Chapter 6: Vaucouleurs
It was a long and bitter walk filled with the silence of the night, as Jeanne kept talking with her brother in toe. Gone was the light-hearted sense of adventure she felt. Gone was her sense of loss. Instead, in her heart was the grim sense of determination as she continued to march on—determination to put an end to this one hundred years war. She had the determination to drive out the invaders and build her people back up, just as the Lord wished. Her muscles ached and legs were sore, and her feet protested from the long hike, yet it was that inner resilience that kept her going.
The sun was rising as they could see the straw-thatched houses of the outlying farmsteads. A low, battered wall glowed with a certain luminescence of the morning sun slowly creeping up. She could make out the fortifications were in a sorry state of affairs, towers with no roofs, walkways collapsed in, and even wooden stakes filling entire sections of the wall that had collapsed. It was a miracle that Vaucouleurs did not surrender.
Then again, the Burgundians around this region were content with raiding rather than pillaging. Murdering innocents like at the farmstead they saw in the darkness of the previous night.
"We… made… it…." Pierre murmured as he looked at his feet, "I can't wait to actually sit down… I think I had a rock in my shoe."
Jeanne turned to her brother with a raised eyebrow, "Why didn't you say anything…?"
"Well… I uh… didn't want to slow us down…" Pierre confessed, avoiding her gaze, "You kept walking, and I didn't want to stop…"
His sister pinched her nose in frustration. "Pierre… stopping to remove a stone wouldn't have delayed us in the least bit…" She shook her head with a bemused smile.
"Yeah, but we're here now."
Yep classic Pierre. Turning her gaze to the town, she couldn't help but nod. "Thank you, Lord." Jeanne lifted her eyes up to Heaven. "Thank you for your protection."
Walking over to a stone wall, Jeanne let out a sigh and hoisted herself up on the wall. "This is a small victory." She whispered as she watched the sunrise, its warm glow dispelling the eerie darkness of the night before. A warm feeling flushed out that cold determination. A comforting warmth of the new morning might consumed the dark coldness of the night before.
She couldn't unsee the shape of the body from the night, so all she could do was take in something beautiful, like the dawn of the sun greeting the new day. Something in her stirred, watching the golden orb slowly rise, casting away the shadow, disgust, and emptiness. There was something so captivating to watch all the brilliant colors in the sky reflected by the glistening dew of the emerald fields.
Enjoying the peace of this moment, her heart rejoiced as she closed her eyes.
She started to hum an old hymn that brought her so many tears of joy as a child.
"Maaary the daaawn," she chanted in a hushed tone, slightly swaying back in forth with a gentle breeze of the wind.
"Christ the per-fect daaayyy," Pierre sang back in response as he hoisted himself on the wall.
Encouraged, she sang a little louder, "Maaary the Gaaate,"
"Christ the Heav'nly Waaayyy!" Her brother answered back.
Jeanne couldn't help but to hold onto her brother, resting her head upon his shoulder. "Maaary the Roooot!"
He rested his head upon his sister's "Christ the Mystic Viiiine!"
The sky lit up with orange and violets, "Maaary the Graape!"
Sun's rays creating delicate shades of yellow and red, "Christ the Sacred Wiiine!"
The night's cloud slowly dissipated, "Maaary the Wheeat-Sheeaf,"
Slowly, white fluffy clouds emerged with the rising sun, "Christ the Living Breaaad!"
"Maaary the Rose-Treeee," One person came out to inspect the strange hymns at these unusual hours.
"Christ the Rose blood-reeed!" Another peeked her head out of a tent, watching a young girl and boy singing on a fence.
"Maaary the Fffooont," Jeanne ignored the slowly growing crowd, her eyes fixed on the rising sun.
"Christ the Cleansing Flooood!" Pierre paid them little mind as well.
"Maaary the Chaalice!"
"Christ the Saaaving Blood!"
Nothing could ruin this moment between brother and sister.
