Epitaph for Three Women (37 page)

There were visitors to her cell. Five important gentlemen had come to see her. She recognised Jean, Count of Luxembourg immediately. Three of the others she did not know. Luxembourg told her who they were. The great Earl of Warwick who was tutor to the young King of England; the Earl of Stafford who held a high place on the English Council; the Count’s brother, Bishop of Thérouanne; and the fifth was Aimond de Macy, a man who had come to see her at Beaurevoir.

She did not hope for help from any of these men. The English she knew were out to destroy her; she distrusted Luxembourg and any friend of his; as for Aimond de Macy he had offended her deeply when he had come, out of curiosity, to see her and had declared that properly dressed and groomed she would be a pretty girl. He had commented that she had very pretty breasts and had tried to handle them. He had laughed afterwards at the fierceness with which he had been repulsed.

For what then could she hope from such visitors?

Luxembourg who felt an irresistible desire to tease her knowing how frightened she must be to have fallen into the hands of the English – into which he had sold her – said: ‘Good day to you, Joan.’ They used the English version of her name now because it was what the English called her.

‘Why do you come here?’ she asked.

‘I have come to buy you back on condition that you promise never to take up arms against us again.’

Why did he say such a thing? She knew it was only to tease her, to raise her hopes that they might be dashed again and she would then feel even greater depression than she did now.

‘I know full well that you are mocking me,’ she told him. ‘You have no desire to do what you say … nor have you the power.’

‘I swear to you …’ began Luxembourg.

‘Have a care on whose name you swear your falsehoods,’ she retorted. ‘I know the English will kill me. They believe that when I am dead they can regain the realm of France. Is that not so?’

She looked defiantly at the Earls of Warwick and Suffolk who were watching her closely.

She laughed mockingly. ‘I will tell you this; that if there were a hundred thousand more English in France than there are at this moment, they shall never reconquer the realm. That belongs to our King Charles the Seventh … the anointed of God and so shall it remain.’

The Earl of Stafford had grown white with anger. He was known to be an impulsive man. He drew his dagger and moved towards Jeannette.

Warwick drew Stafford back. ‘Have a care,’ he whispered. ‘Would you strike a girl?’

It was an end to the visit; Warwick’s desire now was to get away.

Jeannette sank onto her pallet. For a moment she had thought the enraged earl was going to plunge the dagger into her breast. She had almost longed for him to do so. Then there would have been an end to her misery.

She thought about Warwick. Was that a hint of pity she had seen in his eyes? It might have been. But he was a calm, shrewd man. He knew that Joan of Arc killed by the dagger of an angry English earl would have remained a martyr whose spirit would have marched on with the French armies after she was gone.

No. These English were going to prove her a witch. They had to. So perhaps it was for that reason that Warwick had restrained the Earl of Suffolk.

Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, was in charge of the case against Jeannette because she had been taken in Compiègne which was in his diocese.

He knew that it was expected of him to prove her to be a witch. His masters desired it of him. It was the only possible verdict. Joan of Arc must be shown to be a creature in league with the Devil and evil spirits.

Pierre Cauchon was an ambitious man; although he had risen high in the Church he sought, in addition, to try his talents outside it.

He had ingratiated himself both with Henry the Fifth and the Duke of Bedford. He had supported John of Burgundy when he had been putting forward his case for murdering the Duke of Orléans and for that reason he had won the gratitude of Philip of Burgundy.

When he was fifty he had become Bishop of Beauvais; he was at this time sixty and one of the richest priests in France. A tall, broad man with rugged features, he had a powerful presence. His confidence in himself was complete. He was avaricious and not too scrupulous. He was the man Bedford needed to give the verdict which was so necessary to him.

So while Jeannette waited in her prison he was preparing the case against her.

One day Jeannette was told by her gaolers that as a great concession a fellow prisoner was being allowed to visit her. He came from Lorraine, her own province, and he was a cobbler named Nicholas Loiseleur.

Jeannette was delighted and wondered why her gaolers, who had so far shown so little concern for her comfort, should send her a companion.

Nicholas Loiseleur was a gentle creature; he was some forty years of age and his voice was soft. He spoke with an accent which had a hint of Lorraine in it but sometimes he lapsed into a more educated tongue.

He was very sympathetic and asked Jeannette a great many questions about her home in Domrémy. He was very interested in her childhood and he asked about the fairies and the dancing round the tree.

Had she ever seen fairies? he wanted to know.

She told him that she had only heard of them and had never seen them herself. She believed her godmother had seen them or so she had heard.

Then he wanted to know about her voices.

She began to notice that on his visits he talked little about himself, and suddenly it occurred to her that he had not the hands of a cobbler.

She tried to turn the questions and ask about him; and when his answers were not very satisfactory her suspicions were aroused. She noticed that he always spoke in a loud voice and that he turned his face towards the door.

What was this? Another enemy when she thought she had a friend!

It was a well known trick of the Holy Office to trap people, to lead them to betray themselves and to have some eavesdropper taking notes. So this was the function of her cobbler friend.

Was there no end to the humiliations to which she must be submitted? It seemed not. One day a great lady came to her cell – no less than the Duchess of Bedford who was also the sister of the Duke of Burgundy.

