Was there no end to the humiliations to which she must be submitted? It seemed not. One day a great lady came to her cell – no less than the Duchess of Bedford who was also the sister of the Duke of Burgundy.

She had come in the company of two others to test Jeannette’s virginity.

The Duchess spoke with a gentleness and understanding of this violation of Jeannette’s privacy.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, ‘that this must be inflicted on you, but I am convinced that you are a pure maiden and if we can testify to this it will be very helpful to you in your coming trial.’

‘And if I refuse?’ asked Jeannette.

‘Alas, they will take no refusal.’

There was something very kind about the Duchess. There was no prurience in her manner such as that to which Jeannette had so often been subjected.

‘I promise you,’ said the Duchess, ‘that I and my helpers will conduct this examination with as much speed and privacy as we can. Please submit. I assure you it is better that you help us rather than resist.’

Jeannette, knowing what the result would be and taking a liking to the Duchess who seemed so different from her tormentors and reminded her of the kindness of the ladies of Luxembourg, submitted to the examination.

When it was completed the Duchess said: ‘You are indeed a maid and shame on those who have called you harlot. Rest assured all shall know the result of this examination and I want to send you a tailor who will make clothes for you.’

She went to the gaolers whom she had dismissed during the operation and said to them: ‘Joan of Arc is a good girl. Pray treat her with the respect you would like others to show to your daughters.’

Jeannette lay on her pallet after the Duchess had gone and her spirits were lifted a little. It was comforting to know that there were some in the world who could be kind to her.

The Duchess was true to her word and a few days later her tailor, Johannot Simon, called to measure Jeannette for some clothes.

Unfortunately the man thought he could make free with the prisoner. He was rewarded with a blow on the ear which sent him reeling across the cell.

The guards were amused. Two of them had suffered themselves.

The tailor had learned his lesson too. Joan of Arc was no ordinary prisoner.


* * *

In the chapel royal of the castle of Rouen the trial of Joan of Arc was about to begin.

The most important figure in the court was Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais. Seated on the dais he looked magnificent in his robes of scarlet edged with gold filigree. On either side of him seated in the carved seats were the forty assessors clad in their black robes – a startling contrast to the red splash of colour provided by Cauchon.

Jeannette was a sorry figure – emaciated, pale, still in chains and wearing the clothes in which she had gone to battle she was a sight to arouse pity. But those assembled in the court had not come to feel pity but to do the bidding of their masters.

There was a great uproar from without. Voices could be heard shouting against her. They were the English who had feared when she came against them. They called her the Devil’s milkmaid, Satan’s cow girl, the whore of Domrémy. It mattered not that she was proclaimed a virgin; they would not give up their belief that she was from the Devil, because the only other alternative was that she came from God and that was something they dared not believe.

The scribes seated below the dais stared about them in consternation; they had never before known such a tumult in a court of this nature and were uncertain how to act. The prisoner appeared to be calmer than anyone. She sat pale and aloof as though she did not care that her life was at stake.

Finally Cauchon succeeded in establishing order. He told Jeannette that she must swear to answer the whole truth.

She considered this carefully. ‘But I do not know what questions you will ask,’ she pointed out. ‘It may be that you will ask about something I cannot tell you.’

Cauchon said: ‘Will you swear to do as you are told?’

‘No,’ she answered. ‘I can tell you of my home, of my parents and what I have done since I took the road to France. But what God has revealed to me I will not tell except to Charles the King.’

They were wasting time, said Cauchon. She must take the oath otherwise her evidence would be worthless. But he had to agree that she should answer questions about her actions and her faith but might not find she could do so about her visions.

If she would not take the oath and answer all the questions put to her Cauchon could have condemned her right away, but that would not have suited the Duke of Bedford. He wanted to expose her, and the King of France with her, as dabblers in witchcraft. That was what Cauchon’s masters expected of him and it was to his advantage to please them.

