These things were a bath to her spirits.
It was like old times, there at Saint-Pierre-le-Moutier, to see her
lead assault after assault, be driven back again and again, but
always rsally and charge anew, all in a blaze of eagerness and
delight; till at last the tempest of missiles rained so intolerably
thick that old D’Aulon, who was wounded, sounded the retreat (for
the King had charged him on his head to let no harm come to
Joan); and away everybody rushed after him–as he supposed; but
when he turned and looked, there were we of the staff still
hammering away; wherefore he rode back and urged her to come,
saying she was mad to stay there with only a dozen men. Her eye
danced merrily, and she turned upon him crying out:
“A dozen men! name of God, I have fifty thousand, and will never
budge till this place is taken!
Sound the charge!”
Which he did, and over the walls we went, and the fortress was
ours. Old D’Aulon thought her mind was wandering; but all she
meant was, that she felt the might of fifty thousand men surging in
her heart. It was a fanciful expression; but, to my thinking, truer
word was never said.
Then there was the affair near Lagny, where we charged the
intrenched Burgundians through the open field four times, the last
time victoriously; the best prize of it Franquet d’Arras, the
free-booter and pitiless scourge of the region roundabout.
Now and then other such affairs; and at last, away toward the end
of May, 1430, we were in the neighborhood of Compiegrave;gne,
and Joan resolved to go to the help of that place, which was being
besieged by the Duke of Burgundy.
I had been wounded lately, and was not able to ride without help;
but the good Dwarf took me on behind him, and I held on to him
and was safe enough. We started at midnight, in a sullen downpour
of warm rain, and went slowly and softly and in dead silence, for
we had to slip through the enemy’s lines. We were challenged only
once; we made no answer, but held our breath and crept steadily
and stealthily along, and got through without any accident. About
three or half past we reached CompiЉgne, just as the gray dawn
was breaking in the east.
Joan set to work at once, and concerted a plan with Guillaume de
Flavy, captain of the city–a plan for a sortie toward evening
against the enemy, who was posted in three bodies on the other
side of the Oise, in the level plain. From our side one of the city
gates communicated with a bridge. The end of this bridge was
defended on the other side of the river by one of those fortresses
called a boulevard; and this boulevard also commanded a raised
road, which stretched from its front across the plain to the village
of Marguy. A force of Burgundians occupied Marguy; another was
camped at Clairoix, a couple of miles above the raised road; and a
body of English was holding Venette, a mile and a half below it. A
kind of bow-and-arrow arrangement, you see; the causeway the
arrow, the boulevard at the feather-end of it, Marguy at the barb,
Venette at one end of the bow, Clairoix at the other.
Joan’s plan was to go straight per causeway against Marguy, carry
it by assault, then turn swiftly upon Clairoix, up to the right, and
capture that camp in the same way, then face to the rear and be
ready for heavy work, for the Duke of Burgundy lay behind
Clairoix with a reserve. Flavy’s lieutenant, with archers and the
artillery of the boulevard, was to keep the English troops from
coming up from below and seizing the causeway and cutting off
Joan’s retreat in case she should have to make one. Also, a fleet of
covered boats was to be stationed near the boulevard as an
additional help in case a retreat should become necessary.
It was the 24th of May. At four in the afternoon Joan moved out at
the head of six hundred cavalry–on her last march in this life!