A MONK OF FIFE
A Romance of the Days of Jeanne D'Arc - Joan of Arc
by Andrew Lang
CHAPTER III
WHAT BEFELL OUTSIDE OF CHINON TOWN
My old nurse, when I was a child, used to tell me a long story of a
prince who, wandering through the world, made friends with many
strange companions. One she called Lynx-eye, that could see through
a mountain; one was Swift-foot, that could outrun the wind; one was
Fine-ear, that could hear the grass growing; and there was Greedy-
gut, that could swallow a river. All these were very serviceable to
this gracious prince, of I know not what country, in his adventures;
and they were often brought into my mind by the companions whom we
picked up on the grass-grown roads.
These wanderers were as strange as the friends of the prince, and
were as variously, but scarce as honourably, gifted. There was the
one-armed soldier, who showed his stump very piteously when it was a
question of begging from a burgess, but was as well furnished with
limbs as other men when no burgess was in sight. There was a
wretched woman violer, with her jackanapes, and with her husband, a
hang-dog ruffian, she bearing the mark of his fist on her eye, and
commonly trailing far behind him with her brat on her back. There
was a blind man, with his staff, who might well enough answer to
Keen-eye, that is, when no strangers were in sight. There was a
layman, wearing cope and stole and selling indulgences, but our
captain, Brother Thomas, soon banished him from our company, for
that he divided the trade. Others there were, each one of them a
Greedy-gut, a crew of broken men, who marched with us on the roads;
but we never entered a town or a house with these discreditable
attendants.
Now, it may seem strange, but the nearer we drew to Chinon and the
Court, the poorer grew the country, for the Court and the men-at-
arms had stripped it bare, like a flight of locusts. For this
reason the Dauphin could seldom abide long at one place, for he was
so much better known than trusted that the very cordwainer would not
let him march off in a new pair of boots without seeing his money,
and, as the song said, he even greased his old clouted shoon, and
made them last as long as he might. For head-gear he was as ill
provided, seeing that he had pawned the fleurons of his crown.
There were days when his treasurer at Tours (as I myself have heard
him say) did not reckon three ducats in his coffers, and the heir of
France borrowed money from his very cook. So the people told us,
and I have often marvelled how, despite this poverty, kings and
nobles, when I have seen them, go always in cloth of gold, with rich
jewels. But, as you may guess, near the Court of a beggar Dauphin
the country-folk too were sour and beggarly.
We had to tighten our belts before we came to the wood wherein
cross-roads meet, from north, south, and east, within five miles of
the town of Chinon. There was not a white coin among us; night was
falling, and it seemed as if we must lie out under the stars, and be
fed, like the wolves we heard howling, on wind. By the roadside, at
the crossways, but not in view of the road, a council of our ragged
regiment was held in a deep ditch. It would be late ere we reached
the town, gates would scarce open for us, we could not fee the
warders, houses would be shut and dark; the King's archers were apt
to bear them unfriendly to wandering men with the devil dancing in
their pouches. Resource we saw none; if there was a cottage, dogs,
like wolves for hunger and fierceness, were baying round it. As for
Brother Thomas, an evil bruit had gone before us concerning a
cordelier that the fowls and geese were fain to follow, as wilder
things, they say, follow the blessed St. Francis. So there sat
Brother Thomas at the cross-roads, footsore, hungry, and sullen, in
the midst of us, who dared not speak, he twanging at the string of
his arbalest. He called himself our Moses, in his blasphemous way,
and the blind man having girded at him for not leading us into the
land of plenty, he had struck the man till he bled, and now stood
stanching his wound.
Suddenly Brother Thomas ceased from his twanging, and holding up his
hand for silence, leaned his ear to the ground. The night was
still, though a cold wind came very stealthily from the east.
"Horses!" he said.
"It is but the noise of the brook by the way," said the blind man,
sullenly.
Brother Thomas listened again.
"No, it is horses," he whispered. "My men, they that ride horses
can spare somewhat out of their abundance to feed the poor." And
with that he began winding up his arbalest hastily. "Aymeric," he
said to one of our afflicted company, "you draw a good bow for a
blind man; hide yourself in the opposite ditch, and be ready when I
give the word "Pax vobiscum." You, Giles," he spoke to the one-
armed soldier, "go with him, and, do you hear, aim low, at the third
man's horse. From the sound there are not more than five or six of
them. We can but fail, at worst, and the wood is thick behind us,
where none may pursue. You, Norman de Pitcullo, have your whinger
ready, and fasten this rope tightly to yonder birch-tree stem, and
then cross and give it a turn or two about that oak sapling on the
other side of the way. That trap will bring down a horse or twain.
