by Various
CHAPTER II--HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE THE CORDELIER, CALLED BROTHERTHOMAS IN RELIGION: AND OF MIRACLES WROUGHT BY BROTHER THOMAS
The ways were rude and long from Bordeaux town to Orleans, whither I hadset my face, not knowing, when I left my own country, that the city wasbeleaguered by the English. For who could guess that lords and knightsof the Christian faith, holding captive the gentle Duke of Orleans, wouldbesiege his own city?--a thing unheard of among the very Saracens, and adeed that God punished. Yet the news of this great villainy, namely, theleaguer of Orleans, then newly begun, reached my ears on my landing atBordeaux, and made me greatly fear that I might never meet my brotherRobin alive. And this my doubt proved but too true, for he soon afterthis time fell, with many other Scottish gentlemen and archers, desertedshamefully by the French and by Charles de Bourbon, Comte de Clermont, atthe Battle of the Herrings. But of this I knew nothing--as, indeed, thebattle was not yet fought--and only pushed on for France, thinking totake service with the Dauphin against the English. My journey wasthrough a country ruinous enough, for, though the English were on thefurther bank of the Loire, the partisans of the Dauphin had made a ruinround themselves and their holds, and, not being paid, they lived uponthe country.
The further north I held, by ways broken and ruined with rains and suns,the more bare and rugged grew the whole land. Once, stopping hard by ahamlet, I had sat down to munch such food as I carried, and was sharingmy meal with a little brown herd-boy, who told me that he was dinnerless.A few sheep and lean kine plucked at such scant grasses as grew amongrocks, and herbs useless but sweet-scented, when suddenly a horn wasblown from the tower of the little church. The first note of that blasthad not died away, when every cow and sheep was scampering towards thehamlet and a kind of "barmkyn" {4} they had builded there for protection,and the boy after them, running with his bare legs for dear life. Forme, I was too amazed to run in time, so lay skulking in the thick sweet-smelling herbs, whence I saw certain men-at-arms gallop to the crest of acliff hard by, and ride on with curses, for they were not of strength totake the barmkyn.
Such was the face of France in many counties. The fields lay weedy anduntilled; the starving peasant-folk took to the highway, every manpreying on his neighbour. Woods had grown up, and broken in upon theroads. Howbeit, though robbers harboured therein, none of them held toransom a wandering poor Scots scholar.
Slowly I trudged, being often delayed, and I was now nearing Poictiers,and thought myself well on my road to Chinon, where, as I heard, theDauphin lay, when I came to a place where the road should have crossed astream--not wide, but strong, smooth, and very deep. The stream ranthrough a glen; and above the road I had long noted the towers of acastle. But as I drew closer, I saw first that the walls were black withfire and roofless, and that carrion birds were hovering over them, someenemy having fallen upon the place: and next, behold, the bridge wasbroken, and there was neither ford nor ferry! All the ruin was fresh,the castle still smouldering, the kites flocking and yelling above thetrees, the planks of the bridge showing that the destruction was but ofyesterday.
This matter of the broken bridge cost me little thought, for I could swimlike an otter. But there was another traveller down by the stream whoseemed more nearly concerned. When I came close to him, I found himstanding up to his waist in the water, taking soundings with a long andheavy staff. His cordelier's frock was tucked up into his belt, his longbrown legs, with black hairs thick on them, were naked. He was a huge,dark man, and when he turned and stared at me, I thought that, among allmen of the Church and in religion whom I had ever beheld, he was thefoulest and most fierce to look upon. He had an ugly, murderous visage,fell eyes and keen, and a right long nose, hooked like a falcon's. Theeyes in his head shone like swords, and of all eyes of man I ever saw,his were the most piercing and most terrible. On his back he carried, asI noticed at the first, what I never saw on a cordelier's back before, oron any but his since--an arbalest, and he had bolts enough in his bag,the feathers showing above.
"Pax vobiscum," he cried, in a loud, grating voice, as he saw me, andscrambled out to shore.
"Et cum anima tua," I answered.
"Nom de Dieu!" he said, "you have bottomed my Latin already, that isscarce so deep as the river here. My malison on them that broke thebridge!" Then he looked me over fiercely.
