A MONK OF FIFE
A Romance of the Days of Jeanne D'Arc - Joan of Arc
by Andrew Lang
CHAPTER XIV
OF THE FIGHTING AT THE BRIDGE, AND OF THE
PRIZE WON BY
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 bare-headed, 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 back-water. He lay
like a log, his face in the stream. Pushing him before me, I
rounded the horn, and, with much ado, dragged him up to a sloping
gravelly beach, where I got his head on dry land, his legs being
still in the water. I turned him over and looked eagerly. Lo! it
was no Glasdale, but the drowned face of Brother Thomas!
Then something seemed to break in my breast; blood gushed from my
mouth, and I fell on the sand and gravel. Footsteps I heard of men
running to us. I lifted my hand faintly and waved it, and then I
felt a hand on my face.
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