Jehanne Prepares For Battle
It was the screams and pounding hoof beats outside her second story window that startled Jehanne from her brief nap. Trying to clear the cobwebs, she shook her head. Yes, she was still in the Boucher home and, yes, it was still the same day, but something horrible had begun. Why hadn’t someone warned her?
Jehanne now felt the old “devil” rage welling up inside, pulling her out of control, and she wasn’t awake or experienced enough to force her intellect to take charge. Spotting d’Aulon still asleep across the room, she ran over and shook him. “Listen,” the girl shouted, “something terrible is happening out there!” Her confused 39-year-old steward sat up, squinting through sleep-filled eyes. Hearing the commotion, he tried to focus on her and said. “What is that noise?”
“‘In God’s name, my Counsel has told me to go against the English!’ she replied, eyes wide with excitement. ‘But I do not know whether I am to go against their forts or against Fastolf, who is on his way with supplies.’”¹ D’Aulon rolled out of bed trying to get his bearings while Jehanne ran down the stairs; there she encountered Madame Boucher, her brother Pierre, and both squires gazing out the open front door, seemingly frozen by the unfolding frenzy.
Charlotte had stepped out onto the front stoop, where she could clearly observe the mass hysteria—men, women, and children running, shouting, screaming, and keening, while knights on armored mounts galloped and weaved between the throngs while kicking up a thin dust cloud in the afternoon sunlight.
Monsieur Boucher yanked his daughter inside and slammed the door. “You stay in this house, little girl. It’s much too dangerous out there. None of us has any idea what’s going on—but it’s no place for an eight-year-old child.”
Jehanne began barking orders: Raymond should saddle her horse, brothers Jehan and Pierre should put on their armor, Minguet should go upstairs and find her standard, and the Boucher women should help with her armor—“Right now!”
The women raced up the stairs, found the girl’s armor, and scrambled back down. They tried desperately to figure out how to fit the thick armor plates together on Jehanne, but fumbled badly, having never done it before.
“Can you hurry up?” Jehanne pleaded, stomping a foot. “The battle may be over before I can get there.”
Minguet returned out of breath, announcing he heard through the upstairs windows that a battle at the Saint Loup Bastille had begun.²
“Ha, wretched boy!” Jehanne blurted, barely able to contain her rage at not having been told of the battle in progress. “You did not tell me that French blood was flowing! Go help Raymond. I need my horse right away!”³
As Madame and Charlotte wrestled with her armor, Jehanne recalled that the Bastard had promised her that he would advise her of any pending battles. Why had he not done so? Something must really be amiss; maybe he didn’t know about it either.
The noise of people screaming and horses clattering past the Boucher home was so loud the girl could barely think.
Minguet came back. “Your horse is ready.”
“Find my standard!” she barked at the boy. Minguet ran back upstairs, face flushed with frustration and panic.(4)
Sire Boucher came to where his women were still trying to hurriedly dress their female guest for battle and began giving helpful instructions. Now the women made quick progress.
Minguet bounded down the stairs. “I found your standard, Jehanne. It’s upstairs.” (5) The girl had just finished wrapping the belt for her sword. but stomped her foot when she heard Minguet’s message. “Go get it now, you wretched boy!” She threw open the front door saying, “To horse, to horse!” She almost knocked over Father Pasquerel coming up the steps to hear her afternoon confession.
Raymond was waiting on the street for her, the white horse at the ready. The scene on the street had escalated into one of growing chaos with men and women darting wildly in all directions, bellowing and wailing.
Jehanne mounted her horse quickly and looked down at Raymond, then in the direction of the Boucher home. “Where’s my standard?” she shouted at all those watching from the front stoop.
Minguet poked his head out a second-story window. “I have it,” he said. “Here, Raymond, catch it!” He tossed it, and Jehanne maneuvered her horse so she could snatch the all-important banner in mid-flight with an armor-covered glove. She then wheeled her horse and galloped off in the direction of the screaming crowds—toward the eastern gate.
Dear God in Heaven, she prayed, please help me be in time! (6)
Moments later, d’Aulon mounted his own warhorse and by the time Jehanne slowed for Porte Bourgogne gate, he and the rest of her military staff had caught up.
But now, a new problem awaited the girl. Great confusion had engulfed the gate as fresh French troops attempted to muscle their way outside the city gate to join the battle, while those severely wounded from the abortive attack on Saint Loup required immediate entry and treatment of their wounds.
Upon seeing a young soldier (about her age) on a stretcher with blood flowing from arrow wounds to his chest and midsection, Jehanne wept. Once informed that he was a French peasant (not a foreign mercenary), she shook her head in humility at his sacrifice and said a silent prayer. She had never before witnessed battle conditions where men clashed in mortal combat to kill or be killed. Finally, and with great difficulty, she swallowed her emotions and addressed the young man.
“I can never see French blood without my hair standing on end.” (7)
She then bid the young soldier God’s blessings and continued on her way through the bottle neck and out into the open field. D’Aulon, both her brothers, Minguet, Raymond, de Metz, de Poulengy, and La Hire never left her side.
The fortified Saint Loup stood more than a mile in the distance. Jehanne could easily see its belfry tower supporting newly abandoned scaling ladders. At the entrance to the bastille, pennants of the various French companies that had already reported to the scene luffed in an eastern breeze.
The English were now employing their new earthwork fortifications as a launching ramp for cannons, and the sound of vicious explosions echoed off the river and nearby forest. The girl could also see the flash of swords in the bright afternoon sun as both sides fought hand-to-hand close to Saint Loup.
Astride her white warhorse and dressed in gleaming white armor and helmet, Jehanne raced toward Saint Loup, her long, white standard flapping in the breeze. Right behind her rode the Bastard, La Hire, the other professional French field captains, and their companies.(8)
1. Saint Joan of Arc, by V. Sackville-West. New York: Doubleday, 1991, page 169
2. An Army of Angels by Pamela Marcantal, New York: St. Martin’s Press. 1997, pages 206 and 207
3. Joan of Arc, In Her Own Words by William Trask, New York: B·O·O·K·S & Co., 1996, page 34
4. An Army of Angels by Pamela Marcantal, New York: St. Martin’s Press. 1997, pages 206 and 207
5. An Army of Angels by Pamela Marcantal, New York: St. Martin’s Press. 1997, pages 206 and 207
6. An Army of Angels by Pamela Marcantal, New York: St. Martin’s Press. 1997, pages 206-207
7. Joan of Arc, by Edward A. Lucie-Smith. New York: W. W. Norton Company, 1977. page107
8. Joan of Arc, by Edward A. Lucie-Smith. New York: W. W. Norton Company, 1977. page 107
