Epitaph for Three Women (33 page)

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

L
ATER
, 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.