Epitaph for Three Women

Chapter IX EARLY DAYS IN DOMRÉMY

SOME sixteen years before the siege of Orléans began Jacques d’Arc and his wife were waiting with mingled excitement and apprehension for the birth of their fourth child. It was not that the newcomer would not be welcome. Far from it. Jacques and his wife Isabelle – known affectionately as Zabillet – loved their children dearly. But times were hard – when had they been otherwise? – and the arrival of a new baby would mean that there was one more mouth to feed.

Jacques originally came from Arc-en-Barrois and having no legal name was called after his birthplace. He had in time found employment about the castle of Vaucouleurs and while there he had met Isabelle Romée. They had fallen in love and married. Isabelle – or Zabillet – though far from rich was not entirely penniless and on her marriage inherited the house in Domrémy where she settled with Jacques, and there the children were born. It was by no means a mansion but it served as a home for them and there was a small piece of land attached which enabled them to grow a few crops and with this and the permission which was given to all the villagers to graze their cattle in the nearby fields they managed to feed and clothe their young family.

Domrémy was situated on the River Meuse about twelve and a half miles from the town of Vaucouleurs and a little nearer to Neufchâteau. Adjoining it was the village of Greux and on the other side of the river was Maxey; a few miles away were Burey-le-Grand and Burey-le-Petit, and away on the heights lay the Château Bourlémont.

Until the wars had flared up again it had been a peaceful spot in which to live. News came slowly; the villagers were like one family, in and out of each other’s houses, sitting at their doors in summer, gathering round the fires in winter, very often in one or other of their dwellings that one fire might serve several, fuel being not always easy to come by. The villagers lived carefully, making the most of everything they could wring from the land and now and then saving a little money to put by for emergencies. There was some excitement when travellers came, which they did now and then, for close by was the great road which had been there since it had been built by the Romans and along this came the messengers to and from the Court; merchants travelled along it too, so Domrémy was not as cut off from the world as some villages might be. Sometimes these travellers stayed at the village and begged a bed for the night and in exchange for that hospitality would give accounts of what was happening in the outside world. Moreover because the house of Jacques d’Arc was more commodious than others in the village he was usually the one to receive the guests.

It was a long low house with a heavy slate roof held up by great beams. In the front there were put two small windows so high that the interior was very dark indeed. The floor was of earth and the house was very sparsely furnished with only the barest necessities – a rough table on trestles, a few stools and spinning wheel and kneading trough; rough partitions divided the rooms. There were window seats in the fireplace and the walls were blackened by years of smoke. But on those walls in each room hung a crucifix, for Jacques and Zabillet were fervently religious and determined to bring up their children to be the same.

So close to the house was the church that its dismal graveyard was the first thing the family saw when they emerged into daylight. The days were punctuated by the sound of bells. They seemed to be ringing all the time, not only for mass and vespers, matins and complines but for all the ceremonies of the village, christenings, marriages and burials. The church dominated the village.

So it was at that time when the fourth member of the d’Arc family was about to make an appearance. Young Jacques – named after his father and given the name Jacquemin partly out of affection and the custom in the family of bestowing nicknames and partly to distinguish him from his father – was already working in the field with his father. So was his younger brother Jean; and even little Catherine was helping in the house and learning to spin. Like all the children in the village they worked as soon as they were able. In time the new baby would join them – if it survived – and Zabillet was constantly telling Jacques that although the more children they had the more food had to be found, they all earned their daily bread. Jacques agreed and so in the little village of Domrémy they awaited the birth of their child.

There was no lack of helpers when Zabillet’s pains started. The wives crowded into the dark interior where she lay on her pallet. The men were still working in the fields but Jacques knew that as soon as the baby arrived he would be called.

Birth was easy in Domrémy – but then so was death. Zabillet was serene enough. It was the fourth time she had been in this condition; and already she loved the baby.

And so the child was born. A little girl.

Well, they had two boys and girls were useful. They could spin and cook and look after the men; they could also do their stint in the fields.

She was a perfect child and it was decided to name her after one of her godmothers. Jeannette was a name well loved in France. It was the female of Jean and Jean had been Jesus Christ’s best loved disciple. It was a good name.

Moreover it was a compliment to one of her godmothers – Jeannette de Vittel who had come to Domrémy from Neufchâteau for the ceremony and was very highly thought of because her husband Thiesselin de Vittel was a scholar and could read.

There were many godparents, as was the custom, and little Jeannette was baptised by the Curé Jean Minet in that church which was dedicated to Saint Rémy.

Jeannette was little more than three when she first noticed talk of war. It came into her parents’ conversation a great deal and her brothers often talked of it. Now other riders galloped along the great road and sometimes stayed the night. She was well aware of the excitement when the neighbours crowded into the house, if it were winter to sit around the fire and listen to the news the traveller brought, or if it were summer gather outside the house on the green.

There was a new baby now – Pierre known as Pierrelot – and it was Jeannette’s task to mind him, which in spite of her tender years she did tolerably well. She was a very serious little girl and tried hard to understand what the grown-ups were talking about and why news sometimes made them very sad and at other times pleased them.

It was at this time she first heard the word Agincourt. She did not know what it meant except that it was something bad and shameful. People grew angry when they talked of the Godons who, she guessed, were some sort of wicked devils.

As she grew a little older she began to learn more of these matters. There was a wicked and cruel enemy of France. These people were the Godons. They did not believe in God and used wicked oaths. God Damn was the one which was constantly on their lips – spoken in their barbaric tongue – and from this came their name. They had won the battle of Agincourt and so humbled France and made the King very unhappy. Another name for the Godons was the English.

Because he had a bigger house than most of the villagers but chiefly because he was a man of strong character Jacques d’Arc had become a sort of headman of the village. People came to the house to talk of their problems; if action was to be taken they listened to his advice. Jeannette liked to sit quietly in the shadows and listen and so when she was very young she came to have a fairly clear understanding of what was going on.

It was War. That was a hateful word and she wanted to shut her ears to it. People forgot it for long spells at a time and were happy, and then she would hear the word War again and they would be miserable – more than that, afraid.

‘Why do we have to have war?’ she asked Jacquemin. ‘What good does it bring? Why don’t they stop it? It only hurts people.’

Jacquemin gave her a scornful look. She did not understand, he told her. She should get on with learning to spin.

She did that, she reminded him, but she could think at the same time.

In time she learned that there was trouble between the Armagnacs and the Burgundians and that had been going on since the Duke of Burgundy had murdered the Duke of Orléans and now it seemed the Armagnacs had murdered the Duke of Burgundy in retaliation.

And what had this to do with the peasants of Domrémy? wondered Jeannette. Sometimes there was no talk of war for a long time. There were happy feast days. Jeannette loved the solemnity of them, the singing in the church, the ringing of the bells. She loved the statues in the churches and it was her delight to go and kneel before them, and she liked it best when she was alone in the church. Her mother had taught her the Paternoster, Ave Maria and the Credo. She learned these with avidity; it seemed wondrously beautiful to her to go into the church and sit on the floor in the nave below the pulpit and listen to the priest. All the women of the village went and Zabillet took her children there as soon as they could walk.

The church seemed to Jeannette something which was beautiful in a life which was full of hardship and dominated by the need to survive. The church gave a promise of paradise to some; it offered beauty and colour in drab lives. The peasants could sublimate their hard struggle in their religion. But although it was a religion of great promise of sublime happiness, it also had its dark side. It was a religion of contrasts – just like life itself – and as there was Heaven for the virtuous, there must be Hell for those who failed to achieve that perfection demanded at the pearly gates before a soul entered. It seemed one must spend one’s life earning the right to enter and Jacques and Zabillet were determined that their children should not be denied entry.

Jeannette loved Rogation Sunday when the banners were brought out and the cross lifted from the wall and all the people walked in procession led by the Curé to the sacred tree on the river’s edge known as L’Arbre des Dames. The little boys came first, then the women and the girls, and after them the men. As they went they chanted prayers and when they reached the sacred tree the Curé would read the gospels before they returned to the village chanting praises to God and the Virgin.

It was a solemn occasion but that which occurred on the fourth Sunday in Lent was less so. That was the children’s day – the day they called Laetare. Then the earth was waking to Spring and the countryside would be looking beautiful and as they tripped along carrying their precious burdens of cakes, tiny loaves, apples which had been saved through the winter, nuts, cheese and perhaps a sweetmeat or two if they were lucky, they would go to the tree and there sing and dance. Sometimes a piper came with them and played tunes for the dancing; and the children gathered wild flowers and made them into chains. These they hung on the trees or took home and cherished them in their homes until they faded, which was very soon.

The tree was a symbol. It must have been so since pre-Christian days but the villagers gave no thought to the fact that the worship of it was an inheritance from the past. There was a strong superstition in Domrémy that the fairies whom they called the Little People still inhabited certain parts of the woods. Some of the peasants laid out food for them – which they could ill afford – but the fact was that they were afraid of offending them, for fairies were not always good and some people held the theory that they were really people who were not good enough for Heaven and not bad enough for Hell and having been refused admittance to either must roam the earth.

There was a spring at the source of the river which was called La Fontaine-aux-Bonnes-Fées-Notre-Seigneur. It was but a mile or so from the village at the edge of the wood called Bois-Chesnu; and this spring was said to have magical powers. The sick came to drink its waters but as it was also a haunt of those fairies who could not be trusted, it was considered to be rather daring to visit it for instead of good health one might incur the wrath and curses of the Little People.

Jeanne – known as Jannet – Aubrit, who had been one of Jeannette’s godmothers, said she had seen the fairies dancing round L’Arbre des Dames and Jannet was the wife of a very important man who worked for the lords of Bourlémont; Jannet was too pious to have told a lie. So there were fairies but Jeannette was more interested in the saints.

Thus she was growing up in an atmosphere of extreme piety with a belief in miracles and a growing awareness of the horrors of war as it crept close to Domrémy. She heard the talk of the days before the Godons came. Then apparently all had been peace, though there had occasionally been skirmishes between the Armagnacs and the Burgundians. But the Godons were devils who came from over the seas and were determined to take France from its rightful King.

When she was alone in the church Jeannette knelt before the statue of the Virgin and prayed that the Godons might be driven back to their own lands and that France might be happy again.

Jeannette had some little friends in the village. When she worked in the fields or was spinning in the house she would be joined by Isabelle Despinal and Mengette Joyart who would bring their distaffs with them and they would all laugh and talk together. Isabelle and Mengette were a little older than she was but Jeannette was advanced for her years and this passed unnoticed. There was a young girl, Hauviette Sydna, who liked to join them. She adored Jeannette who never failed to make her welcome in spite of her youth; and the girls were very happy together.

They had very little spare time when they were not spinning or working in the fields or carrying water into the house but one day when they found there was no yarn left for spinning and they had done their work in the fields, Jeannette said she was going to walk to the Chapel of Notre Dame de Bermont.

‘It’s a long way,’ said Isabelle.

Jeannette said she would go even though it was. She was used to walking and it was only for very long distances that she would be allowed to take the little mare.

Hauviette begged permission to join them, so they all made their way to the chapel.

‘Once,’ said Isabelle, ‘the lord and lady of Bourlémont used to lead the processions.’

‘Why don’t they now?’ asked Hauviette.

‘Because they are dead, silly,’ said Isabelle.

‘How was Hauviette to know?’ asked Jeannette.

Hauviette took her hand and pressed it. Jeannette was kind, though she could be sharp with those who displeased her, but she was always gentle to Hauviette, because she was younger than the others.

She turned to Hauviette now and said: ‘Madame d’Ogivillier is now the owner of the Lord of Bourlémont’s lands. There were no children to have them so they have gone to Madame d’Ogivillier who was his niece.’

‘She lives in Nancy,’ said Isabelle, to show her knowledge equalled that of Jeannette.

‘And she married the chamberlain of the Duke of Lorraine,’ added Mengette.

They were all silent with awe.

Isabelle then pointed out to them the small castle in the distance. It was on a little islet in the middle of the river.

‘That’s the Château de l’Isle,’ she said.

‘We know that,’ Jeannette reminded her.

‘It belongs to Madame d’Ogivillier now,’ added Mengette.

‘How wonderful to have a castle of your own,’ sighed Hauviette and they all laughed.

At length they came to the chapel.

‘What shall we do?’ asked Hauviette. ‘Shall we pick flowers and lay them at her feet?’

‘No,’ said Jeannette. ‘We’ll just pray to her.’

The children went on their knees and prayed as they did in the church of Saint Rémy.

Isabelle rose after a few moments and Mengette did the same.

‘I’ve prayed,’ said Isabelle. ‘Come on, let’s go into the field. There is a little time before we leave.’

Jeannette said: ‘You go. I wish to stay awhile.’

Hauviette hesitated and stayed with Jeannette, kneeling beside her, thinking how the hard floor hurt her knees. She was about to tell Jeannette when she noticed that her friend with her hands together as in prayer was staring up at the Virgin, and her face had become more beautiful.

Hauviette was overawed and words died on her lips. She waited.

And for some time Jeannette remained as though enrapt.

Then she arose and looked at Hauviette as though she were surprised to see her there and was wondering who she was.

She took Hauviette’s hand. She said: ‘It was as though the Virgin spoke to me.’

Then they ran out of the church and joined the others in the field. They gathered wild flowers and chased each other, but Hauviette noticed that Jeannette still looked enraptured as she had when she said the Virgin had spoken to her.

It was considered right that godparents should see their godchildren from time to time and therefore when Madame de Vittel declared that it was time for Jeannette to visit her in Neufchâteau Jacques and Zabillet agreed that the girl should go.

They could spare her for a week and she could make herself useful in the Vittel household. It was good for her to be with such learned people.

Jeannette made the journey of some seven miles on the little mare and it was a great pleasure to her to ride through the countryside. The woods were beautiful with oaks, ilex and chestnuts. In those woods bears lurked but they did not come out by day. At night they were very bold and if they were hungry they would venture into the village. People never went about singly after dark because the bears could be vicious and any night wanderers had to be prepared for them.

During daylight it was safe. Daylight was like peace, thought Jeannette, night, like war. Bears were like Godons, wicked and cruel, trying to snatch what did not belong to them.

Jacquemin was accompanying her and she rode behind him on the little mare. He would stay one night in Neufchâteau and go back to Domrémy the next day. He could not be spared longer. It would have been so much more convenient for Jeannette to have gone alone for it was hard to have to spare two little workers together. However Jacquemin would soon be back and Jeannette’s visit would not be so long and there was no doubt that godparents should see often those whom they had sponsored. Perhaps Jeannette and Thiesselin de Vittel would bring the child back.

Past the castle of Bourlémont they went, past the little castle on the island – all familiar landmarks – and after a while they came to the rocky valleys below the heights of Les Faucilles and followed the winding river until the walls and towers of Neufchâteau came into sight.

There was a warm welcome for the children at the house of the Vittels. Jeannette de Vittel was delighted with her little goddaughter and Thiesselin embraced her and told her how pleased he was that she was staying with them for a while.

‘I would that Jacquemin might too,’ he said.

Jacquemin looked wistful. ‘We cannot both be spared,’ he said.

That was understandable and there was a wonderful meal with meat such as the children rarely tasted at Domrémy. By the d’Arc standards the Vittels were rich. It was because Thiesselin was a scholar. He could read and write. There were books in his house and Jeannette was allowed to hold them and open them and study the strange shapes on the pages which Thiesselin could so miraculously decipher.

There was a school in Greux and some of the boys in Domrémy went to it. The Arcs could not be spared. Jeannette was not sure whether she would want to go. She had seen the horn book which belonged to one of the boys in the village and it had not held the same charm for her as the statues in the church and the beautiful sound of the bells.

Still, it must be wonderful, she admitted, to be a scholar like Thiesselin.

The next day Jacquemin departed. Jeannette did a little spinning for her godmother, some housework and weeding in the garden. In fact she worked as hard in Neufchâteau as she did in Domrémy. But there was more to eat, different and more delicious food; and when the day was over instead of going to bed as they did in Domrémy, Jeannette lighted two candles – a great extravagance for at home in Domrémy they never had more than one going at a time – and they talked and sometimes Uncle Thiesselin – as she called him – read to them from the wonderful books.

It was from Thiesselin that she first heard the stories of Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret.

All her life she would remember sitting on a stool in that darkening room with the two candles throwing their light on the book which lay open on the table before Thiesselin.

‘Catherine was the daughter of the King and Queen of Alexandria,’ read Thiesselin. ‘The King was King Costus and the Queen Sabinella. Her body was beautiful but her soul was dark for it was blackened by idolatry. She worshipped idols. Many in her father’s kingdom sought her hand in marriage because of her beauty. But she said no to them all. “I want a husband who is handsome and rich and the most noble in the land,” she added. Then one night the Virgin came to her and in her arms she held the most beautiful child Catherine had ever seen. “Will you take him for your husband,” asked the Virgin, “and will you, my son, take this beautiful girl as your bride?” And the Christ child said: “No, for she worships idols. But if she will be baptised I will put my nuptial ring on her finger.”

Jeannette listened wide-eyed to how Catherine was secretly baptised and there in a vision saw Christ who put the nuptial ring on her finger.

‘Now Maxentius, the Emperor of the Romans, sent out a command that all the people must offer sacrifices to the idols they worshipped. Catherine was now a Christian; she could not partake in the offering of such sacrifices, nor could she stand by silently and see this done, and when the Emperor and all his retinue came to Alexandria to witness the sacrifices and were gathered in the great square, Catherine went before him and called him a fool because he sacrificed to false idols. He was proud of the fine buildings he set up, she told him. He loved them to idolatry, but he should love the trees and the earth, the stars and the sky. That was God’s work and superior to that of man.’

Listening avidly, Jeannette was there in the great square at Alexandria. She glowed with the ardour which was Catherine’s. In those moments in the candlelit room she was Catherine.

Thiesselin went on to read of how Catherine was arrested and because her beauty had impressed Maxentius he said that his wise men should parley with her and confound her in argument and when they proved her folly to her she should be given the opportunity to recant.

‘Now,’ read Thiesselin, ‘God spoke through Catherine so that she confounded those so-called wise men, and so impressed were they that they declared Catherine to be the one who spoke the truth.’

It was vivid; it was real.

Thiesselin paused and said: ‘That is enough for this night. Tomorrow I will read more of the story of Catherine.’

Jeannette lay on her truckle bed as though in a trance. It had been a wonderful experience. She could scarcely get through the day and when that hour came when the candles were lighted and Thiesselin sat at the table and continued with the story of Catherine she was trembling with excitement.

She listened to how the infuriated Emperor caused the wise men to be burned to death, but although the fires raged round them they emerged unscathed.

‘It was a miracle,’ breathed Jeannette.

‘It was God proclaiming the Truth,’ said her godmother.

‘And what did the Emperor do then?’ Jeannette wanted to know.

It seemed that he had been struck by Catherine’s beauty and offered her a place in his palace, second only to that of his Empress. There should be a statue to her set up in the town and she should be worshipped as a goddess. But first she must make a sacrifice to the idols the Emperor worshipped. Catherine’s response was that she was the bride of Christ. Then the Emperor ordered that she be cast into a dungeon after being scourged by rods and there she should be left to starve. He then departed on his conquests. But an angel came to the Empress and she believed him when he told her that Catherine was a saint.

The Emperor returned and when he heard that Catherine was not dead but seemed unscathed by her ordeal he ordered that wheels with sharp spikes be made, the intention being that Catherine’s body should be broken on these, but just as they were about to be set in motion they broke asunder and the pieces were scattered, killing several who had come to gloat on the sufferings of Catherine. The Empress, seeing what had happened, came to the Emperor to protest and to say that she had had a vision and as a result had become a Christian. In his rage the Emperor ordered her head to be cut off.

The Emperor then offered Catherine a choice. She could be his Empress or her head should be cut off.

‘So her head was cut off and it was not blood that flowed from her body but milk. And from Heaven there was heard sounds of celestial music when Catherine ascended to join her bridegroom.’

Thiesselin shut the book and there was deep silence in the room.

Jeannette’s godmother blew out one of the candles. ‘Jeannette, are you asleep?’ she asked.

Jeannette opened wide eyes to stare at her. ‘Asleep! Dear godmother, I was there … I knew what was in her mind. And the milk which flowed from her body was purity. It is the pure who see God.’

The Vittels looked at her in amazement. She seemed transformed.

‘Go to your bed,’ said Jeannette de Vittel kindly.

Jeannette rose. ‘Shall there be more reading tomorrow?’ she asked.

Thiesselin laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘My dear child,’ he said, ‘I will read more stories of the saints. Saint Catherine was not the only one to die for God and the faith.’

And that visit to her godmother was an important landmark in the life of little Jeannette. She waited through the days patiently doing the tasks set her and while she was at her spinning wheel she dreamed of what the saints had done for God and she thought that they were the truly great ones. Not great soldiers like the mighty Dukes of Burgundy and Orléans, not like the King himself … But the holy saints who cared not what happened to them and lived only to die in the service of God.

She would always adore Saint Catherine, and when she heard the story of the blessed Margaret these two became as friends to her.

Eagerly she listened to how Margaret, daughter of Theodosius a priest of the Gentiles, was baptised in secret and how Olibrius the Governor of the city saw her and admired her beauty. He ordered that she be brought into his house and when she refused to become his concubine he had her hung from a wooden horse and beaten with iron rods while her flesh was torn with iron pincers. Her blood came from her body like the freshest water. She suffered other tortures at the hands of Olibrius but she endured them all and refused to give in. Finally she was beheaded and those watching said that as she died a pure white dove flew up to Heaven.

Jeannette thought a great deal about the saints and her godmother took her to the church and showed her the images of St Catherine and St Margaret, and she longed to be like them.

As she lay on her pallet at night she thought of them; she dreamed of them and it was as though they spoke to her in her dreams.

There was one significant factor about their lives, and that was their insistence on their virginity. Jeannette knew that many girls and boys were interested in each other; she had seen Mengette Joyart flirting with a young soldier who came from one of the nearby villages. She was constantly bringing the name of Collot Turlant into the conversation.

Jeannette shuddered. She wanted none of that. She wanted to live as Catherine and Margaret had. She vowed as she lay in her pallet that she would remain a virgin for then she might be chosen as Margaret and Catherine were.

There were more stories of the saints. The days and evenings passed too quickly, and in due course Jacquemin arrived to take her back to Domrémy.

Regretfully she rode slowly back. One day, she promised herself, I shall be among them.

The conviction had come to her. It was the first step in the direction she would go.

There was great excitement in Domrémy. Horsemen galloped to and fro on the roads but sometimes stopped to rest at the village.

Jeannette was ten years old, able to understand something of the terrible torment through which her country was passing.

She knew that the most wicked of all the Godons, the King of England, had made terms with the poor mad King of France and his wife the Bavarian Isabeau whom many people said was at the root of their troubles. Consequently the King’s daughter Katherine had become the wife of the wicked King, and that King was calling himself the King of France.

