""I had a daughter born in lawful wedlock who grew up amid the fields and pastures. I had her baptized and confirmed and brought her up in the fear of God. I taught her respect for the traditions of the Church as much as I was able to do given her age and simplicity of her condition. I succeeded so well that she spent much of her time in church and after having gone to confession she received the sacrament of the Eucharist every month. Because the people suffered so much, she had a great compassion for them in her heart and despite her youth she would fast and pray for them with great devotion and fervor.
She never thought, spoke or did anything against the faith. Certain enemies had her arraigned in a religious trial. Despite her disclaimers and appeals, both tacit and expressed, and without any help given to her defense, she was put through a perfidious, violent, iniquitous and sinful trial. The judges condemned her falsely, damnably and criminally, and put her to death in a cruel manner by fire. For the damnation of their souls and in notorious, infamous and irreparable loss to me, Isabelle, and mine..." Isabelle Romee's, mother of Joan of Arc, opening statement at Joan's Trial of Rehabilitation
Chapter 1: In the Valley of Lorraine
On a pleasant day in the middle of an ordinary springtime day, something extraordinary has occurred to an ordinary girl. The Celestial Court has judged her worthy. It has deemed her worthy of taking up the sword and cross to lead her people, her king, her kingdom, back from its wayward path.
Jeanne d'Arc was a simple thirteen years old who was charged with this momentous task. To lead the wayward nation back to a seat of prominence. The only problem was that she was a mere child, not just a child but also a shepherdess.
The Lord's chief general, the Archangel Michael, descended from on high to even offer his sword prepared by God to her. Her of all people. A terrifying prospect, to be sure for, any mere human. Yet the Lord knew Jeanne's needs and sent two wardens to comfort His distraught flower of Lorraine, for He had sent two of his gentlest souls that pleased Him in the celestial gardens. St. Catherine, to give her the energy and courage she needed, while St. Margaret provided the little flower the stoic nature and resolve she would need for trials. A deadly combination, indeed.
What wonder and comfort her heart experienced, the young shepherdess could practically feel her heart about ready to break out of her chest and fly with her new friends. Yet it was not to be. For she still had a mission to complete.
And that mission just got awkward.
"Jeanne!" Her sister sobbed a great many fearful and saddened tears, "Are you alright?! Who were you talking to?!" Her little sister pulled on her leg, causing the shepherdess to smile. Her sister was young with youth and energy. Sweet and innocent with her autumn hair that fell to her shoulders, yet her usually happy hazel eyes were filled with tears.
While Jeanne was touched by her sister's overabundant concern for her well-being. To think she would have to leave her little sister behind. It grieved her heart deeply. She resolved to make the most out of the time she still had with Catherine.
"Catherine, please." Jeanne stooped down, meeting her sister's concerned tear-filled eyes, pulling away Catherine's curtain of curly bangs, she placed a kiss on her forehead, "I am alright. Please calm down." Embracing Catherine tightly, she could feel the girl calm down.
A few moments and her sister peeled away slightly, her storm of tears had calmed, yet she still looked distraught.
"I heard you crying and speaking, yet I see no one. Who were you talking to?" Catherine asked, still upset.
Not wanting to lie to her sister, Jeanne bit her lip in uncomfortable silence, avoiding the gaze of her sister.
"Jeanne! I am your little sister. Don't keep your secret from me. I promise I'll never tell a soul!"
The shepherdess mewed over it. Her sister would never tell a soul. They had a deep trust in each other's confidence. Would it anger the courts of Heaven? Yet not telling Cathering would greatly upset her beloved sister. What a predicament. That was when she felt a small gust of wind gently caress Jeanne's cheek. A movement had occurred in her heart of hearts, letting her know that it was alright to tell little Catherine. It must have been St. Catherine looking out for both her earthly charges.
Jeanne stood up, offering her hand to her sister, who took it most affectionately. "Dear Catherine, I'll tell you," Her smile fell away into a stern look, "but you must mean it, that you will never tell a soul. Not even our beloved parents."