"Maaary the Temple,"
"Christ the Temple's Looord;"
Jeanne's smile could only grow larger and larger as she felt lighter and lighter, almost like she was soaring through the clouds with birds and eagles.
"Maaary the Beeeacon,"
"Christ the Heaven's Reeest!"
The crowd grew larger and larger as most people were out of their beds
"Maaary the Miirroor!"
"Christ the Vision Blest!"
Yet the sibling's gaze only fell upon the sun as it rose, slowly and steadily.
"Maaary the Motheer!"
"Christ the Motheer's Son!"
"Both ever blest while endless aaages run!" They sang in perfect harmony.
A dozen people started clapping, jolting the two siblings out of their peaceful trance. Looking around, Jeanne's cheeks instantly flushed red at the applause. She didn't want this kind of attention! Far too embarrassing for her. These people filled despair, hunger, and sadness, with their long and gaunt stares, snapped out of their trance smiles and clapping.
"Dear children!"
Looking up, they could see a priest in his black robe, a tall man; the skin was sunken from many days without food. His hair fraying and unkept, he looked like a near wild man that would have scared Jeanne if he didn't wear the robes of a priest. "I heard that most delightful hymn!"
The siblings looked at one another, unsure what to say or how to approach the priest. "Where are you two from?"
"Domremy," Jeanne answered with a bow to the clergyman.
The priest narrowed his eyes, studying the two Arcs intently as he rubbed his bony chin. "Domremy, eh? How is Jacques these days?"
"He's quite well." Pierre asked, "We're his children."
"Oh?" The priest asked with crossed arms, "What are your names?"
"I'm Jeanne d'Arc," and she gestured to her brother, "This is Pierre."
The man's face immediately lit up, all shadow and suspicion evaporating, "Oh my! Yes! I knew the two of you looked very familiar. The man reached out, pinching Jeanne by the cheek, "You look just like Isabelle!" And the priest turned to Pierre, sizing up his arms, "And you, a spitting image of Jacques before he got lazy!"
Jeanne's gaze faltered slightly as she lowered her eyes in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, Father… I'm not sure… I…"
"Oh, forgive me." The priest scratched his head in embarrassment. "I am Father Dominique Jacob; I watched over your family when your village came here when the both of you were wee children."
"Then it is a pleasure." Jeanne felt her apprehension disappear.
You must tell the priest after Mass. Michael's voice filled her heart.
"What are the two of you doing here? Where are your parents? Are they alright?" The priest frowned with grave concern.
"Yes, they are fine, Father." Pierre tried to reassure the priest.
"So then what brings you here?" Jacob gave them an inquisitive look.
"Father, may we attend Mass? We've been traveling all night, and we would like to thank the Lord for his protection."
He nearly face-palmed himself. The priest turned to look towards the horizon. "Indeed, it's almost time. I'd be happy to celebrate Mass. Come with me."
With a wave of the hand, the priest guided them through run-down tents and hastily constructed shacks towards the battered walls of Vaccoulier. That was when the true extent of the war manifested itself. The guards looked emaciated, sickly, and starving as they silently looked out, staring ahead with a ghostly pale look about them.
The pale eyes came looking over the three of them.
"These two are from d'Arc's village seeking to hear Mass from me."
"Father…" One guard stepped up, leaning on his spear, "We can't let anyone else in."
"You are denying someone's God-given right to hear Mass? That's most unwise, guardsmen…"
"B-b-but…"
"I understand. You're just doing your job, as am I. What if these were your children? Would you deny them?"
The guardsman's haunting gaze fell upon the two of them. He let out a defeated sigh, "Lower the bridge!"
The groans of chains filled the air as timber creaked from the slackening tension. To Jeanne's surprise, they were getting into the town of Vaucouleurs. Inch by inch, the bridge lowered until it landed with a resounding thud that shook the ground. The guard stepped aside and allowed the three of them in.
