Виктория Холт - Epitaph for Three Women

‘Will you go to the court then?’ asked Jacques.

‘I will go,’ she answered.

‘Do you know that it is twenty-five miles from here?’

‘I do know it.’

‘And how will you get there?’

‘I will find my way.’

‘I’ll not come with you … nor shall anyone in this household.’

‘I need no one. I shall go alone.’

So she prepared herself. Zabillet was very worried.

‘We cannot let her go alone,’ she said to Jacques. ‘Think what might happen to her on the road.’

‘She will not go,’ retorted Jacques. ‘Twenty-five miles! A girl alone! Stop fretting. She’ll set out and be back in an hour or so … and then she’ll come to her senses.’

‘She has a strong will.’

‘She would never stand up to the court. Even if she made the journey, she would have to give way. They would be of the same opinion as we are. Marriage is the best thing for her.’

Jacques was wrong. Jeannette made the journey without mishap. She was certain she would because her voices had told her so. She faced the court; she was calm and so serenely vowed that she had made no promises that the court regarded her objections very seriously indeed. She was sent away and told that her case should be considered.

Confidently she returned to Neufchâteau for her voices had told her that all would be well. She had not been back more than a day or so when two messengers arrived. One was to say that the young man who had lyingly declared that she had promised to marry him had been thrown from his mare and had died instantly. The other messenger came from Toul. The court had considered her case and accepted her story. It was not she who had been at fault and she was free to remain unmarried.

Jacques was subdued. Zabillet did not know what to think. And very soon after that Robert de Baudricourt had brought about a temporary truce and it was considered safe to go back to Domrémy.

IT was a sad homecoming to Domrémy, for there was clear evidence that the soldiers had passed through. The villagers were grateful for Jacques’ far-sightedness in leading the exodus to Neufchâteau. Once again he had been proved right. Even so the soldiers, no doubt enraged at finding no food to be taken, no girls to be raped, had wreaked a certain amount of damage on some of the houses. One or two of them had even been burned down.

‘Let us thank God that no greater harm has been done,’ said Jacques; and the entire village set to work to rebuild where necessary. Jacques’ own house, by some stroke of good fortune, had been left unscathed.

Those were difficult months for Jeannette to live through; she was deeply aware of the suspicious, watchful looks which came her way. That they all thought she was strange there was no doubt; in the village they whispered about her, and Jacques continued to fear that she would go off with the soldiers and become a camp follower. Any profession less likely to suit Jeannette it would be hard to conceive but after his vivid dreams her father could not get the idea out of his mind.

Mengette, now recovering a little from the shock of her husband’s death, remonstrated with her. ‘Remember you are still young,’ she said. ‘You could marry and have children. Believe me, it is the best life.’

Pierrelot cried: ‘What is the matter with you, Jeannette? Why can’t you be like other girls? People are saying you are strange.’

‘Let them,’ she answered. ‘Let them say what they will. I have my destiny to fulfil and it is a matter for me, not for them.’

Only Hauviette felt the same towards her as she ever had. ‘Whatever it is, Jeannette, that has happened to you, it is good,’ she said, ‘and you will do what you have to do and do it well.’

The young girl would sometimes come and sit beside her in the meadow while she watched the sheep, or bring her distaff so that they could sit and spin and only with Hauviette did Jeannette feel a certain peace.

With the coming of autumn there was a great deal of traffic on the main road and news came to Domrémy that the important town of Orléans was under siege. People talked on the green outside the church and they spoke gravely for there had been so many reverses for the French and if Orléans fell into the hands of the English it could be the beginning of the end of French resistance.

Jeannette chafed against her inadequacy. The voices had spoken to her of Orléans. She had been told before she knew there was one that she was to raise the siege of that city and march triumphantly in to the rescue of the citizens.

Now the siege had begun and she was still in Domrémy where her father watched her with stern eyes and she knew that if she attempted to run away she would not be allowed to get very far.

What could she do? She was failing in some way. She felt foolish, helpless, unworthy of the task for which Heaven had chosen her.

It was October. How long could Orléans hold out? And what use was she, here in Domrémy?

She was sick with anxiety and she went to the fields and waited for the voices.

They came. ‘Have no fear, Daughter,’ she was told. ‘Durand Laxart will help you again. His wife Jeanne is to have a child and when it is born he will ask that you go to look after her. Then you will go once more to Captain de Baudricourt. This time you will succeed in reaching the Dauphin.’

She was considerably comforted.

The news from Orléans was bad. The English were surrounding the town and the Duke of Burgundy was on the side of the English. That was shameful.

And here was Jeannette waiting for the call from Durand Laxart.

The English had captured the fort of Les Tourelles and the Earl of Salisbury, who was recognised to be one of the greatest soldiers in Europe, was in charge of operations.

And still there was no summons from Durand.

Then they heard that the Earl of Salisbury had been killed rather mysteriously, through a cannon ball as he looked from Les Tourelles on Orléans, and it seemed that the tower from which it had come had been empty. Someone had seen a young child calmly walking away from the cannon … but that was all and it was impossible for a child to have fired it.

It was the first of the mystic happenings.

Rumours came to Domrémy every day. English cannons had been fired into the city. One ball hit a table where a family was at a meal. It bounced off the table and none was hurt. Another fell in a square where a crowd was gathered and once again no one was hurt.

