"One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying." St. Jeanne d'Arc
Chapter 5: Road Most Traveled.
After some hours trotting in the wooded roads of the French countryside, the sun had reached its zenith, offering little in the way of warmth during this chilly fall day. Feeling the blustery wind, she clasped the cloak tighter around herself, hoping, praying for some reprieve from the biting breeze.
Yet, it did nothing to offer any real comfort. The only comfort her cloak brought her were the memories that came with it. How her mother saved up several years' worth of pay by selling garments around the local villages just to purchase the violet dye! The hard work she put into knitting the violet cloak yet kept it a secret from everyone in the household. Jeanne couldn't have imagined putting in the work of raising a family and while at the same time, putting in the hard work to finish it up. It was, indeed, a labor of love.
She still remembered the Christmas gift two years ago, when her mother pulled it out to the laughter of her father, "Our little Queen deserves the best cloak." And how did she react? Her flushed tomato-red cheeks would be a decent indication. Yet it grieved her when Catherine was sad, and she too didn't have a cloak.
Without any hesitation, she got up and draped her purple cloak around her sister, "We'll share." She wrapped her arms around her sister.
"Now why would she do that?" Her mother asked with crossed arms.
"When she has her own." Her father stood up, presenting Cathering her with her own red cloak, like one of those that a Roman wore. She instantly delighted in the clothing but turned to her sister.
"Dear sister, I appreciate your cloak…" She said in a bit of a guilty tone, her eyes to the ground.
"Catherine, it's fine, go ahead!" Jeanne pushed her sister with a laugh.
"There!" Her father's voice boomed, "The Queens of Domremy have proper regal clothing."
That thought kept her going with a smile. Yet there was still a painful dagger in her heart of hearts. Would she be back for Christmas? Would she ever celebrate Christmas with her family once more?
The thought, like a dark cloud, hung low over her head—something her brother must have noticed.
"You haven't said much…"
Nothing.
"Jeanne…?"
Jeanne blinked several times before her tired eyes fell upon her concerned brother. "Pardon…?"
"You haven't said much, Jeanne… are you alright?"
"I don't know what there is to say…" She confessed with a guilty look, "I'm sorry I'm a poor traveling companion."
"Come now… we'll be home before we know it…" Pierre tried to cheer the both of them up, but Jeanne had the feeling he was more likely trying to convince himself.
Trying to muster the bravest face she could, she nodded with a smile, "You're right, thank you, Pierre."
By now, the Arcs were deep in the forest, surrounded by the colors of fall. They've been riding for six hours; Jeanne could feel it in her legs and back. Readjusting herself on the stirrups, she could feel her back crack and pop as she let out a sigh of relief. A small gust of wind awoke the branches, shaking off their leaves to the delight of Jeanne as she watched orange, yellow, and a particular leaf float down gently. Ignoring cool air, she reached up, grabbing one, an oak leaf to be precise, and inspected it. It was large and had the color of a rose—something she deeply treasured.
Sensing that his sister was becoming fatigued, Pierre looked around on the road and found a small clearing in the wooded path, "We haven't eaten anything yet. Are you hungry?"
"No-" Then again, her belly protested loudly, letting a mighty roar, to the point she nearly fell off her horse in embarrassment, much to the amusement of her brother. "Okay… maybe a little…"
Dismounting from his horse, Pierre grabbed the reins of both their horses and guided them towards the clearing. How Catherine would love to be here with them, taking in the beauty of the natural forest, she was always a fall-child. Jeanne looked up to the sky, feeling a sense of emptiness. Maybe this is what loss was. The inner void in one's heart. A void the shape of Domremy, of her parents, and of little Catherine.
On the other hand, she was thankful for her older brother, Pierre, who accompanied her. Offering his hand, she got off her mount and walked towards a small grove full of roses, tulips, and other springtime flowers. "Huh…" Pierre whispered, scratching his head, "Those kinds of flowers are usually dead around this time."
