A Monk of Fife

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Therewith, at his wording, I set down an order to the Castle porter to
let me forth as early in the night as I would. This pass he signed with
his name, and sealed with his ring, bearing his arms.

"So I wish you joy of this tryst and bonne fortune," he said, and
departed.

I had two hours before me ere curfew rang, and the time was more than I
needed. Therefore I went first to the Church of St. Ouen, which is very
great and fair, and there clean confessed me, and made my orisons that,
if it were God's will, this enterprise might turn to His honour, and to
the salvation of the Maid. And pitifully I besought Madame St. Catherine
of Fierbois, that as she had delivered me, a sinner, she would deliver
the Sister of the Saints.

Next I went back to my lodgings, and there bade the hostler to have my
two best steeds saddled and bridled in stall, by point of day, for a
council was being held that night in the Castle, and I and another of Sir
Thomas's company might be sent early with a message to the Bishop of
Avranches. This holy man, as then, was a cause of trouble and delay to
the Regent and Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, because he was just,
and fell not in with their treasons.

Next I clad myself in double raiment, doublet above doublet, and hose
over hose, my doublets bearing the red cross of St. George. Over all I
threw a great mantle, falling to the feet, as if I feared the night
chills. Thereafter I made a fair copy of my own writing in the pass
given to me by John Grey, and copied his signature also, and feigned his
seal with a seal of clay, for it might chance that two passes proved
better than one. Then I put in a little wallet hanging to my girdle the
signet of Sir Thomas Grey, and the pass given to me by John Grey, also an
inkhorn with pen and paper, and in my hand, secretly, I held that phial
which I had bought of the apothecary in Tours. All my gold and jewels I
hid about my body; I sharpened my sword and dagger, and then had no more
to do but wait till curfew rang.

This was the weariest part of all; for what, I thought, if John Grey had
forgotten his promise, the wine being about his wits. Therefore I walked
hither and thither in my chamber, in much misdoubt; but at the chime of
curfew I heard rude voices below, and a heavy step on the stairs. It was
a man-at-arms of the basest sort, who, lurching with his shoulder against
my door, came in, and said that he and his fellows waited my pleasure.
Thereon I showed him the best countenance, and bade my host fill a
pannier with meat and cakes and wine, to pass the hours in the prison
merrily. I myself ran down into the host's cellar, and was very busy in
tasting wine, for I would have the best. And in making my choice, while
the host stooped over a cask to draw a fresh tankard, I poured all the
drugs of my phial into a large pewter vessel with a lid, filled it with
wine, and, tasting it, swore it would serve my turn. This flagon, such
as we call a 'tappit hen' in my country, but far greater, I bore with me
up the cellar stairs, and gave it to one of the guard, bidding him spill
not a drop, or he should go thirsty.

The lourdaud, that was their captain, carried the pannier, and, laughing,
we crossed the street and the moat, giving the word "Bedford." To the
porter I showed my pass, telling him that, though I was loath to disturb
him, I counted not to watch all night in the cell, wherefore I gave him a
gold piece for the trouble he might have in letting me go forth at an
hour untimely. Herewith he was well content, and so, passing the word to
the sentinel at each post, we entered.

And now, indeed, my heart beat so that my body seemed to shake with hope
and fear as I walked. At the door of the chamber wherein the Maid lay we
met her guards coming forth, who cried roughly, bidding her good even,
and to think well of what waited her, meaning the torments. They tumbled
down the stairs laughing, while we went in, and I last. It was a dark
vaulted chamber with one window near the roof, narrow and heavily barred.
In the recess by the window was a brazier burning, and casting as much
shadow as light by reason of the smoke. Here also was a rude table,
stained with foul circles of pot-rims, and there were five or six stools.
On a weighty oaken bed lay one in man's raiment, black in hue, her face
downwards, and her arms spread over her neck. It could scarce be that
she slept, but she lay like one dead, only shuddering when the lourdaud,
the captain of the guard, smote her on the shoulder, asking, in English,
how she did?

"Here she is, sir, surly as ever, and poor company for Christian men. See
you how cunningly all her limbs are gyved, and chained to the iron bolts
of the bed? What would my lady Jeanne give me for this little master-
key?"

Here he showed a slender key, hung on a steel chain about his neck.

"Never a saint of the three, Michael, Margaret, and Catherine, can take
this from me; nay, nor the devils who wear their forms."

"Have you seen this fair company of hers?" I whispered in English,
crossing myself.

"No more than she saw the white lady that goes with that other witch,
Catherine of La Rochelle. But, sir, she is sullen; it is her manner.
With your good leave, shall we sup?"