The little girl eagerly nodded, "I promise!"
The shepherdess looked around, making sure no one was around the meadow. "This will be hard to believe…."
"I know you would never tell a lie, Jeanne."
Sighing slightly, Jeanne confessed. "I spoke with Saint Michael, Catherine, and Margaret…." Her voice trailed off, not sure how her younger sister would react. The waiting for the mockery one would have expected, Jeanne braced herself.
Yet it never came. Instead, something else did.
"Really!?"
Caught a bit off guard, she nodded, asking, "Y-y-you believe me?"
Her sister embraced her again, "Why would I not? I always knew my sister was destined for great things! It brings great comfort that my Saint is with you." There was seconding guessing her meaning or intentions. Her sister's face glowed with a certain illuminating and trusting innocence that endeared Jeanne dearly to her.
Rustling her sister's hair autumn hair, Jeanne smiled at the thought, "Shall we reign in the sheep? We don't want to be late."
Catherine shouted and rushed over to grab her older sister's shepherd cane. Handing it over to the rightful owner, "Time to go home!" Jeanne called out to the sheep. One by one, they looked up from grazing and followed the two girls through the forest.
Across the small streams and over tree branches, they formed a neat and orderly column marching back to the village, enjoying the shade and colors of a vibrant emerald forest of evergreens. "Truly wondrous! What did Saint Michael sound like?" Catherine asked as she walked on top of a fallen tree, trying to keep her balance.
"If only you could have heard it, Catherine. Imagine a hundred horns blowing for a king! Speaking with a humble but confident heart."
"Did he have wings?!"
"The most brilliant wings with the softest of snow-white feathers that shown like stars!"
"Wow!"
Catherine paused, rubbing her chin in thought, "I believe I would have been frightful if Michael visited me."
Jeanne laughed as she guided the sheep around a large tree. "I was terrified…" She admitted, "But Catherine and Margaret calmed me down."
"Catherine!" Her sister jumped off the log, "Tell me about her!"
"Oh, a most beautiful and lively person! Reminds me of you!" Jeanne recalled with joy.
She turned around, walking backward, with an almost expecting look. "Do you think I can talk to her?"
Now that was a tricky question. It was possible, Jeanne supposed, but would she dare ask a Saint? No, that would be too much! Then again… she would never unless she tried.
"Please don't be cross with me… I just want to meet my Saint" Catherine frowned.
Looking up, she could see her sister upset, "No, no, I'm just thinking is all. I cannot promise it, but I will ask."
This seemed to have pacified the young Arc, who nodded in agreement. Saint Catherine… please hear my request. She prayed in her heart as they came out of the forest using the lumber trail. Like an island in the seas, Domremy was an island of tranquility compared to the turmoil of what France was going through.
There were about twenty-five houses huddled together, the largest belonging to the Arc family, besides the village's parish. By no means was the Arc family wealthy in any sense. But they weren't well off either. They sat in a comfortable place as the Arcs were village's doyen, overseeing tax collection and village defense. A trying task indeed, considering they were loyalists in an ocean of Burgundians.
Coming through the village, the farmers and weavers greeted her, waving at the two Arcs. Jeanne bowed at each one, showing proper respect to the elders of the town. Walking past the town well and climbing a slight incline, they arrived at their peach-plastered home.
It was a strange design, almost like someone took a knife and cut a home and half. It had a singular slanted roof with two sets of windows, one for the kitchen area and one in the sleeping quarters. Yet it was home that Jeanne had adored, growing up with her parents, brothers, and sister. To the left of the home was their farmstead where they kept the lambs. Opening the latched gate, she led the sheep in where they mingled with Catherine's flock. "Come on in. Yes Yes…"
One sheep looked up at her, the last one of the herd. She instantly recognized who it. "Clovis… you trouble maker, you too…."
The lamb seemed to laugh with jovial baaa before coming in. Taking a last look, taking count of all the sheep, she closed the gate. "Mamma and Pappa?" Jeanne asked her sister.
"Pappa went to Vaccolier, delivering the monthly tax, and Momma is at the church."
