At length Randal said, “Up all, and onwards!”

We arose, loosened our swords in their sheaths, and so crossed to the road.  We could now see Paris plainly, and were close by the farm of the Mathurins, while beyond was the level land they call “Les Porcherons,” with slopes above it, and many trees.

“Now, Norman,” said Randal, “when we come within clear sight of the gate, two of us shall seize you by the arms as prisoner; then we all cry ’St. George!’ and set off running towards Paris.  The quicker, the less time for discovery.”

So, having marched orderly and speedily, while the banks of the roadway hid us, we set off to run, Randal and Robin gripping me when we were full in sight of the moat, of the drawbridge (which was down), and the gate.

Then our men all cried, “St. George for England!  The witch is taken!” And so running disorderly and fast we made for the Port, while English men-at-arms might be plainly seen and heard, gazing, waving their hands, and shouting from the battlements of the two gate-towers.  Down the road we ran, past certain small houses of peasants, and past a gibbet with a marauder hanging from it, just over the dry ditch.

Our feet, we three leading, with some twenty in a clump hard behind us, rang loud on the drawbridge over the dry fosse.  The bridge planks quivered strangely; we were now within the gateway, when down fell the portcullis behind us, the drawbridge, creaking, flew up, a crowd of angry faces and red crosses were pressing on us, and a blow fell on my salade, making me reel.  I was held in strong arms, swords shone out above me, I stumbled on a body—­it was Robin Lindsay’s—­I heard Randal give a curse as his blade broke on a helmet, and cry, “I yield me, rescue or no rescue.”  Then burst forth a blast of shouts, and words of command and yells, and English curses.  Cannon-shot roared overhead, and my mouth was full of sulphur smoke and dust.  They were firing on those of our men who had not set foot on the drawbridge when it flew up.  Soon the portcullis rose again, and the bridge fell, to let in a band of English archers, through whom our Scots were cutting their way back towards St. Denis.

Of all this I got glimpses, rather than clear sight, as the throng within the gateway reeled and shifted, crushing me sorely.  Presently the English from without trooped in, laughing and cursing, welcomed by their fellows, and every man of them prying into my face, and gibing.  It had been a settled plan:  we were betrayed, it was over clear, and now a harsh voice behind making me turn, I saw the wolf’s face of Father Thomas under his hood, and his yellow fangs.

“Ha! fair clerk, they that be no clerks themselves may yet hire clerks to work for them.  How like you my brother, the Carmelite?”

Then I knew too well how this stratagem had all been laid by that devil, and my heart turned to water within me.

Randal was led away, but round me the crowd gathered in the open space, for I was haled into the greater gate tower beyond the wet fosse, and from all quarters ran soldiers, and men, women, and children of the town to mock me.