Be quick, you Scotch wine-bag!"
I had seen many ill things done, and, to my shame, had held my
peace. But a Leslie of Pitcullo does not take purses on the high-
road. Therefore my heart rose in sudden anger, I having all day
hated him more and more for his bitter tongue, and I was opening my
mouth to cry "A secours!"--a warning to them who were approaching,
when, quick as lightning, Brother Thomas caught me behind the knee-
joints, and I was on the ground with his weight above me. One cry I
had uttered, when his hand was on my mouth.
"Give him the steel in his guts!" whispered the blind man.
"Slit his weasand, the Scotch pig!" said the one-armed soldier.
They were all on me now.
"No, I keep him for better sport," snarled Brother Thomas. "He
shall learn the Scots for 'ecorcheurs' (flayers of men) "when we
have filled our pouches."
With that he crammed a great napkin in my mouth, so that I could not
cry, made it fast with a piece of cord, trussed me with the rope
which he had bidden me tie across the path to trip the horses, and
with a kick sent me flying to the bottom of the ditch, my face being
turned from the road.
I could hear Giles and Aymeric steal across the way, and the
rustling of boughs as they settled on the opposite side. I could
hear the trampling hoofs of horses coming slowly and wearily from
the east. At this moment chanced a thing that has ever seemed
strange to me: I felt the hand of the violer woman laid lightly and
kindly on my hair. I had ever pitied her, and, as I might, had been
kind to her and her bairn; and now, as it appears, she pitied me.
But there could be no help in her, nor did she dare to raise her
voice and give an alarm. So I could but gnaw at my gag, trying to
find scope for my tongue to cry, for now it was not only the
travellers that I would save, but my own life, and my escape from a
death of torment lay on my success. But my mouth was as dry as a
kiln, my tongue was doubled back till I thought that I should have
choked. The night was now deadly still, and the ring of the weary
hoofs drew nearer and nearer. I heard a stumble, and the scramble
of a tired horse as he recovered himself; for the rest, all was
silent, though the beating of my own heart sounded heavy and husky
in my ears.
Closer and closer the travellers drew, and soon it was plain that
they rode not carelessly, nor as men who deemed themselves secure,
for the tramp of one horse singled itself out in front of the
others, and this, doubtless, was ridden by an "eclaireur," sent
forward to see that the way ahead was safe. Now I heard a low growl
of a curse from Brother Thomas, and my heart took some comfort.
They might be warned, if the Brother shot at the foremost man; or,
at worst, if he was permitted to pass, the man would bear swift
tidings to Chinon, and we might be avenged, the travellers and I,
for I now felt that they and I were in the same peril.
The single rider drew near, and passed, and there came no cry of
"Pax vobiscum" from the friar. But the foremost rider had,
perchance, the best horse, and the least wearied, for there was even
too great a gap between him and the rest of his company.
And now their voices might be heard, as they talked by the way, yet
not so loud that, straining my ears as I did, I could hear any
words. But the sounds waxed louder, with words spoken, ring of
hoofs, and rattle of scabbard on stirrup, and so I knew, at least,
that they who rode so late were men armed. Brother Thomas, too,
knew it, and cursed again very low.
Nearer, nearer they came, then almost opposite, and now, as I
listened to hear the traitorous signal of murder--"Pax vobiscum"--
and the twang of bow-strings, on the night there rang a voice, a
woman's voice, soft but wondrous clear, such as never I knew from
any lips but hers who then spoke; that voice I heard in its last
word, "Jesus!" and still it is sounding in my ears.
That voice said -
"Nous voile presqu'arrives, grace e mes Freres de Paradis."
Instantly, I knew not how, at the sound of that blessed voice, and
the courage in it, I felt my fear slip from me, as when we awaken
from a dreadful dream, and in its place came happiness and peace.
Scarce otherwise might he feel who dies in fear and wakes in
Paradise.
On the forest boughs above me, my face being turned from the road,
somewhat passed, or seemed to pass, like a soft golden light, such
as in the Scots tongue we call a "boyn," that ofttimes, men say,
travels with the blessed saints. Yet some may deem it but a
glancing in my own eyes, from the blood flying to my head; howsoever
it be, I had never seen the like before, nor have I seen it since,
and, assuredly, the black branches and wild weeds were lit up bare
and clear.
The tramp of the horses passed, there was no cry of "Pax vobiscum,"
no twang of bows, and slowly the ring of hoofs died away on the road
to Chinon. Then came a rustling of the boughs on the further side
of the way, and a noise of footsteps stealthily crossing the road,
and now I heard a low sound of weeping from the violer woman, that
was crouching hard by where I lay. Her man struck her across the
mouth, and she was still.
