roccoschili Chapter 20 Lorraine's Daughter
Chapter 20 Lorraine's Daughter
Vaucourt winters are much colder than Orleans winters; the castle walls are covered in frost, and the moat is frozen solid.
But a girl had been standing in front of the castle all morning, and the townspeople nearby were used to it. The guards, for some reason, did not chase her away.
It wasn't until the guards changed shifts at noon that someone came out to see her.
"Go back, young lady," Metz said with a headache. "The master won't see you. He forbade anyone to relay your messages long ago. Your suggestions this morning will only reach me and then be forgotten."
"That's the most important thing. The Crown Prince must know that the Burgundians will not be supporting the British this winter!" This girl was none other than Jeanne.
"How many times have you said things like this in the last six months?" Metz shook his head. "I know you genuinely want to help us, but fighting is a man's job, at least not a woman's. The magistrates said—"
"What did you say?" Jeanne stared straight at him.
Metz lowered his voice: "He said if you keep shouting this nonsense to the Crown Prince, he'll strip you naked and whip you in front of the whole town."
Jeanne's face paled for a moment, but she raised her head again.
"I haven't told a single lie in the past six months, so even an adult has no reason to punish me. If the whipping is something an adult would do to relay a message to the Crown Prince, then I accept it!"
Maze was silent for a moment, then turned around and said to her with his back to her:
"I can pass on your message and try to persuade the adults again. But you have to go back first, or you'll have to travel at night."
Jeanne paused for a moment, watching Metz enter the castle. She gave a slight bow, adjusted her headscarf in the whistling wind, and left.
Metz walked back to Botticul's room on the second floor of the castle. Botticul was sitting behind the table, holding a letter in his hand, but staring at the map.
"Metz, we've been ordered to send more men to scout. The southern reinforcements have arrived in Orléans, and they need to confirm that the Burgundians won't send more troops."
Metz paused for a moment. "My lord, she has come true again. That Joan of Arc, she asked me to pass on a message to you this morning, saying that the Burgundians will not support the English because the Burgundians have not prepared winter clothing."
Botticul turned to look at Metz, but Metz didn't wait for him to speak before continuing.
"She said the British would march south, and they did attack Orléans; she told the Dauphin to guard the Loire River, and the British seized the river crossings. Before winter, she said Orléans might be besieged—and isn't it besieged now?" Metz said excitedly. "My lord, this girl might not be a witch, but a born general!"
Botticul stared at him for a while, then put down the letter and leaned back in his chair.
"You believe her nonsense?"
"These lies have all become reality."
Botticul was silent for a moment. The firewood in the fireplace crackled.
"Even if she's a prophet, she shouldn't be a woman. Do you think she's Mary?" he said. "But her constant running to the castle has caught the priest's attention. Find some time to bring her to town. I'll take some time to listen to what other nonsense she has to say. If she's still spouting that kind of nonsense, then she'll never be allowed to enter town again."
Metz happily bowed and accepted the task.
Botticul stood up again and glanced at the tattered map.
"A born general," he repeated softly, shaking his head.
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When Metz arrived in Domrémy on horseback, it was already the morning of the next day.
He asked at the village entrance for directions to the village chief's house, tied his horse to a pillar at the gate, and knocked on the gate.
The family was busy inside, seemingly preparing to go out. Pierre was the first to come out and answer the door. Seeing the familiar man in armor, he excitedly shouted, "Father! The knight from town is looking for us! If he wants to take me as his squire, you can't stop him!"
Old Jacques rushed out, seemingly intending to slap Pierre, but Pierre dodged him. Seeing Metz at the gate, he stopped, his face flushed, and led his family in a bow, saying:
"Hello, Knight. I remember you're Lord Vokulell, aren't you? Is there anything in town that Domremy can help with?"
"I am Jean de Metz, the squire of the Knight of Botticour." He removed his hat and bowed slightly to the people in the room. "I have come to see your daughter, Joan of Arc."