"Strange, indeed." Jeanne agreed as the two sat down in the meadow. Thankfully it was dry, and the sun came through the canopy of the woods. Looking down, her knees were dry, though caked in mud, while her cloak was pristine and clean. Well, that was one good thing she had going for her.
"Here."
Jeanne looked up to see her brother holding a piece of cheese and bread that he cut. "Thank you, Pierre."
"Dear Lord, bless our journey and food as we ask that you look over Domremy and our family. Amen." Jeanne bowed her head, signing herself.
Taking a bite and slowly chewing, she realized that this food tasted like chalk and ash in her mouth. How much she desperately wants to spit it out. No… she wanted to do something more. She wanted to stand up, throw it out in a fit of anger, kicking and screaming. She wanted the pain in her heart, this void in her heart, gone. She could feel the hole in her heart, and just seeing it fester in her heart made her upset.
Anger. It was anger and rage that she felt for leaving her home; the mere thought raised her pulse and flushed her cheeks. Mamma and Pappa were gone. Catherine was gone. A lump started to form in her throat as her vision started to blur from tears she desperately wanted to hold back. Looking down at her hands, she noticed they were trembling, to her annoyance.
Be still, little one. Margaret's voice called down. We understand the pain, but one must not give into their passions.
And how desperately she wanted to do exactly that.
'How?' Jeanne thought, 'I am angry when I know I shouldn't be… My heart grieves me.'
Because you're human, Jeanne. You lost your home. They will come and go just like the wind. Looking up, she did notice that the wind had stopped. Rely on us, for we fight this battle alongside you!
Inhaling deeply, she nodded, 'Indeed Margaret… please forgive these emotions.' So instead of giving these passions a voice, she reprimanded herself. 'Be still.' She reminded herself, 'For we shall give offense if we desire what is not of the Lord.'
Taking another bite of the chalky bread, she forced herself to eat the bland food. She looked up to see her brother eating his own food.
Tackle him to the ground. Michael's voice boomed like a blazing trumpet.
'What?'
GET HIM DOWN ON THE GROUND.
Tossing the bread on the ground, Pierre looked at her in bewilderment. Wasting not a minute, she crashed into him like an angry bull. "Oof!" Pierre cried out in pure shock.
A crossbow bolt crashed into the ground that would have easily hit him were he still sitting. "What…" He grumbled as the two siblings looked at the bolt.
"Burgundians…" Jeanne whispered, "We need to run."
Getting on her knees, she helped Pierre up to his feet as the air shook. Violet eyes blinked while a few golden strands of her hair floated down. "Let's go!" Pierre shouted.
Five bolts were launched in their direction, peppering the trees and miniature campsite. "Find them!" A voice called out angrily.
Heavy footsteps, branches crunched, and bushes brushed by as a group of highwaymen surged forward with weapons at the ready.
Jeanne grabbed her brother's hand and hoisted herself up. Not skipping a beat, she darted off with as much energy as her legs could give her. Leaping over logs and ducking under branches, she continued to drag her brother along. Several bolts flew in the air. All of them near misses as they peppered the dirt around them. "Come… on…..! Pierre…..!" She panted as she sprinted at full speed. Trying to get as many trees between them and the unknown assailants.
Half a dozen bolts crashed into the trees behind them.
She looked back to see a bolt flying in her direction. And yet somehow, by either sheer luck of a breeze or by divine providence, the bolt soared right by so close she could see the white fletching on the arrow.
Use the river bed.
"What riverbed?" Jeanne panted, her violet eyes scanning the area as she kept running. She felt a moment of weightlessness where she thought she was flying. "Oof!"
The ground gave way under her, as she fell face-first into a dry riverbed, with Pierre landing on top of her, "Thanks for the cushion…" He grumbled, rubbing his bottom.
Not wasting any time, she got up, bringing a finger to lips, and pointed at the extended overhang of the bed, covered in roots and moss. Pierre nodded as he grabbed her, holding himself and her tightly against the bug-infested roots that protruded.
The metal clanking of stainless-steel boots could be overhead, and the ratcheting of a crossbow echoed through the forest. "They're gone, sir."