"You saw it? Saints be with us! You saw them?" he whispered to
Brother Thomas.
"Fool, had I not seen, would I not have given the word? Get you
gone, all the sort of you, there is a fey man in this company, be he
who he will. Wander your own ways, and if ever one of you dogs
speak to me again, in field, or street, or market, or ever mention
this night . . . ye shall have my news of it. Begone! Off!"
"Nay, but, Brother Thomas, saw'st thou what we saw? What sight
saw'st thou?"
"What saw I? Fools, what should I have seen, but an outrider, and
he a King's messenger, sent forward to warn the rest by his fall, if
he fell, or to raise the country on us, if he passed, and if
afterward they passed us not. They were men wary in war, and
travelling on the Dauphin's business. Verily there was no profit in
them."
"And that was all? We saw other things."
"What I saw was enough for me, or for any good clerk of St.
Nicholas, and of questions there has been more than enough. Begone!
scatter to the winds, and be silent."
"And may we not put the steel in that Scotch dog who delayed us?
Saints or sorcerers, their horses must have come down but for him."
Brother Thomas caught me up, as if I had been a child, in his arms,
and tossed me over the ditch-bank into the wood, where I crashed on
my face through the boughs.
"Only one horse would have fallen, and that had brought the others
on us. The Scot is safe enough, his mouth is well shut. I will
have no blood to-night; leave him to the wolves. And now, begone
with you: to Fierbois, if you will; I go my own road--alone."
They wandered each his own way, sullen and murmuring, starved and
weary. What they had seen or fancied, and whether, if the rest saw
aught strange, Brother Thomas saw nought, I knew not then, and know
not till this hour. But the tale of this ambush, and of how they
that lay in hiding held their hands, and fled--having come, none
might say whence, and gone, whither none might tell--is true, and
was soon widely spoken of in the realm of France.
The woods fell still again, save for the babble of the brook, and
there I lay, bound, and heard only the stream in the silence of the
night.
There I lay, quaking, when all the caitiffs had departed, and the
black, chill night received me into itself. At first my mind was
benumbed, like my body; but the pain of my face, smarting with
switch and scratch of the boughs through which I had fallen, awoke
me to thought and fear. I turned over to lie on my back, and look
up for any light of hope in the sky, but nothing fell on me from
heaven save a cold rain, that the leafless boughs did little to ward
off. Scant hope or comfort had I; my whole body ached and
shuddered, only I did not thirst, for the rain soaked through the
accursed napkin on my mouth, while the dank earth, with its
graveyard smell, seemed to draw me down into itself, as it drags a
rotting leaf. I was buried before death, as it were, even if the
wolves found me not and gave me other sepulture; and now and again I
heard their long hunting cry, and at every patter of a beast's foot,
or shivering of the branches, I thought my hour was come--and I
unconfessed! The road was still as death, no man passing by it.
This night to me was like the night of a man laid living in the
tomb. By no twisting and turning could I loosen the rope that
Brother Thomas had bound me in, with a hand well taught by cruel
practice. At last the rain in my face grew like a water-torture,
always dropping, and I half turned my face and pressed it to the
ground.
Whether I slept by whiles, or waked all night, I know not, but
certainly I dreamed, seeing with shut eyes faces that came and went,
shifting from beauty such as I had never yet beheld, to visages more
and more hideous and sinful, ending at last in the worst--the fell
countenance of Noiroufle. Then I woke wholly to myself, in terror,
to find that he was not there, and now came to me some of that ease
which had been born of the strange, sweet voice, and the strange
words, "Mes Freres de Paradis."
"My brethren of Paradise"; who could she be that rode so late in
company of armed men, and yet spoke of such great kinsfolk? That it
might be the holy Colette, then, as now, so famous in France for her
miracles, and good deeds, and her austerities, was a thought that
arose in me. But the holy Sister, as I had heard, never mounted a
horse in her many wanderings, she being a villein's daughter, but
was carried in a litter, or fared in a chariot; nor did she go in
company with armed men, for who would dare to lay hands on her?
Moreover, the voice that I had heard was that of a very young girl,
and the holy Sister Colette was now entered into the vale of years.
So my questioning found no answer.
And now I heard light feet, as of some beast stirring and scratching
in the trees overhead, and there with a light jingling noise. Was
it a squirrel? Whatever it was, it raced about the tree, coming
nearer and going further away, till it fell with a weight on my
breast, and, shivering with cold, all strained like a harp-string as
I was, I could have screamed, but for the gag in my mouth. The
thing crawled up my body, and I saw two red eyes fixed on mine, and
deemed it had been a wild cat, such as lives in our corries of the
north--a fell beast if brought to bay, but otherwise not hurtful to
man.