Jeanne nodded as she untied the garland from her belt. "I will meet you at the tree. I just need to…"
Catherine grinned with a knowing glint in her eyes, "Give it to our mother, yes I know."
The shepherdess shrugged sheepishly, "Go along; I will be there shortly!"
Her sister started to walk, only to turn around a few steps, "You promise?"
"I do. Now go, Catherine! Don't let me keep you!"
With that last bit of urging, Catherine started running, more like sprinting, but how could stop a child's energy. With garland in hand, she walked up towards the small parish of the village. It was a small cobblestone church, with a bell tower for an entrance. Able to comfortably accommodate all the town's people on Sunday's but on special feast days, it could get rather cramped.
Walking in, she approached a font, dipped her hand in the blessed holy water, and signed herself with the cross. Past the twelve benches for the families was the altar and railing separating itself from the rest of the church. Yet, to the side of that stood a beautiful statue of a woman painted in blues and whites. Her youthful eyes pointed upward at the crucifix and tabernacle in the church as if in quiet contemplation.
Mother was supposed to be in here. Yet, the church was devoid of people. How peculiar.
Thinking nothing of it, she knelt before the tabernacle and moved towards the statue of Mary. "Oh beloved mother, I hope you are most pleased by these simple flowers. Please continue to watch over France, my village, my mom and dad, my brothers, and Catherine, and if you have any time, over me."
Reaching up, she placed the flowers around the statue as if they were a crown. Noticing a slight tilt, she adjusted to make sure it was perfectly even.
Jeanne's face paled as she took several steps back, thudding to the ground. The statue was looking right at her with a smile. But that's impossible! The figure wasn't even facing her when she had arrived.
The eyes bore into her as if the statue was gazing into her soul. Crawling on the rough cobble floor, the utter fear struck into the young girl's heart. "Jeanne…?"
Looking up, she could see her mother filled with worry. She had blonde hair much like Jeanne's, though lacking the long braid. Ontop her hair was the shaw she wore in a church that helped shadow the concerned Amethyst eyes of her beloved mother. "Jeanne, please, my daughter… tell me troubles you" She knelt down, holding her oldest daughter in her arms.
The daughter pointed to the statue, who was no longer smiling or gazing upon her; rather, it assumed it was the normal position. "Your garland? Sweet Jeanne, it is most fitting for the celebration of May tomorrow! I'm sure she is most pleased with it."
Internally sighing with relief, she embraced her mom, who seemed rather startled, "Thank you, mamma." She buried her face into the throws and warmth of this pious woman. "I was looking for you."
"I'm sorry, my sweet dandelion, I was helping Father Guillaume Front with decorations." Looking up, Jeanne could see the wreaths and garlands that her mother must have been making all day. "It's beautiful, mother!"
"Only the best for our Lord, no?" She stood up, helping the young Jeanne back to her feet. "But if I'm not mistaken, you'll be late to the feast day games…" She said with a knowing smile.
"How…"
"Catherine." Her mother smiled sweetly, "Run along now. When you are home, we'll have a special meal."
Knowing not to question her mom, Jeanne got up, kneeling for the tabernacle and running out of the church. Down through the farm fields, leaping over a few cobblestone walls, she saw a large tree that sat out in the middle of the fields by a stream.
Garlands hung from its low branches, and she could make her sister out. Running with renewed determination, she found herself, she reached her tree. "Finally, Jeanne! I would have thought you would have been here much sooner!"
"Sorry, Germaine…!" Jeanne doubled over, panting. Having taken several deep breaths, she managed to look up to see an impatient Germaine whose pigtails swooshed back and forth as she shook her head.
"Jeanne, we've been waiting for over an hour!" Germaine added, her frown growing.
"Lighten up, Germaine," Another person said. It was Henri, the son of the local blacksmith with his own stern look, "We're the only one here. We should be thankful that Jeanne came."
Oh, sweet Henri, the boy was a dear friend of Jeanne. Always ready to jump in the fray to counter Germaine's tendency to jump to conclusions. Although he was four years younger than Jeanne, he had a sharp and cunning mind which contrasted with his clumsiness.
