Certain Scots that found me, weak and bleeding, by the riverside, were
sent by the Maid, in hopes that I had saved Glasdale, whereas it was the
accursed cordelier I had won from the water. What they did with him I
knew not then, but me they laid on a litter, and so bore me to a boat,
wherein they were ferrying our wounded men across to Orleans. The Maid
herself, as she had foretold, returned by way of the bridge, that was all
bright with moving torches, as our groaning company were rowed across the
black water to a quay. Thence I was carried in a litter to our lodgings,
and so got to bed, a physician doing what he might for me. A noisy night
we passed, for I verily believe that no man slept, but all, after service
held in the Church of St. Aignan, went revelling and drinking from house
to house, and singing through the streets, as folk saved from utter
destruction.
With daybreak fell a short silence; short or long, it seemed brief to me,
who was now asleep at last, and I was rueful enough when a sound aroused
me, and I found the Maid herself standing by my bedside, with one in the
shadow behind her. The chamber was all darkling, lit only by a thread of
light that came through the closed shutters of wood, and fell on her pale
face. She was clad in a light jaseran of mail, because of her wound, and
was plainly eager to be gone and about her business, that is, to meet the
English in open field.
"Leslie, my friend," she said, in her sweet voice, "there were many brave
men in the fight yesterday, but, in God's name, none did a braver deed
than thou! Nay, speak not," she said, as I opened my lips to thank her,
"for the leech that tended thee last night forbids it, on peril of thy
very life. So I have brought thee here a sheet of fair paper, and a pen
and horn of ink, that thou, being a clerk, mayst write what thou hast to
say. Alas! such converse is not for me, who know not A from his brother
B. But the saints who helped thee have rewarded thee beyond all
expectation. Thou didst not save that unhappy Glacidas, whom God in His
mercy forgive! but thou hast taken a goodlier prize--this holy man, that
had been prisoner in the hands of the English."
Here she stood a little aside, and the thread of light shone on the fell
face of Brother Thomas, lowering beneath his hood.
Then I would have spoken, leech or no leech, to denounce him, for the
Maid had no memory of his face, and knew him not for the false friar
taken at St. Loup. But she laid her mailed finger gently on my lips.
"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--
"Lady--" but alas! no miracle was wrought for a sinner like me. Howbeit
I am inclined to believe that the kerchief was no saintly thing, and had
never come near the body of the blessed Colette, but rather was a gift
from one of the cordelier's light-o'-loves. Assuredly it was stained red
with blood from my lungs ere I could utter two words.
The Maid stanched the blood, saying--
"Did I not bid thee to be silent? The saints forgive my lack of faith,
whereby this blessed thing has failed to heal thee! And now I must be
gone, to face the English in the field, if they dare to meet us, which,
methinks, they will not do, but rather withdraw as speedily as they may.
So now I leave thee with this holy man to be thy nurse-tender, and thou
canst write to him concerning thy needs, for doubtless he is a clerk.
Farewell!"
With that she was gone, and this was the last I saw of her for many a
day.
Never have I known such a horror of fear as fell on me now, helpless and
dumb, a sheep given over to the slaughter, in that dark chamber, which
was wondrous lown, {26} 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, not seen by her in the
taking of St. Loup, she knew not. But he knew that I would disclose all
the truth so soon as the Maid returned, wherefore he was bound to destroy
me, which he would assuredly do with every mockery, cruelty, and torture
of body and mind. Merely to think of him when he was absent was wont to
make my flesh creep, so entirely evil beyond the nature of sinful mankind
was this monster, and so set on working all kinds of mischief with
greediness. Whether he had suffered some grievous wrong in his youth,
which he spent his life in avenging on all folk, or whether, as I deem
likely, he was the actual emissary of Satan, as the Maid was of the
saints, I know not, and, as I lay there, had no wits left to consider of
it. Only I knew that no more unavailing victim than I was ever so
utterly in the power of a foe so deadly and terrible.
