NORMAN LESLIE FROM THE RIVER
On that night I slept soft, and woke oft, being utterly foredone. In the
grey dawn I awoke, and gave a little cough, when, lo! there came a hot
sweet gush into my mouth, and going to the window, I saw that I was
spitting of blood, belike from my old wound. It is a strange thing that,
therewith, a sickness came over me, and a cold fit as of fear, though
fear I had felt none where men met in heat of arms. None the less,
seeing that to-day, or never, I was to be made or marred, I spoke of the
matter neither to man nor woman, but drinking a long draught of very cold
water, I spat some deal more, and then it stanched, and I armed me and
sat down on my bed.
My thoughts, as I waited for the first stir in the house, were not glad.
Birds were singing in the garden trees; all else was quiet, as if men
were not waking to slay each other and pass unconfessed to their account.
There came on me a great sickness of war. Yesterday the boulevard of Les
Augustins, when the fight was over, had been a shambles; white bodies
that had been stripped of their armour lay here and there like sheep on a
hillside, and were now smirched with dust, a thing unseemly. I put it to
myself that I was engaged, if ever man was, in a righteous quarrel,
fighting against cruel oppression; and I was under the protection of one
sent, as I verily believed, by Heaven.
But blood runs tardy in the cold dawn; my thoughts were chilled, and I
deemed, to speak sooth, that I carried my death within me, from my old
wound, and, even if unhurt, could scarce escape out of that day's labour
and live. I said farewell to life and the sun, in my own mind, and to
Elliot, thinking of whom, with what tenderness she had nursed me, and of
her mirth and pitiful heart, I could scarce forbear from weeping. Of my
brother also I thought, and in death it seemed to me that we could
scarcely be divided. Then my thought went back to old days of childhood
at Pitcullo, old wanderings by Eden banks, old kindness and old quarrels,
and I seemed to see a vision of a great tree, growing alone out of a
little mound, by my father's door, where Robin and I would play "Willie
Wastle in his castle," for that was our first manner of holding a siege.
A man-at-arms has little to make with such fancies, and well I wot that
Randal Rutherford troubled himself therewith in no manner. But now there
came an iron footstep on the stairs, and the Maid's voice rang clear, and
presently there arose the sound of hammers on rivets, and all the din of
men saddling horses and sharpening swords, so I went forth to join my
company.
Stiff and sore was I, and felt as if I could scarce raise my sword-arm;
but the sight of the Maid, all gleaming in her harness, and clear of
voice, and swift of deed, like St. Michael when he marshalled his angels
against the enemies of heaven, drove my brooding thoughts clean out of
mind. The sun shone yellow and slanting down the streets; out of the
shadow of the minster came the bells, ringing for war. The armed
townsfolk thronged the ways, and one man, old and ill-clad, brought to
the Maid a great fish which he had caught overnight in the Loire. Our
host prayed her to wait till it should be cooked, that she might
breakfast well, for she had much to do. Yet she, who scarce seemed to
live by earthly meat, but by the will of God, took only a sop of bread
dipped in wine, and gaily leaping to her selle and gathering the reins,
as a lady bound for a hunting where no fear was, she cried, "Keep the
fish for supper, when I will bring back a goddon {25} prisoner to eat his
part. And to-night, gentle sir, my host, I will return by the
bridge!"--which, as we deemed, might in no manner be, for an arch of the
bridge was broken. Thereon we all mounted, and rode down to the Burgundy
gate, the women watching us, and casting flowers before the Maiden. But
when we won the gate, behold, it was locked, and two ranks of
men-at-arms, with lances levelled, wearing the colours of the Sieur de
Gaucourt, were drawn up before it. That lord himself, in harness, but
bareheaded, stood before his men, and cried, "Hereby is no passage. To-
day the captains give command that no force stir from the town."
"To-day," quoth the Maid, "shall we take Les Tourelles, and to-morrow not
a goddon, save prisoners and slain men, shall be within three leagues of
Orleans. Gentle sir, bid open the gate, for to-day have I work to do."
Thereat Gaucourt shook his head, and from the multitude of townsfolk rose
one great angry shout. They would burn the gate, they cried; they would
fire the town, but they would follow the Maid and the guidance of the
saints.
Thereon stones began to fly, and arbalests were bended, till the Maid
turned, and, facing the throng, her banner lifted as in anger--
"Back, my good friends and people of Orleans," she said, "back and open
the postern door in the great tower on the river wall. By one way or
another shall I meet the English this day, nor shall might of man prevent
me."
