"Oh,she will hear no bourde nor jest on this Pucelle that all the countryside is clashing of,and that is bewitching my maid,methinks,even from afar.My maid Elliot (so I call her from my mother's kin,but her true name is Marion,and the French dub her Heliote)hath set all her heart and her hope on one that is a young lass like herself,and she is full of old soothsayings about a virgin that is to come out of an oak-wood and deliver France--no less!For me,I misdoubt that Merlin,the Welsh prophet on whom they set store,and the rest of the soothsayers,are all in one tale with old Thomas Rhymer,of Ercildoune,whose prophecies our own folk crack about by the ingle on winter nights at home.But be it as it may,this wench of Lorraine has,these three-quarters of a year,been about the Sieur Robert de Baudricourt,now commanding for the King at Vaucouleurs,away in the east,praying him to send her to the Court.She has visions,and hears voices--so she says;and she gives Baudricourt no peace till he carries her to the King.The story goes that,on the ill day of the Battle of the Herrings,she,being at Vaucouleurs--a hundred leagues away and more,--saw that fight plainly,and our countrymen fallen,manlike,around the Constable,and the French flying like hares before a little pack of English talbots.When the evil news came,and was approved true,Baudricourt could hold her in no longer,and now she is on the way with half a dozen esquires and archers of his command.The second-sight she may have--it is common enough,if you believe the red-shanked Highlanders;but if maiden she set forth from Vaucouleurs,great miracle it is if maiden she comes to Chinon."He whispered this in a manner that we call "pauky,"being a free man with his tongue.
"This is a strange tale enough,"I said;"the saints grant that the Maid speaks truly!""But yesterday came a letter of her sending to the King,"he went on,"but never of her writing,for they say that she knows not "A"from "B,"if she meets them in her voyaging.Now,nothing would serve my wilful daughter Elliot (she being possessed,as I said,with love for this female mystery),but that we must ride forth and be the first to meet the Maid on her way,and offer her shelter at my poor house,if she does but seem honest,though methinks a hostelry is good enough for one that has ridden so far,with men for all her company.And I,being but a subject of my daughter's,as Isaid,and this a Saint's Day,when a man may rest from his paints and brushes,I even let saddle the steeds,and came forth to see what ferlies Heaven would send us.""Oh,a lucky day for me,fair sir,"I answered him,marvelling to hear him speak of paint and brushes,and even as I spoke a thought came into my mind."If you will listen to me,sir,"I said,"and if the gentle maid,your daughter,will pardon me for staying you so long from the road,I will tell you that,to my thinking,you have come over late,for that yesterday the Maiden you speak of rode,after nightfall,into Chinon."Now the girl turned round on me,and,in faith,I asked no more than to see her face,kind or angry."You tell us,sir,that you never heard speak of the Maid till this hour,and now you say that you know of her comings and goings.Unriddle your riddle,sir,if it pleases you,and say how you saw and knew one that you never heard speech of."She was still very wroth,and I knew not whether I might not anger her yet more,so I louted lowly,cap in hand,and said -"It is but a guess that comes into my mind,and I pray you be not angry with me,who am ready and willing to believe in this Maid,or in any that will help France,for,if I be not wrong,last night her coming saved my life,and that of her own company.""How may that be,if thieves robbed and bound you?""I told you not all my tale,"I said,"for,indeed,few would have believed the thing that had not seen it.But,upon my faith as a gentleman,and by the arm-bone of the holy Apostle Andrew,which these sinful eyes have seen,in the church of the Apostle in his own town,somewhat holy passed this way last night;and if this Maid be indeed sent from heaven,that holy thing was she,and none other.""Nom Dieu!saints are not common wayfarers on our roads at night.
There is no "wale"of saints in this country,"said the father of Elliot;"and as this Pucelle of Lorraine must needs pass by us here,if she is still on the way,even tell us all your tale."With that I told them how the "brigands"(for so they now began to call such reivers as Brother Thomas)were,to my shame,and maugre my head,for a time of my own company.And I told them of the bushment that they laid to trap travellers,and how I had striven to give a warning,and how they bound me and gagged me,and of the strange girl's voice that spoke through the night of "mes Freres de Paradis,"and of that golden "boyn"faring in the dark,that Ithought I saw,and of the words spoken by the blind man and the soldier,concerning some vision which affrayed them,I know not what.
