cool wind 
 on the water, we voyaged to Tours, and now Elliot was 
 glad enough, and 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 201 
 
 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 in the wood, 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 Wamf ray, 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 playfellow, 
 climbing and chattering, and holding out his little bowl 
 for a comfit." 
 
 " 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 
 
202 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 a puzzle tc 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, now, nothing would jump with her humour but 
 to speaking of her jackanapes, and how he would come 
 louting and leaping to welcome her, and forsake her 
 old kinswoman, who had followed with them to Tours. 
 And she had much to report concerning his new tricks, 
 how he would leap over a rod for the Dauphin or the 
 Maid ; but not, if adjured in the name of the English 
 King or the Duke of Burgundy. Also, if you held him, 
 he would make pretence to bite any that you called 
 Englishman or false Frenchman. Moreover, he had now 
 been taught to fetch and carry, and would climb into 
 Elliot's window from the garden, and bring her little 
 basket of silks, or whatsoever she desired, or carry it 
 thither, as he was commanded. 
 
 " 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 203 
 
 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 jacka- 
 napes. 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 jacka- 
 napes. 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 Tremouille, 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 
 
204 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 
 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 that had no soul to be saved. 
 But a faithful loving prayer is not unavailing or unheard 
 of Him who made the beasts as well as He made us, for 
 whose sin, or the sin of our Father Adam, they now suf- 
 fer, silently. And the answer to this prayer came 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 that shall never be for- 
 gotten while France is France. 
 
 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 inarched against Beaugency, and at midnight 
 of June the seventeenth the English made terms, that 
 they might go forth with their lives, but without bag- 
 gage, save their harness, their horses, and 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 205 
 
 for Jargeau, but they came too late, and then they rode 
 to Meim, and would have assailed the French, in the 
 bridge fort, but even then they heard how Beaugency 
 had yielded to La Pucelle, and how the garrison was 
 departed into Normandy, like pilgrims, without swords, 
 and staff in hand. Thus all the Loire, and the water way, 
 was in the power of France. Wherefore the English 
 marched off through the country called La Beauce, which 
 then lay desert and overgrown with wild wood, by rea- 
 son of the war. And there, in a place named Coyne, 
 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 thanking God, and the Blessed 
 Virgin, and all the Saints, for such great signs and mar- 
 vels 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 of Tours, 
 and as we that gathered round heard of some fresh vic- 
 tory, you may consider whether we rejoiced, feasted, 
 filled the churches with our thanksgivings, and believed 
 that, in few weeks, there would be no living Englishman 
 on French soil. And of all that were glad, my lady was 
 
206 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 the happiest, for she had believed in the Maid from the 
 very beginning, when her father mocked. And a hard 
 life she now led him, with her sallies, day by day, as 
 more and ever more glad tidings were brought, and we 
 could hear Elliot singing through the house. 
 
 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 Beau- 
 gency. As she so swayed and moved, dancing daintily, 
 came a blast of a trumpet, and a gay peal from the Min- 
 ster 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 in open field. Thereon the 
 whole multitude fell a-dancing, and I, for all my malady, 
 was fain to dance with them, but Elliot led me home, 
 her head high, and blue rays darting from her eyes. 
 From that day, my life seemed to come back to me and I 
 was no longer the sick man. So the weeks went by, in 
 all delight, my master working hard, and I helping him 
 in my degree, for new banners would be wanted when 
 the Dauphin went for his sacring to his good town of 
 Rheims. As we all deemed, this could no longer be de- 
 layed, 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. 
 
CHAPTEE XVI 
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE RODE TO THE WAR AGAIN 
 
 "The hearts of kings are in His hand," says Holy 
 Scripture, and it is of necessity to be believed that the 
 hearts of kings, in an especial sense, are wisely gov- 
 erned. Yet, for the blindness of our sinful souls, we 
 often may not see, nor by deep consideration find out, 
 the causes wherefore kings often act otherwise, and, as 
 we might deem, less worthily than common men. For 
 it is a truth and must be told, that neither before he 
 was anointed with the blessed oil from the holy vessel, 
 or ampulla, which the Angel brought to St. Eemigius, 
 nor even after that anointing (which is more strange), 
 did Charles VII., king of France, bear him kingly as 
 regards the Maiden. Nay, I have many a time thought 
 with sorrow that if Xaintrailles, or La Hire, ay, or any 
 of the meanest esquire in all our army, had been born 
 Dauphin of France, 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 Rheims, 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 trumpet of 
 Israel. 
 
 This is no foolish fancy of an old man dreaming in 
 a cloister about what might have been. For the regent 
 
 207 
 
208 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 him- 
 self to Rouen, for he had now no force of men to guard 
 the walls of Paris. Our Dauphin had but to mount 
 and ride, and all would have been his at one blow, ay, 
 or without a blow. The Maid, as we daily heard, kept 
 praying him, even with tears, to do no more than this ; 
 and from every side came in all men, free and noble, 
 ready to serve at their own charges. The poorest gen- 
 tleman who had lost all in the troubles, and might not 
 even keep a horse to ride, were of good will to march 
 as common foot soldiers. 
 
 But while all France called on her king, he was dwell- 
 ing at Sully, in the castle of La Tremouille, a man who 
 had a foot in either camp, so that neither English or 
 Burgundians had ever raided on his rich lands, when 
 these lay in their power. Though he had played the 
 man at Azincour, he was now waxed fat and slothful, 
 also he had great possessions, and the Dauphin owed 
 him much money. It was in no manner his desire 
 that the Dauphin should grow to be a free king and 
 powerful, by help of Heaven and the Maid, for as now, 
 he being the Dauphin's old tutor, he kept him even under 
 his governance. There were others about the Dauphin, 
 as the Sieur de Gaucourt, and the Archbishop of Rheims, 
 who distrusted the Maid, and who wished first to make 
 peace with the Duke of Burgundy, and then by his aid, 
 to bring the English to terms. And this was the ruin 
 of all, for between our Dauphin and the Duke lay a 
 stream not to be forded, namely the blood of the Duke's 
 father, slain on the bridge of Montereau. So, what with 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 209 
 
 the self-seeking, and sloth, and jealousy of La Tre- 
 mouille, what with the worldly policy of the Archbishop 
 of Rheims, 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, two or three, and needs but to ride forward and 
 win all his kingdom, he shall be turned back by the little 
 faith of his counsellors ! Never may such a thing befall 
 a prince of Scotland ! * 
 
 Concerning these matters of state, as may be believed, 
 we devised much at Tours, while messengers were com- 
 ing and going, and long weary councils were being held 
 at Sully, and at Gien. D'AlenQon, we got news, was all 
 for striking a blow yet more bold than the march to 
 Rheims, 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 in- 
 clined to waste time in besieging La Charite, and other 
 little towns on Loire-side. But her Voices had bidden 
 the Maid, from the first, to carry the Dauphin to Rheims, 
 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 
 
 * Eheu ! 
 p 
 
2io A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 the King and the court followed her perforce, with a 
 great army of twelve thousand men. Thenceforth there 
 came news to us every day to Tours, and all the news 
 was good. Town after town opened its gates at the sum- 
 mons 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, bid- 
 ding my master come straightway to Kheims 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 kins- 
 woman, to obey her in all things, he set off on horseback 
 with John Ramsay. But for myself, I was to lodge, 
 while he was at Rheims, with a worthy woman of the 
 town, for the avoiding of evil tongues, and very tardily 
 the time passed with me, for that I might not be, as 
 before, for ever 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, praying to the Saints for 
 the Dauphin and the Maid; and for her father, that he 
 might come and go safely on his journey. ISTor 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, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 2ii 
 
 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 a tankard in his 
 hand, and his wallets lying about him on the floor. Elliot 
 was, therefore, fain not to be embracing him, but rather 
 to carve for him, and serve in the best manner, that he 
 might sup the quicker, and tell us all his tale. This he 
 did at last, Elliot sitting on his knee, with her arm about 
 his neck. But as touches the sacring, how it was done, 
 though many of the Peers of France were not there to 
 see, and how noble were the manners of the King and the 
 Maid, who stood there with her banner, and of • the only 
 reward which she would take, namely, that her towns- 
 folk should live free of tax and corvee, 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 Rheims Cathedral, where it is to this day ; the 
 Maid on horseback beckoning forwards the King, the Scots 
 archers beside him in the most honourable place, as was 
 their lawful due, and behind all, the father of the Maid 
 entering Eheims 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 taber- 
 nacles of boughs, in the great place of Eheims, and there 
 
212 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 was more singing that night than sleeping. But my mas- 
 ter had lain at the hostelry called V Asm 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 country side as were gathered at Eheims. 
 
 " And, Jeannot, do you fear nothing ? " one of them 
 asked her, who had known her from a child. 
 
 "I fear nothing but treason," my master heard her 
 reply, a word that afterwards we had too good reason 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 — " 
 
 "In mind of what?" 
 
 " Of nought ; faith I remember not what I was going 
 to say, for I am well weary." 
 
 " But Paris," I asked, " when inarch we on Paris ? " 
 
 My master's face clouded. "They should have set 
 forth for Paris the very day after the sacring, which 
 was the seventeenth of July. But envoys had come in 
 from the Duke of Burgundy, and there were parleys 
 with them, as touching peace. Now peace will never be 
 won, save at the point of the lance. But a truce of a 
 fortnight has been made with Burgundy, and then he is 
 to give up Paris to the King. Yet, ere a fortnight be 
 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 St. Marcoul, forsooth, seeing that 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 213 
 
 unless he goes there to do his devotions, he may not 
 touch sick folk and heal the crewels.* 
 
 " 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 St. Marcoul and 
 the crewels afterwards, but anything to waste time, 
 and keep out of the brunt of battle," here he struck his 
 hand on the table so that the vessels leaped. 
 
 " I greatly 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 Eheims, I saw her 
 jackanapes, doing his tricks, and when he came round to 
 me, questing with his bowl, the little beast knew me, and 
 jumped up into my arms, and wailed as if he had been 
 a Christian. Then I was for keeping him, but I was set 
 on by three or four stout knaves, and I being alone, and 
 the crowd taking their part, I thought it not well to 
 draw sword, and so break the King's peace that had just 
 then begun to be King. But my heart was sore for the 
 poor creature, and, in very truth, I bring back no light 
 
 *The King's Evil, ecrouelles, scrofula. 
 
214 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 heart, save to see you twain again, for I fear me that the 
 worst of the darg * 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 Burgundy, and thus they 
 spun out the time, till on July the twenty-fifth, a strong 
 army of Englishmen had entered Paris. Whether their 
 hearts were high may not be known, but on their ban- 
 ner 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 loath 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. Then came marchings, 
 this way and that, all about the Isle of France, Bedford 
 leaving Paris to fight the King, and then refusing battle, 
 though the Maid rode up to the English palisades, and 
 smote them with her sword, defying the English to come 
 out, if they were men. So the English betook them back 
 to Paris, after certain light skirmishes only. Meanwhile 
 some of his good towns that had been in the hands of 
 
 * Darg, day's work. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 215 
 
 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 
 re-taken 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. 
 
 Tidings of these parleys, and marches, and surrenders 
 of cities came to us at Tours, the King sending letters to 
 his good towns by messengers. One of these, the very 
 Thomas Scott of whom I have before spoken, a man from 
 Eankelburn, in Ettrick Eorest, brought a letter for me, 
 which was from Randal Rutherford. 
 
 " 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 1 
 sent my harness, for that I would sleep there that night. 
 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, must to Cupar," and there- 
 with he turned and walked out and about in the garden. 
 
 We were alone, and now was the hardest of my work 
 
216 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 fore- 
 seeing 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 " She did say that you should come back unharmed of 
 sword," whispered Elliot, looking for what comfort she 
 might. " But oh, 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. 
 
 " 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 coining a little down, at last," she 
 said, smiling faintly, and then gave a short sob, and her 
 lips met mine, and our very souls met; but even then, 
 we heard my master's step 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 mas- 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 217 
 
 ter. " Faith, I remember as if it were to-day, how I set 
 forth for Verneuil; a long time I was gone, and came 
 back a maimed man. But it is fortune of war ! The 
 Saints have you in their keeping, my son, and chiefly 
 St. Andrew. Come back soon and whole, and rich, for 
 meseems, if I lose one of you, I am to lose both." 
 
 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 take Paris 
 by an onslaught. 
 
 "For in no other manner can we take it," said he, 
 "save, indeed, by miracle. For they are richly provis- 
 ioned, 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' hooves in the court-yard. So I leaped up, though 
 it was scarce daylight, and we rode northwards, before 
 the full coming of the dawn. Here I must needs write 
 
2i 8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 of a shameful thing, which I knew not then, or I would 
 have ridden with a heavier heart, but I was told con- 
 cerning the matter many years after, by Messire Enguer- 
 rand de Monstrelet, 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. 
 
 "You were all sold when you marched against Paris 
 town. For the Maid, with d'Alenqon, rode from Com- 
 piegne 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 
 Rheims entered the town, and there he met the ambas- 
 sadors 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? Manifestly the French King never meant to put 
 forth the strength of his army in helping the Maid. 
 There was to be truce between Prance and Burgundy, 
 but none between Burgundy and England and the Maid." 
 
 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. 
 
CHAPTEE XVII 
 
 HOW A HUNDRED SCOTS WENT ABOUT TO TAKE PARIS 
 
 TOWN 
 
 We rode northwards first, through lands that I had 
 travelled before to Orleans, and so into a country then 
 strange to me, passing by way of Lagny, with intent to 
 go to Senlis, where we deemed the King lay. The whole 
 region being near Paris, and close under the English 
 power, was rich and peaceful of aspect, the corn being 
 already reaped, and standing in sheaves about the fields, 
 whether to feed Englishmen or Frenchmen none could 
 tell. For the land was in a kind of hush, in expectancy 
 and fear, no man knowing how things should fall out 
 at Paris. Natheless the Prior of Lagny, within that 
 very week wherein we came, had gone to St. Denis, 
 and yielded his good town into the hands of the Due 
 d'Alencpn for the King. And the fair Duke had sent 
 thither Messire Ambrose de Lore, 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 standing saddled and bridled for 
 Thomas Scott and me at every stage, but the beast 
 which I had hired I sent back from the first stage to 
 
 219 
 
220 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 mine host of the Hanging Sword. Not without labour 
 I climbed the stairs to the chamber of Messire Ambrose, 
 who bade us sit down, and called for wine to be given 
 us, whereof Thomas Scott drank well, but I dared take 
 none, lest my legs should wholly refuse their office. 
 
 When Thomas had told how all the country we had 
 travelled lay at the King's peace, and how our purpose 
 was to ride to the King at Senlis, he 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 ? Alen^on ride forth with her from Compiegne, " to see 
 Paris closer than yet she had seen it." The Due d'Alen- 
 cpn, 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. 
 
 " Nom Dieu!" said one of those who spoke with us. 
 "You might deem that our King is nowise pressed to 
 see the place where his forefathers lie. For d'Alencon 
 is riding now and again to Senlis, to rouse the King, 
 and make him march to St. Denis with the army, that 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 221 
 
 the assault may be given. But if they were bidding him 
 to his own funeral, instead of to a gentle passage of arms, 
 he could not make more excuses. There are skirmishes 
 under Paris walls and at the gates, day by day, and the 
 Maid rides here and there, considering of the best place 
 for the onslaught. But the King tarries, and without 
 him and the army they can venture on no great valiance. 
 Nevertheless, come he must, if they bring him bound 
 in a cart. Wherefore, if you want your part in what is 
 toward, you do well to make no long tarrying here." 
 
