The Maid and the Queen (2 page)

Determined to seize the advantage and shatter what was left of their opponents’ spirit, the English had sent home for reinforcements and raised a supplementary army that they used to launch a powerful new offensive. The attack
struck at the very heart of the dauphin’s support and terrain— the walled city of Orléans. To lose Orléans meant that England would finally pierce the barrier of the Loire, allowing its soldiers to penetrate deeply into the southern countryside that served as a buffer zone between the French royal court and the front line. To lose Orléans meant there would be nothing and no one to stop the English from surrounding the dauphin and his government and precipitating their surrender or capture. To lose Orléans meant the almost certain defeat of France.

Sensible of the larger peril, the loyal inhabitants of that vital city had for six months heroically withstood the cruel siege conditions imposed upon them by the enemy. After an initial bombardment, the English commanders, finding themselves unable to scale the walls or break through Orléans’s defenses, had elected simply to surround their target, dig into entrenched positions, and wait for their opponents to either submit or starve to death.

To give voice to this struggle and provide an accurate depiction of events for posterity, the townspeople kept a daily chronicle of their ordeal, known as the
Journal of the Siege of Orléans.
“The Sunday…hurled the English into the city six score and four stones from bombards and great cannon, of which there was one stone weighted 116 pounds,” the entry for October 17, 1428, began. “This same week did the English cannon damage or destroy twelve mills…. The Sunday following the twenty-fourth day of October the En glish attacked and took…the end of the bridge…. Thus there was no defence because none dared any longer stay in them,” read subsequent reports.

As the months wore on and one by one the access routes into the city were successfully blockaded, stockpiles of provisions began to run dangerously low. Only small parties of horsemen, six or seven at a time, managed to smuggle any food at all into Orléans during the height of that terrible winter. Desperate to survive, the inhabitants launched a daring attempt to hijack a delivery of supplies bound for their English tormentors, but despite their superior numbers the French regiments were routed. The resulting defeat was so humiliating that it was recorded in the official journal as the infamous “day of the herrings,” a reference to the enemy’s inferior rations— salted herring in barrels— that the city had fought for but nonetheless failed to secure. As punishment for this exploit, the English tightened the grip on their victims so strongly that by spring the people of Orléans “found
themselves squeezed in such necessity by the besieging enemies that they knew not whom to have recourse to for a remedy, excepting (or, unless it be) to God.”

Now, in nearby Blois, what remained of the French army stoically girded itself for one final gamble in the long struggle to fend off, or at least buy time against, the seemingly invincible English. The pens of noisy barnyard animals, the carts full of wheat, the milling soldiers— all were elements of a signal relief operation organized to resupply Orléans and stave off the specter of mass starvation. The driving force behind this initiative was a leading member of the French aristocracy and one of the dauphin’s oldest and most trusted advisers. A veteran of two decades of partisan French politics and civil war, the de facto head of the loyalist party, this high counselor had worked tirelessly for months to bring together not only the necessary provisions but also the most experienced warriors in France with whom to confront the English and save Orléans.

Only a power broker this masterful, a descendant of royalty possessed of the requisite administrative, diplomatic, and logistical skills, could have hoped to succeed at so demanding a task. Although this statesman’s influence over the events of her time was unparalleled, neither her achievements nor her dominance has ever been recognized. Even her name has been forgotten. She was Yolande of Aragon, queen of Sicily, the dauphin’s mother-in-law.

As perhaps the most astute politician of her age, Yolande of Aragon had been one of the first members of the royal council to recognize the danger represented by the English presence at Orléans, and the absolute necessity of fighting back. Determined to save her son-in-law’s kingdom, which included her own lands and estates, she had summoned every weapon in her considerable arsenal— money, spies, coercion, and persuasion— to bring the rest of the French government in line with her point of view. Only the dauphin, terrified of yet another horrific defeat, had remained unconvinced. To change his mind, Yolande had been forced to resort to a highly unorthodox approach, the repercussions of which would resonate for centuries and ultimately change the course of history.