Then many ran back, and soon came the cry that the postern was opened,
and thither streamed the throng. Therefore Gaucourt saw well that an
onslaught would verily be made; moreover, as a man wise in war, he knew
that the townsfolk, that day, would be hard to hold, and would go far. So
he even yielded, not ungraciously, and sending a messenger to the Bastard
and the captains, he rode forth from the Burgundy Gate by the side of the
Maid. He was, indeed, little minded to miss his part of the honour; nor
were the other captains more backward, for scarce had we taken boat and
reached the farther bank, when we saw the banners of the Bastard and La
Hire, Florent d'Illiers and Xaintrailles, Chambers and Kennedy, above the
heads of the armed men who streamed forth by the gate of Burgundy. Less
orderly was no fight ever begun, but the saints were of our party. It
was the wise manner of the Maid to strike swift, blow upon blow, each
stroke finding less resistance among the enemy, that had been used to a
laggard war, for then it was the manner of captains to dally for weeks or
months round a town, castle, or other keep, and the skill was to starve
the enemy. But the manner of the Maid was ever to send cloud upon cloud
of men to make escalade by ladders, their comrades aiding them from under
cover with fire of couleuvrines and bows. Even so fought that famed
Knight of Brittany, Sir Bertrand du Guesclin. But he was long dead, and
whether the Maid (who honoured his memory greatly) fought as she did
through his example, or by direct teaching of the saints, I know not.
If disorderly we began, the fault was soon amended; they who had
beleaguered the boulevard all night were set in the rear, to rest out of
shot; the fresh men were arrayed under their banners, in vineyards and
under the walls of fields, so that if one company was driven back another
was ready to come on, that the English might have no repose from battle.
Now, the manner of the boulevard was this: first, there was a strong
palisade, and many men mustered within it; then came a wide, deep, dry
fosse; then a strong wall of earth, bound in with withes and palisaded,
and within it the gate of the boulevard. When that was won, and the
boulevard taken, men defending it might flee across a drawbridge, over a
stream, narrow and deep and swift, into Les Tourelles itself. Here they
were safe from them on the side of Orleans, by reason of the broken arch
of the bridge. So strong was this tower, that Monseigneur the Duc
d'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 squire in England, and
his men were like himself, being picked and chosen for that post;
moreover their backs were at the wall, for the French and Scots once
within the boulevard, it was in nowise easy for Talbot to bring the
English a rescue, as was seen.
The battle began with shooting of couleuvrines at the palisade, to weaken
it, and it was marvel to see how the Maid herself laid the guns, as
cunningly as her own countryman, the famed Lorrainer. Now, when there
was a breach in the palisade, Xaintrailles led on his company, splendid
in armour, for he was a very brave young knight. We saw the pales fall
with a crash, and the men go in, and heard the cry of battle; but slowly,
one by one, they staggered back, some falling, some reeling wounded, and
rolling their bodies out of arrow-shot. And there, in the breach, shone
the back-plate of Xaintrailles, his axe falling and rising, and not one
foot he budged, till the men of La Hire, with a cry, broke in to back
him, and after a little space, swords fell and rose no more, but we saw
the banners waving of Xaintrailles and La Hire. Soon the side of the
palisade towards us was all down, as if one had swept it flat with his
hand, but there stood the earthen wall of the boulevard, beyond the
fosse. Then, all orderly, marched forth a band of men in the colours of
Florent d'Illiers, bearing scaling-ladders, and so began the escalade,
their friends backing them by shooting of arbalests from behind the
remnant of the palisade. A ladder would be set against the wall, and we
could see men with shields, or doors, or squares of wood on their heads
to fend off stones, swarm up it, and axes flashing on the crest of the
wall, and arrows flying, and smoke of guns: but the smoke cleared, and
lo! the ladder was gone, and the three libbards grinned on the flag of
England. So went the war, company after company staggering thinned from
the fosse, and re-forming behind the cover of the vineyards; company
after company marching forth, fresh and glorious, to fare as their
friends had fared. And ever, with each company, went the Maid at their
head, and D'Aulon, she crying that the place was theirs and now was the
hour! But the day went by, till the sun turned in heaven towards
evening, and no more was done. The English, in sooth, showed no fear nor
faint heart; with axe, and sword, and mace, and with their very hands
they smote and grappled with the climbers, and I saw a tall man, his
sword being broken, strike down a French knight with his mailed fist, and
drag another from a ladder and take him captive. Boldly they showed
themselves on the crest, running all risk of our arrows, as our men did
of theirs.
Now came the Scots, under Kennedy. A gallant sight it was to see them
advance, shoulder to shoulder--Scots of the Marches and the Lennox, Fife,
Argyll, and the Isles, all gentlemen born.