The whole family was stunned.
Jeanne raised her head, her expression calm.
"Did you come to me, or did Lord Botticul come to me?" she asked.
"The lord has agreed to see you," Metz said. "He wants you to move to town for a few days until he finishes his business and then summons you again. What do you think?"
Old Jacques frowned deeply: "What are you talking about? What does Lord Botticul want with Jeanne? She's an unmarried young woman—"
"Father," Joan interrupted him, "I was the one who requested an audience with Lord Botriquel first; I have requested an audience with him many times."
Old Jacques seemed to be seeing his daughter for the first time: "What do you want with him? When did you go to see him? Why didn't you ever tell us?"
Jeanne paused for a moment, then looked at her surprised mother and incredulous brothers and sisters and spoke.
"Three years ago, I heard a voice. The voice told me to help the Crown Prince and help him drive out the British. So six months ago, I went to Vaucouleur to see Lord Botticur. I haven't dared to tell you about this."
A moment of silence fell over the room. Isabella covered her mouth with her hand, while her three brothers and Catherine stared wide-eyed at Joan of Arc. But none of them reacted as strongly as old Jacques, whose face went from white to red, then to purple. He lunged at Jeanne, but she dodged him, leaning against the wooden fence, knocking over farm tools that clattered loudly.
"Are you insane!" His voice boomed throughout the courtyard. "A young woman, hearing some noise from who-knows-where, wants to go see the Crown Prince? Do you know what chaos is going on outside? Do you know what the Burgundians will do to you if they catch you?"
He bypassed the stunned Pierre and tried to grab Joan of Arc's arm again, but Jeanne took a step and circled around to avoid him, ending up behind Metz.
"I forbid you to go! If you dare go, I'll—I'll drown you in the river! So that you, an unmarried girl, won't be harmed by others!"
Jeanne simply looked into her father's eyes and whispered, "Father, I have to go."
Old Jacques's hands were trembling. He tried to grab Jeanne again, but this time Jeanne straightened her back, looked directly into his eyes, and no longer looked away.
Just then, Metz stepped out and blocked his way, then took his sword from his waist.
Old Jacques was startled and stepped back, but Metz simply held his sword horizontally, with both hands, and raised it in front of Old Jacques.
"I swear by the honor of a knight—" he said solemnly, "Lady Joan's prediction is of vital importance to the Crown Prince's cause. I guarantee to bring her safely to Vaucouleur and bring her back safely."
Old Jacques looked at the sword, but he didn't take it. Instead, as if he had lost all his strength, he sat down on the ground.
Isabella emerged from behind him, her eyes red-rimmed but without tears. She walked up to Jeanne, reached out and touched her daughter's face, then turned to Metz.
"My lord, perhaps this is the fate of our family." Her voice trembled slightly. "Now that Jeanne has been chosen, she must move forward. Please take good care of her."
Metz stood up, hung the sword back at his waist, and then bowed deeply to Isabella.
"Madam, I swear on my life that you and your family are welcome to come to Vaucouleur to see her at any time. We are not here to imprison anyone, but to formally invite Miss Joan of Arc."
Old Jacques sat on the ground, his lips trembling, unable to speak. Pierre seized the opportunity to approach, his eyes sparkling: "Sir Knight, I can accompany Jeanne—"
"Shut up!" Old Jacques jumped up and slapped Pierre on the back of the head, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him towards the backyard. "You're not going anywhere! Stay home and behave yourself!"
Pierre was still muttering something loudly, but then it turned into screams of agony.
Joan of Arc looked at her family members, and her mother nodded gently to her.
"Let's go," she said to Maze.
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Jeanne settled in Vaucouleur, and Metz arranged for her to stay with a family named Roy in town. Although Botticur summoned her, he refused to see her immediately, always making excuses about being busy with military affairs.
Royer's wife was about to give birth, and although they had hired a maid to help, Jeanne rolled up her sleeves on her very first day of staying.
