"Question: Did you think you were doing well in going away without the permission of your father and your mother, since we must honour our father and our mother?
Joan: In all things I did obey my father and my mother, save in this leaving them, but afterwards I wrote to them about it and they gave me their forgiveness.
Question: When you left your father and your mother, did you think you were committing a sin?
Joan: Since God commanded it, it had to be. Since God commanded it, had I had a hundred fathers and mothers, had been a King's daughter, I should have departed" Joan during Trial of Condemnation
Chapter 3: The Commission
Days have gone by. A great many days in the quiet village of Domremy. Nothing exciting, nothing adventurous. It seemed that the village had returned to pretty everyday life. Of course, a certain Jeanne d'Arc received visitations from her celestial guardians. Often, Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret would instruct the young girl how she could be pleasing before the Lord.
Generic things. Be good, listen to your parents, watch over your siblings, love God, do good things, go Mass, go to Confession, receive communion. All of these things, Jeanne did with a most joyous heart under the gentle tutelage of these two martyrs.
Sure, Catherine was a bit more lively, energetic, always saying one must do this and one must do that. Always do with her! Yet it was Saint Margaret who instilled in her the quiet contemplation. To be thoughtful in act and word.
Days went by, Jeanne working in the field or in the home, side by side with her family, with her Saints teaching. Even St. Michael, the commander of Heaven's army, instructed her. Though his instructions were in matters of war and utter reverence to the Lord.
For most of these matters, she didn't understand the importance of supply lines, formations, siege, use of arms, and horsemanship when her father permitted. Yet oddly enough, she grasped the concepts with relative ease.
Thus, spring turned to summer, summer to fall, fall to winter. The cycles repeated, instruction on matters of God and war changed as she grew older. With age came certain boldness as the teaching started to soak in, seeping into the tilled soil through hard work and prayer.
By the time she was sixteen, Jeanne had become stronger, her muscles more defined from working out in the field, pushing her father's plow, much to the frustration of Pierre, who desired to help. Trailing behind her was little, though not so little anymore, laying a trail of seeds closely behind.
Hunting for fish with a bow, she trained her eyes to observe every reflection of light while remaining perfectly still as a statue. Cutting wood, as St. Michael taught her, was like swinging a sword. Each strike had to be powerful and precise, targeting a select area.
Taking her apron, she wiped the sweat off her brow as she sat upon her father's horse, watching the lambs for the day. It was good to get Maria out of the stable and to graze with the sheep. She stroked her mane, undoing the knots in the horse's poor coat of hair. "I'm going to have to talk to Pappa…" Jeanne murmured to herself as she removed a rather tricky knot.
Sitting up, it was the fall season of her sixteenth birthday. It was a brisk October day with the trees' greens changing to delightful red, orange, and yellow hues. She enjoyed the unique smells that fall brings in the air.
"Dear Jeanne." A familiar voice, a subdued voice, that of her war guardian filled her mind. Looking around on her horse, she could see no one.
"Saint Michael!" Jeanne greeted, "It is good to hear you! If it pleases you, would you make yourself known?"
Within the snap of the finger, a Greco-Roman soldier in golden armor appeared before her, bowing in greeting. "My dear Jeanne. I bring news from the Celestial Courts of the Lord."
A sense of unease filled the girl's heart. That was a rather ominous phrase he used.
Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret appeared standing on the other side of the horse. A looming dread started to sink her spirit. The three of them never appeared to her together since four years ago.
"You must set forth to save your Homeland. Take up the sword to preserve its honor." Catherine chanted in a most angelic voice.
"The King of Heaven and the Virgin Mary will always know how to make you victorious." Margaret sang in a gentle lullaby that made Jeanne's eyes water. She shook her head. No... it was too early... She knew what they came for.
"It's… It's too soon…" Jeanne pleaded with both of them. It dawned on what they were asking of her. The dreaded news that the shepherdess had hoped would be forgotten… Then again… this was God's Kingdom. The Lord forgets nothing.
Saint Michael took off his helmet and placed it by his feet. He raised his hand as he stroked the horse's head with great affection. "Timid child, leave your cottage. Take as your standard a pure white banner, and go to find the king."
"You must leave this countryside to obey the Divine King. But He'll be your companion. He wants to go with you." St. Margaret announced, "He will ride beside you in consultation and trial."
Her heart was torn between the love of her family and that of her love of the Lord. Jeanne felt the conviction in her heart spill forth as she nodded with tears in her eyes. Knowing that the past four years, they were preparing her for this day. Despite the training, it still wounded her deeply, yet what about her family...?
