Perhaps that had been at the very root of his lethargy.
He was now twenty-six years old and looked nearly fifty, for he had lived a life of excess; he had taken after his mother in that respect, but while she had kept her outstanding beauty he, who had never had any pretensions to good looks, had grown steadily more ill favoured.
He had begun life as an unattractive child. His face had been puffy from birth; his nose was long and wide – bulbous and purple, it seemed to hang over his flabby lips. His small eyes were almost hidden in folds of flesh. He had found great consolation in the arms of serving girls who while they did not find him personally attractive were bemused by his royalty. His legs were bowed which gave rise to a shuffling manner of walking. He was by no means a figure to inspire confidence.
And he lived in fear. There were times when he fervently wished he had been a nobleman with no responsibilities except those concerned with his estates. He loathed conflict of any kind; and he could not bear the sight of blood. He considered himself unfortunate to have been born at this time when France was engaged not only in this bitter struggle with the English but internal strife. He lived in terror not only of the Duke of Bedford but the Duke of Burgundy who was his own special enemy, for Burgundy held him guilty of the murder of his father.
Fear dominated the Dauphin’s life. When he was staying at the castle of La Rochelle the ceiling had collapsed and only by a miracle was his life saved. From henceforth he had lived in fear of collapsing ceilings. He refused to live in large rooms. He wanted to feel that if a ceiling came down it would only be a small one.
He was subtle in a way; he was wily and shrewd, but he was overshadowed by his environment. Vaguely he longed to break away from the past; he longed to be declared the legitimate son of the King of France and in a way he dreaded it. His childhood had been flawed by a mad father and a wanton mother, and memories of a life of hardship endured with his brothers and sister in the Hôtel de St Pol lingered on. The fearful uncertainty of not knowing from one day to the next what would happen to him had left him nervous and apprehensive. He was like a man in prison waiting to be released that he might prove himself.
At this time his life was governed by doubt. Was he the legitimate heir to France? Did he want to be? Did he want to fight to free his country from the English yoke?
He was unsure.
And now they were bringing this girl to see him. Did he want to see her? At one moment he cried, No. Then he remembered that the people were talking of her wherever she went. They said she was indeed sent from God. They were beginning to believe she would work miracles. Hardened soldiers were moved by her.
He would see her. No, he wouldn’t. Why should he waste time with a peasant girl? It was preposterous. And yet …
‘People talk of Merlin’s prophecy, my lord,’ said Colet de Vienne, that man who had gone forth as a cynic and returned converted. ‘They say that a maid would save France.’
It was true. He had heard the prophecy.
‘My lord, she has travelled here from Vaucouleurs. The country is overrun with rough soldiers. There are robbers everywhere. It was a hard and perilous journey but she, a simple girl, has come here.’
The Dauphin said he would see her.
‘Let us hasten,’ cried Colet de Vienne, ‘before he changes his mind.’
It was an impressive scene in the great hall which was lighted by fifty flaring torches. Jeannette entered modestly and yet clearly unafraid.
She looked about the hall and went straight to the Dauphin. She had been told by Colet de Vienne what she must do, and that was kneel before him and embrace his knees.
‘God preserve you, sweet Prince,’ she said.
The Dauphin tried to confuse her. He was a little shaken that she had come straight to him. How had she picked him out from this crowd assembled here? He thought wryly that many of them looked more kingly than he did.
He pointed to one of his courtiers.
‘There is the King,’ he said. ‘I am not he.’
She smiled and continued to look at him – impelled to do so, she thought afterwards.
‘Nay,’ she said, ‘it is you who are the Dauphin.’
He was nonplussed but still unconvinced. Could she have seen him somewhere? It was hardly likely, but she might have heard a description of him. Heaven knew he was ugly enough to be picked out.
‘Who are you who comes thus to my Court?’ he asked.
‘Gentle Dauphin,’ she answered, ‘I am a simple peasant girl and people call me Jeanne the Maid. God has sent me to bring you to your Kingdom. He sent a message and I am his messenger. You are to be anointed and crowned at Rheims and shall be His servant to rule France under Him.’
‘You speak strange words,’ said the Dauphin.
‘I come from God,’ she answered simply.
In spite of his disbelief he wanted to talk to her.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘sit beside me. I will talk with you.’
Someone brought a stool and she sat close to him. He waved his courtiers to stand back.
She said quietly: ‘My Lord bids me tell you that you are indeed the true heir of France and the son of a King. You should be troubled no more on this matter.’
He stared at her incredulously. How could this simple girl know of that matter which for so long had been uppermost in his mind?
He felt transformed. He believed her now. She came from God. She had been endowed with special powers; and he was indeed the son of a King.
She spoke to him then of the need to save Orléans. They must raise the siege. She must have men and arms. He must give them to her and with God’s help she would lead the French to victory. In Orléans they already knew of her. They were waiting for her, expecting her to bring deliverance.
He listened entranced.
Earnestly she talked to him. He was astonished that a simple country girl should know so much.
Jeanne glowed with triumph. She was ready now to take the road to Orléans … and Rheims.
Chapter XII
VICTORY AT ORLÉANS
IT was some weeks later, at the end of April, when Jeannette seated on a white horse given her by the Dauphin and clad in armour entered the city of Orléans after dark through the Burgundian Gate. On her right rode the Bastard of Orléans and before her was a standard-bearer carrying her banner on which were depicted two angels holding the fleur-de-lis. Behind her rode captains and men-at-arms, those whom the Dauphin had sent to accompany her.
The people were waiting for her. She was their saviour. Gone was their despondency. It was not so long since, after the Battle of the Herrings, they had believed themselves to be lost. They had even offered to surrender to the Duke of Burgundy. Now they rejoiced. It was God’s will that they should hold out; and He had sent this messenger to save them.
Several had fought for the honour of lodging her and this had fallen to the lot of Jacques Boucher, the trusted treasurer to the Duke of Orléans. He was wealthy and had married a wife as rich as himself and had given a great deal in money and goods to preserve the city against the invaders so to him fell the honour of being host to the Maid.
It was the custom in such houses for the guest to sleep with the host, so Jeanne shared a room with Madame Boucher and her little daughter Charlotte, actually sleeping with the child in her bed.