~Hey homies, I'm baaaack!~ *Terrified/excited screams of readers* Yes, I am back from the grave! Whoo!
So..err..sorry about leaving you guys stranded with that annoying cliffhanger, but I had to so yeah, it was legal. Well now I'm back, and we can all celebrate! I missed you guys so much, really I did. (::)(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)
WHOO! Happy New Year everyone! It's time for a fresh start, starting with this brand new chapter.
Voila~Chapter 21 Enjoy! No hate!
Joan of Arc has fallen, struck down by an English arrow that pierced right through her silver armor, penetrating her shoulder. All of time stood still and ceased to function, as the once-proud French warriors looked on the scene with deep-seated horror etched on their rugged faces. Oh, the terrible fear they must have felt at that moment!
The yell of triumph and joy which arose from the enemy on the walls turned all their blood into liquid fire. The English have seen the fall of their champion and with a great shout, they came surging down in strong force to take her. For a brief moment, there was a full-on power struggle for Joan, with the might of both adversaries concentrated upon that spot. All over her, French and English fought—for she stood for France, indeed she was France to both sides—whichever won her won France, and could keep it forever. Right there in that small spot, and in ten minutes by the clock, the fate of France, for all time, was to be decided and...was decided. A nationality and a race were at stake there.
Sir Jean de Gamaches, who was nearest to Joan, wasted no time getting to her side. He held her in his arms, and silently prayed as he removed her helmet. Though her face was white as the snowy plumes atop her helmet, her eyes were open, sparkling faintly with shock. Remarkable still, there was a faint, brave smile on her lips.
"My great General", said Sir Gamaches, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice, "I am so very sorry for the way I spoke about you. I must now admit that I was wrong and a fool when I called you all of those names behind your back, for I have never seen any commander as courageous as you! Is there any way you can forgive me?"
Through her tears of severe pain and gritted teeth, Joan calmly replied,"I am not one to hold such a grudge against you, my good comrade. You spoke as you believed...you are truly a most brave and noble knight." Their eyes locked for a moment, before Joan faded into unconsciousness.
"Damn it, I lost her! Yet, I must protect her as best I can. I swear verily on my life, that none of these pathetic Godons shall capture her over my cold, dead body!" With his trusty sword and as ferocious as a lion, Sir Gamaches didn't even hesitate to stab or hack at anyone who dared ventured close enough.
Within moments, La Hire, Bertrand, Jean de Metz and then Jean d'Aulon came to their aide. "Move it! Move it! What? You've never seen someone wounded before? Out of our way!"
Using their bodies as shields, they carried Joan back behind the main lines and gently propped her body against a sturdy tree. Oh, it was absolutely awful! She was drenched in blood from head to toe, half of it her own while the other half was pure English, for bodies have fallen across her as she laid and poured their red life-streams over her. One couldn't see the bright white armor now, with that horrendous dressing over it.
However, Joan laid very still and white, almost like one who is dead and long gone from this world as Louis carefully removed her breastplate, taking extra care not to disturb the arrow sticking out from her body. It was such a soul crushing sight, with that arrow of death in her lifeless body.
"Oh shit-NO! Joan, don't you dare die on us! Do you hear me! Don't die...please!" cried La Hire constantly during all that time. Instantly, the hot tears came streaming down his rocky face. "Fucking Godons! Fuck! Fuck them all to hell!"
"Dear Lord, are you crying La Hire?"asked Sir Gamaches.
"No!"snapped La Hire at first, then his voice betrayed him and it faltered. "Yes but...just shut up! We need to focus on Joan! Is she dead? Please say no!"
They all held their breathe in fear. Father Jean came instantly to kneel beside Joan, and tearfully chanted prayers for her recovery. They of her personal staff and the captains formed a loose circle around her, keeping off all idle gazers while standing with bent, uncovered heads as if attending a solemn funeral. The atmosphere did contain that persona of death, though. Was it possible that the Lord was about t take her from them, her task yet unfulfilled? All of them were thinking the same thing; it was hard to believe, and yet they not help but fear. Wherefore, their hearts were heavy as lead within their chests during that long hour which followed.
