On his advice they set out at dawn and he had sent a message on to the Abbey of Saint Urbain to tell the Abbot to expect them. Oh yes, undoubtedly they had the goodwill of Baudricourt.
So, riding between Poulengy and Jean de Metz, Jeannette rode out of Vaucouleurs on her way to see the Dauphin at Chinon.
Colet de Vienne and the archer Richard rode at the back of the little cavalcade.
They whispered together.
‘Have you any doubt?’ asket Colet de Vienne. ‘She is a witch. How else could a simple peasant girl have come so far? It’s as clear as fields in the sunshine.’
‘It is clear,’ agreed Richard.
‘Shall we be laughed to scorn for taking a witch to Chinon? And I tell you this: when she is known for a witch … for how would she stand the tests … shall we be accused with her as accomplices?’
‘Nay, we should take care.’
‘Poulengy and Jean de Metz guard her day and night.’
‘They sleep.’
‘With her between them.’
‘Maybe they share her favours.’
‘And why shouldn’t we?’
‘I have a plan. Let us try the witch first. She’s young enough to make it pleasant. And if she’s a virgin so much the better.’
‘She’s no virgin. Witches must all consort with the Devil before they become his own.’
‘Well, then, why shouldn’t we share in the fun? We’ll take her one dark night … creep up when her guards are sleeping. Smother her so that they don’t hear her cries.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘We’ll strangle her and throw her in a ditch.’
‘Perhaps get her accused of witchcraft. They burn them alive for that.’
‘And there’ll be glory for us for having discovered her true nature.’
‘A reward, do you think?’
‘They say they are talking of her in Orléans. She is one of their new miracles.’
‘I say she comes from the Devil. Tonight, then. When they’re sleeping.’
‘Tonight,’ agreed Richard.
There was just a crescent moon in the sky and a peppering of stars to go with it. There was danger in the air. Jeannette felt it.
‘Have no fear,’ said the voices. ‘Trust in God. You are on your way.’
She lay there on the ground. On either side of her were the two she trusted, Poulengy and Jean de Metz. Not once had they attempted to touch her. If any man glanced her way their hands went to their swords.
God has chosen them as surely as He has chosen me, she thought.
For some reason, tired as she was, she found it difficult to sleep that night. She lay there thinking of Domrémy and her father and mother, of her brothers and dead Catherine and herself. She was only a simple country maid. Why had this task been laid on her? I must do it, she said. I will do it.
The crackle of undergrowth. The sound of a stone’s being displaced, a light footfall.
‘Have no fear,’ said the voices.
Poulengy and Jean de Metz lay in deep sleep. It had been an exhausting day. She wondered why she did not sleep.
Someone was behind her, looking down at her. She looked up.
It was Richard the Archer.
He stood still staring at her. Then Colet de Vienne was beside him.
She just looked at them.
It was Colet de Vienne who spoke.
‘I thought I heard you call for help,’ he stammered.
She shook her head.
‘Then all is well?’ She nodded.
They slunk away.
They looked at each other in the faint moonlight.
‘What happened?’ said Richard. ‘It went not as we planned.’
‘Did you … know … ?’ asked Colet de Vienne. ‘Did it come to you as it did to me?’
Richard nodded. ‘She is pure,’ he said. ‘Indeed she comes from God.’
‘I knew it too. We have been saved from eternal damnation.’
‘From henceforth I believe in her,’ said Richard. ‘I shall guard her with my life.’
Jeannette felt a sudden peace steal over her. In a few moments, she was fast asleep.
They were in sight of Chinon. Jeannette’s eyes were shining as she looked at the embattled walls, the ramparts, the barbicans and turrets of what was known to be the finest castle in France. And now it was of special importance because the true King of France was there – though Jeannette always thought of him as the Dauphin, and would do so until that glorious day when he was crowned at Rheims.
They rode into the town.
‘You are to be lodged at an inn at the foot of the castle until the Dauphin gives you permission to come to him,’ Colet de Vienne told her.
She was content. She could wait a few more hours. She had come farther than she would have deemed possible a year ago. Moreover she wanted to give thanks to the Holy Virgin and the saints for aiding her in her mission.
So between prayer and resting and preparing herself for her ordeal Jeannette passed the time while waiting for the summons to the castle.
Chafing against delay she lived through the waiting hours until men came from the Dauphin to question her.
‘Have I not been questioned enough?’ she demanded. ‘Has not the Dauphin himself promised to see me?’
‘Why do you come here?’ they asked. ‘What is your mission?’
‘I have told you many times. I am sent from Heaven to raise the siege of Orléans and take the Dauphin to Rheims to be crowned King of France.’
They went away. She would hear soon, they told her.
And finally the command came. She was to present herself to the Dauphin.
With exultation she prepared herself. She had succeeded so far. It was as her voices had told her it would be. The impossible had been achieved and this was just the beginning.
She left the inn and rode to the castle. The guards eyed her with interest.
As she passed one shouted: ‘Here comes the Maid! So this is the Virgin girl. Give me a night with her and she’d be no longer so.’
Jeannette turned to look at him. ‘You are bold,’ she said, ‘to offend God … you who are soon to die.’
She passed on and the man stood looking after her, trembling.
She heard later that a few hours afterwards he was so overcome by remorse that he had drowned himself.
People discussed the matter throughout the town. Every such incident helped to enhance her reputation. If she found it difficult to convince those in high places, it was not so with the ordinary people. The belief was fast growing that Jeannette d’Arc had been chosen by God to save France.
And so she made her way into the castle.
The Dauphin sat in the crowded hall surrounded by his courtiers and advisers. He had been so long undecided as to whether he would see this peasant girl. In fact his whole life had been one of indecision. Charles was unsure whether he would live through one day to the next; he was unsure of those about him; he lived in fear of what awful fate might overtake him; but what he was most unsure of was whether he was his father’s son. He had been so ever since his mother – surely the most wicked Queen France had ever known – had told him that he was a bastard.
His life had been haunted by that fear. Had he no right to the throne of France? The King had been mad, passing clouded years of his life in the Hôtel de St Pol. The fertile Queen had taken a succession of lovers. How could any of her children be sure who their father was? Moreover, she seemed to hate her children – not all the time, for when she had seen a chance of marrying Katherine to the King of England she had seemed positively to love the girl. When the Dauphin’s two elder brothers had died mysteriously it was thought that the Queen wanted the crown for her youngest son. But she turned against him, and had taunted him with the doubt which had haunted him ever since. Was he the true heir to the throne or was he the result of one of his mother’s encounters with her numerous lovers?