This was my own desire, so putting the pannier on the table, I carved the
meat with my dagger, and poured out the wine in cups, and they fell to,
being hungry, as Englishmen are at all times. They roared over their
meat, eating like wolves and drinking like fishes, and one would sing a
lewd song, and the others strike in with the over-word, but drinking was
their main avail.

"This is better stuff," says the lourdaud, "than our English ale. Faith,
'tis strong, my lads! Wake up, Jenkin; wake up, Hal," and then he roared
a snatch, but stopped, looking drowsily about him.

O brothers in Christ, who hear this tale, remember ye that, for now four
months and more, the cleanest soul in Christenty, and the chastest lady,
and of manners the noblest, had endured this company by night and by day!

"Nay, wake up," I cried; "ye are dull revellers; what say ye to the
dice?"

Therewith I set out my tablier and the dice. Then I filled up the cup
afresh, pretending to drink, and laid on the foul table a great shining
heap of gold. Their dull eyes shone like the metal when I said--

"Myself will be judge and umpire; play ye, honest fellows, for I crave no
gains from you. Only, a cup for luck!"

They camped at the table, all the five of them, and some while their
greed kept them wakeful, and they called the mains, but their drought
kept them drinking. And, one by one, their heads fell heavy on the
table, or they sprawled on their stools, and so sank on to the floor, so
potent were the poppy and mandragora of the leech in Tours.

At last they were all sound on sleep, one man's hand yet clutching a pile
of my gold that now and again would slip forth and jingle on the stone
floor.

Now all this time she had never stirred, but lay as she had lain, her
face downwards, her arms above her neck.

Stealthily I took the chain and the key from about the neck of the
sleeping lourdaud, and then drew near her on tiptoe.

I listened, and, from her breathing, I believe that she slept, as extreme
labour and weariness and sorrow do sometimes bring their own remede.

Then a thought came into my mind, how I should best awake her, and
stooping, I said in her ear--

"Fille De!"

Instantly she turned about, and, sitting up, folded her hands as one in
prayer, deeming, belike, that she was aroused by the voices of her
Saints. I kneeled down beside the bed, and whispered--"Madame, Jeanne,
look on my face!"

She gazed on me, and now I saw her brave face, weary and thin and white,
and, greater than of old, the great grey eyes.

"I said once," came her sweet voice, "that thou alone shouldst stand by
me when all had forsaken me. Fair Saints, do I dream but a dream?"

"Nay, Madame," I said, "thou wakest and dost not dream. One has sent me
who loves thee, even my lady Elliot; and now listen, for the time is
short. See, here I have the master-key, and when I have unlocked thy
bonds . . . "

"Thou hast not slain these men?" she asked. "That were deadly sin."

"Nay, they do but sleep, and will waken belike ere the fresh guard comes,
wherefore we must make haste."

"When I have freed thee, do on thy body, above thy raiment, this doublet
of mine, for it carries the cross of England, and, I being of little
stature, you may well pass for me. Moreover, this cloak and its hood,
which I wore when I came in, will cover thee. Then, when thou goest
forth give the word 'Bedford' to the sentinels; and, to the porter in the
gate, show this written pass of John Grey's. He knows it already, having
seen it this night. Next, when thou art without the castle, fare to the
hostelry called 'The Rose and Apple,' which is nearest the castle gate,
and so straight into the stable, where stand two steeds, saddled and
bridled. Choose the black, he is the swifter. If the hostler be awake,
he expects me, and will take thee for me; mount, with no word, and ride
to the eastern port. There show to the gate ward this signet of Sir
Thomas Grey, and he will up with portcullis and down with drawbridge, for
he has often done no less for me and that signet.

"Then, Madame, ride for Louviers, and you shall break your fast with the
Bastard and La Hire." Her white face changed to red, like the morning
light, as on that day at Orleans, before she took Les Tourelles.

Then the flush faded, and she grew ashen pale, while she said--

"But thou, how shalt thou get forth?"

"Madame," I said, "fear not for me. I will follow after thee, and shame
the sleepy porter to believe that he has dreamed a dream. And I have
written this other pass, on seeing which he will needs credit me, being
adrowse, and, moreover, I will pay him well. And I shall be at the
stable as soon almost as thou, and I have told the hostler that belike I
shall ride with a friend, carrying a message to the Bishop of Avranches.
For I have beguiled the English to believe me of their party, as Madame
Judith wrought to the tyrant Holofernes."

"Nay," she answered simply, "this may not be. Even if the porter were to
be bought or beguiled, thou couldst not pass the sentinels. It may not
be."