There the red eyes looked on me, and I on them, till I grew giddy
with gazing, and half turned my head with a stifled sob. Then there
came a sharp cry which I knew well enough, and the beast leaped up
and nestled under my breast, for this so dreadful thing was no worse
than the violer woman's jackanapes, that had slipped its chain, or,
rather, had drawn it out of her hand, for now I plainly heard the
light chain jingle. This put me on wondering whether they had
really departed; the man, verily, thirsted for my life, but he would
have slain me ere this hour, I thought, if that had been his
purpose. The poor beast a little helped to warm me with the heat of
his body, and he was a friendly creature, making me feel less alone
in the night. Yet, in my own misery, I could not help but sorrow
for the poor woman when she found her jackanapes gone, that was
great part of her living: and I knew what she would have to bear
for its loss from the man that was her master.
As this was in my mind, the first grey stole into the sky so that I
could see the black branches overhead; and now there awoke the cries
of birds, and soon the wood was full of their sweet jargoning. This
put some hope into my heart; but the morning hours were long, and
colder than the night, to one wet to the bone with the rains. Now,
too, I comforted myself with believing that, arrive what might, I
was wholly quit of Brother Thomas, whereat I rejoiced, like the man
in the tale who had sold his soul to the Enemy, and yet, in the end,
escaped his clutches by the aid of Holy Church. Death was better to
me than life with Brother Thomas, who must assuredly have dragged me
with him to the death that cannot die. Morning must bring
travellers, and my groaning might lead them to my aid. And, indeed,
foot-farers did come, and I did groan as well as I could, but, like
the Levite in Scripture, they passed by on the other side of the
way, fearing to meddle with one wounded perchance to the death, lest
they might be charged with his slaying, if he died, or might anger
his enemies, if he lived.
The light was now fully come, and some rays of the blessed sun fell
upon me, whereon I said orisons within myself, commanding my case to
the saints. Devoutly I prayed, that, if I escaped with life, I
might be delivered from the fear of man, and namely of Brother
Thomas. It were better for me to have died by his weapon at first,
beside the broken bridge, than to have lived his slave, going in
dread of him, with a slave's hatred in my heart. So now I prayed
for spirit enough to defend my honour and that of my country, which
I had borne to hear reviled without striking a blow for it. Never
again might I dree this extreme shame and dishonour. On this head I
addressed myself, as was fitting, to the holy Apostle St. Andrew,
our patron, to whom is especially dear the honour of Scotland.
Then, as if he and the other saints had listened to me, I heard
sounds of horses' hoofs, coming up the road from Chinon way, and
also voices. These, like the others of the night before, came
nearer, and I heard a woman's voice gaily singing. And then awoke
such joy in my heart as never was there before, and this was far the
gladdest voice that ever yet I heard, for, behold, it was the speech
of my own country, and the tune I knew and the words.
"O, we maun part this love, Willie,
That has been lang between;
There's a French lord coming over sea
To wed me wi' a ring;
There's a French lord coming o'er the sea
To wed and take me hame!"
"And who shall the French lord be, Elliot?" came another voice, a
man's this time, "though he need not cross the sea for you, the
worse the luck. Is it young Pothon de Xaintrailles? Faith, he
comes often enough to see how his new penoncel fares in my hands,
and seems right curious in painting."
It may be deemed strange that, even in this hour, I conceived in my
heart a great mislike of this young French lord, how unjustly I soon
well understood.
"O, nae French lord for me, father,
O, nae French lord for me,
But I'll ware my heart on a true-born Scot,
And wi' him I'll cross the sea."
"Oh, father, lo you, I can make as well as sing, for that is no word
of the old ballant, but just came on to my tongue!"
They were now right close to me, and, half in fear, half in hope, I
began to stir and rustle in the grass, for of my stifled groaning
had hitherto come no profit. Then I heard the horses stop.
"What stirring is that in the wood, father? I am afraid," came the
girl's voice.
"Belike a fox shifting his lair. Push on, Maid Elliot." The horses
advanced, when, by the blessing of the saints, the jackanapes woke
in my breast.
The creature was used to run questing with a little wooden bowl he
carried for largesse, to beg of horsemen for his mistress. This
trick of his he did now, hearing the horses' tramp. He leaped the
ditch, and I suppose he ran in front of the steeds, shaking his
little bowl, as was his wont.
"Oh, father," sounded the girl's voice, "see the little jackanapes!
Some travelling body has lost him. Let me jump down and catch him.
