“Rise, dear Maid,” he said, “and receive our welcome and our thanks for what you have done. It was a great deed, most gloriously performed. Such prowess merits rich reward; therefore speak, and say what poor return Charles may make
for such services.”
Jeanne looked at him eagerly with all her soul in her eyes. There was but one
desire in her heart.
“Gentle Dauphin, the only boon I crave is leave to lead you to your crowning and anointing at Reims. Out of your goodness I beg you to let us set forth at once; for now is the time.”
“At once?” The indolent monarch shrank from the suggestion, and there were murmurs among the courtiers, who did not wish anything to occur to interrupt their amusements. La Trémouille, the favorite, interposed quickly:
“It is impossible, my dear Maid. His Majesty’s person should not be exposed to
such risks. Why, the road is filled with English and Burgundian strongholds. An army strong enough to open the way should first be raised, and that would take
six weeks to equip.”
“But now is the time,” cried Jeanne, dismayed that there should be delay. “We should strike now before the Duke of Bedford has time to send them
reinforcements. If we wait our task will be but the harder.”
“Patience, patience, Jeanne,” spoke the King soothingly. “We will go, we promise you, but not just now. You are wounded too, we hear, and sadly need the rest. So have patience for a little, we beseech you.”
So Jeanne was forced to curb her eagerness while the King dawdled away the precious days in idle pleasure. She had spoken truly: the time was ripe for action.
Charles had but to mount and ride and all was his at a blow. Had he but gone straight to Reims, after Orléans, and thence on to Paris, every city would have opened its gates to him. So obviously was this the thing he ought to do that, supposing it would be done, the Duke of Bedford left Paris and shut himself up
in the strong castle of Vincennes, dreading an uprising among the people. Then
next he wholly withdrew to Rouen, for he had no force of men to guard the walls of Paris. But through the influence of La Trémouille, Regnault de Chartres, the Archbishop of Reims, and Raoul de Gaucourt, the former governor of Orléans,
the golden opportunity was lost.
It was no part of the policy of these men to allow the King to shake off his indolence, and from this time forth they set themselves to thwart the peasant Maid who so amazingly upset their plans and schemes. It was never English or
Burgundians whom Jeanne had to fear the most. They were open enemies, and
with a good company of men-at-arms she could overcome them. It was the constant efforts of these foes at Court that undermined her influence and neutralized any advantage that she might gain.
The campaign of Orléans had been allowed. La Trémouille was willing that the city should be relieved, if it could be done without danger to his power, but the completeness of the girl’s victory had aroused his opponents, and there was a dangerous current of French patriotism awakening which, unless subdued, meant
the overthrow of himself and his party. It was said of him truthfully that he had
“a foot both in the Burgundy and French camps,” and the present state of France suited him admirably. So Jeanne found herself opposed by these wretched politicians in her plans for the redemption of her country. Her true friends were the gallant captains of the armed companies that accompanied her on the campaigns, and the simple people who believed that she had a mission from Heaven, and was inspired by saints and angels.
Thus, longing for the dash of action that would drive the enemy from the land,
Jeanne was thrown into the frivolity of the Court instead. A fortnight was spent by Charles in lengthy debates with his Counsellors, and in a round of pleasures; then he removed to Loches, some thirty miles from Tours, where there was a grim fortress better suited to his humours than a city. Being a part of his household, Jeanne went also.
In every place that she entered the people crowded about her horse, and tried to kiss her shoes or her hands. The Abbot, Robert le Macon, one of those who had
examined her at Poictiers, reproved her sharply for allowing these
manifestations, and told her that it was making the people idolatrous.
“In truth,” answered Jeanne, smiling at him, “I should not know how to guard myself from these things, unless God guarded me. They love me because I have
never done them any unkindness, but helped them as I could.”
Charles tried by means of rich gifts to make the maiden content to remain in idleness, and so to cease from importuning him to set forth for his anointing.
But, though Jeanne delighted in pretty clothes and presents, as was natural in a young girl, she never for one moment lost sight of her mission. Nor did she abstain from entreating the Dauphin to go to Reims. And now Alençon and Dunois, her good friends, came to the Court, and added their pleas to hers that he should set forth for the crowning, but Charles did not discover the hurry to save his kingdom that they did.
Greatly distressed by the waiting, one day Jeanne’s patience reached its limit.
Knowing that the King was in Council with Sir Christopher d’Harcourt, Gerard
Machet, his confessor, Robert le Macon and Dunois, she went boldly to the door
of the Council Chamber, and knocked. Being admitted she went at once to the
monarch, and threw herself at his feet, clasping his knees.
“Noble Dauphin, you hold so many and such long Councils,” she cried. “Rather
come to Reims and receive your worthy crown.”
“Does your Counsel tell you to say this?” asked d’Harcourt, the Bishop of Castres.