"The sentinels, belike, are sleeping, or wellnigh sleeping, and I have a
dagger. O Madame! for the sake of the fortune of France, and the honour
of the King"--for this, I knew, was my surest hope--"delay not, nor reck
at all of me. I have but one life, and it is thine freely."

"They will burn thee, or slay thee with other torments."

"Not so," I said; "I shall not be taken alive."

"That were deadly sin," she answered. "I shall not go and leave thee to
die for me. Then were my honour lost, and I could not endure to live.
Entreat me not, for I will not go forth, as now. Nay more, I tell thee
as I have told my judges, that which the Saints have spoken to me. 'Bear
this thy martyrdom gently,' they say, 'tu t'en viendras en royaume du
Paradis.' Moreover, this I know, that I am to be delivered with great
victory!"

Here she clasped her hands, looking upwards, and her face was as the face
of an angel.

"Fair victory it were to leave thee in my place, and so make liars of my
brethren of Paradise."

Then, alas! I knew that I was of no more avail to move her; yet one last
art I tried.

"Madame," I said, "I have prayed you in the name of the fortune of
France, and the honour of the King, which is tarnished for ever if you
escape not."

"I shall be delivered," she answered.

"I pray you in the dear name of your lady mother, Madame du Lys."

"I shall be delivered," she said, "and with great victory!"

"Now I pray thee in my own name, and in that of thy first friend, my
lady. She has made a vow to give her virginity to Heaven unless either
thou art set free, or she have tidings from thee that thou willest her to
wed me, without whom I have no desire to live, but far rather this very
night to perish. For I am clean confessed, within these six hours,
knowing that I was like to be in some jeopardy."

"Then," she said, smiling sweetly, and signing that I should take her
hand--"Then live, Norman Leslie, for this is to me an easy thing and a
joyous. Thou art a clerk, hast thou wherewithal to write?"

"Yes, Madame, here in my wallet."

"Then write as I tell thee:--

"JHESU MARIA"

"'I, Jehanne la Pucelle, send from prison here in Rouen my tidings of
love to Elliot Hume, my first friend among women, and bid her, for my
sake, wed him who loves her, Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, my faithful
servant, praying that all happiness may go with them. In witness
whereto, my hand being guided to write, I set my name, Jehanne la
Pucelle, this ninth day of May, in the year Fourteen hundred and
thirty-one.'

"So guide my hand," she said, taking the pen from my fingers; and thus
guided, while my tears fell on her hand, she wrote JEHANNE LA PUCELLE.

"Now," quoth she, smiling as of old, "we must seal this missive. Cut off
one lock of my hair with your dagger, for my last gift to my first
friend, and make the seal all orderly."

I did as she bade, and, bringing a lighted stick from the brazier, I
melted wax. Then, when it was smooth, she laid on it two hairs from the
little sundered lock (as was sometimes her custom), and bade me seal with
my own signet, and put the brief in my wallet.

"Now, all is done," she said.

"Nay, nay," I said, "to die for thee is more to me than to live in love.
Ah, nay, go forth, I beseech thee!"

"With victory shall I go forth, and now I lay my last commands on the
last of all my servants. If in aught I have ever offended thee, in word
or deed, forgive me!"

I could but bow my head, for I was weeping, though her eyes were dry.

"And so, farewell," she said--

"As thou art leal and true, begone; it is my order, and make no tarrying.
To-morrow I have much to do, and needs must I sleep while these men are
quiet. Say to thy lady that I love her dearly, and bid her hope, as I
also hope. Farewell!"

She moved her thin hand, which I kissed, kneeling.

Again she said "Farewell," and turned her back on me as if she would
sleep.

Then I hung the chain and key again on the neck of the lourdaud; I put
some of the fallen coins in the men's pouches, but bestowed the dice and
tablier in my wallet. I opened the door, and went forth, not looking
back; and so from the castle, showing my pass, and giving the porter
another coin. Then I went home, in the sweet dawn of May, and casting
myself on my bed, I wept bitterly, for to-day she should be tormented.

* * * * *

Of the rest I have no mind to tell (though they had not the heart to
torture the Maid), for it puts me out of charity with a people who have a
name to be Christians, and it is my desire, if I may, to forgive all men
before I die.

At Rouen I endured to abide, even until the day of unjust doom, and my
reason was that I ever hoped for some miracle, even as her Saints had
promised. But it was their will that she should be made perfect through
suffering, and being set free through the gate of fire, should win her
victory over unfaith and mortal fear. Wherefore I stood afar off at the
end, seeing nothing of what befell; yet I clearly heard, as did all men
there, the last word of her sweet voice, and the cry of JHESUS!