His cunning mind was needed to help keep Germaine in check. She was often brash and unruly. Good at heart but rather impatient and loose with the tongue. A dangerous combo, for sure.
"Friends, no fighting!" Little Catherine ran between the two, holding her hands up. The two took notice of the little and paused for a moment.
"I apologize for my tardiness." Jeanne bowed slightly, "I was caught off guard in my tasks for today."
"We're glad you're here." Henri greeted her with an affectionate hug.
"Yeah, even though you're late, it's good to have you." Germaine caved in as she grabbed a basket. "We've been waiting to eat."
The four friends sat under the tree's shade as Germaine opened up the basket. Pulling out two loaves of bread, she took out a knife and sliced up pieces. Meanwhile, Henri pulled out a large block of cheese and started to cut pieces.
"Jeanne, will you say grace for us?" Germaine pleaded.
Everyone looked at the shepherdess expectantly, but she agreed.
Once all the preparations were done, Jeanne signed herself, "Dear Lord, thank you for the Crowning of tomorrow. We offer up prayers and affections to you, our merciful and loving God. Please, by your will, bless this humble meal that we share in your name."
"Amen!"
The four children started to munch on the bread on cheese, though Jeanne was mindful not to spoil supper. "Have you heard the news?" Germaine asked the group
"What news?" Henri asked as he took a bite of bread.
"Troyes has fallen to the Burgundians…."
"That's horrible!" Catherine cried out in anguish.
"With Troyes gone, we are truly surrounded. The closest city is Orleans." Henri thought out loud, "It won't be long before the Burgundians take Domremy."
"It'll be only a matter of time that we'll be speaking English. We'll be under the thumbs of those vile traitors."
"I'd never!" Catherine said as she stood up, "I'd rather die!" She boldly proclaimed.
Jeanne reached up and tugged on the girl to sit down without looking up at her sister, "Catherine, never say such things. It is never good to make such promises." The shepherdess took another thoughtful bite of her cheese. The folly of youth... Jeanne giggled at the thought.
"Don't you care about what is happening to our beloved France, Jeanne?" Germaine asked with a certain indignant attitude, "Our beloved land is being destroyed by outsiders and snakes!"
She opened her amethyst eyes, smiling toward her friend, "I do indeed, but we are mere children. It is better to attend to our duties than be concerned with affairs that seem an ocean away."
"How is it an ocean away?!" Germaine's voice rose in frustration, "We are surrounded by traitors... we are near collapse... and you don't care!"
Jeanne smiled at her friend's patriotism, "Indeed, Germaine, I trust in God. He will save France. We need only have faith in our lord. Until then, what can we do?"
Henri and Germaine looked at one another, both thinking of something to counter her point. Yet, the things they came up with were lacking.
"Such a stickler." Germaine crossed her arms.
"Come now, Jeanne is correct, what we can do."
"We can fight." Catherine stood up, picked up a stick, and started to swing the blade, slicing several flowers from their stems. "Death to the traitors and English dogs!"
"Catherine!" Jeanne scolded with furrowed brow, "You must never wish death upon anyone..." Besides, I'd rather not fight until it is my appointed time. I don't wish to see our home-"
The bell rang. "It's not time for the Angelus…" Jeanne looked towards the village with a raised eyebrow. A dark feeling crept in her stomach as her Amtheyst eyes scoured the horizon. Something was not right. Dark clouds loomed in her heart and mind as they grew in strength off in the distance.
Dread was creeping into my heart. They weren't dark clouds. It was smoke.
Return home. A thought popped into her mind. It wasn't just a thought... It was as if someone were speaking directly into her mind. It was a commanding voice.
"I see smoke!" Germaine pointed towards the air.
Jeanne, you must return to the village. Take sanctuary in the church.
"Guys…" Jeanne rose to her feet, "Follow me and help me back."
"The Burgundians!" Germaine wept, "They're attacking!"
Catherine stood up in shock, "I am a mere child; I don't wish to die."
