by Various
CHAPTER XXVII--HOW NORMAN LESLIE FARED IN COMPIEGNE, WITH THE END OFTHATLEAGUER
About all that befell in the besieged city of Compiegne, after thatwicked day of destiny when the Maid was taken, I heard for long only fromthe Jacobin brothers, and from one Barthelemy Barrette. He was a Picardyman, more loyal than most of his country, who had joined the Maid afterthe fray at Paris. Now he commanded a hundred of her company, who didnot scatter after she was taken, and he was the best friend I then had.
"The burgesses are no whit dismayed," said he, coming into my chamberafter the day of the Ascension, which was the second after the capture ofthe Maid. "They have sent a messenger to the King, and expect succour."
"They sue for grace at a graceless face," said I, in the country proverb;for my heart was hot against King Charles.
"That is to be seen," said be. "But assuredly the Duke of Burgundy ismore keen about his own business."
"How fare the Burgundians?" I asked, "for, indeed, I have heard the gunsspeak since dawn, but none of the good fathers cares to go even on to theroof of the church tower and bring me tidings, for fear of a stray cannon-ball."
"For holy men they are wondrous chary of their lives," said Barthelemy,laughing. "Were I a monk, I would welcome death that should unfrock me,and let me go a-wandering in Paradise among these fair lady saints we seein the pictures."
"It is written, Barthelemy, that there is neither marrying nor giving inmarriage."
"Faith, the more I am fain of it," said Barthelemy, "and may be I mighttake the wrong track, and get into the Paradise of Mahound, which, I haveheard, is no ill place for a man-at-arms."
This man had no more faith than a paynim, but, none the less, was a stoutcarl in war.
"But that minds me," quoth he, "of the very thing I came hither to tellyou. One priest there is in Compiegne who takes no keep of his life, acordelier. What ails you, man? does your leg give a twinge?"
"Ay, a shrewd twinge enough."
"Truly, you look pale enough."
"It is gone," I said. "Tell me of that cordelier."
"Do you see this little rod?" he asked, putting in my hand a wand of darkwood, carven with the head of a strange beast in a cowl.
"I see it."
"How many notches are cut in it?"
"Five," I said. "But why spoil you your rod?"
"Five men of England or Burgundy that cordelier shot this day, from thecreneaux of the boulevard where the Maid," crossing himself, "was taken.A fell man he is, strong and tall, with a long hooked nose, and as blackas Sathanas."
"How comes he in arms?" I asked.
"Flavy called him in from Valenciennes, where he was about some businessof his own, for there is no greater master of the culverin. And, faith,as he says, he 'has had rare sport, and will have for long.'"
"Was there an onfall of the enemy?"
"Nay, they are over wary. He shot them as they dug behind pavises. {36}For the Duke has moved his quarters to Venette, where the English lay,hard by the town. And, right in the middle of the causeway to Margny,two arrow-shots from our bridge end, he is letting build a greatbastille, and digging a trench wherein men may go to and fro. Thecordelier was as glad of that as a man who has stalked a covey ofpartridges. 'Keep my tally for me,' he said to myself; 'cut a notch forevery man I slay'; and here," said Barthelemy, waving his staff, "is hisfirst day's reckoning."
Now I well saw what chance I had of bringing that devil to justice, forwho would believe so strange a tale as mine against one so serviceable inthe war? Nor was D'Aulon here to speak for me, the enemy having takenhim when they took the Maid. Thinking thus, I groaned, and Barthelemy,fearing that he had wearied me, said farewell, and went out.
Every evening, after sunset, he would come in, and partly cheer me, bytelling how hardily our people bore them, partly break my heart withfresh tidings of that devil, Brother Thomas.
"Things go not ill, had we but hope of succour," he said. "The Duke'sbastille is rising, indeed, and the Duke is building taudis {37} of oakenbeams and earth, between the bastille and our boulevard. The skill is todraw nearer us, and nearer, till he can mine beneath our feet. Heard youany new noise of war this day?"
"I heard such a roar and clatter as never was in my ears, whether atOrleans or Paris."
