Epitaph for Three Women (31 page)

VICTORY AT ORLÉANS

I
T
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?