Jean d'Aulon, Part III

CHAPTER 10

NEW HOPE FOR ORLEANS

 

 

Just as 'The Bastard' had planned, the diversionary attack against Fort St. Loup continued, as Jeanne and the army marched safely past.

A part of our two hundred-man force was a contingent of 60 Scottish men-at-arms and 70 Scottish archers led by Sir Patrick Ogilvy of Auchter.

Commander, Ogilvy, was short in stature but nonetheless a most distinguished commander! He had a nimble mind, distinguished speech, and a manly spirit that made him a man among men! He was well known to be the most noble and trustworthy knight in every kind of upright behavior!

Due to his valor and faithful service, the Dauphin personally had given him the position of Chamberlain and Constable of all the Scottish forces in France.

About a half a mile from the Burgundian Gate, to honor Jeanne, all sixty of the Scottish pipers blew a celebratory piercing tone on their pipes before playing the marching tune "Hey Tuttie Taiti." I was informed that a century before this same melody had accompanied their first King, Sir Robert, The Bruce, into battle at Bannockburn.

I can say, with no doubt in my mind, that the sounds of Scottish bagpipes thrill me to my very core!

At nine in the evening on Friday, April 29th, 1429, we arrived safely before Orleans' Burgundy Gate. Our trumpeters, loudly playing the notes of fanfare, which announced Jeanne's arrival. The heavy, wooden doors creaked loudly as the gate slowly opened. Jeanne riding her magnificent charger entered through the gate first. Then came Raymond, her page, who carried her pennon. I followed both of them proudly displaying her large battle standard. Count Mortain rode at Jeanne's right hand while La Hire rode at her left. Two hundred of La Hire's troops and the rest of Jeanne's household brought up the rear.

For a split second there was an eerie stillness as the desperate people of Orleans beheld Jeanne for the first time. It was almost as though, on a silent and prearranged signal, the crowd began to cheer, the strains of the silver trumpets rang forth and all the church bells pealed their booming sound in unison. The sea of cheering humanity surged forward to engulf her! This mass of half-crazed people reached out to kiss and touch her as if she were a sacred relic! The crescendo of all this madness was deafening; I couldn't even hear myself think. This was not all; once we passed the gate itself I was overwhelmed by what I saw. People... hundreds of people were hanging out of all the windows of the three and four story buildings that hugged the narrow street we were trying to traverse. To this day, I have no idea how they kept themselves from falling to their deaths. These people, if possible, cheered louder and acknowledged Jeanne's approach more vigorously than the populace who were on the street. With their bodies extended out of the windows they waved their white handkerchiefs so wildly that I imagined I was in the middle of a blizzard.

Thanking them for their warm welcome, Jeanne beamed with joy while she looked lovingly upon those she had come to help. The bright flames of the torches lit our way, as we made slow progress through the pressing throng. Suddenly, one of the many torches set fire to her pennon! A startled yell from Raymond alerted Jeanne that something was amiss and she turned around to see what it was. Immediately she spurred her horse around and galloped to her burning pennon. Without a moment's hesitation she beat the flames out with her own, gloved hands! The people cheered all the more while the seasoned captains marveled at her calm sure action. Because of her swift action only the last six inches of the pennon's tail was burnt. Fortunately the city had its own pennon maker who was able to beautifully repair the damage area by the end of the next day.

 

 

 

We rode for an hour before we reached the opposite end of the city, a distance normally taking only eight minutes. Located near the Fox Gate was the home of the treasurer of Orleans, Monsieur Jacques Boucher. We would live in his home while in Orleans. In all this time the people's enthusiasm and excitement never lessened.

 

We turned around and rode to the Cathedral of Saint Croix where Jeanne wanted to spend a few moments in private prayer before she addressed the people.

For about a half an hour she prayed before Our Lord's Presence in the Tabernacle. Then the noise from the restless crowd rose up to such a din that I was compelled to interrupt Jeanne and escort her to the waiting throng.

In a most dramatic way Jeanne emerged through the Cathedral's massive main doors. And when the emotionally starving people caught sight of her, they began to chant in unison, "Angel of God! Angel of God! Angel of God! Please give us some words of hope!"

