The Crown of the Hundred Years' War

Chapter 14 The Witch of Domrémy

In late April, the village of Domremi welcomed the wool season. Every household was eager to shear the wool that had grown all year, hoping to exchange it for valuable currency when the merchants arrived. The village chief's family was the largest sheep farmer in the entire village, and they were so busy shearing that Isabella had to ask her eldest daughter to come and help.

"Jeanne, you grab the lamb leg! This is the last one in this pen!"

Isabella, holding a huge pair of wool shears, pinned down a sheep. Jeanne ran over and grabbed the sheep's four legs tightly, one in front and one behind. The sheep bleated incessantly, but Jeanne held it firmly, unable to move for a long time, until the shearing was finished and she was finally released.

Isabella gathered the wool, sat down, and wiped her sweat with a cloth. She wanted to wipe Jeanne's sweat too, but found she wasn't sweating at all. She reached out and touched Jeanne's soft hair, exclaiming, "My Jeanne is such a capable worker! Not only is she skillful, but she's also very strong. If she were a little more familiar with the kitchen, she'd be worthy of marrying a knight!"

Jeanne's ears turned slightly red, and she simply nodded silently without saying a word.

Isabella was about to say something more when she heard shouts from afar. She looked closely and saw Pierre and Jean.

As they approached, she asked with some confusion, "Weren't you supposed to be called to join the militia and guard against the Burgundians? Why are you back?"

Pierre walked over excitedly, grabbed a poor, hairless lamb, and rubbed its head while laughing, "The Burgundians have all been scared away! The sergeant from Vaucouleur said that the Burgundians haven't come near here since spring. I think our victory last year frightened them; the Burgundians are about to surrender!"

He took the wool from his mother and started stuffing it into the sack, then said, "Pierre, don't talk nonsense. The Burgundians didn't come this year, but it has nothing to do with surrendering. The sergeant said they might have gone somewhere else. We were shearing sheep recently, so we came back with a few villagers before dawn."

Isabella nodded, watching as Jean gathered the wool and then walked to another pen of sheep. Pierre also came over to help Jean hold the sheep's legs, but he was a little unsteady, and the sheep kept struggling, jumping even more violently. Jeanne wanted to help him, but Pierre refused.

Isabella sighed and said to her eldest daughter, "Jeanne, you go home and take care of Catherine. The two of them can help here."

Jeanne nodded toward Pierre and turned to walk home. When she reached the gate, she found her father and older brother there.

Jeanne asked, somewhat puzzled, "Dad, why are you and Jacques back too?"

Jacques greeted them and explained, "You don't know, Uncle Durand is back. He said he'll go to Vaucouleur tomorrow to help with the wool sales. We think cutting the grass isn't urgent; let's get the wool sorted first."

Jeanne recounted the story of her two brothers' return. The middle-aged man listened with some doubt: "Your Uncle Durand came back from Troyes. He said there are particularly few Burgundians there this year, it seems they've all gone west, but the local demand for grain and cloth is greater than in previous years. He wants to organize a small caravan to sell our grain and wool there."

Jeanne seemed lost in thought. The middle-aged man glanced at her and instructed, "Jeanne, why don't you go and ask the priest if he needs any help? Now that Jean and Pierre are back, the family has enough help. May Day is coming up soon, the priest might need your assistance."

Jeanne nodded and walked toward the church. From afar, she could see a tall poplar tree, stripped of its branches and leaves, already standing at the church entrance, its trunk straight. The priest was directing his servants to decorate it with a floral crown—wild roses, daisies, and fresh laurel leaves woven together, wrapped in red and green around the trunk, like dressing the bare poplar in a flowery coat.

The priest saw Jeanne coming and waved to her.

Jeanne went over, briefly explained what had happened at home that day, and asked the priest if he needed her help hanging the flower wreath.

The priest thought for a moment and then smiled, “Good girl, we can handle these things. You said Durand is going to Vaucouleur tomorrow, so you need to ask him if he can borrow a holy icon from the town church so I can hang it on this ‘May Column’*.”

Jeanne agreed and headed towards the east end of the village. When she arrived at Dürren's house, she ran into him just as he was leaving. Jeanne called out loudly, "Uncle!" and stopped him.

Dürren was wearing a wool coat and a wool hat. The hat looked quite strange: a ring on his head and the other part hanging down to his ears, like a large ear. He saw Jeanne and said with a smile, "Jeanne, my dear niece, you've grown even more beautiful after all this winter. What brings you here?"

Jeanne relayed the priest's request. Dürren shook his head, looking troubled: "How big must the icon be? I'm going to find the carpenter now to ask how my cart is being repaired. I'm walking there tomorrow, and I might have to bring back some groceries. If it's too big, I won't be able to carry it."

Jeanne paused for a moment before speaking, "How about I go with my uncle? I carried the crucifix through the entire Assumption of Mary procession, so carrying a holy icon back this time isn't a big deal."