"But my family… My dear parents! The sorrow that my leaving will bring them is more painful than any death. Not to mention my siblings…" Jeanne confessed with a sorrowful heart, wiping the tears away.
"Seeing your mother cry, poor child, Your heart will suffer. The tears of your old father will also make you tremble. But God sees all sacrifices and sorrows. He will be generous; your parents will taste in Heaven all of his delights. They will be cared for now and forever." Catherine reassured her.
"And of my siblings?" Jeanne asked.
"Woe to the one who falls for titles and pleasures of the world. One shall honor your mother in her elder years, founding a mighty house that will be traced throughout history and country. Another shall enter the gates of paradise through creation." Margaret announced with her eyes on Heaven.
"I… I don't understand.." Jeanne pleaded, "Please tell me…"
"We cannot. It's not our place to explain the Lord. That is only for Him." Catherine sighed with a frown, "Be at ease child, your family shall be blessed through your trial and test."
This was too much. She couldn't believe this, "I am nothing, I am a mere child!" The memories of her childhood flooded in like a tidal wave. All of the fear from the first visit came crashing down.
Margaret nodded, "Do not be surprised that God's sovereign grandeur has looked upon your soul. Humility like Mary's attracts the Great King's eye. It is your life's humility that brings His gaze upon you."
"Attending Mass, offering flowers to Our Lady, doing your chores humbly and faithfully. Never letting a complaint come upon your lips, humbling yourself to our teachings. Renouncing and dying to thyself; these things the Lord loves you dearly for." Catherine added.
It was her nothingness…? It was her humility that made God choose her? It was as if all the prayers and acts she had done started to peel away the veil in her mind. The fear... the trepidation she was experiencing began to recede slowly as their revelation made more sense by the second. She looked at her Celestial Guardians. "My… my life is poor and hidden, and I never thought that I could do anything for my dear God…" She closed her eyes in humble contemplation. "Now, I understand why Our Lord chose to be born in poverty since humility is dear to Him."
Margaret stepped forward, offering an apple for Jeanne's horse to eat. Where she acquired it from, she could only guess. "Jesus was born in a stable. Jesus, the Son of the Living God, hid his unspeakable glory in the form of a little child."
Michael nodded, swiping his sword in the sky, revealing to the girl the sign of many angels and a throne. "The Seraphim could not believe that God would stoop so low. They would have liked to crown Him in glory, the great King they had lost. But the Infant Jesus, wrapped in swaddling clothes, rather than the great splendor, rather than the ardor of his angels, preferred humility. This is why the angels adore humanity, and the demons are revolted by you. Make no mistake, both sides are at war in this earthly struggle."
Jeanne dismounted from her horse, kneeling before the saints, clasping her hands together as she confessed. "I, too, want to remain always very little and very humble, so that I will be like Jesus, and He will dwell in me. O beautiful Saints, who call me your sister, watch over me always. With you on my side, I'll fear no danger," She promised her friends, "but if you abandon me, I'll become weak and timid before."
Catherine knelt down, parting her bangs, and placed an affectionate kiss on her forehead, "I am you sister and you friend. Forever, I'll watch over you since, in the Eternal Fatherland, you'll be placed beside me."
"The time is late," Margaret interrupted, "and we must return home. But do not fear beloved child. You'll see us in this place again."
"Thank you, dear friends." Jeanne bowed her head as the Saints vanished. Opening her eyes, Michael was still with her.
"Dear Jeanne, listen carefully. Ask your mother about a white banner. Tell her you have need of it, for this banner will be most vital to your mission."
Not fully understanding the instructions but deciding to trust the Angel, she agreed. "Enjoy this night, for tomorrow, I shall appear at the appointed time of your departure." With that, the Angel picked up his helmet and flapped his majestic wings; not a lamb or blade of grass stirred from this mighty warrior's ascension to his rightful kingdom. Glittering strands of gold like a fine morning mist slowly evaporated, marking his complete departure.
The shepherdess watched as the light slightly dimmed—four years of their teaching to this day. Tomorrow was the day her mission would begin. To be honest, it scared her, yet she placed her trust in the Lord. What else could she do? She could refuse, but one does not deny their Lord, especially the Lord of the Kingdom of Heaven.
"I'm in good hands," She said as she stood up, tapping herself on the cheeks. "Good hands." She repeated to herself, her eyes drifting to her lambs. "My family… my home…" Tears fell down her cheeks as realization crashed in.
Feeling a slight tug, she turned and found her little troublemaker Clovis, tugging on her braid. "Baaa?" He asked with a curious look in his eyes.
Wiping away her tears with a trembling smile, she got up, "I'm alright… I'm alright…. Thank you, Clovis." She stood up from the ground, running her hand through the lamb's coat. "Than you…" She repeated to herself.
