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

would not have him devise and dispute with her, as now, whereby I very well knew that she would be but the more unhappy, and the more set on taking her own wilful way.  I therefore said no more than that it behoved me to see such captains as were about the King.

Thereafter I bade them farewell, nor am I disposed to write concerning what passed at the parting of Elliot and me.  For thrice ere now I had left her to pass into the mouth of war, but now I went into other peril, and with fainter hope.

I did indeed ride to the Court, which was at Sully, and there I met, as I desired, Barthélemy Barrette.  He greeted me well, and was richly clad, and prosperous to behold.  But it gave me greater joy that he spoke of some secret enterprise which should shortly be put in hand, when the spring came.

“For I have good intelligence,” he said, “that the Bastard of Orleans will ride privily to Louviers with men-at-arms.  Now Louviers, where La Hire lies in garrison, is but seven leagues from Rouen town, and what secret enterprise can he purpose there, save to break the cage and set free the bird?”

In this hope I tarried long, intending to ride with the spears of Barthélemy, and placing my trust on two knights so good and skilled in war as La Hire and the Bastard, the Maid’s old companions in fight.

But the days waxed long, and it was March the thirteenth ere we rode north, and already the doctors had begun to entrap the Maid with their questions, whereof there could be but one end.

Without adventure very notable, riding much at night, through forests and byways, we came to Louviers, where they received us joyfully.  For it was very well known that the English were minded to besiege this town, that braved them so near their gates at Rouen, and that they only held back till they had slain the Maid.  While she lived they dared not stir against us, knowing well that their men feared to follow their flag.

Now, indeed, I was in good hope, but alas! there were long counsels of the captains, there was much harrying of Normandy, and some outlying bands of English were trapped, and prisoners were taken.  But of an assault on Rouen we heard no word, and, indeed, the adventure was desperate, though, for the honour of France, I marvel yet that it was not put to the touch.

“There is nought to be done,” Barthélemy said to me; “I cannot take Rouen with a handful of spears, and the captains will not stir.”

“Then,” said I, “farewell, for under the lilies I fight never again.  One chance remains, and I go to prove it.”

“Man, you are mad,” he answered me.  “What desperate peril are you minded to run?”

“I am minded to end this matter,” I said.  “My honour and my very life stand upon it.  Ask me not why, and swear that you will keep this secret from all men, if you would do the last service to me, and to Her, whom we both love.  I tell you that, help me or hinder me, I have no choice but this; yet so much I will say to you, that I put myself in this jeopardy for my honour and the honour of Scotland, and for my lady.”

“The days are past for the old chivalry,” he said; “but no more words.  I swear by St. Ouen to keep your counsel, and if more I can do, without mere madness and risk out of all hope, I will do it.”

“This you can do without risk.  Let me have the accoutrements of one of the Englishmen who lie in ward, and let me ride with your band at daybreak to-morrow.  It is easy to tell some feigned tale, when you ride back without me.”

“You will not ride into Rouen in English guise?  They will straightway hang you for a spy, and therein is little honour.”

“My purpose is some deal subtler,” I said, with a laugh, “but let me keep my own counsel.”

“So be it,” said he, “a wilful man must have his way.  And now I drink to your better wisdom, and may you escape that rope on which your heart seems to be set!”

I grasped his hand on it, and by point of day we were riding out seawards.  We made an onslaught on a village, burned a house or twain, and seized certain wains of hay, so, in the confusion, I slipped forward, and rode alone into a little wood.  There I clad myself in English guise, having carried the gear in a wallet on my saddle-bow, and so pushed on, till at nightfall I came to a certain little fishing-village.  There, under cover of the dark, I covenanted with a fisherman to set me across the Channel, I feigning to be a deserter who was fleeing from the English army, for fear of the Maid.

“I would well that I had to carry all the sort of you,” said the boat-master, for I had offered him my horse, and a great reward in money, part down, and the other part to be paid when I set foot in England.  Nor did he make any tarrying, but, taking his nets on board, as if he would be about his lawful business, set sail, with his two sons for a crew.  The east wind served us to a miracle, and, after as fair a passage as might be, they landed me under cloud of night not far from the great port of Winchelsea.

That night I slept none, but walking fast and warily, under cover of a fog, I fetched a compass about, and ended by walking into the town of Rye by the road from the north.  Here I went straight to the best inn of the place, and calling aloud for breakfast, I bade the drawer bring mine host to me instantly.  For, at Louviers, we were so well served by spies, the country siding with us rather than with the English, that I knew how a company of the Earl of Warwick’s men was looked for in Winchelsea to sail when they had a fair wind for Rouen.

Mine host came to me in a servile English fashion, and asked me what I would?

“First, a horse,” said I, “for mine dropped dead last night, ten miles hence on the north road, in your marshes, God damn them, and you may see by my rusty spur and miry boot that I have walked far.  Here,” I cried, pulling off my boots, and flinging them down on the rushes of the floor, “bid one of your varlets clean them!  Next, breakfast, and a pot of your ale; and then I shall see what manner of horses you keep, for I must needs ride to Winchelsea.”