"And well you might! This convent is in the very line of the fire. Theyhave four great bombards placed, every one of them with a devilishNetherland name of its own. There is Houpembiere,--that means the beer-barrel, I take it,--and La Rouge Bombarde, and Remeswalle and Quincequin,every one shooting stone balls thirty inches in girth. The houses on thebridge are a heap of stones, the mills are battered down, and we mustgrind our meal in the city, in a cellar, for what I can tell. Nom Dieu!when they take the boulevard we lose the river, and if once they bar ourgates to the east, whence shall viands come?"
"Is there no good tidings from the messenger?"
"The King answers ever like a drawer in a tavern, 'Anon, anon, sir!' Hewill come himself presently, always presently, with all his host."
"He will never come," I said. "He is a . . . "
"He is my King," said Barthelemy. "Curse your own King of Scots, if youwill. Scots, by the blood of Iscariot, traitors are they; well, I craveyour pardon, I spake in haste and anger. Know you Nichole Cammet?"
"I have heard of the man," I said. "A town's messenger, is he not?"
"The same. But a week agone, Cammet was sent on a swift horse to ChateauThierry. The good town craved of Pothon de Xaintrailles, who commandsthere, to send them what saltpetre he could spare for making gunpowder.The saltpetre came in this day by the Pierrefonds Gate, and Cammet withit, but on another horse, a jade."
"Well, and what have the Scots to do with that?"
"No more than this. A parcel of them, routiers and brigands, have creptinto an old castle on the road, and hold it for their own hands. Thencethey sallied forth after Cammet, and so chased him that his horse felldown dead under him in the gateway of Chateau Thierry."
"They would be men of the Land Debatable," I cried: "Elliots andArmstrongs, they never do a better deed, being corrupted by dwelling nighour enemies of England. Fain would I pay for that horse; see here," andI took forth my purse from under my pillow, "take that to the attournes,and say a Scot atones for what Scots have done."
"Norman, I take back my word; I crave your pardon, and I am shamed tohave spoken so to a sick man of his own country-folk. But for yourpurse, I am ill at carrying purses; I have no skill in that art, and thedice draw me when I hear the rattle of them. But look at the cordelier'stally: four men to-day, three yesterday; faith, he thins them!"
Indeed, to shorten a long story, by the end of Barthelemy's count therewere two hundred and thirty-nine notches on the rod. That he kept a truescore (till he stinted and reckoned no more), I know, having proof fromthe other side. For twelve years thereafter, I falling into discoursewith Messire Georges Chastellain, an esquire of the Duke of Burgundy, anda maker both of verse and prose, he told me the same tale to a man, threehundred men. And I make no doubt but that he has written it in his bookof the praise of his prince, and of these wars, to witness if I lie.
Consider, then, what hope I had of being listened to by Flavy, or by theattournes (or, as we say, bailies), of the good town, if, being recoveredfrom my broken limbs, I brought my witness to their ears.
None the less, the enemy battered at us every day with their engines,destroying, as Barthelemy had said, the houses on the bridge, and themills, so that they could no longer grind the corn.
And now came the Earls of Huntingdon and Arundel, with two thousandEnglishmen, while to us appeared no succour. So at length, being smittenby balls from above, and ruined by mines dug under earth from below, ourcompany that held the boulevard at the bridge end were surprised in thenight, and some were taken, some drowned in the river Oise. Whereforewas great sorrow and fear, the more for that the Duke of Burgundy letbuild a bridge of wood from Venette, to come and go acr
oss Oise, wherebywe were now assailed on both hands, for hitherto we had been free to comeand go on the landward side, and through all the forest of Pierrefonds.We had but one gate unbeleaguered, the Chapel Gate, leading to Choisy andthe north-east. Now were we straitened for provender, notably for freshmeat, and men were driven, as in a city beleaguered, to eat the flesh ofdead horses, and even of rats and dogs, whereof I have partaken, and itis ill food.
None the less we endured, despite the murmuring of the commons, so strongare men's hearts; moreover, all France lay staked on this one cast of thedice, no less than at Orleans in the year before.