 I was of the same mind, and as the King was shortly 
 to be looked for at St. Denis, we rode thither early next 
 morning, with what speed we might. On our left, like 
 a cloud, was the smoke of Paris, making me understand 
 what a great city it was, much greater than Orleans. 
 Before us, far away, were the tall towers of the chapel 
 of St. Denis, to be our guide. We heard also the noise 
 of ordnance being fired, and so 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 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 windoAvs 
 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 cus- 
 tomary in a camp. Verily I saw well that this was not 
 
222 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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, Span- 
 iards, 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 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, which are like the 
 ladder seen by Jacob in his dream, 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 the ladder into 
 heaven; even so that blessed company seemed to scale 
 upwards from the filth of the street, and the darkness 
 and the din, right on towards the golden heights of the 
 city of God. And beneath them lie the sacred bones of 
 all the kings of France, from the days of St. Dagobert 
 even to our own time, all laid there to rest, where no 
 man shall disturb them, till the angels' trumpet calls, and 
 the day of judgment is at hand. Verily it is a solemn 
 place for a Christian man to think on, and I was gazing 
 thereupon as in a dream when one plucked my sleeve, 
 and turning I saw Randal Butherford, 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 223 
 
 feast. And, by St. Boswell, to-morrow we shall have it, 
 lad! The King came in to-day; late is better than 
 never, and to-morrow we go with the Maid to give these 
 pock-puddings a taste of Scottish steel." 
 
 "And the Maid, where is she, Kandal?" 
 
 " She lodges beyond the Paris gate, at the windmill, 
 wherefrom she drove the English some days agone." 
 
 " Wherefore not in the town?" I asked. 
 
 " 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 like not the omen," said I. 
 
 " Freits follow them that f reits 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 Prance, for to-night 
 we lie in the chapel." 
 
 I dismounted, and he gave me an embrace, and hold- 
 ing me at arm's length, laughed — 
 
 "You never were a tall man, Norman, but you look 
 sound and whole, and tough for your inches, like a 
 Highlandman's dirk. Now be off on your errand, and 
 when it is done look for me yonder at the sign of the 
 Crane," pointing across the parvise to a tavern, "for I 
 
224 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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, tattle ! 
 
 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 see. 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 de Contes, 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 other. " Faith, I hope you bring 
 good luck with you, and more joy to my mistress, for 
 we need all that you can bring." 
 
 " Why, what ails all of you? " I asked. " I have seen 
 never a hopeful face, save that of one of my own coun- 
 trymen. You are not afraid of a crack on your curly 
 head, are you? " 
 
 " 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 /ier," he nodded 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 225 
 
 towards the open doorway, " so out of comfort. When 
 there is fighting toward, she is like herself, and she is 
 the first to rise, and the last to lie down. But in all 
 our waiting here, she has passed many an hour praying 
 in the chapel, where the dead kings lie, yet her face is 
 not glad when she comes forth. It shone 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. 
 Moreover, to-morrow is the feast of the Blessed Virgin." 
 
 "Faintheart!" said I (and indeed, after the assault 
 on Paris, Louis de Contes went back, and rode no more 
 with the Maid). "The better the day, the better the 
 deed! May I go within?" 
 
 "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 great square of the farm, strewn with litter, and 
 from within the byre we heard the milk ring in the 
 pails, for the women were milking the cows. And 
 there we both stood astonished, for we saw the Maid as 
 never yet I had seen her. She was bareheaded, but 
 wore the rest of her harness, holding in her hand a 
 measure of corn. All the fowls of the farm about her, 
 expecting their meat. But she was not throwing the 
 grain among them, but 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 brush- 
 ing 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 
 Q 
 
226 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Maid, but I had never believed the tale. Yet now I saw 
 this thing with mine own eyes, a fair sight and a mar- 
 vellous, 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 — 
 
 " Trds doulx Dteu, en Vonneur de vostre saincte passion, 
 je vous requier, se vous me aimes, que vous me revelez ce 
 que je doy faire demain pour vostre gloire ! " 
 
 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 farm-yard. 
 
 "Never," said he trembling, " though once I saw a 
 stranger thing." 
 
 " And what may that have been ? " 
 
 "Nay, I spoke of it to her, and she made me swear 
 that I never would reveal it to living soul, save in con- 
 fession. 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 shew in the casements. In the space within 
 the gates were many carts gathered, full of faggots where- 
 with to choke up the fosse under Paris, and tables to 
 throw above the faggots and so cross over to the assault. 
 
 Going up the street I entered the tavern, the doorways 
 crowded with archers of our Guard, among whom was 
 Randal Eutherf ord. 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 Eandal very carefully sounded all 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 227 
 
 the panels of the room, looking needfully lest there 
 should be any hole whereby what passed among us might 
 be heard in another part of the house. But he found 
 nothing in this 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 
 husht 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." 
 
 " I saw him at Troyes," said one, " where he kneeled 
 before the Maid, and they seemed very loving." 
 
 " 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 Carme- 
 lite spoke with me in Latin, and in a low voice. His 
 matter was this : ' In Paris,' he said, ' there was a 
 strong party of Armagnacs, who have, as 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 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 
 
228 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 pur- 
 pose of the English is to send forth a party of a hundred 
 men-at-arms, who will make a sudden onset on the wind- 
 mill, where the Maid lies to-night, and so will take her, 
 if they may." 
 
 "By St. Bride of Douglas," said one of us, "they will 
 get their kail through the reek, for our guard is to lie 
 in army 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. You 
 will put on to-night the red cross of St. George, some 
 five-score of you, with plain armour, like Englishmen, 
 and some few men in our own colours and coats, you will 
 hale with you as prisoners. And if one of you can but 
 attire himself in some gear of the Maid's, with a hucque 
 of hers, scarlet and dight with the Lilies of Erance, the 
 English gate-wards will open all the more eagerly." 
 
 "By the bones of St. Boswell," cried Randal, in his 
 loud voice, but the good Eather put a hand on his mouth. 
 
 " Quiet, man ! " he said. 
 
 "By the blessed bones of St. Boswell," Bandal 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. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 229 
 
 " Silence ! " cried Robin Lindsay. 
 
 "Nay, the louder we laugh, the less will any suspect 
 what is forward," said Randal Rutherford. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " How maidenly he blushes," cried one, and there was 
 another clamour, till the walls rang. 
 
 " 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 ban- 
 ner of Scotland over the port, when once you hold it, so 
 the attack will be thereby." 
 
 " We played the same game before Verneuil fight, and 
 won it," said one ; " will the English have forgotten the 
 trick ? " 
 
 " By St. Bride, when once they see us hailing 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 Blanchisseuse, 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, me- 
 thinks, is to hold them in an ambush, but what if we 
 catch not ? Let but one runaway be swift of foot, and 
 we are undone." 
 
230 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 " There is this to be said," quote Father Urquhart, 
 " that the English company is to sally forth by the Port 
 St. Denis, and it is the Port Bordeles 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 Bordeles Gate. Then at the lighting 
 of two 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 by 
 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 Bobin Lindsay. 
 
 " A very proper stratagem indeed, 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 shew 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 Bandal, "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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 231 
 
 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 7" 
 
 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 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE FARED IN PARIS TOWN 
 
 "Norman, my lad, all our fortunes are made," said 
 Eandal 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. 
 
 " 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 think- 
 ing slowly, as he wiped and plucked at his beard. 
 
 " What is it that ails you ? " he asked. " Look you, 
 this onfall and stratagem of war may not miscarry. 
 Perdition take the fool, it is safe ! " 
 
 "Have I been seeking safety since you knew me?" 
 
 I asked. 
 
 232 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 233 
 
 "Verily do, 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 shewn 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 hun- 
 dred 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 Contes, 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." 
 
 " Eandal," I said, " I will go with you, and the glad- 
 dest 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 no wise consent : it is neither pious nor honourable. 
 Take your own way ; put me under arrest, if you will, and 
 spoil my fortunes, and make me a man disgraced. But I 
 will not wear her holy raiment. It is not the deed of a 
 gentleman or of a Christian." 
 
 He plucked at his beard. " I am partly with you," he 
 said. "And yet it were a great bourde to play off on the 
 English, and most like to take them and to be told of in 
 ballad and chronicle, like one of Wallace's onfalls. Eor, 
 seeing the Pucelle, as they will deem, in our hands, 
 they will think all safe, and welcome us open armed. 
 Oh, 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 
 
234 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 "Disguise me as you will/' I said. "I have gone 
 mumming as Maid Marion, before now, in the Robin 
 Hood play, at St. Andrews," and, as I spoke, I saw the 
 tall thatched roofs of South Street, and the Priory Gates 
 open, the budding elms above the garden wall of St. 
 Andrews, and all the May-day revel of a year agone 
 pouring out into the good town. 
 
 "You speak like yourself now, bless your beardless 
 face. Come forth," he said, taking a long pull at a tank- 
 ard, — " that nothing might be wasted," — and so we 
 went to quarters, and Randal trudged off, soon coming 
 back, laughing, with the kirtle. Our men had been very 
 busy, furbishing up the red cross of St. George on their 
 breasts, and stripping themselves of any sign of our own 
 colours. As for my busking, never had maid such rough 
 tire-women, but, by one way or another, the apparel was 
 accommodated, and 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 235 
 
 three or four, as prisoners, in our own badges, fared cau- 
 tiously, 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 blindly. At length, with- 
 in sight of the twinkling lights of Paris, and a hun- 
 dred 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 the shapes of things, we heard a 
 light noise of marching men on the road. 
 
 " The English ! " whispered he that lay next me. 
 
 " Hush ! " breathed Eandal, and so the footsteps went 
 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 where through we had just marched. 
 
 " Now, Eobin Lindsay, climb into yonder ash tree, and 
 keep your eyes on the mill," said Eandal. 
 
 Eobin scrambled up, not easily, because of his armour, 
 and we waited, as it seemed, for an endless time. 
 
 " What is that sound," whispered one, " so heavy and 
 hoarse ? " 
 
 It was my own heart beating, as if it would burst my 
 side, but I said nought, and, even then, Eobin slid from 
 the tree, as lightly as he might. He held up two fingers, 
 without a word, and nodded. 
 
 "Down all," whispered Eandal. "Give them time, 
 give them time." 
 
 So there we lay, as we must, but that was the hardest 
 
236 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Kandal 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. 
 
 " Now, Norman," said Randal, " when we come within 
 clear sight of the gate, two of us shall seize you by the 
 arms, as prisoner; 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, Randal 
 and Robin gripping me, when we were full in sight of 
 the moat, the drawbridge (which was down), and the 
 gate. 
 
 Then they all cried, "St. George for England! The 
 witch is taken ! " and so running disorderly and fast, we 
 made for the port, while English men-at-arms might be 
 plainly seen and heard gazing, waving their hands, and 
 shouting from the battlements of the two gate-towers. 
 Down the road we ran, past certain small houses of peas- 
 ants, 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 within the gateway, when down fell the port- 
 cullis, the drawbridge, creaking, flew up behind, 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 237 
 
 strong arms, swords shone out above me, I stumbled on 
 a body, it was Kobin Lindsay's, I heard Randal give a 
 curse, as his blade broke on a helmet, and cry, " I yield 
 me, rescue or no rescue." Then burst forth a blast of 
 shouts, and words of command and yells, and English 
 curses. Cannon-shot roared overhead, and my mouth was 
 fall 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, crush- 
 ing 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 be- 
 trayed, it was over clear ; and now a harsh voice behind 
 making me turn. I saw the wolfs face of Brother 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. 
 
 "Behold her," cried Brother Thomas, climbing on a 
 mounting stone, as one who would preach to the people, 
 
238 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 while the soldiers that held me, laughed. " 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. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " 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 jacka- 
 napes ! To see the poor beast that my lady loved, in 
 such ill company, seemed as if it would break my heart, 
 and my head fell on my breast. 
 
 " Ye see, brethren and sisters, she likes not the name 
 of the ordeal by fire," cried Brother Thomas, whereon 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 239 
 
 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 answer- 
 ing 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, Eriar, 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 trum- 
 pets were sounding, and church bells were rung back- 
 wards, 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 
 the stone stairs, going upwards. The room was high, 
 narrow, and lit by a barred and stanchioned window, 
 far above my reach, even if I had been unbound. I 
 shame to say it, but I rolled over on my face and wept. 
 This was the end of my hopes, and proud heart. That 
 they would burn me, I scarce believed, for I had in no 
 wise 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 
 
240 A MONK OF FIFE , 
 
 was I, prisoner, all that I had won at Orleans would 
 do little more than pay my own ransom ; from the end 
 of all 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 nightfall, 
 Paris might be in the hands of the King, and all might 
 be well. The roar and rebound of cannon overhead told 
 me that the fighting had begun, and now I prayed with 
 all my heart, that the Maid, as ever, might again be vic- 
 torious. So I lay there, listening, and heard the great 
 artillery bellow, and the roar of guns in answer, the 
 shouting of men, and the words of order. Now and 
 again, the walls of the tower rang with the shock of a 
 cannon ball, once an arrow flew through the casement and 
 shattered itself on the wall above my head. I scarce 
 know why, but I dragged me to the place where it fell, 
 and put the arrow-point in my bosom. Smoke of wood 
 and pitch darkened the light. They had come, then, to 
 close quarters. But once more rang the rattle of guns ; 
 the whizzing rush of stones, the smiting with axe or 
 sword on wooden barrier and steel harness, the cries of 
 war, Montjoye St. Denis! St. George for England! 
 and slogans too I heard, as Bellenden, A Home! A 
 Home ! and then I knew the Scots were there, fighting 
 in the front. But alas, how different was the day, when 
 first I heard our own battle cries under Orleans walls ! 
 Then I had my life and my sword in my hands, to spend 
 and to strike ; but now I lay a lonely prisoner, help- 
 less 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 241 
 
 charge or the recall, and the pipes shrieking the pibroch 
 high above all the din, with dust floating and plaster 
 dropping from the walls of my cell till I was well nigh 
 stifled, the day wore on, nor could I tell, in any wise, 
 how the battle went. The main onslaught, I knew, was 
 not on the gate behind the tower in which I lay, though 
 that tower also was smitten of cannon balls. 
 
 At length, well past midday, as I deemed by the light, 
 came a hush, and then a thicker smoke and taste of burn- 
 ing 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 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 fiercer and fiercer, till I 
 heard a mighty roar, the English shouting aloud as one 
 man for joy, for so their manner is. Thrice they shouted, 
 and my heart sank within me. Had they slain the Maid ? 
 I knew not, but, for torment of soul there is scarce any 
 greater than so to lie, bound and alone, seeing nought, 
 but guessing at what is befalling. 
 
 After these shouts it was easy to know that the fight- 
 ing waned, and was less fierce. The day moreover turned 
 to thunder, and waxed lowering and of a stifling heat. 
 Yet my worse fears were ended, for I heard, now and 
 again, the clear voice of the Maid, bidding her men " fight 
 on, for all was theirs." Yet 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 
 
242 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 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 on the wards. 
 
 In pain and fierce wrath I gnawed my black bread, 
 drank some of the water, and at last, being young, and 
 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. Howbeit, as I lay down again, 
 heavy at heart, my clothes were again twitched, and now 
 I remembered what I had heard, but never believed, con- 
 cerning lutins, or "brownies," as we call them, which, 
 being spirits invisible, and reckoned to have no part in 
 our salvation, are wont, in certain houses, to sport with 
 men. Curious, rather than affrighted, I sat up once more, 
 and looked round, 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, and all his 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 243 
 
 ribs standing out, but he made much of me, fondling 
 me after his manner, and indeed, for my lady's sake, I 
 kissed him, wondering much how he came there. Then 
 he put something into my hands, almost as if he had 
 been a Christian, for it was a wise beast and a kind. 
 Even then there shone into my memory the thought of 
 how my lady had prayed for her little friend,. when he 
 was stolen (which I then 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 climb- 
 ing. But, as I was caressing him, I found a string 
 about his neck, to which there seemed to be no end. 
 Now, at length I comprehended what was toward, and, 
 pulling gently at the string, I found, after some time, 
 that it was attached to something heavy on the outside 
 of the casement. Therefore, I set about drawing in 
 string, from above, and more string, and more, and then 
 appeared a knot and a splice, and the end of a thick 
 rope. So I drew and drew till it stopped, and I could 
 see a stout bar across the stanchions of the casement. 
 Thereon I ceased drawing, and, opening the little wallet, 
 I found two files, one very fine, the other of sturdier 
 fashion. 
 