Dürren hesitated. He looked closely at Jeanne's strong arms before asking, "My dear Jeanne, have you ever been to Vaucouleur? That's a three-mile journey! We'd have to set off before dawn to barely make it for lunch, and then we'd have to travel through the night on the way back! Why don't you call your brothers instead?"

Jeanne shook her head: "My brothers need to shear the sheep, and Catherine is too young. Uncle, don't underestimate me just because I'm a girl. I never complain when I work, and I can walk this short distance."

Dylan hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Well then, good girl, go back and ask your parents if they agree. If they do, let me know, and we'll have to leave before dawn tomorrow."

Jeanne agreed, said goodbye to her uncle, and went home.

At dinner, she recounted the whole story. Before anyone else could speak, Pierre exploded: "What's Jeanne, a girl, going to do? I'll go for her tomorrow! I can carry a saint's icon!"

The middle-aged man stood up abruptly, pushed Pierre back into his seat, and yelled, "If you go to Vaucouleur, won't Domrémy lose a farmer and gain a soldier next year? No one else is allowed to go!"

He turned to Jeanne and said, "Logically, I shouldn't let you go. But things are busy at home, and you're sixteen this year, a grown woman now. It's good for you to see the world. Dürren is a reliable man; he's traveled all over the country for so many years without ever making a mistake. Go with him to Vaucouleur. But you must bring a dagger for self-defense, and you must listen to your uncle in everything."

Isabella stepped in to smooth things over, telling Pierre to pass a message to Dürren, then turned back and instructed, "Jeanne, I've heard that Governor Botticour, who governs that town, is a man of bad temper. When you go, you must avoid the castle and the military camp."

Jeanne tossed and turned in bed all night, unable to sleep. She was groggily woken by her mother in the early morning; it was time to leave.

Isabella handed her a small bag containing some copper coins and food, gave her a new pair of deerskin boots, carefully tucked the dagger into the side, and then told her to go and meet her uncle.

When Jeanne met Uncle Dylan at the village entrance, she was still somewhat dazed. She followed him for a while before fully coming to her senses. Looking back, the village was already a blurry outline in the rising sun.

They walked until dawn, reaching the next village. Jeanne saw several men in the fields by the roadside. Upon closer inspection, she was stunned—the men, hunched over, shirtless, were pulling an old, wheelless plow. The ropes dug into their flesh, leaving bloody welts all over their bodies, yet they didn't utter a sound, gritting their teeth and continuing to pull. Even the one holding the plow was a child, seemingly younger than Catherine, who struggled to steer even with such a small plow, pressing down with all his might.

Dürren noticed it too. He pulled the stunned Jeanne along and whispered, "These people have lost their livestock, and no one has the spare capacity this season, so they can only plow like this. This is all the Burgundy people's fault, a Pyrrhic victory. It's even worse in the west. Don't take it to heart."

Jeanne was being pulled forward by her uncle, but the muffled groans from those men seemed to keep echoing in her ears, and the bloodstains on their bodies kept flashing before her eyes.

When the sun was high in the sky, they finally arrived at Vokuler.

It was a small town surrounded by low walls, with hundreds of households crammed together, and a small castle peeking out from the top of the walls in the center.

D'Urrand led Jeanne to sit down at the town entrance, where they exchanged a few coins for some grape juice and ate a simple meal. He then took Jeanne to the church, explained their purpose, and easily borrowed a holy icon. However, D'Urrand still had business to attend to, so he told Jeanne to wait near the market until he was finished.

Jeanne sat by the roadside, clutching the icon, watching the people coming and going in the town, her mind still on the farmers she had seen tilling the fields that morning. A few townspeople chatted nearby, and when she heard one of them say he was from Paris, Jeanne leaned closer and asked, "Sir, what's the situation in Paris now? Are the English being so cruel there?"

Seeing that it was a young girl, the man didn't put on airs. Instead, he sighed and said, "I'm not a real Parisian. I just do business there. The situation in Paris has been terrible these past few years. They can't even supply enough food, and there are wolves outside the city walls. Before winter was even over, they said they needed to raise food for the army, and the whole city would have to pay more taxes. I just couldn't stay there any longer, so I went back to my hometown."

Jeanne wanted to ask more questions, but the man was surrounded by others. Lost in thought, she saw a messenger dressed as a soldier rush past her, heading towards the castle. She suddenly stood up and followed him, only to be stopped by guards at the castle gate.

A tall guard asked, "Young lady, what can I do for you?"

Jeanne gritted her teeth, hugged the icon even tighter, and said, "I am Joan of Arc of Domrémy, the eldest daughter of old Jacques in the village. I wish to see your commander; I have important news to report!"

The two guards exchanged glances. The taller one asked again, "What is it? Can you tell me first? Lord Botticul is very busy and doesn't see people casually."