Meanwhile, the battle was still raging on, but the heart of it seemed to be lacking, for Joan was the only heart they got. The soldiers were still fighting, but they did not feel as invincible without the Maid cheering them on, for it was under her eyes that men are heroes and not afraid. French morale plummeted greatly, and continued to do so as the English were crying out that the 'White Witch' was dead. The enemy taunted and insulted them for being led by a mere woman, a girl.
Louis was sent away to fetch the army surgeon. Jean d'Aulon skillfully took Joan's hand and searched for a pulse. Moments later, he miraculously managed to detect one, though it was deadly weak and hardly lifelike. However, it was still joyous news, nonetheless.
"She's still breathing", announced Aulon to the eager captains. "She's still alive, but just sleeping. Sleeping like a baby."
Finally, they were all able to release their breathe in great relief. La Hire fell abruptly to his knees and cried tears of joy. "Oh, thank you God and Christ!" Dramatically, the threw his huge arms up into the sky. "Yes...dear Joan is alive! That's all we could ever ask for! Thank you."
"Now hold on, fellas," warned Aulon, "I still have to get the arrow out. I'm afraid there's going to be a hell lot of-"
He was interrupted my the sound of Joan stirring back to life again. Her eyes opened wide and her breathing was revived, becoming stronger once more. Suddenly and to everyone's amazement, Joan sat up, took firm hold of the bloody shaft with her own hands, and drew it steadily from the wound. Was there ever courage like hers? Not likely. She uttered a little cry of pain before throwing away the hated arrow in disgust. She then looked up to see all of them, staring at her with fixed expressions of shock and admiration.
"That...was...amazing",whispered La Hire.
Only one thing was on Joan's mind right now as she gazed upon their familiar faces. "Where is Scathach?"
"Joan! Where are you?"
Everyone's head instantly turned away towards the source of that voice. They gasped when lo and behold, the scathed and battered figure of Scathach the Shadow limps towards them from the ruins of the battlefield. She went on a run and knelt beside Joan, where the two girls hugged each other and exchanged touching words in rapid-fire French.
Joan eagerly searched her friend's dirt smeared face and took notice of a large, blood encrusted gash across her forehead. "Oh no, Scatty, what happened? Did you got hurt in the battle?" asked Joan, alarm ringing in her voice.
Scatty hesitated, unwilling to stress Joan out more than she already is with the Hekate situation. "Oh this? It's no big deal, Joan, really. I'll be fine. I can heal quickly."
Scatty smiled lightly just for her, which dropped dramatically as her gazed went from Joan's punctured body, to the bloody arrow, and back again. Slowly, she lifted her hand in front of her face, only to see it stained with her dear friend's lost blood. A tight mask of pure untamed rage and anger formed on her face and her hand clenched into vengeful fists.
"Those bloody jackasses! How the hell did those bloody bastards grow the balls to shoot at you! Ahhh! # %$**$#% #...!"
"Scathach?"
"Yes Joan?"
Joan cringed in pain and said weakly, "Scatty, please don't swear like that. It will only make things worse. I'm sure the surgeon will be here soon."
Scatty bit her lip sheepishly and started to stand up. "Oh...of course, sorry. My bad, Joan."
Soon enough, a surgeon finally came to the rescue. He managed to stop the excess bleeding and tended the wound with the traditional use of olive oil and lard, before wrapping the cloth bandage around it. "There", he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand."It is done. That was a mighty serious one, but I think you'll live, Maid."
Despite her pain, Joan could not help but smile graciously at the surgeon. "Thank you,my good man. May God bless your soul for saving my life. I am eternally grateful for your service."
The man gave her a gentle smile of his own before rushing over to the next nearest soldier who needs attention. Joan was as white as her banner as she tearfully confessed to Father Jean. Scatty saw Joan's chest heave with a sigh of relief; she was then able to rest.