Then I passed through the streets where men and women, and the very
English, were weeping, and, saddling my swiftest horse, I rode to the
east port. When the gate had closed behind me, I turned, and, lifting my
hand, I tore the cross of St. George from my doublet.

"Dogs!" I cried, "ye have burned a Saint! A curse on cruel English and
coward French! St Andrew for Scotland!" The shafts and bolts hailed
past me as I wheeled about; there was mounting of steeds, and a clatter
of hoofs behind me, but the sound died away ere I rode into Louviers.

There I told them the tale which was their shame, and so betook me to
Tours, and to my lady.




CHAPTER XXXII--THE END OF THIS CHRONICLE


It serves not to speak of my later fortunes, being those of a private
man, nor have I the heart to recall old sorrows. We were wedded when
Elliot's grief had in some sort abated, and for one year we were happier
than God has willed that sinful men should long be in this world. Then
that befell which has befallen many. I may not write of it: suffice it
that God took from me both her and her child. Then, after certain weeks
and days of which I am blessed enough to keep little memory, I forswore
arms, and served in the household of the Lady Margaret of Scotland, who
married the Dauphin on an unhappy day. I have known much of Courts and
of the learned, I have seen the wicked man exalted, and Brother Thomas
Noiroufle in great honour with Charles VII. King of France, and offering
before him, with his murderous hands, the blessed sacrifice of the Mass.

The death of the Lady Margaret, slain by lying tongues, and the sudden
sight of that evil man, Brother Thomas, raised to power and place, drove
me from France, and I was certain years with the King's ambassadors at
the Courts of Italy. There I heard how the Holy Inquisition had reversed
that false judgment of the English and false French at Rouen, which made
me some joy. And then, finding old age come upon me, I withdrew to my
own country, where I have lived in religion, somewhile in the Abbey of
Dunfermline, and this year gone in our cell of Pluscardine, where I now
write, and where I hope to die and be buried.

Here ends my tale, in my Latin Chronicle left untold, of how a Scots Monk
was with the Maid both in her victories and recoveries of towns, and even
till her death.

For myself, I now grow old, and the earthly time to come is short, and
there remaineth a rest for all souls Christian. Miscreants I have heard
of, men misbelieving and heretics, who deny that the spirit abides after
the death of the body, for in the long years, say they, the spirit with
the flesh wanes, and at last dies with the bodily death. Wherein they
not only make Holy Church a liar, but are visibly confounded by this
truth which I know and feel, namely, that while my flesh wastes hourly
towards old age, and of many things my memory is weakened, yet of that
day in Chinon I mind me as clearly, and see my love as well, and hear her
sweet voice as plain, as if she had but now left the room.

Herein my memory does not fail, nor does love faint, growing stronger
with the years, like the stream as it races to the fall. Wherefore,
being more strong than Time, Love shall be more strong than Death. The
river of my life speeds yearly swifter, the years like months go by, the
months like weeks, the weeks like days. Even so fleet on, O Time, till I
rest beside her feet! Nay, never, being young, did I more desire my
love's presence when we were apart than to-day I desire it, the memory of
her filling all my heart as fragrance of flowers fills a room, till it
seems as if she were not far away, but near me, as I write of her. And,
foolish that I am! I look up as if I might see her by my side. I know
not if this be so with all men, for, indeed, I have asked none, nor
spoken to any of the matter save in confession. For I have loved this
once, and no more; wherefore I deem me happier than most, and more
certain of a good end to my love, where the blessed dwell in the Rose of
Paradise, beholding the Beatific Vision.

To this end I implore the prayers of all Christian souls who read this
book, and of all the Saints, and of that Sister of the Saints whom, while
I might, I served in my degree.

VENERABILIS JOHANNA

ORA PRO NOBIS




APPENDIX A--NORMAN'S MIRACLE


(See "Livre des Miracles de Madame Sainte Katherine de Fierboys". MSS.
Bib. Nat. 7335, fol. lxxxiv.)

Le xvi jour du moys de janvier, l'an mil cccc. xxx., vint en la chapelle
de ceans Norman Leslie de Pytquhoulle, escoth, escuyer de la compagnie de
Hugues Cande, capitaine. {40} Lequel dist et afferma par serment estre
vray le miracle cy apres declaire. C'est assavoir que le dit Leslie fut
prins des Anglois a Paris le jour de la Nativite de Nostre Dame de l'an
dernier passe. Lequel Norman Leslie avoit entre dans la ville de Paris
avec c. Escossoys en guise d'Angloys, lesqueuls Escossoys furent prins
des Angloys, et ledit Norman fut mis en fers et en ceps. Et estoit
l'intention de ceux qui l'avoient pris de le faire lendemain ardre, parce
qu'il portoit robe de femme par maniere de ruse de guerre.