Jeanne kept shaking her head, but insisted that this matter was very important.

A young man, clearly an officer, stepped forward, inquired about the situation, and introduced himself to Jeanne: "I am Jean de Metz, the squire of Commander Bottocourt. I must warn you, Lord Bottocourt will not see a little girl unless there is military intelligence."

Jeanne bit her lip and finally managed to say, "It's military intelligence, very important military intelligence. I must see him before I can tell you."

Metz looked her over again, then leaned closer and whispered, "Don't lie. According to military orders, lying about military intelligence will result in being paraded in shackles for three days. Even if you're a girl, Lord Botticul won't let you off the hook."

Jeanne persisted, and Metz, having no other option, went inside to relay the message. When he came out, he was followed by a man in armed clothing, who was cursing and swearing as he walked towards the door.

The man saw Jeanne holding the icon and burst out laughing: "What military intelligence could you possibly have, you little brat? Metz, are you out of your mind? If she wants a few coins, just give them to her!"

Jeanne's ears turned red. She took a deep breath, calmed herself, and replied, "Lord Botrycourt, I am not some little child; I am Joan of Domrémy. I have come to inform you that the Burgundians are about to advance westward in conjunction with the English, most likely towards Orléans. Please inform the Dauphin immediately and prepare for defense!"

Botticour laughed even more exaggeratedly, bending over with laughter. A guard tried to help him up, but he waved his hand and straightened up. His face, however, was no longer smiling, only filled with anger. He roared at Joan of Arc, "You country bumpkin, what do you know about the Burgundians? Are you a Burgundian spy, or someone hired to make fun of me and laugh at me, Botticour?"

This time, Joan of Arc was no longer afraid. She held the icon she held high: "My lord, I am the daughter of the village chief of Domrémy. You can ask any villager in Domrémy, and they will all know me! This icon is one I just borrowed from the church; let it bear witness that if I am lying, may I go to Hellfire!"

Botticour's anger subsided slightly, but she still asked fiercely, "Even if what you say is true, how could a country girl like you know what the Burgundians are doing? Are you a witch or the devil? Did Philip think you were cute and write you in a love letter?"

Joan of Arc hugged the icon back to her arms, straightened her posture, and replied, "My lord, I know what the Burgundians are doing because my uncle went to Troyes. He said the Burgundian army went east and was buying grain and cloth. There isn't a single Burgundian around here this year, and I've also heard that the English have moved south earlier than usual. Doesn't this mean they are cooperating with the English to attack our western lands?"

Botticul laughed again, but this time he stopped quickly. He waved his hand at Joan of Arc: "I thought you really had some intelligence, but it turns out it's just the wild speculation of a country bumpkin. You've never been on a battlefield in your life, so what makes you think you can deduce what the army is up to based on rumors?"

Joan of Arc opened her mouth to speak, but Botticul had already turned around and said to Metz beside her, "Quickly get this Domrémy witch out of here. I don't want to hear her spouting any more nonsense. I'll let you off this time because you're young. But if you dare to utter another word of nonsense, I'll whip you in public!"

Seeing that Jeanne was about to say something, Metz quickly covered her mouth and dragged her away. He kept pulling her until they were out of Botticul's reach before stopping and whispering, "My dear girl, please don't say anything more. Lord Botticul is in a bad mood lately, you should go home!"

Jeanne stood by the roadside, clutching the icon, her arms tightening around it. She stood there until the sun began to set, when Dylan, who had been searching for her, finally found her and pulled her away.

Everything in Vokullar was as usual, as if such a "witch" had never been there.

In mid-May, a messenger rushed into the castle, handed a letter to Botticul, and then hurriedly left. Botticul read the letter, his face changed drastically, the letter slipped from his hand, and he muttered to himself as he walked back to the second floor.

Metz picked up the letter with a puzzled look. It was quite long, but a few lines stood out starkly:

The English marched south from Paris, joining the Burgundians in a full-scale siege of the fortresses north of the Loire River. Meanwhile, the eastern regions were tasked with gathering as many supplies and troops as possible to reinforce the fortresses.

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There are two versions of the story regarding this woman's attempt to see Commander Vaucouleur. One version says she had never left Domrémy before, while the other says she had visited Vaucouleur many times. Regardless of which version is true, her actions were presumptuous—a village girl, unsummoned, seeking an audience with a royal officer and discussing matters of state—such arrogance is truly rare. Botticur's expulsion of her was already magnanimous. Yet, this woman remained undeterred, returning the following January, displaying utter stubbornness.

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The Wars of Britain and France by Sir John Price

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*Maypole is a traditional festive column erected in the spring to celebrate May Day. This festival is still popular in Western Europe today, but it did not originate from a Catholic festival. Although churches in different regions have different attitudes, the church in France generally adopts a "transformation" strategy—integrating the Maypole with the Christian festival.