Crossing the bridge, that all too familiar foul stench filled the air. Violet eyes fell across bodies in the moat. Jeanne paused, her eyes widening at the scene as she fell to her knees. Bowing her head, she fervently prayed that the dead might be saved. That they might be given some respite in this unjust war.
"God have mercy on these poor souls…"
"It was from a raid two days ago..." Father Jacob whispered in a hushed tone.
"Why haven't they been buried." Jeanne gave the priest a cross look, "They are Christians. They deserve to be buried with dignity."
The priest nodded, "I try my best, but the people just don't want to leave their homes... There are simply too many."
A frown formed on the young girls lips realizing that she was hasty in word, "Forgive me, Father, I did not mean to give offense."
The priest offered his hand and helped her up, "Your piousness is inspirational. If only people could act with a young heart, such as yours."
Once on the other side, the bridge started to groan as the chains hoisted up the bridge. "You'll have to excuse the people around here… They can hardly venture out without suffering raids from the Burgundians."
"Indeed…" Jeanne couldn't hide the contempt in her voice. "We ran across a ruined farmstead on the way here… People... had died.."
The priest nodded sadly. "War is the death of chivalry. We reap the fruits of our work."
Walking through the village, she started to see what a siege could do to people. The streets were empty, dirty, filled with garbage. Rats filled the streets, scurrying along, looking for their next meal in the refuse. "We've been able to get supplies from the local villages, like your Domremy." The priest added as they walked the ghost town streets.
Even the town marketplace was empty, many of the stalls devoid of buyers and sellers. No children playing out in the streets. No people bartering. No elderly reminiscing of fond memories. Clenching her fist, Jeanne felt a hand on her shoulder. Snapping her out of her ruminations was her brother, who told her to be calm.
She nodded and accepted it. There's no point in getting upset right now. Walking past the street stall, they came across Vaccouliers church. It was slightly larger than Domremy's church. It sported two bell towers with a simple arched oak door and few stained-glass windows here and there. Though the gargoyle statues perched on each belltower corner were a rather frightening addition to the unassuming building.
Opening the door and gesturing for them to come in. Jeanne could see the vaulted roof supported by wooden oak beams and stone columns. Blessing herself at the font, she could sadly see the church was empty.
Large statues of Mary and Joseph sat on the sides of the main altar. Under each sculpture was a smaller altar filled with all sorts of flowers. All separated by a marble communion rail. All in all, the Church looked like it could eat two of Jeanne's churches and have room for a bit of extra.
Upon receiving the Eucharist, and Father Jacob washing the chalice and paten and taking them into the sacristy, Jeanne knelt down in prayer, as did her brother.
"Jeanne…"
Opening her violet eyes, she could see Michael, regal and tall, eloquent and fierce, sitting in front of Jeanne; she was about to say something when he brought a finger to his lips.
Nodding, she waited for the angel to continue. Yet he said nothing as he kept his eyes closed as if enjoying the moment of silence. That was when she noticed he wasn't in his usual armor, nor did he carry his sword. Instead, he wore plain and simple white robes. The only thing denoting his military status was the red cloak that was clasped around his neck.
Some minutes must have passed, yet Jeanne saw nothing stir. How lucky Pierre was to be in the presence of this Heavenly General. Yet how unfortunate he would not be able to see this angelic figure of might and nobility.
Opening his eyes slowly, his sapphire eyes shone with the light of twinkling stars, his face brightened up the entire room as his wings flapped, yet not even a whisper of wind could be felt. "You are to tell the priest that God has sent you to save France."
She was about to open her mouth when he shook his head, "He will understand and lead you to the house of a noble. You are to tell her and a mighty duke of your divine mission. This will lead you to the court of Robert."
Jeanne's brows furrowed. She had a great many questions in her heart. "Do not worry. Your questions will be answered, and your fears will be dispelled. Your heart will know the words that must be spoken."
