activa-t Chapter 27 The Girl from Orleans
Chapter 27 The Girl from Orleans
A small convoy arrived at Chinon Castle. Unlike usual, Atil personally led a whole squad of guards to greet them at the gate.
Upon seeing the approaching group from afar, a handsome young man with blond hair rushed out from the caravan, galloped to the city gate, dismounted, and embraced Atil: "Cousin Atil, I thought I would never see you again."
Atil choked up slightly, "Jean, I also thought you'd met with misfortune after Vernay. Until last year, my elder brother wrote to me saying your wife was raising funds—the British didn't give you any trouble, did they?"
The young man loosened his arms, drew his sword, and revealed the Normandy family crest: "The English tortured me, trying to force me into submission. Fortunately, I successfully returned home this winter." He added with a wry smile, "Of course, I'm now the poorest man in all of France."
Atil patted him on the shoulder: "Don't think about those things now that you're back. Charlie missed you too. Stay in Shinon and get some rest."
Rang suppressed his smile: "Cousin, I've come to see His Majesty, not to reminisce. I've assembled an army to avenge the British. I wish to join the army that will relieve the siege of Orleans."
Seeing Atil's expressionless face and refusal to answer, he lowered his voice: "I already know—you've brought in a young girl to lead the army. But why not me?"
Atil rubbed her forehead and turned around: "Let's not talk about that witch. Let's talk as we walk."
-----------------
In Shinon's royal apartments, there was an armory displaying treasures collected by the royal family over the past two centuries. The most striking feature was the rows of armor. Many of these had once been worn by emperors, but they paled in comparison to the armor worn by the young girl. The blonde girl wore a complete set of well-fitting armor; a silver breastplate was etched with an iris flower, and protective plates were added to the joints. The edges of her limbs were outlined with gold thread.
She put on the armor, took a few steps, stretched her arms, and leaped a couple of times. Finally, she put on the helmet, looked around, and said, "Your Majesty, it fits perfectly. Although it's a bit heavy, it doesn't hinder my movements."
Charlotte looked at the familiar armor with satisfaction: "It fits perfectly. It seems our builds are indeed similar. This armor was originally made for me, and now it can finally be put to use."
Joan of Arc removed her helmet: "Your Majesty, this is your own armor. How can I wear it? What if you encounter danger on the battlefield?"
Charlotte shook her head: "I can't even walk thirty steps in it, let alone ride a horse. Giving it to you is the best use for it. Don't overthink it, go out and try it on, see if you can ride a horse in it."
Reno opened the door beside her, gesturing for Joan to follow. Joan didn't say anything more and followed Reno to the stable outside the apartment, only to find that besides the servants and Metz, Atil was also standing there with an unfamiliar man, watching from the sidelines.
Joan of Arc didn't think much of it and went straight to the stables to choose a horse. The groom pointed to a black horse and said, "Miss, this Palfriar mare is just five years old. Her gait is steady and smooth, perfect for you."
Joan of Arc glanced at the docile mare with a light saddle, shook her head, and walked deeper into the stable. Pointing to a magnificent stallion grazing—a horse almost taller than herself—she said, “That’ll do. Saddle me properly.”
The groom exclaimed, "Miss, you mustn't! This is a draft horse from Normandy, originally for plowing, and it's about to be delivered to the neighboring estate. It has a terrible temper and has never been trained; it's unfit to be a warhorse."
Joan of Arc watched it graze, then leaned closer to examine its hooves, before turning away and saying, "Much better than my old horse at home." She plucked two carrots from the side, held them in her hand, and offered them to the horse. The horse sniffed them, then opened its mouth wide to bite—cleverly avoiding Joan's iron handguards. Joan laughed, "Not bad, how come you can't be a warhorse? Give me the saddle."
While the groom hesitated, Joan of Arc picked up a heavy leather saddle with a gun rest, put it on the horse, tightened the girth, and then pulled on the reins. The horse refused to follow her and tried to turn back to eat its fodder. Joan of Arc slammed her elbow into the saddle, forcefully pulling it away from the trough, leading it out of the stable, and climbing on top of it.
Metz tried to help her up, but she stopped him with a raised hand. She shifted in the saddle, letting the horse circle once, take a couple of steps, and then nodded in satisfaction. She glanced at a scarecrow in the training area in front of the stable and suddenly said to Metz, "Give me a lance, I'll give it a try."
Metz was startled and shook his head repeatedly: "My dear girl, riding a lance is not an option. I served as a squire for three years before I was allowed to handle a lance. Charging with a lance in hand could easily send you flying! You should try running first to get familiar with the armor."
Joan of Arc wasn't annoyed. She simply urged the large horse toward the lance rack behind Metz. Metz reached out to take the reins and was nearly bitten, causing the others nearby to laugh. The blond man watching picked up a lance and a hook and handed them to Joan of Arc: "Attach this to your breastplate and hang the lance on it."
Joan of Arc nodded, examined the hook's structure, secured it to her breastplate, then locked her lance between her armpit and elbow, before spurring her horse toward the scarecrow.
Amidst gasps of surprise, she gradually accelerated, sweeping past the scarecrow—but nothing happened; she didn't even point the spear at its target. Just when everyone thought she was merely testing the waters, she deftly turned her horse around, returned, and accelerated again. This time, she gripped the stirrups tightly, half-stood up, and used her entire upper arm to firmly grip the spear shaft, charging towards the scarecrow. At the peak of her charge, she thrust the spear diagonally upward—with a snap, the shaft broke instantly, and the scarecrow was flung high into the air, flying far into the garden.
Everyone was stunned. It wasn't until Joan of Arc turned back and prepared to dismount that the infantrymen reacted, shouting cheers. The blond man reached out to help her, but Joan jumped down herself. She removed her helmet, a few beads of sweat glistening on her forehead, and asked the man, "May I ask who you are?"
The man was not angry. He bowed and said, "I am Jean II, Duke of Alençon—one of those who followed you to save Orléans."
-----------------
Although it was common for captured nobles to be demanded ransoms during the long wars between England and France, cases like the Duke of Alençon's were rare—the enormous sum of two hundred thousand gold écues nearly bankrupted the wealthy ducal family.
In the disastrous defeat at Vernay, the fifteen-year-old Duke of Alençon was captured by the English. His young wife, in an effort to rescue him, made almost any demand of the English, which fueled Bedford's ever-growing appetite, culminating in a horrifying sum—nearly seven years' worth of taxes from the entire Bourges region. During this time, the unfortunate lady was forced to sell her estate in Füger to the Duke of Brittany to raise the ransom.
This teaches us that the British are insatiable and greedy, and we must never give them any chance, or they will devour us alive.
-
Meditations by Jean-Jacques de Uyssen