windiest blusterer and most catholic liar in the kingdom. I’m glad
of his luck, but I hadn’t the seeing eye. I shouldn’t have chosen him
for the most dangerous post in the army. I should have placed him
in the rear to kill the wounded and violate the dead.”
“Well, we shall see. Joan probably knows what is in him better
than we do. And I’ll give you another idea. When a person in Joan
of Arc’s position tells a man he is brave, he believes it; and
believing it is enough; in fact, to believe yourself brave is to be
brave; it is the one only essential thing.”
“Now you’ve hit it!” cried No‰l. “She’s got the creating mouth as
well as the seeing eye! Ah, yes, that is the thing. France was cowed
and a coward; Joan of Arc has spoken, and France is marching,
with her head up!”
I was summoned now to write a letter from Joan’s dictation.
During the next day and night our several uniforms were made by
the tailors, and our new armor provided. We were beautiful to look
upon now, whether clothed for peace or war. Clothed for peace, in
costly stuffs and rich colors, the Paladin was a tower dyed with the
glories of the sunset; plumed and sashed and iron-clad for war, he
was a still statelier thing to look at.
Orders had been issued for the march toward Blois. It was a clear,
sharp, beautiful morning. As our showy great company trotted out
in column, riding two and two, Joan and the Duke of Alen‡on in
the lead, D’Aulon and the big standard-bearer next, and so on, we
made a handsome spectacle, as you may well imagine; and as we
plowed through the cheering crowds, with Joan bowing her
plumed head to left and right and the sun glinting from her silver
mail, the spectators realized that the curtain was rolling up before
their eyes upon the first act of a prodigious drama, and their rising
hopes were expressed in an enthusiasm that increased with each
moment, until at last one seemed to even physically feel the
concussion of the huzzas as well as hear them. Far down the street
we heard the softened strains of wind-blown music, and saw a
cloud of lancers moving, the sun glowing with a subdued light
upon the massed armor, but striking bright upon the soaring
lance-heads–a vaguely luminous nebula, so to speak, with a
constellation twinkling above it–and that was our guard of honor.
It joined us, the procession was complete, the first war-march of
Joan of Arc was begun, the curtain was up.
Chapter 12 Joan Puts Heart in Her Army
WE WERE at Blois three days. Oh, that camp, it is one of the
treasures of my memory! Order? There was no more order among
those brigands than there is among the wolves and the hyenas.
They went roaring and drinking about, whooping, shouting,
swearing, and entertaining themselves with all manner of rude and
riotous horse-play; and the place was full of loud and lewd
women, and they were no whit behind the men for romps and
noise and fantastics.
It was in the midst of this wild mob that No‰l and I had our first
glimpse of La Hire. He answered to our dearest dreams. He was of
great size and of martial bearing, he was cased in mail from head
to heel, with a bushel of swishing plumes on his helmet, and at his
side the vast sword of the time.
He was on his way to pay his respects in state to Joan, and as he
passed through the camp he was restoring order, and proclaiming
that the Maid had come, and he would have no such spectacle as
this exposed to the head of the army. His way of creating order
was his own, not borrowed. He did it with his great fists. As he
moved along swearing and admonishing, he let drive this way, that
way, and the other, and wherever his blow landed, a man went
down.
“Damn you!” he said, “staggering and cursing around like this, and
the Commander-in-Chief in the camp! Straighten up!” and he laid