 Verily then I blessed the violer woman, who, at great 
 peril of her own life, and by such witty device as few 
 could have conceived, had sent the jackanapes up from 
 below, and put me in the way of safety. I wasted no 
 time, but began filing, not at the thick circlet on my 
 wrist, but at a link of the chain whereto it was made 
 fast. And such was the temper of the file, that soon I 
 got the stouter weapon into the cut and snapped the 
 
244 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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, lest the 
 stanchions should be rusted through, and unable to bear 
 my weight, but they stood the strain bravely. Then I 
 cast off my woman's kirtle, and took from my pouch 
 the arrow-point, and therewith scratched hastily on the 
 plastered wall in great letters — 
 
 " Norman Leslie of Pitcullo leaves his malison on the English." 
 
 Next I bound the jackanapes within the bosom of my 
 doublet, with a piece of the cord whereto the rope had 
 been knotted, for I could not leave the little beast to die 
 the death of a traitor, and bring suspicion, moreover, on 
 the poor violer woman. Then, commending myself to 
 the Saints, 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 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, leaving the iron rod still firm above. Then I 
 put the wooden bar, at the rope's end, within the room, 
 behind the two other stanchions, considering that they, 
 by themselves, would bear my weight, but, if not, rather 
 choosing to trust my soul to the Saints than my body to 
 the English. 
 
 The deep below me was very terrible to look upon, and, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 245 
 
 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 marau- 
 der, but he did no whit concern me. I ran, stooping, 
 along the bed of the dry ditch, for many yards, stum- 
 bling 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 un- 
 happy march of yesterday. And I so sped, by favour of 
 the Saints,, that I fell in with no marauders ; but reach- 
 ing the windmill right early, at first trumpet call, I was 
 hailed for the only man that had won in and out of Paris, 
 and had carried off moreover a prisoner, the jackanapes. 
 To see me, scarred, with manacles on my wrists and gyves 
 on my ankles, weaponless, with an ape on my shoulder, 
 was such a sight as the Scots Guard had never beheld 
 before, and, carrying me to the smith's, they first knocked 
 off my irons, and gave me wine, ere they either asked 
 me for my tale, or told me their own, which was a heart- 
 break to bear. 
 
 For no man could unfold the manner of that which had 
 
246 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 come to pass, if, at least, there were not strong treason 
 at the root of it all. For on part of the onfall, the 
 English had made but a feigned attack on the mill, 
 wherefore the bonfires were lit, to onr undoing. For 
 the rest, the Maid had led on a band to attack the gate, 
 with G-auconrt in her company, a knight that had no 
 great love either of her or of a desperate onslaught. But 
 d' Alenqon, 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 her men, now 
 few, over the slope, and to the edge of the wet fosse, 
 behold no faggots and bundles of wood, were brought 
 up, whereby as is manner of war, to fill up the fosse, 
 and so cross over. As she then stood, under the wall, 
 shouting for faggots and scaling ladders, her standard 
 bearer was shot to death, and she was sorely wounded 
 by an arbalest bolt. Natheless she lay 'by the wall, still 
 crying on her men, but naught 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 Kobin Lindsay died in Paris gate, and Randal 
 Rutherford lay a prisoner. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Of our Blessed Lord himself it is said in the Gospel 
 of St. Matthew, et non fecit ibi virtutes multes propter 
 increcliditatem illorum. These words I willingly leave in 
 the Roman tongue, for, by the wisdom of Holy Church, 
 it is deemed that many mysteries should not be published 
 abroad in the vulgar speech, lest the unlearned hear to 
 their own confusion. But if even He, doubtless by the 
 wisdom of His own will, did not many great works prop- 
 ter 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 
 shewn 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. 
 
 "By my baton, I will never go back till I take that 
 city." * 
 
 These words also Perceval de Caguy heard, a good 
 knight and mattre dlwtel of the house of Alenqon. Thereon 
 arose some dispute, d'Alenc.on being eager, as indeed he 
 
 * Par mon martin, the oath which she permitted to La Hire. 
 247 
 
248 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 always was, to follow where the Maiden led, and some 
 others holding back. 
 
 Now, as they were devising together, some for, some 
 against, and men-at-arms not a few had fallen in the 
 onfall, there came the sound of horses' hooves, 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 good will, seeing that, 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 inarching 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 forbid- 
 ding d'AlenQon and the Maid to march forward another 
 lance's length. Whereat d'Alenc^on 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 
 
 * It is right to say that though on this point our author has for him 
 the authority of his friend, Perceval Caguy, maitre d'hotel of the Due 
 d'Alencon, yet Monstrelet and Jean Chartier represent Montmorency 
 as having come over to the French side some weeks before the ninth 
 of September. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 249 
 
 early next morning and attack Paris in another quarter, 
 crossing the river by a bridge 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 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 unbe- 
 lief 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 Kheims, 
 refused to hearken to her. On the thirteenth day of 
 September, after dinner, the King, with all his counsel- 
 lors, rode away from St. Denis, towards Gien on the 
 Loire. The Maiden, for her part, hung up all her har- 
 ness that she had worn, save the sword of St. Catherine 
 of Fierbois, in front of the altar of Our Lady and the 
 blessed relics of St. Denis in the chapel. Thereafter 
 she rode, as needs she must, and we of her company 
 with her, to join the King, for so he commanded. 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 
 
250 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 were nobles of France with their men, who had served 
 without price or pay, for love of France and of the 
 Maid. Never again were they mustered; nay, when, 
 after some weeks past, the gentle Due d'Alenc/m prayed 
 that he might have the Maiden with him, and burst into 
 Normandy, where the English were strongest, by the 
 Marches of Maine, even this grace was refused to him 
 by the malengin and ill-will of La Tremouille and the 
 Archbishop of Kheims. 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 followed this shameful 
 treason at Paris I have no joy to write. The King's 
 counsellors, as their manner was, ever hankered after 
 a peace with Burgundy, and they stretched the false 
 truce that was to have ended at Christmas to Easter day, 
 pacem clamantes quo non fait pax. For there was no 
 truce with the English that took St. Denis again, and 
 made booty of the arms which the Maid had dedicated 
 to Our -Lady. On our part La Hire and Xaintrailles 
 plundered, for their own hand, the lands of the Duke of 
 Burgundy, and indeed on every side there was no fair 
 fighting, such as the Maid loved, but a war of wastry, 
 the peasants pillaged, and the poor held to ransom. 
 For her part, she spent her days in prayer for the poor 
 and the oppressed, whom she had come to deliver, and 
 who now were in worse case than before, the English 
 harrying certain of the good towns that had yielded to 
 King Charles. 
 
 Now her Voices ever bade the Maid go back to the 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 251 
 
 Isle of France and assail Paris, where lay no English 
 garrison, and the Armagnacs were stirring as much as 
 they might. But Paris, being at this time under the 
 government of the Duke of Burgundy, was, forsooth, 
 within the truce. The King's counsellors, therefore, 
 setting their wisdom against that of the Saints, bade 
 the Maid go against the towns of St. Pierre le Moustier 
 and La Charite, 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 our 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 otherwhere. 
 Yet she stood, waving her banner, and crying Tirez en 
 avant, Us sont a nous, as was her way in every onfall. 
 Seeing her thus in jeopardy, her maltre dliotel, 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 
 
252 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 so, uncovered, her face like marble for whiteness, and 
 her eyes shining like steel, made answer — 
 
 "I am not alone; with me there are of mine fifty 
 thousand! Hence I will not give back one step till I 
 have taken the town." 
 
 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 day of November, we had perforce 
 to give back, for the King sent us no munitions of war, 
 and, for lack of more powder and ball, we might not 
 make any breach in the walls of that town. And so, by 
 reason of the hard winter, and the slackness of the King, 
 and the false truce, we fought no more, at that season, 
 but went trailing after the court from castle to castle. 
 
 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 sup- 
 porting the crown, between the Lilies of France. 
 
 If these were ill days for the Maid, I shame to confess 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 253 
 
 that they were merry days with nie. 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 won some gold, and even some 
 good words, as one not backward where sword strokes 
 were going, I know not what dreams I had of high 
 renown, ay, and the constable's staff to end withal. For 
 many a poor Scot has come to great place in France and 
 Germany who began with no better fortune than a mind 
 to put his body in peril. Moreover, the winning of Elliot 
 herself for my wife seemed now a thing almost within 
 my reach. Therefore, as I say, I kept a merry Yule at 
 Jargeau, going bravely clad, and dancing all night long 
 with the merriest. Only the wan face of the Maid 
 (that in time of war had been so gallant and glad) came 
 between me and my pleasures. Not that she was wil- 
 fully and wantonly sad, yet now and again we could 
 mark in her face the great and loving pity that pos- 
 sessed her for France. Now I would be half angered 
 with her, but again far more wroth with myself, who 
 could thus lightly see that passion of hers. But when 
 she might, she was ever at her prayers, or in company 
 of children, or seeking out such as were poor and needy, 
 to whom she was abundantly lavish of her gifts, so that, 
 wheresoever the court went, the people blessed her. 
 
 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 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 cause her greater joy, save my own coming, or a 
 
254 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 victory of the Maid. The little creature had been my 
 comrade wheresoever we went, as at Sully, Gien, and 
 Bourges, only I took him not to the leaguers of St. 
 Pierre le Moustier and La Charite, 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 
 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 gold, fashioned like that which her own father and 
 mother had given her. At this ring she had a custom 
 of looking often, and chiefly before going into battle, so 
 that the English conceived it to be an unholy talisman, 
 though it bore the Name that is above all names. So, 
 saying farewell, with many kind words on her part, I 
 rode towards Tours, where Elliot and her father as then 
 dwelt, in that same house where I had been with them 
 to be healed of my malady after the leaguer of Orleans. 
 To Tours then 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, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 255 
 
 and I sang as I rode. Putting up my horse at the sign 
 of the Hanging Sivord, I took the ape under my great 
 furred surcoat, and stole like a thief through the alleys 
 towards my master's house. The night was falling, and 
 all the casement of the great chamber was glowing with 
 the colour and light of a leaping fire within. There 
 came a sound of music too, as one touching 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 
 manner, 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- 
 
 "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 kinswoman, must be called (though in sooth not 
 at the very first), and then a great fire must be lit in my 
 
2 5 6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 old chamber, and next my master came in from a tavern 
 where he had been devising with some Scots of his 
 friends, and all the while the jackanapes kept such a 
 merry coil, and played so many of his tricks, and got so 
 many kisses from his mistress, that it was marvel. 
 
 But of all that had befallen me in the wars, and of 
 how the Maiden did (concerning which Elliot had ques- 
 tioned 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 her 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 Bouen. And I gave to 
 Elliot the ring which the Maid had sent to her, fash- 
 ioned like that she herself wore, but of gold, whereas 
 the Maid's was of base metal, and it was marked with 
 three crosses, and bore the Holy jSTame. Thereon Elliot 
 kissed it humbly, and avowed herself to be, that night, 
 the gladdest damsel in all France. 
 
 " For I have gotten you, mon ami, and my little friend, 
 that I had lost beyond all hope, and I have a kind word 
 and a token from Her, la fille de Dieu," whereat her 
 speech faltered, and her eyes swam in tears. But some 
 trick of her jackanapes brought back her mirth, and so 
 the hours passed, as happy as any in my life. 
 
 Truly the memory of these things tells me how glad 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 257 
 
 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 holi- 
 day went merrily by, save for one matter, and that of 
 the utmost moment. For my master would in no man- 
 ner 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 labour- 
 ing in the cause of France. 
 
 So I had to take this answer, as a better I could not 
 win, wherefore I was all the more eager for Eastertide 
 to come, and the banner to fly on the winds again. 
 
CHAPTEE XX 
 
 AND OF THE ONFALL AT PONT l'eVEQUE 
 
 Eastertide 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, 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, that the garrison there promised to 
 lie idle, and make no onslaught against them of Bur- 
 gundy, unless the King brought them a rescue. There- 
 fore the Duke went back to Noyon on the Oise, some 
 eight leagues north and east of Compiegne, while his 
 captain, Jean cle Luxembourg, led half his army west, 
 towards Beaiwais. There he took the castle of Proven- 
 lieu, an old castle and ruinous, that the English had re- 
 paired and held. And there he hanged certain English, 
 who were used to pillage all the country about Mont- 
 didier. 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 
 
 258 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 259 
 
 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 thirty leagues north and west 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 
 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 Easter- 
 tide was over, and the truce ended, she made no tarrying, 
 nor even said farewell to the King, who might have held 
 her back, but drew out all her company and rode north- 
 ward, whither she knew that battle was to be. Her 
 mind was to take some strong place on the Oise, as 
 Pont l'Eveque, near ISToyon, that so she might cut off 
 them of Burgundy from all the country eastward of 
 Oise, and so put them out of the power to besiege Com- 
 piegne, and destroy all their host at Montdidier and in the 
 Beauvais country. For the Maid was not only the first 
 of captains in leading a desperate onslaught, but also (by 
 miracle, for otherwise it might not be) she best knew 
 how to devise deep schemes and subtle stratagem of war. 
 
 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 
 
26o A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 King. She bid me come with her, and went afoot about 
 the walls, considering what they lacked of strength, and 
 how they might best be repaired, and bidding me write 
 down all in a little book. Now we two, and no other, 
 were walking by the dry fosse of Melnn, 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, 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, standing 
 as I had seen her stand in the farm-yard 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, as 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, hav- 
 ing 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 very gently laid her hand upon my shoulder, 
 and, smiling most sweetly, she said — 
 
 " I know not what thou hast seen or heard, but prom- 
 ise, on thine honour, that thou wilt speak no word to 
 any man, save in confession only, while I bear arms for 
 France." 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 261 
 
 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, as before, in a 
 little book, what things were needful. Nor was her 
 countenance altered in any fashion, nor 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 Kouen. 
 
 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 she might die, but they bade 
 her endure all things patiently, and with a willing mind. 
 
 Now that the Maid, knowing 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 standards 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 before he did, 
 in time of less danger. 
 
 Now I pray you consider who she was that shewed 
 
262 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 this courage and high heart. She was but the daughter 
 of a manant, a girl of eighteen years of age. Kemember 
 then what manner of creature such a girl is of her 
 nature : how weak and fearful : how she is discomfited 
 and abashed by the company of even one gentleman or 
 lady of noble birth; how ignorant she is of war; how 
 fond to sport and play with wenches of her own degree ; 
 how easily set on fire of love and how eager to be in the 
 society of young men amorous. Pondering all these 
 things in your hearts, judge ye whether this Maid, the 
 bravest leader in breach, the wisest captain, having fore- 
 knowledge 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. 
 
 I have now shewn 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 Bur- 
 gundy 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 Cha- 
 bennes, Messire Eigault de Fontaines, Messire Pothon de 
 Xaintrailles, the best knight then on ground, and many 
 other gentlemen, some four hundred lances in all.* With 
 these knights the Maid consorted to attack Pont l'Eveque 
 by a night onfall. This is a small but very strong 
 
 * That is to say, some two thousand combatants. , 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 263 
 
 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 PEveque 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 its way, nor could we move swiftly, for there were 
 waggons with us, and carts, drawing guns and culverins 
 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 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 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." 
 