Si s'avint que ledit Norman se voua a Madame Sainte Katherine, qu'il luy
pleust prier Dieu qu'il le voulsist delivrer de la prison ou il estoit;
et incontinent qu'il pourroit estre dehors, il yroit mercier Madame
Sainte Katherine en sa chapelle de Fierboys. Et incontinent son veu fait
si s'en dormit, et au reveiller trouva en la tour avecques luy un Singe,
qui lui apporta deux files, et un petit cousteau. Ainsi il trouva
maniere de se deferrer, et adoncques s'en sortit de la prison emportant
avecques luy le singe. Si se laissoit cheoir a val en priant Madame
Sainte Katherine et chut a bas, et oncques ne se fist mal, et se rendit a
Saint Denys ou il trouvoit des compagnons Escossoys.

Et ainsy ledit Norman Leslie s'en est venu audit lieu de Fierboys, tout
sain et sauf, emportant avecques luy ledit singe, qui est beste estrange
et fol de son corps. Et a jure ledit Norman ce estre vray par la foy et
serment de son corps.

Presens messire Richart Kyrthrizian, frere Giles Lacourt, prestres
gouverneurs de la dite chapelle, et messire Hauves Polnoire, peintre du
Roy, et plusieurs aultres.




APPENDIX B--ELLIOT'S RING


The Ring of the Maid, inscribed with the Holy Names, is often referred to
in her Trial ("Proces," i. 86, 103, 185, 236, 238), and is mentioned by
Bower, the contemporary Scottish chronicler ("Proces," iv. 480), whose
work was continued in the "Liber Pluscardensis." We have also, in the
text, Norman's statement that a copy of this ring was presented by the
Maid to Elliot Hume.

While correcting the proof-sheets of this Chronicle, the Translator
received from Mr. George Black, Assistant Keeper of the National Museum
of Antiquities in Edinburgh, a copy of his essay on "Scottish Charms and
Amulets" ("Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland," May 8,
1893, p. 488). There, to his astonishment, the Translator read: "The
formula MARI. IHS. occurs on two finger-rings of silver-gilt, one of
which was found at Pluscarden, Elginshire, and the other in an old
graveyard near Fintray House, Aberdeenshire." Have we in the Pluscarden
ring a relic of the Monk of Pluscarden, the companion of Jeanne d'Arc,
the author of "Liber Pluscardensis"?




FOOTNOTES


{1} Several copies of this book, the Liber Pluscardensis, are extant,
but the author's original MS. is lost.

{2} This was written after the Act of the Scots Parliament of 1457.

{3} Daggers.

{4} Rude wall surrounding a keep.

{5} Sisters in the rule of St. Francis.

{6} These tricks of sleight-of-hand are attributed by Jean Nider, in his
"Formicarium," to the false Jeanne d'Arc.--A. L.

{7} Very intimate.

{8} When the sky falls and smothers the larks,

{9} This quotation makes it certain that Scott's ballad of Harlaw, in
"The Antiquary," is, at least in part, derived from tradition.

{10} This description confirms that of the contemporary town-clerk of La
Rochelle.

{11} The staircase still exists.

{12} "My neck would learn the weight of my more solid proportions."

{13} Neck.

{14} "Frightened by a ghost."

{15} "Airt," i.e. "quarter."

{16} "Fright for fright."

{17} Lameter, a lame.

{18} Bor-brief, certificate of gentle birth.

{19} Howlet, a young owl; a proverb for voracity.

{20} Battle-axe.

{21} Bougran, lustrous white linen.

{22} There are some slight variations, as is natural, in the Fierbois
record.

{23} Equipped for battle.

{24} That is, in the "Liber Pluscardensis."

{25} Englishman.

{26} Heavy and still.

{27} Daughter of God, go on, and I will be thine aid. Go on!

{28} Lyrat, grey.

{29} The king's evil: "ecrouelles," scrofula.

{30} Darg, day's work.

{31} "Par mon martin," the oath which she permitted to La Hire.

{32} See Appendix A, 'Norman's Miracle,' Appendix B, 'Elliot's Ring.'

{33} That in to say, some two thousand combatants.

{34} Echevins--magistrates.

{35} "Away with this man, and release unto us Barabbas."

{36} Pavises--large portable shelters.

{37} Block-houses.

{38} The Grahames had not yet possessed themselves of Netherby.--A. L.

{39} Substituting 'or' for 'argent,' his bearings were those of the
distinguished modern novelist of the same name.--A. L.

{40} Cande = Kennedy.