The Crown of the Hundred Years' War

Chapter 23 The Champagne Shepherdess

In Vaucouleur, Jeanne got up early to continue the work she hadn't finished the day before—the little garment she had promised to give to the newborn was just a few stitches away.

She sat by the window, finishing the last stitch in the morning light, examining the soft fabric in her hands, a slight smile playing on her lips. Suddenly, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from outside. Luo Ye looked up in the courtyard, squinted to see who it was, and was startled. She quickly put down her plane and jogged to open the door.

"Commander Botticul! What brings you here?" Royer asked, bowing slightly, his voice trembling with unease. "That carriage should be fixed today; I'm having the helpers work on it as quickly as possible—"

Botticur dismounted, shoved the reins into Royer's hand, pushed him aside, and walked straight into the courtyard: "I didn't come looking for you. Where's the little girl?"

Jeanne sighed. She folded the little dress neatly and placed it gently on the bedside table. Then she pulled a suitcase out from under the bed—her luggage, which she had packed long ago and could take with her at any time since the first day she moved into Royer's house. She changed her shoes, picked up the suitcase, and turned around just in time to bump into Royer, who had rushed into the house looking for her.

"Thank you for your care these past few days, Mr. Royer." Jeanne bowed to him. "Madam is resting, so I won't disturb her. I hope to see you again someday."

Royer opened his mouth, somewhat bewildered, gave a perfunctory bow, and followed her back to the courtyard. Jeanne stood in the courtyard and saw that Botticul had an empty horse behind him, led by Metz. She asked Botticul, "My lord, has there been a defeat at the front?"

Botticur nodded, his expression more somber than usual: "Aren't you supposed to see the Crown Prince? Pack your things, we're leaving tomorrow."

Jeanne glanced at the empty horse, then refused Metz's help. She hung the trunk on the saddle and mounted the horse.

"No need for tomorrow," she said. "Let's go now."

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In Vaucouleur's castle, Botticour spread a tattered map on the table, weighing it down with paperweights at the four corners. Jeanne stood by the table, looking down at the dense lines and markings.

"The messenger was sent out early this morning," Botticul pointed to the map, "but I can't guarantee whether the Crown Prince will see you. If you ask me, nine out of ten would think you're a crazy girl. So we'll have to find our own way to Tours." He patted the map, "I'm also giving you this unique map of Vokuler; don't lose it."

Jeanne's gaze fell on the red circles on the left side of the map: "What are these red circles? Quickly fill in the area around Vaucouleur."

Botticour pointed at the largest red circle, cursing, "That's the Burgundians' territory! The most dangerous place is Balequí—the gateway to Champagne, where Burgundian patrols are always on the move! So you have to listen to Metz the whole way and try to travel at night."

Metz stood to the side, asking hesitantly, "Sir, aren't you coming along? I've never been to Tours before."

Botticul smacked Metz hard on the back with his elbow, making him stagger forward. "You think I was there? We're both gone. Who's going to take over Vokuler? You've been busy with everything—finding horses, finding help—who's going to lead the team if you don't?" He sighed, shrank back into his chair, and lowered his voice. "I was supposed to find you a guide, but we lost so badly in Orleans this time, I've already wasted too much time. This girl needs to be sent away quickly."

Jeanne examined the map carefully again, then rolled it up and tucked it into the leather tube beside her. "My lord," she said, "I've memorized it. Once we leave Champagne, we can head towards Orléans; perhaps we'll encounter the Crown Prince's army on the way."

Botticour stood up and waved to Metz: "Go and gather your 'Knights.' We're heading to Domrémy immediately." He glanced at Jeanne, "And find her some men's clothing that's comfortable for riding."

Jeanne, who was putting her hair up, looked up when she heard this: "Why are you going back to Don Remy? I brought all my luggage with me."

Botticur laughed and cursed as he walked out, "If I had kidnapped old Jacques' daughter without even saying hello, I'd be getting pitchforks when I go to collect taxes this year!"

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Jeanne changed into a tight-fitting short top and stockings and came out of the house. To her surprise, she found that Metz had brought quite a few people with him: one was a familiar knight squire, and the other three were garrison soldiers she had prayed with.

“They’re all willing to go with you,” Metz said. “Through Burgundy territory, up a hundred leagues.”

Jeanne walked up to each person and bowed to them one by one. The servant scratched his head awkwardly, the infantryman straightened his back, and the archer just smiled sheepishly.

Botticur urged impatiently from his horse, "Alright, alright, we'll get to know each other on the way. Let's go!"