For leading this relief effort was neither duke nor general nor battle-hardened cavalry captain, but a seventeen-year-old girl dressed in armor and carrying a banner and sword— Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orléans.

• • •

T
HE ENIGMA OF
J
OAN OF
A
RC,
the brave peasant girl who heard the voices of angels and restored the dauphin to his rightful place on the throne of France, remains as irresistible today as when she first appeared some six centuries ago. How had the Maid, a lowly commoner, gained an audience at the royal court? How had she, an illiterate young woman from a tiny village at the very edge of the kingdom, come to know so much about the complex political situation in France, and indeed, to see into the deepest recesses of her sovereign’s heart? What clandestine sign had Joan revealed that convinced the dauphin of her authenticity and inspired him to follow her counsel? How had a seventeen-year-old female with no experience in warfare managed to defeat the fearsome English army, raise the siege of Orléans, and crown the king at Reims, feats that had eluded experienced French commanders twice her age?

The answers to these questions have remained hidden, not because the mystery surrounding Joan cannot be penetrated, but because their solution is inextricably tied to the life of another woman entirely, that of Yolande of Aragon, queen of Sicily. Viewed through the prism of Yolande’s experiences and perspective, Joan’s story abruptly makes sense, like a fragment torn from a page in a book that has been rediscovered and taped back into place. Pry open the Queen’s secrets and there will be found the Maid’s.

And so this is the saga of not one but two extraordinary women. It is a story filled with courage, intrigue, madness, and mysticism, which spanned a period measuring more than half a century. Best of all, although it is a work of history, at its heart lies a classic French novel, testimony to the enduring power of literature. Because Yolande’s long, eventful life bookended Joan’s short, tumultuous one, several decades and many chapters pass before the Maid finally makes her appearance. But it is only in this way— by the patient unraveling of the many curious twists and turns that came before, and which ultimately led to Joan’s thrilling introduction to the royal court— that what had been deliberately suppressed for so many centuries may finally be revealed.

Six hundred years is a long time to wait for answers to so prominent a mystery. For those who wonder after reading these pages how it is possible that the evidence of Yolande’s involvement in the story of Joan of Arc has never before been adequately explored, I can only respond that there is no more effective camouflage in history than to have been born a woman.

Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orléans.

C
HAPTER
1

The Kingdom
of the
Gay Science

HE SECRET HISTORY OF
J
OAN OF
A
RC
begins with circumstances and events that occurred long before her youth. In the Middle Ages, antiquity crowded into the present, noisily demanding to be heard. The exploits of Alexander, Caesar, and Charle magne were not heroic deeds to be admired at a distance but tangible goals to be emulated. Evidence of the miraculous, officially sanctioned by the Church, permeated every day existence, blurring the distinction between reality and imagination. So it is fitting that Joan’s story originates not with her own birth in 1412 but three decades earlier with that of her remarkable patron, Yolande of Aragon.

Yolande was everything Joan wasn’t: of the highest rank, in contrast to Joan’s humble commoner status; surrounded by wealth and privilege, as compared with the Maid’s poverty; educated, where Joan was illiterate; worldly, in the face of Joan’s simplicity. She was born in Barcelona on August 11, 1381. Her father, John,
^*
was the eldest son and heir of one of the most respected and feared monarchs of the age, Pedro IV, king of Aragon. Through a combination of ruthlessness and bellicosity exceptional even by medieval standards, Pedro had amassed an empire that extended from the Pyrenees across the Mediterranean and included Aragon, Valencia, Barcelona, Catalonia, Majorca, Sardinia, Sicily, and Malta. He had reigned for forty-five years by the time his granddaughter was born, and showed no signs of fatigue, even recently completing his memoirs, modestly entitled
The Book in which are contained all the great deeds that have occurred in Our House, during the time of Our life, commencing with Our birth.