Jeanne stopped at the top step of the Cathedral. The people could feel her love and responded in kind. The light of the numerous torches reflecting off her armor gave her face an unusual luminescence. Jeanne signaled the crowd for silence before tenderly placing her hands over her heart. With great love she extended them out to the people. "My very good and dear friends, I am touched by the warm welcome that you have given me. The love you show me here tonight, I also feel for you. I wish that I could enfold each and every one of you in my arms, to show you how much I love and care for you all."

The throng sighed as if they were one and soon the entire plaza reverberated with their shouts of love! "God bless you, Maid!"

Once more Jeanne signaled for silence. Folding her hands together in a prayerful pose, she urged the people, "You must pray; pray constantly, that God's will may be accomplished here. If you have good hope and faith in God, your deliverance from your enemies is assured! Long live Orleans!"

The night re-echoed with the sound of it, Long live Orleans and long live the Maid!


Jeanne walked several blocks over to Mortain's headquarters. The sweet, warm aroma of baking bread filled the early morning air with a fragrance that had been missing from these streets for many a week. That is, until Jeanne came and brought the needed supplies!

I found it amusing to observe the different reactions Jeanne received from the people. Some stepped aside and stood like statues while they gaped in awe. This made Jeanne wince and she tried to keep her eyes forward. Others grinned and patted her back when she passed them. She handled that well and answered with a soft, "Thank you." Some bowed respectfully from the waist. Jeanne in turn bowed or nodded her head at them. Still others dropped to their knees with an expression that made you think they were seeing Christ! This disturbed Jeanne greatly because she did not want to be worshipped. She feared not being able to control her pride and would blush crimson as she asked them to stop. I, on the other hand, had to bite my lower lip just to keep myself from laughing out loud at their silly expressions. Often people would reach out trying to grab at her hands or clothing in order to kiss them. If given half a chance, they would have ripped her clothing right off her back, just so they could have a souvenir of 'the Maid.' When that happened, I had to protect Jeanne from their over enthusiastic advances. Although she still loved and cared for these people, this reaction annoyed Jeanne very much, because she had to wrench her hands free from their grip, to keep them from kissing and mauling her! If a soldier caught sight of her, he would instantly snap to attention and give her a brisk military salute. Of all these reactions she loved the soldier's the best, because she felt the most comfortable returning his military salute with one of her own.

Located on a heavily trafficked street, Count Jean's headquarters teamed with a steady stream of soldiers. Once the troopers caught sight of her, they started chanting, "Jeanne! Jeanne! Give us Jeanne to lead us into battle! Death to the Godons! Long live the Maid!"

We entered the building and ascended the two flights of stairs to reach Mortain's command office. This suite of rooms also doubled as his living quarters. As we climbed the last few steps, we could see into his room. It was a mess, with maps and papers strewn over the backs of chairs and all over the floor. A trail of clothes led from the door to his bed, while still more clothes lay in a heap kicked underneath it. Obviously, neatness was not one of his strong points. When we entered, he was talking to several of his adjutants. Due to their deception, Jeanne no longer trusted the captains and that mistrust was reflected in her voice. "Well, Bastard, when do we attack the English?"

"Not yet, Jeanne, we do not have enough men." The Count answered politely.

"What!" Jeanne walked over to the window and threw the shutters open. The echoes of the soldiers' chant reverberated in our ears. "Jeanne! Jeanne! We want Jeanne! Death to the English!" She pointed to the street below. "What are these, Bastard? Phantoms?"

Mortain tried to explain. "Jeanne, you do not understand. These men know nothing about the rules of engagement."

"It appears to me, Bastard, that you and your commanders are the ones who know nothing! It is you who lack the understanding of my mission here. So I shall once again try to make it as simple as I can for you! So that even you will understand!" Jeanne walked over to a large crucifix that hung on the wall and tenderly kissed the image's feet. "God is now fighting for us! Do you know or understand what that means? It means that one man can do the work of thirty. All we have to do is put in a little effort and God will do the rest! Act and God will act, work and God will work. All we have to do is to go boldly against the English, trusting in God, and the victory is ours! How much plainer do I need to make it so that your educated mind can understand?"