Somewhat we were kept in heart by tidings otherwise bitter. For wordcame that the Maid, being in ward at Beaurevoir, a strong place of Jeande Luxembourg, had leaped in the night from the top of the tower, andhad, next morning, been taken up all unhurt, as by, miracle, butastounded and bereft of her senses. For this there was much sorrow, butwould to God that He had taken her to Himself in that hour!
Nevertheless, when she was come to herself again, she declared, byinspiration of the Saints, that Compiegne should be delivered before theseason of Martinmas. Whence I, for one, drew great comfort, nor everagain despaired, and many were filled with courage when this tidings cameto our ears, hoping for some miracle, as at Orleans.
Now, too, God began to take pity upon us; for, on August the fifteenth,the eighty-fifth day of the siege, came news to the Duke of Burgundy thatPhilip, Duke of Brabant, was dead, and he must go to make sure of thatgreat heritage. The Duke having departed, the English Earls had far lessheart for the leaguer; I know not well wherefore, but now, at least, wasseen the truth of that proverb concerning the "eye of the master." Thebastille, too, which our enemies had made to prevent us from going out byour Pierrefonds Gate on the landward side, was negligently built, and ofno great strength. All this gave us some heart, so much that my hosts,the good Jacobins, and the holy sisters of the Convent of St. John,stripped the lead from their roofs, and bestowed it on the town, formunition of war. And when I was in case to walk upon the walls, andabove the river, I might see men and boys diving in the water andsearching for English cannon-balls, which we shot back at the English.
It chanced, one day, that I was sitting and sunning myself in the warmSeptember weather, on a settle in a secure place hard by the Chapel Gate.With me was Barthelemy Barrette, for it was the day of Our Lady's Feast,that very day whereon we had failed before Paris last year, and there wastruce for the sacred season. We fell to devising of what had befallenthat day year, and without thought I told Barthelemy of my escape fromprison, and so, little by little, I opened my heart to him concerningBrother Thomas and all his treasons.
Never was man more astounded than Barthelemy; and he bade me swear by theBlessed Trinity that all this tale was true.
"Mayhap you were fevered," he said, "when you lay in the casement seat,and saw the Maid taken by device of the cordelier."
"I was no more fevered than I am now, and I swear, by what oath you will,and by the bones of St. Andrew, which these sinful hands have handled,that Flavy's face was set the other way when that cry came, 'Downportcullis, up drawbridge, close gates!' And now that I have told youthe very truth, what should I do?"
"Brother Thomas should burn for this," quoth Barthelemy; "but not whilethe siege endures. He carries too many English lives in his munition-box. Nor can you slay him in single combat, or at unawares, for the manis a priest. Nor would Flavy, who knows you not, listen to such astory."
So there he sat, frowning, and plucking at his beard. "I have it," hesaid; "D'Aulon is no further off than Beaulieu, where Jean de Luxembourgholds him till he pays his ransom. When the siege is raised, if ever weare to have succour, then purchase safe-conduct to D'Aulon, take histestimony, and bring it to Flavy."
As he spoke, some stir in the still air made me look up, and suddenlythrow my body aside; and it was well, for a sword swept down from the lowparapet above our heads, and smote into the back of that settle whereonwe were sitting.
Ere I well knew what had chanced, Barthelemy was on his feet, his whingerflew from his hand, and he, leaping up on to the parapet, was followingafter him who smote at me.
In the same moment a loud grating voice cried--
"The Maid shall burn, and not the man," and a flash of light went pastme, the whinger flying over my head and clipping into the water of themoat below.
Rising as I best might, but heedfully, I spied over the parapet, andthere was Barthelemy coming back, his naked sword in his hand.
"The devil turned a sharp corner and vanished," he said. "And now whereare we? We have a worse foe within than all the men of Burgundy without.There goes the devil's tally!" he cried, and threw the little carven rodfar from him into the moat, where it fell and floated.
"No man saw this that could bear witness; most are in church, where youand I should have been," I said.
Then we looked on each other with blank faces.