“You would join the men under the banner of Sir Thomas Grey of Falloden, I make no doubt?” he answered.  “Your speech smacks of the Northern parts, and the good knight comes from no long way south of the border.  His men rode through our town but few days agone.”

“And me they left behind on the way,” I answered, “so evil is my luck in horse-flesh.  But for this blessed wind out of the east that hinders them, my honour were undone.”

My tale was not too hard of belief, and before noon I was on my way to Winchelsea, a stout nag enough between my legs.

The first man-at-arms whom I met I hailed, bidding him lead me straight to Sir Thomas Grey of Falloden.  “What, you would take service?” he asked, in a Cumberland burr that I knew well, for indeed it came ready enough on my own tongue.

“Yea, by St. Cuthbert,” I answered, “for on the Marches nothing stirs; moreover, I have slain a man, and fled my own country.”

With that he bade God damn his soul if I were not a good fellow, and so led me straight to the lodgings of the knight under whose colours he served.  To him I told the same tale, adding that I had heard late of his levying of his men, otherwise I had ridden to join him at his setting forth.

“You have seen war?” he asked.

“Only a Warden’s raid or twain, on the moss-trooping Scots of Liddesdale.  Branxholme I have seen in a blaze, and have faced fire at the Castle of the Hermitage.”

“You speak the tongue of the Northern parts,” he said; “are you noble?”

“A poor cousin of the Storeys of Netherby,” I answered, which was true enough; and when he questioned me about my kin, I showed him that I knew every name and scutcheon of the line, my mother having instructed me in all such lore of her family. {38}

“And wherefore come you here alone, and in such plight?”

“By reason of a sword-stroke at Stainishawbank Fair,” I answered boldly.

“Faith, then, I see no cause why, as your will is so good, you should not soon have your bellyful of sword-strokes.  For, when once we have burned that limb of the devil, the Puzel” (for so the English call the Maid), “we shall shortly drive these forsworn dogs, the French, back beyond the Loire.”

I felt my face reddening at these ill words, so I stooped, as if to clear my spur of mire.

“Shortly shall she taste the tar-barrel,” I answered, whereat he swore and laughed; then, calling a clerk, bade him write my indenture, as is the English manner.  Thus, thanks to my northern English tongue, for which I was sore beaten by the other boys when I was a boy myself, behold me a man-at-arms of King Henry, and so much of my enterprise was achieved.

I make no boast of valour, and indeed I greatly feared for my neck, both now and later.  For my risk was that some one of the men-at-arms in Rouen, whither we were bound, should have seen my face either at Orleans, at Paris (where I was unhelmeted), or in the taking of the Bastille at Compiègne.  Yet my visor was down, both at Orleans and Compiègne, and of those few who marked me in girl’s gear in Paris none might chance to meet me at Rouen, or to remember me in changed garments.  So I put a bold brow on it, for better might not be.  None cursed the Puzel more loudly than I, and, without feigning, none longed so sorely as I for a fair wind to France, wherefore I was ever going about Winchelsea with my head in the air, gazing at the weather-cocks.  And, as fortune would have it, the wind went about, and we on board, and with no long delay were at Rouen town.

CHAPTER XXXI—HOW NORMAN LESLIE SAW THE MAID IN HER PRISON

On arriving in the town of Rouen, three things were my chief care, whereof the second helped me in the third.  The first was to be lodged as near as I might to the castle, wherein the Maid lay, being chained (so fell was the cruelty of the English) to her bed.  The next matter was to purvey me three horses of the fleetest.  Here my fortune served me well, for the young esquires and pages would ever be riding races outside of the gates, they being in no fear of war, and the time till the Maid was burned hung heavy on their hands.  I therefore, following the manner of the English Marchmen, thrust myself forward in these sports, and would change horses, giving money to boot, for any that outran my own.  My money I spent with a very free hand, both in wagers and in feasting men-at-arms, so that I was taken to be a good fellow, and I willingly let many make their profit of me.  In the end, I had three horses that, with a light rider in the saddle, could be caught by none in the whole garrison of Rouen.

Thirdly, I was most sedulous in all duty, and so won the favour of Sir Thomas Grey, the rather that he counted cousins with me, and reckoned that we were of some far-off kindred, wherein he spoke the truth.  Thus, partly for our common blood, partly for that I was ever ready at call, and forward to do his will, and partly because none could carry a message swifter, or adventure further to spy out any bands of the French, he kept me close to him, and trusted me as his galloper.  Nay, he gave me, on occasion, his signet, to open the town gates whensoever he would send me on any errand.  Moreover, the man (noble by birth, but base by breeding) who had the chief charge and custody of the Maid, was the brother’s son of Sir Thomas.  He had to name John Grey, and was