There was consternation everywhere. The skirmishes between the Armagnacs and the Burgundians were as nothing compared with this. This was disaster. This would change the entire face of the countryside.

‘How could the King do this?’ demanded Jeannette of her brothers. ‘How could the King take the Dauphin’s inheritance and give it to this Godon?’

‘Because he was forced to do it, of course,’ said knowledgeable Jacquemin. ‘You cannot think he would have done so otherwise.’

‘But why … why …?’

‘Because the Godons have more men and money … because we have a Queen who is a Jezebel and a King who is mad … and Frenchmen who fight against each other.’

Her brother Jean looked ashamed. Domrémy was for Armagnac and Greux for Burgundy and Jean had had many a scuffle with the boys of Greux on account of that loyalty. He did not know what it was about – except that Armagnacs were for Orléans and Greux for Burgundy and when they confronted each other they fought.

‘All Frenchmen should stand together,’ said Jeannette. ‘They would then have a better chance of driving the Godons away.’

‘What does a girl know about it?’ asked little Pierrelot.

‘I know that the Godons will be driven away,’ said Jeannette, ‘and that France will belong to the French once more.’

Jean grimaced at Jacquemin. Jeannette was in one of her moods again, he implied.

The troubles did not decrease because of the treaty the King of France had made with the King of England. There were still French towns who would not submit to the conqueror and fighting went on which made the Godons angry. They had won; they had beaten the French to their knees; they wanted an end to the war and when the mad King died their King Henry was to be crowned the King of France. They showed small mercy on the rebels.

The Duke of Burgundy was a traitor – even the Burgundians of Greux were finding it hard to make excuses for him – and because he hated the Armagnacs whom the King favoured he had become the ally of the Godons.

It was all very disturbing. Everyone knew that the Godons were the enemy but otherwise they could not be sure who was fighting whom.

There were frightening stories of what happened when the soldiers passed through villages. They took all the food; sometimes they set fire to the houses; they took the women and raped them, regarding them as the spoils of war no less than the food they could lay their hands on.

The people of Domrémy gathered about the house of Jacques d’Arc. He was a man not only of deep piety but of farsightedness. Just before the treaty which had given France to the Godons he had conceived an idea which some of them had thought a little foolhardy at the time and which they now saw was a stroke of brilliance.

When the Lord of Bourlémont had died without an heir he had left the small castle which stood on an island in the River Meuse to his niece Jeanne de Joinville. Mademoiselle de Joinville had married Henri d’Ogivillier who held a post in the King’s service and she had gone to live in Nancy, so the castle was uninhabited and she had decided to let it on lease, for an annual rent, to the highest bidder.

It would never have occurred to the people of Domrémy that they could rent the castle until Jacques pointed this out to them. The castle was an ideal place for defence, being built on the end of the island and bounded on three sides by the river. The fields of the island were included in the deal and these could be put to very profitable use. Cattle could be kept there; in fact a colony of people living there could be entirely self-supporting.

Jacques had talked to the villagers very earnestly. They must between them acquire the castle if at all possible. There were sporadic outbreaks of war, and they would continue for a long time since it was hardly likely that the French would submit to the intolerable English yoke. They knew what happened when a rough soldiery of either side passed through villages. People lost their possessions; they were left with nothing and no prospect before them but to roam the countryside as beggars. And the women, what of the women?

‘Will you not do everything within your power to protect your wives and daughters?’ he demanded.

It was this which made them more determined and when the women added their voices to those of the men it was decided that they must do everything they could to secure the use of the castle as a means of defence for the people of Domrémy.

Jacques and a few of his neighbours did the bidding and rather to the surprise of everyone secured the use of the Château de l’Ile for nine years. The fact was that few had wanted it, for not many were as far-sighted as Jacques d’Arc. They must pay fourteen livres a year plus six bushels of wheat and if this payment was kept up the whole of the island was theirs except of course the Chapel of Our Lady which had stood there for centuries and which was open to any.

The renting of the castle had been a success. The land was fertile and they made the most of it. Jacquemin, who by this time had married a girl in the village, went over there to live and Jeannette often rowed over to look after the cattle or to weed and hoe the fields.

But it had not been acquired, Jacques pointed out, merely to provide extra grazing land and a home for some of those who married and being members of large families found their houses overcrowded. No, the object of renting the castle had been for defence. Jacques had set about turning the castle into a fortress; in front of the castle – the only part which was not bounded by the river – he had moats dug and these were kept filled by the river; four other young men with their small families joined Jacquemin and it was the duty of these five families to keep the island ready in case it should be needed. The villagers crossed frequently and Jeannette loved the peace of the place and sought opportunities to go there to work in the fields.

There came a day when a traveller on the road stopped in Domrémy for the night and seated round the fire in the house of Jacques d’Arc he told the family and as many of the villagers who could crowd into the house that the King was dead and that some months before the wicked Godon King had died also.

‘Then,’ said Zabillet, ‘who is now the King of France?’

Jeannette said fiercely: ‘It is the Dauphin. He should be crowned King.’

There was silence and all looked at Jeannette because it was not fitting for young people to talk as their elders might, and in the company of strangers it was behaving with a forwardness which was frowned on in all well conducted households.

Jacques was about to deliver a reproof when Zabillet laid a hand on his arm. Zabillet loved this daughter dearly; she had had a strong feeling from the day of her birth that she was different from the others.

‘Jeannette is deeply moved,’ she now whispered to her husband. ‘Let her speak as she wishes.’

And for some reason he could not explain, the reproof died on Jacques’ lips.

Then Jeannette went on: ‘He will be crowned. He shall be crowned.’

The traveller said: ‘Nay, little maid, ’twill not be our Dauphin who is crowned. It is a little baby who lives in England. He is now the King of England and calls himself the King of France.’

‘Wicked men call him so,’ said Zabillet. ‘He is too young to be blamed for that.’

Jeannette’s outburst had been passed over and the traveller went on to tell them that the little boy, the son of their own Princess, would be brought to France to be crowned when he was a little older.

‘By that time,’ said Jacques, ‘perhaps God will have come to our aid.’

‘Yes,’ said Jeannette, ‘He will come. I know it in my heart.’

‘Bring some wine for our guest, Jeannette,’ said her mother. ‘He will be thirsty.’

As Jeannette went away to do her mother’s bidding there was certain exultation in her heart.

Times were growing worse. There were only brief periods of relief. A traveller coming one day told them that the Duke of Bedford, who had become Regent on the death of King Henry and whose ally the Duke of Burgundy had been, was now not on such good terms with Burgundy. It seemed that Bedford had a brother called the Duke of Gloucester who had deeply offended Burgundy.

‘Let us pray that this will bring the Duke’s loyalty back where it belongs,’ said Jacques. ‘But for this warring within our country we should not now be in this bitter position. If this quarrel brings Frenchmen together then it is God’s work.’

But God’s work, if it were, brought little relief. The next news was that the Duke of Bedford had married the sister of the Duke of Burgundy and this had strengthened the weakening alliance between them.

‘How can a noble French lady marry a Godon?’ asked Pierrelot. ‘They are not as we are. They have tails like monkeys.’

‘That is nonsense,’ Jeannette told him. ‘They have no tails. They are men and women as the French are. Their wickedness is in their souls which they have sold to the devil.’

‘And have all the French sold their souls to God?’ Pierrelot wanted to know.

‘Let us pray they will do so,’ said Jeannette.

Jeannette was growing more pious every day. They all noticed it. ‘It will pass,’ said Zabillet gravely. ‘But only in a measure I trust. My Jeannette is a good girl. Sometimes I think she is different from the rest of us.’

The struggle between the Armagnacs and the Burgundians was as strong as ever. The Armagnacs had never forgiven the Burgundians for murdering Louis of Orléans and now the Burgundians were not going to forgive the Armagnacs for retaliating by murdering John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy. Duke Philip was determined to avenge his father. In the meantime so did he hate the Armagnacs that he was supporting the English against the very crown of France.

There was even conflict between the villages. Domrémy was staunchly for Armagnac and that meant the crown; but the village of Maxey on the other side of the river was staunchly Burgundian. When the boys of these villages met it would not be long before they were fighting each other. Jeannette often saw her brother come home bruised and bleeding and when she asked how he had come to be so would be told: ‘Oh, it was fighting against Burgundy.’

There followed a period of increased anxiety. The war was coming nearer to Domrémy. Sometimes they saw the smoke of burning villages in the distance and they knew that the soldiers were near. Whether it was English against French or Armagnac against Burgundy they did not know. Did it matter? Jeannette asked angrily. It was a stupid, senseless war.

Every night there were watchmen on the tower of the church and sometimes when a warning was given they would round up the flocks and herds and go across to the island fortress.

So far Domrémy had escaped.

But there was one terrible night when the battle came very near. From the castle Jeannette watched the flames rising to the sky and she knew that it was the village of Maxey which was being pillaged. Her first thoughts were for Mengette and her husband Collot Turlant whom she had married two years before. They should have joined them in the castle and yet, thought Jeannette, if any of these soldiers were of a mind to take the castle what would prevent them?

In the morning they went back to Domrémy. Everything was as they had left it, and although the relief of the return was almost unbearably great, everyone knew that they should not rejoice too gladly because from the safety of one day they could be plunged into the disaster of the next.

That turned out to be a sad day after all. Mengette came to Jeannette as she sat at her spinning wheel and one look into her face told Jeannette what she had feared.

She rose and took her friend in her arms.

‘What is it, Mengette?’ she said.

‘Collot,’ whispered the young wife. ‘I saw it … the cannon struck him … and he fell. There was blood on the ground, Jeannette … his blood.’

‘Oh Mengette, my poor Mengette!’

‘It was so short a time that we had together. It is only two years, Jeannette, and then … these stupid wars. Why do the men make wars? Do I want wars? Do you? Did Collot? If they want wars, let them fight and die … not us … not us. What does it matter to me … Armagnac or Burgundy … France or England … ?’

‘Hush,’ said Jeannette. ‘You are overwrought. I will get you some wine.’

Mengette shook her head.

‘I hate them all. I hate them,’ she said. ‘They have taken Collot. What harm did he do? It was La Hire … the Gascon … It was his men. He comes from the Dauphin to kill Frenchmen … good Frenchmen, like Collot.’

Jeannette had heard of the ferocious soldier of Gascony, Etienne Vignolle, who was known as La Hire; his men would have attacked Maxey ostensibly because that village was Burgundian in its sympathies, but these men revelled in war, not for a cause but to satisfy their lust for blood. They killed people like Collot Turlant and turned Mengette into a widow.

What could she say to comfort her friend?

She stroked her hair. ‘My dear little Mengette,’ she whispered, ‘you must try not to grieve. One day everything will be good again in France. I heard a prophecy today. Do you know what it was? It was Merlin long, long ago who said that a wise virgin would arise from the people of France and repair the damage which had been wrought by a wicked woman.’

Mengette was not listening; she sat staring blankly before her, thinking of all she had lost.

Jeannette went on: ‘The wicked woman is the Queen of France, Isabeau of Bavaria. She has cheated our King and our country; she has been false to both and she has given our crown and our Princess to the English. She is the wicked woman of whom Merlin spoke, Mengette. But the wise virgin will come.’

It was a few days later when a party of soldiers rode into Domrémy. The villagers hurried into their houses and prepared for the worst. The soldiers dismounted and selecting the house of Jacques d’Arc because it was the largest in the village and in a prominent position close to the church, rapped on the door.

Jacques opened the door and faced them.

‘What would you have with me, sirs?’ he asked.

‘A word. Just a word,’ was the reply.

They came in. Jeannette was at her spinning-wheel so she heard everything.

‘We are in the service of the great Robert of Saarbrück,’ they announced.

Jacques became very uneasy. This man was well known throughout the villages of France. He was one of those who made a profession of war and sought to fill his own pockets through it.

‘As you know, my lord of Saarbrück has declared for the Armagnac cause against the traitor Burgundy and this village I believe stands staunch for Armagnac.’

Jacques said: ‘We are for the King of France, he who is now called Dauphin and is in truth our King.’

‘So thought our master and he has sent us to offer you protection from the Burgundians and the Godons. As you know many of the villages hereabouts lie in ruins. We do not wish this to happen to Domrémy. We are going to protect you.’

‘I thank you,’ said Jacques. ‘Methinks we may well be in need of such protection.’

The soldier went on: ‘Such protection, which you so badly need, must be paid for. My master will need two hundred and twenty gold crowns to be delivered to him before St Martin’s day this winter.’

‘Two hundred and twenty gold crowns! But that is impossible. I have nothing like that.’

‘My good man, it shall not come from you alone. There are many in this village. Let them all contribute. It is nothing so much when divided. Say two gros from each household, eh? That is what my master would have us say to you. If you value the safety of Domrémy, my good man, think about it. What is two gros when compared with the loss of your homes, your property … ?’

Jeannette sat looking at her father as she listened to the sound of the soldiers galloping away. His face was ashen; there was anger and despair in his eyes.

After that there were many meetings in the house and on the green. Could they find the money? They must, said Jacques. He had sensed a threat from Robert of Saarbrück’s men. It seemed they had enemies on every side.

War, thought Jeannette, accursed war; and she went into the church to kneel before the statue of the Virgin and pray.

Life was not all gloom. Catherine was very happy at this time. She was married to Colin, one of the field workers from Greux; they had been in love for a long time and Colin used to follow them when they went to dance at L’Arbre des Dames; he would tease them when they went into the chapel to pray and tell Catherine that she must not be as pious as her sister.

Catherine and he were always going off together and as they were now of an age to marry nothing was put in their way. Catherine went to live at Greux and as that was no distance from Domrémy the sisters saw a great deal of each other and were as happy together as they had always been.

Catherine was always urging Jeannette to think of marriage. She was personable enough. One or two of the boys in the village had cast their eyes on her. Whenever Catherine talked of marriage Jeannette became very serious and declared that she did not think she would ever marry.

Catherine laughed with the wise look of a knowledgeable married woman; and although Jeannette genuinely had no wish to marry herself she was delighted to see her sister’s happiness.

It was a great hardship to find the money for Robert of Saarbrück but for a few months there was comparative peace. Hope was springing up because there were rumours of a rallying of the French armies and that the Dauphin was recruiting mercenaries from Italy and Spain. There were fierce Scots too, for the Scots had always hated the English, and were never averse to giving a hand against them.

This was to be the battle to end the tragic state of affairs. France would rise again, and a more hopeful spirit prevailed in Domrémy than had been known for a long time. Even the church bells rang out more gaily, it seemed to Jeannette.

They waited for news. The English were not – as strong as they had been, they reminded themselves. The Duke of Bedford was no Henry the Fifth. He wanted to go home. His brother was causing trouble. Burgundy was not and never could be – a true friend.

There came the day when the road was busy with messengers riding to and fro. There were soldiers as well. Some stopped at Domrémy. Yes, there had been a battle, a bloody battle, that of Verneuil.

Victory for the French? Indeed not. The English had done it again. When would the French find a way of defeating those showers of arrows, those spikes turned towards the enemy which broke the legs of the French horses as they advanced?

So … disaster at Verneuil and little hope of driving the Godons back across the sea. The sacking started again. There were sudden descents on the villages. No one was safe.

One night the tocsins rang out. Soldiers were coming in the direction of Domrémy. They were almost upon them and there was no time to save the cattle as well as the villagers.

They fled to the castle. They heard the sounds of shouting all through the night. Anxiously they watched for the flames.

In the morning they returned fearfully to the village. Their houses were untouched but all the cattle had been stolen.

Poverty stared them in the face. How could they live without cattle? Their flocks and herds were their livelihood.

Jacques declared that he would send a messenger at once to Jeanne d’Ogivillier, the owner of the Castle on the Island; she had influence in high places; she was a good and compassionate woman and she would know what the loss of their cattle would mean to the villagers. Moreover she was related to the Comte de Vaudémont. Could she appeal to him? The villagers had done no wrong, but they had had their means of livelihood snatched away from them in the night.

Perhaps none was more surprised than Jacques when the cattle, on the command of the Comte, were returned to the village. What joy there was! What bell ringing! The village congregated on the green to celebrate their good fortune and Jeannette went into the church to pray to the Virgin.

‘Help them, Holy Virgin,’ she prayed. ‘Help me to do what I can.’

Chapter X VOICES

IT was soon after that when she heard the first of the voices. She had rowed over to the island to tend the sheep. It was a warm day and everything around seemed peaceful. She was thinking about the past year and all the horrors they had gone through, the loss of the cattle, the difficulty in finding the tribute to pay Robert of Saarbrück, the death of Mengette’s husband, and the constant fear in the night and the rising up from her pallet when the church bells rang out to warn them. Church bells should be beautiful, peaceful as they were when rung for church services. She loved the bells. She had always thought that one of the most wonderful moments of the day was when she was in the fields or tending the crops in her father’s patch and she heard the bells of the angelus ringing out. Then she would kneel wherever she was and give thanks to God.

Alas, life was full of anxieties and would be until peace came back to the land. Even then life had its troubles, harvests failed, people died. She thought then of Catherine. She had not seemed well lately. Jeannette had noticed that she was becoming increasingly thin and she had a persistent cough. She herself would go to Greux more often. She would insist on helping with her work, for Catherine did seem to be easily tired.

She looked up at the sky. A dark cloud had sprung up suddenly. She held out her hand. It was raining quite hard now. On the island apart from the main chapel there was the ruin of an old one which could not have been used for fifty years. The walls had been battered by weather but what was left would offer a good shelter from a shower of rain.

The rain was now teeming down and she stepped under the protruding roof. It was clear that this had been an altar to the Virgin, and as always, when close to holy places, Jeannette experienced a lifting of her spirits. She knelt down to pray as she often did, and the burden of her prayer was, as usual, that Heaven might see fit to save her tortured country from the enemy.

And as she prayed a strange drowsiness came upon her. She could not understand quite what had happened when she thought of it afterwards. Whether she fell asleep she was not sure. It was a conviction rather than anything she saw, but it was clear and different from anything that had ever happened to her before. It was like a vision in which she heard the voice of God telling her that she had been chosen to go to the aid of the Dauphin.

She awoke … if sleeping she had been. The rain had stopped and the sun had come out. It was shining on the wet grass and bushes, and she could smell the freshness in the air.

What a strange dream! Yet not a dream. Had she heard a voice? She was not sure. It was just a wild dream and yet she was filled with an exultation, as though she had been in communication with God.

She herded the flocks together and told herself she had fallen asleep and dreamed. The terrible state of the country was constantly in her mind. Wasn’t it in everyone’s mind? No one could escape from it. Perhaps that was why when she dozed for a few moments she should have such a dream. But no. It had been a preposterous idea. How could she, a simple peasant girl, go to the aid of the Dauphin!

It was a few days later – a hot summer’s day. She was working on her father’s patch when suddenly from the direction of the church she heard the voice again.

It said: ‘Jeannette, I have been sent by God to help you live a good and holy life. Be good and God will help you.’

She stood up. A sudden fear came to her. She was in the presence of the supernatural.

‘Have no fear,’ went on the voice. ‘Be good. If you are, you will have the protection of God.’

Jeannette’s fear passed away and she fell to her knees. She believed it was Christ claiming her as His bride as He had St Catherine.

‘I will be good,’ she murmured. ‘I will be the bride of Christ. I belong to Christ Jesus for as long as He will keep me in His almighty power.’

It was a strange experience. She rose from her knees. If any had seen her they would not have been very surprised. They knew how obsessed she had been for some time by her piety. Mengette and even Catherine had said that it was unnatural. Colin, Catherine’s husband, openly laughed at her.

But there was some great meaning in life and she felt that she was on the verge of a revelation.

So she told no one of what she had heard and as a day or so passed she even began to wonder herself whether she had heard it.

She was not long left in doubt for a few days later she had another experience. She was in the fields once more when she heard the voice again. It was admonishing her to be good. And on this occasion she saw strange images … figures bathed in light. In the midst of these was a majestic figure with wings whom she knew at once because she had seen many statues of him. He was the Archangel Michael.

‘Jeannette,’ he told her. ‘You are the chosen one. Two saints of whom you have heard will be sent to guide you. Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret will come to you. They are appointed to guide and counsel you. Do as they say that that which God has ordained may come to pass.’

She was no longer in doubt. This was the reason for her excessive love of the church and the saints; it was the answer to those who wondered why she was apart, different from them, why she preferred to kneel and pray to the saints rather than dance in the fields and chat with the boys. She was the chosen one.

She was exalted.

‘What has come over you, Jeannette?’ asked her mother. You dream the hours away.’

She wanted to tell them; but she dared not. They would not believe her and just at first she could not endure their disbelief.

She waited every day for the voices to come, for the visions to appear. They always came and as the Archangel Michael had told her she saw the Saints Catherine and Margaret as well. They were beautiful beyond human understanding, bathed in celestial light and smelling of the sweetest perfume more intoxicating than that of roses. They talked to her gently, always soothing her fears. She fell on her knees before them and swore that she would preserve her virginity even as they had. She was one of them. She was the bride of Christ and she would remain pure in His service.

‘Have no fear, Jeannette,’ they told her. ‘Trust in Heaven.’

She could scarcely eat or sleep so great was her excitement. Her mother watched her anxiously.

‘I am anxious about Jeannette,’ she told Jacques. ‘The girl is too pious. It is not natural. She should be with the young folks. She will not now go to dance under the tree.’

‘She will soon be of an age to marry,’ said Jacques. ‘She will calm down then.’

Vaguely Jeannette heard them talking about the war. There was a strong commander at Vaucouleurs called Robert de Baudricourt. He was staunchly for the Dauphin and was inspiring new hope in the neighbourhood.

Jacques shook his head. ‘What can he do?’ he asked. ‘There is so much ground to be recovered. We have lost so much.’

Jeannette said: ‘It will not always be so. A time will come …’

They looked at her oddly. Her eyes were shining. She spoke like a prophet.

‘What do you know of such matters, girl?’ said Jacques sharply. ‘Look to your spinning.’

And she was silent – seeing that it would be impossible to tell them.

She walked over to Greux to see Catherine. Her sister was lying on her pallet looking very pale.

‘Catherine, what ails you?’ she asked. ‘Do you feel pain?’

Catherine shook her head. ‘It is my cough mostly, Jeannette, it weakens me. Do not tell Colin. It worries him. If I rest like this I can be up and about when he comes in from the fields.’

Jeannette cleaned the house and cooked a little and spun – doing Catherine’s share as well as her own.

‘Thank you, sister,’ said Catherine.

‘I would I could do more for you, Catherine … a strange thing has happened to me. I have heard voices.’

‘Voices?’ she said. ‘Whose voices?’

‘Voices of angels and saints … They speak to me, Catherine.’

Catherine looked at her warily, a little frightened. Jeannette realised that their mother must have told her that Jeannette had been acting strangely lately.

Catherine would not understand and she did not want to frighten her. Poor Catherine had anxieties enough of her own – not that this was an anxiety, but Catherine might think it so.

