Epitaph for Three Women (35 page)

‘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 After the coronation, it was withdrawn and she had been only a human being with a great purpose, dedicated though it was.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.’