A spider, the size of Jeanne's fist, dangled in front of her. She felt her brother clamp her mouth shut, knowing her fear of spiders all too well.
'Please. Lord, Please. Please. Please, Lord, please.' she chanted her mind as her violet eyes stared at the spider as it dangled before her.
"Should we check the riverbed?" Another soldier asked.
She could see a metal boot start to come down. A metal boot to her side, and a spider before her, there was no way of getting out of this. Then again, her Lord would not forsake her.
'Nonononononono.'
"No. We don't have time for this." A gruff voice said, "We need to report to the English."
'Thank you, dear Lord.' Jeanne exhaled slowly, feeling her muscles start to loosen. After several minutes of waiting, listening to the birds' chirp, the branches of trees break, the shuffling of heavy metal footsteps, Pierre let go of her sister as she took several steps back from the brown spider.
"Thank… you… Pierre…" She inhaled slowly, trying to settle her nerves, still keeping an eye on the spider.
Her brother didn't really seem to care about that, "H-h-how did you know…?" He looked at her with surprise, wiping the sweat from his curly bangs as he plopped down on the rocks with a sigh.
"Michael… he told me…" Jeanne confessed as she tossed her back, with eyes closed. She could feel the stress slowly ebb away.
"Michael…? As in… THE Michael? The Archangel?" Pierre stammered out the question in astonishment as he stared blankly at his sister.
She nodded, "Indeed."
"He just talks to you…?" He poked further, hoping for more details.
She opened an eye, shooting her brother a harsh look. "Yes, Pierre. I already told you this. Did you think I was lying?"
Scratching the back of his head in amazement, he shook his head, "No… but I don't know… It's one thing to hear it." He murmured.
"It's another to see it put into action." Jeanne finished the thought of her brother, who nodded.
"Yes," he said, dumbfounded. "That would have killed me if you didn't act."
Jeanne pinched her nose in frustration, "I didn't do anything. I was told what to do, and I acted, that is it. Nothing more. Nothing less, Pierre."
"Still… thank you…"
Seeing his sister get frustrated, he decided to switch the topic, "So when should we move?"
The shepherdess opened her eyes and looked around. She noticed a tangle of thick roots to her side. Standing up, she dug her foot into the tangle of roots and hoisted herself up slightly, Her eyes resting at the ground level of the forest floor. A flash of red came in and out of her vision.
They were still close. Too close with how their crimson red cloaks and coats were clearly visible.
Hmm… She decided to go with her gut, "I'd say around dusk…" Jeanne whispered, "we'll have more shadows for cover and enough light to get us to Vaucouleurs."
"Sounds like a smart idea…" Pierre whispered as he joined his sister, "So this is what war is like…?"
Jeanne's violet eyes fell upon her brother with a sullen expression, "Dear brother, I fear we have no idea what war is like."
Climbing down the thicket of vines, she sat down in the embankment's cove with her brother joining her. Unclasping her violet cloak, she draped it around herself and her brother, "It's going to be a long couple of hours…"
Pierre nodded as he huddled closer for warmth. One thing was certain. She was most certainly glad she wasn't alone on this journey.
Awaken, child. She felt a slight shake of the shoulder. Two tired eyes blinked, seeing the glittering image of Saint Margaret.
Looking around, she could see it was nearing night. The sun's rays peeked through the low hanging canopy, and a blistering breeze accompanied the arrival of dusk. Huddling closer together with her brother, she was careful not to stir the sleeping Pierre, who was fast asleep on her shoulder. "Oh Margaret…" Jeanne whispered as she bowed her head very slowly and deliberately, "It is truly an honor to receive you."
The Saint smiled at the child's greeting, "I come with news… Saint Catherine is currently looking after your sister and comforting her through these trials."
Jeanne's smile quickly frowned, "How is she? How are my parents?"
Margaret moved to sit beside Jeanne, "They have accepted God's mission for you, but they still feel the loss…"
"As do I…" Jeanne whispered with a heavy heart.