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 yellow 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, and I prayed that, since die I must, I might at least gladden him
with no sign of fear. When he found that he could not daunton me, he
laughed again.
"Our chick of Pitcullo has picked up a spirit in the wars," he said; and
turning his back on me, he leaned his face on his hand, and so sat
thinking.
The birds of May sang in the garden; there was a faint shining of silver
and green, from the apple-boughs and buds without, in the little chamber;
and the hooded back of the cordelier was before me on my bed, like the
shape of Death beside the Sick Man, in a picture. Now I did not even
pray, I waited.
Doubtless he knew that no cruel thing which the devil could devise was
more cruel than this suspense.
Then he turned about and faced me, grinning like a dog.
"These are good words," said he, "in that foolish old book they read to
the faithful in the churches, 'Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord.' Ay,
it is even too sweet a morsel for us poor Christian men, such as the
lowly Brother Thomas of the Order of St. Francis. Nevertheless, I am
minded to put my teeth in it"; and he bared his yellow dog's fangs at me,
smiling like a hungry hound. "My sick brother," he went on, "both as one
that has some science of leech-craft and as thy ghostly counsellor, it is
my duty to warn thee that thou art now very near thine end. Nay, let me
feel thy pulse"; and seizing my left wrist, he grasped it lightly in his
iron fingers. "Now, ere I administer to thee thy due, as a Christian
man, let me hear thy parting confession. But, alas! as the blessed Maid
too truly warned thee, thou must not open thy poor lips in speech. There
is death in a word! Write, then, write the story of thy sinful life,
that I may give thee absolution."
So saying, he opened the shutter, and carefully set the paper and inkhorn
before me, putting the pen in my fingers.
"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--"
I wrote, but I wrote not his false words, putting my own in their
place--"has been most truly and righteously accused by me--"
"--of divers deeds of black treason, and dealing with our enemies of
England, against our Lord the Dauphin, and the Maid, the Sister of the
Saints, and of this I heartily repent me,--"
But I wrote, "All which I maintain--"
"--as may God pardon my sins, on the faith of a sinful and dying man."
"Now sign thy name, and that of thy worshipful cabbage-garden and
dunghill in filthy Scotland." So I signed, "Norman Leslie, the younger,
of Pitcullo," and added the place, Orleans, with the date of day and year
of our Lord, namely, May the eighth, fourteen hundred and twenty-nine.
"A very laudable confession," quoth Brother Thomas; "would that all the
sinners whom I have absolved, as I am about to absolve thee, had cleansed
and purged their sinful souls as freely. And now, my brother, read aloud
to me this scroll; nay, methinks it is ill for thy health to speak or
read. A sad matter is this, for, in faith, I have forgotten my clergy
myself, and thou mayst have beguiled me by inditing other matter than I
have put into thy lying mouth. Still, where the safety of a soul is
concerned, a few hours more or less of this vain, perishable life weigh
but as dust in the balance."
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.
"Read!" he whispered again, pricking my throat with the dagger's point.
Then I read aloud, and as I read I was half choked with my blood, and now
and then was stopped; but still he cried--
"Read, and if one word is wrong, thine absolution shall come all the
swifter."
So I read, and, may I be forgiven if I sinned in deceiving one so vile! I
uttered not what I had written, but what he had bidden me to write.
"I, Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, being now in the article of death, do
attest on my hope of salvation, and do especially desire Madame Jeanne,
La Pucelle, and all Frenchmen and Scots loyal to our Sovereign Lord the
Dauphin, to accept my witness that Brother Thomas, of the Order of St.
Francis, called Noiroufle while of the world, has been most falsely and
treacherously accused by me of divers deeds of black treason, and dealing
with our enemies of England, against our Lord the Dauphin, and the Maid,
the Sister of the Saints, and of this I heartily repent me, as may God
pardon my sins, on the faith of a sinful and dying man. Signed, at
Orleans, Norman Leslie, the younger, of Pitcullo, this eighth of May, in
the year of our Lord fourteen hundred and twenty-nine."
