A Monk of Fife<br />Being the Chronicle Written by Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, Concerning Marvellous, Andrew Lang [speld decodable readers TXT] 📗

friends among the Scots, “if you hurried to me, pale, and borne in a litter?  Nay, methinks not, or not for long; and then I should lay it on you never to see her face again;—she is I, you know, for the nonce.  But if you waited and did not come, then my pride might yield at length, and I send for you.  But then, if so, methinks I would hate her (that is, me) more than ever.  Oh, it is a hard case when maids are angry!”

“You speak of yourself, how you would do this or that; but my lady is other than you, and pitiful.  Did she not come all these leagues at a word from me, hearing that I was sick?”

“At a word from you, good youth!  Nay, at a word from me!  Did you speak of me in your letter to her father?”

“Nay!” said I.

“You did well.  And therefore it was that I wrote, for I knew she would move heaven and earth and the Maid or she would come when she heard of another lass being in your company.  Nay, trust me, we women understand each other, and she would ask the Maid, who lodged here with us, what manner of lass I was to look upon, and the Maid’s answer would bring her.”

“You have been kind,” I said.  “And to you and the saints I owe it that I yet live to carry a sore heart and be tormented with your ill tongue.”

“And had you heard that a fair young knight, and renowned in arms, lay sick at your lady’s house, she nursing him, would you not have cast about for ways of coming to her?”

To this I answered nothing, but, with a very sour countenance, was rising to go, when my name was called in the street.

Looking down, I saw my master, who doffed his cap to the daughter of the house, and begging leave to come up, fastened his horse’s bridle to the ring in the wall, by the door.

Up he came, whom Charlotte welcomed very demurely, and so left us, saying that she must go about her household business; but as she departed she cast a look back at me, making a “moue,” as the French say, with her red lips.

“Well, my son,” cried my master, taking my hand, “why so pale?  Sure thou hast had a sore bout, but thou art mending.”

I could but stammer my lady’s name—

“Elliot—shall I see her soon?”

He scratched his rough head and pulled his russet beard, and so laughed shamefacedly.

“Why, lad, to that very end she came, and now—St. Anthony’s fire take me if I well know why—she will none of it.  The Maid brought us in her company, for, as you know, she will ever have young lasses with her when she may, and as far as Orleans the roads are safe.  And who so glad as Elliot when the Maid put this command on her, after we got thy letter?  I myself was most eager to ride, not only for your sake, but to see how Orleans stood after the long pounding.  But when we had come to our lodging, and I was now starting off to greet you, Elliot made no motion of rising.  Nay, when I bade her make haste, she said that haste there was none; and when I, marvelling, asked, ‘Wherefore?’ answered that she was loth to spoil good company, and had seen you, as I did myself, happy enough with the lass who nursed you, and who had written to her.”

“And wherefore, in Heaven’s name, should we not be happy on such a day as this was an hour agone?  But now the sun is out of the sky.”

“I see him plainer than ever I did in the Merse,” said my master, looking up where the sun was bright in the west.  “But what would you?  Women have been thus since Eve had a daughter, for our father Adam, I trow, had no trouble with other ladies than his wife—and that was trouble enough.”

“But how am I to make my peace, and win my pardon, being innocent as I am?”

“Faith, I know not!” said he, and laughed again, which angered me some deal, for what was there to laugh at?

“May I let bring a litter, for I cannot yet walk, and so go back with you to her?”

“Indeed, I doubt if it were wise,” said he; and so we stood gazing at each other, while I could have wept for very helpless anger.  “I have it, I think,” said he at last.  “The Maid is right busy, as needs must be, gathering guns and food for her siege of Jargeau.  But it is not fitting that she should visit Orleans without seeing you, nor would she wish to be so negligent.  Yet if she were, I would put it in her mind, and then, when you are with her, which Elliot shall not know, I will see that Elliot comes into the chamber, and so leave all to you, and to her, and to the Maid.  For she hath great power with that silly wench of mine, who has no other desire, I trow, than a good excuse to be rid of her sudden anger.  If she loved you less, she would be never so fiery.”

I myself could see no better hope or comfort.

Then he began to devise with me on other matters, and got from me the story of my great peril at the hands of Brother Thomas.  He laughed at the manner of my outwitting that miscreant, who had never been taken, but was fled none knew whither, and my master promised to tell the tale to the Maid, and warn her against this enemy.  And so bidding me be of good cheer, he departed; but for my part, I went into my chamber, drew the bolt, and cast myself on the bed, refusing meat or drink, or to see the face of man or woman.

