not proceed on account of my dead. And yet you, you miscreant,
accuse me of climbing trees! Pah!”
And he strode out, with a lofty air, for the recital of his imaginary
deeds had already set him up again and made him feel good.
Next day we mounted and faced toward Chinon. Orleans was at
our back now, and close by, lying in the strangling grip of the
English; soon, please God, we would face about and go to their
relief. From Gien the news had spread to Orleans that the peasant
Maid of Vaucouleurs was on her way, divinely commissioned to
raise the siege. The news made a great excitement and raised a
great hope–the first breath of hope those poor souls had breathed
in five months. They sent commissioners at once to the King to
beg him to consider this matter, and not throw this help lightly
away. These commissioners were already at Chinon by this time.
When we were half-way to Chinon we happened upon yet one
more squad of enemies. They burst suddenly out of the woods, and
in considerable force, too; but we were not the apprentices we
were ten or twelve days before; no, we were seasoned to this kind
of adventure now; our hearts did not jump into our throats and our
weapons tremble in our hands. We had learned to be always in
battle array, always alert, and always ready to deal with any
emergency that might turn up. We were no more dismayed by the
sight of those people than our commander was. Before they could
form, Joan had delivered the order, “Forward!” and we were down
upon them with a rush. They stood no chance; they turned tail and
scattered, we plowing through them as if they had been men of
straw. That was our last ambuscade, and it was probably laid for us
by that treacherous rascal, the King’s own minister and favorite, De
la Tremouille.
We housed ourselves in an inn, and soon the town came flocking
to get a glimpse of the Maid.
Ah, the tedious King and his tedious people! Our two good knights
came presently, their patience well wearied, and reported. They
and we reverently stood–as becomes persons who are in the
presence of kings and the superiors of kings–until Joan, troubled
by this mark of homage and respect, and not content with it nor yet
used to it, although we had not permitted ourselves to do otherwise
since the day she prophesied that wretched traitor’s death and he
was straightway drowned, thus confirming many previous signs
that she was indeed an ambassador commissioned of God,
commanded us to sit; then the Sieur de Metz said to Joan:
“The King has got the letter, but they will not let us have speech
with him.”
“Who is it that forbids?”
“None forbids, but there be three or four that are nearest his
person–schemers and traitors every one–that put obstructions in
the way, and seek all ways, by lies and pretexts, to make delay.
Chiefest of these are Georges de la Tremouille and that plotting
fox, the Archbishop of Rheims. While they keep the King idle and
in bondage to his sports and follies, they are great and their
importance grows; whereas if ever he assert himself and rise and
strike for crown and country like a man, their reign is done. So
they but thrive, they care not if the crown go to destruction and the
King with it.”
“You have spoken with others besides these?”
“Not of the Court, no–the Court are the meek slaves of those
reptiles, and watch their mouths and their actions, acting as they
act, thinking as they think, saying as they say; wherefore they are
cold to us, and turn aside and go another way when we appear. But
we have spoken with the commissioners from Orleans. They said
with heat: ‘It is a marvel that any man in such desperate case as is
the King can moon around in this torpid way, and see his all go to
ruin without lifting a finger to stay the disaster. What a most
strange spectacle it is! Here he is, shut up in this wee corner of the