‘Have you been dreaming again?’ asked Catherine. ‘I used to when I was younger. I don’t now. I’m glad. Dreams can be frightening when you are afraid the soldiers might come in the night … and we seem always to have been afraid of that.’

No, she could not speak to Catherine.

Colin came in from the fields. He smiled to see her. He was glad she had come to give Catherine a helping hand.

‘What,’ he cried, ‘have you taken time off from church to come and see us!’

He teased of course. No, she could tell no one in her sister’s household.

Why should she want to tell? She did not know. Perhaps it was because she was going to be given some task and she would need help. I am so ignorant of life, she thought, just a simple peasant girl. Could they really have chosen me? Have I dreamed it?

There was one to whom she could whisper something. That was little Hauviette. Hauviette had always listened, always wanted to be with her since those days when a very small Hauviette had followed them about and tried to share in their games.

When Hauviette came to the cottage to spin with her, she chatted merrily all the time and did not notice Jeannette’s silence. When it grew dark the young girl asked if she might stay the night as she used to. She had told her parents she would and even though she had not far to go to her home it was advisable for her not to be out after dark in case some marauding bear showed his face.

The two girls lay on Jeannette’s narrow pallet and Jeannette tried to explain how angels and saints had come to her and told her she was chosen for a great task.

Hauviette listened rather drowsily, and after a while she began to murmur something unintelligible. Jeannette realised then that she was half asleep and that she had thought Jeannette was telling her a story about a saint who had the same name as herself. Hauviette did not really believe that Jeannette, whom she had known all her life, could really be like Saint Margaret or Saint Catherine.

She would tell no one. No one would believe her in any case.

A few days later a visitor came to Domrémy. This was a member of the family for whom Jeannette had always had a special friendship. Durand Laxart was some sixteen years older than she was and had married her cousin Jeanne le Vauseul. Jeanne was the daughter of Zabillet’s sister Aveline, and Durand had known Jeannette since she was a baby. He had been attracted by her because even then she had seemed apart from the other children. He used to carry her on his shoulders and walk through the fields with her, cut whistles for her out of wood and tell her the names of the birds and the trees.

Durand sat round the fire and talked of what was happening in Petit-Burey where he lived with his wife and her parents. They had suffered in the same way as Domrémy and like those of that village were haunted by the shadow of war. Durand was not so very frequent a visitor because Petit-Burey was five miles from Domrémy and although that was not so very far it did mean travelling ten miles if the visit was to be made in one day only.

He told them that Zabillet’s sister Aveline was pregnant and that was a piece of news for them to discuss endlessly. When Zabillet was alone with Durand she told him that she was a little concerned about Jeannette.

‘Her father is worried about her too,’ said Zabillet. ‘She is not like other girls of her age.’

‘She never was,’ said Durand.

‘She spends so much time in the church in prayer. I believe she is there when she should be tending the flocks or tilling the ground. She neglects her work … It is not that she is lazy … and there is a strange look about her.’

Durand thought he would try to find out and when he saw Jeannette going into the church he followed her and there he found her kneeling before the statue of the Virgin. He stood waiting for her and when she came out he noticed the look of exultation on her face.

‘Jeannette,’ he said. ‘What has happened to you?’

She looked at him and said simply: ‘God has spoken to me through the Archangel Michael and His saints.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Durand.

So she told him and he listened intently. He was the first who had taken her seriously.

‘I am chosen,’ she said. ‘I have been told.’

He was thoughtful as they went back. Suddenly, as though on impulse, she said to him: ‘Durand, you would help me, would you not?’

‘If it were possible, with all my heart,’ he assured her.

When they returned to the house it was to hear that there was a message from Colin. Catherine had become very ill and wished to see them all.

They left at once for Greux and there lying on her pallet, so pale and small that she seemed almost to have wasted away, lay Catherine.

There was little they could do but mourn. Poor Colin had lost all his gaiety. He was just a bewildered boy. He stood staring at the figure on the bed as though trying to convince himself that this was the girl with whom he had danced round L’Arbre des Dames and whom he had married in the church of Saint Rémy not so long ago.

Jeannette was stricken. She forgot everything but that she had lost a beloved sister. She even forgot her voices.

She could not stay in the stricken house but wandered out into the patch of garden which was close by and as she did so the voices came to her.

The Archangel Michael appeared to her and the two saints were with him. They were looking at her with compassion and she knew that she must not grieve for earthly losses, for this day Catherine would be with her Father in heaven.

‘Daughter of France,’ said a voice, ‘you must leave your village and make your way into France. Take your standard from the hands of the King of Heaven. Carry it with courage and God will help you.’

She was trembling. The voices were telling her she must act, and she did not know how to.

Then the Archangel Michael spoke to her.

‘You shall lead the Dauphin into Rheims and there he shall be crowned,’ he told her.

She covered her face with her hands for a few moments. Her heart was filled with sudden terror. This was something beyond her imaginings. She could preserve her virginity; she could die for her faith; but how could she, a country girl, go to the Dauphin?

‘You must go to Captain Baudricourt in Vaucouleurs and in time – though not at first – he will give you guides to take you to the Dauphin.’

The brightness had gone; the voices faded away and she was alone.

Had she heard aright? Go to the Dauphin? Go to Captain Baudricourt? She had heard his name and she knew that he was in charge of the garrison at Vaucouleurs. But how could she go to him?

It was a sad day when they buried Catherine. Jeannette walked with her brothers and her parents behind the coffin when they carried it into the church.

Durand Laxart was with them. He could not stop looking at Jeannette.

She looks so frail and ill, he thought. She will be the next.

When Catherine was buried Jeannette went into the fields and listened for the voices. They came again and repeated that she had been chosen by Heaven to stop the senseless war, to drive the English out of France and crown the true King at Rheims. Her first task was to go to Captain de Baudricourt and though he would not listen to her at first, she must persevere and she would succeed in the end.

How? How? Jeannette asked.

She must be good, was the answer, and it would come to pass.

When she returned to the house Durand was with her parents and her mother said to her: ‘Durand thinks you should go and stay with him and Jeanne for a while. He thinks the change would do you good. Your Aunt Aveline will be feeling her condition. She is no longer young and child-bearing can be a strain at her age. It will be good to have an extra pair of hands to help in the house.’

Durand was looking at her intently. ‘What say you, Jeannette?’ he asked.

A great exultation came over her. She thought, Heaven has put this chance in my way.

So when Durand Laxart left Domrémy, Jeannette went with him, riding on the back of his mare, and while they journeyed across the five miles which separated Domrémy from Petit-Burey, Jeannette told him of her gratitude to him for his kindness in taking her away.

She would have to broach the subject of his taking her to Captain de Baudricourt very cautiously. Although he was sympathetic he would not perhaps go as far as that. She realised that to go to this worldly captain and tell him that she had heard voices commanding her to take the Dauphin to Rheims and there have him crowned would most certainly arouse his ridicule.

But she had taken the first faltering steps towards her goal, and she had been warned that it would be difficult. But she felt less frightened now. The steps must be slowly and cautiously taken – and Heaven would help her.

There was work to be done in the home of the le Vauseuls where Durand and his wife Jeanne lived with Aunt Aveline and her husband. Aunt Aveline was delighted to see Jeannette, for not only was the girl a good worker but she had always been a favourite of hers.

Jeannette was prepared to help all she could and she found that there was much less to be done here than at home in Domrémy. There were also opportunities to talk to Durand, and make him aware of the enormity of this thing which had happened to her.

At first he was incredulous, but so eloquent was she and with such natural simplicity did she explain, that gradually she began to convince him and he felt the reflection of her ecstasy. She reminded him of Merlin’s prophecy that the country would be ruined by a woman and delivered by one who would be a young virgin.

Could it possibly be that the one chosen for this mission was a member of their family – a humble peasant girl like Jeannette who had never even learned to read and write?

Jeannette had been right when she had believed that if anyone would help her that one would be Durand.

So Durand was at length persuaded to take her to Vaucouleurs. There had to be a reason, of course, and Jeannette and Durand put their heads together and tried to concoct one. Jeannette must see Captain de Baudricourt, implied Durand, in some connection with the protection money which was paid to Robert of Saarbrück and as it was unseemly for a young girl to go so far alone Durand would take her there …

It was the month of May when Durand and Jeannette set out. Jeannette was exultant. The countryside was at its best. The fields were bright with daisies, buttercups, and little black and white lambs sported with their mothers while young girls like Jeannette herself watched over them.

On a gentle slope the little town of Vaucouleurs spread out before them. At the top of a hill was the castle, and it was to this fortress, the main defence of the town, that Durand and Jeannette made their way. The sentries were alert for there could never be any knowing when the enemy would be sighted but the countryman and the young girl with him aroused little attention. They were able to enter the castle and made their way to the Great Hall where Captain de Baudricourt was at that very time conducting the business of the garrison. Many people were passing through the great hall and not only soldiers; there were several citizens who had business to conduct and soldiers and messengers from the various parts of the country. Jeannette looked about her eagerly and she had no difficulty whatsoever in picking out Robert de Baudricourt. It seemed to her that the Voices were close and that they whispered to her: ‘That is the man you are to see.’

Fearlessly Jeannette approached him.

‘I am sent to you by Messire,’ she said, ‘that you may send to the Dauphin and tell him to hold himself ready, but not to give battle to his enemies at this time.’

She did not know why she said those words except that she was prompted to say them.

Robert de Baudricourt was staring at her. He could not believe he had heard correctly. He was very much a man of the world, a life of soldiering had made him so. He was a little sharper than most of his kind and like most he was for all the profit he could get. He was a rich man. He had married twice and on both occasions had had the good fortune or good sense to choose wealthy women, and he made sure that he profited from his battles even as his marriages; he had a quick wit and a lively humour which had carried him far. Moreover he was a good soldier and although he could only think that the chances of driving the English out of the country were poor, he was loyal to the Dauphin.

For a few moments he was speechless. He looked incredulously at the young peasant girl in her shabby red skirt and blouse, and wondered what she was talking about. She sounded mad. But she had a certain radiance about her which made him pause for a moment before shooing her away.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

‘I have been chosen,’ she told him. ‘I am Jeannette d’Arc.’

‘And what is it you say?’

‘That I am a messenger from Messire who instructs that the Dauphin is to remain defensive and not yet go out to face the enemy. Assistance will come to him from Messire, and his anointing will follow.’

Baudricourt cried out: ‘Messire! Messire! Who is this Messire?’

‘It is the King of Heaven,’ answered Jeannette simply.

Baudricourt was even more astounded. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded of Durand.

‘I am her cousin, my lord. I have brought her to Vaucouleurs to see you.’

Baudricourt looked from one to the other and then his eyes rested on Jeannette. ‘You want to go into battle, do you? You want to lead the Dauphin to Rheims?’ He laughed at several of the men who were standing by watching with amazement. ‘There is one useful service she could perform in the army, eh? Yes, yes, I think our men would like her well enough.’

Jeannette’s face had grown pale and Baudricourt could not take his eyes from her. He softened suddenly. She was very young and very ardent, and she had conceived some mad notion. It was not to be surprised when it was considered what life was like for these country folk. They could never sleep soundly in their beds.

He turned to Durand. ‘You waste my time. Take that girl home. Take her back to her father. Tell him to give her a good whipping. That’s what she needs to knock some sense into her.’ Some of the men were sniggering now. Baudricourt shouted: ‘Don’t bring her here again. If you do I’ll find a place for her in the army … one which will be better suited to her talents than leading the Dauphin to Rheims. She’s a pleasant looking creature. So … take care.’

Durand took Jeannette’s hand and drew her away.

‘Get her married off quickly,’ shouted Baudricourt. ‘That’s what she needs.’

As they made their way back to Petit-Burey, Jeannette was not disconsolate. The voices had said that it would not be easy and had told her that Baudricourt would not listen the first time.

Jeannette now knew that there would be a waiting period, for the voices had told her that the time for action would be in the middle of Lent. But Lent had passed and her meeting with Baudricourt had come to nothing.

She was not disturbed. It had all been arranged, she told Durand. She would know when the time had come.

Aveline’s child was born and she must go back to Domrémy. It was clear to her that some time had to elapse before she would be again called upon to act.

Back in Domrémy there was even greater anxiety than before. Soldiers were roaming the countryside, falling on undefended villages. From day to day no one knew if theirs would be the next.

There was great consternation throughout the village because the lease to Le Château de I’Ile had run out. Perhaps this was not after all such a calamity as none knew better than Jacques that a band of trained soldiers bent on looting, rape and murder would in a very short time storm the castle if they had a mind to.

He called together the people of the village and told them that he had a plan and if they agreed with it they had better put it into practice without delay.

He proposed to them that they get the flocks and herds together and leave Domrémy. They would take with them what they could carry and stay for a while in the town of Neufchâteau where they would be comparatively safe at least from the roving bands of soldiers who were more to be feared than the disciplined armies.

Those who agreed with him should follow him; those who did not could stay at home.

There was no man, woman nor child in Domrémy who did not want to go. Thus they set out like the Israelites of old fleeing from tyranny, and in due course arrived in the town of Neufchâteau.

As the party came into the town they were hailed by a big red-haired woman who was driving a small cart filled with flagons of wine.

‘By all the saints,’ she cried. ‘Is it you then, Jacques d’Arc, why and Zabillet with you and Jeannette and Pierrelot! What do you in Neufchâteau? And come with the whole village and all … Don’t tell me. You’re not the first. They’re raiding again, are they? God curse them.’

She had descended from the cart and was embracing every member of the family.

Jacques told her it was true and that they wished to get out of Domrémy until things quietened down a bit.

‘You’ll find lodgings for all here,’ she answered. ‘We feel for you. How do any of us know when we shall need help ourselves? If it’s not the wicked Godons it’s the Armagnacs …’ She laughed and put her hand to her lips. Domrémy was Armagnac and Neufchâteau was part of Burgundy’s inheritance. ‘Oh never mind,’ she went on, ‘what are these things among friends? You and your family will stay at our inn until you find another place to go. Come … You can help, all of you. There’s work and enough in the inn, I can tell you.’

So Jacques and his family left the rest of the people of Domrémy who went on through the town looking for somewhere to stay and they themselves came to lodge with Jacques’ old friend, Jean de Waldaires, and his loquacious wife, who was known throughout Neufchâteau as La Rousse on account of her red hair.

‘How fortunate we are,’ cried Jacques. ‘Here we can stay awhile and we can all work in the inn. We’ll be safe here and if the rioters visit Domrémy they may burn down our houses but at least we shall have saved our flocks and herds.’

It was indeed a satisfactory arrangement particularly as there was a small meadow attached to the inn where the livestock could graze. La Rousse was delighted to have them, particularly Jeannette who was such a good worker and so proficient at the spinning-wheel. She declared to Jean de Waldaires in the intimacy of their bed at night that they were a good bargain all of them – and especially Jeannette.

But it was a time of trial for the girl. Now that she had actually taken some action and confronted Robert de Baudricourt – even though it meant nothing but humiliation to her – she longed to continue. Her fear had left her. She had done what a year ago she would have believed impossible. She had faced the great Governor of Vaucouleurs and, although he had jeered at her, she had learned that she would never care if people scoffed at her; she cared only that she do well what Heaven asked of her.

She ate little; she had no desire for food. She liked to get out alone in the meadow and commune with her voices. They came to her though not as frequently as they had in the past. They had made her understand that she was destined for some mission and when the time was ripe they would tell her what to do.

She lived in a state of exultation and this so overwhelmed her that one day she mentioned to Michel le Buin, one of the labourers who worked on the land at the back of the inn, that a virgin, who was not far away from him at that moment, would lead the Dauphin into Rheims, and there see him crowned.

Michel le Buin stared at her and said: ‘Are you telling me you are that girl?’

She did not answer. He thought she was mad and he whispered to others what she had said. They laughed together. ‘Jeannette d’Arc has a touch of madness,’ said some.

Others whispered: ‘Is she a witch?’

No, they could not believe that of little Jeannette whom they had known for years and was religious and went to church so often. Such a churchgoer could not possibly be involved in witchcraft.

But it might be that the fairies had laid a spell on her, suggested someone; and that seemed to be the general opinion.

Jeannette d’Arc was undoubtedly strange if she fancied herself riding beside the Dauphin in a suit of armour and taking him to Rheims.

‘Jeannette wants to ride with the army,’ they said.

A rumour of this must have come to Jacques’ ears for one night he awoke in a state of great agitation.

Zabillet rose from their pallet and asked what ailed him.

‘It’s a dream I have. By the holy saints, Zabillet, I could swear it was real. I saw her … our daughter … Jeannette … riding away with the soldiers.’

‘It was an evil dream.’

‘It was so real I could believe it. I could see her so clearly. Riding with the soldiers, Zabillet … that girl of ours …’

‘She would never go for that life, Jacques. You know full well. She is a good girl. You know we have said she spends too much time in church and neglects the flocks because of her love of the saints.’

‘Zabillet,’ he said sternly, ‘if I thought my dream would come true I would ask you to tie a stone about her neck and throw her into the river.’

‘I … her mother to do such a thing? You are mad, Jacques.’

‘If you would not do it,’ he said sternly, ‘I would. I would see her dead rather than disgraced and dishonoured.’

‘Go to sleep and dream no more. It is a wild, impossible dream. Our Jeannette is a good religious girl. Nothing would be farther from her mind than to go off with the soldiers to a life of sin.’

Still Jacques could not sleep and lay awake for a long time thinking of the disgrace of such a thing happening to a daughter of his.

‘I wish some good young man would come along to ask us for her hand in marriage,’ said Zabillet.

‘Aye,’ said Jacques. ‘I confess I shall never feel easy until that girl is a wife.’

‘I will take a candle to the church and pray for it,’ Zabillet reassured him.

As though in answer to her prayer a few days later one of the young men of the village came to see Jacques to tell him that Jeannette had betrothed herself to him when they were in Domrémy and he thought it was time that they should be married.

Zabillet kissed this young man solemnly on both cheeks. He was a good worker, a pleasant boy; she knew his people well.

‘We will arrange for the marriage without delay.’

When Jeannette came in from her work on the land, Zabillet went to her and put her arms about her. She looked from her mother to her father and to the young man with some amazement wondering why there was this unusual demonstration and atmosphere of solemnity.

‘We are well pleased, daughter,’ said Jacques. ‘Our consent is given and we see no reason for delay even though we are away from home.’

‘Of what do you speak, my father?’ asked Jeannette, looking bewildered.

‘Of your marriage, daughter. We have heard of your betrothal.’

‘My betrothal!’ she burst out. ‘There has been no betrothal.’

‘Jeannette, you know full well there has been. You promised …’

Jeannette turned fiercely on the young man.

‘You lie!’ she cried.

‘Silence,’ cried Jacques. ‘You use the language of these soldiers of whom you are so fond.’

Zabillet could see that he confused his dream with reality and she was afraid for her daughter.

The young man had turned to Jacques. ‘I assure you, sir, that your daughter has promised me marriage and I shall insist on my rights.’

‘And,’ cried Jacques, ‘I shall insist that you receive them.’

Jeannette ran out of the house. She went to the meadow and stood there with her hands folded together, staring up beseechingly at the sky.

‘Have no fear, Daughter,’ said the voices. ‘They will try to force you, but they will not succeed.’

She felt calmer then and after a while she went back into the house.

There her father was waiting for her. He looked angry. He had always been stern but there had been a rough sort of kindness before. All that was gone now. He was looking at her as though she were … unclean. Her mother was frightened too, she saw.

‘It is time you were married,’ he said firmly. ‘What is wrong with this young man? He is a good worker. And he is determined to marry you in spite of the way you have behaved towards him. You shall marry him.’

‘No, my father, I shall marry no one. I have vowed to remain a virgin for as long as Heaven shall command me to.’

‘The girl’s wits are addled,’ said Jacques.

‘Jeannette,’ put in her mother, ‘it is right that you should marry and this is a good offer. He will look after you. You will have children of your own

Jeannette would have been very frightened, but she could feel the heavenly presence nearby assuring her that all would be well.

Jacques was triumphant. Her suitor, determined on marriage, swore that Jeannette had given her sacred promise to marry him, and after the custom of the day he cited her to appear before the tribunal in the town of Toul whither he had taken his case to the ecclesiastical court. This council decided all matters which concerned Domrémy and the neighbouring villages and the finding of the court would be final. If it decided that Jeannette was indeed betrothed she would have to marry, for betrothal was tantamount to taking a vow and such vows were considered sacred.

If she did not appear at the court it would be presumed that she had given in and accepted her fate, so there was only one thing she could do, and that was go and plead her cause. She had made no promise and she would not be bludgeoned into marriage.

‘Will you go to the court then?’ asked Jacques.

‘I will go,’ she answered.

‘Do you know that it is twenty-five miles from here?’

‘I do know it.’

‘And how will you get there?’

‘I will find my way.’

‘I’ll not come with you … nor shall anyone in this household.’

‘I need no one. I shall go alone.’

So she prepared herself. Zabillet was very worried.

‘We cannot let her go alone,’ she said to Jacques. ‘Think what might happen to her on the road.’

‘She will not go,’ retorted Jacques. ‘Twenty-five miles! A girl alone! Stop fretting. She’ll set out and be back in an hour or so … and then she’ll come to her senses.’

‘She has a strong will.’

‘She would never stand up to the court. Even if she made the journey, she would have to give way. They would be of the same opinion as we are. Marriage is the best thing for her.’

Jacques was wrong. Jeannette made the journey without mishap. She was certain she would because her voices had told her so. She faced the court; she was calm and so serenely vowed that she had made no promises that the court regarded her objections very seriously indeed. She was sent away and told that her case should be considered.

Confidently she returned to Neufchâteau for her voices had told her that all would be well. She had not been back more than a day or so when two messengers arrived. One was to say that the young man who had lyingly declared that she had promised to marry him had been thrown from his mare and had died instantly. The other messenger came from Toul. The court had considered her case and accepted her story. It was not she who had been at fault and she was free to remain unmarried.

Jacques was subdued. Zabillet did not know what to think. And very soon after that Robert de Baudricourt had brought about a temporary truce and it was considered safe to go back to Domrémy.

Chapter XI THE MEETING AT CHINON

IT was a sad homecoming to Domrémy, for there was clear evidence that the soldiers had passed through. The villagers were grateful for Jacques’ far-sightedness in leading the exodus to Neufchâteau. Once again he had been proved right. Even so the soldiers, no doubt enraged at finding no food to be taken, no girls to be raped, had wreaked a certain amount of damage on some of the houses. One or two of them had even been burned down.

‘Let us thank God that no greater harm has been done,’ said Jacques; and the entire village set to work to rebuild where necessary. Jacques’ own house, by some stroke of good fortune, had been left unscathed.

Those were difficult months for Jeannette to live through; she was deeply aware of the suspicious, watchful looks which came her way. That they all thought she was strange there was no doubt; in the village they whispered about her, and Jacques continued to fear that she would go off with the soldiers and become a camp follower. Any profession less likely to suit Jeannette it would be hard to conceive but after his vivid dreams her father could not get the idea out of his mind.