 "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 Eandolph scaled the Castle 
 Rock, and took Edinburgh Castle out of the hands of the 
 English, a keep so strong, and set on a cliff so perilous, 
 that no man might deem to win it by sudden onfall. 
 And in like manner the good Messire James Douglas 
 took his own castle, more than once or twice, by crafty 
 
264 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 stum- 
 bling 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 girdling the basement of the walls. Had we 
 been a smaller and lighter company we should have 
 arrived half an hour before the first greyness shews the 
 shapes of things. But now, alas, we no sooner saw 
 the town than we heard the bells and trumpets calling 
 the town-folk and men-at-arms to be on their ward. The 
 great guns of the keep roared at us so soon as we were in 
 reach of shot; nevertheless Pothon and the Maid set 
 companies to carry the double ladders, for the walls were 
 high, and others were told off to bring up the fascines, 
 and so, leaving our main battle to wait out of shot and 
 come on as they were needed, the Maid and Pothon ran 
 up the first rampart, she waving her standard and crying 
 that all was ours. As we ran, for I must needs be by her 
 side, the din of bells and guns was worse than I had 
 heard at Orleans, and on the top of the church towers 
 were men-at-arms waving flags, as if for a signal. How- 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 265 
 
 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 np, 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 himself, who com- 
 manded in Pont l'Eveque. Of all that came after I re- 
 member 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 but 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 
 knows concerning the frays wherein, maybe, he has 
 borne himself not unmanly. 
 
 This was my lot at Pont l'Eveque, and I knew but 
 very 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 very 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 onfall. For I heard in the monastery 
 whither I was borne that, when the Maid and Xain- 
 trailles and their men had won their way within the walls, 
 
266 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 PEveque. 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 Augus- 
 tins when my broken bones were set by a very good sur- 
 geon, 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 skir- 
 mish. Some good fortune I had, as at Jargeau, and 
 again, bad fortune, of which this was the worst, that I 
 could not be with the Maid : nay, never again did I ride 
 under her banner. 
 
 She, for her part, was not idle, but, after tarrying cer- 
 tain days in Compiegne with Guillaume de Elavy, she 
 rode to Laguy. " 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 Laguy, with her own men and the Scots, the 
 Maid fought and took one Eranquet d' Arras, a Burgun- 
 dian routier, or knight of the road, who plundered that 
 country without mercy. Him the Maid would have ex- 
 changed for an Armagnac of Paris, the host of the Bear 
 Inn, then held in duresse by the English, for a plot to 
 yield Paris to the King. But this burgess died in the 
 hands of the English, and the echevins* of Laguy, claim- 
 ing Eranquet d' Arras as a common thief, traitor, and 
 murderer, tried him, and, on his confession, put him to 
 * Echevins, magistrates. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 267 
 
 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 con- 
 demn him, so she was rightly punished when Jean de 
 Luxembourg sold her into the hands of unjust judges. 
 But I answer that the Maid did not sell Franquet 
 d' Arras, as I say de Luxembourg sold her : not a livre 
 did she take from the folk of Laguy. 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 tor- 
 ture and hold to ransom. Therefore the Archbishop of 
 Eheims, Begnault de Chartier, who was never a friend 
 of the Maid, said openly in a letter to the Eheims 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 gentle- 
 man born) I can in no wise believe. For my part, when 
 I have been where gentlemen and captains lamented the 
 
268 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 slaying of Franquet d' Arras, and justified the dealings 
 of the English with the Maid, I have seemed to hear the 
 clamour of the cruel Jews, Tolle hunc, et dimitte nobis 
 Barabbanist* For Barabbas was a robber. Howbeit, 
 on this matter as on all, I humbly submit me to the judg- 
 ment of my superiors and to Holy Church. 
 
 Meantime the Maid rode from Laguy, now to Soissons, 
 now to Senlis, now to Crepy en Valois ; and in Crepy she 
 was when that befell which I am about to relate. 
 
 * " Away with this man, and release unto us Barabbas." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 HOW, AND BY WHOSE DEVICE, THE MAID WAS TAKEN 
 AT COMPIEGNE 
 
 " Verily and indeed, the Maid is of wonderful excel- 
 lence," quoth Father Franqois to me, in my chamber at 
 the Jacobins, where I was healing of my hurts. 
 
 " Any man may know that, who is in your company," 
 the Father went on speaking. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " She needs it not ! But you are peaceful and gentle, 
 you brawl not, nor drink, nor curse. ..." 
 
 " 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. ..." 
 
 " 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 Debat- 
 able and of Ettrick Forest, and the Border freebooters, 
 
 269 
 
270 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 and the Galloway Picts, and Maxwells, and Glendinnings. 
 and the red-shanked, jabbering Highlanders and Islesnien, 
 and some certain of the Angus folk, and, maybe, a wild 
 crew in Strathclyde." 
 
 " 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 kingdom, namely Fife, 
 whence I come myself. The Lothians, too, and the shire 
 of Ayr, 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 shew you I was right, he 
 is none of your march-men, or Highlanders, but has lands 
 in Ayrshire, and comes of a very honourable house." 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " He will be in arrears of his pay, no doubt," I made 
 answer. 
 
 "It is very like," said Father Francois, "but, con- 
 sidering 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 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 271 
 
 Our bells, been made into munition of war. Absit omen, 
 Domine ! And now they say the Duke of Bugundy 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 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 Clairoix," said he, "across the 
 water, and yet others, with Jean de Luxembourg, at 
 Marguy, 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 
 Clairoix, 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. The 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 east- 
 ward all is open. Be of better heart, Heaven helps 
 France." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " 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 
 
27 2 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 hear 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 again, and told me 
 that the Maid would make a sally and cut the Burgun- 
 dians in twain, and now nothing would serve me but I 
 must be borne in litter to the walls, and see her banner 
 once more in the wind. 
 
 So, by the good will of Father Franqois, 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, 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 cus- 
 tom, 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 they 
 were manned by archers that 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 great wide plain, and behind it, closing it in, a long 
 low wall of steep hills. On the left, a mile and a half 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 273 
 
 away, Father Francois shewed me the church tower of 
 Venette, where the English camped; to the right, a 
 league off, was the tower of Clairoix, and at the end 
 of a long raised causeway that ran from the bridge across 
 the plain, because of the winter flood, I saw the tower 
 and the village of Marguy. 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 long lying in a chamber, stirred me like wine. 
 The May sun shone warm, yet cooled with a sweet wind 
 of the west. The room was full of women and maids, 
 all waiting to throw flowers before the Maid, whom they 
 dearly loved. Everything had a look of holiday, and all 
 was to end in joy and great victory. So I laughed with 
 the girls, and listened to a strange tale, how the Maid 
 had, but of late, brought back to life a dead child at 
 Laguy, 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 presently she rode across 
 and forth, carrying her banner in the noblest manner, 
 mounted on a grey horse, and clad in a rich hucque of 
 cramoisie; she smiled and bowed like a queen to the 
 people, who cried Noel! Noel! Beside her rode Pothon 
 le Bourgnignon (not Pothon de Xaintrailles, as some 
 have falsely said), her confessor Pasquerel, on a palfrey, 
 
274 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 her brother, Pierre du Lys, with his new arms bravely 
 blazoned, and her maitre d'hdtel, d'Aulon. But of the 
 captains in Compiegne no one rode with her. She had 
 but her own company, and a great rude throng of foot- 
 men of the town, that would not be said nay. They 
 carried arms, 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 Mar guy, that so she might cut the 
 Burgundians in twain, and sunder from them the Eng- 
 lish 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, Barthelemy 
 Barrette, told me the tale, the Maid rode gallantly forth, 
 flowers raining on her, while my heart longed to be rid- 
 ing at her rein. She waved her hand to Guillaume de 
 Flavy, who sat on his horse by the gate of the boule- 
 vard, and so, having arrayed her men, she cried Tirez 
 avant, and made towards Marguy, the foot soldiers fol- 
 lowing with what speed they might, while I and Father 
 Francois and others in the chamber strained our eyes 
 after them. All the windows and roofs of the houses 
 and water-mills on the bridges 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 Marguy. Thence now arose a great din, and 
 clamour of trumpets, aud cries of men-at-arms, and we 
 could see tumult, blown dust, and stir of men, and so it 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 275 
 
 went for it may be the 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 1 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 Marguy, 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 
 broke little knots of flying men, foot soldiers, all run- 
 ning for their lives. Behind them came more men and 
 more, all running, and then mounted men-at-arms, 
 spurring hard, and still more and more of these, and 
 ever the foot-men ran, till many riders and some run- 
 ners had crossed the drawbridge, and were within the 
 boulevard of the bridge. There they stayed, sobbing 
 and panting, and a few were bleeding. But though the 
 foremost runaways thus won their lives, we saw others 
 roll over and fall as they ran, tumbling down the sides 
 of the causeway, and why they fell I knew not. 
 
 But now, in the midst of the causeway, between us 
 and Marguy, our flying horsemen rallied under the 
 
276 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Maiden's banner, and for the last time of all I heard 
 that clear girl's voice crying, Tirez en avant! en avant! 
 
 A knot of our horsemen charged furiously, while the 
 others fled amain, and drove back the Picards and Bur- 
 gundians who pursued over a third part of the raised 
 roadway. 
 
 But now, forth from Marguy trooped men-at-arms 
 without end or number; the banner of the Maid waved 
 wildly, now up, now down, in the mad mellay, and 
 ever they of Burgundy pressed on, and still our men, 
 being few and outnumbered, gave back. Yet still some 
 of the many clubmen of the townsfolk tumbled over as 
 they ran, and the drawbridge was choked with men fly- 
 ing, thrusting, and thronging, wild and blind with the 
 fear of death. Then rose on our left one great cry, such 
 as the English give when they rejoice, or when they 
 charge, and lo, forth from a little wood that had hidden 
 them, came galloping and running across the heavy wet 
 meadowland between us and Venette the men-at-arms 
 and the archers of England. Then we nigh gave up all 
 for lost, and fain I would have turned my eyes away, 
 but I might not. 
 
 Now and again the archers paused, and loosed a flight 
 of cloth-yard shafts against the stream of 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, com- 
 ing last of all : her body swung round in the saddle as 
 she looked backwards 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 for- 
 ward. But through the press of flying clubmen and 
 flying horsemen they might not win, and now I saw, 
 what never man saw before, the sword of the Maid bare 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 277 
 
 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' length of the causeway between her and safety. 
 Say it I must, nor cannon ball nor arrow flight availed 
 to turn them. Still the drawbridge and the inlet of the 
 boulevard were choked with the press, and men were 
 leapiug from bank to bridge into the boats, or into the 
 water, while so mixed were friends and foes that Flavy, 
 in a great voice, bade archers and artillerymen hold 
 their hands. 
 
 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, the inlet of the 
 boulevard and the drawbridge, when his own voice, as all 
 deemed who heard it, cried aloud, " Up drawbridge, close 
 gates, down portcullis ! " 
 
 The men whose duty it was were standing ready at the 
 cranks and pullies, their tools in hand, and instantly, 
 groaning, the drawbridge flew up, casting into the water 
 them that were flying across; down came the portcullis, 
 and slew two men ; while the gates of the inlet of the 
 boulevard were swung to and barred, — all, as it might 
 be said, in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
278 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Flavy turned in wrath and great amaze. "In God's 
 name, who cried?" he shouted. "Down drawbridge, 
 up portcullis, open gates, to front men-at-arms, lances 
 forward." 
 
 For most of the mounted men who had fallen were 
 now safe, and on foot, within the boulevard. 
 
 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' hooves, tore the Maid 
 from saddle by the long skirts of her hucque, and they 
 were all upon her. This befell within half a stone's 
 throw of the drawbridge. While Flavy himself toiled 
 with his hands, and tore at the cranks and chains, the 
 Maid was taken under the eyes of us, who could not stir 
 to help her. Now this 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 bid- 
 ding them raise drawbridge, and let fall portcullis. The 
 devil gave him that craft. I know the man. Eun, Father 
 Francois, run ! " 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 279 
 
 " 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 culverin. He came in but 
 four days agone, and there was great joy of his coming." 
 
 " I tell you I know the man," I said ; " he hates the 
 Maid, and he has a devil. Oh, that I could stir for my- 
 self ; oh, to have him slain ! " and so speaking, I broke 
 into a passion of curses and tears, so that they who were 
 in the chamber drew back, deeming me beside myself. 
 
 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? Eather, many 
 times, would I have died in that hour than have seen 
 what I saw. For our enemies made no more tarrying, 
 nor any onslaught on the boulevard, but rode swiftly 
 back with the prize they had taken, with her whom they 
 feared more than any knight or captain of France. This 
 page whereon I work, in a hand feeble and old, and weary 
 with much writing, is blotted with tears that will not be 
 held in. But we must bow humbly to the will of God, 
 and of his Saints. Dominus dedit, et Dominus abstulit, 
 benedictum sit nomen Domini. 
 
 Wherefore should I say more ? They carried me back 
 in litter over the bridge, through the growing darkness. 
 Every church was full of women weeping and praying 
 for her that was the friend of them, and the playmate of 
 their children, for all children she dearly loved. 
 
 Concerning Flavy it was said, by them who loved him 
 not, that he shewed no sign of sorrow. But when his 
 
280 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 devil- 
 ish art, there being but my oath against his, and, assur- 
 edly, 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 (who knew nothing of the matter, for I 
 ever forbore his company), had all been taken with the 
 Maid. It was long, indeed, before Pierre du Lys was 
 free, for he had no money to ransom himself withal. 
 Therefore Flavy, knowing me only for a wounded Scot 
 of the Maid's, would think me a brain-sick man, and, as 
 like as not, give me more of Oise river to drink than I 
 craved. 
 
 With these reasonings it behoved me to content myself. 
 The night I passed in prayers for the Maid, and for my- 
 self, 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 XXII 
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE FARED IN COMPIEGNE, WITH 
 THE END OF THAT LEAGUER 
 
 Concerning all that befell in the besieged city of Com- 
 piegne, after that wicked day of destiny when the Maid 
 was taken, I heard, for long, only from the Jacobin 
 brothers, and from one Barthelemy 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 com- 
 manded 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 Ascension, which 
 was the second after the capture of the Maid. "They 
 have sent a messenger to the King and expect succour." 
 
 " 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 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 care to go even on to the roof of the church 
 tower and bring me tidings, for fear of a stray cannon 
 ball." 
 
 " Por holy men they are wondrous chary of their lives," 
 281 
 
282 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 said Barthelemy, laughing ; " were I a monk, I would wel- 
 come death that should unfrock me, and let me go a-wan- 
 dering among these fair lady Saints we see in the pictures." 
 
 " It is written, Barthelemy, that there is neither marry- 
 ing nor giving in marriage." 
 
 " Faith, the more I am fain of it," said Barthelemy, 
 " and maybe 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 Compi- 
 egne, 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 a dark wood, carven with the head of a 
 strange beast in a cowl. 
 
 "I see it." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " 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." 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 283 
 
 " Was there an onfall of the enemy ? " 
 
 " Nay, they are over wary. He shot them as they dug 
 behind pavises* For the Duke has moved his quarters 
 to Venette, where the English lay, hard by the town. 
 And, right in the middle of the causeway to Marguy, 
 two arrow-shots from our bridge end, he is let building a 
 great bastille, and digging a trench wherein men may go to 
 and fro. The cordelier was glad of that, as a man that 
 has stalked a covey of partridges. ' Keep my tally for 
 me,' he said to myself; ' cut a notch for every man I slay,' 
 and here," said Barthelemy, waving his staff, "is the 
 first day's reckoning." 
 
 Now well I saw what chance I had of bringing that 
 devil to justice, for who would believe so strange a tale 
 as mine, against one so serviceable in the war ? Nor 
 was d'Aulon here to speak for me, the enemy having 
 taken him when they took the Maid. Thinking thus, I 
 groaned, and Barthelemy, 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. 
 