Nodding, Michael seemed satisfied with her heart's response. He snapped his finger, vanishing. The light returned to normal, "Jeanne?" Her brother tapped her on the shoulder, "I don't mean to disturb you, but Father Jacob is waiting for us."
She looked at her brother with a raised eyebrow, "Pardon?"
"Father Jacob, he's waiting for us…" Pierre drew out slowly with a concerned look.
"Oh yes!" Jeanne said as she stood up. Turning around, she saw the priest was out his vestures and wearing his wool habit. "Please walk with me." He gestured for them to follow him out to a side door.
Following closely behind, they were in an enclosed area with high walls, surrounded by a delightful garden of roses, orchids, and tulips. Off to the side of the flower patch was another garden full of tomatoes with grapevines slithering around each tomato post. At the corner was a stone bench shaded by an apple tree. "I don't have much, but this is my prayer garden. You may help yourselves."
"Thank you, Father." Jeanne bowed her head in appreciation as she plucked an apple from the tree. Sitting down on the grass, she took a crunchy loud chomp at a bout of laughter of her brother.
"I swear, sister, you eat like a horse."
Her cheeks lit up like the tomatoes hanging on the vine. "Do not... It's a crunchy apple!" She tried to defend her honor.
"So children, what brings to Vaucouleurs? We don't get many visitors, especially from Domremy." The priest asked as he plucked himself an apple and took a loud pop of a bite.
"Well, you see…" Pierre started, his eyes drifting to his sister, unsure how to proceed.
"I'm here to save France," Jeanne stated as a matter of fact.
"PFT!" The priest sprayed chunks of apple everywhere. "Sorry…sorry... did I hear you correctly…?"
Jeanne stood up, hands on her hips, "God has told me to save France. I must drive the English out and ensure our Dauphin is crowned." She had no idea where this was going, but she knew it was to be true deep down in her heart. If Michael said it, then it will come to pass. No hesitation, no reservation. There was no place for that here. Especially here and now.
"Jeanne… that's ridiculous... We're a bunch of nobodies…?" Her brother reached up, trying to pull on her arm.
*THWACK*
Glaring at her brother who rubbed his hand, she scolded him. "St. Michael, who delivered us yesterday, told me." She pointed to the sky, "Do you doubt our Lord God? He has charged me to deliver the Prince to Reims for his coronation. To doubt that mission is to doubt God, Himself." She gave her brother a warning look as she stood tall and proud.
Pierre sank back in fear and awe of his sister, who spoke with such bold conviction. Her heart was filled with resolve. Jeanne would not allow people to mock her saintly and angelic friends and their mission from the Lord of Heaven. No, she would stand tall for them.
"Jeanne…"
The two men looked at her utterly dumbfounded. The priest studied her intently, "Saint Michael spoke to you?"
Jeanne nodded confidently, "Several times, he often spoke of me liberating a city to save a kingdom." Calming down, Jeanne closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Once that bound of energy was gone, she opened her eyes.
Father Jacob turned towards the church, bowing lowly while signing himself with a Latin prayer. Jeanne and Pierre looked at one another; she couldn't help but smile at her brother's loss of words. It was as if he were the younger sibling. It wasn't a smile of pride but a smile of admiring innocence.
Straightening himself up, the priest turned to face the children. "You're the Maid of Lorraine. You're here to save France." He concluded.
"I am here only to do God's will." Jeanne countered with annoyance as she crossed her arms, "It is God's will that France be saved, not mine."
The priest bowed his head, "Please forgive me…" Looking up, the young priest decided to change tactics. "Will you be staying Vaccoulier long? Do you have lodging?"
"Uhh…" Pierre stammered. It was clear that he didn't think this far.
To be fair, neither did she.
"We will be here as long as we need to be," Jeanne answered him, yet her boldness gave way. "No, Father, we have no place to rest for the night."
