So we lifted anchor, and sailed out of Eden-mouth, none of those on shore knowing how I was aboard the carrick that slipped by the bishop’s castle, and so under the great towers of the minster and St. Rule’s, forth to the Northern Sea.  Despite my broken head—­which put it comfortably into my mind that maybe Dickon’s was no worse—­I could have laughed to think how clean I had vanished away from St. Andrews, as if the fairies had taken me.  Now having time to reason of it quietly, I picked up hope for Dickon’s life, remembering his head to be of the thickest.  Then came into my mind the many romances of chivalry which I had read, wherein the young squire has to flee his country for a chance blow, as did Messire Patroclus, in the Romance of Troy, who slew a man in anger over the game of the chess, and many another knight, in the tales of Charlemagne and his paladins.  For ever it is thus the story opens, and my story, methought, was beginning to-day like the rest.

Now, not to prove more wearisome than need be, and so vex those who read this chronicle with much talk about myself, and such accidents of travel as beset all voyagers, and chiefly in time of war, I found a trading ship at Berwick, and reached Bordeaux safe, after much sickness on the sea.  And in Bordeaux, with a very sore heart, I changed the links of my mother’s chain that were left to me—­all but four, that still I keep—­for money of that country; and so, with a lighter pack than spirit, I set forth towards Orleans and to my brother Robin.

On this journey I had good cause to bless Father Peter of the Abbey for his teaching me the French tongue, that was of more service to me than all my Latin.  Yet my Latin, too, the little I knew, stood me in good stead at the monasteries, where often I found bed and board, and no small kindness; I little deeming that, in time to come, I also should be in religion, an old man and weary, glad to speak with travellers concerning the news of the world, from which I am now these ten years retired.  Yet I love even better to call back memories of these days, when I took my part in the fray.  If this be a sin, may God and the Saints forgive me, for if I have fought, it was in a rightful cause, which Heaven at last has prospered, and in no private quarrel.  And methinks I have one among the Saints to pray for me, as a friend for a friend not unfaithful.  But on this matter I submit me to the judgment of the Church, as in all questions of the faith.

CHAPTER II—­HOW NORMAN LESLIE MET NOIROUFLE THE CORDELIER, CALLED BROTHER THOMAS IN RELIGION:  AND OF MIRACLES WROUGHT BY BROTHER THOMAS