John Grey burst into laughter at the sight of his friend.
‘You like me better, eh, little Maid?’ he said.
She brought up her knee and caught him. He reeled back. The other men at the door looked in. They saw the two notorious houspilleurs lying on the floor groaning.
They stared in amazement.
Jeannette stood there, the radiance still on her face. She lay down on her pallet. She could sleep now in peace. She knew that she was not completely deserted.
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.