The town was plied by the artillery for several days, and after a breach was made Jeanne ordered an assault, herself leading with standard in hand. The men rushed to the walls, but were driven back; the retreat sounded, and the troops were retiring from the point of attack when Jean D’Aulon, Jeanne’s squire, being himself wounded in the heel and unable to stand or walk, saw the Maid standing

almost alone near the walls. He dragged himself up as well as he could upon his horse, and galloped up to her, crying:

“What are you doing here alone, Pucelle? Why do you not retreat with the others?”

“Alone?” questioned Jeanne, raising the visor of her helmet and gazing at him with glowing eyes. “I am not alone. Fifty thousand of my people are about me. I will not leave until this town is mine.”

The squire looked about him in bewilderment, for there were not more than five

men of her Household near her, yet there she stood waving her standard while the arrows and bolts from the town rained and whistled about her.

“You are mistaken, Jeanne,” he said. “I see not such a host. Come away, I

beseech you. The troops are in full retreat.”

“Look after the screens and faggots,” ordered the Maid. Mystified, the worthy man did as he was bid, while the clear voice rang out the command:

“To the bridge, every man of you.”

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Back came the men on the run with planks and faggots, and so filling the moat

returned to the assault, and the town was taken. D’Aulon watched the onslaught

in wonder.

“The deed is divine,” he exclaimed in amazement. “Truly the will and the guidance of our Lord are with her, else how could so young a maid accomplish

such a marvel.”

The town was taken, and the soldiers would have pillaged even the churches, but Jeanne, remembering Jargeau, firmly forbade it, and nothing was stolen.

Then the Maid and d’Albret proceeded to Moulins, an important town further up

the river in the Bourbonnais, whence they sent letters to the loyal towns requiring munitions for the attack on La Charité. It was to the interest of the neighboring towns that this place should be cleared away, for the garrison was a plague to the surrounding country, but only a few of them responded to the appeal for money and supplies. Orléans, generous as always, sent money, gunners, artillery and warm clothing, but the army was ill-equipped for the siege.

Jeanne moved her forces before the strong town and settled down for the siege,

but the King neither forwarded money nor supplies. Riom promised money, but

that was the end of it. Left without the munitions necessary, her army ill-fed, ill-clothed against the bitter November weather, Jeanne wrote to the citizens of Bourges an urgent appeal. “The troops must have help,” she said, “else the siege must be abandoned, which would be a great misfortune to your city and to all the country of Berri.”

Bourges voted to send the money, but it was never received. Vigorously the troops pummelled the strong town with what artillery they had, but a siege 3c

1 a

7 n

not be prosecuted without provisions and other supplies, and the King left them to get along without any support. The men naturally became discontented. A month was wasted in artillery play, and an assault resulted only in loss of men. In great displeasure Jeanne raised the siege. She could inspire men to fight as they never fought before, but she could not work miracles. God would give the victory to those who helped themselves. Hungry, cold, disheartened troops could not fight without munitions and provisions. So they were disbanded, and retreated from the town, leaving some of their artillery on the field.

Thus ended the fighting for the year 1429, and sadly the Maid returned to the Court. In spite of unbelief and opposition she had accomplished incredible deeds since her setting forth from Vaucouleurs, and would have done them again had

she not been hampered by the King and his Council.

Charles was at his beautiful Château at Méhun-sur-Yèvre, where Jeanne joined him. She was overcast and sorrowful at the failure of the siege of La Charité.

She had wished to go into the Isle of France to help the people of the loyal towns there, whose state was pitiful, but had been sent on the unsuccessful expedition instead. Invaders and robbers alike were made bold by the withdrawal of Charles from northern France; and the English were active, forcing exile or death on the defenseless people, who would not forswear their loyalty. Many villages were forsaken, the inhabitants having been driven into other parts of France. There was pestilence and famine everywhere. In Paris wolves prowled openly, and its

citizens died by hundreds. Paris, the beautiful city of covered bridges, orchards, and vineyards and towered fortresses, had been abandoned by the English and Burgundians to its own protection; Burgundy going to look after his personal concerns, while Bedford swept the adjacent country with fire and sword. She had been needed in northern France, and Jeanne’s heart was heavy with tenderness for the suffering people of that region.

Many feasts were held in her honour, and both the King and the Queen showered

attentions upon her, trying by fine clothes and caresses to make her forget her mission and her despair. In December the King, in the presence of La Trémouille, Le Macon, and other courtiers, conferred upon Jeanne a patent of nobility, sealed with a great seal of green wax upon ribbons of green and crimson, the Orléans colours.

“In consideration of the praiseworthy and useful services which she has rendered to the realm and which she may still render, and to the end that the divine glory and the memory of such favors may endure and increase to all time, we bestow

upon our beloved Jehanne d’Ay[24] the name of Du Lys in acknowledgment of the blows which she had struck for the lilies of France. And all her kith and kin herewith, her father, mother, brothers and their descendants in the male and female line to the farthest generation are also ennobled with her, and shall also bear the name Du Lys, and shall have for their arms a shield azure with a sword supporting the crown and golden fleur-de-lis on either side.” Charles was a “well languaged prince,” and he conferred the patent with fine and noble words, but Jeanne would far rather have had a company of men to lead into the suffering country of northern France. She cared nothing for either the grant of nobility or the blazon, and never used them, preferring to be known simply as Jeanne the Maid. Her brothers, however, Pierre and Jean, were delighted, and ever after bore the name of Du Lys.

The winter passed, bringing with it Jeanne’s eighteenth birthday. The truce with

Burgundy had been extended until Easter, and the Maid waited the festival with what grace she could, determined that the end of the truce should find her near Paris. March found her at Sully, where the Court was visiting at La Trémouille.

Easter was early that year, falling on March twenty-seventh, and as soon as it was over Jeanne left the Court, and rode northward with her Company.

On her way north she heard of the disaffection of Melun, a town some twenty-

one miles south of Paris, which had been in English hands for ten years. When

the English took the place they had locked up its brave captain, Barbazon, in Louvier, from which place he had recently been released by La Hire. In the Autumn of 1429 Bedford had turned the town over to Burgundy; but during April on the return of Barbazon the burghers rose, and turned out the captain and his Burgundian garrison, and declared for France. It was a three days’ ride from Sully-sur-Loire to Melun across rough country and up the long ridge of Fontainebleau forest, but Jeanne arrived with her men in time to help the citizens resist the onset made against the town by a company of English which had been

sent to restore the English allegiance. Joyfully they welcomed her, giving over the defense into her charge.

The first thing that Jeanne did was to make a survey of the walls, that she might consider their strength and how best to fortify them against assault. One warm pleasant day in April she stood on the ramparts superintending some repairs that she had ordered when all at once her Voices came to her.

“Daughter of God,” they said, “you will be taken before the Feast of St. Jean. So it must be. Fear not, but accept it with resignation. God will aid you.”

Jeanne stood transfixed as she heard the words. The feast of St. Jean was near the end of June. Only two months more in which to fight for France. Her face grew white as the words were repeated, and a great fear fell upon her. A prisoner? Better, far better would it be to die than to be a prisoner in the hands of the English. All their taunts, their gibes, their threats came to her in a rush of memory. She knew what to expect; the stake and the fire had been held up as a

menace often enough. Terrified, the young girl fell on her knees, uttering a broken cry of appeal:

“Not that! Not that! Out of your grace I beseech you that I may die in that hour.”

“Fear not; so it must be,” came the reply. “Be of good courage. God will aid you.”

“Tell me the hour, and the day,” she pleaded brokenly.

“Before the St. Jean. Before the St. Jean,” came the reply. And that was all.