‘The hand of God is in this,’ said the people.

Jeannette was certain of this. She was in a fever of impatience. Then the summons came from Durand. His wife Jeanne was in labour. Jeannette must come to help them at once. So she left for Petit-Burey.

It was only five miles away and she could walk that easily, so she set out at once and her feelings as she passed through the village were a mingling of sadness and exultation.

She saw Mengette who ran out to embrace her.

‘You’ll soon be back,’ said Mengette.

Jeannette did not answer. She knew that she would never come back.

‘I’ll call Hauviette,’ said Mengette. ‘You will want to say good-bye to her.’

‘No, no,’ cried Jeannette. ‘Not Hauviette…’

That she could not bear. The young girl was very dear to her; if she saw her she might weep; she might even cry out that this was their last farewell.

She must not see Hauviette.

She turned to take one last look at Domrémy before she went on to Petit-Burey.

* * *

In the garrison at Vaucouleurs there was great consternation about the possible fate of Orléans.

Robert de Baudricourt was seated at a table drinking wine with one of the commanders in the garrison and naturally the conversation was of Orléans.

‘If the city falls that will be an end to French hopes,’ said the commander Bertrand de Poulengy.

‘Well, a big blow, I admit.’

‘You know, Captain, that Orléans is the key to the Loire. It’s what Paris and Rouen are to the Seine.’

‘The English know that. It is why they are determined to take it.’

‘And we should show an equal determination to hold it.’

Baudricourt looked at his companion and raised his shoulders.

‘Our Dauphin is hardly the man to lead his country to victory.’

The two men fell silent as they went on sipping their wine.

‘Strange things have been happening, Captain.’

‘Oh you mean the death of Salisbury. A blessing for us. That man would have been inside Orléans in a week or two.’

‘He died by that cannon ball. They say it took off half his face. He died in agony two hours later.’

‘Well?’

‘Is it not strange? He died from a cannon that seemed to have been fired from nowhere.’

‘So they tell us.’

‘And there were the English cannon balls that alighted on people and failed to harm them.’

‘H’m,’ murmured Baudricourt.

‘You are sceptical, Captain.’

‘In a way, yes. If you ask me, Do I believe that God or one of His saints fired the cannon that killed Salisbury, the answer is no. Even if you ask me if He put the idea to fire it into the head of a small child, it is still no. But if you ask me whether it is good for people to believe this was so, I will say Yes! Yes! Yes! I tell you this, Poulengy: the people of France are in desperate straits and if they can believe that a helping hand is coming from Heaven it is just possible that they will pull themselves out of the mire into which they have sunk through their own lethargy, their mad King, their scheming Queen and their internal feuds.’

‘Captain, do you remember some months ago a girl came here?’

‘You mean mad Jeannette. Oh, I remember her all right. A pleasant looking creature. Dark hair springing from a high forehead and the most earnest eyes I ever saw in my life. I thought she wanted to be a camp follower at first.’

‘Don’t speak of her in that tone, Captain, I beg of you.’

‘Why? What’s come over you, Poulengy?’

‘I was there in the hall when she came. I heard what she said. I watched her. Do you know, I have often thought of her since.’

‘Well, she’s a tasty little piece, I grant you.’

‘No, no. Do not speak thus. It could bring bad luck. I believed her, Captain. When she said that Messire had sent her and you asked who Messire was she answered that Messire was God. I believed her, Captain. I believe her still.’

‘By all the saints, you amaze me, Poulengy.’

‘There have been these strange happenings in Orléans. There is talk about the girl. They say she is going to crown the Dauphin King and drive the English out of France.’

‘Was that not what she told us?’

‘I believe it to be true.’

Captain de Baudricourt was silent. He poured more wine into his companion’s glass and as he did so they were joined by another of the commanders. This was Jean de Novelempont, who came from Metz and was always known as Jean de Metz. Baudricourt poured him a goblet of wine.

‘Thanks, that’s good,’ said Jean de Metz. ‘You look solemn. Is the news bad?’

‘As bad as it can be without complete disaster,’ said Baudricourt. ‘We were talking about God.’

Jean de Metz looked from one to the other in amazement and Bertrand de Poulengy said: ‘We spoke of Jeannette of Arc. She came here once to see the Captain. He sent her back with orders that she should be returned to her father and soundly beaten for her temerity.’

‘Poulengy believes she was indeed a messenger of God,’ explained Baudricourt.

Jean de Metz looked at the Captain steadily. ‘So do I,’ he said.

Baudricourt leaned back as though to get a better look at them. He was silent for a moment. ‘There was something about the girl,’ he admitted thoughtfully.

Poulengy leaned forward. ‘If she were to come again, Captain, would you listen to her? Would you treat her with respect?’

Baudricourt laughed. ‘Do you know, with so many men in whose wisdom I have some confidence believing in her, perhaps I should. Yes, if she came again, I would see the wench. I would listen to her. I would do what I could to help her.’

There was silence at the table as they went on drinking their wine.

* * *

It was January when Jeannette with Durand set out once more for Vaucouleurs. Her cousin’s baby had been safely delivered and because Durand took Jeannette very seriously, so did his wife.