Mortain, exasperated by Jeanne, slowly moved his head from side to side. He struggled to keep from losing his temper but became increasingly upset, until he could no longer contain himself. "It's not that easy, Jeanne. We, can not! We will not go against the English until we have more professional reinforcements!" He went over to a wine decanter and poured himself a large drink! When he was finished with it he slammed the decanter down. "And that, Jeanne, is the end of this discussion!"

He gulped the wine down and said no more. Jeanne's face turned a dark shade of red. She glared with narrowed eyes at him for a moment or two before realizing that she was wasting her time. In stony silence, Mortain and the other captains returned her gaze. Jeanne stormed from the room. "Remember your word to bring back my soldiers, Bastard!"

I lingered, wanting to spend a few moments with my friends. François, the Count's adjutant, let out a muffled groan. "Who the HELL does she think she is?!"

Mortain tried to laugh but his rage prevented him. "She thinks she's God's messenger and the people are calling her an angel. Perhaps?! But whatever she is, she is most definitely a supreme pain in the ass!"

The others grunted and groaned their agreement. Antoine, another of the Count's assistants, barked, "The people be damned! The battlefield is NO place for an angel or a woman! Satan, YES - angels, Never!"

François raised a full goblet to his lips. "If she is an angel, she should be in a convent praying for our damned souls!" With that he sarcastically laughed before gulping down his drink.

Sir Gamaches cut in, "And NOT telling us how to run this blasted campaign! I warned you back at Blois that she would be TROUBLE!" He sneered with an increasingly red face, "Angel or no, that green little bitch better watch her back, I tell you, for if she tries to make any of us look the fool, the enemy won't be the only ones going for her blood!"

Antoine tapped his index finger hard against his temple and leaned forward, "What the hell is that sniveling little Dauphin doing sending us this farm girl? Has insanity claimed him too?!"

By this time I was embarrassed to be associated with them and her! I felt trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place because secretly I agreed with them.


Ambleville was pale and trembling when he came rushing towards us. "Jeanne, Guyenne was taken prisoner! The English took him when we delivered your message to them."

With fire blazing in her eyes Jeanne exclaimed, "No! Those evil men. Ambleville, show me the way to the nearest English fort. I shall speak with this Godon, Talbot!"

We stopped off at our lodging only briefly, just long enough for her to dictate a short note of surrender that read:

"You, Lord Talbot, and you, the other English Lords and men-at-arms: The King of Heaven commands you to return to your own country, for this is His will for you. If you do not obey, I shall lead a great assault against you and force you to go! Signed, Jeanne, The Maid."

 

 

 

Jeanne put her mark, a small cross, by her title. Ambleville led Jeanne, a few other soldiers and me a short distance outside the city's west gate, called Renard Gate, to the English Fort of Croix Boissee.

 

 

 

 

 

"Shoot this note over the wall," Jeanne ordered. As the arrow flew, Jeanne yelled in her native tongue, to the English, "English! You hold my herald prisoner. Set him free, or you will regret taking him!"

 

 

A short time later, two English captains came to the ramparts, Sir Thomas Scales, who was the son of the Earl of Warwick, and the Earl of Suffolk, Lord William de la Pole. Scales had read the message, and began hurling cruel and degrading insults at Jeanne. "We do not surrender to a harlot and her pimps! Go back to your cathouse!"

She was deeply offended by his words and her tears streamed forth like a fountain. Overcome with emotion, Jeanne shook violently as she yelled back, "You liar!" But she could say no more, because a shower of arrows came raining down upon us. The English, gathered on top of the rampart, jeered and taunted us as we made a hasty retreat back into the city.

 

After lunch Jeanne decided to go to the Tourelles in another attempt to regain Guyenne's freedom. Originally this fort was built by the French to protect Orleans, but town's people abandoned it at the beginning of the siege. They tried to destroy the fort as they left, but the English were able to repair the damage. The main fort of the Tourelles rested upon the end of the bridge that connected the city of Orleans with the south bank of the Loire. To prevent the English army from marching into the city, the inhabitants removed two of the seventeen spans of the bridge. Then the citizens of Orleans built a barricade next to the gap that they had made. The English fortified the north side of the Tourelles with earth, stones and a wooden palisade.

