This was in November, when days were short, and the weather bitter cold.

The Council was held at Mehun sur Yevre, and forthwith the Maid, glad to be doing, rode to Bourges, where she mustered her men, and so marched to St.Pierre le Moustier, a small town, but a strong, with fosses, towers, and high walls.
There we lay some two days or three, plying the town with our artillery, and freezing in the winter nights.

At length, having made somewhat of a breach, the Maid gave the word for the assault, and herself leading, with her banner in hand, we went at it with what force we might.

But twice and thrice we were driven back from the fosse, and to be plain, our men were fled under cover, and only the Maid stood within arrow-shot of the wall, with a few of her household, of whom I was one, for I could not go back while she held her ground.

The arrows and bolts from the town rained and whistled about us, and in faith I wished myself other where.
Yet she stood, waving her banner, and crying, "Tirez en avant, ils sont a nous," as was her way in every onfall.