ascending the steeps which led to it, so, with a sigh, she turned her attention to the town.
Through narrow lanes of overhanging houses crowded to the hill beneath the castle buttresses they went, stopping at length at an inn near the castle kept by a
woman of good repute. It was Lent, so the spits were idle, for at that time no one in Christendom neglected the church’s injunction concerning the fasts and abstinences of Holy Lent. So fasting Jeanne retired to the chamber assigned her, and spent the next two days in prayer while she waited to hear from the Dauphin.
Then the messenger, Colet de Vienne, came with the command that the two knights should come to the castle so that they might be questioned concerning the maiden. He said that the King had read the letter of Sire Robert, but would know more before admitting her to audience. Sire Bertrand heard the command
with anger.
“Colet, is this in truth the King’s desire, or hath he been influenced to it by George la Trémouille? There be those who say that the Favorite cares for naught that is for the good of France, but is all for terms with Burgundy.”
“’Tis not for me to say that Charles is not master of his Court, Sire Bertrand,”
replied the messenger warily. “Still, it might be admitted that La Trémouille does not care to have an inspired Maid appear who will arouse the King from his indolence. And the King hath other advisers of the Royal Council also who wish
to know more of the damsel before she approaches him. ’Tis on their advice that he has sent for you.”
“But he hath the letter vouching for her from the Captain of Vaucouleurs,”
exclaimed De Poulengy, with heat. “There will be delay, and yonder lies Orléans waiting the coming of the Maid; for by my faith! I do believe that she can raise the siege. Ay! and Jean here believes likewise. ’Tis our opinion that she hath been divinely commissioned so to do.”
“Then why fret about telling the King what ye believe?” asked Colet. “He questioned me, and I spoke freely concerning her goodness, and the safety with
which we had made the journey.”
“You are right,” uttered De Poulengy. “Why fret indeed? ’Tis only because it seems to me that were I King I would seize upon anything that held a hope for so distressed a kingdom.”
“’Tis what frets us all, Bertrand,” said Jean de Metz. “That is, all who care for the King and France. Know you not that La Hire, the fiercest soldier of the Armagnacs, says, ‘Never was a king who lost his kingdom so gay as Charles?’
But lead on, Colet. ’Tis the King’s command, and we must go to him. Perchance
good may come from it after all.”
“That it may. And know for your comfort, both, that deputies from Orléans,
having heard of the Maid, are here in Chinon praying that the King may not refuse the aid, but will send the Maid to them at once.”
“Now that is good,” ejaculated Sire Bertrand. “I can go with better grace now.
Come, Jean.”
Seldom has a king lived who deserved greater contempt than Charles Seventh.
Lazy, idle, luxurious, and cowardly, he was the puppet of his worst courtiers.
Most of the money that he could raise was spent in voluptuous living or given to favorites. But at that time however contemptible a king might be, his personality was important to his kingdom. So that Charles Seventh was France to his people; the image and sacred symbol of France.
In his favor it may be said that he was very devout, and his piety was sincere. He was generous to others,––and to himself. He was “well languaged and full of pity for the poor.” From time to time he would seem to be moved by the thought
that, despite his helplessness and inability to do anything, he was still the man who ought to do all. But he was weak, a slave to his favorites, blind to their defects; ready to suffer anything from them. It was small wonder then that De Poulengy dreaded the King’s advisers. He and De Metz returned soon to the inn
to report to Jeanne the result of the interview.
“’Tis pity that the King is not the only person who governs the realm,” spoke Sire Bertrand with disgusted weariness. “But no! the whole Royal Council must
give consent ere he can admit you to an audience, Pucelle. There are certain of the counsellors who advise against seeing you, declaring that your mission is a hoax. Some say that you are a witch, and for Charles to receive a witch into his presence would endanger his person, and greatly discredit his majesty. There are still others who favor seeing you; and Yolande, Queen of Sicily and the king’s mother-in-law, declares openly that since Sire Robert sent letters introducing you, which you carried through many leagues of hostile provinces, fording many
rivers in manner most marvellous so that you might come to him, the King ought
at least to hear you. By my faith, Yolande is the best adviser and the best soldier that the King has. So there the matter rests; but he ought to see you.”
“Which he will, messire. Have no doubt of that. He will hear and see me soon.”
“Yes; in time, Pucelle. But ere that time comes certain priests and clerks, experts in discerning good spirits from bad, are to examine you. They follow us, do they not, Jean?”
De Metz nodded. “If I mistake not they come now,” he said.
“In God’s name, why do they not set me about my work?” exclaimed Jeanne impatiently.
Almost immediately steps were heard without the chamber, and the hostess of the inn entered, bowing low before several imposing ecclesiastics and their clerks.
Jeanne rose, and courtesied; standing in reverent attitude during the entire interview. The visitors showed their astonishment plainly in finding that the renowned Maid of Vaucouleurs was such a mere girl. The senior bishop acted as
spokesman for all.
“Are you the maid concerning whom letters have come to the King from Vaucouleurs?”
Jeanne bowed her head in assent.