Joan fell soon asleep and Scathach was left to guard her, while the others went back to the battle. Not all of them were willing to do so, however. There was a harshly heated argument between Scathach and La Hire over who should be trusted with staying by Joan's side. Though Scatty is the obvious candidate, La Hire would have none of it and stubbornly insisted on his claim. All and all, everything was settled when Scatty threatened to blackmail the battle worn old warhorse with some delicate and absolutely embarrassing secrets.
Scathach took her guardianship of Joan very seriously, always hovering protectively over her like a mother hen with her chicks. Her friend looked so pleasantly innocent in her peaceful slumber, some stray strands of hair from her face. As she kept watch, Scatty's mind suddenly began to recall the memory of when Scathach and Joan met for the first time by chance.
Scatty's lips curled into an amused smile at the fact that when they first met, Joan was only little more than a lanky teenager, gingerly swinging an old sword too heavy for her thin frame in the middle of the woods near her village. Obviously, she wanted to keep it a secret. At that time, Scatty had been disowned by her unreliable family. Relations soon got so bad that she could no longer stand to even be in the same country as them!
Back to Joan's past swordsmanship, her handling was weak, her knees buckled way too often, and her shoulders dropped all too easily. Sometimes, fatigue would overcome her struggling limbs and the sword would drop to the ground. The sight of that young girl with blooming red cheeks attempting to lift some old piece of metal was laughable.
Still, what really caught the Shadow's eyes that day, was her determination, her youthful spunk, her spirit...and her eyes, those vivid blue orbs. Naturally, Joan's first reaction upon meeting Scatty was by taking a few steps back. Then somehow, she knew she was safe, and stared at the robust woman with fiery red hair and shining emerald eyes, all clad in noble Knights armor with shining twin swords by her side, like the most fascinating vision she had ever seen. With the exception of her heavenly visions, of course.
From then on, it was training on hot summer days and bitterly cold winter nights with Scathach the Shadow. Along with Joan's increasing progress in the art of sword fighting, the two girls also forged a surprisingly close friendship that went beyond mere trust and loyalty. Indeed, Joan of Arc was a warrior in the making of three years.
While Joan was resting, chaos overcame upon the desperate French army. Frightening rumors spread like wildfire throughout the army, as small fist-fights broke among the troops as some men began to claim that God did not send Joan. In their minds, He would never had allowed anything to hurt her, which apparently includes being struck down by enemy arrows. Since her arrival, never were the troops as discouraged as they were then. Unfortunately, it was also getting late, almost near sunset, and the army made no more progress in the doomed assault. Count Dunois felt that it was hopeless to continue the battle that day, so he ordered the trumpeters to sound the notes of retreat.
Hearing the sound of it against her ears, Joan awoke with a start. "What? Why are they sounding the retreat? Victory is so close at hand!"
"They're afraid to continue the battle without you, Joan," answered Scatty trying to ease her. "It's getting really late and everyone is tired."
Joan was horrified as she listened to Scatty! She realized that if they retreated, they would be giving up everything they have fought so hard to gain so far, and more lives would have to be sacrificed just to regain the same defenses over again. This thought revolted her so much, that even though she was still in great pain, she forced herself to get up saying, "No, we will fight and shall not quit until the Tourelles have fallen and the English are destroyed!"
She then countermanded the order, and sent another to the officer in charge of the cannons, to fire five shots in quick succession. This was a signal to a force of militiamen on the Orleans side of the river under La Hire, telling them to go ahead and attack the English from the rear. It was to be given whenever Joan should feel sure that the fort was about to fall into her hands.
Joan was really not in any condition to move, never mind lead a battle. After cleaning the blood and grime off her armor, she then rushed to the Bastard's side. "In God's name, Bastard, have courage! You will soon enter the fort, for God wills it! We shall be victorious!"
The captains, tired and frustrated, empathetically shook their heads in protest.