She placed a hand on the blonde girl's shoulder. To the astonishment of Jeanne, she felt a warmth slowly grow in her, dispelling the grief. The void slowly filled in. The pain of loss and the pain of leaving ebbed away, leaving only a small scar in her heart. Rather, she recalled and rejoiced in the merry times she had with her family. "Be at peace, my Child, they still love you dearly, and their angels continually offer their prayers to the Almighty throne."
"I'd still like to write to them… to apologize to them." She said with a certain sorrow in her voice.
Margaret smiled, understanding, "It is right and just of you to do that. It will be a great treasure to them."
Margaret's gaze fell upon her brother, "It would be wise to stir your brother and make your way back on the road. The journey to Vaucouleurs will be long."
Turning to shake her brother slightly, he shot up, "I wasn't asleep! I was… resting…!"
Jeanne couldn't help but smile, "Sure, Pierre… I think we should get moving, though." Turning, she noticed Margaret was gone again.
"What time is it…?" Pierre asked, covering his mouth with a yawn.
"Nearly dusk…" Jeanne frowned. The light was fading quickly.
Her brother nodded as he sat up, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. Pierre stood, stretching and cracking his back. Jeanne couldn't help but to gawk at the astoundingly loud pops. "Pierre… that… that can't be good for you?"
Pierre shrugged with a light-hearted smile as he offered his hand to his sister, "Maybe, but it certainly felt great."
Taking his hand, she clasped the violet cloak around her shoulder as she climbed up the embankment, offering her hand to Pierre. Helping her brother up the ledge, the two walked through the forest, keeping low to the ground, doing their best to avoid any branches that might snap.
They snaked through the trees, scanning the horizon. Everything was calm and quiet. Nothing stirred. The birds chirped, woodpeckers pecked. Even a deer jumped through a thick bush. It was as if what happened a few hours earlier never came to pass. Though the bolts lodged in the ground and trees told another story.
They reached a clearing where she saw a tulip crushed, yet still, a rose remained standing. 'Strange…' Jeanne thought to herself. Kneeling down, she inspected the area to see a piece of bread. "This is it."
Pierre's voice sank as did his frown, "Our horses are no longer here…" He grumbled under his breath. "Those loathsome…."
"Do not lose heart." Jeanne patted him on the back, trying to raise his spirit up, "God watches over us." She pictured Saint Margaret up in Heaven following them closely.
Her brother raised a questioning eyebrow, "You seem in high spirits?"
The blonde girl nodded with a certain confidence. "I've been with my counsel. They assure me that our way is made clear."
"Counsel…" Pierre asked, still confused, "It's just been the two of us…"
"Oh Pierre, if only you knew…" Jeanne giggled as she started on the dirt path to Vaucouleurs. Taking several joyful steps, she turned to see her dumbfounded brother, "Let's go, Pierre, you're wasting daylight… literally."
He groaned in annoyance and jogged to catch up. "We should be there by morning…" Pierre murmured, "If we follow the road all night."
"Well…" Jeanne rubbed her chin and thought, "On one hand we're lucky. If it's a full moon, we'll be able to use the moonlight, but the Burgundians will be less likely to patrol during the evening."
So, they marched through the night, and as Jeanne had hoped, there was a full moon that helped illuminate the path. The two silently made their way out of the forest and out into several farm fields that stretched as far as the eye could see… if it was daylight, that is.
A flicker of red danced off in the horizon. It seemed… it seemed like they were torches. Not deciding to run into those torches, Jeanne scurried into the farm field. Thankfully the wheat obscured anyone's vision. Unfortunately for those two, it obscured their vision.
Passing through the field, hand in hand, in the middle of the night, nothing was hindering their way until her foot caught on something. If it weren't for Pierre tightening his grip on her hand, she would have fallen to the ground.
"We have to watch our step…" Pierre warned. "It's dark."
'Well no, duh…' Jeanne thought with a bemused huff. "What was…" She murmured.