It was only Henri that remained calm. He silently sat, watching Jeanne intently.
The young shepherdess stood back up the food calmly and deliberately. To be honest, she was packing for the sake of herself, to calm herself. She wanted to run home. No, sprint home, yet that seemed... wrong to act in such a fearful manner.
"Oh, Jeanne, do you not care that our homes are burning!"
She wrapped up the bread in a cloth and placed the knife in the basket, not minding the turmoil. "Jeanne!" Germaine cried anger-filled tears. "Our home is being destroyed."
Once the napkins were folded, she closed the basket and stood up, giving the basket to her friend, Germaine.
"I don't care about the basket! My family could be dead." She threw it down on the ground, slightly frustrating Jeanne.
Tis not so. The men are rallying. A loud voice boomed in her mind like a trumpet. The women, elderly, and children are in the village, safe for the moment. They will need you. Follow my directions, and I will protect you.
"Germaine, have faith and follow me. Your loved ones are safe."
"You don't know that!" Germaine shouted back.
Henri placed a hand on the boisterous and scared girl's shoulder. "We're right behind you."
Jeanne's rambunctious friend seemed to have calmed down quite a bit before nodding. Gazing upon little Catherine, she had a determined expression. "Let's go." Jeanne waved to them. "Follow me closely."
With that, they left the tree, Jeanne sticking near to the ground, practically running on all fours along the fence.
Get down!
She practically face-planted herself, her face caught into a wad of prickly weeds. The earth trembled as three riders galloped by. Her violet eyes drifted behind her, turning to see that everyone was on the ground. She could see the terror in everyone's eyes. Her sister looked as if she were going to cry.
How Jeanne's heart ached carefully looking over to Catherine, slowly and with great deliberation, she gave her sister a thumbs up, trying to reassure her. "St. Catherine... calm my sister please..."
Hold. The voice told her
The coast seemed clear; there was no one approaching. Yet, she didn't dare resist the thoughts in her mind. Looking back again, Henri placed a hand over Germaine's mouth who was silently sobbing. Thankfully, the fence was an embankment and protected them from any traitors.
Hold. The voice told her again.
After a few moments, there was the temptation to look up. There was no sound, except for the ringing of the bell.
Yet there was nothing. She was tempted to get up and start moving; they couldn't stay here for long lest the enemy finds them… or worse yet.
Hold.
The earth trembled again as, this time, five riders galloped by. They all sported the Burgundian white and red coats that made up their banner's color. Each one holding crossbows in their arms, ready to shoot anything as they rode by. Jeanne had the feeling that if they had stood up, these men would not have hesitated to gun down four children.
Run.
Getting up, noticing a slight sting to her cheeks, she started to run across the road. While on foot, she brought her hand to her cheek, seeing that blood freely poured from a cut—no time to worry about that now, though.
She waved for the others to follow her, keeping a close eye out for any enemy soldiers that might have spotted them. They were in the clear. Running through the fields, they were safer, still keeping low to the ground. It appeared as a gust of wind swaying the tall wheat.
After crossing several fields, they could see the church tower. They were almost. Crossing one last road, they found themselves in Geradin's goat fence. The animals lay on the ground slaughtered from crossbow bolts.
Catherine peeked her head in the window, shaking her head. Quietly opening the door, they could see riders running, setting fire to the cottages, working their way in, house by house. They were preoccupied with looting and burning as they were making their way to the Church. There were about thirty of them that she could see.
Stepping back outside to the goat pen, she reassured her friends. "We can run through the back and make it to the Church," Jeanne advised, to which everyone agreed.
Jumping from wall to wall, staying low, they reached Jeanne's home. Running past the lamb pen, she noticed that the lambs were not there, nor were they slain. In fact, the gate was opened. Maybe someone had freed them?
"Lord, please protect those innocent lambs." She whispered as they ran across the courtyard of Jeanne's home. Checking the corners, they darted to the Church.
Climbing the steps to the sanctuary, Germaine and Catherine started pounding on the door. "LET US IN!" Catherine cried out in great fear and trepidation.