"It's already nine and it will soon be dark", complained Dunois on behalf of the others. "It's too late for another assault and most of our forces are disabled or wounded! Come on, it's not like we have a deadline!" He paused to scan her critically. "Also, are you not supposed to be resting? Joan, you're wounded."
Joan's nerves just snapped in half. Hearing such quitter talk made Joan grew impatient, and she remained firm in her decision as the walls of the Tourelles.
"It can heal just fine", she said dismissively."Now, order the men to take some rest...and allow them to eat and drink. After that, with God's grace, return swiftly to the assault, for the English will have no more strength to defend themselves and the Tourelles shall be ours!"
Dunois nodded and set off to carry out her orders. Joan then mounted her horse. Before leaving, she gave Jean d' Aulon her banner to hold. She made her way to a secluded vineyard and kneeled there to pray in peace and seek heavenly inspiration.
So then, by Joan's orders, the battle came to a cease-fire and the survivors were able rest their weary bodies and take a load off. Stabelized army food was also provided.
Scatty found a peaceful spot to sit down, unwind, and consume her luch of coarse bread and cheese without disturbance. It was then that she caught sight of a fully armed Jean d' Aulon, standing 20 ft away. He was conspiring with a renowned soldier known only as 'Basque', over Joan's banner. Moments later, she saw Aulon take Joan's banner in hand and watched with deep curiosity as they both disappeared down the ditch of the Tourelles.
With her senses yearning wildly, Scathach shoved the rest of the food into her mouth, grabbed her trusty sword, and followed them down the ditch. She soon caught up with them there.
"Jean d'Aulon! I demand to know what the hell are you doing with Joan's precious banner."
Aulon shot her a slightly annoyed look. "Don't you worry, I'm only going to use it to scare the English! Once those sorry bastards catch sight of the Maid's banner, they'll be knocked dead for sure!"
Scatty blinked one and said, "Oh well...in that case, carry on."
"Really?"
"No! Now give me back her banner, because I know what it means to hold and guard something! Besides, I'm also her best friend."
After what seemed like precisely half an hour later, Joan returned and rode to the high edge of the ditch. A bustle and tustle of arms and weapons soon resumed as the men prepared for another assault. Joan then granted Scathach the honor of letting her banner bow free and to tell her when the fringes touches the wall. Did they at the least bit, doubt her ability, wounded as she was, to lead them? Not one bit. All of them just looked to their arms and stood patiently by her.
Together, they watched with undivided attention as the red-alarm headed Scatty cautiously advanced towards the wall of the Tourelles, and unfold the great white banner, which hung down limply in the peaceful heat of May. Joan, meanwhile had her eyes closed and concentrated on her prayers. Then miraculously, a little puff wind rose, followed by another, and yet another...soft, soothing wind, but they clearly saw the folds of the banner beginning to lift up. Little by little, the breeze strengthened; breathlessly they watched the gradual lifting of the silken banner, till, with an incredibly proud motion, as if some spirit of life was infused into the lifeless silk, it launched itself against the stone wall!
"It touches, Joan! The banner touches!" cried Scathach enthusiastically.
Joan smiled lightly and then turned to face the restlessly waiting battalions. Now where was the faintness, the feebleness, the weakness of that wounded girl? All gone; all swallowed up in the overwhelming triumph of the victorious warrior. "Now then", announced Joan,"the place is yours, so enter boldly! Bugles sound the assault! In God's glorious name...all together...charge, French hearts! GO!"
And go it was! Whoo-wee, you could never saw anything like that! The French army to a man, sprang forward with a lightening rush, overcame with a power of confidence and success against which nothing can stand! The English shrieked in their astonishment and fright. The dead had come to life! Before this point, the batte for Orleans and France was all but fruitful, but then it turned it completely turned into an electrifying reverse in a single instant!