The priest offered a warm smile, gesturing for them to follow, "Please, please, I think I might have a remedy to that problem. We have a great many things to discuss."
Jeanne followed the priest out of the church and through the streets of the town. It was midday, and there were still very few people out and about, which saddened the young girl. She was always fascinated with the liveliness of cities compared to her quaint upbringing in Domremy. Seeing the pitiful state of the town made her heart fill with sorrow.
Coming across a huge house that towered over her. Above that house loomed a larger stone blue-tiled tower. She was so close to the tower that housed Lord Robert de Baudricourt, the man who would prepare her for her mission to Chinon.
This house was strange compared to the one she grew up in, three floors that loomed over her head. Each floor overhanging the other one supported by archaic carved wooden supports contrasted with the lime plaster. Many windows were adored in unique patterns separated by lead frames. The priest unlocked the gate to the house, and they entered past the iron bar fence.
Noting the garden, most of the bushes and flower beds were dead, except for one particular rose bush that was beside the cobblestone path that led to the mansion-sized home. "Big house…" Pierre whistled, giving voice to her thoughts.
She nodded in agreement as she stared upward, nearly succumbing to a spell of dizziness at just looking up.
With a quick staccato of knocks on the door, it opened, revealing an older woman, maybe a few years younger than her own mother. Her blonde hair ran down her back like a golden waterfall. Mid-thirties, if Jeanne could guess. She wore a burgundy and ocean blue dress that stopped at her ankles.
"Father Jacob?" The lady bowed her head, "It's a pleasure, but I did not expect you."
"Nor did I plan to be here…" The priest chuckled as he stepped aside. "The reason for my visit is these two children."
The lady stepped out of the home and towards them; she easily towered over Jeanne and Pierre, an impressive feat to beat her lanky brother. She had the eyes of a sharp eagle and the posture of a regal stag. Yet, there was something exceedingly intimidating to Jeanne. She had the feeling that crossing her was not a wise decision. "You bring two dirty children to my door? Are they orphans?" Her gaze fell upon the priest with a warning tone.
"No, Lady Royer…"
"Well…?" Her gaze fell upon the two dirty and grime-covered children. "Why are you here? Speak up!"
Pierre took a step back as Jeanne stood her ground before the mistress. She could feel the cold emerald eyes drilling into her. How she wanted to take a step back, actually, several steps back. Yet something bid her to stand her ground. "I must speak with Robert, for I am here to save France."
The woman studied Jeanne quickly, walking circles around her like a wolf stalking her prey, yet Jeanne was a statue and would not budge. "You, girl?" She questioned suspiciously, "What makes you think you can save France? France is dead."
Jeanne laughed affectionately, "Did not the Lord raise his friend, Lazurus, from the dead? What will He do for the eldest daughter of his Church?"
The priest's jaw dropped. Here, this little girl was standing toe-to-toe with one of the most powerful women in the city. Lady Royer stopped, pondering what the peasant girl said. Her abrasiveness cracked as a smile started to form. "I like you."
She stepped to the side, "Father Jacob, I am more than willing to welcome them in my home," The lady of the manor waved them in eagerly, "Come in, come in. You too father. We have much to talk about… My goodness, we need to get you two cleaned up."
As the two siblings walked, the matriarch clapped her hands, and two servants appeared and dragged the two children upstairs into separate rooms. Two hot baths were drawn up. They made sure to scrub the grime off their faces, rather forcefully, much to the consternation of Jeanne as she sat in the wooden barrel-like bathtub.
"Ow!" She heard her brother's voice cry out. "Ow! OW! OWWWW! That's my eye!" Pierre cried out in anguish at the merciless scrubbing. Unfortunately, there was no Michael to save him from this torment. If anything, she could have sworn she heard a very faint chuckle.
"NNOO!" He pleaded down the hallway, "Not my fingernails! Anything but those!"