She swept the floor, started the fire, tended the stove, and helped Mrs. Royer with needlework. She didn't talk much and didn't pick and choose her tasks, doing all sorts of dirty and tiring work. At first, the Royer couple felt a little embarrassed, but after seeing that she did things more efficiently than the maids, they let her do some housework, only not letting her cook.
Joan of Arc restarted the spinning wheel, which had been dormant for months, spinning spools of thread and weaving them into cloth, saying she would use it as payment for her lodging. Royer's wife, leaning against the bed, stroked her belly, watching the young girl who had barged into her home work, and sighed:
"You are truly an angel sent by God. I have never seen anyone in Lorraine with such skillful hands as you."
Joan of Arc simply smiled, her hands still busy.
Aside from work, she went to church almost every day. The old priest had become acquainted with Joan of Arc over the past six months and sometimes asked her to help with chores. Several devout soldiers from the castle, having heard that the "mad witch" had come to stay in town, would secretly observe her during evening or morning prayers. Jeanne never spoke to them; she simply went about her business. At first, the soldiers were just curious, but gradually they grew accustomed to her presence, nodding when they saw her and sometimes even praying with her.
Metz would visit Royer's house every few days. Although his main purpose was to reiterate that Bottricourt's meeting was postponed, he sometimes brought some food or candles. He also brought several messages from home, apparently because of Pierre's antics, they couldn't visit her for the time being.
"Why do you insist on seeing the Crown Prince? If there's anything you need to say, we can deliver it for you. I can write the letter for you," he suddenly asked, looking at Jeanne spinning thread.
Jeanne's hands never stopped working.
"I must meet with the Crown Prince so that I will know how to support his cause," she replied.
Maze didn't know how to ask any further questions, so he could only say:
"You know what? People in the castle don't call you 'Mad Witch' anymore. Now they call you 'Lady Joan of Arc'."
Jeanne nodded and began to weave the silk threads into cloth.
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Botticour still refused to see Joan of Arc, but the child in Roy's wife's womb was not as patient as he was.
One night at the end of January, Joan of Arc and her maid helped the midwife work through the night, and the baby was finally born safely—a girl.
The child cried incessantly, causing the Royer couple great anxiety and sweat. Only when Jeanne tried to take the child did she stop crying and fall asleep. Mrs. Royer couldn't help but smile.
"This child likes you; you're the only one who can put him to sleep."
Joan of Arc gently handed the child back to her mother, looking down at the wrinkled little face.
"Perhaps because she is the daughter of a Lorraine, my mother has some Lorraine ancestry," she said.
Royer's wife paused for a moment, then smiled, reaching out to wipe the sweat from Jeanne's brow: "You are also a daughter of Lorraine, Joan of Arc. You are too."
However, despite his wife having just given birth, Royer didn't have much time to spend with her.
Royer's carriage workshop starts work before dawn and doesn't finish until it's completely dark. The courtyard is piled high with planks and iron parts. He and his two helpers work overtime, often grabbing a few bites of food in the workshop, too busy to even look at their newborn daughter.
While Jeanne was helping deliver the food, she casually asked, "Why are you so busy? Shouldn't the carriage workshop be quieter in winter?"
Royer picked up his bowl, took a sip of soup, and wiped his mouth. "Lent is coming soon. The army and the nearby towns need a lot of fasting food. Salted fish, salted meat, dry bread—all these things need to be transported by cart. We cart drivers are busiest at this time of year every winter."
Jeanne stood in the courtyard, looking at several carriages that were clearly fitted with protective panels, and suddenly asked the gate, "Do soldiers celebrate Lent too?"
She wasn't asking about Royer, but about Metz, who happened to be visiting.
Metz walked around the clutter in the yard, put down the package he was carrying, and said, "Of course we observe it, regardless of where the army is. War is war, and fasting is fasting. Last week we even received a letter—Orléans asked if we could make some noise to lure the Burgundians back, saying they wanted to take advantage of the English holiday at Lent to give them a good beating."