 " Things go not ill, had we but hope of succour," he 
 said. 
 
 " The Duke's bastille is rising, indeed, and the Duke 
 is building tandis-f of oaken beams and earth, between 
 the bastille and our boulevard. The skill is to draw 
 nearer us, and nearer, till he can mine beneath our feet. 
 Heard you any new noise of war this day ? " 
 
 "I heard such a roar and clatter as never was in my 
 ears, whether at Orleans or Paris." 
 
 * Pavises, large portable shelters, 
 t Block-houses. 
 
284 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 " And well you might ! The 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 Eeme- 
 swalle 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 they 
 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 ? " 
 
 " Is there no good tidings from the messenger ? " 
 " The King answers ever like a drawer in a tavern, 
 < Anon, anon, Sir ! ' He will come himself presently, 
 always presently, with all his host." 
 
 " He will never come," I said. " He is a " 
 
 "He is my King," said Barthelemy. "Curse your 
 own King of Scots, if you will. Scots, by the blood 
 of Iscariot, traitors are they; well, I crave your par- 
 don, — I spake in haste and anger. Know you Nicole 
 Cammet ? " 
 
 " 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 commands there, 
 to send them what saltpetre he could spare, for making 
 gunpowder. The saltpetre came in this day, by the 
 Pierrefonds gate, and Cammet with it, but on another 
 horse, a jade." 
 
 " Well, and what have the Scots to do with that ? " 
 " No more than this. A parcel of them, routiers and 
 brigands, have crept into an old castle on the road, and 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 285 
 
 hold it for their own hands. Thence they sallied forth 
 after Cammet, and so chased him, that his horse fell 
 down dead nnder 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 attournis, and say that a Scot atones for what 
 Scots have done." 
 
 " Norman, I take back my word, I crave your pardon, 
 and I am shamed to have spoken so to a sick man of 
 his own country folk. But, for your purse, I am ill at 
 carrying purses ; I have no skill in that art, and the dice 
 draw me when so 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 Barthel- 
 emy'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 not long thereafter, I falling 
 into discourse with Messire Georges Chastellain, an es- 
 quire of the Duke of Burgundy, and a maker both in 
 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 attournes (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 
 
286 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 their engines, destroying, as Barthelemy 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 
 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 northeast. Now were we 
 straitened for provender, notably for fresh meat, and 
 men were driven, as in a city beleaguered, to eat the flesh 
 of horses dead, 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 otherwise 
 bitter. For word came, that the Maid, being in ward at 
 Beaurevoir, a strong place of Jean de Luxembourg, had 
 leaped in the night from the top of the tower, and had, 
 next morning been taken up, all unhurt, as by miracle, 
 but astounded, and bereft of her senses. For this there 
 was much sorrow, but would to God that He had taken 
 her to himself in that hour ! 
 
 Nevertheless, when she was come to herself again, she 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 287 
 
 declared, by inspiration of the Saints, that Compiegne 
 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 Au- 
 gust the fifteenth, the eighty-fifth day of the siege, came 
 news to the Duke of Burgundy that Philip, Duke of Bra- 
 bant, was dead, and he must go to make sure of that great 
 heritage. The Duke having departed, the English earls 
 had far less heart for the leaguer. I know not well where- 
 fore, but now at least was seen the truth of that proverb, 
 concerning the " eye of the Master." The bastille, too, 
 over against 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 
 Barthelemy Barrette, for it was the day of Our Lady's 
 Peast, that very day whereon we had failed before Paris 
 last year, and there was truce for the sacred season. We 
 fell to devising of what had befallen, that day year, and, 
 without thought, I told Barthelemy 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 Barthelemy, and 
 
288 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 that you speak of." 
 
 " 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 port- 
 cullis, up drawbridge, close gates.' And now, that I 
 have told you the very truth, what should I do ? " 
 
 "The man shall burn for this," quoth Barthelemy. 
 "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 Elavy, who knows you not, 
 listen to such a story." 
 
 So there he sat, frowning, and plucking at his beard. 
 
 " I have it," he said. " D'Aulon is no further off than 
 Beaulieu, where Jean de Luxembourg holds him till he 
 pay his ransom. When the siege is raised, if ever we 
 have to have succour, then purchase safe conduct to 
 d'Aulon, take his testimony, and bring it to Elavy." 
 
 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 came 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, Barthelemy was 
 on his feet, his whinger flew from his hand, and he, 
 leaping up on to the parapet, was following after it. 
 
 In the same moment a loud grating voice cried — 
 
 " 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. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 289 
 
 Rising as I best might, but carefully, I spied over the 
 parapet, and there was Barthelemy, coming back, his 
 naked sword in his hand. 
 
 " The devil turned a sharp corner and was gone," 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. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 "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. 
 
 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 was 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 
 
290 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 season of Martinmas : but there dawned no light of hope. 
 Now, on the Wednesday before All Saints, I had clam- 
 bered up into the tower of the Church of the Jacobins, 
 on the northeast of the city, whence there was a pros- 
 pect 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 cross- 
 ing 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 Eoyaulieu. On the 
 crest of the bastille over against our Pierrefonds gate, 
 matches were lighted, and men were watching in double 
 guard, and the same on the other side of the water, at the 
 Gate Marguy. 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 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 Bur- 
 gundy 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, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 291 
 
 too, looked for nought else, but the French array never 
 stirred, though here and there a knight would gallop forth 
 to do a valiance. Seldom has man seen a stranger sight 
 in war, for the English and Burgundians could not charge, 
 being heavy armed men on foot, and the French would 
 not move against them. 
 
 All this spectacle lay far off, to the south, and we 
 could not be satisfied with wondering it nor turn away 
 our eyes, when, on the left, a trumpet rang out joyously. 
 Then, all of us turning 1 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 northeast, 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 
 now all our guns on the boulevard of the Pierrefonds 
 gate burst forth at once against the 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 Pierrefonds gate, 
 saw the portcullis raised, the drawbridge let down, and a 
 great array of men-at-arms rush out, carrying ladders, 
 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 gear, and, 
 taking a horse from the stable, I mounted and rode to 
 
292 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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. The boulevard 
 was full, not only of men-at-arms, but of all who could 
 carry clubs, burgesses armed, old men, boys, yea, women 
 and children, some with rusty swords, some with carpen- 
 ter's axes, some bearing cudgels, some with hammers, 
 spits, and knives, all clamouring for the portcullis to 
 rise and let them forth. Their faces were lean and 
 fierce, their eyes were like eyes of wolves, for now, they 
 cried, was the hour, and the prophecy of the Maid should 
 be fulfilled ! Verily, though she lay in bonds, her spirit 
 was with us on that day ! 
 
 But still the portcullis was down, and the long tail of 
 angry people stretched inwards, from the inner mouth of 
 the boulevard, down 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. 
 
 Suddenly, on the crest of the boulevard, Flavy threw 
 up his arm, and gave one cry — 
 
 " Xaintrailles ! " 
 
 Then he roared to draw up portcullis and open gates ; 
 the men-at-arms charged forth, the multitude trampled 
 over each other to be first in field, I was swept on 
 and along with them through the gate, and over the 
 drawbridge, like a straw on a wave, and, lo, a little on 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 293 
 
 our left, was the banner of Pothon de Xaintrailles, his 
 foremost men dismounting, the rear guard just rising 
 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 bastille, under a rain of arrows and balls. 
 Nothing could stay us ; a boy fell by my side with an 
 arrow thrilling in his breast. 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 the 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 Bur- 
 gundian man-at-arms, hammers and axes were breaking 
 up armour, knives 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 gentle- 
 men with him, as knowing the manner of war, saved and 
 held to ransom certain knights, as Messire Jacques de 
 Brimen, 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 
 Bertaucourt. 
 
 Thereafter, very late, and in the twilight of October 
 the twenty-fifth, we turned back to Compiegne, leaving 
 the 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 dry. 
 
294 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 pru- 
 dence 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, 
 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 French and 
 English had decamped in the dawn, their men deserting. 
 That day was not less joyful than the night had been, 
 for at Royaulieu, in the abbey, where Jean de Luxembourg 
 had lain, the townsfolk found all manner of meat, and of 
 wine great plenty ; so right good cheer we made, for it 
 cost us nothing. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 HOW THE BURGUNDIANS HUNTED HARES, AND THE END 
 OF THAT HUNTING. ALSO, HOW NOBLE WAS THE DUKE 
 OF BURGUNDY 
 
 " Well, what tidings of him ? " Barthelemy Barrette 
 asked me, on the day after that unbought feast at Royau- 
 lieu. 
 
 He was sitting in the noonday snn, on the bridge of 
 Compiegne, and strange it was to see the place so bat- 
 tered, 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 red, in places? 
 with dried-up blood of men slain. 
 
 " Tidings can I find none," I answered. 
 
 " He who saw the cordelier last was on guard in the 
 boulevard during the great charge. He marked Brother 
 Thomas level his culverin 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." 
 
 " You were his target, I make no doubt," said Barthel- 
 emy, " but, for the throng, he had no certain aim." 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 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 ? " 
 
 295 
 
296 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 " 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 Eouen. Save her France 
 must, for the honour of France." 
 
 " My mind is the same," he said, and fell into a muse. 
 
 " Hence the straight road and the shortest," he said 
 at last, " is by Beauvais on to Rouen." 
 
 " Here," Barthelemy went on, drawing his dagger and 
 scratching a round on the bridge parapet with its point, 
 " here is Compiegne ; there, far to the west, is the sea, 
 and here is Eouen. That straight line," which he 
 scratched, " goes to Eouen from Compiegne. Here, mid- 
 way, is Beauvais, whereof we spoke ; we hold. But there, 
 between Compiegne, held by Crevecoeur for the Burgun- 
 dians, and here, midway between Beauvais and Eouen, 
 is Gournay, where Kyriel and the Lord Huntingdon lie 
 with a great force of English. Do you comprehend ? We 
 must first take Clermont ! " 
 
 " 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'Alenqon 
 through Normandy from the south, while our companies 
 take Clermont, if we may, and drive back the English 
 and Burgundians. But you know the King, and men say 
 that the Archbishop of Eheims openly declares that the 
 Maid is rightly punished for her pride. He has set up a 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 297 
 
 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 
 some deal straggled apart, by reason of his much riding. 
 
 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. 
 
 " I would all my company were as honest as I take you 
 twain to be," he said. " And I gladly receive you under 
 my colours, with any men you can bring." 
 
 " Messire, I have a handful of horse," said Barthelemy 
 hardily, " but when do we march ? — for to-day is better 
 than to-morrow." 
 
 " As soon as may be," said the knight ; "the Marechal 
 de Boussac leads us against Clermont. That town we 
 cannot leave behind us, when we set forth from Beauvais. 
 But with these great bombards, the gift of the Burgun- 
 dians, we may have reason of Clermont, and then — " 
 clapping his hands together, and looking up, — " then 
 for Eouen ! 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. 
 
298 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 " 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 mid- 
 winter draws nigh." 
 
 Therewith we left him, and in few days were march- 
 ing on Clermont, dragging with long trains of horses the 
 great bombards of the Burgundians. 
 
 To our summons, Messire de Crevecceur answered 
 knightly that Clermont he would hold till death or 
 rescue, so we set to battering his house about his ears. 
 But alas, after four days, a sentinel of ours saw, too late, 
 a knight with nine men slip through the vines, under 
 cover of darkness, and win a postern gate in the town 
 wall. Soon we heard a joy-fire of guns within Clermont 
 town, and foreboded the worst. At midnight came a 
 peasant to Boussac, 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 Normandy, 
 with a great force of English, to deliver Clermont. 
 Against foes within the town and foes without the 
 town, the captains judged that we were of no avail. So 
 we departed, heavy at heart. Now the companies scat- 
 tered, and Barthelemy and I, sorry enough, rode behind 
 Xaintrailles due north to Guermigny, whence we threat- 
 ened Amiens. 
 
 At Guermigny, then, for a short season, lay Xaintrailles, 
 gathering all the force he might along the Picardy 
 marches, for the Duke of Burgundy was in Peronne, 
 full of wrath and sorrow, so many evils had befallen 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 299 
 
 him. For ourselves, we were in no gentler temper, hav- 
 ing lost our hope of pushing on to Rouen. 
 
 I was glad, therefore, when Xaintrailles himself rode 
 one day to the door of our lodging in Guermigny, strode 
 clanging into our chamber, and asked if we were alone. 
 We telling him that none was within earshot, he sat 
 him down on the table, playing with his dagger hilt, and 
 with his hawk's eye on Barthelemy, asked — 
 
 "You know this land well ? " 
 
 " I have ridden over it, in war or peace, since I was a 
 boy." 
 
 " How far to Lihons ? " 
 
 " A matter of two leagues." 
 
 " What manner of country lies between ? " 
 
 " Chiefly plain, rude and untilled, 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 under- 
 growth as love water." 
 
 " You can guide me there ? " 
 
 " 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 ? " 
 
 " Nom Dieu, yea ! " said Barthelemy. 
 
 " And your Scots friend I can trust. A good day to 
 you, and thanks many." 
 
 Thereon he went forth. 
 
 " What has he in his mind ? " I asked Barthelemy. 
 
 "Belike an ambush. The Duke of Burgundy lies at 
 Peronne, and has mustered a great force. Lihons i? 
 
3 oo A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 midway between us and Peronne, and is in the hands 
 of Burgundy. I deem they mean 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 than the small garrison. 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 way, and knew how to 
 discover all whatsoever his enemy designed, that captain 
 was Xaintrailles. None the less I hoped in my heart 
 that his secret tidings 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 bank of a 
 little brook, we were halted, and here took cover, our 
 horses lying down. 
 
 " Let no man stir, or speak, save when I speak to him, 
 whatever befalls, on peril of his life," said Xaintrailles, 
 when we were all disposed in hiding. Then, touching 
 me on the shoulder that I should rise, he said — 
 
 " 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," 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 30 1 
 
 "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 hoar frost 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, the road running plain to 
 see for leagues, like a ribbon, when once the low sun 
 had scattered the mists. 
 
 It was a long watch, and a weary, my hands being half 
 frozen in my steel gauntlets. Many of our men slept; if 
 ever a wayfarer crossed the bridge hard by he was stopped, 
 gagged, and trussed in a rope's end. But wayfarers 
 were few, and all were wandering afoot. I was sorry 
 for two lasses, who crossed on some business of their 
 farm, but there was no remedy. 
 
 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 Barthelemy 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. 
 
 " Silence, fool, " whispered Xaintrailles. " Why laugh 
 you, in the name of Behemoth?" 
 
 "They 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 fore- 
 
3 02 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 most 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, 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 spur- 
 ring for their lives, many cried mercy, and were taken 
 to ransom, of whom I had my share, as I shall tell. 
 
 But few men made a good right end. Thomas Kyriel, 
 a knight of England, stood to his banner, his archers 
 rallied about it, with two or three knights of Burgundy. 
 There, unhelmeted for the most parts, they chose the 
 way of honour, but they were of no avail where so many 
 lances were levelled and so many swords were hewing 
 at so few. There was a great slaughter, but Geoffroy 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 An- 
 toine being unhelmeted and unknown, was smitten on the 
 head by Barthelemy 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 would 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 be- 
 cause his horse threw him, and he lost for a moment 
 all sense with the fall, and found my boot on his neck, 
 who should he be but Messire Robert Heron, the same 
 whom I took at Orleans. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 303 
 
 Who, when he knew me, took off his salade for greater 
 ease, and sitting down on a rock by the way, swore so as 
 never I heard man swear, French, English, Spaniard, or 
 Scot, and at length laughed, and said it was fortune of 
 war. And so was content. 
 
