“As you will then, my little one. In truth it would have grieved me sorely to refuse the bed, but I knew not what to do. You have a good heart, child. Go now, and carry in more faggots for the fire. The night grows chill, though the day was so warm. A bundle will not be too much for the chimney. Then bring forth the
drinking cups and the knife for cutting the bread and put them upon the table. I will go to the oven for another loaf.”
“The dear child,” mused the mother as Jeanne obediently gathered up a large bundle of the faggots and turned toward the cottage. “The dear child! Ever ready is she to give up her own comfort for that of others. May our Lady watch over
her!”
Meantime Jeanne had hastened into the house, and had thrown her bundle of faggots into the great chimney, over which hung a white stone mantel shaped somewhat like a pent house. On one side of the hearth flags sat an elderly woman who was amusing Jeanne’s sister, Catherine, a child a few years younger
than she. Jeanne returned the woman’s warm greeting affectionately, then drew
the deal table before the hearth, glancing as she did so at the two men who sat at the far end of the hearth flags.
One was a man of thirty-five or so; the other looked to be ten years his junior.
That they were well born was apparent from their bearing and manner, but their
armour and clothing were in sad condition. Their hucques[3] were in tatters, and only the closest inspection revealed that they had been of velvet. They wore no
helmets, and many plates were missing from their rusty armour, leaving their bodies fair marks for arrows or cross bolts. Noting all this Jeanne was startled to observe that from the right arm of the younger knight a tiny stream of blood trickled through the steel sleeve. She was a timid girl with strangers, therefore it was a full minute before she could muster courage to approach the young man.
“You bleed, messire,” she said, touching him shyly on the shoulder.
“Eh? What?” The young man started quickly, for he had been dozing in his chair.
“Oh! The wound?” following her glance at his arm. “’Tis naught. The scratch has but broken out anew.”
“It should be dressed,” asserted the little girl with concern. “I like not to see French blood flow.”
“She speaks truth, Bertrand,” interjected the older man. “A green wound tingles and burns, and there may be many a fray before us ere we behold Châlons. Here!
I will be your squire for the nonce, and unbuckle your armour. ’Tis a good little maid!”
The young man addressed as Bertrand rose, and let his friend assist him to remove his armour, protesting against the need of it as he did so. Jeanne meantime brought a basin of water, and when the knight had pushed back the sleeve of his doublet she washed the blood from the wound gently. Then, with all the deftness that Isabeau had taught her––for many were the wounded who had
experienced their services––she applied a compress of oil, and bandaged the arm with bands of serge.
“I thank you, my little maid,” spoke the young man gratefully. “It does in truth feel better, and though but a scratch, was indeed painful. What is your name?”
“Jeanne, messire.”
“I will remember it, Jeanne. Who taught you to be so deft in such matters?”
“My mother, messire.” Jeanne blushed at being so interrogated.
“You have a gentle touch. If my arm does not heal quickly under such ministration it does not belong to Bertrand de Poulengy.”
Jeanne blushed again and withdrew quickly, carrying the basin with her. After placing a tall flagon, the wooden drinking cups, and the knife for cutting the bread upon the table she went to her godmother’s side, and sat down.
As she did so her father and mother entered. Upon her arm Isabeau carried a
large ring of black bread, while Jacques brought another armful of faggots. They were a hard working, devout couple who strove to bring up their children,––of which there were five: three sons, Jacquemin, Jean, and Pierre; and two daughters, Jeanne and Catherine,––to love work and religion. Jacques D’Arc was a doyen; that is, a village elder; the chief man in Domremy after the mayor.
He was of such substance that he was enabled to raise his family in comfort, and to give alms and hospitality to the poor wandering friars, and other needy wayfarers then so common in the land.
“Sit up, messires,” cried Jacques as his wife emptied the contents of the iron pot into a platter which she set on the table. “Eat, for you must be hungry. Ay! and thirsty too, I doubt not.”
“By our Lady, but that hath a welcome sound, honest Jacques,” cried the elder knight, starting up eagerly. “We are both hungry and thirsty. Neither of us has broken his fast since morning, and then the repast was but meagre. Bertrand, man, does not the flavor of that stew assail your nostrils deliciously?”
“It does indeed, Louis. Methinks that I shall do justice to it. The Duke of Lorraine does not regale his prisoners on such fare.”
“You were prisoners to the Duke of Lorraine?” questioned Jacques as he and his
guests drew up to the table. The women and children sat apart waiting to eat later.
“Ay! and have been for these many weary months, Jacques. It seems like a miracle that we did at last escape, but so it has fallen out.”
“Tell of the manner of your taking and escape, if it please you, messire,” spoke Jacques. “’Twill enliven the hour, and we are of the King’s party here.”
“Right well do we know that, Jacques D’Arc, else we would not have tarried here. Domremy is well known to be for the King.”
“Ay! for the King and France. Save for one man the entire village is against the Burgundians and the English invaders.”
“’Tis good to hear such report, Jacques. And now if you wish to hear the tale it pleases me well to tell it. Know then that in August last, I, Louis De Lude, and Bertrand de Poulengy here with six other men-at-arms did set forth from the town of Châlons for that of Tours, being sadly in need of armour. You must know that for armour there be none in all France that can compare with the smiths of Tours. Through fear of being set upon by either the enemy, or marauding bands, we travelled at night, avoiding the frequented roads and the
towns known to be in possession of the hostile party. Thus we went for ten days with no untoward event happening, and on the morning of the eleventh day we
broke into gratulation, for then we came in sight of the walls of Tours.