Look, he has a little coat on, made like a herald's tabard, and
wears the colours of France. Here, hold my reins."
"No, lass. Who can tell where, or who, his owner is? Take you my
reins, and I will bring you the beast."
I heard him heavily dismount.
"It will not let itself be caught by a lame man," he said; and he
scrambled up the ditch bank, while the jackanapes fled to me, and
then ran forward again, back and forth.
"Nom Dieu, whom have we here?" cried the man, in French.
I turned, and made such a sound with my mouth as I might, while the
jackanapes nestled to my breast.
"Why do ye not speak, man?" he said again; and I turned my eyes on
him, looking as pitifully as might be out of my blood-bedabbled
face.
He was a burly man, great of growth, with fresh red cheeks, blue
eyes, reddish hair, and a red beard, such as are many in the Border
marches of my own country, the saints bless them for true men!
Withal he dragged his leg in walking, which he did with difficulty
and much carefulness. He "hirpled," as we say, towards me very
warily; then, seeing the rope bound about me, and the cloth in my
mouth, he drew his dagger, but not to cut my bonds. He was over
canny for that, but he slit the string that kept the cursed gag in
my mouth, and picked it out with his dagger point; and, oh the
blessed taste of that first long draught of air, I cannot set it
down in words! "What, in the name of all the saints, make you here,
in this guise?" he asked in French, but with a rude Border accent.
"I am a kindly Scot," I said in our own tongue, "of your own
country. Give me water." And then a dwawm, as we call it, or
fainting-fit, came over me.
When I knew myself again, I was lying with my head in a maiden's
lap, and well I could have believed that the fairies had carried me
to their own land, as has befallen many, whereof some have returned
to earth with the tale, and some go yet in that unearthly company.
"Gentle demoiselle, are you the gracious Queen of Faerie?" I asked,
as one half-wakened, not knowing what I said. Indeed this lady was
clad all in the fairy green, and her eyes were as blue as the sky
above her head, and the long yellow locks on her shoulders were
shining like the sun.
"Father, he is not dead," she said, laughing as sweet as all the
singing-birds in March--"he is not dead, but sorely wandering in his
mind when he takes Elliot Hume for the Fairy Queen."
"Faith, he might have made a worse guess," cried the man. "But now,
sir, now that your bonds are cut, I see nothing better for you than
a well-washed face, for, indeed, you are by ordinary "kenspeckle,"
and no company for maids."
With that he brought some water from the burn by the road, and
therewith he wiped my face, first giving me to drink. When I had
drunk, the maid whom he called Elliot got up, her face very rosy,
and they set my back against a tree, which I was right sorry for, as
indeed I was now clean out of fairyland and back in this troublesome
world. The horses stood by us, tethered to trees, and browsed on
the budding branches.
"And now, maybe," he said, speaking in the kindly Scots, that was
like music in my ear--"now, maybe, you will tell us who you are, and
how you came into this jeopardy."
I told him, shortly, that I was a Scot of Fife; whereto he answered
that my speech was strangely English. On this matter I satisfied
him with the truth, namely, that my mother was of England. I gave
my name but not that of our lands, and showed him how I had been
wandering north, to take service with the Dauphin, when I was set
upon, and robbed and bound by thieves, for I had no clearness as to
telling him all my tale, and no desire to claim acquaintance with
Brother Thomas.
"And the jackanapes?" he asked, whereto I had no better answer than
that I had seen the beast with a wandering violer on the day before,
and that she having lost it, as I supposed, it had come to me in the
night.
The girl was standing with the creature in her arms, feeding it with
pieces of comfits from a pouch fastened at her girdle.
"The little beast is not mine to give," I went on, seeing how she
had an affection to the ape, "but till the owner claims it, it is
all the ransom I have to pay for my life, and I would fain see it
wear the colours of this gentle maid who saved me. It has many
pretty tricks, but though to-day I be a beggar, I trow she will not
let it practise that ill trick of begging."
"Sooner would I beg myself, fair sir," she said, with such a courtly
reverence as surprised me; for though they seemed folks well to see
in the world, they were not, methought, of noble blood, nor had they
with them any company of palfreniers or archers.
"Elliot, you feed the jackanapes and let our countryman hunger,"
said the man; and, blushing again, she made haste to give me some of
the provision she had made for her journey.
So I ate and drank, she waiting on me very gently; but now, being
weary of painful writing, and hearing the call to the refectory, and
the brethren trampling thither, I must break off, for, if I be late,
they will sconce me of my ale. Alas! it is to these little cares of
creature comforts that I am come, who have seen the face of so many
a war, and lived and fought on rat's flesh at Compiegne.
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