.

"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, I groaned, 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