 This skirmish being thus ended, we returned, blithe 
 and rich men every one of us, what with prisoners, horses, 
 arms, and all manner of treasure taken with the baggage. 
 That night we slept little in Guermigny, but feasted and 
 drank deep. For my own part I know not well where I 
 did sleep, or how I won to what bed, which shames me 
 some deal after all these years. 
 
 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. For 
 Pothonwas as open of hand as he was high of heart, 
 and no greedy captain, wherefore men followed him the 
 more gladly. 
 
 All this was well, but we were no nearer Eouen 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. Noth- 
 ing would serve him that day but to lead all his host to 
 
3 o4 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 Guermigny from Peronne, whence he would have got 
 little comfort or 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 England to 
 aid the Burgundian hare hunters. But Huntingdon had 
 departed to Rouen, where then lay Henry, King of Eng- 
 land, 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 avenged 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 Lefenore Saint-Remy, 
 the pursuivant, was hunting for my Lord of Huntingdon 
 all up and down Normandy, and at last came to Rouen, 
 and to the presence of the Duke of Bedford, the uncle of 
 the English King. All this I myself heard from Messire 
 Saint-Remy, who is still a pursuivant, and a learned 
 man, and a maker of books. 
 
 Bedford, then, who was busy hounding that devil, 
 Cauchon, sometime bishop of Beauvais, against the 
 Maid, sent the Comte de Perche and Messire Loys Rob- 
 sart 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. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 305 
 
 Of all this we, in Compiegne, knew so much as that it 
 was wiser to strike the Duke at Eoye before he could add 
 English talbots to his Burgundian harriers. 
 
 Therefore all the captains of companies, as Boussac, 
 Xaintrailles, Alain Giron, Amado de Vignolles, Loys de 
 Naucourt, mustered their several companies, to the num- 
 ber of some live 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 Eobsart, a good knight, of the Order of the 
 Garter, and drove the English that fled into the castle of 
 Couty, and took all their horses, leaving them shamed, 
 for they kept no guard. 
 
 Thence we rode to within a league of Eoye, 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 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 booting it at 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 be less noble than he 
 is, every day that he soils knighthood?" 
 
 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 would not, for 
 want of victuals. 
 
3 o6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 And so we drew half a league nearer to Eoye. 
 
 The Duke sent back our herald with word that of 
 victuals he would give us half his own store, for he had 
 read, 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 mariant could bear, but he would 
 take cudgel in hand for his honour. 
 
 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 Bur- 
 gundy 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 that we 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. 
 
CHAPTEE XXIV 
 
 HOW NORMAN LESLIE TOOK SERVICE WITH THE ENGLISH 
 
 " What make we now ? " I asked of Bartheleniy 
 Barrette, one day, after the companies had scattered, as 
 I have said, and we had gone back into Compiegne. 
 " 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 Bouen is not a strength that can be taken 
 by sudden onslaught. And, were it so, where is the 
 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 her. 
 For my part I ride with my handful of spears to the 
 Loire. Perchance there is yet some hope in the King.'' 
 
 " Then I ride with you, granted your good will, for I 
 must needs to Tours, and I have over-much treasure in 
 my wallet to ride alone." 
 
 Indeed I was now a rich man, more by luck than by 
 307 
 
3°8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 valour, and, though I said nought of it, I hoped that my 
 long wooing might now come to a happy end. 
 
 Barthelemy 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 severance. And in my 
 master's hands I laid my newly gotten gear, and heard 
 privily, from him, that with his good will, I and his 
 daughter might wed so soon as she would. 
 
 " 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 countenance of old, flushed 
 scarlet when she heard how we had bearded and shamed 
 the noble Duke of Burgundy, and what words Xain- 
 trailles had spoken concerning his nobleness. 
 
 " There is one true knight left in Erance ! " she said, 
 and fell silent again. 
 
 Then, we being alone in the chamber, I tried to take 
 her hand, but she drew it away. 
 
 " 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 will 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, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 309 
 
 or if she be unjustly slain, I have set up my rest to abide 
 unwed, forever, as the Bride of Heaven. And, if the 
 last evil befall her, as well I deem it must, I shall with- 
 draw me from the world, into the sisterhood of the Clar- 
 isses." 
 
 Had the great mid-beam of the roof fallen and smitten 
 me, I could not have been struck more dumb and dead. 
 My face shewed what was in my mind, belike, for, look- 
 ing 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 ven- 
 tured, 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." 
 
 " 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 as- 
 sured 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 bade 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. 
 
3io A MOiVK OF FIFE 
 
 "But, as we read of the Eich Man and Lazarus, be- 
 tween 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 wicked- 
 ness 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." 
 
 My purpose was now clear before me, even as I exe- 
 cuted it, as shall be seen. 
 
 " 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 mas- 
 ter 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 would need more than arms. 
 
 One matter in especial, which I deemed should stand 
 me in the greatest stead, I purchased for gold of the leech 
 at Tours, the same who had nursed me after my wound. 
 This draught I bestowed in a silver phial, graven with 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 311 
 
 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 bitter- 
 ness of her grief was overpast, Elliot might change her 
 counsel. And again, I would not have him devise and 
 dispute with her, as now, whereby I very well knew 
 that she would be but the more unhappy, and the more 
 set on taking her own wilful way. I therefore said no 
 more than that it behoved me to see such captains as 
 were about the King. 
 
 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 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 prosperous to 
 behold. But it gave me greater joy that he spoke of 
 some secret enterprise which should shortly be put in 
 hand, when the spring came. 
 
 " For I have good intelligence," he said, " that the 
 Bastard of Orleans will ride 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 Barthelemy, 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. 
 
312 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 But the days waxed long, and it was March the thir- 
 teenth 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, by riding much at 
 night, through forests, and by-ways, we came to Lou- 
 viers, where they received us joyfully. For it was very 
 well known that the English were minded to besiege the 
 town that braved them so near their gates of Eouen, 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 
 Eouen, 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. 
 
 " There is nought to be done," Barthelemy said to me. 
 " I cannot take Eouen 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 despe- 
 rate peril are you minded to run ? " 
 
 " I am minded to end this matter," I said. " My honour 
 and my very life stand 011 it. Ask me not why, and swear 
 that you will keep this secret from all men, if you would 
 do the last service to me, and to her, whom we both love. 
 I tell you that, help me or hinder me, I have no choice 
 but this, yet so much I will say to you, that I put myself 
 in this jeopardy for my honour and my lady." 
 
 " The days are past for the old chivalry," he said, " but 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 313 
 
 no more said. I swear by St. Ouen to keep your counsel, 
 and, if more I can do, without mere madness and risk out 
 of all hope, I will do it." 
 
 "This you can do without risk. Let me have the 
 accoutrements of one of the English men 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 vil- 
 lage, burned a house or twain, and seized certain wains 
 of hay, so, in the confusion, I slipped forward, and rode 
 alone into a little wood. There I clad myself in English 
 guise, having carried the gear in a wallet on my saddle- 
 bow, and so pushed on, till, at nightfall, I came to a 
 certain little fishing village. There, under cover of the 
 dark, I covenanted with a fisherman to set me across the 
 Channel, I feigning to be a deserter who was fleeing from 
 the English army for fear of the Maid. 
 
 " I would well that I had to carry all the sort of you," 
 said the boat-master, for I had offered him my horse, and 
 a great reward in money, part down, and the other part 
 to be paid when I set foot in England. Nor did he make 
 any tarrying, but taking his nets on board, as if he would 
 be about his lawful business, set sail, with his two sons for 
 a crew. The east wind served us to a miracle, and, after 
 
3 i 4 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 Eye 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 kne^how a com- 
 pany of the Earl of Warwick's men was looked for in 
 Winchelsea, to sail when they had a fair wind for Eouen. 
 
 Mine host came to me in a servile English fashion, and 
 asked me what I would ? 
 
 " 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, pull- 
 ing off my boots, and flinging them down, on the rushes 
 of the floor, " bid one of your varlets clean them ! Next, 
 breakfast, and a pot of your ale ; and then I shall see 
 what manner of horses you keep, for I must needs ride 
 to Winchelsea." 
 
 " You would join the men under the banner of Sir 
 Thomas Grey of Falloden, I make no doubt ? " he an- 
 swered. " 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, 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 315 
 
 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. 
 
 '•'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 in 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. 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " You speak the tongue of these parts," he said. "Are 
 you noble ? " 
 
 "A. poor cousin of the Grahames of Netherby," I 
 answered, which was true enough, and I knew every 
 name and scutcheon of the line, my mother having 
 instructed me in all such lore of her family. 
 
 "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), 
 
3i 6 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 "we shall shortly drive these foresworn 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. 
 
 I made 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 Eouen, 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 Compiegne. Yet my vizor was down, both at 
 Orleans and Compiegne, and of those few who marked 
 me in girl's gear in Paris, none might to chance to meet 
 me at Eouen, or to remember me in changed garments. 
 So I put a bold brow on it, for better might not be. 
 None cursed the Puzel more loudly than I, and, without 
 feigning, none longed so sorely as I for a fair wind to 
 France, wherefore I was ever going about Winchelsea, 
 with my head in the air, gazing at the weathercocks. 
 And, as fortune would have it, the wind went about, and 
 we on board, and, with no long delay, were at Rouen 
 town. 
 
CHAPTEE XXV 
 
 HOW THE MAID WAS DELIVERED WITH GREAT VICTORY, 
 AND THE ENDING OF THIS CHRONICLE 
 
 Arrived in the town of Kouen, 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 
 this cruelty of the English) to her bed. The next matter 
 was to purvey me two horses of the fleetest. Here my fort- 
 une served me well, for the young esquires and pages would 
 ever be riding races outside of the gates, for they went 
 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 Southern Marchmen, thrust myself very 
 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 few in the whole garrison 
 of Eouen. 
 
 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 
 in 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 
 
 3i7 
 
31 8 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 partly because none could carry a message swifter, or 
 adventure further to spy out any bands of the French, 
 he kept me close to him, and trusted me as his galloper. 
 Nay, he gave me, on occasion, his signet, to open the 
 town gates whensoever he would send me on any errand. 
 Moreover, the man (noble by birth, but base by breeding) 
 who had the chief charge and custody of the Maid was 
 the brother's son of Sir Thomas. He had to name John 
 Grey, and was an esquire of the body of the English 
 King Henry, then a boy. This miscreant it was often 
 my fortune to meet, at his uncle's table, and to hear his 
 pitiless and cruel speech. Yet, making friends, as Script- 
 ure 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 her dungeon, where 
 only the bishop, the doctors of law, and the ' notaries 
 might hear them. Her noble bearing, indeed, and wise 
 answers (which were plainly put into her mouth by the 
 Saints, for she was simple and ignorant), had gained 
 men's hearts. 
 
 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 Com- 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 319 
 
 piegne. 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 — 
 
 "Shalt thou be delivered?" 
 
 And she had answered — " Ask me on this day three 
 months, and I shall declare it to you." 
 
 The English, knowing this, made all haste to end her 
 ere May ended, wherefore I had the more occasion 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. 
 "Grahame, you are a good fellow, though a fool at the 
 dice." 
 
 "Faith, I have met my master," I said. "But the 
 lesson was worth bay Salkeld," for so I had named my 
 horse, after a great English house on the Border, who 
 dwelt 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 homeward journey." 
 
 "I should like it not ill," I said; "it were something 
 to tell my grandchildren, when all France is English 
 land." 
 
 " 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 
 
3 20 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 resolved 
 that she shall be had into the torture chamber." 
 
 I put 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. 
 
 "Thanks to St. George," I said, "the end is nigh! " 
 
 "The end of the tankard," quoth he, looking into it, 
 " 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. 
 
 "You might challenge at skinking that great Danish 
 knight, who was with us under Orleans, Sir Andrew 
 Oggard was his name, and his bearings were — " 
 
 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 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 parchment? " 
 
 I set paper and ink before him, who said — 
 
 "Nay, write yourself; I am no great clerk, yet I can 
 sign and seal." 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 321 
 
 Therewith, at his wording, I set down an order to the 
 castle porter to let me forth as soon 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. 
 
 Next I went back to my lodgings and there bade the 
 hostler to have my two best steeds saddled and bridled in 
 stall, by point of day, for a council was being held that 
 night in the castle, and I and another of Sir Thomas's 
 company might be sent early with a message to the 
 bishop of Avranches. This holy man, as then, was a 
 cause of trouble and delay to the Kegent and Pierre 
 Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, 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 doublet bearing the red 
 cross of St. George. Over all I threw a great mantle, 
 falling to the feet, as if fearing the night chills. There- 
 after I made a fair copy of my own writing in the pass 
 given to me by John Grey, and copied his signature also, 
 and feigned his seal with a seal of clay, for it might 
 chance that two passes proved better than one. Then I 
 put in a little wallet, hanging to my girdle the signet of 
 Sir Thomas Grey, and the pass given to me by John 
 Grey, also an inkhorn with pen and paper, and in my 
 hand, secretly, held that phial which I had bought of 
 the apothecary in Tours. All my gold and jewels I hid 
 
322 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 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 with the chime 
 of curfew I heard rude voices without, 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 panier 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 choosing 
 eates and 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, and tasting 
 it, swore it would serve my turn. This great flagon, 
 such as we call a " tappit ben " in my country, but 
 greater, I bore with me up the cellar stairs, and gave it 
 to one of the guard, bidding him spill not a drop, or he 
 should go thirsty. 
 
 The lourdaud, that was their captain, carried the 
 panier, 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 sway as I walked with hope and fear. At the 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 323 
 
 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. They 
 tumbled down the stairs laughing, while we went in, and 
 I last. It was a dark vaulted chamber, with one window 
 near the roof, narrow and heavily barred. In the recess 
 by the window was a brazier burning, and casting as 
 much shadow as light, by reason of the smoke. Here 
 also was a rude table, stained with foul circles of pot- 
 rims, and there were five or six stools. On a weight 
 oaken bed lay one in black man's raiment, the face 
 downwards, and the arms spread over the 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 Devil 
 who wears their form." 
 
 "Have you seen this fair company of hers?" I whis- 
 pered in English, crossing myself. 
 
 " No more than she saw the white lady that goes with 
 that other witch, Catherine of La Eochelle. But, Sir, 
 she is sullen ; it is her manner. With your good leave, 
 shall we sup?" 
 
 This was my own desire, so, putting the panier on the 
 table, I carved the meat with my dagger, and poured 
 
324 
 
 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 out the wine in cups, and they fell to, being hungry as 
 Englishmen are at all times. They roared over their 
 meat, eating like wolves, and drinking like fishes, and 
 one would sing a song and the others strike in with the 
 chorus, but drinking was their main avail. 
 
 "This is better stuff," says the lourdaud, "than our 
 English ale. Faith, 'tis strong, my brains. Wake up, 
 Jenkin, wake up, Hal," and then he roared a snatch, 
 but stopped, looking drowsily about him. 
 
 Oh, 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! 
 
 " 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 — 
 
 " 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 five of them, and, some 
 while, their greed kept them wakeful, and they called 
 the mains, but their drought kept them drinking. And, 
 one by one, their heads fell heavy on the table, or they 
 sprawled on their stools, and so on to the floor, so potent 
 were the poppy and mandragora of the leech in Tours. 
 
 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. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 325 
 
 Stealthily I took the chain and the key from about 
 the neck of the lourdaud, and then drew near her on 
 tiptoe. 
 
 I listened, and, from her breathing, I believed 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 — 
 
 "Fillede — " 
 
 Instantly she turned about, and, sitting up, folded her 
 hands as one in prayer, deeming, belike, that she was, 
 aroused by the voices of her Saints. 
 