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 had
been no poor scribe, were I but a clerk. Hadst thou written other
matter, to betray my innocence, thou couldst not remember what I said,
even word for word," he added gleefully. "Now I might strangle thee
slowly"; and he set his fingers about my throat, I being too weak to do
more than clutch at his hand, with a grasp like a babe's. "But that
leaves black finger-marks, another kind of witness than thine in my
favour. Or I might give thee the blade of this blessed crucifix; yet
dagger wounds are like lips and have a voice, and blood cries from the
ground, says Holy Writ. Pardon my tardiness, my poor brother, but this
demands deep thought, and holy offices must not be hurried unseemly." He
sat now with his back to me, his hand still on my throat, so deep in
thought that he heard not, as did my sharpened ears, a door shut softly,
and foot-falls echoing in the house below. If I could only cry aloud!
but he would stifle me ere the cry reached my throat!
"This will serve," he said. "Thou wilt have died of thy malady, and I
will go softly forth, and with hushed voice will tell how the brave young
Scot passed quietly to the saints. Yet, after all, I know not. Thou
hast been sent by Heaven to my aid; clearly thou art an instrument of God
to succour the unworthy Brother Thomas. Once and twice thou hast been a
boat to carry me on my way, and to save my useful life. A third time
thou mightst well be serviceable, not by thy will, alas! but by God's, my
poor brother"; and he mockingly caressed my face with his abhorred hand.
"Still, this must even serve, though I would fain find for thee a more
bitter way to death"; and he gently and carefully drew the pillow from
beneath my head. "This leaves no marks and tells no tales, and permits
no dying cry."
He was looking at me, the pillow in his hands, his gesture that of a
tender nurse, when a light tap sounded on the door. He paused, then came
a louder knock, one pushed, and knocked again.
"Open, in the name of the Dauphin!" came a voice I knew well, the voice
of D'Aulon.
"The rope of Judas strangle thee!" said Brother Thomas, dropping the
pillow and turning to the casement. But it was heavily barred with
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 speaking, he
withdrew the bolt.
D'Aulon strode in, dagger in hand, followed by the physician.
"What make you here with doors barred, false priest?" he said, laying his
hand on the frock of Noiroufle.
"And what make you here, fair squire, with arms in a sick man's chamber,
and loud words to disturb the dying? And wherefore callest thou me
'false priest'? But an hour agone, the blessed Maid herself brought me
hither, to comfort and absolve her follower, to tend him, if he lived
and, if he must die, to give him his dues as a Christian man. And the
door was bolted that the penitent might be private with his confessor,
for he has a heavy weight to unburden his sinful soul withal."
"Ay, the Maid sent thee, not knowing who thou wert, the traitor friar
taken at St. Loup, and thou hast a tongue that beguiled her simplicity.
But one that knew thee saw thy wolfs face in her company, and told me,
and I told the Maid, who sent me straightway back from the gate, that
justice might be done on thee. Thou art he whom this Scot charged with
treason, and would have slain for a spy, some nights agone."
Brother Thomas cast up his eyes to heaven.
"Forgive us our trespasses," said he, "as we forgive them that trespass
against us. Verily and indeed I am that poor friar who tends the
wounded, and verify I am he against whom this young Scot, as, I fear, is
the manner of all his benighted people, brought a slanderous accusation
falsely. All the more reason was there that I should hear his last
confession, and forgive him freely, as may I also be forgiven."
"Thou liest in thy throat," said D'Aulon. "This is a brave man-at-arms,
and a loyal."
"Would that thou wert not beguiled, fair sir, for I have no pleasure in
the sin of any man. But, if thou wilt believe him rather than me, even
keep thy belief, and read this written confession of his falsehood. Of
free will, with his own hand, my penitent hereby absolves me from all his
slanders. As Holy Church enjoins, in the grace of repentance he also
makes restitution of what he had stolen, namely, all my wealth in this
world, the good name of a poor and lowly follower of the blessed Francis.