With a heavy sigh, she hoisted herself up on her father's horse. "Time to go home!"Jeanne cried out. The complete irony in those words was lost on the poor sixteen-year-old.
Upon arriving in Domremy and leading the lambs back in, she guided her horseback to its stable stall. "Thank you, Maria." She said as she took off the harness. "I don't think I can… take you…" She realized.
It would be like stealing from her father. Saint Michael did really give her instructions on how she was to leave. Unless that was for tomorrow. "Ugh!" She lamented as she fell to the ground with a poof of hay being tossed in the air. How she wished she could ask for one more month… week… or day.
Just to treasure those moments in Domremy.
"I believe the hay is for the horses, not your mattress."
"Hello, Pierre…" Jeanne lifted up her hand in greeting, keeping her eyes fixed on the roof of the stables.
Hearing the crunch of dry hay, it was pretty evident that the older Arc made his way in the pen, "What troubles my dear Jeanne…?"
"Ohh…" She murmured absent-mindedly, "Nothing…"
He plopped down beside her, "Doesn't sound like nothing; could it be something" He countered with a concerned look.
"Hmmm…"
"Jeanne, I grow anxious and worried. What ails your heart?"
Tell him.
She sat up as if she were struck with lightning, her eyes gazing towards the sky in a questioning look.
"No… not that can't be…." She breathed.
"Jeanne?"
It's alright. Tell him.
Why…? Why should she tell him? Not that she wanted to keep a secret from her family, but it would hurt him if he was told. Then again... if this was precisely a part of the plan, who was she to say no? Lord, I don't mean to test to you… please forgive me. She thought. Turning to face his brother, she could see her brother very concerned.
"Pierre… you must tell no one."
The young man raised an eyebrow but nodded reluctantly.
"I must leave Domremy tomorrow."
Her brother stared at her with wide eyes before dumping a lump of hay on her head, "Oh sister, stop jesting."
Much to the annoyance of Jeanne, she brushed the hay out of her hair with puffed-up cheeks, "Pierre. I am not jesting!" She said in a low voice, "Why would I jest about something so serious."
The brother's smile quickly evaporated. His sister must not be joking, "...Jeanne…? You must leave…? To where? Do Mamma and Pappa know?"
The crux of the matter. She shook her head quietly, "God needs me to leave… Mamma and Pappa can't know. It would break their hearts…"
Pierre took this in, biting his lip in thought, "Please…." Jeanne pleaded with Pierre, "You must not tell them… It troubles me enough to know it will wound them grievously."
Looking up, he nodded, "I won't tell them, for if I do, I'd be betraying myself as well."
Jeanne let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping as the tension left her body, "For I will be accompanying you!" Pierre clapped his hands together.
That would nice… wait, "WHAT?" She gawked. Violet eyes shot wide with surprise.
"Indeed!" Pierre draped an arm around his sister's shoulder, "I can't have my sister traverse the unknown without a brave warrior escort."
If only he knew she did have an escort….
Let it be so. A bold voice proclaimed Pierre will assist you in the hardships to come. Do not deny his request.
Pondering the thought, she agreed reluctantly. If this mission was a perilous one, she'd rather do it alone than endanger any of her loved ones. Then again, maybe Pierre had a role to play, and who was she to deny him that mission from God? "Alright…" Jeanne accepted.
"So, where are we going?"
"I don't know…" Jeanne confessed with a sullen look, "Don't you find this hard to believe…?" She asked hesitantly, almost afraid of his answer.
Pierre shrugged, leaning back into the hay, dragging her sister with him, "Ever since the Burgundian attack? No, I don't. The night after the raid, I made a promise, didn't I?"
Jeanne looked at her brother with a confused look, "I'd go wherever you will go. I meant it."
"You did say that..." She murmured to herself in thought. It truly touched her heart that he still remembered that promise. Thank you, God, for Pierre.
Taking a moment to ponder this, she felt a flick on the forehead. "Hey…" She grumbled to the laughter of her brother. "Well then… I suppose we prepare for tomorrow." She said with a quiet determination.
Pierre got up, holding out his hand, which she took. "Yeah, you might want to get rid of that hay…" He murmured as he plucked a straw of hay out of his sister's hair.
"I wouldn't have hay if you decided not to dump it on me…" Jeanne politely reminded his brother as she flicked him in on the forehead.
Pierre rubbed his wounded head, "That may or may not be the case.. Gah!"
He was unprepared to nearly be tackled by his sister, who embraced him tightly, not daring to let go. "Thank you, Pierre. Thank you so much."
