THAT FIRST SHE STRUCK IN WAR
Concerning the ways of the saints, and their holy counsel, it is not for
sinful men to debate, but verify their ways are not as our ways, as shall
presently be shown, in the matter of the Maid's march to Orleans.
For the town of Blois, where now we lay, is, as all men know, on the
right bank of the water of Loire, a great river, wider and deeper and
stronger by far than our Tay or Tweed, and the town of Orleans, whither
we were bound, is also on the same side, namely, the right side of the
river. Now, Orleans was beleaguered in this manner: The great stone
bridge had been guarded, on the left, or further side of the stream,
first by a boulevard, or strong keep on the land, whence by a drawbridge
men crossed to a yet stronger keep, called "Les Tourelles," builded on
the last arches of the bridge. But early in the siege the English had
taken from them of Orleans the boulevard and Les Tourelles, and an arch
of the bridge had been broken, so that in nowise might men-at-arms of the
party of France enter into Orleans by way of that bridge from the left
bank through the country called Sologne.
Yet that keep, Les Tourelles, had not been a lucky prize to our enemies
of England. For their great captain, the Lord Salisbury, had a custom to
watch them of Orleans and their artillery from a window in that tower,
and, to guard him from arrow-shots, he had a golden shield pierced with
little holes to look through, that he held before his face. One day he
came into this turret when they who worked the guns in Orleans were all
at their meat. But it so chanced that two boys, playing truant from
school, went into a niche of the wall, where was a cannon loaded and
aimed at Les Tourelles. They, seeing the gleam of the golden shield at
the window of the turret, set match to the touch-hole of the cannon, and,
as Heaven would have it, the ball struck a splinter of stone from the
side of the window, which, breaking through the golden shield, slew my
Lord of Salisbury, a good knight. Thus plainly that tower was to be of
little comfort to the English.
None the less, as they held Les Tourelles and the outer landward
boulevard thereof, the English built but few works on the left side of
the river, namely, Champ St. Prive, that guarded the road by the left
bank from Blois; Les Augustins, that was a little inland from the
boulevard of Les Tourelles, so that no enemy might pass between these two
holds; and St. Jean le Blanc, that was higher up the river, and a hold of
no great strength. On the Orleans side, to guard the road from Burgundy,
the English had but one fort, St. Loup, for Burgundy and the north were
of their part, and by this way they expected no enemy. But all about
Orleans, on the right bank of the river, to keep the path from Blois on
that hand, the English had builded many great bastilles, and had joined
them by hollow ways, wherein, as I said, they lived at ease, as men in a
secure city underground. And the skill of it was to stop convoys of
food, and starve them of Orleans, for to take the town by open force the
English might in nowise avail, they being but some four thousand men-at-
arms.
Thus Matters stood, and it was the Maid's mind to march her men and all
the cattle clean through and past the English bastilles on the right side
of the river, and by inspiration she well knew that no man would come
forth against us. Moreover, she saw not how, by the other way, and the
left bank, the cattle might be ferried across, and the great company of
men-at-arms, into Orleans town, under the artillery of the English. For
the English held the pass of the broken bridge, as I said, and therefore
all crossing of the water must be by boat.
Now, herein it was shown, as often again, that the ways of the saints are
not as our ways. For the captains, namely, the Sieur de Rais (who
afterwards came to the worst end a man might), and La Hire, and Ambroise
de Lore, and De Gaucourt, in concert with the Bastard of Orleans, then
commanding for the King in that town, gave the simple Maid to understand
that Orleans was on the left bank of the river. This they did, because
they were faithless and slow of belief, and feared that so great a
company as ours might in nowise pass Meun and Beaugency, towns of the
English, and convey so many cattle through the bastilles on the right
bank. Therefore, with many priests going before, singing the Veni
Creator, with holy banners as on a pilgrimage; with men-at-arms, archers,
pages, and trains of carts; and with bullocks rowting beneath the goad,
and swine that are very hard to drive, and slow-footed sheep, we all
crossed the bridge of Blois on the morning of April 25th.