 I kneeled down beside the bed, and whispered — 
 
 " Madame, Jeanne, look on my face ! " 
 
 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 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 ? " 
 
 "Nay, Madame," I said, "thou wakest and dost not 
 dream. One has sent me, who loves thee, even my lady 
 Elliot, and now listen, for the time is short. See, here I 
 have the master key, and, when I have unlocked thy 
 bonds — " 
 
 " Thou hast not slain these men ? " she asked ; " that 
 were deadly sin." 
 
 " Nay, they do but sleep, and will waken, belike, ere 
 the fresh guard comes ; wherefore we must make haste. 
 When I have freed thee, do on thy body, above thy 
 raiment, this of mine, for it carries the cross of Eng- 
 land, and, I being of little stature, you may well pass for 
 me. Moreover, this cloak will cover thee. Then, when 
 thou goest forth, give the word Bedford to the sentinels ; 
 
326 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 and, to the porter in the gate, shew this pass of John 
 Grey's. He knows it already, having seen it this night. 
 Next, when thon art without the castle, fare to the 
 hostelry called The Rose and Apple, which is nearest to 
 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 ; mount, with no word, and ride to the western port. 
 There shew to the gate-ward this signet of Sir Thomas 
 Grey, and he will up with the 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. 
 Then the flush faded and she grew ashen pale, while 
 she said — 
 
 " But thou, how shalt thou get forth ? " 
 "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 made 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." 
 
 " 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 well nigh sleep- 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 327 
 
 ing. Oh, Madame, for the sake of the fortune of France, 
 and the honour of the King," for this, I knew, was my 
 surest hope, "delay not, nor reck at all of me. I have 
 but one life, and it is thine freely." 
 
 "They will burn thee, or slay thee with other tor- 
 ments." 
 
 " Not so," I said, " I have a dagger for the sentinels, or, 
 if needs be, for myself. 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 Saints have spoken 
 to me. ' Bear this thy martyrdom gently,' they say, ' tn 
 fen viendras en royaume die Parodist 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. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 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 thou escape not." 
 
 " I shall be delivered," she answered. 
 
 "Now I pray you 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 in some 
 jeopardy." 
 
328 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 "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 ? " 
 
 " Yes, Madame, here is my wallet." 
 
 " Then write, as I tell thee — 
 
 + JHESU MARIA + 
 
 " 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 Pitcidlo, my faithful servant, praying 
 that all happiness may go ivith 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 Hun- 
 dred and TJiirty One." 
 
 " So guide my hand," she said, taking the pen from my 
 fingers, and so guided, while my tears fell on her hand, 
 she wrote Jehanne la Pucelle. 
 
 "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 sundered lock (as was 
 sometimes her custom), and bade me seal with my own 
 signet, and put the brief in my wallet. 
 
 " Now, all is done," she said. " And now I lay my last 
 commands on the last of all my servants. If in aught I 
 have ever offended thee, in word or deed, forgive me ! " 
 
 I could but bow my head, for I was weeping, though 
 her eyes were dry. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 329 
 
 "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, kneeling. 
 
 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, shewing 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. 
 
 Of the rest I have no mind to tell, for it puts me out 
 of charity with a people who have a name to be Chris- 
 tians, 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 and delivery by act of the Saints. But it 
 was their will that she should be made perfect through 
 suffering, should be delivered through the gate of fire, 
 and 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, sad- 
 
330 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 clling my swiftest horse, I rode to the West Port. When 
 the gate had closed behind me, I turned, and, lifting my 
 hand, I cursed the English, cast down on the ground the 
 signet of Sir Thomas Grey, and spurred to Louviers. 
 There I told them the tale which was their shame, and 
 so betook me to Tours, and to my lady. 
 
 It serves not to speak of my later fortunes, being those 
 of a private man, nor have I the heart to recall old sor- 
 rows. 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 my child. Then, after certain weeks and days of 
 which I am blessed enough to keep little memory, I for- 
 swore arms, and served in the household of the Lady 
 Margaret of Scotland, who married the Dauphin, on an 
 unhappy day. I have known much of courts and of 
 the learned, I have seen the wicked man exalted, and 
 Brother Thomas Noiroaflj in great honour with Charles 
 VI L, King of France. 
 
 The death of the Lady Margaret, slain by foul 
 tongues, and the sudden sight of that evil man raised 
 to power and place, drove me from France, and I was 
 certain years with the King's ambassadors at the Courts 
 of Italy. I heard in Italy how the Holy Inquisition had 
 reversed that false judgment of the English and false 
 French at Rouen, which made me some joy. And then, 
 rinding old age come upon me, I withdrew to my own 
 country, where I have lived in religion, some while in 
 the Abbey of Dunfermline, and, these two years gone, 
 in our cell of Pluscardine, where I now write and where 
 I hope to die and be buried. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 331 
 
 Here ends my chronicle, in my Latin book left untold, 
 of how a Scots Monk was with the Maid, both in her 
 victories and recoveries of towns, and even till her death. 
 
 Explicit 
 8ANCTA JOHANNA, OR A PRO NOBIS. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, whose narrative the reader 
 has in his hands, refers more than once to his unfinished 
 Latin Chronicle. That work, usually known as "The 
 Book of Pluscarden," has been edited by Mr. Felix Skene, 
 in the series of "Historians of Scotland" (vol. vii.). To 
 Mr. Skene's introduction and notes the curious are re- 
 ferred. Here it may suffice to say that the original MS. 
 of the Latin Chronicle is lost ; that of six known manu- 
 script 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 Prologue, states 
 the purpose of his work. At the bidding of an unnamed 
 Abbot of Dunfermline, who must have been Richard 
 Bothwell, he is to abbreviate " The Great Chronicle," and 
 " bring it up to date," as we now say. He is to recount 
 the events of his own time, " with certain other miracu- 
 lous 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 re- 
 covered 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 
 
 332 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 333 
 
 " etc.," perhaps a sign of omission. The monkish author 
 probably said more about the heroine of his youth, and 
 this the copyists have chosen to leave out. 
 
 The author never fulfilled this promise of telling, in 
 Latin, the history of the Maid as her career was seen by 
 a Scottish ally and friend. Nor did he ever explain how 
 a Scot, and a foe of England, succeeded in being present 
 at the Maiden's martyrdom in Rouen. At least he never 
 fulfilled his promise, as far as any of the six Latin MSS. 
 of his chronicle are concerned. Every one of these MSS. 
 — doubtless following their incomplete original — breaks 
 off short in the middle of the second sentence of Chapter 
 xxxii. Book xii. Here is the brief fragment which that 
 chapter contains : — 
 
 "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 command he wrote 
 "is left blank, as if it had been erased in the original" 
 (Mr. Felix Skene, Liber Pluscardensis, in the " Histo- 
 rians 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. 
 
 Against this theory we have to set the explanation 
 
334 A MONK OF FIFE 
 
 here offered by Norman Leslie, our author, in the Katis- 
 bon 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 cor- 
 roboration could be expected, in the large mass of docu- 
 ments 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 
 Barette, Noiroufle, the Scottish painter, and his daughter 
 Elliot, Capdorat, ay, even Thomas Scott, the King's 
 Messenger, were all real living people, traces of whose 
 existence, with some of their adventures, survive faintly 
 in brown old MSS. Louis de Contes, the pretty page of 
 the Maid, a boy of fourteen, may have been hardly 
 judged by Norman Leslie, but he certainly abandoned 
 Jeanne d'Arc at her first failure. 
 
 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. 
 
 The style, it will be observed, even in the medium of 
 our translation, is far more free and familiar than any- 
 thing to which Leslie could have attained in Latin. 
 
A MONK OF FIFE 335 
 
 Thus something is gained, though much more is lost, 
 by his disuse of the learned language. For testimony to 
 authenticity (beyond the tradition of the Scots College, 
 which cannot be traced farther back than the French 
 Revolution) Leslie's narrative must rely on the broken 
 reed of " internal evidence : " evidence of manner, of tone, 
 of ideas. Even these indications cannot be tested by the 
 critical expert, till the original French text, with col- 
 oured reproductions of the miniatures, is published. 
 Nor will a sober criticism rely even on these evidences, 
 when it is remembered that a modern forgery of a 
 popular contemporary icon of Jeanne d'Arc was for 
 many years accepted as genuine, was exhibited at the 
 Maison Cluny, and was even reproduced in the illustrated 
 edition of M. Wallon's well-known biography of the 
 Venerable Jeanne. 
 
 The editor and translator of " A Monk of Fife " 
 thinks it necessary to anticipate these unavoidable re- 
 flections. He is content to render his text as best he 
 may, not imitating, in manner, the almost contemporary 
 English of the " Paston Letters," or the somewhat earlier 
 English style of the Regent Bedford, but merely at- 
 tempting to give a moderately old air to his version 
 of a French which, genuine or imitative, is certainly, in 
 character and spelling, antique. 
 
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 Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne, 
 Sieur de Marsac. 
 
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 brought in skillfully, and the tragic and varied history of the time forms a splendid frame in 
 which to set the picture of Marsac's love and courage . . . the troublous days are well 
 described and the interest is genuine and lasting, for up to the very end the author manages 
 effects which impel the reader to go on with renewed curiosity.'' — The Nation. 
 
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 It may be said that the narration is a delightful love story. The interest of the reader 
 is constantly excited by the development of unexpected turns in the relation of the principal 
 lovers. The romance lies against a background of history truly painted. . . . The 
 descriptions of the court life of the period and of the factional strifes, divisions, hatreds of th? 
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 ** Bold, strong, dashing, it is one of the best we have read for many years. We sat down 
 for a cursory perusal, and ended by reading it delightedly through. . . . Mr. Weyman 
 has much of the vigor and rush of incident of Dr. Conan Doyle, and this book ranks worthily 
 beside * The White Company.' . . . We very cordially recommend this book to the jaded 
 novel reader who cares for manly actions more than for morbid introspection." 
 
 — The Churchman. 
 
 •'The book is not only good literature, it is a 'rattling good story,' instinct with the 
 spirit of true adventure and stirring emotion. Of love and peril, intrigue and fighting, there 
 Is plenty, and many scenes could not have been bettered. In all his adventures, and they 
 are many, Marsac acts as befits his epoch and his own modest yet gallant personality. Well- 
 known historical figures emerge in telling fashion under Mr. Weyman's discriminating and 
 fascinating touch."— Athenaeum. 
 
 " I cannot fancy any reader, old or young, not sharing with doughty Crillon his admiration 
 for M. de Marsac, who, though no swashbuckler, has a sword that leaps from its scabbard at the 
 breath of insult. . . . There are several historical personages in the novel ; there is, of 
 course, a heroine, of great beauty and enterprise ; but that true ' Gentleman of France,' 
 M. dr Marsac, with his perseverance and valor, dominates them all." 
 
 —Mr. James Payn in the Illustrated London News. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 15 EAST 16th STEEET, NEW YORK. 
 
UNDER THE RED ROBE. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," "THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF," ETC. 
 
 With 1 2 Full-page Illustrations by R. Caton Woodville. 
 1 2mo, Linen Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
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 a knowledge of French character and French landscape that was surely never ac- 
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 ment, and in the last Mr. Weyman . . . demonstrates that he has no superior 
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 makes all other but unnoticed shadows cast by them— and the attention is so keenly 
 fixed upon one or both, from the first word to the last, that we live in their thoughts 
 and see the drama unfolded through their eyes."— N. Y. World. 
 
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 The plot is admirably clear and strong, the diction singularly concise and telling, and 
 the stirring events are so managed as not to degenerate into sensationalism. Few 
 better novels of adventure than this have ever been written. "—Outlook, New York. 
 
 " A wonderfully brilliant and thrilling romance. . . . Mr. Weyman has a positive 
 talent for concise dramatic narration. Every phrase tells, and the characters static 
 out with life-like distinctness. Some of the most fascinating epochs in French history 
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 notable successes of later nineteenth-century fiction. This story of ' Under the Red 
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 vigor and appropriateness from twelve full-page designs by R. Caton Woodville." 
 
 —Boston Beacon. 
 
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 although his new heroes are of different mould. The book is full of adventure and 
 characterized by a deeper study of character than its predecessor." 
 
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 hero, a more impressive Marsac ; an accomplished duelist, telling the tale of his own 
 adventures, he first repels and finally attracts us. He is at once the tool of Richelieu, 
 and a man of honor. Here is a noteworthy romance, full of thrilling incident set down 
 by a master-hand. "—Philadelphia Press. 
 
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MY LADY ROTHA. 
 
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 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 
 
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 With Eight Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.25. 
 
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 rarer art, if it be not the artlessness, which makes it as real and as inevitable as life itself. 
 His characters are alive, human, unforgetable, resembling in this respect those of Thackeray 
 in historical lines and in a measure those of Dumas, with whom, and not inaptly, Mr. Wey- 
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 so strictly to historical truth." — Evening Post, Chicago. 
 
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 supposititious narrator, and the virtues and failings of his men and women are set forth in a 
 fashion which is captivating from its very simplicity. It is one of his best novels." 
 
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 — New York World. 
 
 "... As good a tale of adventure as any one need ask ; the picture of those war- 
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 battle under Wallenstein's entrenchments is masterly." — Boston Traveller. 
 
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 while in painting the cruelties and savage barbarities of war at that period the brush is held 
 by an impartial hand. Books of adventure and romance are apt to be cheap and sensational. 
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 is told with consummate skill. The plot is artistically devised and enrolled before the read- 
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 to the very end." — New Orleans Picayune. 
 
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 AUTHOR OF "SHE," "ALLAN QUATERMAIN," " NADA THE LILY," ETC 
 
 With 24 full-page Illustrations and Vignette by Maurice 
 Greiffenhagen. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " Adventures that stir the reader's blood and, like magic spells, hold his attention with 
 power so strong that only the completion of the novel can satisfy his interest. ... In 
 this novel the motive of revenge is treated with a subtle power . . . this latest production 
 of Mr. Haggard blends with the instruction of the historical novel the charm of a splendid 
 romance."— Public Opinion. 
 
 " Mr. Haggard has done nothing better ... it may well be doubted if he has ever 
 done anything half so good. The tale is one of the good, old-fashioned sort, filled wiih the 
 elements of romance and adventure, and it moves on from one thrilling situation to another 
 with a celerity and verisimilitude that positively fascinate the reader. . . . The story is 
 told with astonishing variety of detail, and in its main lines keeps close to historical truth. 
 The author has evidently written with enthusiasm and entire love of his theme, and the result 
 is a really splendid piece of romantic literature. The illustrations, by Maurice Greiffenhagen, 
 are admirable in spirit and technique." — Boston Beacon. 
 
 " Has a good deal of the quality that lent such interest to ' King Solomon's Mines ' and 
 'Allan Quatermain.' . . . England, Spain, and the country which is now Mexico afford 
 the field of the story, and a great number of most romantic and blood-stirring activities occur 
 in each ... a successful story well constructed, full of devious and exciting action, 
 and we believe that it will find a multitude of appreciative readers." — Sun, N. Y. 
 
 ' It is a tale of adventure and romance, with a fine historical setting and with a vivid 
 reproduction of the manners and people of the age. The plot is handled with dexterity and 
 skill, and the reader's interest is always seen. There is, it should also be noted, nothing like 
 vulgar sensationalism in the treatment, and the literary quality is sound throughout. 
 
 Among the very best stories of love, war, and romance that have been written." 
 
 —The Outlook. 
 
 "Is the latest and best of that popular writer's works of fiction. It enters a new 
 field not before touched by previous tales from the same author. In its splendor of descrip- 
 tion, weirdness of imagery, and wealth of startling incidents it rivals ' King Solomon's Mines ' 
 and other earlier stories, but shows superior strength in many respects, and presents novelty 
 of scene that must win new and more enduring fame for its talented creator. . . . The 
 analysis of human motives and emotions is more subtle in this work than in any previous 
 production by Mr. Haggard. The story will generally be accorded highest literary rank 
 among the author's works, and will prove of fascinating interest to a host of readers." 
 