"Burgundy or Armagnac?" he asked.
I thought the question strange, as a traveller would scarce care topronounce for Burgundy in that country. But this was a man who woulddare anything, so I deemed it better to answer that I was a Scot, and, sofar, of neither party.
"Tug-mutton, wine-sack!" he said, these being two of many ill names whichthe French gave our countrymen; for, of all men, the French are leastgrateful to us, who, under Heaven and the Maid, have set their King onhis throne again.
The English knew this, if the French did not; and their great King, Harrythe Fifth, when he fell ill of St. Fiacre's sickness, after plunderingthat Scots saint's shrine of certain horse-shoes, silver-gilt, said wellthat, "go where he would, he was bearded by Scots, dead or alive." Butthe French are not a thankful people.
I had no answer very ready to my tongue, so stepped down silent to thewater-edge, and was about taking off my doublet and hose, meaning tocarry them on my head and swim across. But he barred the way with hisstaff, and, for me, I gripped to my whinger, and watched my chance to runin under his guard. For this cordelier was not to be respected, Ideemed, like others of the Order of St. Francis, and all men of HolyChurch.
"Answer a civil question," he said, "before it comes to worse: Armagnacor Burgundy?"
"Armagnac," I answered, "or anything else that is not English. Clear thecauseway, mad friar!"
At that he threw down his staff.
"I go north also," he said, "to Orleans, if I may, for the foul 'manants'and peasant dogs of this country have burned the castle of AlfonseRodigo, a good knight that held them in right good order this year past.He was worthy, indeed, to ride with that excellent captain, Don Rodrigode Villandradas. King's captain or village labourer, all was fish thatcame to his net, and but two days ago I was his honourable chaplain. Buthe made the people mad, and a great carouse that we kept gave them theiropportunity. They have roasted the good knight Alfonse, and would havedone as much for me, his almoner, frock and all, if wine had any masteryover me. But I gave them the slip. Heaven helps its own! Natheless, Iwould that this river were between me and their vengeance, and, for once,I dread the smell of roast meat that is still in my nostrils--pah!"
And here he spat on the ground.
"But one door closes," he went on, "and another opens, and to Orleans amI now bound, in the service of my holy calling."
"There is, indeed, cause enough for the shriving of souls of sinners,Father, in that country, as I hear, and a holy man like you will be rightwelcome to many."
"They need little shriving that are opposite my culverin," said thisstrange priest. "Though now I carry but an arbalest, the gun is mymistress, and my patron is the gunner's saint, St. Barbara. And evenwith this toy, methinks I have the lives of a score of goddams in my bolt-pouch."
I knew that in these wild days many clerics were careless as to thatwhich the Church enjoins concerning the effusion of blood--nay, I havenamed John Kirkmichael, Bishop of Orleans, as having himself broken aspear on the body of the Duke of Clarence. The Abbe of Cerquenceaux,also, was a valiant man in religion, and a good captain, and, all overFrance, clerics were gripping to sword and spear. But such a priest asthis I did not expect to see.
"Your name?" he asked suddenly, the words coming out with a sound likethe first grating of a saw on stone.
"They call me Norman Leslie de Pitcullo," I answered. "And yours?"
"My name," he said, "is Noiroufle"--and I thought that never had I seen aman so well fitted with a name;--"in religion, Brother Thomas, a poorbrother of the Order of the mad St. Francis of Assisi."
"Then, Brother Thomas, how do you mean
to cross this water which liesbetween you and the exercise of your holy calling? Do you swim?"
"Like a stone cannon-ball, and, for all that I can find, the cursed waterhas no bottom. Cross!" he snarled. "Let me see you swim."
I was glad enough to be quit of him so soon, but I noticed that, as Istripped and packed my clothes to carry in a bundle on my head, the holyman set his foot in the stirrup of his weapon, and was winding up hisarbalest with a windlass, a bolt in his mouth, watching at the same timea heron that rose from a marsh on the further side of the stream. Onthis bird, I deemed, he meant to try his skill with the arbalest.