Now, had the holy saints deemed it wise and for our good to act as men
do, verily they would have spoken to the Maid, telling her that we were
all going clean contrary to her counsel. Nevertheless, the saints held
their peace, and let us march on. Belike they designed that this should
turn to the greater glory of the Maid and to the confusion of them that
disbelieved, which presently befell, as I shall relate.
All one day of spring we rode, and slept beneath the stars, the Maid
lying in her armour, so that as one later told me who knew, namely,
Elliot, her body was sorely bruised with her harness. Early in the
morning we mounted again, and so rode north, fetching a compass inland;
after noontide we came to a height, and lo! beneath us lay the English
bastilles and holds on the left bank, and, beyond the glittering river
and the broken bridge, the towers and walls of Orleans. Then I saw the
Maid in anger, for well she knew that she had been deceived by them who
should have guided her. Between us and the town of Orleans lay the wide
river, the broken bridge, and the camps of the English. On the further
shore we beheld the people swarming on the walls and quays, labouring to
launch boats with sails, and so purposing to ascend the river against the
stream and meet us two leagues beyond the English lines. But this they
might not do, for a strong wind was blowing down stream, and all their
vessels were in disarray.
The Maid spurred to the front, where were De Rais, Lore, Kennedy, and La
Hire. We could see her pointing with her staff, and hear speech high and
angry, but the words we could not hear. The captains looked downcast, as
children caught in a fault, and well they might, for we were now as far
off victualling Orleans as ever we had been. The Maid pointed to the
English keep at St. Jean le Blanc, on our side of the water, and, as it
seems, was fain to attack it; but the English had drawn off their men to
the stronger places on the bridge, and to hold St. Jean le Blanc against
them, if we took it, we had no strength. So we even wended, from the
height of Olivet, for six long miles, till we reached the stream opposite
Checy, where was an island. A rowing-boat, with a knight in glittering
arms, was pulled across the stream, and the Maid, in her eagerness,
spurred her steed deep into the water to meet him. He was a young man,
brown of visage, hardy and fierce, and on his shield bore the lilies of
Orleans, crossed with a baton sinister. He bowed low to the Maid, who
cried--
"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 a faulty groom, fierce and high, and to hear her
was marvel.
"I, and wiser men than I, gave that counsel," said he, "deeming this
course the surer."
"Nom Dieu!" she cried. "The council of Messire is safer and wiser than
yours." She pointed to the rude stream, running rough and strong, a
great gale following with it, so that no sailing-boats might come from
the town. "You thought to beguile me, and are yourselves beguiled, for I
bring you better succour than ever came to knight or town--the help of
the King of Heaven."
Then, even as she spoke, and as by miracle, that fierce wind went right
about, and blew straight up the stream, and the sails of the vessels
filled.
"This is the work of our Lord," said the Bastard of Orleans, crossing
himself: and the anger passed from the eyes of the Maid.
Then he and Nicole de Giresme prayed her to pass the stream with them,
and to let her host march back to Blois and so come to Orleans, crossing
by the bridge of Blois. To this she said nay, that she could not leave
her men out of her sight, lest they fell to sin again, and all her pains
were lost. But, with many prayers, her confessor Pasquerel joining in
them, she was brought to consent. So the host, with priests and banners,
must set forth again to Blois, while the Maid, and we that were of her
company, crossed the river in boats, and so rode towards the town. On
this way (the same is a road of the old Romans) the English held a strong
fort, called St. Loup, and well might they have sallied forth against us.
But the people of Orleans, who ever bore themselves more hardily than any
townsfolk whom I have known, made an onfall against St. Loup, that the
English within might not sally out against us, where was fierce fighting,
and they took a standard from the English.
So, at nightfall, the Maid, with the Bastard and other captains at her
side, rode into the town, all the people welcoming her with torches in
hand, shouting Noel! as to a king, throwing flowers before her horse's
feet, and pressing to touch her, or even the harness of her horse, which
leaped and plunged, for the fire of a torch caught the fringe of her
banner. Lightly she spurred and turned him, and lightly she caught at
the flame with her hand and quenched it, while all men marvelled at her
grace and goodly bearing.