"Come on!" cried Randal Rutherford. "Come on, men of the Marches, Scots
of the Forest, Elliots, Rutherfords, Armstrongs, and deem that,
wheresoever a Southron slinks behind a stone, there is Carlisle wall!"
The Rough Clan roared "Bellenden!" the Buchanans cried "Clare Innis," a
rag of a hairy Highlander from the Lennox blew a wild skirl on the war-
pipes, and hearing the Border slogan shouted in a strange country, nom
Dieu! my blood burned, as that of any Scotsman would. Contrary to the
Maid's desire, for she had noted that I was wan and weary, and had
commanded me to bide in cover, I cried "A Leslie! a Leslie!" and went
forward with my own folk, sword in hand and buckler lifted.
Beside good Randal Rutherford I ran, and we both leaped together into the
ditch. There was a forest of ladders set against the wall, and I had my
foot on a rung, when the Maid ran up and cried, "Nom Dieu! what make you
here? Let me lead my Scots"; and so, pennon and axe in her left hand,
she lightly leaped on the ladder, and arrows ringing on her mail, and a
great stone glancing harmless from her salade, she so climbed that my
lady's face on the pennon above her looked down into the English keep.
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.
"Gardez-vous, Pucelle, gardez-vous!" I cried in her ear, for I was next
her on the ladder; but a bolt whistled and smote her full, and reeling,
she fell into my arms.
I turned my back to guard her, and felt a bolt strike my back-piece; then
we were in the fosse, and all the Scots that might be were between her
and harm. Swiftly they bore her out of the fray, into a little green
vineyard, where was a soft grassy ditch. But the English so cried their
hurrah, that it was marvel, and our men gave back in fear; and had not
the Bastard come up with a fresh company, verify we might well have been
swept into the Loire.
Some while I remained with Rutherford, Kennedy, and many others, for what
could we avail to help the Maid? and to run has an ill look, and gives
great heart to an enemy. Moreover, that saying of the Maid came into my
mind, that she should be smitten of a bolt, but not unto death. So I
even abode by the fosse, and having found an arbalest, my desire was to
win a chance of slaying Brother Thomas, wherefore I kept my eyes on that
archere whence he had shot. But no arbalest was pointed thence, and the
fight flagged. On both sides men were weary, and they took some meat as
they might, no ladders being now set on the wall.
Then I deemed it no harm to slip back to the vineyard where the Maid lay,
and there I met the good Father Pasquerel, that was her confessor. He
told me that now she was quiet, either praying or asleep, for he had left
her as still as a babe in its cradle, her page watching her. The bolt
had sped by a rivet of her breast-piece, clean through her breast hard
below the shoulder, and it stood a hand-breadth out beyond. Then she had
wept and trembled, seeing her own blood; but presently, with such might
and courage as was marvel, she had dragged out the bolt with her own
hands. Then they had laid on the wound cotton steeped with olive oil,
for she would not abide that they should steep the bolt with weapon salve
and charm the hurt with a song, as the soldiers desired. Then she had
confessed herself to Pasquerel, and so had lain down among the grass and
the flowers. But it was Pasquerel's desire to let ferry her across
secretly to Orleans. This was an ill hearing for me, yet it was put
about in the army that the Maid had but taken a slight scratch, and again
would lead us on, a thing which I well deemed to be impossible. So the
day waxed late, and few onslaughts were made, and these with no great
heart, the English standing on the walls and openly mocking us.
They asked how it went with the Maid, and whether she would not fain be
at home among her kine, or in the greasy kitchen? We would cry back, and
for my own part I bade them seek the kitchen as pock-puddings and belly-
gods, and that I cried in their own tongue, while they, to my great
amaze, called me "prentice boy" and "jackanapes." Herein I saw the craft
and devilish enmity of Brother Thomas, and well I guessed that he had
gotten sight of me; but his face I saw not.
Ill names break no bones, and arrows from under cover wrought slight
scathe; so one last charge the Bastard commanded, and led himself, and a
sore tussle there was that time on the wall-crest, one or two of our men
leaping into the fort, whence they came back no more.
Now it was eight hours of the evening, the sky grey, the men out-worn and
out of all heart, and the captains were gathered in council. Of this I
conceived the worst hope, for after a counsel men seldom fight. So I
watched the fort right sullenly, and the town of Orleans looking black
against a red, lowering sky in the west. Some concourse of townsfolk I
saw on the bridge, beside the broken arch, and by the Boulevard Belle
Croix; but I deemed that they had only come to see the fray as near as
might be. Others were busy under the river wall with a great black boat,
belike to ferry over the horses from our side.
All seemed ended, and I misdoubted that we would scarce charge again so
briskly in the morning, nay, we might well have to guard our own gates.