Violet eyes drifted downward as she tried to make sense of what she nearly stumbled on. It was soft, yet it definitely protruded from the ground in an unnatural manner. Then there was a horrid sickly putrid stench that filled the air.
The moonlight outlined the shape.
'No…' she dreaded. It wasn't something… Looking down, she could faintly make out the outline of a person. Sticking out of them was a crossbow bolt. "Nononono….." Jeanne ran past her brother, not caring what could be on the road.
She didn't care about being caught. She didn't care about making too much noise. She just needed to be away from that field and away from that stench.
"Jeanne!" Pierre called out before looking down and realizing what it was. "Oh…" His voice trailed off, taking several steps back.
Reaching the road, the blonde girl fell to the ground, heaving heavily, doing her best not to give into the turmoil in her stomach. That odor… she couldn't unsmell it. It was firmly ingrained in her mind.
That body… engrained in her vision. She couldn't unsee it. She shut her eyes tightly, shaking her head violently, trying to wring it out, yet the image was still there, the stench still in her mind. How her stomach protested violently as she panted while she clutched her stomach.
That person was just butchered out in the field as if they were a mere beast. No honor, no dignity. Just left out in the field for who knows how long.
"Jeanne!" Her brother called
She wanted to call out to him, but she couldn't.
"Jeanne! Where are you?!"
"Jeanne?!"
Inhale slowly, exhale slowly, she told herself, inhale, exhale. Still on her knees, she looked up to those flickering lights, thinking they were riders. Squinting, she could see the fields were littered with them. She could make out long dark silhouettes around the flickering lights. They weren't riders or people… If they were people, they would be moving closer to investigate Pierre's cries. Yet she noticed that they stayed in the same location, just flickering in the darkness of the night.
They were embers. They were the embers of houses that have been put to the torch, left to the burn. "Jeanne!" Pierre cried out again.
Clutching her stomach, trying her best to soothe the turmoil, she stood up slowly, on wobbly legs. She made her way to her brother, placing a hand over his mouth. "Quiet… lest we end up like them…" She whispered.
He nodded slowly as her legs started to give under her. Her brother caught her just in time and draped her arm around his shoulder, "First time seeing it?" He asked in a hushed tone.
She nodded slowly, still holding her stomach as the two made their way down the farm road.
"This isn't… yours… is it?" Jeanne asked.
Pierre didn't say anything, rather just keeping his attention on the road, illuminated by the night's moon. Step by step, carefully making sure the path ahead was clear of any other… obstructions.
"It gets easier…" Pierre whispered as they came across an intersection in the road, "You get numb to all of it…"
Not able to stomach it, she pulled away, heaving up her stomach with a violent force before falling to one knee. "Woahhh…" Pierre knelt beside her, rubbing her back,
The cruelness of this war. This devastated farming village ruined over what? A blood feud between two families? This petty blood feud dragged in countless people, condemned to fight and die for what purpose?
France was being punished by the neglect of a queen selling out her son and the people that she was appointed to watch over. One decision that led to the death of that person lying in the field. It made her sick. Innocent people dying over nothing. Christians killing each other for no reason. Humans killing each other like mere beasts.. Death upon death, soul falling upon soul. A horrendous wheel that ground all under the maliciousness of a few to the laughter and amusement of the Enemy.
"I…" Jeanne panted, wiping away the spittle, "Never want it to get it easier." She whispered back, staring angrily at her brother before standing up by her own strength. "I am going to put an end to it." Walking down the road with a renewed sense of determination, she prayed a simple prayer.
"By your Grace Lord, I wish to restore France to your flock. I wish to end the calamity my people endure. By your grace, O Beloved One, may you forgive all those who have offended You with their grievous sins of pride and greed. If it is Your desire to use me as an instrument, then by Divine Will guide my heart, hand, and tongue in all things."
"I've seen my country, and I've seen dead bodies piled high out in the country and in the streets of cities. I've seen the hunger, the blood, the thirst, and the poverty. All these things are the offspring of the war and violence that has clutched my land for one hundred years. I won't say the names of those guilty of the wars. There are too many! We are all guilty of war and death, always. In the same way, we can be guilty of peace, always.