"Adieu, Brother Thomas," I said, as I took the water; and in a fewstrokes I was across and running up and down on the bank to get myselfdry. "Back!" came his grating voice--"back! and without your clothes,you wine-sack of Scotland, or I shoot!" and his arbalest was levelled onme.
I have often asked myself since what I should have done, and what was thepart of a brave man. Perchance I might have dived, and swum down-streamunder water, but then I had bestowed my bundle of clothes some little wayoff, and Brother Thomas commanded it from his side of the stream. Hewould have waited there in ambush till I came shivering back for hose anddoublet, and I should be in no better case than I was now. Meanwhile hisweapon was levelled at me, and I could see the bolt-point set straightfor my breast, and glittering in a pale blink of the sun. The bravestcourse is ever the best. I should have thrown myself on the earth, nodoubt, and so crawled to cover, taking my chance of death rather than theshame of obeying under threat and force. But I was young, and had neverlooked death in the face, so, being afraid and astonished, I made whatseemed the best of an ill business, and, though my face reddens yet atthe thought of it, I leaped in and swam back like a dog to heel.
"Behold me," I said, making as brave a countenance as I might in face ofnecessity.
"Well done, Norman Leslie de Pitcullo," he snarled, baring his yellowteeth. "This is the obedience which the young owe to the Church. Now,ferry me over; you are my boat."
"You will drown, man," I said. "Not while you swim."
Then, unbuckling his frock, he packed it as he had seen me do, bade meput it on my head, and so stepped out into the water, holding forth hisarm to put about my neck. I was for teaching him how to lay it on myshoulder, and was bidding him keep still as a plank of wood, but hesnarled--
"I have sailed on a boat of flesh before to-day."
To do him justice, he kept still as a log of wood, and so, yieldingpartly to the stream, I landed him somewhat further down than the placewhere my own clothes were lying. To them he walked, and very quietlypicking up my whinger and my raiment that he gathered under his arm, heconcealed himself in a thick bush, albeit it was leafless, where no mancould have been aware of him. This amazed me not a little, for modestydid not seem any part of his nature.
"Now," says he, "fetch over my arbalest. Lying where I am you have noadvantage to shoot me, as, nom de Dieu! I would have shot you had you notobeyed. And hark ye, by the way, unwind the arbalest before you cross;it is ever well to be on the safe side. And be sure you wet not thestring." He pushed his face through the bush, and held in his mouth mynaked whinger, that shone between his shining eyes.
Now again I say it, I have thought over this matter many a time, and haveeven laughed aloud and bitterly, when I was alone, at the figure of meshivering there, on a cold February day, and at my helpless estate. Fora naked man is no match for a man with a whinger, and he was sitting onmy clothes. So this friar, unworthy as he was of his holy calling, hadme at an avail on every side, nor do I yet see what I could do but obeyhim, as I did. And when I landed from this fifth voyage, he laughed andgave me his blessing, and, what I needed more, some fiery spirits from awater-gourd, in which Father Thomas carried no water.
"Well done, my son," he said, "and now we are comrades. My life was notover safe on yonder side, seeing that the 'manants' hate me, and respectnot my hood, and two are better company than one, where we are going."
This encounter was the beginning of many evils, and often now the pictureshines upon my eyes, and I see the grey water, and hear the cold windwhistle in the dry reeds of the river-bank whereon we sat.
The man was my master, Heaven help me! as surely as Sathanas was his. Andthough, at last, I slipped his clutches, as you shall hear (more readilythan, I trow, he will scape his lord in the end, for he still lives), yetit was an ill day that we met--an ill day for me and for France. Howbeitwe jogged on, he merrily enough singing a sculdudery song, I somethingsurly, under a grey February sky, with a keen wind searching out thethreadbare places in our raiment. My comrade, as he called himself, toldme what passages he chose in the history of his life: how he came to befrocked (but 'cucullus non facit monachum'), and how, in the troubles ofthese times, he had discovered in himself a great aptitude for thegunner's trade, of which he boasted not a little. He had been in one andanother of these armed companies that took service with either side, forhire, being better warriors and more skilled than the noblesse, but acurse to France: for, in peace or war, friend or foe, they plundered all,and held all to ransom. With Rodrigo de Villandradas, that blood-houndof Spain, he had been high in favour, but when Rodrigo went to harrysouth and east, he had tarried at Ruffec, with another thief of thatnation, Alfonse Rodigo. All his talk, as we went, was of slaying men infight; whom he slew he cared not much, but chiefly he hated the Englishand them of Burgundy. To him, war was what hunting and shooting game isto others; a cruel and bloody pastime, when Christians are the quarry!
