“You did not? I can hardly believe that, Pucelle.” He gave a glance of frank admiration at the slight, erect figure sitting her horse so martially. “You ride as though born to the saddle, which is well, for the journey will tax your endurance to the utmost. We stop to-night at the Abbey of Saint Urbain for rest and refreshment, but to-morrow and thereafter we shall be obliged to rest in the open fields. We must avoid the frequented roads and the cities held by the English, therefore we can not go to the inns. There will be many dangers.”
“What do you fear, messire?”
“That we shall never reach Chinon,” he answered gloomily. “The hazards are too
great. I thought that the Captain would give us more of an escort, but we be but seven all told. Of what avail would such a small number be against an attacking force of freebooters?”
FAR INTO THE NIGHT THEY RODE
But Jeanne turned a smiling face toward him; a face as blithe and bright as that of a fair youth.
“Have no fear,” she said, with calm confidence. “My brothers in Paradise will watch over us.”
“Will you really do what you say?” he questioned.
“I will do what I am commanded to do, messire. My brethren in Paradise tell me
what I have to do. It is now four years since my brethren in Paradise and Messire told me that I must go forth to war to deliver the realm of France.”
But Poulengy, De Metz, and their companions had not the maiden’s confidence.
Now that the irrevocable step was taken and they were actually embarked upon
this wild adventure the chill of reflection was upon them. Was the girl really an inspired prophetess, or a witch? If the former, all would be well with them should they reach Chinon in safety; if the latter, they were liable to come to the gallows for bringing a witch to court. So many doubts and misgivings assailed them as they rode forward.
Far into the night they rode, stopping at length at the Abbey of Saint Urbain on the right bank of the Marne for rest. From time immemorial the Abbey had been
a place of refuge, and it gave them a cordial welcome. Jeanne was glad to lay her wearied body upon the rude cot in the house set apart for the use of strangers, but she was up early next morning, and attended conventual mass; then she and
her companions took horse again. Crossing the Marne by the bridge opposite Saint Urbain they pressed on towards France.
They were in more dangerous ground now, so they proceeded more stealthily.
Bertrand de Poulengy and Jean de Metz, being hardened campaigners and accustomed to such expeditions, knew the by-ways, and were acquainted with the means necessary to travel quietly. Sometimes the days were sunlit, and the nights moonlit; at other times, there was rain, or sleet, or snow, but whatever the weather they rode and rode. Jeanne was always cheerful, always confident, always good-humoured. The King’s messenger, Colet de Vienne, Sire Bertrand and Jean de Metz were hot-headed, hot-hearted soldiers of fortune, neither over-scrupulous nor over-pious, but they learned to regard the young girl in their charge with reverence and awe. It was a feeling that strangely combined chivalry and religion. She was so devout, so clean-spirited, that there was nothing to be done but to believe in her goodness, her purity, and her faith. If they did not altogether believe in her visions they believed that she believed, and they came to think of her as nothing less than a saint.
“Truly, Bertrand, she comes from God,” declared De Metz one day upon his return from a town where he had gone in search of food. The party dared not enter the place for fear of detection. The news was broadcast over the country that the inspired Maid of Vaucouleurs was proceeding to the King under escort,
and the knights feared an encounter with some band of the enemy. “She has not
much money; that I know, yet she gave me alms to give to the poor. And this she does whenever we draw near to a town.”
“She is a saint,” avowed De Poulengy. “I think she must be inspired in very truth, Jean; else how is it that she stands the journey as she does? A little wearied she may be when we stop for rest, but do you note that she starts onward as blithely and gayly as though we had but just set forth?”
“Ay! I have noticed it. ’Tis as though she received manna from Heaven for her
recuperation. Through many wild marches I have been, yet this one hath been the most trying. I fear ambuscades, Bertrand, and I would not have harm come to the Maid. I would rather lose life itself than have aught befall her.”
“And I, Jean. But I fear that all of our company do not agree with us. I overheard some words that Richard the Archer had with our two varlets this morning which
shows their mind in manner most alarming. They also have noted the marvellous
way in which the Maid has withstood the fatigues of the journey, and they declare that a mere maiden could not bear them as she does. In truth, they deem her a witch. We must be on our guard against them lest they try some trick against her.”
“The vile caitiffs! Can they not see that she is one of God’s saints?” exclaimed De Metz wrathfully. “I will go to them. I––”
“Nay, Jean; restrain yourself,” counselled the older man laying his hand lightly on the other’s arm. “Be not too severe in your judgment ’gainst the varlets. Time was, and not so long since, when we too were in doubt concerning the maiden.
They may intend no harm, but I deemed it the part of wisdom to put you on guard. Let us say nothing, but watch and wait.”
“You are right, Bertrand.” De Metz spoke more quietly. “They may intend no harm, but ’tis well to be on guard. If they should attempt anything––” He paused, touching his sword significantly.
Poulengy nodded, and the two returned to the camp. As they made night marches they rested by day. For this day they had selected for camp a cove that lay between two shoulders of the winding hills on the banks of a swollen stream.
Though a cold rain was falling there was no fire for fear of the enemy. The leafless boughs did little to ward off the rain, and there was not much comfort in the chill woods, so the party ate in silence the cold bread and meat which De Metz had obtained in the town. They but waited for the darkness that they might take to horse again. Richard the bowman was sentinel, and after the comfortless meal they all lay down on the wet ground to get what rest they could. They were aroused by a wild shout from the Archer, who rushed among them, crying:
“The English! The English are upon us!”
Instantly the two knights and the King’s messenger were upon their feet, and drawing their swords, threw themselves quickly before Jeanne. She alone was undisturbed, and merely rose to a sitting posture as the men breathlessly awaited the approach of the enemy. The knights’ servants, Jean de Honecourt and Julien, made as though about to flee when Jeanne spoke in her grave, sweet voice:
“Do not flee. I tell you in God’s name, they will not harm you.”
At this Richard the bowman, seeing that she was not afraid, burst out laughing.
With a bound Jean de Metz had reached him, and had him by the throat.
“Varlet,” he cried, shaking the fellow angrily. “Know you not that there are perils enough about us without giving a false alarm? That loud outcry of yours may bring the enemy upon us. I am minded to fling you into that water.”
“I but did it to scare the witch,” muttered Richard sullenly, eyeing the swollen stream with whitening face. The water was dismally cold, and very deep at this