As I sat thus, pondering by the vineyard ditch, the Maid stood by me
suddenly. Her helmet was off, her face deadly white, her eyes like two
stars.
"Bring me my horse," she said, so sternly that I crushed the answer on my
lips, and the prayer that she would risk herself no more.
Her horse, that had been cropping the grass near him happily enough, I
found, and brought to her, and so, with some ado, she mounted and rode at
a foot's pace to the little crowd of captains.
"Maiden, ma mie," said the Bastard. "Glad I am to see you able to mount.
We have taken counsel to withdraw for this night. Martin," he said to
his trumpeter, "sound the recall."
"I pray you, sir," she said very humbly, "grant me but a little while";
and so saying, she withdrew alone from the throng of men into the
vineyard.
What passed therein I know not and no man knows; but in a quarter of an
hour's space she came forth, like another woman, her face bright and
smiling, her cheeks like the dawn, and so beautiful that we 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 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
now other beams were being set, and many men, bearing torches, were
following that good knight, Nicole Giresme, who first showed the way over
such a bridge of dread. So now were the English in Les Tourelles between
two fires.
Another strange sight I saw, for in that swift and narrow stream which
the drawbridge spanned whereby the English fled was moored a great black
barge, its stem and stern showing on either side of the bridge. Boats
were being swiftly pulled forth from it into the stream, and as I gazed,
there leaped up through the dark one long tongue of fire. Then I saw the
skill of it, namely, to burn down the drawbridge, and so cut the English
off from all succour. Fed with pitch and pine the flame soared lustily,
and now it shone between the planks of the drawbridge. On the stone
platform of the boulevard, wherein the drawbridge was laid, stood a few
English, and above them shone the axe of a tall squire, Glasdale, as it
fell on shield and helm of the French. Others held us at bay with long
lances, and never saw I any knight do his devoir more fiercely than he
who had reviled the Maid. For on his head lay all the blame of the
taking of the boulevard. To rear of him rang the shouts of them of
Orleans, who had crossed the broken arch by the beam; but he never turned
about, and our men reeled back before him. Then there shone behind him
the flames from the blazing barge; and so, black against that blaze, he
smote and slew, not knowing that the drawbridge began to burn.
On this the Maid ran forth, and cried to him--
"Rends-toi, rends-toi! Yield thee, Glacidas; yield thee, for I stand in
much sorrow for thy soul's sake."
Then, falling on her knees, her face shining transfigured 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 ransom"; and the tears ran down her
cheeks, as if a saint were praying for a soul 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;
he leaped upon the burning drawbridge, where the last of his men were
huddled in flight, and lo! beneath his feet it crashed; down he plunged
through smoke and flame, and the stream below surged up as bridge and
flying men went under in one ruin.
The Maid gave a cry that rang above the roar of fire and water.
"Saints! will no man save him?" she shrieked, looking all around her on
the faces of the French.
A mad thought leaped up in my mind.
"Unharness me!" I cried; and one who stood by me undid the clasps of my
light jaseran. I saw a head unhelmeted, I saw a hand that clutched at a
floating beam. I thought of the Maid's desire, and of the ransom of so
great a squire as Glasdale, and then I threw my hands up to dive, and
leaped head foremost into the water.
Deep down I plunged, and swam far under water, to avoid a stroke from
floating timber, and then I rose and glanced up-stream. All the air was
fiercely lit with the blaze of the burning barge; a hand and arm would
rise, and fall ere I could seize it. A hand was thrown up before me, the
glinting fingers gripping at empty air. I caught the hand, swimming
strongly with the current, for so the man could not clutch at me, and if
a drowning man can be held apart, it is no great skill to save him. In
this art I was not unlearned, and once had even saved two men from a
wrecked barque in the long surf of St. Andrews Bay. Save for a blow from
some great floating timber, I deemed that I had little to fear; nay, now
I felt sure of the Maid's praise and of a rich ransom.
A horn of bank with alder bushes ran out into the stream, a smooth eddy
or backwater curling within. I caught a bough of alder, and, though nigh
carried down by the drowning man's weight, I found bottom, yet hardly,
and drew my man within the backwater. He lay like a log, his face in the
stream. Pushing him before me, I rounded the horn, and, with much ado,
dragged him up to a sloping gravelly beach, where I got his head on dry
land, his legs being still in the water. I turned him over and looked
eagerly. Lo! it was no Glasdale, but the drowned face of Brother Thomas!
Then something seemed to break in my breast; blood gushed from my mouth,
and I fell on the sand and gravel. Footsteps I heard of men running to
us. I lifted my hand faintly and waved it, and then I felt a hand on my
face.