She had come in the company of two others to test Jeannette’s virginity.

The Duchess spoke with a gentleness and understanding of this violation of Jeannette’s privacy.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘that this must be inflicted on you, but I am convinced that you are a pure maiden and if we can testify to this it will be very helpful to you in your coming trial.’

‘And if I refuse?’ asked Jeannette.

‘Alas, they will take no refusal.’

There was something very kind about the Duchess. There was no prurience in her manner such as that to which Jeannette had so often been subjected.

‘I promise you,’ said the Duchess, ‘that I and my helpers will conduct this examination with as much speed and privacy as we can. Please submit. I assure you it is better that you help us rather than resist.’

Jeannette, knowing what the result would be and taking a liking to the Duchess who seemed so different from her tormentors and reminded her of the kindness of the ladies of Luxembourg, submitted to the examination.

When it was completed the Duchess said: ‘You are indeed a maid and shame on those who have called you harlot. Rest assured all shall know the result of this examination and I want to send you a tailor who will make clothes for you.’

She went to the gaolers whom she had dismissed during the operation and said to them: ‘Joan of Arc is a good girl. Pray treat her with the respect you would like others to show to your daughters.’

Jeannette lay on her pallet after the Duchess had gone and her spirits were lifted a little. It was comforting to know that there were some in the world who could be kind to her.

The Duchess was true to her word and a few days later her tailor, Johannot Simon, called to measure Jeannette for some clothes.

Unfortunately the man thought he could make free with the prisoner. He was rewarded with a blow on the ear which sent him reeling across the cell.

The guards were amused. Two of them had suffered themselves.

The tailor had learned his lesson too. Joan of Arc was no ordinary prisoner.

In the chapel royal of the castle of Rouen the trial of Joan of Arc was about to begin.

The most important figure in the court was Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais. Seated on the dais he looked magnificent in his robes of scarlet edged with gold filigree. On either side of him seated in the carved seats were the forty assessors clad in their black robes – a startling contrast to the red splash of colour provided by Cauchon.

Jeannette was a sorry figure – emaciated, pale, still in chains and wearing the clothes in which she had gone to battle she was a sight to arouse pity. But those assembled in the court had not come to feel pity but to do the bidding of their masters.

There was a great uproar from without. Voices could be heard shouting against her. They were the English who had feared when she came against them. They called her the Devil’s milkmaid, Satan’s cow girl, the whore of Domrémy. It mattered not that she was proclaimed a virgin; they would not give up their belief that she was from the Devil, because the only other alternative was that she came from God and that was something they dared not believe.

The scribes seated below the dais stared about them in consternation; they had never before known such a tumult in a court of this nature and were uncertain how to act. The prisoner appeared to be calmer than anyone. She sat pale and aloof as though she did not care that her life was at stake.

Finally Cauchon succeeded in establishing order. He told Jeannette that she must swear to answer the whole truth.

She considered this carefully. ‘But I do not know what questions you will ask,’ she pointed out. ‘It may be that you will ask about something I cannot tell you.’

Cauchon said: ‘Will you swear to do as you are told?’

‘No,’ she answered. ‘I can tell you of my home, of my parents and what I have done since I took the road to France. But what God has revealed to me I will not tell except to Charles the King.’

They were wasting time, said Cauchon. She must take the oath otherwise her evidence would be worthless. But he had to agree that she should answer questions about her actions and her faith but might not find she could do so about her visions.

If she would not take the oath and answer all the questions put to her Cauchon could have condemned her right away, but that would not have suited the Duke of Bedford. He wanted to expose her, and the King of France with her, as dabblers in witchcraft. That was what Cauchon’s masters expected of him and it was to his advantage to please them.

The first session had come to an end. It seemed to have been completely taken up by formalities. As Jeannette was about to leave the Court Cauchon said to her: ‘I must warn you. Should you attempt to escape it will go ill with you.’

‘If the opportunity to escape came, I should take it,’ she retorted. ‘It is every prisoner’s right and I have never promised anyone not to do so.’

‘Are you aware that you are the prisoner of Holy Church, and that it is a terrible crime to wish to be free of that Church?’

‘I have promised to no one that I should not escape,’ she answered stubbornly.

‘Do you believe you have God’s permission to leave prison?’

‘Yes. If the opportunity was given me I should take it.’

When the Court was cleared Cauchon discussed the proceedings with the assessors. How could they know what the girl would say next? Young and ignorant as she was, she was a powerful adversary. They would have to tread very carefully.

Later he talked to Jean Beaupère, a former rector of the University of Paris who had been assigned to assist him in the cross-examination. Cauchon had great respect for Beaupère. He was a shrewd man, learned in the ways of the law as well as in those of the Church. He was a man of calm, clear judgement and he had argued that under clever cross-examination a simple peasant girl would destroy herself; and when Cauchon said she could be condemned after her first appearance in Court it was Beaupère who pointed out it would be better for her to entangle herself. There would be repercussions, they could be sure. They wanted a clear case of heresy and witchcraft. They wanted the Inquisition to find her guilty and hand her over to the secular arm for sentence which would be – as it was for witchcraft – burning at the stake.