I asked this of you on bended knees. I'm ready to die for you if only you become guilty of peace. I often say to children, think about all the things you like, that is God. Children like all sorts of things. But not one child will say they like war and death. Not one child has ever said, will ever say, that they enjoy the suffering and mutilation of others.
Now, look at whoever is next to you. Look at them with eyes of joy, and remember what Saint Agustine said, "If you want to see God, you have the means to do it."
God is love, but I won't speak to you of God until there is peace because God is peace, and peace is God. You don't know how wonderful peace is. You have no idea how disconcerting peace can be. But I know, because I saw it when I was eight years old in the pasture of Domremy with lambs."
A/N
Ello dear readers!
Welcome to the second… Arc? (I'll go back to my corner) but for real, I'm excited.
I wanted to touch very briefly on some history. Mainly France during the 100 Years War. Watering down to the barebones of barebones of the situation. France was fighting England, check. But they were also dealing with a civil war with a group called the Burgundians. Check. Got it? Good. But let's dig into it a little deeper
Essentially, the Burgundians were a branch of the French royal family. Under King Charles VI, the French were ruled by a regency council made up of the Burgundians (who were heavily invested in trade and mercantilism with England) And Armagnac (The house of Orleans). Essentially, the Duke of Orleans, Louis I, wanted to kick out the Burgundians cause they were too buddy-buddy with England. Lots of shenanigans were about, and we all know: shenanigans begets shenanigans.
The Duke of Burgundy assassinated Louis I, the Duke of Orleans, causing a civil war.
Meanwhile, the English were up to their own sneaky shenanigans and were like, "Heeyyyyyyy that's pretty good." And they used this time to pick away at both sides, while making treaties with the opposing sides, in "friendship, stability, and neutrality.." huh…
Shenanigans beget shenanigans, as CGP Grey says, so Charles VII, the rightful heir to the king, assassinates (or more like his men were a gun-ho and might have done an oopsy) the Duke of Burgundy.
So what's the point? You might be asking. Well, the Burgundians were kinda big mad at having their duke assassinated. So they entered into an alliance with England for revenge. Essentially signing the Treaty of Troyes, which Queen Isabeau (the mother of the Dauphin, Charles VII) disinherited her son from the French crown. At the death of Charles VI, Henry V of England and all of his successors would be made the rightful kings of France.
Obviously- Armagnacs didn't like that their duke, Charles VII, the rightful king, was disinherited by his own mom, so they kept on fighting against the Anglo-Burgundian Alliance. But it was definitely a losing battle until Jeanne d'Arc shows up :D Yes, I'm a history nerd.
As I previously mentioned, I may or may not have a Beta reader helping, Ms AtomicBomb. So thank her for all of the hard work and check her stories out :D She's a legit trooper for putting up with my pre-Grammarly editing. Would ya like to introduce yourself?
Hello everyone!, Ms. AtomicBomb here… idk what to write lol. I'm glad to be the beta-reader for this amazing fic! Honestly, such a masterpiece, I stan 100%. Hope you guys like the story and continue supporting our amazing author here!
Psht, a lot of the credit, has to go to the beta-reader. She's doing the real work. I only hope I can return the kindness :D Team Jeanne, let's gooo
Reviews:
HolyBlade: Good evening (day, or afternoon) Thanks! Yeah that last chapter… I don't regret writing it, but it kinda sucked writing it. Don't worry, though! We'll see some more Catherine!
Chris: Ello governa- aw thanks mate! I'm thrilled she kicked down the door in my life, I feel like St. Jeanne is a perfect combination of faith, history, and inspiration. Hopefully, it gets better :D
As always, dear readers, I am and will always be your most humble and faithful servant,
Sauron
P.S. I hope to have the next chapter ready for St. Jeanne's feast day on the 30th. If, however, I don't have anything ready, I'll have some history and some thoughts on St. Jeanne and some other historical musings.