side, and Sir Robert's two soldiers behind her (Metz and Poulegny, no less—good, solid men) she became real to them in a way she had not been before. It was clear: She was a warrior, a soldier of God. And as they watched her, they realized they had missed her during the two weeks she'd been gone, missed the bright, hopeful feeling they got in their hearts whenever they saw her walking up the hill to the chapel each morning. As she rode past their houses with the two knights behind her, people came running out into the streets and cheered, "The Maid! The Maid returns!" Jehanne stopped her horse and allowed herself to feel for a moment the swelling wind of goodwill that was rising up around her, the sense of things gathering and shifting.
Perhaps,
she thought.
Perhaps.
45
There was an open bottle of red wine on the table when they entered the Le Royers' house. Thérèse was sitting at the table with a half-empty glass in front of her, furiously plucking feathers from a pheasant, its blue neck exposed on her knee. Letice was spinning by the fire, her eyes bright. A strange little smile on her face. "Curate was here to see you," Thérèse said. Her eyes flashed. Her voice was cold. "Says they want to perform an exorcism tomorrow, make sure you're not a witch. I said,'How do I know what she is?'"
"Thérèse," said Henri.
She ignored him. "Seemed like a normal enough girl at first, praying, God-fearing, but now, with this going about in boy's clothes, cutting off the hair, riding about the countryside unchaperoned with soldiers, I don't know." She gave her head a fierce little shake. "It's not right," she said.
The word
exorcism
was all Jehanne heard. It froze her blood.
Metz stepped forward. "Well of course they want to do an exorcism, mam. Have to make sure the girl's not sent by the Devil, don't they?" He smiled, but Thérèse's face remained set. "We've known this would most likely happen," he said finally.
"I didn't know, and I don't like it," Thérèse said. There was a new look about her—as if her eyes were closed, although they were not. "I tried to help her out, Durand being an old friend of Henri's and all, but it's six weeks now she's been sitting around my house, filling the air with her holy-mission nonsense, not lifting a finger to help with the cooking and cleaning, running around the countryside acting like she's so bloody important ..." She turned and looked at Jehanne with narrow eyes. "How long 'til you admit it's just a lie, a crazy bid for attention, and go home where you belong?"
Jehanne flushed deeply. "It is no lie, madam. And as for why I've stayed this long, you yourself said I was welcome to stay as long as it took."
"Not six bloody weeks!"
Jehanne said that if they did not want her there, she would leave.
Henri put his hand on her shoulder. "Now don't be hasty, Jehanne." Then to his wife: "We did say she could stay."
"We didn't know she'd turn into this," she said, flinging out her hand at Jehanne.
Jehanne spent the night in the church. It was cold, but a better cold than the cold at the Le Royers' house. She begged her saints to come to her, but they did not appear. There was only the drumming of rain on the roof. Rain pelting the stained glass, drilling into the mud of the churchyard. She watched the long blue shadows of the columns and arches in the candlelight, the tall black shadows of the trees outside, shaking in the wind. And she understood then what the old King had said about feeling as if he were made of glass.
If someone touches me, I'll shatter into a thousand pieces.
When she woke up, a long slant of sunlight was pouring in through the high window and she could feel its warmth on her cheek. Metz was there, shaking her shoulder and smiling down at her with his long sad face, his warm gray eyes. "Guess what?" he said.
46
Sir Robert had heard about the defeat of the French troops at Rouvray. The Battle of the Herrings, they were calling it. And it was as Jehanne had
Perhaps,
she thought.
Perhaps.
45
There was an open bottle of red wine on the table when they entered the Le Royers' house. Thérèse was sitting at the table with a half-empty glass in front of her, furiously plucking feathers from a pheasant, its blue neck exposed on her knee. Letice was spinning by the fire, her eyes bright. A strange little smile on her face. "Curate was here to see you," Thérèse said. Her eyes flashed. Her voice was cold. "Says they want to perform an exorcism tomorrow, make sure you're not a witch. I said,'How do I know what she is?'"
"Thérèse," said Henri.
She ignored him. "Seemed like a normal enough girl at first, praying, God-fearing, but now, with this going about in boy's clothes, cutting off the hair, riding about the countryside unchaperoned with soldiers, I don't know." She gave her head a fierce little shake. "It's not right," she said.
The word
exorcism
was all Jehanne heard. It froze her blood.
Metz stepped forward. "Well of course they want to do an exorcism, mam. Have to make sure the girl's not sent by the Devil, don't they?" He smiled, but Thérèse's face remained set. "We've known this would most likely happen," he said finally.
"I didn't know, and I don't like it," Thérèse said. There was a new look about her—as if her eyes were closed, although they were not. "I tried to help her out, Durand being an old friend of Henri's and all, but it's six weeks now she's been sitting around my house, filling the air with her holy-mission nonsense, not lifting a finger to help with the cooking and cleaning, running around the countryside acting like she's so bloody important ..." She turned and looked at Jehanne with narrow eyes. "How long 'til you admit it's just a lie, a crazy bid for attention, and go home where you belong?"
Jehanne flushed deeply. "It is no lie, madam. And as for why I've stayed this long, you yourself said I was welcome to stay as long as it took."
"Not six bloody weeks!"
Jehanne said that if they did not want her there, she would leave.
Henri put his hand on her shoulder. "Now don't be hasty, Jehanne." Then to his wife: "We did say she could stay."
"We didn't know she'd turn into this," she said, flinging out her hand at Jehanne.
Jehanne spent the night in the church. It was cold, but a better cold than the cold at the Le Royers' house. She begged her saints to come to her, but they did not appear. There was only the drumming of rain on the roof. Rain pelting the stained glass, drilling into the mud of the churchyard. She watched the long blue shadows of the columns and arches in the candlelight, the tall black shadows of the trees outside, shaking in the wind. And she understood then what the old King had said about feeling as if he were made of glass.
If someone touches me, I'll shatter into a thousand pieces.
When she woke up, a long slant of sunlight was pouring in through the high window and she could feel its warmth on her cheek. Metz was there, shaking her shoulder and smiling down at her with his long sad face, his warm gray eyes. "Guess what?" he said.
46
Sir Robert had heard about the defeat of the French troops at Rouvray. The Battle of the Herrings, they were calling it. And it was as Jehanne had
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