What used to take half a day to walk, now only takes a short while on horseback. When the village came into view in the distance, Jeanne was still a little dazed—before she could even process what had happened on the way, the caravan had already stopped at the village entrance.

A large crowd had gathered in the village. Jeanne paused for a moment, then remembered—today was the last Sunday before Lent, and Domrémi held a carnival mass every year. Men, women, and children from the entire village, dressed in clean clothes, were gathered in the open space chatting.

Old Jacques and the priest emerged from the crowd, and upon seeing the small cavalry unit, they were initially taken aback. The priest recognized the banners of Botticul and stepped forward to salute: "Sir, has something happened at the front, and is it necessary to conscript the militia?"

Before Bottocourt could speak, old Jacques caught sight of Jeanne at the back of the group. He paused, then his expression changed drastically: "Jeanne! Why are you dressed as a man? And riding a horse?"

The villagers gathered around, pointing and whispering. Jeanne lowered her head, wishing she could bury her face in the horse's mane.

Botticour dismounted and strode to the platform where the priest was preparing to preach. He waved to the villagers and roared as if issuing a command: "I am the commander of Vaucouleur Castle! It was my idea for old Jacques' daughter to dress as a man, because a high-ranking nobleman wants to see her! Dressing as a man is to avoid being checked by the Burgundians along the way. Fellow villagers, do not spread this word; leaking military secrets will result in being paraded in chains!"

Old Jacques grew even more anxious upon hearing this. He ran down from the stage, looked up, and shouted, "Sir, who wants to see my daughter? How could such important figures possibly know about her, an unmarried village girl? Please don't make fun of me. Last time your servant came, he only said that she should come to see you!"

Botticur paused for a moment. Standing on the platform, he looked at the villagers whispering among themselves and lowered his voice: "For the past six months, your daughter's predictions about the war have been absolutely accurate. As the commander of Vokulir, it is my responsibility to report the situation. Now she is going to see the Crown Prince. You don't need to worry too much; those who are going with her have sworn to protect her."

Old Jacques was so anxious he couldn't speak. He tugged at the priest's sleeve, trying to get him to speak up, but the priest himself didn't understand what was going on. Old Jacques had no choice but to turn around, grab his daughter's hand, and half-drag, half-pull her off the horse, trying to take her home.

Jeanne dismounted but stopped. No matter how hard old Jacques tried, he couldn't pull her up an inch. She took her father's hand and pulled him back.

"Father," Jeanne said, "I have to go. The Crown Prince's cause is about to fail. I am the shepherdess of Champagne, and a subject of France. I must go and save our country."

Old Jacques's hands trembled. He looked around, and Isabella, tears streaming down her face, came over, embraced Joan of Arc, and slowly shook her head at him. Old Jacques opened his mouth, as if to say something, but nothing came out. He suddenly deflated, swayed, and was supported by his eldest son.

Suddenly, someone in the crowd shouted, "Sir! I'm Durand, Jeanne's cousin! Do you need a guide? I've been to Troyes!"

Botticul laughed loudly, slapping his thigh: "Good lad! We're just in need of a guide. If you're not afraid of dying, come along!"

Before Duran could even reply, old Jacques suddenly jumped up as if he'd been stepped on, grabbed Pierre, who was eager to try something, and covered his mouth tightly. Pierre struggled and mumbled, but his father dragged him to the back of the crowd.

Botticour watched the mime performance by the father and son with great interest. Turning around, he found Jeanne surrounded by a crowd and unable to leave. He looked away, then at the rather small group in front of him, and suddenly asked, "Metz, how many years have you been with me?"

Metz paused for a moment, then thought for a moment: "Almost eight years, sir. It's been almost three years since I completed my servant training."

Botticul nodded, gesturing for him to dismount.

"You're about to lead a group to see the Crown Prince. Those nobles are all so arrogant. I'm just a nobody in front of them, let alone a mere servant like you. Anyway, I've taught you everything I needed to. I'll just give you a knighthood right here and now."

Before Metz could react, Botticul had already drawn his sword. Metz quickly knelt on one knee, and Botticul struck him heavily on both shoulders with the tip of his sword, loudly proclaiming:

"As a knight, you must protect the church and remain loyal to your sovereign!"

Then, he sheathed the sword and handed it over: "Take this sword. If the battlefield is perilous, I would rather die in battle than dishonor the honor of a knight."

Metz knelt on one knee, about to swear allegiance—his lips moved, but he hesitated.

He stood up, sword raised high, and walked up to Joan of Arc. All eyes were on him.

"I swear by my faith that I will bring you safely to the King, no matter the cost."

Joan of Arc looked at the newly minted knight and, without hesitation, reached out and took his sword.