 — Minneapolis Spectator. 
 
 " Is full of the magnificence of the Aztec reign, and is quite as romantic and unbelievable 
 as the most fantastic of his earlier creations." — Book Buyer. 
 
 " We should be disposed to rank this volume next to ' King Solomon's Mines ' in order 
 of interest and merit among the author's works." — Literary World, Boston. 
 
 " it is decidedly the most powerful and enjoyable book that Mr. Rider Haggard has 
 written, with the single exception of * Jess.' " — Academy. 
 
 " Mr. Haggard has rarely done anything better than this romantic and interesting narra- 
 tive. Throughout the story we are hurried from one thrilling experience to another, and the 
 whole book is written at a level of sustained passion, which gives it a very absorbing hold on 
 our imagination. A special word of praise ought to be given to the excellent illustrations." 
 
 — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " Perhaps the best of all the author's stories. 
 
 The great distinguishing quality of Rider Haggard is this magic power of seizing and 
 holding his readers so that they become absorbed and abstracted from all earthly things while 
 their eyes devour the page. ... A romance must have 'grip.' . . . This romance 
 possesses the quality of ' grip' in an eminent degree." — Walter Besant in the Author. 
 
 "The story is both graphic and exciting, . . . and tells of the invasion of Cortes; 
 but there are antecedent passages in England and Spain, for the hero is an English adven- 
 turer who finds his way through Spain to Mexico on a vengeful quest. The vengeance is cer- 
 tainly satisfactory, but it is not reached until the hero has had as surprising a series of perils 
 and escapes as even the fertile imagination of the author ever devised." — Dial, Chicago. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 15 EAST 16th STREET, NEW YORK. 
 
THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST. 
 
 By H. RIDER HAGGARD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " SHE," " ALLAN QUATERMAIN," " MONTEZUMA'S DAUGHTER," ETC., ETC. 
 
 With 16 full-page Illustrations by Arthur Layard. Crown 
 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 " Out of Africa, as-all men know, the thing that is new is ever forthcoming. The ol<* 
 style is true with regard to Mr. Haggard's romances, and everybody concerned is to be con 
 gratulated upon the romancer's return to the magical country where lies the land of Kor. 
 Africa is Mr. Haggard's heaven of invention. Let him be as prodigal as he may, thence 
 flows an exhaustless stream of romance, rich in wonders new and astonishing. ' The People 
 of the Mist ' belongs to the sphere of ' She ' in its imaginative scope, and, as an example of 
 the story-teller's art, must be reckoned of the excellent company of ' King Solomon's 
 Mines ' and its brethren. We read it at one spell, as it were, hardly resisting that effect of 
 fascination which invites you, at the critical moments of the story, to plunge ahead at a 
 venture to know what is coming, and be resolved as to some harrowing doubt of dilemma. 
 There is no better test of the power of a story than this. . . ." — Saturday Review. 
 
 " The lawyer, the physician, the business man, the teacher, find in these novels, teem- 
 ing with life and incident, precisely the medicine to rest tired brains and * to take them out of 
 themselves.' There is, perhaps, no writer of this present time whose works are read more 
 generally and wit 1 keener pleasure. The mincing words, the tedious conversations, the 
 prolonged agony of didactic discussion, characteristic of the ordinary novel of the time, find 
 no place in the crisp, bright, vigorous pages of Mr. Haggard's books. . . . ' The People 
 of the Mist ' is what we expect and desire from the pen of this writer ... a deeply 
 interesting novel, a fitting companion to ' Allan Quatermain.' " — Public Opinion. 
 
 " The story of the combat between the dwarf Otter and the huge ' snake,' a crocodile 
 of antediluvian proportions, and the following account of the escape of the Outram party, 
 is one of the best pieces of dramatic fiction which Mr. Haggard has ever written." — Bos- 
 ton Advertiser. 
 
 " One of his most ingenious fabrications of marvellous adventure, and so skilfully is it 
 done that the reader loses sight of the improbability in the keen interest of the tale. Two 
 loving and beautiful women figure in the narrative, and in his management of the heroine 
 and her rival the author shows his originality as well as in the sensational element which is 
 his peculiar province." — Boston Beacon. 
 
 " ' The People of the Mist ' is the best novel he has written since * She,' and it runs 
 that famous romance very close indeed. The dwarf Otter is fully up to the mark of Rider 
 Haggard's best character, and his fight with the snake god is as powerful as anything the 
 author has written. The novel abounds in striking scenes and incidents, and the read- 
 er's interest is never allowed to flag. The attack on the slave kraal and the rescue of Juanna 
 are in Mr. Haggard's best vein." — Charleston News. 
 
 " It has all the dash and go of Haggard's other tales of adventure, and few readers will 
 be troubled over the impossible things in the story as they follow the exciting exploits of the 
 hero and his redoubtable dwarf Otter. . . . Otter is a character worthy to be classed 
 with Umslopogus, the great Zulu warrior. Haggard has never imagined anything more ter- 
 ror-inspiring than the adventures of Leonard and his party in the awful palace of the Chil 
 dren of Mist, nor has he ever described a more thrilling combat than that between the dwarJ 
 and the huge water snake in the sacred pool." — San Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 " It displays all of this popular author's imagery, power to evoke and combine miraculous 
 incidents, and skill in analyzing human motives and emotions in the most striking manner. 
 He is not surpassed by any modern writer of fiction for vividness of description or keenness 
 of perception and boldness of characterization. The reader will find here the same qualities 
 in full measure that stamped ' King Solomon's Mines,' 'Jess,' ' She,' and his other earlier 
 romances with their singular power. The narrative is a series of scenes and pictures ; the 
 events are strange to the verge of ghoulishness ; the action of the story is tireless, and the 
 reader is held as with a grip not to be shaken off." — Boston Courier. 
 
 " Sometimes we are reminded of ' King Solomon's Mines ' and sometimes of She,' but the 
 mixture has the same elements of interest, dwells in the same strange land of mystery and 
 adventure, and appeals to the same public that Lays and reads Mr. Haggard's works for the 
 sake of the rapid adventure, the strong handling of improbable incident, and the fascination 
 of the supernatural." — Baltimore Sun. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 15 EAST 16th STREET, NEW YORK. 
 
HEART OF THE WORLD. 
 
 A STORY OF MEXICAN ADVENTURE. 
 By H. RIDER HAGGARD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF M SHK," " MONTEZUMA'S DAUGHTER," " THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST," ETC. 
 
 With 1 3 full-page Illustrations by Amy Sawyer. 
 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 " The adventures of Ignatio and his white friend will compare for strangeness with any 
 that the writer has imagined. And the invention of the city and people of the heart, of the 
 secret order, with its ritual and history, and the unforeseen crisis of the tale, shows that the 
 quality that most distinguishes the author's former works is still his in abundance. . . . 
 The tale as a whole is so effective that we willingly overlook its improbability, and so novel 
 that even those who have read all of Rider Haggard's former works will still find something 
 surprising in this." — The Critic. 
 
 " Here are strange adventures and wonderful heroisms. The scene is laid in Mexico. 
 The story rehearses the advenUires of an athletic Englishman who loves and weds an 
 Indian princess. There are marvelous descriptions of tie 'City of the Heart,' a mysteri- 
 ous town hemmed in by swamps and unknown mountains." 
 
 — Commercial Advertiser, New York. 
 
 " Has a rare fascination, and in using that theme Mr. Haggard has not only hit upon 
 a story of peculiar charm, but he has also wrought out a story original and delightful to 
 even the most jaded reader of the novel of incident." — Advertiser, Boston. 
 
 " It is a fascinating tale, and the reader will not want to put the book down till he has 
 read the last word." — Picayune, New Orleans. 
 
 "The lovers of Rider Haggard's glowing works have no reason to complain of his latest 
 book. . . . The story is, all in all, one of the most entertaining of the author's whole 
 list." — Traveller, Boston. 
 
 " In its splendor of description, weirdness of imagery, its astonishing variety of detail, 
 and the love story which blends with history and fantasy, the book without doubt is a 
 creation distinct from previous tales. Maya, the Lady of the Heart, is an ideal character. 
 . . . Interest is sustained throughout." — Post, Chicago. 
 
 "The success of Mr. Haggard's stories consists in the spirit of adventure which runs 
 through them, in their rapid succession of incidents, in the bustle which animates their 
 characters, and in the trying situations in which they are placed. ... this last story 
 . . . introduces his readers ... to a comparatively new field of fiction in the evolu- 
 tion of an ancient Aztec tradition concerning the concealed existence of a wonderful Golden 
 City. . . ."—Mail and Express, New York. 
 
 " A thrilling story of adventure in Mexico. It is doubtful if he has surpassed in vivid 
 coloring his delineation of the character of 'Maya.' This work is really a notable addition 
 to the great body of romance with which his name is associated." — Press, Philadelphia. 
 
 " This romance is really one of the best he has given us."— Times, Philadelphia. 
 
 " When the love of romance shall die in the human heart we may bid farewell to all that 
 is best in fiction. ... In this story we have the same reckless dash of imagination and 
 the same gorgeous profusion of barbaric scenes and startling adventure which have always 
 characterized Mr. Haggard's works." — Independent, New York. 
 
 " His latest, and one of his most powerful stories. It shows the same trenchant, effective 
 way of dealing with his story ; and the same power in open, startling situations. It will 
 give the reader some new idea of that ancient people, the Aztecs, as well as of the more mod- 
 ern Mexicans. It is as strong as ' King Solomon's Mines.' "—Times, Hartford. 
 
 LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00., 15 EAST 16th STKEET, NEW YOEK. 
 
THE MATCHMAKER, 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 By MRS. L. B. WALFORD. 
 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.50. 
 
 " A new novel by the author of ' The Baby's Grandmother ' and ' Mr. Smith ' is always 
 eagerly anticipated by those who enjoy a love story told with a charming freshness of style, 
 with a satirical yet good-natured treatment of human foibles, and with a vivid, witty, and 
 animating use of that sentiment which 'makes the world go round.' . . . 'The Match' 
 maker ' gives a piquant hint of the plot. It will be found one of the most delightful of its 
 author's works, and comes in good time to amuse people worn by summer weather." 
 
 —New York Tribune. 
 
 " We are sure that anything from the pen of L. B. Walford will be interesting and 
 original. There is always enough romance about these novels to keep them from any sign of 
 dullness, and they always include some very uncommon types well worth studying. The 
 Carnoustie family in the present instance is one to keep the reader constantly on the qui 
 vive ... a well-told, entertaining story of interesting people." 
 
 —Detroit Free Press. 
 
 "Sure to find a large circle of refined and intelligent readers. The story is constantly 
 lighted up with touches of humor, and the picture of simple family life and the feminine occu- 
 pations it affords is natural and entertaining." — Beacon, Boston. 
 
 "... A fresh and interesting picture of life in a Scottish castle, and introduces 
 many characters notable for the faithfulness to nature with which they are drawn. The inci- 
 dents are interesting enough to fix the attention of the reader and to hold it until the closing 
 chapter.'' — The Advertiser, Portland. 
 
 " Tells what befell a gay London girl during her six months' sojourn in the Scotch castle 
 of some old fashioned relatives. . . . The story is a good one, much the best of it being 
 the delineation of the stiff-necked Carnoustie family, and its magisterial dowager and its 
 pathetic and comical old maids."— Boston Traveller. 
 
 NOVELS BY MRS. L. B. WALFORD. 
 
 In Uniform Binding-. Crown 8vo, Cloth, each Volume, $1 .OO. 
 
 COUSINS. 
 
 THE BABY'S GRAND- 
 MOTHER. 
 
 PAULINE. 
 
 NAN. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF A WEEK. 
 
 TROUBLESOME DAUGH- 
 TERS. 
 MR. SMITH. 
 DICK NETHERBY. 
 
 A STIFF-NECKED GEN- 
 ERATION. 
 THE MISCHIEF OF MONICA 
 
 LONGMANS, GKEEN, & 00., 15 EAST 16th STREET, NEW YOKE. 
 
THE JEWEL OF YNYS GALON:' 
 
 BEING A HITHERTO UNPRINTED CHAPTER IN 
 THE HISTORY OF THE SEA ROVERS. 
 
 By OWEN RHOSCOMYL. 
 
 With 1 2 Illustrations by Lancelot Speed. 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 " The tale is exceptionally well told ; the descriptive passages are strong and viv- 
 id without being over-elaborated ; and the recital of fights and adventures on sea and 
 land is thrilling, without leading to any excess of horrors. The characters in the book 
 are not all villians, but the progress of the narrative is lighted up by the ideals and 
 strivings of brave and honorable men. The book is certainly a most attractive addi- 
 tion to fiction of adventure, for it shows a fine degree of imagination on the part of the 
 author. A glance at the illustrations by Lancelot Speed will alone be enough to incite 
 a reading of the story from beginning to end."— The Beacon, Boston. 
 
 " It is a work of genius— of the romantic-realistic school. The story is one of 
 pirates and buried treasure in an island off the coast of Wales, and so well is it done 
 that it fascinates the reader, putting him under an hypnotic spell, lasting long after the 
 book has been laid aside. It is dedicated to 'every one whose blood rouses at a tale 
 of tall fights and reckless adventure,' to men and boys alike, yet there will be keener 
 appreciation by the boys of larger growth, whose dreams ' of buried treasure and of 
 one day discovering some hoard whereby to become rich beyond imagination ' have 
 become dim and blurred in the ' toil and struggle for subsistence.' ' The Jewel of Ynys 
 Galon' is one of the great books of 1895 and will live long." — The World, New York. 
 
 " It is a splendid story of the sea, of battle and hidden treasure. This picture of 
 the times of the sea rovers is most skillfully drawn in transparent and simple English, 
 and it holds from cover to cover the absorbed interest of the reader." 
 
 — Press, Philadelphia. 
 
 " It is a story after the heart of both man and boy. There are no dull moments in 
 it, and we find ourselves impatient to get on, so anxious are we to see what the next 
 turn in the events is to bring forth ; and when we come to the end we exclaim in 
 sorrow, " Is that all? " and begin to turn back the leaves and re-read some of the most 
 exciting incidents. 
 
 Owen Rhoscomyl has just the talents for writing books of this kind, and they are 
 worth a dozen of some of the books of to-day where life flows sluggishly on in a draw- 
 ing-room. When the author writes another we want to know of it." — Times, Boston. 
 
 "The style of this thrilling story is intensely vivid and dramatic, but there is 
 nothing in it of the cheap sensational order. It is worthy a place among the classics 
 for boys." — Advertiser, Boston. 
 
 " The present school of romantic adventure has produced no more strikingly im- 
 aginative story than this weird tale of Welsh pirates in the eighteenth century. . . . 
 A most enthralling tale, . . . told with great artistic finish and with intense spirit. 
 It may be recommended without reserve to every lover of this class of fiction." 
 
 — Times, Philadelphia. 
 
 " It is one of the best things of its kind that have appeared in a long time. . . . 
 We do not know how far this tale may be taken to be historical, and, to be frank, 
 we don't care. If these things did not happen, they might have happened, and ought 
 to have happened, and that is enough for us. If vou like 'Treasure Island' and 
 Kidnapped' and the 'White Company' and ' Francis Cludde' and ' Lorna Doone,' 
 get ' The Jewel of Ynys Galon ' and read it. You will not be disappointed." 
 
 — Gazette, Colorado Springs, Col. 
 
 " Our own interest in the book led us to read it at a sitting that went far into the 
 night. The old Berserker spirit is considerably abroad in these pages, and the blood 
 coursed the faster as stirring incident followed desperate situation and daring enter- 
 prise." — Literary World, London. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 15 EAST 16th STEEET, NEW TORE.