We had with us a King’s archer from Chinon, who had been sent with news of the disaster at Rouvray.  He was to conduct us back to Chinon by the best and safest routes.  But he told us that the country was beset by roving bands of hostile soldiers, that his comrades had been slain, and that he himself only escaped as by a miracle; and his advice was urgent that after the first day we should travel by night, and lie in hiding during the hours of daylight—­a piece of advice which we were fain to follow, being no strong force, able to fight our way through a disturbed country, and being very solicitous for the safety of the precious Maid who was at once our chiefest hope and chiefest care.

This, then, we did, after that first day’s travel in the bright springtide sunshine.  We were attended for many a mile by a following of mounted men from the district round, and when, as the sun began to wester in the sky, they took their leave of us, the Maid thanked them with gracious words for their company and good wishes, though she would not suffer them to kiss her hand or pay her homage; and after that they had departed, we did halt for many hours, eating and resting ourselves; for we meant to march again when the moon was up, and not lose a single night, so eager was the Maid to press on towards Chinon.

Of our journey I will not speak too particularly.  Ofttimes we were in peril from the close proximity of armed bands, as we lay in woods and thickets by day, avoiding towns and villages, lest we should draw too much notice upon ourselves.  Ofttimes we suffered from cold, from hunger, from drenching rains and bitter winds.  Once our way was barred by snow drifts, and often the swollen rivers and streams forced us to wander for miles seeking a ford that was practicable.

But whatever were the hardships encountered, no word of murmuring ever escaped the lips of the Maid; rather her courage and sweet serenity upheld us all, and her example of patience and unselfishness inspired even the roughest of the men-at-arms with a desire to emulate it.  Never, methinks, on such a toilsome march was so little grumbling, so little discouragement, and, above all, so little swearing.  And this, in particular, was the doing of the Maid.  For habit is strong with us all, and when things went amiss the oath would rise to the lips of the men about her, and be uttered without a thought.

But that was a thing she could not bear.  Her sweet pained face would be turned upon the speaker.  Her clear, ringing tones would ask the question: 

“Shall we, who go forward in the name of the Lord, dare to take His holy name lightly upon our lips?  What are His own words?  Swear not at all.  Shall we not seek to obey Him?  Are we not vowed to His service?  And must not the soldier be obedient above all others?  Shall we mock Him by calling ourselves His followers, and yet doing that without a thought which He hath forbidden?”

Not once nor twice, but many times the Maid had to speak such words as these; but she never feared to speak them, and her courage and her purity of heart and life threw its spell over the rough men she had led, and they became docile in her hands like children, ready to worship the very ground she trod on.