But the days waxed long, and it was March the thirteenth ere we rode north, and already the doctors had begun to entrap the Maid with their questions, whereof there could be but one end.

Without adventure very notable, riding much at night, through forests and byways, we came to Louviers, where they received us joyfully.  For it was very well known that the English were minded to besiege this town, that braved them so near their gates at Rouen, and that they only held back till they had slain the Maid.  While she lived they dared not stir against us, knowing well that their men feared to follow their flag.

Now, indeed, I was in good hope, but alas! there were long counsels of the captains, there was much harrying of Normandy, and some outlying bands of English were trapped, and prisoners were taken.  But of an assault on Rouen we heard no word, and, indeed, the adventure was desperate, though, for the honour of France, I marvel yet that it was not put to the touch.

“There is nought to be done,” Barthelemy said to me; “I cannot take Rouen with a handful of spears, and the captains will not stir.”

“Then,” said I, “farewell, for under the lilies I fight never again.  One chance remains, and I go to prove it.”

“Man, you are mad,” he answered me.  “What desperate peril are you minded to run?”

“I am minded to end this matter,” I said.  “My honour and my very life stand upon it.  Ask me not why, and swear that you will keep this secret from all men, if you would do the last service to me, and to Her, whom we both love.  I tell you that, help me or hinder me, I have no choice but this; yet so much I will say to you, that I put myself in this jeopardy for my honour and the honour of Scotland, and for my lady.”

“The days are past for the old chivalry,” he said; “but no more words.  I swear by St. Ouen to keep your counsel, and if more I can do, without mere madness and risk out of all hope, I will do it.”

“This you can do without risk.  Let me have the accoutrements of one of the Englishmen who lie in ward, and let me ride with your band at daybreak to-morrow.  It is easy to tell some feigned tale, when you ride back without me.”

“You will not ride into Rouen in English guise?  They will straightway hang you for a spy, and therein is little honour.”

“My purpose is some deal subtler,” I said, with a laugh, “but let me keep my own counsel.”

“So be it,” said he, “a wilful man must have his way.  And now I drink to your better wisdom, and may you escape that rope on which your heart seems to be set!”

I grasped his hand on it, and by point of day we were riding out seawards.  We made an onslaught on a village, burned a house or twain, and seized certain wains of hay, so, in the confusion, I slipped forward, and rode alone into a little wood.  There I clad myself in English guise, having carried the gear in a wallet on my saddle-bow, and so pushed on, till at nightfall I came to a certain little fishing-village.  There, under cover of the dark, I covenanted with a fisherman to set me across the Channel, I feigning to be a deserter who was fleeing from the English army, for fear of the Maid.