Mengette, now recovering a little from the shock of her husband’s death, remonstrated with her. ‘Remember you are still young,’ she said. ‘You could marry and have children. Believe me, it is the best life.’

Pierrelot cried: ‘What is the matter with you, Jeannette? Why can’t you be like other girls? People are saying you are strange.’

‘Let them,’ she answered. ‘Let them say what they will. I have my destiny to fulfil and it is a matter for me, not for them.’

Only Hauviette felt the same towards her as she ever had. ‘Whatever it is, Jeannette, that has happened to you, it is good,’ she said, ‘and you will do what you have to do and do it well.’

The young girl would sometimes come and sit beside her in the meadow while she watched the sheep, or bring her distaff so that they could sit and spin and only with Hauviette did Jeannette feel a certain peace.

With the coming of autumn there was a great deal of traffic on the main road and news came to Domrémy that the important town of Orléans was under siege. People talked on the green outside the church and they spoke gravely for there had been so many reverses for the French and if Orléans fell into the hands of the English it could be the beginning of the end of French resistance.

Jeannette chafed against her inadequacy. The voices had spoken to her of Orléans. She had been told before she knew there was one that she was to raise the siege of that city and march triumphantly in to the rescue of the citizens.

Now the siege had begun and she was still in Domrémy where her father watched her with stern eyes and she knew that if she attempted to run away she would not be allowed to get very far.

What could she do? She was failing in some way. She felt foolish, helpless, unworthy of the task for which Heaven had chosen her.

It was October. How long could Orléans hold out? And what use was she, here in Domrémy?

She was sick with anxiety and she went to the fields and waited for the voices.

They came. ‘Have no fear, Daughter,’ she was told. ‘Durand Laxart will help you again. His wife Jeanne is to have a child and when it is born he will ask that you go to look after her. Then you will go once more to Captain de Baudricourt. This time you will succeed in reaching the Dauphin.’

She was considerably comforted.

The news from Orléans was bad. The English were surrounding the town and the Duke of Burgundy was on the side of the English. That was shameful.

And here was Jeannette waiting for the call from Durand Laxart.

The English had captured the fort of Les Tourelles and the Earl of Salisbury, who was recognised to be one of the greatest soldiers in Europe, was in charge of operations.

And still there was no summons from Durand.

Then they heard that the Earl of Salisbury had been killed rather mysteriously, through a cannon ball as he looked from Les Tourelles on Orléans, and it seemed that the tower from which it had come had been empty. Someone had seen a young child calmly walking away from the cannon … but that was all and it was impossible for a child to have fired it.

It was the first of the mystic happenings.

Rumours came to Domrémy every day. English cannons had been fired into the city. One ball hit a table where a family was at a meal. It bounced off the table and none was hurt. Another fell in a square where a crowd was gathered and once again no one was hurt.

‘The hand of God is in this,’ said the people.

Jeannette was certain of this. She was in a fever of impatience. Then the summons came from Durand. His wife Jeanne was in labour. Jeannette must come to help them at once. So she left for Petit-Burey.

It was only five miles away and she could walk that easily, so she set out at once and her feelings as she passed through the village were a mingling of sadness and exultation.

She saw Mengette who ran out to embrace her.

‘You’ll soon be back,’ said Mengette.

Jeannette did not answer. She knew that she would never come back.

‘I’ll call Hauviette,’ said Mengette. ‘You will want to say good-bye to her.’

‘No, no,’ cried Jeannette. ‘Not Hauviette…’

That she could not bear. The young girl was very dear to her; if she saw her she might weep; she might even cry out that this was their last farewell.

She must not see Hauviette.

She turned to take one last look at Domrémy before she went on to Petit-Burey.

In the garrison at Vaucouleurs there was great consternation about the possible fate of Orléans.

Robert de Baudricourt was seated at a table drinking wine with one of the commanders in the garrison and naturally the conversation was of Orléans.

‘If the city falls that will be an end to French hopes,’ said the commander Bertrand de Poulengy.

‘Well, a big blow, I admit.’

‘You know, Captain, that Orléans is the key to the Loire. It’s what Paris and Rouen are to the Seine.’

‘The English know that. It is why they are determined to take it.’

‘And we should show an equal determination to hold it.’

Baudricourt looked at his companion and raised his shoulders.

‘Our Dauphin is hardly the man to lead his country to victory.’

The two men fell silent as they went on sipping their wine.

‘Strange things have been happening, Captain.’

‘Oh you mean the death of Salisbury. A blessing for us. That man would have been inside Orléans in a week or two.’

‘He died by that cannon ball. They say it took off half his face. He died in agony two hours later.’

‘Well?’

‘Is it not strange? He died from a cannon that seemed to have been fired from nowhere.’

‘So they tell us.’

‘And there were the English cannon balls that alighted on people and failed to harm them.’

‘H’m,’ murmured Baudricourt.

‘You are sceptical, Captain.’

‘In a way, yes. If you ask me, Do I believe that God or one of His saints fired the cannon that killed Salisbury, the answer is no. Even if you ask me if He put the idea to fire it into the head of a small child, it is still no. But if you ask me whether it is good for people to believe this was so, I will say Yes! Yes! Yes! I tell you this, Poulengy: the people of France are in desperate straits and if they can believe that a helping hand is coming from Heaven it is just possible that they will pull themselves out of the mire into which they have sunk through their own lethargy, their mad King, their scheming Queen and their internal feuds.’

‘Captain, do you remember some months ago a girl came here?’

‘You mean mad Jeannette. Oh, I remember her all right. A pleasant looking creature. Dark hair springing from a high forehead and the most earnest eyes I ever saw in my life. I thought she wanted to be a camp follower at first.’

‘Don’t speak of her in that tone, Captain, I beg of you.’

‘Why? What’s come over you, Poulengy?’

‘I was there in the hall when she came. I heard what she said. I watched her. Do you know, I have often thought of her since.’

‘Well, she’s a tasty little piece, I grant you.’

‘No, no. Do not speak thus. It could bring bad luck. I believed her, Captain. When she said that Messire had sent her and you asked who Messire was she answered that Messire was God. I believed her, Captain. I believe her still.’

‘By all the saints, you amaze me, Poulengy.’

‘There have been these strange happenings in Orléans. There is talk about the girl. They say she is going to crown the Dauphin King and drive the English out of France.’

‘Was that not what she told us?’

‘I believe it to be true.’

Captain de Baudricourt was silent. He poured more wine into his companion’s glass and as he did so they were joined by another of the commanders. This was Jean de Novelempont, who came from Metz and was always known as Jean de Metz. Baudricourt poured him a goblet of wine.

‘Thanks, that’s good,’ said Jean de Metz. ‘You look solemn. Is the news bad?’

‘As bad as it can be without complete disaster,’ said Baudricourt. ‘We were talking about God.’

Jean de Metz looked from one to the other in amazement and Bertrand de Poulengy said: ‘We spoke of Jeannette of Arc. She came here once to see the Captain. He sent her back with orders that she should be returned to her father and soundly beaten for her temerity.’

‘Poulengy believes she was indeed a messenger of God,’ explained Baudricourt.

Jean de Metz looked at the Captain steadily. ‘So do I,’ he said.

Baudricourt leaned back as though to get a better look at them. He was silent for a moment. ‘There was something about the girl,’ he admitted thoughtfully.

Poulengy leaned forward. ‘If she were to come again, Captain, would you listen to her? Would you treat her with respect?’

Baudricourt laughed. ‘Do you know, with so many men in whose wisdom I have some confidence believing in her, perhaps I should. Yes, if she came again, I would see the wench. I would listen to her. I would do what I could to help her.’

There was silence at the table as they went on drinking their wine.

It was January when Jeannette with Durand set out once more for Vaucouleurs. Her cousin’s baby had been safely delivered and because Durand took Jeannette very seriously, so did his wife.

As they set out from Petit-Burey Jeannette and Durand looked an insignificant pair and none would have guessed Jeannette’s great mission. Her smock and thick red skirt were covered by a shepherd’s cloak to shut out the bitter winds and these were the only clothes she possessed, but she was completely unconcerned about her appearance. She knew that this time she would succeed because the voices had told her she would.

Durand had arranged for them to stay for a while at the house of a wheelwright friend. Henri Royer and his wife Catherine immediately fell under Jeannette’s spell. Indeed she had changed from the girl she had been on her first visit to Vaucouleurs. The radiance of her face and the shining purpose in her eyes inspired new confidence in those about her. They were beginning to believe that she had truly been endowed with special powers from Heaven.

The day after their arrival Jeannette with Durand beside her presented herself at the castle.

Baudricourt recognised her at once. ‘So you have come to see me again,’ he said. ‘You did not take my advice and marry.’

‘You must know, sir,’ said Jeannette, ‘that God has told me His will and that is that I must go to the gentle Dauphin who is the true and only King of France, that he may give me fighting men that I may go to Orléans and raise the siege. Then I shall take him to Rheims to be crowned.’

Baudricourt was amazed. Jeannette was so precise in her demands, and they were quite preposterous. A girl go to the Dauphin, take men and lead them against the English outside Orléans!

How could a young girl live with rough soldiers? It was not difficult to guess what would become of her … And if she failed they would laugh at him as a fool for believing in such nonsense. If she succeeded they would say she owed it to witchcraft. He did not think for one moment that the girl was a witch but a woman did not have to be a witch to be accused of being one.

The Court was at Chinon. What would they think of him if he sent a girl to them?

And yet on the other hand … some people believed in miracles. He had been considerably impressed by the views of Poulengy and Jean de Metz. Those two – hardened soldiers both of them – were ready to believe that Jeannette had powers from Heaven!

And what if she had?

He listened to the girl; he talked to her; he tried to trap her, and found that it was impossible. She was simple and direct; she made no mistakes.

He had always found that in such a situation delaying tactics were the wise ones to take.

He would see Jeannette – certainly he would. She should talk to him every day. Meanwhile it might be well that Chinon would hear of her and send for her. What a happy solution that would be. No responsibility to be taken by him.

In the meantime her friendship with Catherine Royer was growing. They would sit spinning together and Catherine was greatly impressed by Jeannette’s skill. She half wished that Jeannette would give up this project of hers and settle in Vaucouleurs. Catherine could foresee many a happy hour exchanging skills.

But Jeannette was getting more and more restive. It had at first seemed wonderful that Baudricourt had seen her and listened to her with respect. Now she was realising that he was playing a game of prevarication.

One day as she went once more to talk to Baudricourt she came face to face with Jean de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy.

‘Good day to you,’ said Bertrand, bowing with respect. ‘So you are back with us.’

‘What are you doing here in Vaucouleurs?’ asked Jean de Metz.

‘I have come to stop the King of France being driven from his throne and to save this country from the English. You may think my place is in my father’s cottage but it is the will of my Lord that I should be here.’

‘What Lord?’ asked Jean de Metz.

‘The Lord God,’ answered Jeannette.

‘I believe you,’ said Bertrand de Poulengy.

‘Thank you,’ said Jeanette and passed on.

There was another fruitless interview with Baudricourt. She went back to the wheelwright’s house in despair.

‘Durand,’ she said, ‘I shall go by myself because I see I shall find little satisfaction from Baudricourt. Will you come with me?’

Durand hesitated. He had come so far. He had left his home and brought her to Vaucouleurs. She would never make the journey to Chinon on her own, he pointed out. She needed an escort. Did she think the Dauphin would ever receive her if she arrived footsore and weary … a peasant girl? The project was doomed to failure. And he had been long from his family.

Then Jeannette had an idea. She remembered the two young men with whom she had spoken. She went to find them. They were together as though waiting for her.

‘Will you take me to the Dauphin?’ she asked.

‘When do you wish to start?’ asked Jean de Metz.

‘Today if possible. If not, tomorrow.’

‘We will take you,’ said Poulengy, ‘but we are under orders to Captain de Baudricourt and must first give him our resignations.’

‘When will you do that?’ asked Jeannette.

‘Now,’ said Jean de Metz. ‘Go back to your lodging and prepare.’

Jeannette obeyed and the two men went at once to Baudricourt. They told him of the conversation which had taken place and of their intentions.

Baudricourt looked at them solemnly. ‘You are rash, gentlemen,’ he said.

‘I swear this girl is a saint,’ retorted Poulengy.

‘I feel sure she is a good girl,’ said Baudricourt. ‘She has the outward guise of a good girl. But these guises could come from the devil. There is none who more than I would wish to see the siege of Orléans raised, the Dauphin crowned and the English driven back where they belong. But how do you know, gentlemen? How can you be sure?’

‘I would stake my life on her honesty,’ said Jean de Metz.

‘You are over ready to stake your life, my good fellow. Make sure. Get the Curé to make a test before you commit yourself. Then take her. There will be no harm done and it may be that the Dauphin will consent to see her.’

In due course Baudricourt persuaded them that at least Jeannette should be put to the test and consequently the Curé visited the Royer household and in the room which Jeannette occupied confronted her in all the vestments of his office, holding the cross before him. He commanded her to come forward if she were indeed virtuous. This Jeannette did and convinced them that she had no traffic with the Devil as she was able to approach the priest and take the cross in her hands and kiss it.

While she was waiting to leave, a summons came from the Duke of Lorraine in Nancy. She was overjoyed. Her fame had travelled before her and now the Duke of Lorraine himself had sent an escort to bring her to him.

She set out at once and was full of hope when she reached the ducal castle in Nancy and was told that the Duke was all impatience to see her. She was taken immediately to his apartments. She had never been in such sumptuously decorated rooms. Indeed she had never imagined there could be such grandeur in the world. The Duke was a very important man and could take her immediately to the Dauphin.

She was led into an apartment hung with rich velvets and there seated on an ornate chair was the shrivelled figure of the Duke. He was wrapped in a cloak of purple velvet and seated on a stool; at his feet was a woman, the immodesty of whose attire shocked Jeannette so utterly that she was for a moment speechless.

‘You are the maid who is known as Jeannette d’Arc?’ said the Duke. His voice was the softest and most melodious Jeannette had ever heard but her spirits were drooping lower at every moment. This man – Duke though he might be – did not have the air of one who would lead a crusade.

‘You have magical powers, I hear,’ went on the Duke. ‘News of you has travelled here to Nancy.’

Jeannette had found her voice. ‘My Lord Duke,’ she cried, ‘I have no powers save those given me by Heaven. I am sent with a purpose and that is to take the Dauphin to Rheims and there have him crowned.’

The Duke did not seem to be listening.

‘I am no longer young,’ he said. ‘Ah, how I miss my youth.’

‘My lord,’ said Jeannette, ‘I see that you would be unable to lead me to Chinon. But you have a son-in-law, I know, René of Anjou, the great Duke of Bar.’

The Duke looked testy. ‘What is the wench talking about?’ he asked.

The woman on the stool was laughing, and Jeannette said: ‘My Lady Duchess …’

‘The Duchess has gone,’ she said. ‘He could not endure her pious ways. I’m Duchess here now. He’s getting old, you see. That’s why he has sent for you. He wants to be able to frolic like he used to. You understand?’

Jeannette recoiled in horror. She thought of the weary journey to Nancy and she knew it had been in vain.

‘My good girl, I reckon you’ve got the wrong idea of my lord’s desire,’ went on the woman. ‘All he wants is to be young again. He was sure you could do it. He thought you were some sort of fortune teller … someone with special powers.’ She stood up, then bent over and put her lips to the Duke’s ear.

‘She can do nothing. She just wants to go to the Dauphin.’

‘She’s mad,’ said the Duke. ‘She’s come here under false pretences.’

‘The pretences were on your part,’ said Jeannette. ‘My time has been wasted. Now I need an escort back to Vaucouleurs without delay.’

‘Get you gone and don’t bother me,’ said the Duke. ‘You come here pretending you could make me young again …’

‘I did nothing of the sort,’ said Jeannette. ‘It is you who have wasted my time and God’s.’

‘Get out of my sight,’ muttered the Duke.

The woman whispered something to him which sounded as though she were warning him.

Weary and bitterly disillusioned, blaming herself for her simplicity in being so easily duped, Jeannette emerged from the castle to find a groom waiting for her with a black horse. The Duke was giving it to her to ease her journey and there was a purse containing four francs to help defray the cost of it.

Jeannette was about to refuse when one of the escort pointed out that the horse was a good one and she could ride that more comfortably than the one she had had before. Moreover the money might be useful to expedite their journey back to Vaucouleurs.

She rode back dismally wondering how many more trials she would have to overcome before she reached her goal.

As soon as she arrived in Vaucouleurs she went to see Robert de Baudricourt.

She was vehement in her denunciation of him.

‘You see how you have wasted my time. Because of you we have suffered another setback inside the walls of Orléans.’

‘What setback is this?’ he demanded, and she could not tell him.

Back at the wheelwright’s house Catherine Royer received her with great affection. She was greatly relieved to see her back safely.

‘Jeannette,’ she cried when she had assured herself that her friend was well, ‘I have news for you. Your parents have been here. They were deeply distressed.’

Jeannette’s eyes clouded with grief. ‘They will not understand,’ she said. ‘This is the hardest part for me to bear.’

‘They had heard that you had left Petit-Burey. They came here to find you. Your father was in a state of great despair. He seemed to think that you wanted to follow the army. I think your mother did understand in the end.’

‘What happened? Where are they now?’

‘They went back to Domrémy. I told them that I believed you were carrying out a mission from Heaven and that Durand believed it too. I said you were the purest girl I had ever known and your father the most mistaken of men.’

Jeannette laid her hands on Catherine’s shoulders and looking at her earnestly said: ‘They love me so dearly. That is what this means, Catherine. If they loved me less it would be easier for them.’

‘Your mother believes now that you are the chosen of God. I am sure of it. She tried to soothe your father. I think she made him see that you were no longer able to resist this call and that was why they decided to return.’

‘Oh, Catherine, how I wish I did not have to cause them pain. I must send word to them. But how? Oh, Catherine, why did I not learn to write and read? Perhaps if I had begged them to let me go to school they would have allowed it. You see, I never wanted to. It was almost as though I wanted only to allow myself to remain ignorant. And now … and now …’

‘There is the letter writer. He will write what you wish to say and it can be sent to your parents.’

‘Oh, Catherine, that is what I must do. And now … now … I feel a sense of urgency. Terrible things are happening in Orléans. I should be there … the Dauphin beside me, I know it, Catherine.’

‘Let us go at once to the letter writer. When that is off your mind you can make your plans.’

So they went to the letter writer.

What could she say to them? How could she make them understand? Who would believe in those voices which were so real to her? How could she explain to her father – that most

upright of men, but one who had never been guilty of flights of fancy? The nearest he had come to such a state was to believe in a dream of her following the soldiers to battle.

‘God has entrusted me with a mission. He has chosen me, dear father and mother, perhaps because I am a simple maid. It is easier for those who are simple to believe without question. I have seen choirs of angels. I have seen the Archangel himself. I have seen the saints. They are guiding me and even though it has meant causing you pain I must go on. Great men are beginning to agree with me. Captain de Baudricourt believes me; he will give me an escort to Chinon where I shall see the Dauphin. Other men of importance are with me. My dear parents, I beg you pardon me for the grief I have caused you and give me your blessing for it is something I ardently desire.’

She felt happier when that was sent to Domrémy and then she presented herself once more to Baudricourt.

He was clearly shaken. He said at once: ‘You told me that our army was facing another disaster. I have news of it. They are calling it the Battle of the Herrings. We had the greatest possible chance of diverting stores which the English badly needed. If we could have captured this convoy it would have been the end of the siege of Orléans. But once again a handful of Godons beat a far greater number of our best troops. There’s a curse on us it would seem. They have the Devil with them, these Godons.’

‘Never fear, my lord Captain. Soon we shall have God with us. But for the sake of His name, delay no longer. Give me my escort and let me leave for Chinon.’

He caught her arm suddenly. He was genuinely disturbed. To his amazement he found he had grown fond of her.

‘Jeannette,’ he said, ‘do you realise the dangers you will face travelling with rough soldiers?’

‘I am not afraid.’

He said: ‘You can trust Poulengy and Jean de Metz.’

‘I know this,’ she told him.

‘But no one else,’ he added.

She nodded.

They made their plans. It was better, said Poulengy, if they travel as merchants. They should not be in a large party of soldiers. There would be simply Poulengy and his servant, Jean de Metz and his; and with them would travel an archer named Richard and Colet de Vienne, who had come from Chinon at the request of Baudricourt, who wished to get some sort of permission from the Dauphin’s court before he allowed Jeannette to go to him.

It was Jean de Metz who pointed out that Jeannette could not travel dressed as she was. Somehow they had to convert the young maid into a boy.

‘The first thing,’ said Jean, ‘is her hair. That must immediately be sacrificed.’

Jeannette said willingly would she let it go, and in a short time her appearance was transformed. The thick dark hair lay at her feet and what was left looked like an upturned black basin on her head.

‘If you go into battle,’ said Jean, ‘you will now be able to wear the salade helmet and the high gorget.’

He found some clothes which had belonged to one of his servants. It was not easy to fit her for she was by no means tall, being just under five feet with the sturdy figure of a peasant. She wore a shirt, short trunks and long dark hose which could be fixed to her doublet. Over this she wore a cloak reaching to her knee. She wore long leather boots and looked like a young man, comfortably off but not wealthy.

‘She will need a sword,’ said Poulengy.

It was Baudricourt who gave her one and she knew that his blessing went with it. He hoped she would succeed. She understood him well. He wanted to help her, provided he did not jeopardise his future by doing so. Thus, she thought, it is with ambitious men.

On his advice they set out at dawn and he had sent a message on to the Abbey of Saint Urbain to tell the Abbot to expect them. Oh yes, undoubtedly they had the goodwill of Baudricourt.

So, riding between Poulengy and Jean de Metz, Jeannette rode out of Vaucouleurs on her way to see the Dauphin at Chinon.

Colet de Vienne and the archer Richard rode at the back of the little cavalcade.

They whispered together.

‘Have you any doubt?’ asket Colet de Vienne. ‘She is a witch. How else could a simple peasant girl have come so far? It’s as clear as fields in the sunshine.’

‘It is clear,’ agreed Richard.

‘Shall we be laughed to scorn for taking a witch to Chinon? And I tell you this: when she is known for a witch … for how would she stand the tests … shall we be accused with her as accomplices?’

‘Nay, we should take care.’

‘Poulengy and Jean de Metz guard her day and night.’

‘They sleep.’

‘With her between them.’

‘Maybe they share her favours.’

‘And why shouldn’t we?’

‘I have a plan. Let us try the witch first. She’s young enough to make it pleasant. And if she’s a virgin so much the better.’

‘She’s no virgin. Witches must all consort with the Devil before they become his own.’

‘Well, then, why shouldn’t we share in the fun? We’ll take her one dark night … creep up when her guards are sleeping. Smother her so that they don’t hear her cries.’

‘And afterwards?’

‘We’ll strangle her and throw her in a ditch.’