Jeanne marched to the barricade, which was within easy shouting distance of this fort. She shouted to the commander using the French mispronunciation of the English name Glasdale calling him Classidas. "Classidas! In the name of God, surrender and I shall grant you your lives! You hold my herald. Send him back to me!"

"Ha. It's the Armagnac whore!" roared Glasdale. "Well, you fly speck of a cowgirl, after we burn your herald, we shall roast you like a pig on a spit if ever we catch you!" The English who stood at his side began to laugh contemptuously at us. "You French are cowards and infidels, for using a witch to fight us!"

Jeanne's temper ran high and she jumped impulsively onto the bridge's barricade. "We are no cowards!" she screamed defiantly. This was entirely unexpected and her sharp voice echoed like a clap of thunder. For her own protection I had to pull her down from the barricade. However this did not dampen her determination and she continued to fling her challenge at him. "Classidas, come out of your fort and fight me in the open field. If you overcome me, then burn me! But if I win, you and all your troops must depart Orleans and return to England!"

Glasdale held his war ax high and thundered, "I do not stoop to make deals such as that with a village witch!"

Again without concern for her own personal safety, Jeanne jumped back onto the barricade and scoffed, "Then you are the coward, Classidas! Not the French!"

Those who accompanied Jeanne roared with laughter. The English responded to our laughter with cannon fire! Some of the cannon balls landed a few yards before us while other shots hit the side walls of the bridge. We ducked, darted and weaved our way through the murderous onslaught as we dashed back to safety.

Once inside the city's walls, Jeanne continued to run, not out of fear, but in determination to answer these English devils. She rushed to the top of the wall that faced Glasdale's fort. "Do not be afraid to return shot for shot to those Godons," Jeanne commanded our cannoniers. "We shall be victorious over them!"


That evening before we sat down for supper, Mortain came to see Jeanne. He was not angry with her, but only vexed at the disturbance she had caused. "Jeanne, you will insist on making trouble whether I am here or not."

"Making trouble! Bastard, you have not yet seen me making trouble!" Jeanne almost lost her temper as she glared at him in disbelief.

Raising his hands, the Count pleaded, "Peace, Jeanne, peace. I have not come here to engage you in another argument but to arrange a truce between us." Jeanne nodded her consent to hear him out. He pointed to the dining room table and suggested that they sit down there. He expressed his gallantry by allowing Jeanne to enter the room first. After seating themselves, Count Jean proposed his truce. "Jeanne, if you will promise not to incite the citizens of Orleans into attacking the English, nor incite the English into attacking our positions, I shall leave for Blois at dawn to bring back the additional troops that we need to dislodge the enemy."

"I can see, Bastard, that I have little choice but to accept your terms. However, I want you to understand that I resent being kept from accomplishing God's mission, and I hold you accountable."

Mortain nodded that he understood and extended his hand in friendship. "Then we are agreed?"

"Agreed."

A broad smile broke across his face. "I am glad that we can make peace and be friends again." She did not reply but silently watched him leave.


We had just finished dining with the Boucher's when the Pernoud family, close friends of theirs, came for a visit. Maurice Pernoud and Jacques Boucher were long time business partners. His wife, Madeline, was Agnes Boucher's best friend. They brought with them their 6 months old baby girl named Marguerite.

Maurice and Jacques immediately disappeared into another room to talk business, leaving us to entertain ourselves the best we could. When Jeanne heard and saw the baby, her face lit up with delight. "Madame Pernoud, may I hold your baby for a while?" Stunned by Jeanne's request, Madame Pernoud stood amazed. Jeanne took her silence to mean hesitancy on her part. "Don't be afraid, Madame, I have very often looked after the younger children of my village."

Madame Pernoud became embarrassed, not knowing what to say. "No, no, please, you misunderstand my silence, Maid." She placed the crying child into Jeanne's arms. "I would be so very pleased if you would hold my little girl. Hold her for as long as you would like. I don't mind at all." Madame Pernoud adjusted the child's blanket. "There. She is all yours."

