A terrible legacy of the Hundred Years’ War, which, indeed, was not yet entirely ended by the Peace of Tours, was the existence of bands of men trained to nothing but war and rapine, and devoid of any other means of subsistence than freebooting on the peasantry or travellers, whence they were known as routiers—highwaymen, and ecorcheurs—flayers. They were a fearful scourge to France in the early part of the reign of Charles VII., as, indeed, they had been at every interval of peace ever since the battle of Creci, and they really made a state of warfare preferable to the unhappy provinces, or at least to those where it was not actually raging. In a few years more the Dauphin contrived to delude many of them into an expedition, where he abandoned them and left them to be massacred, after which he formed the rest into the nucleus of a standing army; but at this time they were the terror of travellers, who only durst go about any of the French provinces in well-armed and large parties.
The domains of King Rene, whether in Lorraine or Provence, were, however, reckoned as fairly secure, but from the time the little troop, with the princesses among them, had started from Nanci, Madame de Ste. Petronelle became uneasy. She looked up at the sun, which was shining in her face, more than once, and presently drew the portly mule she was riding towards George Douglas.
‘Sir,’ she said, ‘you are the ladies’ squire?’
‘I have that honour, Madame.’
‘And a Scot?’
‘Even so.’
‘I ask you, which way you deem that we are riding?’
‘Eastward, Madame, if the sun is to be trusted. Mayhap somewhat to the south.’
‘Yea; and which side lies Chalons?’
This was beyond George’s geography. He looked up with open mouth and shook his head.