Never saw I more joy of heart, for whereas all had feared to fall into
the hands of the English, now there was such courage in them, as if
Monseigneur St. Michael himself, or Monseigneur St Aignan, had come down
from heaven to help his good town. If they were hardy before, as indeed
they were, now plainly they were full of such might and fury that man
might not stand against them. And soon it was plain that no less fear
had fallen on the English. But the Maid, with us who followed her, was
led right through the great street of Orleans, from the Burgundy gate to
the gate Regnart, whereby the fighting was ever most fell, and there we
lodged in the house of the Treasurer of the Duke of Orleans, Jacquet
Boucher. Never was sleep sweeter to me, after the two weary marches, and
the sounds of music and revelry in the street did not hum a moment in my
ears, before I had passed into that blessed world of slumber without a
dream.
But my waking next day brought instantly the thought of my brother Robin,
concerning whom I had ever feared that he fell with the flower of
Scotland, when the Comte de Clermont deserted us so shamefully on the day
of the Battle of the Herrings. No sooner did this doubt come into my
mind, than I leaped from my bed, attired myself, and went forth to the
quarters of the Scots under Sir Christian Chambers. Little need I had to
tell my errand, for they that met me guessed who I was, because, indeed,
Robin and I favoured each other greatly in face and bodily presence.
It was even as I had deemed: my dear brother and friend and tutor of old
days had died, charging back upon the English who pursued us, and
fighting by the side of Pothon de Xaintrailles. All that day, and in the
week which followed, my thought was ever upon him; a look in a stranger's
face, a word on another's lips, by some magic of the mind would bring my
brother almost visibly before me, ay, among the noise of swords on mail,
and the screaming of arrows, and of great cannon-balls.
If I heard ill news, it was no more than I looked for; but better news,
as it seemed, I also heard, though, in my sorrow, I marked it little. For
the soldiers were lamenting the loss of their famed gunner, not John the
Lorrainer, but one who had come to them, they said, now some weeks agone,
in the guise of a cordelier, though he did not fight in that garb, but in
common attire, and ever wore his vizor down, which men deemed strange.
Whither he had gone, or how disappeared, they knew not, for he had not
been with those who yesterday attacked St. Loup.
"He could never thole the thought of the Blessed Maid," said Allan
Rutherford, "but would tell all that listened how she was a brain-sick
wench, or a witch, and under her standard he would never fight. He even
avowed to us that she had been a chamber-wench of an inn in Neufchateau,
and there had learned to back a horse, and many a worse trick," which was
a lie devised by the English and them of Burgundy. But, go where he
would, or how he would, I deemed it well that Brother Thomas and I (for
of a surety it was Brother Thomas) were not to meet in Orleans.
Concerning the English in this wonderful adventure of the siege, I have
never comprehended, nor do I now know, wherefore they bore them as they
did. That they sallied not out on the trains which the Maid led and
brought into the town, a man might set down to mere cowardice and faint
heart--they fearing to fight against a witch, as they deemed her. In
later battles, when she had won so many a victory, they may well have
feared her. But, as now, they showed no dread where honour was to be
won, but rather pride and disdain. On this very Saturday, the morrow of
our arrival, La Hire, with Florent d'Illiers and many other knights,
pushed forth a matter of two bowshots from the city walls, and took a
keep that they thought to have burned. They were very hardy men, and
being comforted by the Maid's coming, were full of courage and goodwill;
yet the English rallied and drove them back, with much firing of guns,
and now first I heard the din of war and saw the great stone balls fly,
scattering, as they fell, into splinters that screamed in the air, with a
very terrible sound. Truly the English had the better of that fray, and
were no whit adread, for at sunset the Maid sent them two heralds,
bidding them begone; yet they answered only that they would burn her for
a witch, and called her a ribaulde, or loose wench, and bade her go back
and keep her kine.