Jeanne hugged the child as she lifted the baby's face up to hers. Agnes and Madeline marveled at Jeanne's childlike demeanor.

As soon as the infant was in Jeanne's arms, it stopped its incessant crying and began to giggle and coo. Jeanne carefully unwrapped the child so that she could see her beauty more closely. Charlotte, the Boucher's eight-year-old daughter, was a pretty girl with golden hair and bright green eyes. Yet for her age she was small; just, "a wee slip of a girl," as our Scottish friends would say. Charlotte was standing close by Jeanne when she addressed her, "Charlotte, is not..." Jeanne gave Madeline a questioning look. "Her name is Marguerite." Jeanne smiled, nodding her head in thanks. "Is not Marguerite beautiful? Look how perfectly God has made her."

It appeared to me that Charlotte was jealous of the baby because she tightened up her mouth, narrowed her eyes and shrugged. "I guess so."

"Babies are God's precious gifts that He gives to us, don't you think, Charlotte?"

The child again shrugged. "I guess so."

Jeanne playfully responded to the child's indecision. "You guess so. Don't you know?" A bright red flush crossed Charlotte's face. "I am sorry, Charlotte, I did not mean to make you feel bad."

Charlotte flung her arms around Jeanne's neck and kissed her cheek. After a minute or so Charlotte broke the embrace to sit at her feet. Jeanne responded to Charlotte's admiration by petting her tresses. When Jeanne placed the small baby's head on her soft breast, she became totally engrossed. At that moment, I would have loved to have been that baby!

Jeanne, lost in her dreams, stroked the child's face while she hummed her village's lullaby. Next she slid her finger down the infant's nose while both she and the baby giggled. She inspected and kissed each of Marguerite's fingers. Jeanne pressing her lips against the infant's foot made a buzzing sound which caused the baby to coo and gurgle in delight. She repeated the process several times and each time the baby reacted in the same way. Enthralled by her play, I rested my chin on my thumb, to conceal my broad smile behind my hand.

Maurice entered the room. "Time to go, wife." Madeline tried to quiet him but it was too late.

"I am sorry, Monsieur Pernoud. I did not mean to keep you waiting. Let me bundle your child back up and then you can be on your way." Jeanne deftly performed the task before going over to the two proud parents.

Touched deeply by Jeanne's interest in her child, Madeline eyes welled up with tears as she kissed Jeanne's cheek. "Thank you."

"Thank you for the love you have shown to my family, Maid." Maurice said, adding, "God bless you always!" With that he walked his family out the door.

"Thank you, Maid," Agnes said, "for the kindness you showed my good friend and her family. I appreciate it very much."

Jeanne smiled and returned to her chair. "It was my pleasure. I very much enjoyed holding the baby in my arms. I made believe, if just for a moment, that I was back home in my village."

Jeanne noticed Charlotte pouting by the window. "Charlotte, please come and sit on my lap and I shall talk with you for a while." Jeanne said beckoning the child to her.

Charlotte's countenance instantly changed as she came running to Jeanne. "Please, Charlotte," Jeanne whispered, "don't be angry with me for holding the baby. Since I became a soldier, I don't get many opportunities to mother anyone."

"I am sorry, Maid."

Jeanne looked deeply into Charlotte's eyes as she hugged her. "Charlotte, did I not tell you to call me Jeannette, as my sister does?"

The little girl smiled. "Yes, you did, Maid."

"What did I just say?"

"Yes you did... Jeannette!" and they both laughed heartily.

"Charlotte, do you know your prayers?"

Charlotte smiled proudly, "Yes, I do, Jeannette. I know how to say the 'Hail Mary,' the 'Our Father,' and the 'Creed.'"

"That is very good. Did your mother teach them to you?"

"Of course, she did. Don't be silly!"

"Excuse me, my lady, I should have known." With that Charlotte chuckled at Jeanne's funny expression. Then Jeanne asked, "How else do you pray?"

Charlotte's petite face clouded over. "I don't know? Is there another way to pray?"

"Oh, yes, my little one. Would you like me to tell you how I prayed when I was your age?"

