About all that befell in the besieged city of Compiegne,after that wicked day of destiny when the Maid was taken,I heard for long only from the Jacobin brothers,and from one Barthelemy Barrette.He was a Picardy man,more loyal than most of his country,who had joined the Maid after the fray at Paris.Now he commanded a hundred of her company,who did not scatter after she was taken,and he was the best friend I then had.
"The burgesses are no whit dismayed,"said he,coming into my chamber after the day of the Ascension,which was the second after the capture of the Maid."They have sent a messenger to the King,and expect succour.""They sue for grace at a graceless face,"said I,in the country proverb;for my heart was hot against King Charles.
"That is to be seen,"said be."But assuredly the Duke of Burgundy is more keen about his own business.""How fare the Burgundians?"I asked,"for,indeed,I have heard the guns speak since dawn,but none of the good fathers cares to go even on to the roof of the church tower and bring me tidings,for fear of a stray cannon-ball.""For holy men they are wondrous chary of their lives,"said Barthelemy,laughing."Were I a monk,I would welcome death that should unfrock me,and let me go a-wandering in Paradise among these fair lady saints we see in the pictures.""It is written,Barthelemy,that there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage.""Faith,the more I am fain of it,"said Barthelemy,"and may be Imight take the wrong track,and get into the Paradise of Mahound,which,I have heard,is no ill place for a man-at-arms."This man had no more faith than a paynim,but,none the less,was a stout carl in war.
"But that minds me,"quoth he,"of the very thing I came hither to tell you.One priest there is in Compiegne who takes no keep of his life,a cordelier.What ails you,man?does your leg give a twinge?""Ay,a shrewd twinge enough.""Truly,you look pale enough.""It is gone,"I said."Tell me of that cordelier.""Do you see this little rod?"he asked,putting in my hand a wand of dark wood,carven with the head of a strange beast in a cowl.
"I see it."
"How many notches are cut in it?"
"Five,"I said."But why spoil you your rod?""Five men of England or Burgundy that cordelier shot this day,from the creneaux of the boulevard where the Maid,"crossing himself,"was taken.A fell man he is,strong and tall,with a long hooked nose,and as black as Sathanas.""How comes he in arms?"I asked.
"Flavy called him in from Valenciennes,where he was about some business of his own,for there is no greater master of the culverin.
And,faith,as he says,he 'has had rare sport,and will have for long.'""Was there an onfall of the enemy?""Nay,they are over wary.He shot them as they dug behind pavises.
{36}For the Duke has moved his quarters to Venette,where the English lay,hard by the town.And,right in the middle of the causeway to Margny,two arrow-shots from our bridge end,he is letting build a great bastille,and digging a trench wherein men may go to and fro.The cordelier was as glad of that as a man who has stalked a covey of partridges.'Keep my tally for me,'he said to myself;'cut a notch for every man I slay';and here,"said Barthelemy,waving his staff,"is his first day's reckoning."Now I well saw what chance I had of bringing that devil to justice,for who would believe so strange a tale as mine against one so serviceable in the war?Nor was D'Aulon here to speak for me,the enemy having taken him when they took the Maid.Thinking thus,Igroaned,and Barthelemy,fearing that he had wearied me,said farewell,and went out.
Every evening,after sunset,he would come in,and partly cheer me,by telling how hardily our people bore them,partly break my heart with fresh tidings of that devil,Brother Thomas.
"Things go not ill,had we but hope of succour,"he said."The Duke's bastille is rising,indeed,and the Duke is building taudis {37}of oaken beams and earth,between the bastille and our boulevard.The skill is to draw nearer us,and nearer,till he can mine beneath our feet.Heard you any new noise of war this day?""I heard such a roar and clatter as never was in my ears,whether at Orleans or Paris.""And well you might!This convent is in the very line of the fire.
They have four great bombards placed,every one of them with a devilish Netherland name of its own.There is Houpembiere,--that means the beer-barrel,I take it,--and La Rouge Bombarde,and Remeswalle and Quincequin,every one shooting stone balls thirty inches in girth.The houses on the bridge are a heap of stones,the mills are battered down,and we must grind our meal in the city,in a cellar,for what I can tell.Nom Dieu!when they take the boulevard we lose the river,and if once they bar our gates to the east,whence shall viands come?""Is there no good tidings from the messenger?""The King answers ever like a drawer in a tavern,'Anon,anon,sir!'