"John the Lorrainer, and I, there are no others to be named with us atthe culverin," he would brag. "We two against an army, give us goodcover, and powder and leaden balls enough. Hey! Master John and I mustshoot a match yet, against English targets, and of them there are plentyunder Orleans. But if I make not the better speed, the town will havefallen, or yielded, rescue or no rescue, and of rescue there is no hopeat all. The devil fights for the English, who will soon be swarming overthe Loire, and that King of Bourges of ours will have to flee, and gnawhorse's fodder, oats and barley, with your friends in Scotland."
This was one of the many ungenerous taunts which the French made oftenagainst us Scots, that have been their ancient and leal brethren in armssince the days of King Achaius and Charlemagne.
"The Dauphin," he went on, "for King he is none, and crowned he willnever be, should be in Orleans, leading his men; and lo! he is tied tothe belt of fat La Tremouille, and is dancing of ballets at Chinon--amurrain on him, and on them that make his music!" Then he fell tocursing his King, a thing terrible to hear, and so to asking me questionsabout myself. I told him that I had fled my own country for aman-slaying, hoping, may Heaven forgive me! to make him think the higherof me for the deed.
"So we all begin," said he; "a shrewd blow, or a fair wench; a death, ora birth unlawful, 'tis all one forth we are driven to the world and thewars. Yet you have started well,--well enough, and better than I gaveyour girl's face credit for. Bar steel and rope, you may carry someFrench gold back to stinking Scotland yet."
He gave me so much credit as this for a deed that deserved none, butrather called for rebuke from him, who, however unworthy, was inreligion, and wore the garb of the Blessed Francis. But very far fromfortifying me in virtuous courses, as was his bounden duty, there was nowickedness that he did not try to teach me, till partly I hated him, andpartly, I fear, I admired one so skilled in evil. The truth is, as Isaid, that this man, for that time, was my master. He was learned in allthe arts by which poor and wandering folk can keep their bellies fullwandering by the way. With women, ugly and terrible of aspect as he was,he had a great power: a pious saying for the old; a way with the youngwhich has ever been a mystery to me, unless, as some of the learnedthink, all women are naturally lovers of wickedness, if strength andcourage go with it. What by wheedling, what by bullying, what by talesof pilgrimages to holy shrines (he was coming from Jerusalem by way ofRome, so he told all we met), he
ever won a welcome.
Other more devilish cantrips he played, one of them at the peasant'shouse where we rested on the first night of our common travel. TheLenten supper which they gave us, with no little kindness, was ended, andwe were sitting in the firelight, Brother Thomas discoursing largely ofhis pilgrimages, and of his favour among the high clergy. Thus, at Iknow not what convent of the Clarisses, {5} in Italy, the holy Sistershad pressed on him a relic of Monsieur St. Aignan, the patron of the goodtown of Orleans. To see this relic, the farmer, his wife, and his sonsand daughters crowded eagerly; it was but a little blackened finger bone,yet they were fain to touch it, as is the custom. But this he would notyet allow.
"Perchance some of you," he said, "are already corrupt, not knowing it,with the poisonous breath of that damnable Hussite heresy, which isblowing from the east like wind of the pestilence, and ye may have doubtsconcerning the verity of this most holy and miraculous relic?"
They all crossed themselves, protesting that no such wicked whisper ofSathanas had ever come into their minds, nor had they so much as heard ofHuss and his blasphemies.