I was with her when this message came, and her brows met and her eyes
flashed with anger. Telling us of her company to follow, she went to the
Fair Cross on the bridge, where now her image stands, fashioned in
bronze, kneeling before the Cross, with the King kneeling opposite. There
she stood and cried aloud to the English, who were in the fort on the
other side of the bridge that is called Les Tourelles, and her voice rang
across the water like a trumpet, so that it was marvel. Then came out on
to the bridge a great knight and a tall, Sir William Glasdale; no bigger
man have I seen, and I bethought me of Goliath in Holy Scripture. He
spoke in a loud, north-country voice, and, whereas she addressed him
courteously, as she did all men, he called her by the worst of names,
mocking at her for a ribaulde. She made answer that he lied, and that he
should die in four days' time or five, without stroke of sword; and so,
waving her hand haughtily, turned and went back. But I, who walked close
by her, noted that she wept like any girl at his evil and lying
accusations.
Next day was Sunday, and no stroke was struck, but the Bastard of Orleans
set forth to bring back the army from Blois. And on Monday the Maid rode
out and under the very walls of the English keeps, the townsfolk running
by her rein, as if secure in her company; yet no man came forth against
them, which was marvel. And on the Wednesday, the Maid, with many
knights, rode forth two leagues, and met the Bastard of Orleans and all
the array from Blois, and all the flocks and herds that were sent to
Orleans by the good towns. Right beneath the forts of the English they
rode and marched, with chanting of hymns, priests leading the way, but
none dared meddle with them. Yet a child might have seen that now or
never was the chance: howbeit Talbot and Glasdale and Scales, men well
learned in war, let fire not even a single cannon. It may be that they
feared an attack of the Orleans folk on their bastilles, if they drew out
their men. For, to tell the plain truth, the English had not men-at-arms
enough for the task they took in hand; but they oft achieve much with but
little force, and so presume the more, sometimes to their undoing. And,
till the Maid came, ten of them could chase a hundred of the French.
So the Maid returned, leading the army, and then, being very weary, she
went into her chamber, and lay down on a couch to sleep, her esquire,
D'Aulon, also resting in the room, where were the lady and a daughter of
the house, one Charlotte Boucher. There was I, devising idly with her
page, Louis de Coutes, a boy half Scots by birth, and good-brother to
Messire Florent d'Illiers, who had married his sister. But alas! he was
more French than Scots, and later he left the Maid. But then we were
playing ourselves at the door of the house, and all was still, the men-at-
arms reposing, as we deemed, after their march. Then suddenly the Maid
ran forth to us, her face white and her eyes shining, and cried to Louis
de Coutes, in great anger--
"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.
"Go, fetch my horse," she said, and was gone.
I went with him, and we saddled and bridled a fresh courser speedily; but
when we reached the door, she stood there already armed, and sprang on
the horse, crying for her banner, that De Coutes gave her out of the
upper window. Then her spurs were in her horse's side, and the sparks
flying from beneath his hoofs, as she galloped towards St. Loup, the
English fort on the Burgundy road. Thither we followed her, with what
speed we might, yet over tardily; and when we came through crowds of
people, many bearing the wounded on litters, there was she, under the
wall of that fort, in a rain of arrows, holding up her banner, and crying
on the French and Scots to the charge. They answered with a cry, and
went on, De Coutes and I pressing forward to be with them; but ere ever
we could gain the fosse, the English had been overwhelmed, and, for the
more part, slain. For, as we found, the French captains had commanded an
attack on St. Loup, and had told the Maid no word of it, whether as
desiring to win honour without her, or to spare her from the peril of the
onslaught, I know not. But their men were giving ground, when by the
monition of the saints, as I have shown, she came to them and turned the
fray.
Of the English, as I said, most were slain, natheless certain men in
priests' raiment came forth from the Church of St. Loup, and very humbly
begged their lives of the Maid, who, turning to D'Aulon, her esquire,
bade him, with De Coutes and me, and such men as we could gather, to have
charge of them and be answerable for them.