Here is the scroll."
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 perplexed sort. "Tush, it is
beyond my clerkhood," he said at last. "You, Messire
Saint-Mesmin,"--turning to the physician--"must interpret this."
"Willingly, fair sir," said the physician, moving round to the shutter,
which he opened, while the cordelier's eyes glittered, for now there was
one man less between him and the half-open door. I nodded to D'Aulon
that he should shut it, but he marked me not, being wholly in amaze at
the written scroll of my confession.
The physician himself was no great clerk, and he read the paper slowly,
stumbling over the words, as it were, while Brother Thomas, clasping his
crucifix to his breast, listened in triumph as he heard what he himself
had bidden me write.
"I, Norman Leslie, of--of Peet--What name is this? Peet--I cannot utter
it."
"Passez outre," quoth D'Aulon.
"I, Norman Leslie, being now in the article of death"--here the leech
glanced at me, shaking his head mournfully--"do attest on my hope of
salvation, and do especially desire Madame Jeanne La Pucelle, and all
Frenchmen and Scots loyal to our Sovereign Lord the Dauphin, to accept my
witness that Brother Thomas, of the Order of St. Francis, called
Noiroufle while of the world, has been most truly and righteously accused
by me of divers deeds of black treason."
At these words the cordelier's hand leaped up from his breast, his
crucifix dagger glittered bright, he tore his frock from D'Aulon's grip,
leaving a rag of it in his hand, and smote, aiming at the squire where
the gorget joins the vambrace. Though he missed by an inch, yet so
terrible was the blow that D'Aulon reeled against the wall, while the
broken blade jingled on the stone floor. Then the frock of the friar
whisked through the open door of the chamber; we heard the stairs cleared
in two leaps, and D'Aulon, recovering his feet, rushed after the false
priest. But he was in heavy armour, the cordelier's bare legs were
doubtless the nimbler, and the physician, crossing himself, could only
gape and stare on the paper in his hand. As he gazed with his mouth open
his eyes fell on me, white as my sheets, that were dabbled with the blood
from my mouth.
"Nom Dieu!" he stammered, "Nom Dieu! here is business more to my mind and
my trade than chasing after mad cordeliers that stab with crucifixes!"
Then, coming to my side, he brought water, bathed my face, and did what
his art might do for a man in such deadly extremity as was mine. In
which care he was still busy when D'Aulon returned, panting, having sent
a dozen of townsfolk to hunt the friar, who had made good his flight over
garden walls, and was now skulking none knew where. D'Aulon would fain
have asked me concerning the mystery of the confession in which Brother
Thomas had placed his hope so unhappily, but the physician forbade him to
inquire, or me to answer, saying that it was more than my life was worth.
But on D'Aulon's battered armour there was no deeper dint than that dealt
by the murderous crucifix.
Thus this second time did Brother Thomas make his way out of our hands,
the devil aiding him, as always; for it seemed that ropes could not bind
or water drown him.
But, for my part, I lay long in another bout of sore fever, sick here at
Orleans, where I was very kindly entreated by the people of the house,
and notably by the daughter thereof, a fair maid and gentle. To her care
the Maid had commanded me when she left Orleans, the English refusing
battle, as later I heard, and withdrawing to Jargeau and Paris. But of
the rejoicings in Orleans I knew little or nothing, and had no great
desire for news, or meat, or drink, but only for sleep and peace, as is
the wont of sick men. Now as touches sickness and fever, I have written
more than sufficient, as Heaven knows I have had cause enow. A luckless
life was mine, save for the love of Elliot; danger and wounds, and malady
and escape, where hope seemed lost, were and were yet to be my portion,
since I sailed forth out of Eden-mouth. And so hard pressed of sickness
was I, that not even my outwitting of Brother Thomas was a cause of
comfort to me, though to this day I cannot think of it without some
mirthful triumph.