Patting her back, he smiled, " I'm glad I can be of some help."
Parting slightly, she looked up at the sun. It was nearing evening, "It's… it's almost supper…" She said with a heavy heart. She could feel her eyes watering at the sight. How she wished she could have little extra time.
"Then let's make it an extraordinary one, yeah?"
Night had settled as the two Arcs sat at the table recalling fond memories they had in the small village. When Pierre got stuck in the village well, and it took all day to get him out of it, that was a delightful day. Last time he would do anything on a dare.
Then there was the time where Jean, the oldest brother of the group, tricked Jeanne into eating mud after a storm with the promise of it being plumb pudding. And Jeanne did so, much to the chagrin of Jeanne, who realized it was nothing of the sort.
"Have you heard of Jean?" Jeanne asked as she sewed a new pair of socks. Ideally, they should be her parting gift to little Catherine.
"No… he was out on patrol outside of Vaucouleur. Besides that, I've heard nothing from the town captain."
"I see…" Jeanne frowned as she continued with her needlework. "I do hope he is alright..."
"He's stubborn, and he knows how to handle himself in a fight." Pierre nodded as he stood outside, "Oh, they are coming!"
The door swung home with Pappa Arc's hands full of two baskets. Behind him, Catherine carried a loaf of bread. Lastly, Isabelle Arc came in a long piece of linen fabric in her arms, white as snow. Her heart skipped a beat.
It's the same one that Michael told her about… She gulped at the thought. It was indeed coming together.
"Sorry, we're late for supper… I got tied up with tax collections."
"How that go?" Pierre asked as she took his parents' cloaks and hung them up by the fire.
"Not good… Domremy won't be able to ship taxes to the King this year. The English have started a siege on Orleans… not to mention the Burgundians blocking the way..."
"Oh goodness no…" Pierre murmured.
"Jean… is being transferred to Orleans as well…" Isabelle added with a sullen tone. She wandered into the kitchen, putting the white linen down on the dining table. Violet eyes were transfixed on the fabric. She felt somehow drawn to this ordinary fabric. She couldn't make sense of how or why.
"Hello, Jeanne!" Her sister leaned with wide large hazel eyes, embarrassing the blonde.
"Oh, hello sweet Catherine," Jeanne returned the embrace, being snapped out of her gaze.
Her sister practically jumped on her lap, "What are you working on!" She leaned closer, plucking a piece of hay from her blonde locks. "Hay?"
"Pierre…" She explained, to which Catherine nodded understanding
Jeanne lifted up her socks which were nearly completed, "Oh these? Just some winter wear."
"We'll be needing plenty of that." Jacque Arc said as he sat down at the table, "It will be a rough year. I can feel it in my aching bones!"
She couldn't agree more with that statement.
"I'll be needing help with dinner, Jeanne." Her mother called from the kitchen.
Catherine got up and draped her arm around Pierre, "Dear brother! How is Ella these days."
Immediately his cheeks lit up like candles in the darkest of nights. "O-o-ohhh… she's fine!" He stammered.
"You know we have yet to meet her." Catherine tapped him on the nose.
"Please don't be like Jeanne…" He grumbled.
"Hey!" Jeanne stood up with arms crossed, "I just care if she is of a noble character just like my brother."
"Come now, son. If Jeanne approves of her, don't you think you should consider marriage." Jacque laced his fingers in a most professional and business-like manner, suggesting it to the family.
"MARRIAGE!?" Isabell, Catherine, and Pierre shouted in surprise and laughter.
Jeanne was the only one not laughing at such a hasty proposal.
"My dear Pierre…" Jeanne spoke in a calm, low tone, "I will not bless your marriage until I meet the girl…"
Pierre gulped, slapping himself on the forehead in distraught. "Oh Jeanne, stop jesting with your brother, and please help me in the kitchen." Her mother called out from the kitchen.
Jeanne shook her head, murmuring, "I don't know why people think I'm joking."
In the kitchen, Jeanne got busy chopping up carrots, onions, and lastly, parsley. That smell of parsley, she wanted to savor the delightful aroma that teased her nose. It was these simple things that she was going to desperately miss.
Slicing and dicing the carrots, she noticed her Mom cutting the bread beside the white fabric. An image popped in her mind, a brilliant image dazzled in gold threads that lit up the entire house, with a warm, golden glow that touched everything and everyone. It depicted the Earth being judged by the Lord, who sat on the throne. On each side of the Lord was an angel, one with an olive branch, the other with a sword. Both in the splendor of their snow-white garments and dazzling wings that sparkled like the dew of the fields. Next to the angels, surrounded by a field of golden lilies, two names appeared: "Jhesus" and "Maria."