"They will kill us!" Germaine added in between the loud bangs. "PLEASE, HURRY!"
One of the doors opened by their priest, Father Guillaume. "Father!" Germaine greeted them with an embrace of this elderly round man that could have quickly passed off as anyone's grandfather with rosy red cheeks and soft arms.
"My children… please come in…." He waved them in quickly, "They will see you!"
Not you. Send the others in.
He ushered Germaine, Henri, and Catherine in urgently, waving them in. Peaking in, Jeanne could see the crying children of the village with the elderly. All huddled together in prayer and seeking comfort with one another.
Stand tall and proud. Do not move.
A bolt lodged itself at the church's door, spraying splinters on them. "You there!" A group of Burgundians rode over to them, attracting the others.
Jeanne dare not show any sign of weakness. She could feel her legs start to tremble, yet she sensed an inner resolve in her giving the strength she needed. "Father, please go in. I shall handle this."
"Jeanne, don't be foolish! Come inside where it's safe!" The warm priest protested, "You're a mere child! What can you do?"
"You're going to get yourself killed!" Germaine cried out.
"Jeanne!" Her sister cried.
"Little Catherine! Stay inside!" Jeanne turned to her sister with a grim look, giving her a thumbs up, "I'll be alright. Trust me?"
"But-"
"Please." She asked calmly with a voice that told her sister to have faith.
Her sister nodded, however, her vision was obstructed when another bolt landed, crashing into the door, a mere three inches from her face. Inhaling sharply, knew what she had to do.
Walk down to them. Be bold.
Walking down the steps, Jeanne raised her hands up. "HERE I AM!" She shouted at the top of her voice so that all on earth, heaven, and hell could hear her.
"JEANNE!" She could hear the sobbing voice of her mother, "LET GO OF ME! I NEED TO GET HER!"
The Burgundians rode towards, circling her like a pack of wolves toying with their prey. "Are you men?!" Jeanne shouted, "Godly men?! Who burns villages and slaughters innocents?" Jeanne chastised the invaders, "Who is your God? The Lord or Satan?!"
"Girl. You have quite a mouth on you." A soldier said, aiming his crossbow at her.
Firing the bolt, it landed between her feet. "Woe to you, I say!" She had no idea where these words were coming from or the strength in them. "You Burgundians have betrayed your rightful God-appointed King, and You slaughter his people in the name of greed, pride, and the evil one! You are no better than the Philistines!" She warned them. "REPENT! REPENT, AND YOUR LORD WILL SPARE YOUR LIVES AND FORGIVE YOUR VILE TRANSGRESSIONS!" She cried out in a loud voice.
One soldier, with a red plumed helmet, dismounted his horse, drawing his blade. He wore fine glittering gold and armored plates, indicating that he was, at the very least, a minor lord, "You're a peasant who doesn't know her place." He swung his sword, slicing into Jeanne's skirt.
"Thus, you have condemned yourself!" Jeanne shook her head with tears running down her cheeks. How she desperately wept for these men's souls... Bitter chastisement was about to fall upon him.
"Die you filth." He said as he raised his sword.
The knight prepared to swing his blade. It was as if time had slowed. She could see the swing come down. Inch by inch felt like an eternity upon eternity. There was no stopping it. No time to duck. But if she were to meet her death, here, she accepted it.
The blade stopped, resting on her neck. The horses reared, kicking their riders off, scattering in all directions. She could see the sheer shock and fear in the man's face as the color drained from his face. She looked up to see a brilliant figure descend down, his shimmering hand holding the blade. With a squeeze of the hand, the blade shattered as if an icicle.
"I..I..I.."
The blade glowed with intense heat, scalding and burning his hand through the gauntlet. "What is this girl?!" He shouted.
The other raiders took several steps back, seeing their captain in such terror. "Reynald!" They shouted.
The man wouldn't move. He couldn't move. He felt his bones petrified from unknowable, an unseeable force.
"Grab the captain! We need to leave this accursed place!" A soldier shouted.