"My post is far from his, and my harness is good," said Barthelemy; "butfor you, beware!" Thenceforth, if I saw any cowl of a cordelier as Iwalked, I even turned and went the other way.
I was of no avail against this wolf, whom all men praised, so serviceablewas he to the town.
Once an arbalest bolt struck my staff from my hand as I walked, and I wasfain to take shelter of a corner, yet saw not whence the shot came.
Once a great stone fell from a turret, and broke into dust at my feet,and it is not my mind that a cannon-ball had loosened it.
Thus my life went by in dread and watchfulness. No more bitter penancemay man dree than was mine, to be near this devil, and have no power toavenge my deadly quarrel. There were many heavy hearts in the town; for,once it was taken, what man could deem his life safe, or what woman herhonour? But though they lay down and rose up in fear, and were devouredby desire of revenge, theirs was no such thirst as mine.
So the days went on, and darkened towards the promised season ofMartinmas, but there dawned no light of hope. Now, on the Wednesdaybefore All Saints, I had clambered up into the tower of the Church of theJacobins, on the north-east of the city, whence there was a prospect farand wide. With me were only two of the youngest of the fathers. Ilooked down into the great forest of Pierrefonds, and up and down Oise,and beheld the army of our enemies moving in divers ways. The banners ofthe English and their long array were crossing the Duke of Burgundy's newbridge of wood, that he had builded from Venette, and with them the menof Jean de Luxembourg trooped towards Royaulieu. On the crest of theirbastille, over against our Pierrefonds Gate, matches were lighted and menwere watching in double guard, and the same on the other side of thewater, at the Gate Margny. Plainly our foes expected a rescue sent to usof Compiegne by our party. But the forest, five hundred yards from ourwall, lay silent and peaceable, a sea of brown and yellow leaves.
Then, while the English and Burgundian men-at-arms, that had marchedsouth and east, were drawn up in order of battle away to the rightbetween wood and water, behold, trumpets sounded, faint enough, being faroff. Then there was a glitter of the pale sun on long lines of lance-points, under the banners of French captains, issuing out from theforest, over against the enemy. We who stood on the tower gazed long atthese two armies, which were marshalled orderly, with no more than abowshot and a half between them, and every moment we looked to see themcharge upon each other with the lance. Much we prayed to the Saints, fornow all our hope was on this one cast. They of Burgundy and of Englanddismounted from their horses, for the English ever fight best on foot,and they deemed that the knights of France would ride in upon them, andfall beneath the English bows, as at Azincour and Crecy. We, too, lookedfor nought else; but the French array never stirred, though here andthere a knight would gallop forth to do a valiance. Seldom has man seena stranger sight in war, for the English and Burgundians could notcharge, being heavy-armed men on foot, and the French would not moveagainst them, we knew not wherefore.
All this spectacle lay far off, to th
e south, and we could not besatisfied with wondering at it nor turn away our eyes, when, on the left,a trumpet rang out joyously. Then, all of us wheeling round as one man,we saw the most blessed sight, whereto our backs had been turned; for,into the Chapel Gate--that is, far to the left of the Pierrefonds Gate onthe north-east--were streaming cattle, sheep and kine, pricked on andhastened by a company of a hundred men-at-arms. They had come by forestpaths from Choisy way, and anon all our guns on the boulevard of thePierrefonds Gate burst forth at once against the English bastille overagainst it. Now this bastille, as I have said, had never been stronglybuilded, and, in some sort, was not wholly finished.
After one great volley of guns against the bastille, we, looking downinto our boulevard of the Pierrefonds Gate, saw the portcullis raised,the drawbridge lowered, and a great array of men-at-arms carrying laddersrush out, and charge upon the bastille. Then, through the smoke andfire, they strove to scale the works, and for the space of half an hourall was roar of guns; but at length our men came back, leaving manyslain, and the running libbards grinned on the flag of England.
I might endure no longer, but, clambering down the tower stairs as best Imight, for I was still lame, I limped to my lodgings at the Jacobins, didon my harness, and, taking a horse from the stable, I mounted and rode tothe Pierrefonds Gate. For Brother Thomas and his murderous ways I hadnow no care at all.