‘Perhaps get her accused of witchcraft. They burn them alive for that.’

‘And there’ll be glory for us for having discovered her true nature.’

‘A reward, do you think?’

‘They say they are talking of her in Orléans. She is one of their new miracles.’

‘I say she comes from the Devil. Tonight, then. When they’re sleeping.’

‘Tonight,’ agreed Richard.

There was just a crescent moon in the sky and a peppering of stars to go with it. There was danger in the air. Jeannette felt it.

‘Have no fear,’ said the voices. ‘Trust in God. You are on your way.’

She lay there on the ground. On either side of her were the two she trusted, Poulengy and Jean de Metz. Not once had they attempted to touch her. If any man glanced her way their hands went to their swords.

God has chosen them as surely as He has chosen me, she thought.

For some reason, tired as she was, she found it difficult to sleep that night. She lay there thinking of Domrémy and her father and mother, of her brothers and dead Catherine and herself. She was only a simple country maid. Why had this task been laid on her? I must do it, she said. I will do it.

The crackle of undergrowth. The sound of a stone’s being displaced, a light footfall.

‘Have no fear,’ said the voices.

Poulengy and Jean de Metz lay in deep sleep. It had been an exhausting day. She wondered why she did not sleep.

Someone was behind her, looking down at her. She looked up.

It was Richard the Archer.

He stood still staring at her. Then Colet de Vienne was beside him.

She just looked at them.

It was Colet de Vienne who spoke.

‘I thought I heard you call for help,’ he stammered.

She shook her head.

‘Then all is well?’ She nodded.

They slunk away.

They looked at each other in the faint moonlight.

‘What happened?’ said Richard. ‘It went not as we planned.’

‘Did you … know … ?’ asked Colet de Vienne. ‘Did it come to you as it did to me?’

Richard nodded. ‘She is pure,’ he said. ‘Indeed she comes from God.’

‘I knew it too. We have been saved from eternal damnation.’

‘From henceforth I believe in her,’ said Richard. ‘I shall guard her with my life.’

Jeannette felt a sudden peace steal over her. In a few moments, she was fast asleep.

They were in sight of Chinon. Jeannette’s eyes were shining as she looked at the embattled walls, the ramparts, the barbicans and turrets of what was known to be the finest castle in France. And now it was of special importance because the true King of France was there – though Jeannette always thought of him as the Dauphin, and would do so until that glorious day when he was crowned at Rheims.

They rode into the town.

‘You are to be lodged at an inn at the foot of the castle until the Dauphin gives you permission to come to him,’ Colet de Vienne told her.

She was content. She could wait a few more hours. She had come farther than she would have deemed possible a year ago. Moreover she wanted to give thanks to the Holy Virgin and the saints for aiding her in her mission.

So between prayer and resting and preparing herself for her ordeal Jeannette passed the time while waiting for the summons to the castle.

Chafing against delay she lived through the waiting hours until men came from the Dauphin to question her.

‘Have I not been questioned enough?’ she demanded. ‘Has not the Dauphin himself promised to see me?’

‘Why do you come here?’ they asked. ‘What is your mission?’

‘I have told you many times. I am sent from Heaven to raise the siege of Orléans and take the Dauphin to Rheims to be crowned King of France.’

They went away. She would hear soon, they told her.

And finally the command came. She was to present herself to the Dauphin.

With exultation she prepared herself. She had succeeded so far. It was as her voices had told her it would be. The impossible had been achieved and this was just the beginning.

She left the inn and rode to the castle. The guards eyed her with interest.

As she passed one shouted: ‘Here comes the Maid! So this is the Virgin girl. Give me a night with her and she’d be no longer so.’

Jeannette turned to look at him. ‘You are bold,’ she said, ‘to offend God … you who are soon to die.’

She passed on and the man stood looking after her, trembling.

She heard later that a few hours afterwards he was so overcome by remorse that he had drowned himself.

People discussed the matter throughout the town. Every such incident helped to enhance her reputation. If she found it difficult to convince those in high places, it was not so with the ordinary people. The belief was fast growing that Jeannette d’Arc had been chosen by God to save France.

And so she made her way into the castle.

The Dauphin sat in the crowded hall surrounded by his courtiers and advisers. He had been so long undecided as to whether he would see this peasant girl. In fact his whole life had been one of indecision. Charles was unsure whether he would live through one day to the next; he was unsure of those about him; he lived in fear of what awful fate might overtake him; but what he was most unsure of was whether he was his father’s son. He had been so ever since his mother – surely the most wicked Queen France had ever known – had told him that he was a bastard.

His life had been haunted by that fear. Had he no right to the throne of France? The King had been mad, passing clouded years of his life in the Hôtel de St Pol. The fertile Queen had taken a succession of lovers. How could any of her children be sure who their father was? Moreover, she seemed to hate her children – not all the time, for when she had seen a chance of marrying Katherine to the King of England she had seemed positively to love the girl. When the Dauphin’s two elder brothers had died mysteriously it was thought that the Queen wanted the crown for her youngest son. But she turned against him, and had taunted him with the doubt which had haunted him ever since. Was he the true heir to the throne or was he the result of one of his mother’s encounters with her numerous lovers?

Perhaps that had been at the very root of his lethargy.

He was now twenty-six years old and looked nearly fifty, for he had lived a life of excess; he had taken after his mother in that respect, but while she had kept her outstanding beauty he, who had never had any pretensions to good looks, had grown steadily more ill favoured.

He had begun life as an unattractive child. His face had been puffy from birth; his nose was long and wide – bulbous and purple, it seemed to hang over his flabby lips. His small eyes were almost hidden in folds of flesh. He had found great consolation in the arms of serving girls who while they did not find him personally attractive were bemused by his royalty. His legs were bowed which gave rise to a shuffling manner of walking. He was by no means a figure to inspire confidence.

And he lived in fear. There were times when he fervently wished he had been a nobleman with no responsibilities except those concerned with his estates. He loathed conflict of any kind; and he could not bear the sight of blood. He considered himself unfortunate to have been born at this time when France was engaged not only in this bitter struggle with the English but internal strife. He lived in terror not only of the Duke of Bedford but the Duke of Burgundy who was his own special enemy, for Burgundy held him guilty of the murder of his father.

Fear dominated the Dauphin’s life. When he was staying at the castle of La Rochelle the ceiling had collapsed and only by a miracle was his life saved. From henceforth he had lived in fear of collapsing ceilings. He refused to live in large rooms. He wanted to feel that if a ceiling came down it would only be a small one.

He was subtle in a way; he was wily and shrewd, but he was overshadowed by his environment. Vaguely he longed to break away from the past; he longed to be declared the legitimate son of the King of France and in a way he dreaded it. His childhood had been flawed by a mad father and a wanton mother, and memories of a life of hardship endured with his brothers and sister in the Hôtel de St Pol lingered on. The fearful uncertainty of not knowing from one day to the next what would happen to him had left him nervous and apprehensive. He was like a man in prison waiting to be released that he might prove himself.

At this time his life was governed by doubt. Was he the legitimate heir to France? Did he want to be? Did he want to fight to free his country from the English yoke?

He was unsure.

And now they were bringing this girl to see him. Did he want to see her? At one moment he cried, No. Then he remembered that the people were talking of her wherever she went. They said she was indeed sent from God. They were beginning to believe she would work miracles. Hardened soldiers were moved by her.

He would see her. No, he wouldn’t. Why should he waste time with a peasant girl? It was preposterous. And yet …

‘People talk of Merlin’s prophecy, my lord,’ said Colet de Vienne, that man who had gone forth as a cynic and returned converted. ‘They say that a maid would save France.’

It was true. He had heard the prophecy.

‘My lord, she has travelled here from Vaucouleurs. The country is overrun with rough soldiers. There are robbers everywhere. It was a hard and perilous journey but she, a simple girl, has come here.’

The Dauphin said he would see her.

‘Let us hasten,’ cried Colet de Vienne, ‘before he changes his mind.’

It was an impressive scene in the great hall which was lighted by fifty flaring torches. Jeannette entered modestly and yet clearly unafraid.

She looked about the hall and went straight to the Dauphin. She had been told by Colet de Vienne what she must do, and that was kneel before him and embrace his knees.

‘God preserve you, sweet Prince,’ she said.

The Dauphin tried to confuse her. He was a little shaken that she had come straight to him. How had she picked him out from this crowd assembled here? He thought wryly that many of them looked more kingly than he did.

He pointed to one of his courtiers.

‘There is the King,’ he said. ‘I am not he.’

She smiled and continued to look at him – impelled to do so, she thought afterwards.

‘Nay,’ she said, ‘it is you who are the Dauphin.’

He was nonplussed but still unconvinced. Could she have seen him somewhere? It was hardly likely, but she might have heard a description of him. Heaven knew he was ugly enough to be picked out.

‘Who are you who comes thus to my Court?’ he asked.

‘Gentle Dauphin,’ she answered, ‘I am a simple peasant girl and people call me Jeanne the Maid. God has sent me to bring you to your Kingdom. He sent a message and I am his messenger. You are to be anointed and crowned at Rheims and shall be His servant to rule France under Him.’

‘You speak strange words,’ said the Dauphin.

‘I come from God,’ she answered simply.

In spite of his disbelief he wanted to talk to her.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘sit beside me. I will talk with you.’

Someone brought a stool and she sat close to him. He waved his courtiers to stand back.

She said quietly: ‘My Lord bids me tell you that you are indeed the true heir of France and the son of a King. You should be troubled no more on this matter.’

He stared at her incredulously. How could this simple girl know of that matter which for so long had been uppermost in his mind?

He felt transformed. He believed her now. She came from God. She had been endowed with special powers; and he was indeed the son of a King.

She spoke to him then of the need to save Orléans. They must raise the siege. She must have men and arms. He must give them to her and with God’s help she would lead the French to victory. In Orléans they already knew of her. They were waiting for her, expecting her to bring deliverance.

He listened entranced.

Earnestly she talked to him. He was astonished that a simple country girl should know so much.

Jeanne glowed with triumph. She was ready now to take the road to Orléans … and Rheims.

Chapter XII VICTORY AT ORLÉANS

IT was some weeks later, at the end of April, when Jeannette seated on a white horse given her by the Dauphin and clad in armour entered the city of Orléans after dark through the Burgundian Gate. On her right rode the Bastard of Orléans and before her was a standard-bearer carrying her banner on which were depicted two angels holding the fleur-de-lis. Behind her rode captains and men-at-arms, those whom the Dauphin had sent to accompany her.

The people were waiting for her. She was their saviour. Gone was their despondency. It was not so long since, after the Battle of the Herrings, they had believed themselves to be lost. They had even offered to surrender to the Duke of Burgundy. Now they rejoiced. It was God’s will that they should hold out; and He had sent this messenger to save them.

Several had fought for the honour of lodging her and this had fallen to the lot of Jacques Boucher, the trusted treasurer to the Duke of Orléans. He was wealthy and had married a wife as rich as himself and had given a great deal in money and goods to preserve the city against the invaders so to him fell the honour of being host to the Maid.

It was the custom in such houses for the guest to sleep with the host, so Jeanne shared a room with Madame Boucher and her little daughter Charlotte, actually sleeping with the child in her bed.

The little girl was overcome with wonder at the prospect of sleeping beside one who was a kind of angel. Jeannette did not look in the least like an angel. In fact the child had never seen anyone like her before. She might have been a boy and yet she was not, and she had come from Heaven. That meant that Charlotte had to be extra good and remember all that she had been told. She must not lie in the middle of the bed but keep to the edge; she must lie still and not fidget and above all she must keep her mouth shut and not snore.

Jeannette was reassuring. She whispered to Charlotte that all was well for she was so tired and would not notice if she fidgeted just a little.

After a night’s sleep Jeannette was ready for action.

First she would call upon the English to make peace. She wanted to write to them and once again she reproached herself for never having made any attempt to learn to read and write. There was no alternative but to get someone to write for her and the written words would be those dictated by her voices.

‘King of England,’ she dictated, ‘and Duke of Bedford who call yourself Regent of France, Earl of Suffolk, My Lords Scales and Talbot who call yourselves lieutenants to the said Duke of Bedford, I call on you to yield. Give up to the Maid the keys of those towns which you have taken by force. The Maid comes from God to make peace if you will render proper account. If you do not, I shall be a great war chief and I shall make your people leave France. If they will obey the wishes of God, mercy will be shown them. I who have come from Heaven to thrust you out of France, promise you that if you do not leave there will be such tumult in France as has not been seen in a thousand years.

‘Duke of Bedford, self-called Regent of France, the Maid sent by God does beg you not to bring destruction on yourself and your army. But if you turn from justice, she will defend the French, and the finest deed that was ever done in Christendom shall be done.

‘Writ on Tuesday in the Great Week.

‘Listen to the news from God and the Maid.’

The letter was delivered to the English camp. As was expected there was no reply.

‘Now,’ cried Jeannette, ‘we must prepare to do battle.’

There was an immediate consultation and differing opinions as to when the attack should start and what form it should take. Dunois, the Bastard of Orléans, was in command of Orléans. A great soldier – one of the finest in France – he was completely loyal to the crown. He was good-looking, wise, brave – in fact a model of a man; and of course was royal being the illegitimate son of Louis of Orléans, he who had been the lover of the wicked Isabeau and murdered by the Duke of Burgundy when coming from her apartment. His mother had been one of Orléans’ most favourite mistresses, Marriette d’Enghien, Madame de Cany-Dunois. On the murder of the Duke, the Duchess of Orléans had been so impressed by the Bastard, who was only eight at the time, when he had offered to avenge his father, that she had insisted he be brought up with her children and accorded those privileges which would have been his if his parents had been married. Always he had been known as the Bastard of Orléans but his royalty was never in doubt.

This was the commander with whom Jeannette was brought face to face; she must consult with the Gascon soldier Etienne Vignolle known as La Hire whose reputation for fierce ruthless warfare Jeannette had heard of when she was a girl. There was also the handsome young Gilles de Rais, a good soldier but one who loved finery and ostentation to such an extent that he travelled in much state with trunks of glorious garments. Among other captains and commanders was the Sire de Gamaches, an impulsive young man whom she sensed from the first was none too pleased to find an uneducated girl sharing their conferences.

Jeannette was impatient. So much time had been wasted. Her mission could so easily have failed. The people of Orléans had not so long ago been ready to surrender to the Duke of Burgundy. What if they had? Everything would have failed. The Duke of Burgundy was no less the enemy of France than the English. It was divine intervention which had caused the Duke of Bedford – usually so astute – to refuse to allow that surrender. He had said he would not beat the bushes to let someone else get the birds. That matter of the birds was one which would be regretted by the English for a very long time.

But there must be no more wasted time. They must go into action.

La Hire agreed with her. He was rash and he had scored most of his successes through taking quick action.

‘The people are in a mood of exultation,’ he said. ‘They believe in the Maid. They will fight as never before.’

The Sire de Gamaches pointed out that it would be folly to attempt to attack without the backing of the force which had been promised from the troops at Blois.

‘We should not wait,’ said Jeannette. ‘We have waited long enough.’

Dunois considered both sides. There was much to be said for either.

De Gamaches seeing his hesitation lost his temper. ‘I see,’ he said, ‘that more attention is given to a wench of low degree than to a warrior knight. I will bandy no more words. I will give up my banner and fight as a poor esquire. I will not lead men in an action which I feel to be folly.’

He handed his banner to Dunois who wisely refused to take it.

‘Listen,’ he said with patience, ‘this is not the time for quarrelling amongst ourselves. It is true that the people are in a mood of euphoria. They think that the Maid will work miracles. We have to fight for victory and we must make no more mistakes. It is true that much time has been wasted. It is also true that we need the help of the troops from Blois. Take back your banner, my lord. I myself will leave at once for Blois. I will return with the troops. Then we shall start our action.’

It was agreed that this was the wisest plan and chafing with impatience Jeannette consoled herself that in the Bastard of Orléans they had an inspired leader.

It was proved how right he was for when he reached Blois it was to find that those who deplored Jeannette’s spectacular rise to importance were determined to destroy her – even if it meant the loss of the city of Orléans to the English.

Her chief enemy was Regnault de Chartres, Bishop of Rheims, who had resented the effect she had had on the Dauphin and wanted to prove himself right. A most ill-favoured man – with rough hair and beard and a mouthful of bad teeth – he hated her fresh youth. And when Dunois arrived at Blois he was just in time to change the decision to ignore the call for troops to come to Orléans.

There was consternation among the English outside Orléans. They talked constantly about Joan the Maid. They had anglicised her name and although some tried to mock her they did so with apprehension. There had been a change in the attitude of the French since her arrival. She was bold and it was clearly a strange thing that a young girl should arise in such a manner and force herself into the presence of the Dauphin, as she apparently had done.

It was all very well to call her a strumpet. She was scarcely that. It was said that she insisted on all recognising her virginity, and that though she had passed her nights in the company of rough soldiers, none dared attack her. She said she was sent by God.

It smacked of witchcraft, said the English.

But the fact remained whether God or the Devil it was beyond the understanding of natural men and either of those two would be an extremely uncomfortable adversary.

The English watched the arrival of the troops from Blois and wondered what the future held. They would be glad to see an end to this siege. It had gone on too long and they had endured too many hardships. They were waiting for the day when they should enter the city and enjoy those rewards of conquest which were the very reason why so many were engaged in the profession of war.

So they were ready. Jeannette was exultant. She had no doubt of the issue. Her voices were urging her on. Now she was going to carry out the first part of her mission and free Orléans.

Many were going to die. She was sorry for them. And many would go unshriven as was the case in war. If she could only convince the English that they must give up Orléans, that it was the Divine Will that it should be given up, much bloodshed could be avoided.

She mounted the bastion which directly faced that of Les Tourelles, the chief stronghold in the hands of the English.

She called for Sir William Glasdale whom she knew to be the captain in charge.

‘I call you to give up,’ she cried. ‘I have the command of God and His saints, and I tell you that your place is not here. Go away that your lives may be saved.’

Sir William Glasdale laughed at her. ‘Go back to your fields, cow girl,’ he shouted. ‘It is where you belong. Meddle not in matters beyond your understanding.’

‘You speak bold words,’ retorted Jeannette. ‘But consider well. You shall soon depart. You should repent with haste. Many of your people will be slain but you will not be there to see it.’

Glasdale descended from the tower.

He was a little shaken. There was something about the girl, he decided. She unnerved him. What was it? An innocence? Should he, a hardened soldier, be afraid of innocence?

She is a witch, he told himself.

But in his heart he did not really believe that. There was a radiance about her, a brightness. It was as though a prophet spoke through her.

He was very uneasy. It was no way for a commander to go into battle.

The battle had raged for several days. The Orléannese were certain of victory because God was on their side; Jeannette had said so and they believed Jeannette. It was no easy fight. The English had become accustomed to victory since Agincourt and they really believed that one English man was worth half a dozen French. But the French had found a new inspiration. They had the Maid, and the Maid came from God.

She was in the thick of the battle – a small figure but easily distinguishable because of her size, the litheness of her movements and the words of encouragement she constantly offered. When she was wounded in the foot, there was consternation. How was it that God and His saints could forget their own? She felt a tremor of uneasiness – not for herself but for the effect this would have on those about her.

It was nothing, she told them. She felt it not at all.

Les Tourelles must be stormed and taken, she knew that. If that could fall into French hands not only would the English have lost their most important bastion but the effect on both sides would be tremendous.

But the English would not give in easily. They had heard that Joan of Arc had been wounded. That was good news. She was just a milkmaid, a cow girl after all. For some reason she had wormed her way to the fore and the French were using her as a symbol. God’s messenger indeed! If God wanted to help the French why didn’t He strike all the English dead? Not very difficult for God, surely. Why go to all the trouble of bringing forward a peasant girl?

The battle was now beginning to sway in favour of the English.

‘We must take Les Tourelles,’ cried Jeannette desperately.

There were some French who wanted to call off the battle.

‘No, no,’ cried Jeannette. ‘You have done that too often. This time we are going on until we win. We are going to take Les Tourelles.’

She took a scaling ladder and had started to climb when an arrow struck her between the neck and shoulder and she fell.

There was a shout from the English.

‘The Maid is down. The Maid is dead. So much for God’s messenger!’

Someone was bending over Jeannette. It was the Sire de Gamaches who had so resented her at the council of war.

‘Take my horse,’ he said. ‘Get into safety. I have wronged you. Forgive me. I admire you. Bear me no malice.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jeannette. ‘I bear you no malice. I never saw a more accomplished knight.’

The Sire de Gamaches called one of his men. ‘Take her to safety,’ he ordered.

She was put on a horse and taken within the city walls. She was half fainting as they removed her armour. They shook their heads when they saw the ugly wound, with the arrow still protruding.

One of the men knelt by her. ‘Save yourself,’ he said. ‘You have powers. You can cure it with words.’

‘I know no such words,’ she answered. ‘If I am to die then die I must.’

‘The English are saying you are dead. Our men are losing hope.’

‘Then,’ she replied, ‘I must show them.’ She seized the arrow in both hands and with a mighty effort pulled it out. For a moment she lost consciousness but only for a moment.

Dunois had heard what had happened. He came hurrying to her.

‘Jeannette,’ he said. ‘Oh little Maid, is this the end then?’

She opened her eyes.

‘How goes the fight?’ she asked.

‘They saw you fall,’ he said. ‘They jeer. “So much for God’s help” they say. I think we cannot hold out much longer. We must retreat behind the walls.’

‘No … no …’ she cried.

He was looking at the ugly wound in her shoulder. Someone was applying oil and lard, the known remedy in such cases.

As the wound was padded the faintness was passing.

‘Help me into my armour,’ she said. ‘I am going out there. We are going to be inside Les Tourelles before nightfall.’

So they brought her armour and she rode out once more.

When the French saw her they sent up a cry of joy. This was a miracle. She had fallen seemingly fatally wounded and now here she was as though nothing had happened.

The English saw her too. They could not believe it. She must have risen from the dead. Truly she had Divine powers. God was against them … God or the Devil … and in either case what chance had they?

It was the turning point of the battle. Sir William Glasdale saw at once that they would have to abandon Les Tourelles. He called for the retreat. While he was passing over the drawbridge a shot from the walls of the city broke down the bridge. Wounded Glasdale fell into the water and drowned with several of his men.

The French stormed into Les Tourelles where they discovered food and ammunition. The English had fled clear of the city and the French took possession of the rest of the bastilles which were equally well provided with the provisions they so sorely needed.

The English were in retreat, and the siege of Orléans was over.

Chapter XIII TRIUMPH AT RHEIMS

SHE had accomplished the first part of her mission. Orléans was free. Now she must bring about the second: the crowning of the Dauphin who should be Charles the Seventh of France.

Messengers had been sent with all speed to Chinon and Jeannette was preparing to leave Orléans immediately with most of the army. There was no time to spend rejoicing in Orléans. The Orléannese would do that. She must meet the Dauphin at Blois and they would go on from there to Rheims.