The first session had come to an end. It seemed to have been completely taken up by formalities. As Jeannette was about to leave the Court Cauchon said to her: ‘I must warn you. Should you attempt to escape it will go ill with you.’

‘If the opportunity to escape came, I should take it,’ she retorted. ‘It is every prisoner’s right and I have never promised anyone not to do so.’

‘Are you aware that you are the prisoner of Holy Church, and that it is a terrible crime to wish to be free of that Church?’

‘I have promised to no one that I should not escape,’ she answered stubbornly.

‘Do you believe you have God’s permission to leave prison?’

‘Yes. If the opportunity was given me I should take it.’

When the Court was cleared Cauchon discussed the proceedings with the assessors. How could they know what the girl would say next? Young and ignorant as she was, she was a powerful adversary. They would have to tread very carefully.

Later he talked to Jean Beaupère, a former rector of the University of Paris who had been assigned to assist him in the cross-examination. Cauchon had great respect for Beaupère. He was a shrewd man, learned in the ways of the law as well as in those of the Church. He was a man of calm, clear judgement and he had argued that under clever cross-examination a simple peasant girl would destroy herself; and when Cauchon said she could be condemned after her first appearance in Court it was Beaupère who pointed out it would be better for her to entangle herself. There would be repercussions, they could be sure. They wanted a clear case of heresy and witchcraft. They wanted the Inquisition to find her guilty and hand her over to the secular arm for sentence which would be – as it was for witchcraft – burning at the stake.

‘The next session should be held in a smaller chamber,’ said Beaupère. ‘We do not want a repetition of today’s scene. The girl has courage. Let the Court be conducted among ourselves. We do not want all that turmoil outside. It is against her now. It could turn to her.’

Cauchon agreed that this was wise and the next day the Court was set up in a small room and guards were placed outside the door to keep out the mob.

The Inquisitor Jean Le Maître was present, as he had insisted, not to question, but to observe, and among the assessors was the sly Loiseleur who had posed as a cobbler and sought to trap Jeannette.

She saw all these people and was less afraid than she had been when she had had to face the ruffians in her cell. She had heard her voices in the early morning and Saint Catherine and Saint Margaret had told her to be of good cheer. God was watching over her and above all she must be bold. She must speak out and say what was in her mind. Refuse to answer if they asked her something which she felt was too sacred to be spoken of. And on other matters, tell the truth.

Beaupère spoke gently. Had she been as simple as some thought her, she would almost have thought he was on her side. He asked a great many questions about her childhood. She had no objections to talking about that. But it was inevitable, of course, that they should arrive at that time when she had heard the voices.

‘What form did the angel take?’ Beaupère asked.

He wanted her to describe some humanised form because it seemed a good way to trap her. She was aware of this. It was as though her voices were warning her.

‘I refuse to answer that question,’ she said.

One of the assessors cried out: ‘What does the prisoner mean – she will not answer! She is here to answer any question that is put to her.’

Beaupère looked at Cauchon. They understood each other. The girl could refuse to talk altogether. What then? They could torture her. There were many things they could do to her. But would that be wise? They wanted her to talk. They wanted her to betray herself through the answers to subtle questions.

Cauchon shouted to the assessor to be silent. ‘Let the Court proceed,’ he added.

Beaupère ignored her refusal and did not press for a description of the angel. Instead he wanted to know how she had picked out the Dauphin when she had been presented to him. He had tried to press someone else on her, had he not? But she had known him at once.

She was guided to him, she said.

‘By what sign?’

‘That I will not speak of.’

The assessors murmured amongst themselves. What sort of a trial was this where the prisoner continually refused to answer certain questions?

They turned to Beaupère, but he was biding his time. He believed he could force her into a position where she would entrap herself. That was what he wanted.

‘So these voices came to you, a humble peasant girl. You were to do this strange thing … leave your cows and sheep and lead the Dauphin to victory.’