The sight of such beauty and prestige caused the girl to nearly drop to her knees.
"Jeanne, are you alright?"
Violet eyes blinked, "Pardon?"
Her mother looked at her, running a hand across the forehead, "Are you feeling ill? You've been staring off in the distance for some time."
"Ah… yes, momma, I am alright. I have to ask, where did you get that linen?"
Isabelle raised an eyebrow and looked over the fabric, "Oh, that? I got that from Father. He wants me to embroider an image of the infant Lord for Christmas." She explained as she wiped her hands with her apron.
Am I supposed to really take this? Jeanne thought to herself with a concerned look. St. Michael did tell me to ask for the linen that Mother would bring home… But it's being used for a good purpose. She couldn't take it away from her parish.
Ask. The calm, stoic voice of Margaret told her, and you will receive.
Well… here goes nothing. "Momma..?"
"Yes, Jeanne?" She tilted her head at her daughter's strange behavior.
"May… may I have that linen?"
No… no… there is no way this was going to work, a little voice in the back of her mind told her. It's not your place. You should not ask for such…
"I don't see why not."
Jeanne blinked, somewhat surprised,
"You haven't asked for anything for the longest time that I can remember. I figure you'll put it to good use."
Jeanne smiled warmly, embracing her mother tightly, "Thank you so much, Momma."
"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" She asked with worry.
"I'm… I'm just fine…" Jeanne sighed with a hint of sorrow.
Dinner was prepared as Jeanne roasted some vegetables. At the same time, Jeanne's mother soaked pieces of bread in whipped eggs placed them on a pan in the fireplace, expertly flipping it with ease. After about ten minutes of this and a dash of cinnamon and almonds, the egg-battered toast was complete.
Sitting down at the table while the mother of the household placed the food down before the family, "Thank you, honey." Jacque kissed on the head affectionately as she took her place by his side at the table.
"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit…." Jacque led them in prayer as everyone signed themselves. "Dear Lord, thank you for bringing us together to share in this delightful meal Isabelle and Jeanne have made. We ask that you watch over Jean as he travels to Orleans. Lastly, we ask that You bless this food that we have received from your bountiful harvest. Amen."
"Amen everyone repeated as they signed themselves.
Take a small bite of egg-battered toast, she savored the flavor. This could be the very last time she would ever taste her mother's cooking. From the corner of Jeanne's eye, she could see St. Catherine watching most affectionately towards the family, her gaze falling upon not-so-little Catherine.
'Thank you.' Jeanne mouthed silently to the Saint, who nodded in response.
"Why are you so happy?" Catherine nudged Jeanne in the side.
A bit surprised, Jeanne turned to face her sister, draping an arm around her, "It's good to be with family, no? We never know when it could be our last. It is good to live in the moment and embrace, right?"
Everyone looked at her with a bit of surprise, "Besides… can I not be happy with my little sister?"
"I am not little anymore! I wrestled with Clovis your tie!" She held her arm up, pointing at her muscle.
"Yes… I remember…" Jeanne laughed, "I also remember having to clean you up."
Everyone laughed at the little memory as they enjoyed the meal, for what Jeanne could feel in her heart that it would be a very long time.
"Question: Did you ask your voices whether you could tell your father and mother of your setting forth?
Joan: As for my father and mother, my voices would have been satisfied that I tell them, had it not been for the pain it would cause them if I had announced my departure. As for me, I would not have told them for anything in the world. The voices left it to me to tell my father and my mother, or to keep silent." Joan's Trial of Condemnation
A/N
Hello readers, I'm back so soon, yes I know... I don't know how it happens xD
Anywho, a slight note, I'd say the first quarter of the chapter was inspired St. Therese of Lisieux's play on St. Joan. It's hard to keep that play language style consistent with the story xD
Also... I kinda felt bad writing this chapter, it kinda hurt, ya know? If I got emotional writing this... oh man down the road :')
If ya like the chapter, leave a review and let me know what you thought and such! It's always a pleasure to hear from ya! drop fav/follow etc
I have confession to make next chapter :O
Anywho reviews :D
Holyblade: Ello governa! Hope ya enjoyed this chapter as well
atomic bomb: Top of the evening to ya! St. Michael is best bro, and don't worry we're going to have plenty of Pierre and Jeanne :D
That is for now my dear readers. I am and will always be your most humble and obedient servant,
Sauron
P.S. when the Trial of Condemnation quotes are written... oh I get real angry at the people asking these questions... I don't appreciate how in the sources, Jeanne is rather cheeky in her responses, but there will be a rant inbound xD
