"Norman,my lad,all our fortunes are made,"said Randal to me when we were left alone."There will be gilt spurs and gold for every one of us,and the pick of the plunder.""I like it not,"I answered;whereon he caught me rudely by both shoulders,looking close into my face,so that the fume of the wine he had been drinking reached my nostrils.
"Is a Leslie turning recreant?"he asked in a low voice."A pretty tale to tell in the kingdom of Fife!"I stood still,my heart very hot with anger,and said no word,while his grip closed on me.
"Leave hold,"I cried at last,and I swore an oath,may the Saints forgive me,--"I will not go!"He loosed his grasp on me,and struck one hand hard into the other.
"That I should see this,and have to tell it!"he said,and stepping to the table,he drank like one thirsty,and then fell to pacing the chamber.He seemed to be thinking slowly,as he wiped and plucked at his beard.
"What is it that ails you?"he asked."Look you,this onfall and stratagem of war may not miscarry.Perdition take the fool,it is safe!""Have I been seeking safety since you knew me?"I asked.
"Verily no,and therefore I wonder at you the more;but you have been long sick,and men's minds are changeful.Consider the thing,nom Dieu!If there be no two lights shown from the mill,we step back silently,and all is as it was;the English have thought worse of their night onfall,or the Carmelite's message was ruse de guerre.But if we see the two lights,then the hundred English are attempting the taking of the mill;the St.Denis Gate is open for their return,and we are looked for by our Armagnacs within Paris.
We risk but a short tussle with some drowsy pock-puddings,and then the town is ours.The Gate is as strong to hold against an enemy from within as from without.Why,man,run to Louis de Coutes,and beg a cast suit of the Maid's;she has plenty,for she is a woman in this,that dearly she loves rich attire.""Randal,"I said,"I will go with you,and the gladdest lad in France to be going,but I will go in my own proper guise as a man-at-arms.To wear the raiment of the Blessed Maid,a man and a sinner like me,I will in nowise consent;it is neither seemly nor honourable.Take your own way,put me under arrest if you will,and spoil my fortunes,and make me a man disgraced,but I will not wear her holy raiment.It is not the deed of a gentleman,or of a Christian."He plucked at his beard."I am partly with you,"he said."And yet it were a great bourde to play off on the English,and most like to take them and to be told of in ballad and chronicle,like one of Wallace's onfalls.For,seeing the Pucelle,as they will deem,in our hands,they will think all safe,and welcome us open armed.ONorman,can we do nothing?Stop,will you wear another woman's short kirtle over your cuisses and taslet?She shall be no saint,Iwarrant you,but,for a sinner,a bonny lass and a merry.As a gentleman I deem this fair stratagem of war.If I were your own brother,--the Saints have his soul in their keeping,--I would still be of this counsel.Will you,my lad?"He looked so sad,and yet withal so comical,that I held out my hand to him,laughing.
"Disguise me as you will,"I said,"I have gone mumming as Maid Marion before now,in the Robin Hood play,at St.Andrews";and as Ispoke,I saw the tall thatched roofs of South Street,and the Priory Gates open,the budding elms above the garden wall of St.Leonard's,and all the May-day revel of a year agone pouring out into the good town.
"You speak like yourself now,bless your beardless face!Come forth,"he said,taking a long pull at a tankard,--"that nothing might be wasted,"--and so we went to quarters,and Randal trudged off,soon coming back,laughing,with the red kirtle.Our men had been very busy furbishing up the red cross of St.George on their breasts,and stripping themselves of any sign of our own colours.
As for my busking,never had maid such rough tire-women;but by one way or another,the apparel was accommodated,and they all said that,at a little distance of ground,the English would be finely fooled,and must deem that the Maid herself was being led to them captive.
It was now in the small hours of morning,dark,save for the glimmer of stars,here and there in a cloudy sky.Father Urquhart himself went up to the roof of the mill,to say his orisons,having with him certain faggots of pitch-wood,for lighting the beacon-fires if need were;and,as it chanced,braziers to this end stood ready on the roof,as is custom on our own Border keeps.
We Scots,a hundred in all,in English colours,with three or four as prisoners,in our own badges,fared cautiously,and with no word spoken,through dewy woods,or lurking along in dry ditches where best we might,towards the St.Denis Gate of Paris.I had never been on a night surprise or bushment before,and I marvelled how orderly the others kept,as men used to such work,whereas I went stumbling and blindlings.At length,within sight of the twinkling lights of Paris,and a hundred yards or thereby off the common way,we were halted in a little wood,and bidden to lie down;no man was so much as to whisper.Some slept,I know,for I heard their snoring,but for my part,I never was less in love with sleep.When the sky first grew grey,so that we could dimly see shapes of things,we heard a light noise of marching men on the road.
"The English!"whispered he that lay next me."Hush!"breathed Randal,and so the footsteps went by,none of us daring to stir,for fear of the rustle in the leaves.
The sound soon ceased;belike they had struck off into these very fields wherethrough we had just marched.
"Now,Robin Lindsay,climb into yonder ash-tree,and keep your eyes on the mill and the beacon-fires,"said Randal.
Robin scrambled up,not easily,because of his armour,and we waited,as it seemed,for an endless time.