Upon seeing Joan leading the charge, all up and well, the English were so filled with terror at the sight that they even hesitated in their defenses. Had they not seen her just a mere two hours ago, mortally wounded and being carried off the battlefield? Yet here she was coming back and attacking them again! It crossed their minds that God had raised her up from the dead and they began to question their own faith. Many of them were also afraid to raise their weapons against Joan, or any of her forces, fearful of offending all-mighty God. Some even believed the He had taken their will to fight away from them.
The French swarmed up the ladders and over the battlements like a wave;and the place became their property. Why-one might be able to live to a thousand years and never see so gourgeous a spectacle as that again! They were so furiously attacking, that the English pondered whether they really thought themselves as invincible. Indeed, that's exactly what the French though of themselves to be!
Joan stood in the midst of it all, with Scathach beside her waving the great white banner back and forth to rally the fighting spirits of the men. "In God's name, enter! Enter boldly! All is yours! Victory is close at hand!"
The men responded with a rousing war cry as they launched themselves at the stone fortress walls like a volley of ammunition. Victory! Victory! was the cry of their hearts. There in the fort, they fought hand-to-hand like wild beasts, for there was no giving up to those English;the ony to convince one of them is to kill him. After the shock of their senses were gone, the English commanders ordered a slow and orderly retreat back into the inner parts of the Tourelles. Their officers were sacrificed to slow our advance, which did its job by giving their forces just enough time to enter the Tourelles's main fort.
The troops were too enraptured and busy with their bloody work to hear the five cannon shots being fired. They were fired moments after Joan had ordered the assault. So while the French were hammering and being hammered, the brave citizens of Orleans under La Hire courageously poured acrossed in strong force on a makeshift bridge and attacked from the rear. In patriotic frenzy, they set fire to the drawbridge that was vital for the escape of the English.
Above all the chaos and turmoil, Joan then caught sight of the sturdy old figure of William Glasdale. She shouted to him in her native tongue, "Glasdale! Glasdale! Yield now to the King of Heaven!You have called me names, but I still have great pity on your soul and those of your men! Surrender now and you may be spared!"
Glasdale and the rest of the English commanders coldly ingored her pleadings and stubbornly refused to surrender. As they were all trying stupidly to cross the drawbrige, the burning timbers gave way under the combined weight of Glasdale and his fellow officers and emptied them in a mass into the river. Unfortunately, they were all clothed in steel and plunged deep under water like a lance , and of course came up no more. Such a pitiful sight it was to see brave and noble men die a a death as that.
"Ah, God pity them! Their souls are now in His care forever", said Joan as wept at the sorrowful spectacle. It's true that she uttered those gentle words and wept those passionate tears, although one of those perishing men had grossly insulted her on many occassions.
Even as she cried over the deaths, the French continued to attack with an energetic whirlwind! Fighting against them was utterly useless, nothing remained but flee and flight. Helter skelter, like rabbits or rats, the enemy fled this way and that before them. Soon, the English within the Tourelles were overrun and slaughtered in cold blood. Joan and her men could not enter the Tourelles until the fire from the drawbridge had ceased burning. By that time, she was only able to save the last three hundred Englishmen from being massacred.
So before the sun was quite down, Joan's forever memorable day's work was finished; her banner floated from the top of the Tourelles and her promise was fulfilled. She had successfully raised the siege of Orleans! The seven months struggle was ended, the thing which the first generals of France have declared impossible, was now accomplished. In spite of all the Dauphin's ministers and timid war councils could do to prevent it, this little country maid at seventeen years, had carried her immortal task through and did it in a record-breaking eight days!
And there, Scathach the Shadow stands as an immortal witness to the glorious triumphs and grandeurs of that eventful day, that helped to save a struggling nation and turned the tide of the Hundred Years War.
The End
Again, so sorry for updating so late, even though I really made you guys wait that long on purpose hee hee. Thanks for being patient for me! I hope that the survival of both our beloved Joan and Scathach will be enough to amend my intended tardiness and laziness.
FYI An epilogue will be posted fairly soon, because no story as deep and well-grounded as this is ever complete withoutone of those!