Jeanne leaned back in the wooden tub laughing to herself. "That's what happens when you don't clean your fingernails, Pierre…"
"HOLD HIM DOWN!"
Submerging herself in the soapy water, she shook her head. Oh, Pierre…. She lamented as she soaked the warmth. How rare it was for her to get a warm bath, especially during the winter months. They were lucky to have one of these baths. While the streams were always available, there was something about soaking in rose petals and lilac soapy water. Not to mention…. This kind of lavender soap.
It was reasonable to assume that the lords of this house were accustomed to such usual grooming.
After some time had passed, she dried herself and grabbed the fresh clothing that the servants provided her. A simple red linen dress, though she draped a violet apron over it, she didn't wish to depart with one of the few reminders of her home, after all.
Sitting in front of a mirror, she started to braid her hair into her signature tail, basking in the warmth and cleanliness she had compared to the frigid air. Reaching over to the table, she grabbed her bow and tied the end of her braid. Standing up from the stool, she made her way to the door and opened it.
Pierre was clearly not pleased, though he looked like a proper lord of the mansion with olive green doublet and hazel trousers. "Took you long enough…" Pierre murmured as he fidgeted with the lace around his neck.
Jeanne rolled her eyes. She stepped forward, lacing the top threads properly, "I could hear you. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were being attacked…"
"Dear sister, I have no idea what you are referring to. It surely was not I." He tilted his chin upward, trying to protect what little dignity he had left.
"Of course. Of course." She hummed as she took a step back, inspecting her brother. "Say isn't your beloved in Vaucouleurs?"
"No… please…." He pleaded to her amusement. "Jeanne…"
"I'm just saying it is rather convenient. We don't know how long we're here…"
"We could be out of here tomorrow!"
"Or next month." She countered.
Her brother shook his head, wiping away the sweat from his brow. It was inevitable. Better to pull the arrow out now than let it linger. "Okay! Okay! Fine!" He relented with a shake to the head.
Jeanne clapped her hands in excitement. "Oh, brother, you act as if it is going to kill you."
"With you…" Pierre grumbled, "Anything is possible."
"CHILDREN!" The sharp voice filled the house, "Enough of your squabbling. Come down here!" Lady Royer's voice filled the estate.
But the Arcs shared a look of 'Oh no…' and quickly scampered down the stairs like they were children and presented themselves to the house's madam. She sat at a large table by a roaring fire in a dimly lit den that also served as a private library. Books stacked upon books, some covered cobwebs, all of them with a thick layer of dust.
"Don't you look proper?" The woman raised an inspecting eyebrow. She turned to Father Jacob, "You could learn something from them."
The woman stood up from the table and clapped her hands. Yelping in surprise, the servants that seemed to have vanished reappeared, pushing them towards the table and forcing them to sit.
Like a carefully orchestrated dance, the servants weaved back and forth from the table kitchen, gracefully sliding silver plates and goblets before the guests. "Now you two must eat. You look particularly famished."
Looking down at the plate, she could see roasted thyme chicken with cranberries and buttered bread. It looked delicious as she was tempted to pluck the golden-roasted chicken. Yet something didn't feel right to her. "Madam…" Jeanne raised her voice. "This food looks delightful."
"Oh, Madam Royer, you have a great many types of rich food," Jeanne praised as she leaned in, sniffing the chicken, "How delicious it is."
"Thank you, child." The lady's thin smile grew slightly larger as she took a sip of her wine.
"Madam Royer, I have a question,"
"Yes, girl?"
"The people of Vaucouleurs, how do they fare? Outside the walls, they looked greatly famished."
The lady of the house sat down at the head of the table with a deep frown. "We have enough provisions to last us until mid-summer. Those outside the wall are refugees from the local towns we can't take in."
Just as she thought. However, a thought told her to keep poking at it. "Madam Royer, I have another question."
"Go on, my child."
"How much food do you think you have? Do you have enough to last next winter…?"
"Indeed…?" she put down her glass with a confused look about her.
