第77章 HOW NORMAN LESLIE FARED IN PARIS TOWN(3)

"Carry him,or her,or whatever the spy is,into the outer gate tower,"said a Captain;"put him in fetters and manacles;lock the door and leave him;and then to quarters.And you,friar,hold your gibing tongue;lad or lass,he has borne him bravely."Six men-at-arms he chose out to do his bidding;and while the gates were cleared of the throng,and trumpets were sounding,and church bells were rung backwards,for an alarm,I was dragged,with many a kick and blow,over the drawbridge,up the stairs of the tower,and so was thrown into a strong room beneath the battlements.There they put me in bonds,gave me of their courtesy a jug of water and a loaf of black bread by me,and then,taking my dagger,my sword,and all that was in my pouch,they left me with curses.

"You shall hear how the onfall goes,belike,"they said,"and to-morrow shall be your judgment."With that the door grated and rang,the key was turned in the lock,and their iron tread sounded on the stone stairs,going upwards.

The room was high,narrow,and lit by a barred and stanchioned window,far above my reach,even if I had been unbound.I shame to say it,but I rolled over on my face and wept.This was the end of my hopes and proud heart.That they would burn me,despite their threats I scarce believed,for I had in nowise offended Holy Church,or in matters of the Faith,and only for such heretics,or wicked dealers in art-magic,is lawfully ordained the death by fire.But here was I prisoner,all that I had won at Orleans would do little more than pay my own ransom;from the end of my risk and travail Iwas now further away than ever.

So I mused,weeping for very rage,but then came a heavy rolling sound overhead,as of moving wheeled pieces of ordnance.Thereon (so near is Hope to us in our despair)I plucked up some heart.Ere nightfall,Paris might be in the hands of the King,and all might be well.The roar and rebound of cannon overhead told me that the fighting had begun,and now I prayed with all my heart,that the Maid,as ever,might again be victorious.So I lay there,listening,and heard the great artillery bellow,and the roar of guns in answer,the shouting of men,and clang of church bells.Now and again the walls of the tower rang with the shock of a cannon-ball,once an arrow flew through the casement and shattered itself on the wall above my head.I scarce know why,but I dragged me to the place where it fell,and,put the arrow-point in my bosom.

Smoke of wood and pitch darkened the light;they had come,then,to close quarters.But once more rang the rattle of guns;the whizzing rush of stones,the smiting with axe or sword on wooden barrier and steel harness,the cries of war,"Mont joye St.Denis!""St.George for England!"and slogans too,I heard,as "Bellenden,""A Home!a Home!"and then I knew the Scots were there,fighting in the front.

But alas,how different was the day when first I heard our own battle-cries under Orleans walls!Then I had my life and my sword in my hands,to spend and to strike;but now I lay a lonely prisoner,helpless and all but hopeless;yet even so I clashed my chains and shouted,when I heard the slogan.

Thus with noise and smoke,and trumpets blowing the charge or the recall,and our pipes shrieking the pibroch high above the din,with dust floating and plaster dropping from the walls of my cell till Iwas wellnigh stifled,the day wore on,nor could I tell,in anywise,how the battle went.The main onslaught,I knew,was not on the gate behind the tower in which I lay,though that tower also was smitten of cannon-balls.

At length,well past mid-day,as I deemed by the light,came a hush,and then a thicker smoke,and taste of burning pitch-wood,and a roar as if all Paris had been blown into mid-air,so that my tower shook,while heavy beams fell crashing to earth.

Again came a hush,and then one voice,clear as a clarion call,even the voice of the Maid,"Tirez en avant,en avant!"How my blood thrilled at the sound of it!

It must be now,I thought,or never,but the guns only roared the louder,the din grew fierce and fiercer,till I heard a mighty roar,the English shouting aloud as one man for joy,for so their manner is.Thrice they shouted,and my heart sank within me.Had they slain the Maid?I knew not,but for torment of soul there is scarce any greater than so to lie,bound and alone,seeing nought,but guessing at what is befalling.

After these shouts it was easy to know that the fighting waned,and was less fierce.The day,moreover,turned to thunder,and waxed lowering and of a stifling heat.Yet my worst fears were ended,for I heard,now and again,the clear voice of the Maid,bidding her men "fight on,for all was theirs."But the voice was weaker now,and other than it had been.So the day darkened,only once and again a shot was fired,and in the dusk the shouts of the English told me over clearly that for to-day our chance and hope were lost.Then the darkness grew deeper,and a star shone through my casement,and feet went up and down upon the stairs,but no man came near me.

Below there was some faint cackle of mirth and laughter,and at last the silence fell.

Once more came a swift step on the stairs,as of one stumbling up in haste.The key rattled in the wards,a yellow light shone in,a man-at-arms entered;he held a torch to my face,looked to my bonds,and then gave me a kick,while one cried from below,"Come on,Dickon,your meat is cooling!"So he turned and went out,the door clanging behind him,and the key rattling in the wards.

In pain and fierce wrath I gnawed my black bread,drank some of the water,and at last I bethought me of that which should have been first in the thoughts of a Christian man,and I prayed.