the Archbishop of Reims when the army was near Crépy. “Never have I seen any

so glad of the coming of the noble King. I would that when I die I were so happy as to be buried in this country.”

“Jeanne, in what place do you expect to die?” asked the Archbishop, who had never been a friend of Jeanne’s, and wished to draw some expression of prophecy from her that might be used against her.

“When it shall please God,” she made answer; “for I know no more of the time and place than you do. Would that it pleased God my Creator to let me depart at this time, and lay down my arms, and go to serve my father and mother in keeping their sheep with my brothers, for they would be very glad to see me.”

There was a note of sadness in the words. Even Jeanne’s brave spirit was feeling the strain of the fluctuating, futile marchings.

On August eleventh Charles lay at Crépy-en-Valois, where he received a letter from Bedford, who by this time had brought his troops near to Paris and now lay between that city and the French army. It was a brutally insulting letter, obviously written for the purpose of forcing the monarch to fight in the open field. It closed by challenging him to single combat, and with an appeal to the Almighty. Any man with an ounce of red blood in his veins would have accepted

the challenge, and died gloriously, if needs be, in defense of his honor. Charles merely ignored the letter. It is said of him that at a later date he discovered great valour, taking the field in person against his enemies, and fighting in knightly fashion. It seems a pity that such gallantry was not in evidence at this period.

On August fourteenth the armies of Charles and Bedford came face to face at Montépilloy. It was near evening, and after a skirmish they both encamped for the night.

In the morning the royal army found Bedford entrenched in a strong position.

His flanks and front were carefully protected by earthworks and a stockade made of stout stakes carried by English archers for the purpose. Thrust deep into the ground, they would break the charge of cavalry, and were very formidable. In the rear was a lake and a stream, so that no attack could be made from that quarter.

Over the host floated the banners of France and England.

The French army formed in four divisions: the advance-guard, commanded by Alençon; the centre, commanded by René de Bar; the rear, with which were the

King himself and La Trémouille, was under Charles de Bourbon, and a large body of skirmishers under Jeanne, Dunois and La Hire.

The position of Bedford was too strong to admit of a direct attack. He also had the advantage of a superiority in numbers, so the French tried to draw his forces from behind their barricades in the same manner that Talbot had tried to entice Jeanne to forsake the strong position which she had occupied on the height above Beaugency the night before Patay. But, though several times French knights, both on foot and on horseback, rode up to the palisade and so taunted the English that some of them rushed out, the result was only skirmishing. The

main body of the enemy stood firm.

When Jeanne saw that they would not come out she rode, standard in hand, up to

the palisade and struck it a ringing blow hoping to excite the enemy into action.

For answer the English called, “Witch! Milkmaid! Go home to your cows. If we

catch you we’ll burn you.”

There were other names added, some of them vile and insulting. At the same time they waved in mocking defiance a standard copied from that of Jeanne’s, showing a distaff and spindle, and bearing the motto: “Let the fair Maid come.

We’ll give her wool to spin.”

This roused the rage of the French, and thereafter no quarter was asked or given in the skirmishes that ensued when parties of the English sallied out in answer to the jibes and taunts of the French. But with all their endeavors the English were not to be stung into leaving their strong position. Later Alençon and the Maid sent a message that they would retire and give the English a fair field to deploy in, but they did not accept the offer. Bedford was not anxious for a chivalrous engagement in a fair field.

In the afternoon the English captured a few field pieces which the French had brought up to enfilade the English line. So the long summer day passed, and when it grew dusk so that friend and foe could not be distinguished from each other the French retired to their quarters. The King left them, and retired to Crépy.

Early the next morning the French withdrew, hoping that the English would follow them. But the Regent would not. As soon as he was clear of the French he retreated to Senlis and from there went to Paris. Of course the royal army should have followed him, but the triumphant spirit that filled the troops at Patay had been dissipated. The captains feared to move without the King’s sanction, and, though Jeanne counselled the pursuit, they deemed it best to join the King at Crépy.

Compiègne, Senlis, and Beauvais now made their submission to the King and the Maid. Charles marched at once to Compiègne, fifty miles from Paris. At Beauvais those persons who refused to recognize Charles were driven out with

their possessions. Among these was Pierre Cauchon, its Bishop. This man never

forgave Jeanne for being the cause of his losing his diocese and his revenues, and later took a dire revenge upon her.

Charles dallied at Compiègne, greatly to the distress of Jeanne, who knew the value of rapid movements. She saw too that the troops were losing heart. The

King, however, was busy entangling himself with new truces with Burgundy, but of this the Maid at this time knew naught. She only knew that the fifteen days’

truce was ended, and Paris had not been delivered to her King; that August was

almost spent, and that nothing had been accomplished. She grieved at the monarch’s shilly-shallying, and suspected that he was content with the grace God had given him without undertaking any further enterprise.

As the time passed without bringing action of any sort, or any promise of it, the girl’s patience became thoroughly exhausted. She had only a year to work in, she had said, and France’s King was wasting the time that should have been used for France. So one day she said to Alençon:

“My fair duke, make ready the men, for by my staff, I wish to see Paris nearer

than I have seen it yet.”

The words struck a responsive chord in Alençon’s breast, and the captains gladly made ready for the march; for all were weary of inaction, and discouraged by the irresolution of the King.

On the twenty-third of August, therefore, the troops under Jeanne and Alençon

set forth, making a short pause at Senlis so that the forces under the Count de Vendôme might join them. It was hoped that, moved by their example, the King

would be impelled to follow them with the main body of the army; the hope proved a futile one. After three days’ march they rode into St. Denys, a town six miles from Paris, and the other sacred place of the realm.

It was the city of the Martyr Saint whose name was the war cry of France. It was also the city of the tomb; for, as Reims was the place where French kings were

crowned, so St. Denys was the town where French kings were buried. From antiquity they had lain here in the great Abbey, where too was the crown of Charlemagne. There were also many sacred relics of the saints here, among them

a head said to be that of Saint Denys. It was a sacred place to all French hearts.

At their approach those people who were of Anglo-Burgundian opinions retired

to Paris, terrified by the dark stories of vengeance with which the emissaries of Burgundy had beguiled them, so that those who remained in the place were royalists. As she had often done of late Jeanne became godmother for two little babies, holding them at the font. When the little ones were boys she gave them

the name of the King; if they were girls, and the parents had no name for them, she called them Jeanne.

There was further vexatious delay here in waiting for the coming of the King. It was a supreme moment in the affairs of the realm. All that had been gained in

the summer was now to be either entirely lost, or fully perfected by this attack on the capital. Charles’s presence was needed for the authority and approval that it gave, and, too, the main body of the army was necessary for the attack as the city was too strong to be assailed with what troops Alençon and Jeanne had with them. Courier after courier was sent to the King to urge his coming, and at length Alençon rode back to entreat his presence. Reluctantly the monarch advanced to

Senlis, and there stopped. “It seemed that he was advised against the Maid and

the Duc d’Alençon and their company.” [20]

Meantime Jeanne employed the time in skirmishing and reconnoissances,

studying the city to find the best point for the onslaught. Alençon also sent letters to the burghers, calling the dignitaries by name, and asking them to surrender to their true Lord.