"Nay," said Brother Thomas, "I could scarcely blame you if it were partlyas I said. For in this latter time of the world, when I have myself metJews flocking to Babylon expecting the birth of Antichrist, there be manyfalse brethren, who carry about feigned relics, to deceive the simple. Weshould believe no man, if he be, as I am, a stranger, unless he shows usa sign, such as now I will show you. Give me, of your grace, a kerchief,or a napkin." The goodwife gave him a clean white napkin from heraumbry, and he tore it up before their eyes, she not daring to stay hishand.
"Now note this holy relic and its wonderful power," he said, holding theblackened bone high in his left hand, and all our eyes were fixed on it."Now mark," he said again, passing it over the napkin; and lo! there wasa clean white napkin in his hands, and of the torn shreds not a trace!
We were still gaping, and crossing ourselves with blessings on this happyday and our unworthy eyes that beheld a miracle, when he did a thing yetmore marvellous, if that might be, which I scarce expect any man willbelieve. Going to the table, and catching up a glass vessel on which thegoodwife set great store, he threw it against the wall, and we allplainly heard it shiver into tinkling pieces. Then, crossing the roominto the corner, that was dusky enough, he faced us, again holding theblessed relic, whereon we stared, in holy fear. Then he rose, and in hishand was the goodwife's glass vessel, without crack or flaw! {6}
"Such," he said, "are the properties of this miraculous relic; there isnothing broken but it will mend, ay, a broken limb, as I can prove on myown sinful body,"--thrusting out his great brown leg, whereon, assuredly,were signs of a fracture; "ay, a broken leg, or, my dear daughters, abroken heart." At this, of course, they were all eager to touch theblessed relic with their poor rings of base metal, such as they wear whoare not rich. Nay, but first, he said, they must give their mites for aconvent of the Clarisses, that was building at Castres, by the care ofthe holy Colette, whom he might call his patroness, unworthy as he was.
Then he showed us a safe-conduct, signed with that blessed woman's ownhand, such as she was wont to give to the religious of the Order of St.Francis. By virtue of this, he said (and, by miracle, for once he saidtruly, as I had but too good cause to learn), he could go freely in andout among the camps of French, English, and Burgundians.
You may conceive how joyous they were in that poor cottage, on a night soblessed, and how Brother Thomas told us of the holy Colette, that famousnun and Mother in Christ, as he that had often been in her company. Hehad seen her body lifted in the air while she remained in a piousecstasy, her mind soaring aloft and her fleshly body following it someway.
He had often watched that snow-white beast which followed her, such acreature as is known in no country of the sinful world, but is a thing ofParadise. And he had tried to caress this wondrous creature of God, butvainly, for none but the holy sister Colette may handle it. Concerningher miracles of healing, too, he told us, all of which we already knewfor very truth, and still know on better warranty than his.
Ye may believe that, late and at last, Brother Thomas had his choice ofthe warmest place to sleep in--by the "four," as is the wont of pilgrims,for in his humility this holy man would not suffer the farmer's wife andthe farmer to give him their bed, as they desired. I, too, was verykindly entreated by the young lads, but I could scarcely sleep formarvelling at these miracles done by one so unworthy; and great, indeed,I deemed, must be the virtue of that relic which wrought such signs inthe hands of an evil man. But I have since held that he feigned all byart magic and very sorcery, for, as we wended next morning on our road,he plainly told me, truly or falsely, that he had picked up the blackenedfinger-bone out of the loathly ashes of the dead in the burned castlenear Ruffec.
Wherefore I consider that when Brother Thomas sold the grace of hisrelic, by the touching of rings, he dealt in a devilish black simony,vending to simple Christians no grace but that of his master, Sathanas.Thus he was not only evil (if I guess aright, which I submit to thejudgment of my ecclesiastical superiors, and of the Church), but he hadeven found out a new kind of wickedness, such as I never read of in anybooks of theology wherein is much to be learned. I have spoken withsome, however, knights and men of this world, who deemed that he did butbeguile our eyes by craft and sleight-of-hand.
