Now came the Scots, under Kennedy.  A gallant sight it was to see them advance, shoulder to shoulder—­Scots of the Marches and the Lennox, Fife, Argyll, and the Isles, all gentlemen born.

“Come on!” cried Randal Rutherford.  “Come on, men of the Marches, Scots of the Forest, Elliots, Rutherfords, Armstrongs, and deem that, wheresoever a Southron slinks behind a stone, there is Carlisle wall!”

The Rough Clan roared “Bellenden!” the Buchanans cried “Clare Innis,” a rag of a hairy Highlander from the Lennox blew a wild skirl on the war-pipes, and hearing the Border slogan shouted in a strange country, nom Dieu! my blood burned, as that of any Scotsman would.  Contrary to the Maid’s desire, for she had noted that I was wan and weary, and had commanded me to bide in cover, I cried “A Leslie! a Leslie!” and went forward with my own folk, sword in hand and buckler lifted.

Beside good Randal Rutherford I ran, and we both leaped together into the ditch.  There was a forest of ladders set against the wall, and I had my foot on a rung, when the Maid ran up and cried, “Nom Dieu! what make you here?  Let me lead my Scots”; and so, pennon and axe in her left hand, she lightly leaped on the ladder, and arrows ringing on her mail, and a great stone glancing harmless from her salade, she so climbed that my lady’s face on the pennon above her looked down into the English keep.

But, even then, I saw a face at an archere, an ill face and fell, the wolf’s eyes of Brother Thomas glancing along the stock of an arbalest.

“Gardez-vous, Pucelle, gardez-vous!” I cried in her ear, for I was next her on the ladder; but a bolt whistled and smote her full, and reeling, she fell into my arms.

I turned my back to guard her, and felt a bolt strike my back-piece; then we were in the fosse, and all the Scots that might be were between her and harm.  Swiftly they bore her out of the fray, into a little green vineyard, where was a soft grassy ditch.  But the English so cried their hurrah, that it was marvel, and our men gave back in fear; and had not the Bastard come up with a fresh company, verify we might well have been swept into the Loire.

Some while I remained with Rutherford, Kennedy, and many others, for what could we avail to help the Maid? and to run has an ill look, and gives great heart to an enemy.  Moreover, that saying of the Maid came into my mind, that she should be smitten of a bolt, but not unto death.  So I even abode by the fosse, and having found an arbalest, my desire was to win a chance of slaying Brother Thomas, wherefore I kept my eyes on that archere whence he had shot.  But no arbalest was pointed thence, and the fight flagged.  On both sides men were weary, and they took some meat as they might, no ladders being now set on the wall.