Never, sure, saw any man such a sight. Our boulevard was full, not onlyof men-at-arms, but of all who could carry clubs, burgesses armed, oldmen, boys, yea, women and children, some with rusty swords, some withcarpenters' axes, some bearing cudgels, some with hammers, spits, andknives, all clamouring for the portcullis to rise and let them forth.Their faces were lean and fierce, their eyes were like eyes of wolves,for now, they cried, was the hour, and the prophecy of the Maid should befulfilled! Verily, though she lay in bonds, her spirit was with us onthat day!
But still our portcullis was down, and the long tail of angry peoplestretched inwards, from the inner mouth of the boulevard, along thestreet, surging like a swollen loch against its barrier.
On the crest of the boulevard was Flavy, baton in hand, looking forthacross field and forest, watching for I knew not what, while still thepeople clamoured to be let go. But he stood like the statue of a man-at-arms, and from the bastille of the Burgundians the arrows rained aroundhim, who always watched, and was still. Now the guards of the gate hadhard work to keep the angry people back, who leaped and tore at the men-at-arms arrayed in front of them, and yelled for eagerness to issue forthand fight.
Suddenly, on the crest of the boulevard, Flavy threw up his arm and gaveone cry--
"Xaintrailles!"
Then he roared to draw up portcullis and open gates; the men-at-armscharged forth, the multitude trampled over each other to be first infield, I was swept on and along with them through the gate, and over thedrawbridge, like a straw on a wave, and, lo! a little on our left was thebanner of Pothon de Xaintrailles, his foremost men dismounting, therearguard just riding out from the forest. The two bands joined, we fromCompiegne, the four hundred of Xaintrailles from the wood, and, like twoswollen streams that meet, we raced towards the bastille, under a rain ofarrows and balls. Nothing could stay us: a boy fell by my side with anarrow thrilling in his breast, but his brother never once looked round. Iknew not that I could run, but run I did, though not so fast as many, andbefore I reached the bastille our ladders were up, and the throng wasclambering, falling, rising again, and flowing furiously into the fort.The townsfolk had no thought but to slay and slay; five or six would beat the throat of one Burgundian man-at-arms; hammers and axes werebreaking up armour, knives were scratching and searching for a crevice;women, lifting great stone balls, would stagger up to dash them on theheads of the fallen. Of the whole garrison, one-half, a hundred andsixty men-at-arms, were put to the sword. Only Pothon de Xaintrailles,and the gentlemen with him, as knowing the manner of war, saved and heldto ransom certain knights, as Messire Jacques de Brimeu, the Seigneur deCrepy, and others; while, for my own part, seeing a knight assailed by aknot of clubmen, I struck in on his part, for gentle blood must ever aidgentle blood, and so, not without shrewd blows on my salade, I took toransom Messire Collart de Bertancourt.
Thereafter, very late, and in the twilight of October the twenty-fifth,we turned back to Compiegne, leaving the enemies' bastille in a flamebehind us, while in front were blazing the bonfires of the people of thegood town. And, in Compiegne, we heard how the English and the main armyof Burgundians had turned, late in the day, and crossed by the Duke ofBurgundy's bridge, leaving men to keep guard there. So our victory wasgreat, and wise had been the prudence of the French captains, subtletybeing the mother of victory; for, without a blow struck, they had keptJean de Luxembourg, and the Earls of Huntingdon and Arundel, waiting idleall day, while their great bastille was taken by Xaintrailles and thetownsfolk, and food was brought into Compiegne. Thus for the second timeI passed a night of joy in a beleaguered town, for there was music inevery street, the churches full of people praising God for this greatdeliverance, men and maids dancing around bonfires, yet good watch waskept at the gates and on the towers. Next day we expected battle, butour spies brought in tidings that Burgundians and English had decamped inthe dawn, their men deserting. That day was not less joyful than thenight had been; for at Royaulieu, in the abbey where Jean de Luxembourghad lain, the townsfolk found all manner of meat, and of wine greatplenty, so right good cheer we made, for it cost us nothing.