Joan of Arc's brows slowly furrowed.
"The weather's been terrible lately, and there might be a blizzard around Lent," she murmured, almost to herself. "Are the soldiers willing to fight the British in this weather while observing fasting? Isn't that a violation of the precepts?"
Metz paused for a moment: "You mean—"
Joan of Arc did not answer. She turned and went back to the kitchen, took off her apron, folded it, and placed it on the stove. Then she gently removed the nearly finished piece of cloth from the loom and put on her shoes.
"Take me to see Lord Botrkul right now," she said.
Metz chased after her out of the carriage yard, not even having time to lead the horse. The two of them trudged through the snow, one step at a time, towards the castle.
Botticul didn't stop her this time. At least most of the castle guards were unwilling to stop "Lady Joan of Arc" again, and besides, he himself didn't seem to be very resistant to seeing Joan of Arc again.
Joan of Arc stood in his command room and spoke to Botticul, who was looking at a map with his back to her.
"My lord, we will surely fail if we launch an attack on Lent. You must inform the Crown Prince to wait for a better opportunity."
Botticur stiffened and turned to look at her.
"How did you know we were going to attack? And what makes you say we're going to fail?"
"That's what Sir Metz told me," Joan said. "Lent is a day of fasting, a time to put aside our fighting spirit. It would be unjust for us to start a war. And how long can our soldiers maintain their strength in the coming snowstorm? If the English prolong the battle, we have no chance of winning."
Botticur sat back down in his chair and looked at her.
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"Write a letter to the Crown Prince and tell him that he cannot take action at this time."
Botticur stared at her for a while, then burst out laughing.
"If I, a garrison commander in Vokul, wrote to the Crown Prince saying, 'A young woman asked me to tell you not to fight,' do you think he would listen?"
Joan of Arc did not back down: "My lord, you don't need to mention me. Just write it in your own name, saying that you have told the Crown Prince all the reasons you just gave, or you can send someone to see the Crown Prince right now."
Botticur remained silent for a long time.
"Do you know how far it is to see the Crown Prince from here? It's up to the Berlig, through the Burgundian and British-controlled areas! Even if I write a letter, Lent will have already begun by the time the Crown Prince receives it!" he roared.
"Then give me a horse, and I will go to see the Crown Prince myself. I can ride a horse, and I can ask for directions. We cannot watch our army be defeated!" Joan of Arc replied, head held high.
"It's too dangerous for a young girl like you to even get out of the champagne. You should go back first, and I'll talk to you later when I have time."
Joan of Arc opened her mouth, as if to say something, but Boccatur had already stood up, turned away, and ignored her. Joan of Arc could only swallow her words, bow, and turn to leave.
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The French have a so-called "Saintess," named Joan of Arc, born in Domrémy, a shepherdess. Since her audience with the Dauphin, the French people, both simple-minded and ignorant, have vied to call her "Saintess," a truly extreme example of the French distorting the truth and disregarding facts. At that time, the common people used a variety of names for her, with no consensus. The most common was "the witch of Domrémy"—because she repeatedly claimed to hear divine voices and see strange phenomena, the villagers initially regarded her as a monster and avoided her like the plague. After she joined the army, she was sometimes called "the maiden of Orléans," mainly because she appeared in Orléans, not as a title of respect. Other miscellaneous names included "daughter of Lorraine" and "country girl of Champagne," all spoken casually and without any sacred meaning.
The so-called "saintly woman" was a complete fabrication by the false king's faction, a tool used to bewitch the army and win over the nobility. Their clumsy methods and malicious intentions are utterly shameless. As for the woman herself, she was merely a village woman; a little courage was enough to thrust her into the limelight, revealing her wolfish ambitions. The false king's faction used such a bewitching woman to seduce the masses and then forced the church to acknowledge her canonization—a blatant violation of religious precepts. Such actions are a profound disgrace to the faithful.
—The Wars of Britain and France by Sir John Price