Виктория Холт - Epitaph for Three Women

He had begun life as an unattractive child. His face had been puffy from birth; his nose was long and wide – bulbous and purple, it seemed to hang over his flabby lips. His small eyes were almost hidden in folds of flesh. He had found great consolation in the arms of serving girls who while they did not find him personally attractive were bemused by his royalty. His legs were bowed which gave rise to a shuffling manner of walking. He was by no means a figure to inspire confidence.

And he lived in fear. There were times when he fervently wished he had been a nobleman with no responsibilities except those concerned with his estates. He loathed conflict of any kind; and he could not bear the sight of blood. He considered himself unfortunate to have been born at this time when France was engaged not only in this bitter struggle with the English but internal strife. He lived in terror not only of the Duke of Bedford but the Duke of Burgundy who was his own special enemy, for Burgundy held him guilty of the murder of his father.

Fear dominated the Dauphin’s life. When he was staying at the castle of La Rochelle the ceiling had collapsed and only by a miracle was his life saved. From henceforth he had lived in fear of collapsing ceilings. He refused to live in large rooms. He wanted to feel that if a ceiling came down it would only be a small one.

He was subtle in a way; he was wily and shrewd, but he was overshadowed by his environment. Vaguely he longed to break away from the past; he longed to be declared the legitimate son of the King of France and in a way he dreaded it. His childhood had been flawed by a mad father and a wanton mother, and memories of a life of hardship endured with his brothers and sister in the Hôtel de St Pol lingered on. The fearful uncertainty of not knowing from one day to the next what would happen to him had left him nervous and apprehensive. He was like a man in prison waiting to be released that he might prove himself.

At this time his life was governed by doubt. Was he the legitimate heir to France? Did he want to be? Did he want to fight to free his country from the English yoke?

He was unsure.

And now they were bringing this girl to see him. Did he want to see her? At one moment he cried, No. Then he remembered that the people were talking of her wherever she went. They said she was indeed sent from God. They were beginning to believe she would work miracles. Hardened soldiers were moved by her.

He would see her. No, he wouldn’t. Why should he waste time with a peasant girl? It was preposterous. And yet …

‘People talk of Merlin’s prophecy, my lord,’ said Colet de Vienne, that man who had gone forth as a cynic and returned converted. ‘They say that a maid would save France.’

It was true. He had heard the prophecy.

‘My lord, she has travelled here from Vaucouleurs. The country is overrun with rough soldiers. There are robbers everywhere. It was a hard and perilous journey but she, a simple girl, has come here.’

The Dauphin said he would see her.

‘Let us hasten,’ cried Colet de Vienne, ‘before he changes his mind.’

It was an impressive scene in the great hall which was lighted by fifty flaring torches. Jeannette entered modestly and yet clearly unafraid.

She looked about the hall and went straight to the Dauphin. She had been told by Colet de Vienne what she must do, and that was kneel before him and embrace his knees.

‘God preserve you, sweet Prince,’ she said.

The Dauphin tried to confuse her. He was a little shaken that she had come straight to him. How had she picked him out from this crowd assembled here? He thought wryly that many of them looked more kingly than he did.

He pointed to one of his courtiers.

‘There is the King,’ he said. ‘I am not he.’

She smiled and continued to look at him – impelled to do so, she thought afterwards.

‘Nay,’ she said, ‘it is you who are the Dauphin.’

He was nonplussed but still unconvinced. Could she have seen him somewhere? It was hardly likely, but she might have heard a description of him. Heaven knew he was ugly enough to be picked out.

‘Who are you who comes thus to my Court?’ he asked.

‘Gentle Dauphin,’ she answered, ‘I am a simple peasant girl and people call me Jeanne the Maid. God has sent me to bring you to your Kingdom. He sent a message and I am his messenger. You are to be anointed and crowned at Rheims and shall be His servant to rule France under Him.’

‘You speak strange words,’ said the Dauphin.

‘I come from God,’ she answered simply.

In spite of his disbelief he wanted to talk to her.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘sit beside me. I will talk with you.’

Someone brought a stool and she sat close to him. He waved his courtiers to stand back.

She said quietly: ‘My Lord bids me tell you that you are indeed the true heir of France and the son of a King. You should be troubled no more on this matter.’

He stared at her incredulously. How could this simple girl know of that matter which for so long had been uppermost in his mind?

He felt transformed. He believed her now. She came from God. She had been endowed with special powers; and he was indeed the son of a King.

She spoke to him then of the need to save Orléans. They must raise the siege. She must have men and arms. He must give them to her and with God’s help she would lead the French to victory. In Orléans they already knew of her. They were waiting for her, expecting her to bring deliverance.

He listened entranced.

Earnestly she talked to him. He was astonished that a simple country girl should know so much.

Jeanne glowed with triumph. She was ready now to take the road to Orléans … and Rheims.

IT 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.’