But blood runs tardy in the cold dawn;my thoughts were chilled,and I deemed,to speak sooth,that I carried my death within me,from my old wound,and,even if unhurt,could scarce escape out of that day's labour and live.I said farewell to life and the sun,in my own mind,and to Elliot,thinking of whom,with what tenderness she had nursed me,and of her mirth and pitiful heart,I could scarce forbear from weeping.Of my brother also I thought,and in death it seemed to me that we could scarcely be divided.Then my thought went back to old days of childhood at Pitcullo,old wanderings by Eden banks,old kindness and old quarrels,and I seemed to see a vision of a great tree,growing alone out of a little mound,by my father's door,where Robin and I would play "Willie Wastle in his castle,"for that was our first manner of holding a siege.A man-at-arms has little to make with such fancies,and well I wot that Randal Rutherford troubled himself therewith in no manner.But now there came an iron footstep on the stairs,and the Maid's voice rang clear,and presently there arose the sound of hammers on rivets,and all the din of men saddling horses and sharpening swords,so I went forth to join my company.
Stiff and sore was I,and felt as if I could scarce raise my sword-arm;but the sight of the Maid,all gleaming in her harness,and clear of voice,and swift of deed,like St.Michael when he marshalled his angels against the enemies of heaven,drove my brooding thoughts clean out of mind.The sun shone yellow and slanting down the streets;out of the shadow of the minster came the bells,ringing for war.The armed townsfolk thronged the ways,and one man,old and ill-clad,brought to the Maid a great fish which he had caught overnight in the Loire.Our host prayed her to wait till it should be cooked,that she might breakfast well,for she had much to do.Yet she,who scarce seemed to live by earthly meat,but by the will of God,took only a sop of bread dipped in wine,and gaily leaping to her selle and gathering the reins,as a lady bound for a hunting where no fear was,she cried,"Keep the fish for supper,when I will bring back a goddon {25}prisoner to eat his part.And to-night,gentle sir,my host,I will return by the bridge!"--which,as we deemed,might in no manner be,for an arch of the bridge was broken.Thereon we all mounted,and rode down to the Burgundy gate,the women watching us,and casting flowers before the Maiden.But when we won the gate,behold,it was locked,and two ranks of men-at-arms,with lances levelled,wearing the colours of the Sieur de Gaucourt,were drawn up before it.That lord himself,in harness,but bare-headed,stood before his men,and cried,"Hereby is no passage.To-day the captains give command that no force stir from the town.""To-day,"quoth the Maid,"shall we take Les Tourelles,and to-morrow not a goddon,save prisoners and slain men,shall be within three leagues of Orleans.Gentle sir,bid open the gate,for to-day have I work to do."Thereat Gaucourt shook his head,and from the multitude of townsfolk rose one great angry shout.They would burn the gate,they cried;they would fire the town,but they would follow the Maid and the guidance of the saints.
Thereon stones began to fly,and arbalests were bended,till the Maid turned,and,facing the throng,her banner lifted as in anger -"Back,my good friends and people of Orleans,"she said,"back and open the postern door in the great tower on the river wall.By one way or another shall I meet the English this day,nor shall might of man prevent me."Then many ran back,and soon came the cry that the postern was opened,and thither streamed the throng.Therefore Gaucourt saw well that an onslaught would verily be made;moreover,as a man wise in war,he knew that the townsfolk,that day,would be hard to hold,and would go far.So he even yielded,not ungraciously,and sending a messenger to the Bastard and the captains,he rode forth from the Burgundy Gate by the side of the Maid.He was,indeed,little minded to miss his part of the honour;nor were the other captains more backward,for scarce had we taken boat and reached the farther bank,when we saw the banners of the Bastard and La Hire,Florent d'Illiers and Xaintrailles,Chambers and Kennedy,above the heads of the armed men who streamed forth by the gate of Burgundy.Less orderly was no fight ever begun,but the saints were of our party.
It was the wise manner of the Maid to strike swift,blow upon blow,each stroke finding less resistance among the enemy,that had been used to a laggard war,for then it was the manner of captains to dally for weeks or months round a town,castle,or other keep,and the skill was to starve the enemy.But the manner of the Maid was ever to send cloud upon cloud of men to make escalade by ladders,their comrades aiding them from under cover with fire of couleuvrines and bows.Even so fought that famed Knight of Brittany,Sir Bertrand du Guesclin.But he was long dead,and whether the Maid (who honoured his memory greatly)fought as she did through his example,or by direct teaching of the saints,I know not.
If disorderly we began,the fault was soon amended;they who had beleaguered the boulevard all night were set in the rear,to rest out of shot;the fresh men were arrayed under their banners,in vineyards and under the walls of fields,so that if one company was driven back another was ready to come on,that the English might have no repose from battle.