Charlotte laid her head on Jeanne's shoulder and nodded.

 

 

 

"Well, Charlotte, when I was your age, I use to go to a small shrine located on top of a tall hill near my home. In this shrine was a beautifully painted statue of Our Lady holding the child Jesus in one arm, as if He were sitting on a throne. In the other hand she held a short decorative staff, the symbol of her Queenship. The name of the shrine is Our Lady of Bermont. I would go there when all my chores were done, to kneel and pray. I spent hours at a time, talking to Our Lady and the baby Jesus about all the things that had happened to me."

"What things did you tell them, Jeannette?"

Jeanne eased the child's head back down to her shoulder. "Shush and I shall explain. I would talk about the work I had done during the day for my father and mother. When my brothers were mean to me, I would complain to Jesus and Mary about how they teased me. I expressed my great love for the Mass and how I prayed when I tended the herds or did my spinning by my mother's side. As I got older and the news about the war grew worse, I became more aware of the suffering of the people who came by my father's farm. My prayer changed then because it seemed to me that I needed to console the sorrow that I saw in the hearts of my mother Mary and her Son, Jesus. I prayed more intensely and more often, telling them how much I loved them and cared for them. I would sing them sad songs and I guess, just kept them company."

Jeanne noticed that Charlotte seemed drowsy. "Charlotte, it is well past my bed time. I need to go to sleep so that I shall be awake for my work in the morning. Would you like to go to bed now?" The child sleepily nodded in agreement. "Do you want to walk to your bed?" The tired little girl slowly shook her head "no." Jeanne smiled and whispered in her ear, "Would you like me to carry you?" Charlotte, in her half-sleep, beamed.

Jeanne stood up, clutching the child in her strong arms. The moment Charlotte felt the security of Jeanne's reassuring embrace her body turned to putty. Softly draping her arms over Jeanne's shoulders and back, Charlotte nestled her head next to Jeanne's ear. Jeanne smiled as she repositioned the child's limp body in her arms. A smile, so wide, so bright, that it instantly expressed all the deepest feeling of love that were contained within the depth and breadth of her enormous soul. Monsieur Boucher motioned that he was willing to take his child, but Jeanne only politely shook her head "no" and proceeded to the stairs. Slowly, cautiously she climbed the steps, taking care not to make any noise that would disturb her dozing friend.

How fortunate I was to see Jeanne's softer side. As I watched her, feelings of love welled up inside me. Oh, I loved Jeanne before this, but witnessing her tender womanly side caused my love to change. It deepened and grew into dimensions that I never experienced. I knew too, that I could never speak to her of this love, and that I had to bury it deep within the recesses of my heart! Thereafter I resolved in my own mind, never to mention it to her or to any one else, not even myself!


On Sunday May 1st, just as the sun rose above the horizon, our forces gathered at Bernier Gate, which is located on the north side of Orleans. Count Jean kept his word and with his men headed for Blois to bring back the remainder of the army. We were there to escort Mortain and his small band as far as the last English fort. With this purpose in mind Jeanne, her household and the city's militia prepared to ride out of Orleans. The trumpeters raised their instruments to their lips to sound the signal for us to mount our steeds. The animals became excited as they whinnied and bobbed their heads. Eager to be off, they pounded and scraped their strong hooves against the cobblestones of the street.

The trumpeters sounded a second series of notes that notified the gate guards to open Bernier Gate. All our hearts raced in fear for what we might face. We didn't know whether the English would attack us. As the portcullis rose and the mighty oak doors swung wide, Jeanne pointed confidently toward the open field. Again the trumpeters sounded their notes, this time for our column to advance. We positioned ourselves to defend Mortain and his company as they rode away. Although the English had the superior force, they made no move against us. Once the Count was out of sight, Jeanne and the city's militia regrouped to march triumphantly back to the city!

At our return, the news of the English army's inaction spread through town like wildfire. On almost every corner people were talking, "Did you hear? God struck the Godons numb with fear! They are afraid of us now that the Maid has come. Soon, by God's mercy, we shall be free of them!"