She had expected him to have arrived already, all jubilation, all eagerness to take his rightful place in his country. It was disappointing to wait two days at Blois and still find he had not come.

In due course a message came that he was about to set out for Tours and Jeannette immediately left Blois for that city.

She met the Dauphin just outside Tours. Their horses drew up almost touching and Jeannette removed her bonnet and bowed low. The Dauphin took her hand and kissed it. It was a deeply moving moment.

She thought he looked transfigured and she did not see him as the debauched young-old man. To her he was the King and all kings had an aura of sanctity to folks in Domrémy; and this one was the chosen of the Lord. She had been singularly blessed, selected for her simplicity and given this task by Almighty God.

The Dauphin was moved. She had saved the city of Orléans – this young peasant maid. She had magical powers, it was certain. She had assured him of his legitimacy; then gone on to save the all important city for the French. Why should a girl do this? He should have ridden at the head of his troops instead of skulking in Chinon. If he had been a great warrior like some of his ancestors this domination by the English would never have taken place.

What could he say to the saviour of Orléans? He could welcome her; he could kiss her hand; he could treat her with respect – but he could not repress the twinge of resentment for he was envious because she had done it, when that duty was his.

Together they rode into Tours. What rejoicing was there in the streets, but even while Jeannette revelled in success it was as though an icy hand clutched at her heart. This was how it must have been on that Sunday long ago when the people waved their palm leaves and welcomed one other, crying Hosanna.

They rested at Tours. Jeannette was all impatience to be gone but the Dauphin was uncertain. This was pleasant … here in Tours. The people were for him. They liked to see him riding with the Maid. It reminded them that God was on their side and God, they said, was invincible.

But how Jeannette chafed against delay and how the Dauphin revelled in it! It was so pleasant at the moment, he thought. Why not linger in such a happy state?

But they must ride on, said Jeannette.

It might mean riding on through hostile country to Rheims, she was reminded.

‘So be it,’ she replied. ‘We have come so far. The Lord God will not desert us now. It is His Will that the Dauphin should be crowned at Rheims and it is for this purpose that I am here.’

The Dauphin was surrounded by his advisers, the chief of whom was Georges de la Trémoïlle – a coward of a man but sly and shrewd. He looked like a great barrel so fat was he. He was vicious, and a man to be watched for those who offended him had a way of disappearing from the scene. He was always at the Dauphin’s side and his word carried weight.

It was disconcerting to men such as he was to see so much adulation given to an ignorant country girl.

It suited La Trémoïlle to see the Dauphin weak, depending on him; he had always advised a policy of shilly-shally.

So when Jeannette urged them to make the journey to Rheims La Trémoïlle, with the Chancellor Regnault de Chartres, strongly opposed her.

‘There are not enough troops nor money for such a journey,’ they insisted; and the Dauphin following his long habit listened to them. Delay was part of his nature, no less than theirs. He dreaded change. It was wonderful to have achieved this victory but now he was realising that it was rousing him out of his lethargy. Did he want that?

Jeannette was not easily brushed aside. She sought the Dauphin in his private apartments and none dare stop her. If Trémoïlle and Regnault despised her, others in the King’s entourage did not. They had for her an awesome respect.

She fell onto her knees before him, and told him that it was imperative that they leave at once. Her voices were urging her. Her voices must be obeyed. He must come to Rheims.

‘There are too many obstacles,’ he told her. ‘There are towns still in the hands of the English. Do you not see that they will be doubly fortified … after Orléans.’

‘I see only that we must go to Rheims. My voices demand it, sire, and they must be obeyed.’

At length hers was the voice that convinced him and the Dauphin with his Court and an army of twelve thousand set out for Rheims.

There were difficulties along the road. Jeannette had known there would be. At the town of Troyes it was particularly disheartening for there was a garrison there consisting of six hundred English and Burgundians. They would not lightly surrender.

Of course Trémoïlle and Regnault pointed out that they had no provisions to mount a siege. There was only one thing to do and that was to turn back.

‘No, no!’ insisted Jeannette. ‘Oh, my gentle Dauphin, listen to God who speaks through me. Wait here before your town of Troyes and by love or force within the space of a few days I will make it yours.’

Jeannette prepared for battle. She was camped outside the walls and the following day she donned her armour, mounted her horse and carrying her banner rode forth crying that she came in the name of the Lord God.

There was no fighting. Within the city there was a call of ‘We surrender’ and the townspeople came out declaring that they would not resist the Maid.

She rode into the town side by side with the Dauphin. She was triumphant while Trémoïlle and his friends murmured that it could have gone the other way.

Dunois came to her with great emotion shining in his eyes. ‘You are indeed God’s messenger,’ he said.

‘You know it now, my lord,’ she said. ‘Make good use of me while I am here for I shall not be here much longer.’

Dunois seized her arm and said earnestly: ‘Why do you talk thus? What do you fear?’

‘Treachery,’ she said. ‘I feel it in the air. It is that which will destroy me.’

‘Jeannette, you know you are going to die. When?’

‘I do not know when, but that it will come I know full well. I am at the will of God and I shall accomplish what I have been commanded to do. I raised the siege of Orléans; I must now see the Dauphin crowned at Rheims. When that is done … it may be my work will be also.’

‘Pray God, Jeannette, that He will preserve you.’

She smiled at him. ‘I would like it well if He sent me back to my mother and father. I would like to tend the sheep again and know that my work is done.’

Dunois turned away. He was surprised at his emotion. He was fond of her, not as a mystic – he was not even sure that he believed whole-heartedly in that – but because she was simple and humble and … he sought for a word to describe her. He thought, It is Good. Jeannette is good with a goodness rare in men and women.

The army was camped some ten miles from Rheims. Trémoïlle declared the town would stand out against them.

‘Not so, my lord,’ replied Jeannette. ‘You will see that the leading citizens will come out of the city bringing the keys to the Dauphin.’

And this was what happened for no sooner was the cavalcade in sight of Rheims when the leading citizens came out as Jeannette had said they would and they had the keys of the city in their hands. Eagerly they were awaiting the arrival of the Maid with the Dauphin and within a few days he should be crowned King of France.

It was the custom in France for its Kings to be crowned on a Sunday and the people of Rheims were determined that this should be observed. All through the Saturday of the 16th of July they were making their preparations. They knew that their Dauphin had taken up his residence at the Castle of Sept-Saulx some ten miles outside the town.

At nine o’clock in the morning Charles came into the church and beside him was Jeannette. It was what the people expected. It was because of her that he was here and if there were some who deplored it, still it must be.

His magnificent robes were open at the neck and shoulders in preparation for the ceremonial anointing which would signify that he was being endowed with renown, glory and wisdom. He stood before the high Altar and with him were the Duke of Alençon and the Counts of Clermont and Vendôme.

The anointing oil, contained in the Holy Ampulla, a crystal flask which had been brought out from the tomb of the Apostle, was said to have been used by the Blessed Rémi at the anointing of King Clovis.

Jeannette watched the proceedings with jubilation. This was the climax. This was where her Voices had led her. It was the moment of fulfilment and the happiest in her life.

The Archbishop had taken the crown from the altar – not alas the crown of Charlemagne with its rubies, sapphires and emeralds decorated with fleur-de-lis, for the royal ornaments were all in the hands of the English and were said to be at St Denis.

That mattered not. It was the act of crowning which was important and the Dauphin was now in truth King Charles the Seventh.

The trumpets were sounding, and the people shouting: ‘Noel! Noel!’

Jeannette came forward and knelt at his feet. Tears were streaming from her eyes.

‘Sweet King,’ she cried, ‘now is God’s pleasure done. It was His will that I should raise the siege of Orléans and bring you to this city of Rheims to receive your holy anointing, making it known that you are indeed the true King and telling the world to whom this fair realm of France belongs.’

The King lightly touched her head with his fingers and the people cried out in their joy.

‘Vive le roi. Noel! Noel!’

The King then moved on to his banquet which would be held in traditional fashion in the old hall of Tau. The table had been extended into the street so that there might be feasting for all. There would be free food and free drink and hundreds of sheep, chickens and oxen had been slaughtered. There was Beaune and Burgundy for everyone.

Dunois was watching Jeannette with affection. She had achieved a miracle. She should be content now. She should go back to the country and live peacefully for the rest of her days. Let her go back to the simple life, perhaps take a husband, look after a household, have children. She was as skilled in the crafts of the home as she had become in those of war.

This was no life for a young girl. She had been called on to perform a miracle and that was what she had done.

‘Jeannette,’ he said, ‘you know the inn called Ane Rayé. You should go there. I think you will find something to interest you.’

She looked at him in surprise. She knew he understood that she had no feeling for the revelries which must follow the coronation.

‘What shall I find there?’ she asked.

‘I will take you,’ he said, ‘and you shall see for yourself.’

People made a path for her and the Bastard of Orléans. Eyes followed the Maid and she was treated to an awed silence; but today was the King’s day. The miracle was over; now they would enjoy the fruits of it. Rich red meat. Flowing wine. The Maid had done well; they loved the Maid. But this was the day to eat, drink and carouse and sing Vive le Roi.

She could not believe her eyes when she walked into the inn. In a matter of seconds she was in her mother’s arms. Her father was standing by; and there were her brothers Jean, Pierrelot and her cousin’s husband, Durand Laxart.

Releasing herself from her mother’s arms she faced them all.

Her father took her hands and kissed them. ‘I have come to ask pardon,’ he said.

She shook her head, her emotions threatening to choke her. ‘My father, you understand now. I had to do what I did. I had to hurt you. It was a command from Heaven.’

‘You saved Orléans. You are a friend of the King …’ That was Pierrelot. ‘I can’t believe it even though I have seen it with my own eyes.’

‘We are so proud of you,’ Jean told her.

Jeannette turned to Durand Laxart who was standing a little apart.

‘So much I owe to you,’ she said. ‘I shall never forget that. You helped me when I needed help. God will reward you.’

‘I believed in you … from the first,’ Durand told her.

‘And we were the ones who rejected you,’ cried Jacques. ‘May God forgive us.’

‘He will. He has already done so,’ said Jeannette. ‘What you did, you did for love of me. It was what any father would have done.’

‘How were we to know that our sister Jeannette was to be the saviour of Orléans?’ cried Jean.

‘And now we are here, let us be happy together,’ said Jeannette. ‘There is so much I want to know. How are matters in Domrémy?’

‘We are all so proud … so proud …’ murmured her mother.

‘And Mengette … and Hauviette?’

‘They await news of you. Poor little Hauviette, she was heart-broken when you went …’

‘I knew she would be. It was the reason why I could not say good-bye. My dear little Hauviette. Take my love to her. Tell her to be happy. Tell her I think of her … often.’

‘She will be so pleased that you remembered her,’ said Zabillet.

‘Remember her! Hauviette! As if I should ever forget her!’

‘You have so many matters to occupy you.’

‘There would always be a place for Hauviette.’

‘Come let us sit down,’ said Jean. ‘I have ordered a little food and wine.’

So while the people of Rheims were feasting in the streets and the King in the banqueting hall, Jeannette sat down to a simple supper with her family. They were amazed at how little she ate. She wanted nothing but small pieces of bread soaked in wine. She had grown accustomed to such fare, she told them; and she needed little else.

Pierrelot tried to coax her to eat.

‘Hush you,’ said Zabillet. ‘You should know it is no use trying to persuade Jeannette when she has made up her mind.’

Later her father took her on one side and whispered to her that there was a matter of some concern to Domrémy and he wished to speak to her about it.

She listened attentively while he went on: ‘We are as poor as ever, and you know what that means. We are finding it hard to meet the new demands from the treasury. The villagers have begged me to have a word with you to ask if you could persuade the King to give us exemption from the new tax. You are his friend they say. You have given him his crown. Will he give your native village this concession if you ask for it?’

‘I know he will,’ said Jeannette. ‘Rest assured I shall ask him.’

Jacques looked greatly relieved. He had made this journey chiefly to make this request. He wanted to see Jeannette in her glory, of course, but he was still a little suspicious of it. Her strangeness had worried him a great deal and that she, his humble daughter, should have been selected for such a task still seemed like some sort of necromancy. He had heard it whispered in some quarters that she was a witch. That would be the final degradation. But to see her, so radiant, so self-effacing, so beloved of the people and respected by great men such as the Bastard of Orléans and the King himself, lulled his fear though not entirely.

He was greatly relieved when the King decreed that Domrémy and Greux should be exempt from all tallies, aids, subsidies and subventions. He said also that the family’s expenses should be paid and that they should be provided with horses to take them back to Domrémy.

When they said good-bye, Zabillet clung to her daughter.

‘Jeannette,’ she murmured, ‘why do you not come back with us? You have done your work. This is what you set out to do, was it not? You saved Orléans for the French and had the King crowned at Rheims. What else is there for you, Jeannette?’

‘I shall not be happy, dear mother, until there is not a single Godon left in France.’

‘Jeannette, God has guarded you so far. Come home now.’

Jeannette shook her head.

‘God rest you, dear mother. Go and live in peace. I shall know what I must do when the time comes.’

Zabillet sighed. As she said earlier to Pierrelot, it was no use trying to persuade Jeannette.

Chapter XIV DISASTER AT COMPIÈGNE

LATER, in her darkest moments she believed that she should have gone. That was the moment … the time of glory. She had accomplished her mission. She had obeyed the commands of Heaven. She had been the instrument through which God had imposed His Will.

Why did she stay? Was she a little intoxicated by glory? Had she come to believe herself not merely that instrument but the possessor of divine powers? She had seen a miracle come from her work; she had heard the acclamation of the crowds. In Rheims at the time of the coronation the poor had come to kneel at her feet. They asked only to touch her hands, to touch the hem of her garment. Great men had bowed to her, listened to her, followed her wishes, showed their respect for her. The Bastard of Orléans, the Duc d’Alençon, the Sire de Gamaches, the King himself – had all treated her with something like reverence. Had the sin of pride come very close to her? She had stressed her humility, her origins, her lack of education … But even in that was there a touch of pride?

How could she tell? It was easy to look back afterwards and say: I should have done this. I should not have done that. If … If …

She believed now that she had a further mission. She would not rest until every Englishman had been driven from the shores of France. Perhaps having accomplished one seemingly impossible mission she must have another.

‘Come back with us to Domrémy,’ her mother had said. ‘You have done what God commanded.’

Should she have listened? It was easy to say ‘Yes’ … looking back.

There were many who loved her; but there were others who hated her. Rich, powerful people there were who wanted to destroy her. The King was her friend … but what was the friendship of kings ever worth, and Charles the Seventh had never shown himself as a steadfast character. There was the wily Duke of Burgundy, who was the ally of the English while not averse to a little flirtation with the French and ready to jump whichever way was best for Burgundy. He hated the King because he had instigated the murder of John the Fearless, the last Duke, and that was something which the present Duke Philip could never forget.

And did she think the great Duke of Bedford would stand quietly by and see his armies defeated by a peasant girl from Domrémy?

There were enemies closer to her. There was Georges de la Trémoïlle – as treacherous a man as ever lived. His father had been attached to the Duke of Burgundy and Georges had been brought up at that Court with Duke Philip. It was not unlikely that Georges would still retain a certain liaison with his boyhood companion; and the Duke would deem it beneficial to have a man who must feel some friendship for him living so close to his enemy the King.

Georges de la Trémoïlle was unscrupulous in the extreme – a man who would not hesitate to murder. His treatment of his first wife had created a scandal at one time. He had married her, taken all she possessed and then driven her from his house. She had died as the result of the condition into which he had forced her. His reason for getting rid of her was that he had his eyes on another woman who was both comely and extremely wealthy and he thought it would be not only pleasant to marry her but profitable also.

It had not been a difficult matter for Trémoïlle, favourite as he was with the King, to arrange for the murder of the lady’s husband and marry her himself.

Such a man would have no scruples and little difficulty in removing Jeannette, once her great popularity had died down. It would be dangerous, of course, to do it at the time when she was regarded almost as a saint throughout the country and had many friends in high places.

But Trémoïlle had always been a man who knew how to wait.

Regnault de Chartres, the Chancellor, could easily be handled by him. Regnault, Bishop of Rheims, was a man of ambition and he sought to satisfy that, as so many had before him, through the Church. He hated Jeannette. If God had wanted to guide the King to Rheims, why should He have chosen a simple country girl to do it when the Bishop of Rheims was standing by?

He wanted to get rid of Jeannette but like Trémoïlle he realised that they must wait until the tumult was over.

He and Trémoïlle were aware that the two most important men in the country were Burgundy and Bedford; Bedford was going to find some means of staining Jeannette’s image. He had to. It was the belief in her supernatural gifts which had defeated his army. It was not force of arms which had raised the siege of Orléans. It was fear of the powers of light or of darkness – it mattered not which, they were both equally effective for striking fear into men.

Moreover Burgundy was not going to stand by and see Charles victorious. As soon as he was free of his present commitments he would spring into action.

As for King Charles, they had little respect for him. They would know how to handle him when the time came.

Jeannette was now planning to march on Paris. She knew that until the capital was in French hands there could be no true victory. The girl had learned her military tactics well, they had to admit. She wanted to march on Paris and take it for the King while both Trémoïlle and Regnault saw that if she succeeded in this it would be impossible to destroy Jeannette. What they wanted was to gain Paris through negotiations – their negotiations – and they believed this should be done through an alliance with Burgundy.

Charles hated bloodshed and it should not be difficult to make him listen.

Jeannette knew very well that the Duke of Burgundy was the enemy of the King of France. He would always regard him as his father’s murderer and if anyone reminded him that Louis of Orléans had been murdered at the instigation of a Duke of Burgundy that made no difference.

Thus Jeannette had powerful people working against her. Moreover her voices rarely came to her now. When she was involved in a skirmish, sometimes she was successful, at other times not. She was filled with a burning desire to drive the Godons from France, but secretly she was beginning to wonder whether God no longer desired her services.

With the people she was still Jeannette, the wonder girl from Domrémy who had achieved miracles. It would take a little time for such a reputation to be destroyed, but many had short memories. Already it seemed the King did not listen to her with the same respect. His advisers Trémoïlle and Regnault had his ear; and she did not like what was going on. Sometimes she was very depressed; she longed to hear her voices and they did not come. She followed the King from Château-Thierry to Senlis, from Blois to Compiègne. She was obsessed by her devotion to him and to France. But she missed the divine inspiration. She had become a good commander; but so were Dunois, Alençon and a score of others; and they had not been able to save Orléans.

The Duke of Bedford had brought five hundred of his dreaded archers to Paris. One division of his army there carried a standard on which was embossed a distaff and a spindle. ‘Now, fair one, come!’ was its inscription. Jeannette was eager to attack Paris and she still had influential supporters. One was the Duc d’Alençon who had complete faith in her. However the attack failed.

Then the English left Paris in the hands of the Duke of Burgundy – a signal to the French that he was their trusted ally – and Jeannette was forced to retreat to Compiègne where she made the acquaintance of the garrison captain there, Guillaume de Flavy. It was only later that she discovered he was Regnault’s half-brother and had been brought up by him.

She was uneasy. She knew that Trémoïlle and Regnault were in secret communication with Burgundy. She mistrusted Burgundy and she begged them to do the same. ‘There can be no peace with him except at the point of a lance,’ she insisted.

It was May of the year 1430. Almost a year had passed since the crowning of the King and they were no nearer driving the English from France than they had been at that time. Jeannette had gone on an expedition to Crépy and while she was there news was brought to her that Burgundy was laying siege to Compiègne.

‘We must return at once,’ she said. ‘We must fight our way into the town.’

She was reminded that they were only three hundred or so strong – a small company to fight its way through Burgundy’s forces; and when at daybreak she came in sight of Compiègne and the besiegers did not attempt to stop her entering the town, she thought she had recovered her old inspiration.

She went at once to the church of St Jacques, convinced by her easy entry into the town that she was back in grace and was receiving help from Heaven.

People thronged about her and followed her into the church where she heard Mass. And as the children gathered round her touching her armour and seeking the honour of having spoken to the Maid, she heard herself saying – and it was as though a voice spoke within her: ‘Children and dear friends, soon I shall be betrayed and delivered over to death. Pray for me.’

A great depression settled on her then. She knew that it was her voices who had been with her so little of late who had spoken in the church.

Nevertheless that evening she wanted to make a sortie out of the town and in spite of the feeling of despair which had come to her she was eager to go on with her plans.

She commanded Guillaume de Flavy to have boats ready on the river Oise to help the troops return and to see that all the gates of the town were securely locked and only the bridge gate left open.

Very quickly it was realised that the venture was a failure.

‘We must retreat,’ shouted the men.

But Jeannette would not retreat. ‘Never!’ she cried. ‘Let us stand and fight.’

‘We are lost if we do,’ was the rejoinder. The men had suddenly realised that it was only a peasant girl who was asking them to risk their lives. It had been all very well when God was with her but clearly He was not involved in this. It was folly to stay, they believed, and they were not going to do so. They scrambled into the waiting boats.

Jeannette held off the enemy who would prevent the troops escaping, until the boats had taken them to the drawbridge and they all passed into safety. She was left outside with one or two faithful supporters.

Guillaume de Flavy made a decision. He knew she was outside. So were the Burgundians and they were ready to storm the town. He ordered that the drawbridge be pulled up and the portcullis let down.

Jeannette, left outside, was soon surrounded.

There was a shout of: ‘The Maid. We have the Maid.’

Someone pulled at her surcoat. She was down. They surrounded her.

‘Yield,’ cried one of them.

She was beaten. It had come to pass as she had known it would. This was her destiny, and she must face it with courage.

One of the men who was different from the rough soldiery bade her rise. She must go with him and he would take her to his master, Count John of Luxembourg.

The cry went up: ‘We have the Maid. She is in our hands.’

This was the end of the miracles, for how could God let His chosen one fall among her enemies?

She was praying silently as they led her away.

The news spread rapidly through the country. It was received with exultation and with sorrow. There was lamentation in the village of Domrémy.

‘I knew this would come,’ said Jacques. ‘It was never right. She should never have left us.’

‘It was her purpose in life,’ Zabillet answered. ‘Pray God that He will treat her well.’

The King took the news calmly. He did not know whether he should mourn or rejoice. It had been clear lately that God had deserted her for there had been no more spectacular successes. She had done as any other commander would do … no more.

The Duke of Burgundy was excited. Exultantly he sent messengers to all those to whom the news would be of the utmost interest. The Maid captured and in the hands of the Count of Luxembourg – a vassal of his. What should be done with her? As a prisoner taken in battle she should be treated with some respect. She should be ransomed as such people were. Ransomed! Some would pay a big ransom for her. The King of France? He owed it to her to pay her ransom and set her free. God knew she had done enough for him. Bedford would be itching to get his hands on her for while she lived and went into battle his men would always be afraid of her. The citizens of Orléans should ransom her if they could afford the price. She had done much for them.