Standing up from her seat, Jeanne picked up her plate and placed it before the priest, "Would it not be the charitable thing to share your food with those less fortunate?" She asked, ignoring the protests of her stomach.
"Well… we don't know how long the Burgundians…"
"You ingratiate yourself with those outside the town into defending Vaccoulier, maybe even build a force to reclaim some of the farmland. If you feed the poor, won't they be likely to protect those that feed them?"
"Well…"
Jeanne continued on, "You could double, maybe even triple the size of the garrison. Not to mention, you'd be gaining high favor and blessing from the Lord for feeding those whom he entrusted in your care. Isn't that right, Father?"
The priest nodded slowly as he looked down at the plate, "The child is right… on both accounts, I would think…"
"Well then…" The madam pondered the words of the child. "Who are you to order me about my own affairs…? A mere child…"
Jeanne stood tall and proud, balling her hands into a fist in an attempt to hide the trembling. "I am the one who will save France, and I'm starting here. With you."
A heavy silence fell upon the room. Emerald and violet eyes locked as the two fought a duel of wills as Pierre let out an awkward cough, breaking the silence. "What's your name, girl?"
"Jeanne d'Arc. And this is my brother, Pierre."
"Well then." She clapped her hands as the head servant appeared. "Open our food stores and distribute it to those outside the walls. Write to the other lords on how we might be able to help our fellow French people. Tell them the Maid of Lorraine orders this."
"But I'm just a…" Jeanne started to protest with a frown.
"Silence." Lady Royer abruptly cut her off, "You want to speak with Robert? You need to get his attention first."
The servant bowed and went towards the servants' quarters to relay the orders.
Jeanne's smile grew larger as she exhaled slowly, letting out the pent-up energy. 'Thank you, Lord, for giving me the words I needed.' She sat down by her brother as her leg shook almost uncontrollably. She just won a battle against a formidable warrior. Under the table, she balled her hands to stop them from trembling.
"I do believe my husband will be back tomorrow." Lady Royer added, "He will be most pleased with meeting you, child." She turned to the priest, "Father, would you please help with the distribution of food and drink. Tomorrow Vauccoulier will be a new town."
The night had come as Jeanne stared up at the wooden ceiling, her eyes tracing over the tiny cracks as the light of the candle slowly flickered. Stretching under the blanket, Jeanne enjoyed the soft goose feather mattress.
Her mind was abuzz with a great many thoughts, concerns, and ideas. She still couldn't believe she stood her ground like that. She couldn't believe that she confounded the priest and the lady.
"Thank you," Jeanne whispered as a smile started to form. "Your Will be done."
She was surprised she was growing bold. In younger times, she would have hid or cried at the attention.
"Jeanne…"
The blonde girl rolled over to see her brother peeking over his own covers on the bed right beside her own. It was reassuring for her to know that her brother was by her side in this strange place.
To be in different rooms, the very idea startled her, especially in a stranger's home. Perish the thought.
"Everything you said, did you mean it?" He asked in a hushed tone, "About saving France?"
Jeanne pondered the question for a moment before nodding, "I guess I did."
"You said it with such conviction," Pierre whispered as he peeled his blanket away even more to reveal the sheer surprise he had. "How?"
Jeanne sat up slightly, her hands sinking deep into the feather mattress, "I… just said what was on my mind."
Pierre snorted with an admiring smile, "You're braver than most, dear Jeanne."
"How the world would be much clearer if people spoke their minds." Jeanne countered with a grumble.
Pierre sat up, turning to face his sister, "Do you believe you can save France?"
Jeanne pondered the question. She never really considered the question. She still had concerns, doubts, and fear. Yet each day, each visit, each wise word whispered, slowly eroded those doubts just as wind chips away at the mountain. The years had prepared her, yet it was something to actually be doing it. "Jeanne..?" Her brother interrupted her thoughts.