While waiting for Count Jean and the Dauphin's army to return, Jeanne spent her time riding through the city encouraging the people to take heart. Whenever and wherever she made an appearance, the streets filled with cheering, adoring and crushing crowds. The people went wild over her, never tiring of seeing her. The exuberant throng pressed after her right to the front door of her lodging! To keep the enthusiastic population at bay, guards had to be posted at the front and back entrances of the Boucher home.

Day after day, in every conversation Jeanne had with soldier or civilian, she always told them about the importance of having faith in and obedience to the King of Heaven. Without it, she would tell them, the King of Heaven would not help them. They had to obey, if they were to win. It was with these or similar words that Jeanne began to build up the courage and resolve of both the army and the populace of Orleans. She reminded everyone of the importance of bring merciful to all who asked for it. This too, she would say, was God's desire for them.

On Sunday May 1st, just as the sun rose above the horizon, our forces gathered at Bernier Gate, which is located on the north side of Orleans. Count Jean kept his word and with his men headed for Blois to bring back the remainder of the army. We were there to escort Mortain and his small band as far as the last English fort. With this purpose in mind Jeanne, her household and the city's militia prepared to ride out of Orleans. The trumpeters raised their instruments to their lips to sound the signal for us to mount our steeds. The animals became excited as they whinnied and bobbed their heads. Eager to be off, they pounded and scraped their strong hooves against the cobblestones of the street.

The trumpeters sounded a second series of notes that notified the gate guards to open Bernier Gate. All our hearts raced in fear for what we might face. We didn't know whether the English would attack us. As the portcullis rose and the mighty oak doors swung wide, Jeanne pointed confidently toward the open field. Again the trumpeters sounded their notes, this time for our column to advance. We positioned ourselves to defend Mortain and his company as they rode away. Although the English had the superior force, they made no move against us. Once the Count was out of sight, Jeanne and the city's militia regrouped to march triumphantly back to the city!

At our return, the news of the English army's inaction spread through town like wildfire. On almost every corner people were talking, "Did you hear? God struck the Godons numb with fear! They are afraid of us now that the Maid has come. Soon, by God's mercy, we shall be free of them!"

While waiting for Count Jean and the Dauphin's army to return, Jeanne spent her time riding through the city encouraging the people to take heart. Whenever and wherever she made an appearance, the streets filled with cheering, adoring and crushing crowds. The people went wild over her, never tiring of seeing her. The exuberant throng pressed after her right to the front door of her lodging! To keep the enthusiastic population at bay, guards had to be posted at the front and back entrances of the Boucher home.

Day after day, in every conversation Jeanne had with soldier or civilian, she always told them about the importance of having faith in and obedience to the King of Heaven. Without it, she would tell them, the King of Heaven would not help them. They had to obey, if they were to win. It was with these or similar words that Jeanne began to build up the courage and resolve of both the army and the populace of Orleans. She reminded everyone of the importance of bring merciful to all who asked for it. This too, she would say, was God's desire for them.


The morning of May 2nd, Jeanne in her shining white armor stepped out into the street, which even at this early hour was swarming with the adoring multitudes. It was as if a sea of humanity frantically converged on a lone girl in armor as they jostled each other to reach her side. Some held out their infants and small children for Jeanne to caress and hold. Others kissed the hem of her surcoat while still others reached for her hand in an attempt to kiss it. Jeanne was always kind to these poor souls. Her love for them radiated out from her glowing, smiling face. I had the distinct feeling that Jeanne was quietly enjoying all this commotion and adulation as she made her way through the pressing masses to her waiting charger.

As we slowly made our way through the narrow, jammed streets, I earnestly tried to control this constantly jostling crowed but it was to no avail. My annoyance quickly grew into rage as I fought with them just to hold onto Jeanne's standard. By the time we had reached the Bernier gate, my body was soaked in perspiration and I sucked in great tides of air trying to regain my breath.

Jeanne's purpose was to inspect the five nearby English forts that blockaded and encircled the city to the west and northwest. These forts were massive stone towers. Three of them had the additional protection of high mounds of earth and stone embankments surrounding them. The five forts were no more than a few hundred yards from one another and were only slightly less than half a mile from the city's walls. From these forts the English frequently bombarded Orleans with their deadly cannon fire.