This other hellish art he had, by direct inspiration, as I hold, of hismaster Behemoth, that he could throw his voice whither he would, so that,in all seeming, it came from above, or from below, or from a corner of aroom, fashioning it to resemble the voice of whom he would, yet nonemight see his lips move. With this craft he would affray the peasantsabout the fire in the little inns where we sometimes rested, when hewould be telling tales of bogles and eldritch fantasies, and of fiendsthat rout and rap, and make the tables and firkins dance. Such art ofspeech, I am advised, is spoken of by St. Jerome, in his comment on theholy prophet the saint Isaiah, and they that use it he calls"ventriloqui," in the Latin, or "belly-speakers," and he takes anunfavourable sense of them and their doings. So much I have from thelearned William de Boyis, Prior of Pluscarden, where now I write; withwhom I have conversed of these matters privately, and he thinks this arta thing that men may learn by practice, without dealing in nigromancy andthe black magic. This question I am content to leave, as is fitting, tothe judgment of my superiors. And indeed, as at that time, BrotherThomas spake not in his belly except to make sport and affray the simplepeople, soon turning their fears to mirth. Certainly the country folknever misdoubted him, the women for a holy man, the men for a goodfellow; though all they of his own cloth shrank from him, and I have seenthem cross themselves in his presence, but to no avail. He would say aword or two in their ears, and they straightway left the place where hemight be. None the less, with his tales and arts, Brother Thomascommonly so wrought that we seldom slept "a la belle etoile" in thatbitter spring weather, but we ordinarily had leave to lie by the hearth,and got a supper and a breakfast. The good peasants would find their hen-roosts the poorer often, for all that he could snap up was to him fortuneof war.
I loved these manners little, but leave him I could not. His eye wasever on me; if I stirred in the night he was awake and watching me, andby day he never let me out of a bolt's flight. To cut the string of hiswicked weapon was a thought often in my mind, but he was too vigilant. Myface was his passport, he said; my face, indeed, being innocent enough,as was no shame to me, but an endless cause of mirth and mockery to him.Yet, by reason of the serviceableness of the man in that perilouscountry, and my constant surprise and wonder at what he did and said, andmight do next (which no man could guess beforehand), and a kind offoolish pride in his very wickedness, so much beyond what I had everdreamed of, and for pure fear of him also, I found myself following withhim day by day, ever thinking to escape, and never escaping.
I have since deemed that, just as his wickedness was to a boy (for I waslittle more), a kind of
charm, made up of a sort of admiring hate andfear, so my guilelessness (as it seemed to him) also wrought on himstrangely. For in part it made sport for him to see my open mouth andstaring eyes at the spectacle of his devilries, and in part he reallyhated me, and hated my very virtue of simplicity, which it was his desireand delight to surprise and corrupt.
On these strange terms, then, now drawn each to other, and now forcedapart, we wended by Poictiers towards Chinon, where the Dauphin and hisCourt then lay. So we fared northwards, through Poitou, where we foundevil news enough. For, walking into a village, we saw men, women, andchildren, all gathered, gaping about one that stood beside a horse nearlyfoundered, its legs thrust wide, its nostrils all foam and blood. Theman, who seemed as weary as his horse, held a paper in his hands, whichthe priest of that parish took from him and read aloud to us. The riderwas a royal messenger, one Thomas Scott of Easter Buccleuch, in RankelBurn, whom I knew later, and his tidings were evil. The Dauphin bade hisgood towns know that, on the 12th of February, Sir John Stewart,constable of the Scottish forces in France, had fallen in battle atRouvray, with very many of his company, and some Frenchmen. They hadbeset a convoy under Sir John Fastolf, that was bringing meat to theEnglish leaguered about Orleans. But Fastolf had wholly routed them (bytreachery, as we later learned of the Comte de Clermont), and Sir JohnStewart, with his brother Sir William, were slain. Wherefore the Dauphinbade the good towns send him money and men, or all was lost.
Such were the evil tidings, which put me in sore fear for my brotherRobin, one that, in such an onfall, would go far, as beseemed his blood.But as touching his fortunes, Thomas Scott could tell me neither good norbad, though he knew Robin, and gave him a good name for a stout man-at-arms. It was of some comfort to me to hear a Scots tongue; but, for therest, I travelled on with a heavier heart, deeming that Orleans mustindeed fall ere I could seek my brother in that town.
