‘I knew this would come,’ said Jacques. ‘It was never right. She should never have left us.’

‘It was her purpose in life,’ Zabillet answered. ‘Pray God that He will treat her well.’

The King took the news calmly. He did not know whether he should mourn or rejoice. It had been clear lately that God had deserted her for there had been no more spectacular successes. She had done as any other commander would do … no more.

The Duke of Burgundy was excited. Exultantly he sent messengers to all those to whom the news would be of the utmost interest. The Maid captured and in the hands of the Count of Luxembourg – a vassal of his. What should be done with her? As a prisoner taken in battle she should be treated with some respect. She should be ransomed as such people were. Ransomed! Some would pay a big ransom for her. The King of France? He owed it to her to pay her ransom and set her free. God knew she had done enough for him. Bedford would be itching to get his hands on her for while she lived and went into battle his men would always be afraid of her. The citizens of Orléans should ransom her if they could afford the price. She had done much for them.

How had she been captured? wondered Burgundy. Guillaume de Flavy had drawn up the bridge and let down the portcullis knowing she was on the wrong side of it, exposed to her enemies. And Guillaume de Flavy – the half-brother of Regnault – had been brought up by him. Had Flavy been doing his half-brother a favour?

Well, however it happened it was done; and Burgundy must turn it to good account.

The citizens of Orléans were stunned. The people gathered in the streets chanting the Miserere; in Tours and Blois many walked barefoot to the shrines of the saints. They could not understand why God should have deserted His messenger. It was a further sign, they assured each other. She would miraculously escape, and that would be yet another display of Divine protection.

Georges de la Trémoïlle was in a state of great delight. This was indeed good fortune for him. He suspected Regnault since it was his half-brother who had shut her out and left her to her enemies. Good work, he thought. He went to the King at once and they discussed the news. He pretended to be grave.

‘She is in the hands of Burgundy, not the English,’ Trémoïlle pointed out.

‘The English will endeavour to get her into their hands.’

‘It was a risk she took and if she was really sent by God He will protect her. She was always rash. Never listening to advice – always going her own way.’

Charles was uneasy. He had so much for which to thank her. When she had come to him and read the suspicion of his illegitimacy in his mind and had reassured him, he had known she had Divine powers. She had saved Orléans; she had had him crowned at Rheims. It worried his conscience that she had fallen into the hands of her enemies.

Trémoïlle knew his royal master well. Charles was worried. He might try to act – or at least he was thinking about it. He would be expected to act. The people would demand it of him. He would find all sorts of reasons why this or that could not be done, of course, but it was a dangerous situation.

Fate played into Trémoïlle’s hands. Perhaps it was natural that after the impact Jeannette had made on the people of France imitators should spring up here and there.

Before Jeannette’s capture a matron named Catherine de la Rochelle had declared that she too had had visions. She too had been selected by Divine Powers to partake in the salvation of France. She wanted to tour France and explain that a vision had come to her at night – a lady dressed in cloth of gold who had told her that she must exhort the population to bring their treasures from their secret store and give them to the King of France to prosecute the war. She had met Jeannette, and Jeannette had dismissed her as a fraud. So, reasoned Trémoïlle, Catherine de la Rochelle might be useful now.

A shepherd boy was brought to him. This Guillaume of Gevaudan had had the signs of the stigmata on his hands. He said that it had been revealed to him that God had suffered Jeannette to fall into the hands of her enemies because she had become hardened by pride. She had grown to love fine armour and beautiful horses so well that she had lost sight of the fact that she was working for God.

As for Catherine de la Rochelle, she was ready to swear that Jeannette was a witch. She had seen her in visions having intercourse with the Devil.

These facts Trémoïlle could lay before the King, and Charles’ conscience was only too ready to be eased.

The Duke of Bedford could scarcely contain his excitement. Earnestly he discussed the matter of the Maid’s capture with the Earls of Warwick and Suffolk.

‘It’s the best piece of news I’ve heard for a long time,’ declared Suffolk.

‘It would have been better if she had fallen into our hands instead of Luxembourg’s,’ commented Bedford wryly.

‘Which,’ added Warwick, ‘is tantamount to falling into Burgundy’s hands.’

‘What will Luxembourg do, think you?’ asked Warwick.

‘You know that grasping one-eyed Count. He’ll ransom her.’

‘You think the French … ?’

‘My lord,’ said Bedford firmly, ‘we must see that the French do not pay that ransom, and the only way we can do it is by paying a higher one ourselves.’

‘I agree,’ said Warwick. ‘We must get the Maid into our hands.’

‘And prove her to be a witch,’ added Bedford firmly.

‘Our troubles will continue until she is removed,’ agreed Warwick. ‘I’ve no doubt of that. It is not her skill in war – though that is remarkable for a simple country girl. But the French believe her to be God’s messenger. And for that reason they fight as never before.’

‘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.