Word quickly spread that we were at the Bernier Gate. While waiting for the gate to open, an even greater number of civilians assembled behind us. It was unbelievable! Emboldened by their belief that in Jeanne's presence no harm would befall them, a great crowd of men, women, and children of all ages followed us! It was bewildering to see the carefree attitude of this noisy throng, as the people laughed and chatted among themselves. You would think they were going to a picnic instead of encountering the enemy.

On our inspection we came so close to the enemy's forts that we were within easy bow and cannon shot! Were the English amazed and amused by the scene? I do not know. They probably thought we were insane! We easily saw them standing on top of their towers staring down at us! They did not even bother to hurl cruel or insulting remarks at Jeanne let alone rocks and arrows! We observed them and they observed us as we slowly paraded by! "You see, Squire, my Voices were right! We could have entered the city the way I wanted without hindrance!" She said no more but shook her head sadly at the lack of faith that the leaders displayed.


On May 3rd Jeanne spent the day by riding through the city encouraging the populace. At one point, Jeanne came upon a nobleman who was swearing and blaspheming God. A holy fire came into her eyes and she swooped down upon him like an eagle on its prey. Swiftly Jeanne alighted from her horse and grabbed his throat! Startled and visibly shaken by this unwelcome interruption, the stunned man stared at Jeanne, speechless! Filled with holy fervor she fiercely reprimanded him, "Ah! Sir, do you dare to blaspheme our Lord and Master? In God's name, you will take back your words before I leave!"

I laughed to myself, while he squirmed under her ferocious gaze. Not knowing what to say he hemmed and hawed his apology. "I am sorry, Maid. I swear I shall not do it again, ever."

Jeanne sternly ordered him, "See that you keep your word. For next time, I won't be so easy on you!"

As you can see, Jeanne could speak harshly, but this was rare. Whenever she reprimanded any one, and I know this first hand, that person would never forget it! Her rebuking words would upset our fighting men when she got angry with them. No matter how brave a soldier, if Jeanne chewed him out, he took it to heart and didn't forget it. Because of this, some the soldiers and knights would say she had a bad temper. Yes, she had a temper, but from where I sit now, it was far more rare than the gossip would lead you to believe.

What I always found so amazing is that, she could be as tough as nails when she had to be, but after she yelled or scolded someone, she felt worse about it than the one she scolded.


On this evening, the priests of the city arranged a religious procession to beseech the Lord God for deliverance. Heading the procession were ten altar boys who carried lighted candles followed by ten Deacons. Each Deacon wore a cassock covered by a white linen dalmatic. The air was thick with the fragrance of the incense as the deacons rhythmically swung their censers. Fifteen priests walked solemnly before the Blessed Sacrament exposed in the monstrance. They wore white linen surplices fringed in lace over their long black cassocks and around their necks hung beautiful white and gold stoles. The strains of "O Salutaris Hostia" rose up to God from the depths of their hearts as the incense rose up to the heavens.

O salutaris Hostia, --- O saving Victim open wide,

Quae caeli pandis ostium; --- The gate of heav'n to us below,

Bella premunt hostilia, --- Our foes press on from ev'ry side;

De robur, fer auxilium. --- Your aid supply, Your strength bestow.

A magnificent golden monstrance, which held the consecrated Host, was secured in place upon an ornate cart that was covered in a resplendent spring time floral display. Twelve young girls all dressed in white spread beautiful flowers before the Blessed Sacrament's path. Four priests, one at each corner moved and guided the cart through the streets as four altar boys using long poles, held the large lavishly adorned ceremonial canopy called the Ombrellina, above the monstrance. For two hours the procession wound its way through the streets filling the city with sacred music.

It seemed that all the inhabitants of the city followed, taking part in this impressive event. As they processed together, each person carried a lighted candle. The participants took no notice of rank or station in life. The captain walked next to the foot soldier. The shopkeeper was next to the beggar. The civilian was next to the seasoned fighter, all in a spirit of love, praying to God for deliverance of their beloved Orleans. How wonderful it was to see Jeanne's influence upon the people. She helped to unite all the people in the love of God, to beg His aid.