She bit her lip. No wise words came to her heart and mind. "Let me say this. Can I save France? No. Can the Lord? Yes, and He will."
"You're so confident about it…" Pierre murmured, "You put so much in faith in God, but how can that be when we lose battle after battle… We're losing hope. What can we do..?"
He's losing hope. Michael's voice lamented with sorrow, a brave warrior he will be if only he finds his heart.
Michael was indeed right. She didn't hear 'What can we do?' She heard, 'What can I do?'
Jeanne stood up, placing her feet on the tiled floor. Just as she did when she was younger, she dragged the blanket over to her brother's bed and plopped down beside her brother. "My beloved Pierre, does something trouble you?"
The young man fidgeted with his fingers, not meeting the concerned gaze of his sister, "Please don't be cross with me, sister."
Jeanne shook her head as she patted his knee, "I won't be."
He seemed afraid to speak his mind. A mix of different feelings crossed his mind as he bit his lip with a hard look about him. He was really wrestling with some intense thoughts. "I… don't doubt you're called by God to help France… What role do I even play? What can two children do?"
The blonde girl leaned on her older brother, "I don't know." She said with a smile.
"You… you don't know…?"
"I know where I need to be, and that's it," Jeanne confessed as she closed her eyes.
"And God does the rest?"
Jeanne nodded with a confident "Yep!"
Pierre looked down at his sister, more confused than troubled, "What is your mission?"
"I'm going to crown the King of France," Jeanne replied with eyes closed. There was no hint of boasting, doubt, or insanity. She said as if it was a small matter.
"You know I'd laugh…. It's just hard to believe."
Jeanne sat up, turning to face her brother, "I know…"
"Do you ever doubt…?"
The shepherdess looked down, carefully wording her response. "Doubt no… I do wonder how it will happen, and sometimes I'm in awe… but that's it."
Pierre chuckled, "And to think you were the shyest child in the village."
"Things change." Jeanne giggled, but she noticed her brother's gaze falter slightly. "Something still troubles you, though."
"Do you know what role I will play….?" He rubbed his arm, "I mean if you're going to save France…. What can I even do…."
She embraced her brother, trying to chase away the pesky doubts that raided his mind, "I have it on some excellent advice that you will be one of the greatest warriors in France."
"M-m-me….? No...No…" He shook his head in disbelief, then paused, looking down upon his sister, he asked, "W-w-who told you this?"
"The one that saved your life." Jeanne looked up with a smile. He was clearly confused by the answer and decided not to elaborate.
And the disbelief on Pierre's face faded as if he accepted her words. "Jeanne… your faith will be enough to crush the English."
That's when he heard the light snoring of little sister. "Dear Jeanne…." He shook his head lovingly, "What am I going to do with you, still my little sister, now as then." Thankfully, the blonde child slept like a rock.
Carefully unwrapping her arms around him, he draped his blanket over her as he laid down. "Just like when we were kids…" Pierre smiled to himself, remembering how Jean, himself, Jeanne, and Catherine would line their beds up together, especially during heavy storms and snowstorms.
"Mhmm.." Jeanne mumbled in her sleep, causing him to nearly laugh.
"Dear Lord, let me never forget these small little moments. Especially now."
A/N
Ello governas! As promised, this chapter, all thanks to the tremendous help Ms AtomicBomb, was ready to posted on May 30… which also is the Feast Day of St. Jeanne.
I'll keep my thoughts real quick on this one because I'll be posting a separate memorial on St. Jeanne right after this chapter.
I find it hard to strike a balance between her being confident, her confidence being Heaven sent, and her still being a human being with feelings and emotions. I want to do honor to her in her faith and person, presenting a realistic portrayal.
I find myself being truly inspired by Mark Twain's Joan of Arc.
As I said, after this chapter will be my some personal thoughts on Saint Jeanne as a person to commemorate her.
Saint Jeanne d'Arc pray for all us,
Sauron
