All this spectacle lay far off,to the south,and we could not be satisfied with wondering at it nor turn away our eyes,when,on the left,a trumpet rang out joyously.Then,all of us wheeling round as one man,we saw the most blessed sight,whereto our backs had been turned;for,into the Chapel Gate--that is,far to the left of the Pierrefonds Gate on the north-east--were streaming cattle,sheep and kine,pricked on and hastened by a company of a hundred men-at-arms.They had come by forest paths from Choisy way,and anon all our guns on the boulevard of the Pierrefonds Gate burst forth at once against the English bastille over against it.Now this bastille,as I have said,had never been strongly builded,and,in some sort,was not wholly finished.
After one great volley of guns against the bastille,we,looking down into our boulevard of the Pierrefonds Gate,saw the portcullis raised,the drawbridge lowered,and a great array of men-at-arms carrying ladders rush out,and charge upon the bastille.Then,through the smoke and fire,they strove to scale the works,and for the space of half an hour all was roar of guns;but at length our men came back,leaving many slain,and the running libbards grinned on the flag of England.
I might endure no longer,but,clambering down the tower stairs as best I might,for I was still lame,I limped to my lodgings at the Jacobins,did on my harness,and,taking a horse from the stable,Imounted and rode to the Pierrefonds Gate.For Brother Thomas and his murderous ways I had now no care at all.
Never,sure,saw any man such a sight.Our boulevard was full,not only of men-at-arms,but of all who could carry clubs,burgesses armed,old men,boys,yea,women and children,some with rusty swords,some with carpenters'axes,some bearing cudgels,some with hammers,spits,and knives,all clamouring for the portcullis to rise and let them forth.Their faces were lean and fierce,their eyes were like eyes of wolves,for now,they cried,was the hour,and the prophecy of the Maid should be fulfilled!Verily,though she lay in bonds,her spirit was with us on that day!
But still our portcullis was down,and the long tail of angry people stretched inwards,from the inner mouth of the boulevard,along the street,surging like a swollen loch against its barrier.
On the crest of the boulevard was Flavy,baton in hand,looking forth across field and forest,watching for I knew not what,while still the people clamoured to be let go.But he stood like the statue of a man-at-arms,and from the bastille of the Burgundians the arrows rained around him,who always watched,and was still.
Now the guards of the gate had hard work to keep the angry people back,who leaped and tore at the men-at-arms arrayed in front of them,and yelled for eagerness to issue forth and fight.
Suddenly,on the crest of the boulevard,Flavy threw up his arm and gave one cry -"Xaintrailles!"Then he roared to draw up portcullis and open gates;the men-at-arms charged forth,the multitude trampled over each other to be first in field,I was swept on and along with them through the gate,and over the drawbridge,like a straw on a wave,and,lo!a little on our left was the banner of Pothon de Xaintrailles,his foremost men dismounting,the rearguard just riding out from the forest.The two bands joined,we from Compiegne,the four hundred of Xaintrailles from the wood,and,like two swollen streams that meet,we raced towards the bastille,under a rain of arrows and balls.Nothing could stay us:a boy fell by my side with an arrow thrilling in his breast,but his brother never once looked round.I knew not that Icould run,but run I did,though not so fast as many,and before Ireached the bastille our ladders were up,and the throng was clambering,falling,rising again,and flowing furiously into the fort.The townsfolk had no thought but to slay and slay;five or six would be at the throat of one Burgundian man-at-arms;hammers and axes were breaking up armour,knives were scratching and searching for a crevice;women,lifting great stone balls,would stagger up to dash them on the heads of the fallen.Of the whole garrison,one-half,a hundred and sixty men-at-arms,were put to the sword.Only Pothon de Xaintrailles,and the gentlemen with him,as knowing the manner of war,saved and held to ransom certain knights,as Messire Jacques de Brimeu,the Seigneur de Crepy,and others;while,for my own part,seeing a knight assailed by a knot of clubmen,I struck in on his part,for gentle blood must ever aid gentle blood,and so,not without shrewd blows on my salade,I took to ransom Messire Collart de Bertancourt.
Thereafter,very late,and in the twilight of October the twenty-fifth,we turned back to Compiegne,leaving the enemies'bastille in a flame behind us,while in front were blazing the bonfires of the people of the good town.And,in Compiegne,we heard how the English and the main army of Burgundians had turned,late in the day,and crossed by the Duke of Burgundy's bridge,leaving men to keep guard there.So our victory was great,and wise had been the prudence of the French captains,subtlety being the mother of victory;for,without a blow struck,they had kept Jean de Luxembourg,and the Earls of Huntingdon and Arundel,waiting idle all day,while their great bastille was taken by Xaintrailles and the townsfolk,and food was brought into Compiegne.Thus for the second time I passed a night of joy in a beleaguered town,for there was music in every street,the churches full of people praising God for this great deliverance,men and maids dancing around bonfires,yet good watch was kept at the gates and on the towers.Next day we expected battle,but our spies brought in tidings that Burgundians and English had decamped in the dawn,their men deserting.That day was not less joyful than the night had been;for at Royaulieu,in the abbey where Jean de Luxembourg had lain,the townsfolk found all manner of meat,and of wine great plenty,so right good cheer we made,for it cost us nothing.