"LEAVE THIS PLACE!" Jeanne commanded the Burgundians. "YOU COME HERE AT YOUR OWN PERIL! I DO NOT DESIRE YOUR BLOOD, BUT I WILL DEFEND THIS PLACE!"
The soldiers immediately tossed their weapons and ammunition and tore off their plate armors and chain mails, throwing them at the feet of the little girl, not wanting to befall the same fate as their captain. "Forgive us, child! We are wicked men!" They condemned themselves for their horrendous crimes
Jeanne stared at these fearful men, all on their knees, lamenting at their fates. How she pitied these poor fulls, yet something nagged her in her heart to show compassion. "Do not ask for my forgiveness. Rather, ask from our Lord and King, and his steward of France. Turn away from war and seek peace and penance, lest you be judged wanting!" She warned them like the lost children they were.
They bowed their heads at this child. "Oh child, your words are truthful." One soldier lifted his head, tears running down his cheeks. "We shall repent and do penance for our many transgressions. Spare us from the Lord's wrath"
"Go then! Do not come here again! Domremy is under the protection of the King of Heaven and his steward on Earth!"
Staying low to the ground, not daring to lift their heads, they tossed back the money they had stolen as well as their own and took their captain away, dragging him through the mud.
Jeanne watched the soldiers leave the village, standing her ground. Beside stood the angelic soldier, Saint Michael. "Worry not," He reassured her, "No one but you can see me."
"Oh, Saint Michael! You have spared my life by your intervention! Thank you, gallant archangel."
The angel nodded. She could make out a smile under his helmet, "Indeed, this victory is that of the Lord! Rejoice in your role in saving your village! Rest and recuperate. There will be a celebration at the return of your Father!" His voice softly proclaimed to the tired child.
The villagers rushed out of the church as Jeanne fell to her knees, pure exhaustion overcoming the shepherdess. "MY DEAR JEANNE!" Her mother ran out, holding her daughter. "MY FOOLISH CHILD!" She chastised in fear with a stern look.
Looking up with tired eyes, Jeanne frowned, seeing that Michael was longer with them. Looking up at her mother as everyone in the town gathered around her, "Mother, please don't be cross with me…."
Her mother smiled, kissing her on the forehead, "I can never be cross with you, little dandelion."
"Praise God!" The Benedictine Father as he held his hands up in the air, "The Lord has delivered us from evil. Praise be Him!" He knelt down Jeanne blessing her.
"The Lord is with you, Jeanne. May He always be with you. Rest now, child."
Those were the last words when she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
A/N
My dear readers! Welcome to the first official chapter La Pucelle, The Maid of Heaven! So as I have said in the prologue, I wanted to tell the real story of St. Jeanne d'Arc to the most real extent possible.
I feel that in the A/Ns, I will explain some of the scenes and such, inspiration, history, what really happened, what didn't happen.
As such, I wanted to explain a few things. Domremy, most historians believe was raided while Jeanne was alive several times, one of the times resulting in the village being burned down, unfortunately.
Without going super in-depth, during the third phase of the 100 Year War, when Jeanne would turn the tide of the war, France was not only fighting the English. They were also fighting a civil war with the Duke of Burgundy due to the results of a blood feud in the royal line during the reign of Charles VI's reign. France was in a real bad spot because the Burgundians were allied to the English.
I wanted to portray some of that raid, but what happened with St. Michael didn't happen in any of the history books I read. Most likely the families of Domremy would have retreated to a fortified town of Vaucouleurs.
Also, we do know St. Joan also had a little sister named Catherine. Her fate will be revealed later on
Some inspirations of this chapter are found in St. Therese of Lisieux's plays on St. Joan.
So if you have thoughts, questions, reactions, theories, etc, let me know, leave a review, I love to hear from all of you! Don't be afraid!
Leave a fav/follow if you liked it so far.
Reviews:
Noble: Hello mate! Thank you xD hopefully I still have your attention
Next time we'll see the Arc family, and some village stuff. Gotta set the tone for when things get real.