How had she been captured? wondered Burgundy. Guillaume de Flavy had drawn up the bridge and let down the portcullis knowing she was on the wrong side of it, exposed to her enemies. And Guillaume de Flavy – the half-brother of Regnault – had been brought up by him. Had Flavy been doing his half-brother a favour?

Well, however it happened it was done; and Burgundy must turn it to good account.

The citizens of Orléans were stunned. The people gathered in the streets chanting the Miserere; in Tours and Blois many walked barefoot to the shrines of the saints. They could not understand why God should have deserted His messenger. It was a further sign, they assured each other. She would miraculously escape, and that would be yet another display of Divine protection.

Georges de la Trémoïlle was in a state of great delight. This was indeed good fortune for him. He suspected Regnault since it was his half-brother who had shut her out and left her to her enemies. Good work, he thought. He went to the King at once and they discussed the news. He pretended to be grave.

‘She is in the hands of Burgundy, not the English,’ Trémoïlle pointed out.

‘The English will endeavour to get her into their hands.’

‘It was a risk she took and if she was really sent by God He will protect her. She was always rash. Never listening to advice – always going her own way.’

Charles was uneasy. He had so much for which to thank her. When she had come to him and read the suspicion of his illegitimacy in his mind and had reassured him, he had known she had Divine powers. She had saved Orléans; she had had him crowned at Rheims. It worried his conscience that she had fallen into the hands of her enemies.

Trémoïlle knew his royal master well. Charles was worried. He might try to act – or at least he was thinking about it. He would be expected to act. The people would demand it of him. He would find all sorts of reasons why this or that could not be done, of course, but it was a dangerous situation.

Fate played into Trémoïlle’s hands. Perhaps it was natural that after the impact Jeannette had made on the people of France imitators should spring up here and there.

Before Jeannette’s capture a matron named Catherine de la Rochelle had declared that she too had had visions. She too had been selected by Divine Powers to partake in the salvation of France. She wanted to tour France and explain that a vision had come to her at night – a lady dressed in cloth of gold who had told her that she must exhort the population to bring their treasures from their secret store and give them to the King of France to prosecute the war. She had met Jeannette, and Jeannette had dismissed her as a fraud. So, reasoned Trémoïlle, Catherine de la Rochelle might be useful now.

A shepherd boy was brought to him. This Guillaume of Gevaudan had had the signs of the stigmata on his hands. He said that it had been revealed to him that God had suffered Jeannette to fall into the hands of her enemies because she had become hardened by pride. She had grown to love fine armour and beautiful horses so well that she had lost sight of the fact that she was working for God.

As for Catherine de la Rochelle, she was ready to swear that Jeannette was a witch. She had seen her in visions having intercourse with the Devil.

These facts Trémoïlle could lay before the King, and Charles’ conscience was only too ready to be eased.

The Duke of Bedford could scarcely contain his excitement. Earnestly he discussed the matter of the Maid’s capture with the Earls of Warwick and Suffolk.

‘It’s the best piece of news I’ve heard for a long time,’ declared Suffolk.

‘It would have been better if she had fallen into our hands instead of Luxembourg’s,’ commented Bedford wryly.

‘Which,’ added Warwick, ‘is tantamount to falling into Burgundy’s hands.’

‘What will Luxembourg do, think you?’ asked Warwick.

‘You know that grasping one-eyed Count. He’ll ransom her.’

‘You think the French … ?’

‘My lord,’ said Bedford firmly, ‘we must see that the French do not pay that ransom, and the only way we can do it is by paying a higher one ourselves.’

‘I agree,’ said Warwick. ‘We must get the Maid into our hands.’

‘And prove her to be a witch,’ added Bedford firmly.

‘Our troubles will continue until she is removed,’ agreed Warwick. ‘I’ve no doubt of that. It is not her skill in war – though that is remarkable for a simple country girl. But the French believe her to be God’s messenger. And for that reason they fight as never before.’

‘And our men … what do they believe?’ asked Bedford. ‘That she comes from the Devil? She does. She’s a witch. There’s no doubt. But whether it is the powers of light or darkness, they are working against us and will continue to do so until she is destroyed.’

‘What action then, my lord?’

‘I have already sent to England. Nothing must be spared. There will have to be new taxes if necessary. And there is no time for delay. Money must be sent in readiness. When Joan the Maid is put to ransom, we are going to be the ones to pay it. Make no mistake of that.’

‘It’s the only way. Joan will soon be in our hands.’

‘We have to go warily. Watch Burgundy. He’ll try to make the utmost out of this. If he forbids Luxembourg to take a ransom Luxembourg will have to obey. But we must be ready.’

‘We want Joan of Arc’

A terrible desolation had come to her. Something had gone wrong. She had disobeyed her voices in some way. She had always known that when the Dauphin was crowned her mission was accomplished. Her family had been at Rheims. That was the sign. She should have returned with them. Why had she stayed? Because after her experiences nothing could be the same again. She had said she wanted to return to the quiet life of the country, but did she? She had lived with great happenings. Ever since her voices had come to her – and she had been only thirteen then – she had dreamed of great events. How could she go back to being a simple peasant woman?

Nothing could be the same again. She wanted it to go on. She had wanted to lead men into battle. Before the coronation she had known inspiration, something strangely divine. After the coronation, it was withdrawn and she had been only a human being with a great purpose, dedicated though it was. But she had failed and she had fallen into the hands of her enemies.

She was taken to Beaulieu Castle which belonged to her captor, the Count of Luxembourg. He would ransom her as was the custom with all those people of rank and importance who were captured in war. She was of no rank but no one in France was more important.

‘Jesus,’ she prayed, ‘do not let me fall into the hands of the English.’

She was half way there, she knew, for Luxembourg was the vassal of Burgundy and Burgundy was the ally of the English. But her dear King Charles would never let that happen. As the days passed and there was no news from him she was tormented by doubts. She tried to call on her voices. She heard them but distantly. ‘She must not despair. God would look after her.’

She wanted to be free. What was happening at Compiègne? She should be there. Surely Charles would send someone to capture the castle, to restore her to freedom?

There was much coming and going. The Duke of Burgundy was in the castle. She heard the great man’s name whispered. He came to see her. The interview was brief.

She reproached him for taking sides against the King of France, to which he replied he was avenging the death of his father.

She pointed out to him that his father had paid the price of his vengeance.

Burgundy was cold. ‘You should not speak of matters which do not concern you,’ he said. ‘By God’s Truth, girl, you have enough matters of your own with which to occupy yourself.’

There was nothing to be gained by that interview.

She did not trust the Count of Luxembourg. He was most ill favoured, having only one eye; but it was not that so much as his mean expression which repelled her. He was clearly greatly amused to find himself in this position and on the rare occasions when Jeannette saw him, he enjoyed hinting that he would probably be forced to hand her to the English.

This was why she planned her escape. It would be difficult, but it was possible and with the help of God she could do it.

If she could get out of her room and run along a passage there was a spot where it would be possible for her to slip through a narrow space in the wall. She was small and as she had scarcely eaten since her capture and even before then existed on pieces of bread soaked in wine, she was very thin. She knew that with a little effort she could slip through that gap. Then she would have to pass the guardroom. But if she could lock the door from the outside, they would remain captive while she slipped out of the castle.

For several days she thought of this. She imagined the joy of the people when she showed them once more that God was with her and had effected her escape. She prayed all through the day and at dusk was able to slip through the gap as she had thought; she was able to turn the key which imprisoned the guards.

‘Oh God help me,’ she murmured, ‘I have done it.’

She ran round the spiral staircase. A porter was standing at the bottom and he caught her as she attempted to run past him.

‘Where are you going to?’ he asked. ‘You are my lord’s prisoner. Did you think to escape as easily as that?’

She was taken back to her prison but the Count of Luxembourg was alarmed.

She might have escaped. And what would have happened to him, if she had? He would have been blamed. Obviously Beaulieu was not a strong enough prison.

Jeannette was transferred to the castle of Beaurevoir close to Cambrai where she could be much more closely confined.

She was desperately unhappy. She had been so certain that God would help her escape. Piteously she called on her voices. They came to her sometimes, but faintly and as though far away. Sometimes when she lay on her straw after a day of fasting she saw the Saints Margaret and Catherine.

‘Have patience,’ they said. ‘You are not forgotten.’

But there were times when she thought she was and a terrible fear came to her. She was obsessed by the English. She must not fall into their hands. She hated them fiercely. They were wicked … all of them … they had dared overrun her country and had called the boy king Henry the King of France. She had changed that. She had brought about the crowning of the real King. But what would they do to her if she fell into their hands?

And she would. This cruel Count of Luxembourg would not be able to resist the ransom they offered. Besides, he was a vassal of Burgundy and Burgundy had become a traitor to France when he became the friend of the English.

She could not bear it. She looked down from the narrow slit of her window to the stony courtyard below. If only she were down there. If only she were free.

And one day the impulse came to her. She was at the top of a seventy foot tower, but the saints would carry her down. They would not let her fall. If she had the courage to step out they would carry her down to safety.

She stood on the ledge. The cool air fanned her face. She stepped out into nothing.

They found her lying unconscious on the stone floor and carried her in. She was badly hurt and unable to move. The Count was deeply disturbed. She might have killed herself. The English would have been pleased, but what of his ransom?

Jeannette wakened to find two women at her bedside. As she opened her eyes she thought they were Saints from Heaven because of the sweetness of their faces.

One of the women was very old, the other much younger, but she sensed the kindliness in both of them.

‘Ah, you are awake,’ said the older of the two. ‘You have had a bad fall but you are going to recover. You must rest though. There is nothing to fear. We have been looking after you.’

‘Where am I?’ asked Jeannette.

‘In the castle of Beaurevoir.’

‘Still here.’

‘Yes, you fell from the window.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I am the Countess Jeanne of Luxembourg – the Count’s aunt – and this is his wife, Jeanne of Bethune.’

Jeannette closed her eyes. She knew now that her attempt had failed; she was not in Heaven; she was still a captive in the hands of her enemies.

But the two women could scarcely be called that. As Jeannette recovered she realised how much she owed to their kindness. She began to understand that the elderly lady was of some importance for she held the Luxembourg estates and, if she decided to, could leave them to someone other than the Count. He was therefore most respectful to her which amused Jeannette. The young Countess of Luxembourg was a gentle girl and deeply religious; both of these women were sorry for Jeannette and nursing her when she was close to death had made them aware of her piety. They could well believe that she had been following a divine purpose and although they were on the other side through Luxembourg’s allegiance to Burgundy, they did not hold that against her.

They said she should have some women’s clothes to wear. ‘Something attractive,’ suggested the young Countess.

‘We will send for materials,’ said the elder one.

Jeannette shook her head. She wanted no women’s clothes. Her voices had said she must dress as a man until they told her otherwise. She would keep to what she already had.

For the first time since her capture she began to feel a little happier. Her position was desperate, she knew, and still the threat of being passed to the English hung over her, but there was comfort in the society of other women.

The Count of Luxembourg was in desperate need of money and the capture of Jeannette d’Arc seemed to him like a gift from Heaven. He was avaricious by nature and was unsure of his inheritance. He had to be very careful not to offend his aunt; he had just built the castle of Beaurevoir and as usual such projects turned out far more costly than had at first been calculated. He needed money badly.

He was desperately anxious to get that ransom. The Duke of Burgundy, he guessed, was toying with the idea of paying it himself. He was one of the few who would be able to afford it. In fact so rich was Burgundy that it might well be that even the English would not be able to outbid him. He could see Burgundy’s motive. He would hold Jeannette as a threat to the English. That was an uneasy partnership. Even though Bedford had married Burgundy’s sister there was a great deal of suspicion between them.

But it was the English who would get her in the end. The Count was certain of that and he was waiting for the day.

While he was thinking of this and imagining the gold trickling through his fingers his aunt came in to see him.

‘She will recover,’ she said. ‘Poor girl. She’s little more than a child.’

‘A child, my lady, who wrought a great deal of havoc in a very short time.’

‘She sees it as good.’

The Count shrugged his shoulders.

‘I believe in her,’ said the Countess. ‘So does your wife. That girl is good. Be careful how you treat her.’

‘She will be no concern of mine once she has passed out of my hands.’

‘What will her fate be at the hands of the English?’

‘They will make her out to be a witch.’

‘She is no witch. She is a good saintly girl.’

‘Dear lady, it is not for me to say.’

‘But it is for you to say. You must not let her pass into the hands of the English. Charles should pay the ransom. How can he not? Consider what she has done for him!’

‘Charles could not afford to pay the ransom for which he would be asked.’

‘By you?’

‘I am the fortunate man who holds the prize.’

‘Jean, you must not sell this girl to her enemies.’

‘My dear lady, you do not know what difficulties I find myself in. The building of this castle has cost so much. And if my Lord Burgundy should decide the girl should be given over, then so must it be. He is my master.’

‘He understands the laws of chivalry enough to let the matter rest with you.’

‘You do not know the Duke of Burgundy.’

‘I know myself, nephew. And I should be most displeased if you sold Jeannette d’Arc to her enemies.’

She swept out of the room. She had always been a forceful lady, fond of getting her own way. She was warning him that if he accepted a ransom for Jeannette d’Arc she might decide to cut him off from the Luxembourg estates.

The Duke of Bedford was with the Duke of Burgundy, and the matter they were discussing was Jeannette’s fate.

They had both heard of the attempts at escape.

‘The angels had deserted their posts while she jumped,’ commented Bedford wryly.

‘Indeed so,’ replied the Duke, ‘and what they were doing to allow that porter to be on guard when she might have slipped out of Beaulieu I cannot imagine. Seriously, the girl is a fraud.’

‘How did she manage to inspire the Orléannese?’

‘Fear. You know that well enough. You should have allowed the town to surrender to me.’

‘After I had spent time and men and money making the siege?’

‘You were not going to beat the bushes for someone else to get the birds. Remember? That was one of your rare blunders. The Blunder of the Birds. But for that Orléans would not have been lost to Charles.’

Bedford was silent. He was a man who had made very few mistakes, which was why he deplored them when they did occur. The affair of the birds was only half a mistake. He would not have been very happy to see Orléans in Burgundy’s hands – better than Charles’ though, he had to admit – and that his men had been beaten by this strange girl was indeed a disaster.

‘Luxembourg wants the ransom,’ said Burgundy, ‘but his aunt has forbidden him to take it.’

Bedford raised his eyebrows.

‘A very pious lady, most virtuous. She has been nursing the Maid and will not allow Luxembourg to take the ransom.’

‘And he dare not?’

‘He stands to lose a great deal if he displeases the lady.’

Bedford was mildly relieved. He was by no means an impulsive man. He was content for matters to remain as they were for the time. Joan of Arc could do no harm in prison, and he was not quite ready to pay the heavy ransom which would be demanded.

‘The old lady won’t last long,’ said Burgundy. ‘She is very old and not in the best of health. As soon as she has gone, then you will see.’ He leaned towards Bedford. ‘I have thought of making a bid myself.’

Bedford was horrified. Burgundy was the one bidder he feared. The richest man in France, he could offer almost anything and Luxembourg by reason of his position would have to accept Burgundy’s offer even if it were less.

Burgundy was smiling slyly. There was little he enjoyed more than watching his ally’s discomfiture.

‘You would be very unpopular, my friend, if you harmed the Maid,’ suggested Bedford.

‘Not with her enemies.’

‘What would you do with her?’

‘She’s a witch,’ said Burgundy. ‘I have little doubt of that. I might keep her in prison for the rest of her life. I might burn her as a witch.’

If he burned her at the stake … all well and good, thought Bedford. But he wouldn’t, he was too wily. He would hold her and keep her to threaten his English allies whenever he felt the need to do so. The Maid must not fall into Burgundy’s hands.

Bedford said: ‘Trade with the Flemings flourishes in England.’

The Flemings were in Burgundy’s vast domains. They lived by their weaving. There would be a revolt if their trade were interfered with.

Burgundy was thoughtful. Bedford could stop their woven goods being exported to England at the stroke of a pen.

Burgundy was thoughtful. He did not really want to be burdened with Joan of Arc.

When the time came he would let the English have her.

Soon after that the time did come. The old Countess of Luxembourg was found dead in her bed one morning. No one was very surprised; she had been ailing for some time. Her estates naturally passed to her nephew who was delighted to have the threat of her displeasure removed for ever.

Then the English came along with a very good offer and Burgundy, thinking of the Flemish weavers, allowed his vassal to accept it.

So Jeannette passed into the hands of her enemies the English and was taken to the capital of Normandy, Rouen, there to await the judgement they would pass on her.

Chapter XV FINALE AT ROUEN

IT was in cold December, two days before Christmas, when Jeannette arrived in Rouen. She was deeply depressed. That which she had greatly feared had come to pass. She felt deserted by the King and worse still by her voices.

Her prison was a cell in the tower of the castle. It was not small but very dark. There was nothing but a straw pallet on the floor and only one window too high for her to see what was outside.

Twice she had tried to escape and her captors were determined that she should not do so again. They put fetters on her legs and an iron belt was fixed about her waist – and all these were chained to the wall.

There had been a great deal of talk about her purity. If she was to be condemned as a witch she could scarcely be a virgin, and it was very necessary that she should be condemned as a witch. Therefore her gaolers were chosen from that most brutal section of the army notorious for its barbarous behaviour. When these men raided towns and villages they brought terror to the inhabitants who had given them the name of houspilleurs which meant tormentors. Among those selected to watch over Jeannette there were two men whose reputations were slightly worse than those of the others. They were William Talbot and John Grey. When she saw them such fear as she had never known in the heat of battle seized Jeannette. One look at the brutalised faces of these men was enough to tell her what their intentions would be. She prayed then with an even greater fervour than ever before.

How could this have happened to her? It had all been so gloriously successful. She had believed she would go on until she had driven the English out of France. How foolish she had been! She had loved the glory and had sought it after her mission was done; and now she must pay for it. It seemed that God and her voices had deserted her. When she had recovered in Beaurevoir castle after throwing herself from the window, she knew. Right up to then she had believed they would save her. Perhaps she had thrown herself down being tempted as Christ was in the wilderness.

‘If they are going to kill me,’ she prayed, ‘oh God let them do it quickly.’

All her chains would allow her to take were three paces forward and back.

There was no heating in the cell and the weather was bitterly cold. The one window which gave little light and no view for her provided the draughts. She was to be tried and proved to be a witch and she was in the hands of the Inquisition who had their special methods for proving a prisoner guilty.

Her gaolers sought to insult her at every turn. They teased her, they liked to frighten her. Their words did not frighten her; it was their acts she feared.

They had set up a table and stools and played with dice. While she watched them, inwardly she prayed for the strength she would need when the time came, as she knew it would.

They would sit in a corner of the room with their dice – cursing and swearing. They muttered about her. ‘But for this naughty Maid we should not be here in this cold room passing the hours away. We should be out … in the taverns … having a good time with the wine and the wenches.’

‘What think you of her?’

‘Not very comely.’

‘Nay … nay … but she says she’s a maiden still. I always had a fancy for maidens.’

‘What even when they’re dressed to look like a man!’

‘There are parts which are like a woman.’

They hiccupped and roared with laughter.

She thanked God for the clothes she was wearing – the sort of clothes soldiers wore under their armour, padded doublet of linen laced up in the front; short breeches of deerskin and long woollen hose fastened to the doublet by eyelets and laces.

Her shoes were of padded leather. She looked like any soldier divested of his armour.

There was a certain protection in such clothes; that was why she knew she must cling to them and resist all temptation to assume feminine attire.

Now she must lie here, or take her few paces and wait for her trial while she endured the coarse conversation of her gaolers and hoped – in vain she guessed – that they would not try to put their coarse words into action.

Yes, indeed it seemed that God had deserted her.

It was not long before the onslaught came, as she knew it must.

She was exhausted and lying down; they were throwing their dice. She could hear their slurred voices, and although her body craved sleep she knew that she must stay alert.

One of them came over to her.

He touched her with his foot. She rose as well as the chains would permit.

‘Get ready,’ he said. ‘They’re going to smear you in sulphur and take you to the stake tonight.’

It was a lie, she knew.

‘Go back to your dice,’ she cried.

‘Are you not frightened, little Maid? Think of the hot flames licking that virgin body of yours. It’s a shame to die young, you know. You don’t want to feel the flames of hell before you’ve had a few pleasures on earth, do you?’

‘You lie,’ she said. ‘There has been no such order.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘God has told me,’ she said. And the radiance was there on her face as when she rode into Orléans.

It seemed to the men then that there was a strange light in the cell.

William Talbot was a little afraid but he was not going to let John Grey know that. John Grey felt the same in respect to William Talbot.

Talbot caught her and pulled at the laces of the doublet.

With all her strength she hit out at him and sent him flying across the cell. He fell knocking his head against the wall.

John Grey burst into laughter at the sight of his friend.

‘You like me better, eh, little Maid?’ he said.

She brought up her knee and caught him. He reeled back. The other men at the door looked in. They saw the two notorious houspilleurs lying on the floor groaning.

They stared in amazement.

Jeannette stood there, the radiance still on her face. She lay down on her pallet. She could sleep now in peace. She knew that she was not completely deserted.

There were visitors to her cell. Five important gentlemen had come to see her. She recognised Jean, Count of Luxembourg immediately. Three of the others she did not know. Luxembourg told her who they were. The great Earl of Warwick who was tutor to the young King of England; the Earl of Stafford who held a high place on the English Council; the Count’s brother, Bishop of Thérouanne; and the fifth was Aimond de Macy, a man who had come to see her at Beaurevoir.

She did not hope for help from any of these men. The English she knew were out to destroy her; she distrusted Luxembourg and any friend of his; as for Aimond de Macy he had offended her deeply when he had come, out of curiosity, to see her and had declared that properly dressed and groomed she would be a pretty girl. He had commented that she had very pretty breasts and had tried to handle them. He had laughed afterwards at the fierceness with which he had been repulsed.

For what then could she hope from such visitors?

Luxembourg who felt an irresistible desire to tease her knowing how frightened she must be to have fallen into the hands of the English – into which he had sold her – said: ‘Good day to you, Joan.’ They used the English version of her name now because it was what the English called her.

‘Why do you come here?’ she asked.

‘I have come to buy you back on condition that you promise never to take up arms against us again.’

Why did he say such a thing? She knew it was only to tease her, to raise her hopes that they might be dashed again and she would then feel even greater depression than she did now.

‘I know full well that you are mocking me,’ she told him. ‘You have no desire to do what you say … nor have you the power.’

‘I swear to you …’ began Luxembourg.

‘Have a care on whose name you swear your falsehoods,’ she retorted. ‘I know the English will kill me. They believe that when I am dead they can regain the realm of France. Is that not so?’

She looked defiantly at the Earls of Warwick and Suffolk who were watching her closely.

She laughed mockingly. ‘I will tell you this; that if there were a hundred thousand more English in France than there are at this moment, they shall never reconquer the realm. That belongs to our King Charles the Seventh … the anointed of God and so shall it remain.’

The Earl of Stafford had grown white with anger. He was known to be an impulsive man. He drew his dagger and moved towards Jeannette.