So, while the French were plundering, we mustered these priests orderly
together, they trembling and telling their beads, and we stood before
them for their guard. False priests, I doubt, many of them were,
Englishmen who had hastily done on such holy robes as they found in the
church of St Loup. Now Louis de Coutes, being but a boy, and of a mad
humour, cried--
"'Cucullus non facit monachum!' Good sirs, let us see your reverend
tonsures."
With that he twitched the hood from the head of a tall cordelier, who,
without more ado, felled him to the earth with his fist.
The hood was off but for a flash of time, yet I saw well the shining
wolf's eyes and the long dark face of Brother Thomas. So, in the
pictures of the romance of Renard Fox, have I seen Isengrim the wolf in
the friar's hood.
"Felon and traitor!" I cried, and drawing my sword, was about to run him
through the body, when my hand was stunned by a stroke, and the sword
dropped from it. I turned, in great anger, and saw the Maid, her sword
in her hand, wherewith she had smitten me flatlings, and not with the
edge.
"Knave of a Scot," she cried, "wouldst thou strike a holy man and my
prisoner? Verily they say well that the Scots are all savages. Begone
home, till I speak with the captains about thy case! And for these holy
men," she said to D'Aulon, in a soft voice, "see that they are safely
housed and ministered to in the Church of Monseigneur St. Aignan."
With that I shrank back like a beaten hound, and saw the Maid no more
that night, as fearing her wrath. So was I adread and out of all
comfort. But, when first I might, I sought D'Aulon and told him all the
tale of Brother Thomas, and all the evil I knew of him, as well as I
could, and I showed him wherefore I had sought to slay the man, as
forsworn and a traitor, who had manifestly fled to the English, being by
his doggish nature the enemy of the Maid. I so wrought with him, though
he was weary, and would scarce listen to my tale, that he promised to
speak for me to the Maid, without whom I was a man lost. Moreover, he
swore that, as early as might be, he would visit the Church of St.
Aignan, and there examine into the matter of this cordelier, whom some
knew, and could testify against, if he was my man.
No more could I do that night, but next morning D'Aulon awoke me a little
after dawn.
"It is a true tale," he said, "and worse than I deemed, for your bird has
flown! Last night he so spoke with me in the church when I lodged him
there, that I reckoned him a simple man and a pious. But he has vanished
from among his brethren, none knows how or whither."
"The devil, his master, knows," I said. "Faith, he has a shrewd care of
his own. But this, I misdoubt me, is the beginning of evil to us and to
the Maid."
"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 the slaying of men. But verily I deemed that
you were about stabbing my prisoner, and him a priest. Belike we shall
hear no more of him, and I misdoubt that he is no true son of Holy
Church. To-day let me see you bear yourself as boldly against armed men,
that I may report well of you to your lady and my friend."
Therewith she held out her hands and took mine, as frankly as does one
brother in arms with another. And I kissed her hand, and kept my tears
in my own heart. But no deadlier blow for France and for herself was
ever dealt than when the Maid struck down my sword, that was thirsting
for the blood of Brother Thomas, and was within an inch of his throat.
Often have I marvelled how the saints, who, as then, guarded her, gave
her no warning, as they did of the onslaught on St. Loup; but it might
not be, or it was not their will, to which we must humbly submit
ourselves. And now I think I see that wolf's face, under the hood, with
anger and fear in the ominous eyes. In the Church of St. Loup we found
him, and he was a wolf of the holy places. None the less, the words of
the Maid brought more keenly to my mind the thought of Elliot, whom in
these crowded hours, between my sorrow and anger, and fear of the Maid's
wrath, I had to some degree forgotten. They were now ordering an
onslaught on a post of the English beyond the river, and there came into
my heart that verse of the "Book of a Hundred Ballades": how a lover must
press into breach, and mine, and escalade to win advancement and his
lady's favour; and I swore within myself that to-day I would be among the
foremost.