Epitaph for Three Women (30 page)

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