It was a pleasure to come out on the great parvise,where the red,white,and green of our Scots were the commonest colours,and where the air was less foul and noisome than in the narrow wynds.High above us the great towers of the abbey shone red and golden in the light of the sinking sun,while beneath all was brown,dusk,and dim with smoke.On these towers I could gladly have looked long,and not wearied.For they are all carven with the holy company of the martyrs and saints,like the Angels whom Jacob saw ascending by the ladder into heaven;even so that blessed company seemed to scale upwards from the filth of the street,and the darkness,and the din,right on towards the golden heights of the City of God.And beneath them lie the sacred bones of all the kings of France,from the days of St.Dagobert even to our own time,all laid there to rest where no man shall disturb them,till the Angels'Trumpet calls,and the Day of Judgment is at hand.Verily it is a solemn place for a Christian man to think on,and I was gazing thereupon,as in a dream,when one plucked my sleeve,and turning,I saw Randal Rutherford,all his teeth showing in a grin.
"Welcome,"he cried."You have made good speed,and the beginning of a fray is better than the end of a feast.And,by St.Boswell,to-morrow we shall have it,lad!The King came in to-day--late is better than never--and to-morrow we go with the Maid,to give these pock-puddings a taste of Scottish steel.""And the Maid,where is she,Randal?""She lodges beyond the Paris gate,at the windmill,wherefrom she drove the English some days agone.""Wherefore not in the town?"I asked.
"Mayhap because she likes to be near her work,and would that all were of her mind.And mayhap she loves not the sight of the wenches whom she was wont to drive from the camp,above all now that she has broken the Holy Sword of Fierbois,smiting a lass with the flat of the blade.""I like not the omen,"said I.
"Freits follow them that freits fear,"said Randal,in our country speech."And the Maid is none of these.'Well it was,'said she,'that I trusted not my life to a blade that breaks so easily,'and,in the next skirmish,she took a Burgundian with her own hands,and now wears his sword,which is a good cut and thrust piece.But come,"he cried,"if needs you must see the Maid,you have but to walk to the Paris gate,and so to the windmill hard by.And your horse I will stable with our own,and for quarters,we living Scots men-at-arms fare as well as the dead kings of France,for to-night we lie in the chapel."I dismounted,and he gave me an embrace,and,holding me at arms'-length,laughed -"You never were a tall man,Norman,but you look sound,and whole,and tough for your inches,like a Highlandman's dirk.Now be off on your errand,and when it is done,look for me yonder at the sign of 'The Crane,'"pointing across the parvise to a tavern,"for I keep a word to tell in your lug that few wot of,and that it will joy you to hear.To-morrow,lad,we go in foremost."And so,smiling,he took my horse and went his way,whistling,"Hey,tuttie,tattie!"Verily his was the gladdest face I had seen,and his words put some heart into me,whereas,of the rest save our own Scots,I liked neither what I saw,nor what I heard.