Heaven helps its own! Natheless, I would that this river were between me and their vengeance, and, for once, I dread the smell of roast meat that is still in my nostrils--pah!" And here he spat on the ground.
"But one door closes," he went on, "and another opens, and to Orleans am I now bound, in the service of my holy calling." "There is, indeed, cause enough for the shriving of souls of sinners, Father, in that country, as I hear, and a holy man like you will be right welcome to many." "They need little shriving that are opposite my culverin," said this strange priest.

"Though now I carry but an arbalest, the gun is my mistress, and my patron is the gunner's saint, St.Barbara.

And even with this toy, methinks I have the lives of a score of goddams in my bolt- pouch." I knew that in these wild days many clerics were careless as to that which the Church enjoins concerning the effusion of blood--nay, I have named John Kirkmichael, Bishop of Orleans, as having himself broken a spear on the body of the Duke of Clarence.

The Abbe of Cerquenceaux, also, was a valiant man in religion, and a good captain, and, all over France, clerics were gripping to sword and spear.

But such a priest as this I did not expect to see.
"Your name ?" he asked suddenly, the words coming out with a sound like the first grating of a saw on stone.
"They call me Norman Leslie de Pitcullo," I answered.