I was devoured by a bitter anger, considering how my lady had used me, and what was most sore of all, reflecting that I could no longer hold her for a thing all perfect, and almost without touch of mortal infirmity.  Nay, she was a woman like another, and unjust, and to deem thus of her was to me the most cruel torment.  We could never forgive each the other, so it seemed to me, nor be again as we had been.  And all the next day no message came for me, and I kept myself quiet, apart in my chamber.  Lest they who read mock at me in their hearts, and at my lady, let them remember how young we both were, and how innocent of other experience in love.  For the Roman says that “the angers of lovers are love’s renewal,” as the brief tempests of April bring in the gladness of May.  But in my heart it was all white sleet, and wind, and snow unseasonable, and so I lay, out of all comfort, tossing on my bed.

I heard the watchmen call the hours through the night, and very early, having at length fallen on sleep, I was wakened by a messenger from the Maid.  It was her page, Louis de Coutes, most richly attired, but still half asleep, grumbling, and rubbing his eyes.

“My mistress bids you come with me instantly,” he said, when we had saluted each other, “and I have brought a litter and men to carry it.  Faith, if I lay in it, I should be asleep ere ever they had borne me ten paces.  What a life it is that I lead!  Late to bed and up by prime, so busy is my mistress; and she lives as it were without sleep, and feeds on air.”

Here he threw himself down in a great chair, and verily, by the time I had washed and attired myself, I had to shake him by the shoulder to arouse him.  Thus I was carried to the Maid’s lodging, my heart beating like a hammer with hopes and fears.

We found her already armed, for that day she was to ride to Jargeau, and none was with her but her confessor.  She gave me the best of greetings, and bade me eat bread and drink wine.  “And soon,” she said, “if you recover the quicker, I trust to give you wine to drink in Paris.”

She herself dipped a crust in wine and water, and presently, bidding her confessor, Pasquerel, wait for her in the little oratory, she asked me how I did, and told me what fear she had been in for me, as touching Brother Thomas, when she learned who he was, yet herself could not return from the field to help me.

“But now,” said she, smiling with a ravishing sweetness, “I hear you are in far greater peril from a foe much harder and more cruel—ma mie Elliot.  Ah! how you lovers put yourselves in jeopardy, and take me from my trade of war to play the peacemaker!  Surely I have chosen the safer path in open breach and battle, though would that my war was ended, and I sitting spinning again beside my dear mother.”  Hereon her face grew more tender and sad than ever I had seen it, and there came over me forgetfulness of my private grief, as of a little thing, and longing to ride at the Maiden’s rein, where glory was to be won.

“Would that even now I could march with you,” I said; and she, smiling, made answer—

“That shall yet be; yea, verily,” and here the fashion of her countenance altered wondrously, “I know, and know not how I know, that thou shalt be with me when all have forsaken me and fled.”

Then she fell silent, and I also, marvelling on her face and on the words which she spoke.  There came a light tap at the door, and she awoke as it were from a trance which possessed her.  She drew her hands over her face, with a long sigh; she knelt down swiftly, and crossed herself, making an obeisance, for I deem that her saints had been with her, wherefore I also crossed myself and prayed.  Then she rose and cried “Enter!” and ere I could speak she had passed into the oratory, and I was alone with Elliot.

Elliot gave one low cry, and cast her arms about my neck, hiding her face on my breast, and sobbing as if her heart would break.

“I have been mad, I have been bad!” she moaned.  “Oh! say hard words to me, and punish me, my love.”

But I had no word to say, only I fell back into a great chair for very weakness, holding my lady in my arms.

And thus, with words few enough, but great delight, the minutes went past, till she lifted her wet face and her fragrant hair; and between laughing and crying, studied on my face and caressed me, touching my thin cheek, and wept and laughed again.  “I was mad,” she whispered; “it seemed as if a devil entered into me.  But She spoke to me and cast him out, and she bade me repent.”

“And do penance,” I said, kissing her till she laughed again, saying that I was a hard confessor, and that the Maid had spoken no word of penances.

“Yet one I must do and suffer,” she said, “and it is more difficult to me than these austerities of thine.”

Here her face grew very red, and she hid it with her hands.

“What mean you?” I asked, wondering.

“I must see her, and thank her for all her kindness to thee.”

“The Maid?” I asked.

“Nay, that other, thy—fair nurse.  Nay, forbid me not, I have sworn it to myself, and I must go.  And the Maiden told me, when I spoke of it, that it was no more than right.”  Then she threw her arms about me again, in the closest embrace, and hid her head.  Now, this resolve of hers gave me no little cause of apprehension, as not knowing well how things might pass in such an encounter of two ladies.  But even then one touched me on the shoulder from behind, and the Maid herself stood beside us.

“O joy!” she said, “my peacemaking has been blessed!  Go, you foolish folk, and sin no more, and peace and happiness be with you, long years, and glad children at your knees.  Yet hereof I know nothing from my counsel.  And now I must go forth about the Dauphin’s business, and to do that for which I was sent.  They that brought thee in the litter will carry thee back again; so farewell.”

Thus saying, she stooped and kissed Elliot, who leaped up and caught the Maid in her arms, and they embraced, and parted for that time, Elliot weeping to lose