Warwick drew Stafford back. ‘Have a care,’ he whispered. ‘Would you strike a girl?’

It was an end to the visit; Warwick’s desire now was to get away.

Jeannette sank onto her pallet. For a moment she had thought the enraged earl was going to plunge the dagger into her breast. She had almost longed for him to do so. Then there would have been an end to her misery.

She thought about Warwick. Was that a hint of pity she had seen in his eyes? It might have been. But he was a calm, shrewd man. He knew that Joan of Arc killed by the dagger of an angry English earl would have remained a martyr whose spirit would have marched on with the French armies after she was gone.

No. These English were going to prove her a witch. They had to. So perhaps it was for that reason that Warwick had restrained the Earl of Suffolk.

Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, was in charge of the case against Jeannette because she had been taken in Compiègne which was in his diocese.

He knew that it was expected of him to prove her to be a witch. His masters desired it of him. It was the only possible verdict. Joan of Arc must be shown to be a creature in league with the Devil and evil spirits.

Pierre Cauchon was an ambitious man; although he had risen high in the Church he sought, in addition, to try his talents outside it.

He had ingratiated himself both with Henry the Fifth and the Duke of Bedford. He had supported John of Burgundy when he had been putting forward his case for murdering the Duke of Orléans and for that reason he had won the gratitude of Philip of Burgundy.

When he was fifty he had become Bishop of Beauvais; he was at this time sixty and one of the richest priests in France. A tall, broad man with rugged features, he had a powerful presence. His confidence in himself was complete. He was avaricious and not too scrupulous. He was the man Bedford needed to give the verdict which was so necessary to him.

So while Jeannette waited in her prison he was preparing the case against her.

One day Jeannette was told by her gaolers that as a great concession a fellow prisoner was being allowed to visit her. He came from Lorraine, her own province, and he was a cobbler named Nicholas Loiseleur.

Jeannette was delighted and wondered why her gaolers, who had so far shown so little concern for her comfort, should send her a companion.

Nicholas Loiseleur was a gentle creature; he was some forty years of age and his voice was soft. He spoke with an accent which had a hint of Lorraine in it but sometimes he lapsed into a more educated tongue.

He was very sympathetic and asked Jeannette a great many questions about her home in Domrémy. He was very interested in her childhood and he asked about the fairies and the dancing round the tree.

Had she ever seen fairies? he wanted to know.

She told him that she had only heard of them and had never seen them herself. She believed her godmother had seen them or so she had heard.

Then he wanted to know about her voices.

She began to notice that on his visits he talked little about himself, and suddenly it occurred to her that he had not the hands of a cobbler.

She tried to turn the questions and ask about him; and when his answers were not very satisfactory her suspicions were aroused. She noticed that he always spoke in a loud voice and that he turned his face towards the door.

What was this? Another enemy when she thought she had a friend!

It was a well known trick of the Holy Office to trap people, to lead them to betray themselves and to have some eavesdropper taking notes. So this was the function of her cobbler friend.

Was there no end to the humiliations to which she must be submitted? It seemed not. One day a great lady came to her cell – no less than the Duchess of Bedford who was also the sister of the Duke of Burgundy.

She had come in the company of two others to test Jeannette’s virginity.

The Duchess spoke with a gentleness and understanding of this violation of Jeannette’s privacy.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘that this must be inflicted on you, but I am convinced that you are a pure maiden and if we can testify to this it will be very helpful to you in your coming trial.’

‘And if I refuse?’ asked Jeannette.

‘Alas, they will take no refusal.’

There was something very kind about the Duchess. There was no prurience in her manner such as that to which Jeannette had so often been subjected.

‘I promise you,’ said the Duchess, ‘that I and my helpers will conduct this examination with as much speed and privacy as we can. Please submit. I assure you it is better that you help us rather than resist.’

Jeannette, knowing what the result would be and taking a liking to the Duchess who seemed so different from her tormentors and reminded her of the kindness of the ladies of Luxembourg, submitted to the examination.

When it was completed the Duchess said: ‘You are indeed a maid and shame on those who have called you harlot. Rest assured all shall know the result of this examination and I want to send you a tailor who will make clothes for you.’

She went to the gaolers whom she had dismissed during the operation and said to them: ‘Joan of Arc is a good girl. Pray treat her with the respect you would like others to show to your daughters.’

Jeannette lay on her pallet after the Duchess had gone and her spirits were lifted a little. It was comforting to know that there were some in the world who could be kind to her.

The Duchess was true to her word and a few days later her tailor, Johannot Simon, called to measure Jeannette for some clothes.

Unfortunately the man thought he could make free with the prisoner. He was rewarded with a blow on the ear which sent him reeling across the cell.

The guards were amused. Two of them had suffered themselves.

The tailor had learned his lesson too. Joan of Arc was no ordinary prisoner.

In the chapel royal of the castle of Rouen the trial of Joan of Arc was about to begin.

The most important figure in the court was Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais. Seated on the dais he looked magnificent in his robes of scarlet edged with gold filigree. On either side of him seated in the carved seats were the forty assessors clad in their black robes – a startling contrast to the red splash of colour provided by Cauchon.

Jeannette was a sorry figure – emaciated, pale, still in chains and wearing the clothes in which she had gone to battle she was a sight to arouse pity. But those assembled in the court had not come to feel pity but to do the bidding of their masters.

There was a great uproar from without. Voices could be heard shouting against her. They were the English who had feared when she came against them. They called her the Devil’s milkmaid, Satan’s cow girl, the whore of Domrémy. It mattered not that she was proclaimed a virgin; they would not give up their belief that she was from the Devil, because the only other alternative was that she came from God and that was something they dared not believe.

The scribes seated below the dais stared about them in consternation; they had never before known such a tumult in a court of this nature and were uncertain how to act. The prisoner appeared to be calmer than anyone. She sat pale and aloof as though she did not care that her life was at stake.

Finally Cauchon succeeded in establishing order. He told Jeannette that she must swear to answer the whole truth.

She considered this carefully. ‘But I do not know what questions you will ask,’ she pointed out. ‘It may be that you will ask about something I cannot tell you.’

Cauchon said: ‘Will you swear to do as you are told?’

‘No,’ she answered. ‘I can tell you of my home, of my parents and what I have done since I took the road to France. But what God has revealed to me I will not tell except to Charles the King.’

They were wasting time, said Cauchon. She must take the oath otherwise her evidence would be worthless. But he had to agree that she should answer questions about her actions and her faith but might not find she could do so about her visions.

If she would not take the oath and answer all the questions put to her Cauchon could have condemned her right away, but that would not have suited the Duke of Bedford. He wanted to expose her, and the King of France with her, as dabblers in witchcraft. That was what Cauchon’s masters expected of him and it was to his advantage to please them.

The first session had come to an end. It seemed to have been completely taken up by formalities. As Jeannette was about to leave the Court Cauchon said to her: ‘I must warn you. Should you attempt to escape it will go ill with you.’

‘If the opportunity to escape came, I should take it,’ she retorted. ‘It is every prisoner’s right and I have never promised anyone not to do so.’

‘Are you aware that you are the prisoner of Holy Church, and that it is a terrible crime to wish to be free of that Church?’

‘I have promised to no one that I should not escape,’ she answered stubbornly.

‘Do you believe you have God’s permission to leave prison?’

‘Yes. If the opportunity was given me I should take it.’

When the Court was cleared Cauchon discussed the proceedings with the assessors. How could they know what the girl would say next? Young and ignorant as she was, she was a powerful adversary. They would have to tread very carefully.

Later he talked to Jean Beaupère, a former rector of the University of Paris who had been assigned to assist him in the cross-examination. Cauchon had great respect for Beaupère. He was a shrewd man, learned in the ways of the law as well as in those of the Church. He was a man of calm, clear judgement and he had argued that under clever cross-examination a simple peasant girl would destroy herself; and when Cauchon said she could be condemned after her first appearance in Court it was Beaupère who pointed out it would be better for her to entangle herself. There would be repercussions, they could be sure. They wanted a clear case of heresy and witchcraft. They wanted the Inquisition to find her guilty and hand her over to the secular arm for sentence which would be – as it was for witchcraft – burning at the stake.

‘The next session should be held in a smaller chamber,’ said Beaupère. ‘We do not want a repetition of today’s scene. The girl has courage. Let the Court be conducted among ourselves. We do not want all that turmoil outside. It is against her now. It could turn to her.’

Cauchon agreed that this was wise and the next day the Court was set up in a small room and guards were placed outside the door to keep out the mob.

The Inquisitor Jean Le Maître was present, as he had insisted, not to question, but to observe, and among the assessors was the sly Loiseleur who had posed as a cobbler and sought to trap Jeannette.

She saw all these people and was less afraid than she had been when she had had to face the ruffians in her cell. She had heard her voices in the early morning and Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret had told her to be of good cheer. God was watching over her and above all she must be bold. She must speak out and say what was in her mind. Refuse to answer if they asked her something which she felt was too sacred to be spoken of. And on other matters, tell the truth.

Beaupère spoke gently. Had she been as simple as some thought her, she would almost have thought he was on her side. He asked a great many questions about her childhood. She had no objections to talking about that. But it was inevitable, of course, that they should arrive at that time when she had heard the voices.

‘What form did the angel take?’ Beaupère asked.

He wanted her to describe some humanised form because it seemed a good way to trap her. She was aware of this. It was as though her voices were warning her.

‘I refuse to answer that question,’ she said.

One of the assessors cried out: ‘What does the prisoner mean – she will not answer! She is here to answer any question that is put to her.’

Beaupère looked at Cauchon. They understood each other. The girl could refuse to talk altogether. What then? They could torture her. There were many things they could do to her. But would that be wise? They wanted her to talk. They wanted her to betray herself through the answers to subtle questions.

Cauchon shouted to the assessor to be silent. ‘Let the Court proceed,’ he added.

Beaupère ignored her refusal and did not press for a description of the angel. Instead he wanted to know how she had picked out the Dauphin when she had been presented to him. He had tried to press someone else on her, had he not? But she had known him at once.

She was guided to him, she said.

‘By what sign?’

‘That I will not speak of.’

The assessors murmured amongst themselves. What sort of a trial was this where the prisoner continually refused to answer certain questions?

They turned to Beaupère, but he was biding his time. He believed he could force her into a position where she would entrap herself. That was what he wanted.

‘So these voices came to you, a humble peasant girl. You were to do this strange thing … leave your cows and sheep and lead the Dauphin to victory.’

‘That was what I was told to do.’

‘And what was to be your reward for all this?’

‘The salvation of my soul.’

Beaupère was exasperated. He had not expected such quick thinking of a peasant girl.

Cauchon was getting exasperated. The girl was making such a good impression. Of course they would find her guilty but it must be done in such a way as to leave no doubt. They did not want her to be a martyr after her death.

At the next assembly he told her that he would have no more nonsense about her refusing to take the recognised oath. But she again refused to take it.

‘I could condemn you for that,’ he said.

‘Take care,’ she warned. ‘I am sent by God. You put yourself in danger by your treatment of me.’

Beaupère smiled at her pleasantly. He pursued his questions concerning the voices – each one cleverly couched to catch her. He came at length to the rites that had been observed during her childhood. They were pagan ceremonies, he hinted, and she had taken part in them. There was a suggestion that during them she had become imbued with the witches’ craft.

At the end of the session she was taken back to her dreary prison there to stretch out on her straw pallet and pray for guidance until she fell asleep exhausted.

A great fear had come to her. She would not be allowed to go on refusing to take the oath. She knew that behind the smiling face of Beaupère there was a wolf waiting to devour her.

During the next days her weariness was apparent. Beaupère was the first to notice. He was cutting the ground around her, teasing her with seemingly innocent questions, standing by waiting for her to fall into his traps.

At last he had finished. He had done her great harm she knew, but she was not sure in what ways. He had been so quiet, had seemed so calm – even compassionate.

Cauchon took up the questions. Weary and without much hope for she knew that everything was going against her, she cried out: ‘I went to war on God’s business. I do not belong here. Send me back to my home.’

‘Are you sure you are in God’s grace?’ asked Cauchon slyly.

‘If I be not,’ she answered firmly, ‘please God to bring me to it. And if I be, please God to keep me in it.’

Cauchon despaired of bringing the trial to a satisfactory end. He consulted with his friends as to whether they should threaten her with torture.

She must stop her appeals direct to God; she must show greater respect for the Church. And yet how could they condemn her for praying to God?

She was surprised when she was allowed to stay in her prison for a day or so. She did wonder what fresh trials were being prepared for her. Then she discovered.

They came to her and releasing her from her chains led her out of prison. She gasped with horror when she saw the instruments in that dark apartment to which they had brought her. This was the torture chamber.

‘Let me bear it, oh God,’ she cried.

Cauchon regarded her steadily. ‘It is our desire to bring you back into the ways of truth,’ he said. ‘You have made wicked inventions and placed your soul in peril. Only confession can save your soul and if you will not save it without, torture may induce you to.’

In the midst of her terror a great calm suddenly descended on Jeannette and the words which came to her lips seemed to have been put there by the saints whom she so dearly loved.

‘If you will you must tear me limb from limb and I can do naught but submit. And if in the extremity of the torture your cruelty imposes on me I admit what you wish me to say, I should afterwards tell the world that it was lies forced from me by your instruments of torture.’

Beaupère laid an arm on that of Cauchon.

He withdrew him to a corner.

‘The girl is too clever,’ he said. ‘What she says is right. None would believe the confessions which are extracted under torture. It will not do in her case. Our task is to prove her guilty. We will not do it with torture. It is the sure way to setting her up as a martyr.’

They took her back to her prison and the idea of torture was abandoned.

But the end of the trial was in sight.

Back in Court she was told that she was disobedient to Christ if she did not obey his prelates of the Church.

How could Holy Church survive if all its members might make private treaties with Heaven? This was her sin. She demeaned Holy Church. If any man or woman would have contact with Heaven it could only be through the Church. In setting herself up as a confidante of God and His saints she was placing herself above Heaven’s representatives on Earth – the prelates of the Church. She had been guilty of pride and witchcraft for they would not believe her voices came from Heaven. She was guilty of bloodshed. But her great sin was in denying the supremacy of the Church and any who did that was guilty of heresy.

She lay on her pallet. Her body burned with fever. She believed she was back in the fields of Domrémy … dancing under L’Arbre des Dames. She was young, only a child, and she had not then heard the voices.

She tossed on her bed.

She was exhausted mentally and bodily. She had scarcely eaten for days – nothing but a little bread soaked in wine. She had tried to answer their eternal questions, being careful to avoid those which she believed might give offence to Heaven.

Sometimes she felt they were sustaining her, those voices. At others she felt they had deserted her. When they spoke ill of the King she defended him fiercely, but in her heart she knew that he had deserted her too.

They came to take her to the Court. She looked at them with unseeing eyes.

‘God help us, she is sick,’ said Cauchon. ‘She is sick unto death.’

They sent doctors to her. She must not die. That would never do. They must have her condemned; that must show her to have been the tool of the Devil.

Cauchon sent the best doctors to her. She was exhausted, was all they could say. She needed rest, food, peace of mind.

The two first she could have. It was hardly likely that the third would be available to her.

After a few days when Cauchon came to see her he was relieved to hear that she was a little better.

‘I rejoice to see you are recovering,’ he said.

‘For what purpose should I recover?’ she asked.

‘I sent doctors to you to comfort and ease you in your illness. Your answers at the trial were very wayward,’ he told her, ‘but I bear in mind that you are an unlettered girl. I can send good men to you to instruct and bring you back into the ways of truth. I must warn you that if you persist in your ways you will place yourself in great peril. We who are your mentors in Holy Church wish to lead you away from this danger.’

Jeannette smiled feebly. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But I shall continue to rely on God. If I die, I trust it will please you to bury me in holy ground.’

‘If you disobey the Church’s laws,’ replied Cauchon, ‘you cannot be granted the Church’s privileges.’

‘Then,’ she said, ‘I must trust in God.’

She was well enough to leave her bed. She felt frail as though much of her strength had been sapped from her. She reflected that it was exactly a year since she had been captured. Oh God, she prayed, have I endured this torture for twelve long months?

She must go once more before her judges.

This was the end. If she admitted that her voices and visions were false, she might be saved.

It was Pierre Maurice, one of her assessors and a canon of Rouen, who urged her to deny her voices.

He was young; and he spoke sympathetically. There were occasions when Jeannette imagined that some of her judges were sorry for her and would help her if they could. Maurice was one of them.

‘Jeannette, my friend,’ he said, ‘do not reject the Lord Jesus Christ. Do not take the path to eternal damnation with the powers of darkness who seek to distract men and women by taking on the shapes of angels and saints and saying they come from Heaven. Repel them. Turn your back on them. Listen to the words of those who would help you and who are the true servants of God.’

She looked into the earnest face of this young man and perhaps because she was so weak, having just risen from a sick bed, a flicker of doubt entered her mind.

Pierre Maurice was aware of this. He leaned towards her.

‘Can you imagine the agony of death at the stake? It is not quick, my friend. You suffer the torments of hell … a foretaste of what will go on eternally if you die with all your sins upon you. Think. You are denied the rights of the Church! Oh think of it, Jeannette.’

She was silent, thinking of it. Where were her voices now? Where was her good friend the King of France? If only there could be some sign.

‘Take her to her cell,’ said Pierre Maurice. He gave her a gentle smile. ‘Think of it, Jeannette,’ he added softly.

She lay on her straw. She was amazed that she could sleep. But her sleep brought her no comfort. She dreamed that the flames had already begun to lick her body.

She awoke crying out in terror.

Only a dream but one which would soon be reality.

It was early next morning when they came for her …

Beaupère with Pierre Maurice came into her cell.

‘We are leaving at once,’ she was told. Maurice laid a hand on her arm. ‘Jeannette,’ he said, ‘listen to me. Recant while there is time. If you do not the Church will hand you over to the secular law.’

‘And I shall be tried again … and not by the Church.’

‘You will be condemned. None would go against the judgement of Holy Church.’

She said bitterly: ‘Holy Church must not shed blood. So it passes those it wishes to destroy over to the secular arm and it would go ill with any judge there who went against the wishes of the Church.’

She was surprised at herself. She had been brought up to revere the Church. She put her hand to her brow. She felt weak and ill.

She climbed into the cart they had brought to take her the short distance to the cemetery of the Abbey of St Ouen. There platforms had been set up and on one of these were seated several cardinals and officials of the Church. Among the Cardinals was the Bishop of Winchester, watching the proceedings with the utmost interest for they were of great importance to his nephew the Duke of Bedford, and indeed to the whole English cause in France.

A sermon was preached by William Erard Canon of Rouen who afterwards admitted that he had no heart for it.

Jeannette listened and it was as though her dream was still with her and already she could feel the heat of fire scorching her limbs.

She was afraid.

‘The French had never been a truly Christian nation,’ the preacher was saying. Oh, he was determined to please his English masters. And Charles who claimed to rule over that nation must be a heretic himself to trust to this woman who now stood before …

Jeannette could not bear to hear the King spoken of in such a way. She rose and cried in loud ringing tones: ‘You outrage our King who is the noblest of Christians … None bears greater love to the Church than he …’

The preacher went on to list the crimes the Maid had committed.

‘Make your submission,’ he thundered. ‘Repent while you have time.’

Jeannette was still intent on defending the King.

‘If there has been any fault it is mine alone,’ she cried.

Pierre Maurice listening thought: She is weakening. She says ‘if there has been any fault.’ She would not have said that a week ago. Poor girl. Poor brave child.

They would excommunicate her, brand her as a heretic and hand her over to the secular law to carry out the sentence of death by burning.

Erard had turned to her. For the last time he was asking her to sign the submission, to confess to that of which she was accused.

She is wavering, thought Maurice. Poor girl, they have deserted her, all of them. She is worn out with suffering.

She said very quietly that she wished her case to be put before the Pope.

‘The Pope is far away,’ said Erard, ‘and your judges are delegated by him. The time has come. I shall now read the sentence of excommunication.’

Jeannette lifted her hand in protest.

Cauchon watching closely signed to Erard and a paper was set before Jeannette.

She was going to put her cross on it.

Under great pressure, after a year of intense suffering, sick in body, ignored by the King whom she had helped, deserted by her voices for whom she had lived and worked for the last six years, she could endure no more.

She nodded her head.

‘I would rather sign than be burned,’ she said.

What had she done? She had denied her voices. She had betrayed Saint Catherine, Saint Margaret and the Archangel Michael. Worst of all she had denied God.

‘They left me alone to my enemies,’ she murmured.

She tossed on her pallet. In the dimness she thought she saw a light. She thought she heard the voices.

They admonished her gently, but they understood. She had suffered as few had been called on to suffer. They were with her. She would have nothing to fear. Eternal joy was very close now.

Suddenly it was all clear to her. Her voices had promised nothing but salvation. There was no way out for her but through death.

She felt happier now.

The streets were filling fast. It was the day so many people had been waiting for. The people were to have their spectacle after all.

She wore a long grey robe and on her head was a paper mitre on which were written the words Heretic, Relapse, Apostate, Idolatress. It was the end.

Pierre Maurice came to see her in the cell. She was touched by the sadness in his eyes.

‘Where shall I be this night?’ she asked.

‘Have you no hope in Our Lord?’ he answered.

‘Yes,’ she said and there was ecstasy in her voice. ‘God willing I shall be with the saints in Paradise.’

They took her out to the tumbril which was waiting for her. There were one hundred and twenty soldiers to guard her on her short journey to the market place. All the little streets which converged on it were choked with people all eager to get a glimpse of the Maid’s last moments.

Cauchon delivered his final announcement.

‘In the name of God we reject you, abandon you, praying only that the secular power may moderate its sentence.’

It was ironical. There were some in the crowd who marvelled at the hypocrisy of a Church which could bring one of its members to this square with the sole purpose of submitting her to the flames and at the same time piously cast off the responsibility, knowing full well that no member of the secular arm would dare go against its wishes.

Now they were waiting. There was the pedestal, the ladder which she was to mount; there were the faggots which would be lighted.

They took her to the scaffold and forced her to mount the ladder. A chain was fastened about her waist to hold her firmly to the stake and almost immediately the smoke began to rise.

‘So I die,’ she thought. ‘No cross to hold, no comfort to help me on my way.’

‘Will you not give me a cross?’ she cried in anguish and one of the English archers who had come to witness the spectacle was moved to sudden pity which he found inexplicable. He leaped forward and snatched a branch from the wood at her feet. He formed it into a cross and gave it to her.

She seized it gratefully and held it before her eyes.

One of the monks came up with a cross he had taken from the altar of a nearby church. He held it before her eyes.

The flames were thick now. The crowd was shouting so loudly that they could not hear the moaning mingled with the prayers of the victim.

Then suddenly there was a cry of ‘Jesus’.

For a few moments there was a deep silence in the square.

Then an English soldier spoke and his words were clearly heard by those around.

‘God help us,’ he said, ‘we have burned a saint.’