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Authors: Elizabeth Mahon

Tags: #General, #History, #Women, #Social Science, #Biography & Autobiography, #Biography, #Women's Studies

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Charles was now a believer but just to make sure, he sent Joan to Poitiers to be questioned by various senior clergymen to make sure she hadn’t been sent by the devil or the English. Only the conclusions from the inquiry at Poitiers survive but Joan must have aced it because the churchmen gave her their seal of approval. Charles now made her his captain of war. The idea was angrily denounced by the court and his generals.
Before she could lead an army Joan needed a crash course in war games, under the tutelage of the Duc d’Alençon. Luckily she absorbed knowledge like a sponge. Within months, she was as skilled as if she had been fighting for twenty years. She carried a huge banner made with images of Jesus and angels that read “De par le Roi du Ciel,” which translates as “On the side of the King of Heaven.” Her sword came from St. Catherine’s Church at Fierbois, where it was buried behind the altar—Joan claimed that her voices directed her to it. Medieval press releases were sent out in the form of theological treatises, linking Joan to the biblical figures of Judith, Deborah, and Esther, announcing her to the world—sort of like the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.
As an officer, Joan was a skillful leader. She rebuked her force of four thousand men when they swore; she reassured them when they expressed fear. Even though she was a young woman, she slept rough like her men, never asking for special treatment. She forced them to give up their “camp followers” if they wanted to be in her army, haranguing any women she found hanging around. Her army prayed every day and sang hymns while they marched. Hardened and seasoned soldiers didn’t take kindly at first to taking orders from a seventeen-year-old girl. When they disobeyed, which they often did, she furiously invoked God. Kind of hard to object when God is giving the orders. Despite their close proximity, none of her soldiers seem to have found her desirable. They claimed they feared and respected her too much.
Joan’s first test was the city of Orléans, which had been besieged by the English for seven long months. Everyone knew that it was make-or-break time. The city was the gateway to the south of France. If the French lost, it was time to fold up their tents because they would be drinking tea and eating scones before they knew it. For Charles, sending Joan to Orléans was a no-brainer. If Joan failed, it was her fault. If she won, he came out smelling like a rose.
When she arrived in Orléans, she was greeted by an enormous crowd who wanted to touch her or her horse. Joan was impatient to get the show on the road. The French had gotten so used to losing that although they outnumbered the English, Joan practically had to push them onto the battlefield. She dictated a letter to the English and had it shot by arrow to the fort where the English were entrenched. “I’ve been sent by God to drive you out of France. We will strike you wherever we find you.” The English laughed themselves silly at the idea of surrendering to a girl. But Joan had the last laugh. She led several furious assaults and sent the English running with their tails between their legs.
While scaling a ladder, she was wounded by an arrow in the shoulder but continued fighting. Even though her troops were exhausted and her captains suggested retreat, Joan demanded they press on. By the next day, the French held both sides of the river, and the English retreated. Joan had her first real victory. The city of Orléans rejoiced, ringing the bells in the city. As she prepared to leave, she was offered gifts, which she refused, never taking credit for the victory. More victories followed in June at Jargeau, Meung, Patay, and Beaugency. Men now flocked to fight for her.
But while her supporters thought her deeds were miracles, to the establishment Joan was a threat on many levels. Her claim that she’d talked directly to God without benefit of a priest threatened the church. She managed to instill among the French a sense of nationalism and patriotic pride in the king, which threatened powerful men like the Duke of Burgundy. And she stepped outside the bounds of what was acceptable behavior for women, which meant that she must be a witch.
Joan now decided that it was time to crown the Dauphin at Reims, where French kings traditionally had their coronation. She believed that once Charles was crowned, the power of his enemies would be diminished. Though a teenage girl, with no education, she understood the power of symbols and propaganda. Reims was deep in the heart of Burgundian territory, which didn’t faze Joan a bit, although it made Charles tremble. With the future king by her side, she fought her way to the city. On July 17, 1429, with Joan at his side, Charles was crowned King of France. Joan’s father, Jacques, traveled all the way to see her triumph, and the king rewarded them by exempting their village from taxes.
The coronation was the turning point of Joan’s short career. She believed that France could not be unified without Paris, which was under the control of the Duke of Burgundy. Joan wanted Charles to fight on to Paris but now that he was king, Charles didn’t feel that he needed Joan anymore, and he and his advisers certainly didn’t see any need for more fighting. They preferred negotiating with the Duke of Burgundy. Joan also had powerful enemies at court, such as Georges de La Trémoille, who disliked her influence over the king and her popularity with the people.
Only when his diplomatic efforts with the Burgundians failed did Charles turn to Joan. By the time he actually agreed to fight, Joan had been cooling her heels impatiently for weeks. Because of the delay, the Burgundians had had time to fortify the city against attack. She was wounded, her page was killed, and her banner tumbled to the ground. After two days the king called off the siege. Joan was crushed at her first failure. The king, hoping that she’d take the hint and go away, ennobled her and her family. Joan couldn’t have cared less but her brothers and their descendants took advantage of the opportunities nobility brought. The only advantage to her was that now she didn’t need the king’s permission to fight.
The Burgundians had taken the city of Compiègne. With only three hundred men, Joan’s army traveled through the night to take the Burgundians by surprise. At first it worked, and they were able to make several assaults. But the Burgundians were able to send for reinforcements. Joan was trapped when the governor of the town ordered that the gates of the city be closed. Riding at the rear, Joan didn’t make it through them to safety before they were shut. She was left outside the city walls, with no hope of escape. It was May 23, 1430, and Joan only had a year left to live.
Medieval etiquette held that important prisoners of war were held for ransom. Joan’s was set at ten thousand ecus. Charles made no move to pay the ransom, despite the people begging him to. In Tours, the entire population appeared in the streets, barefoot, singing in penance. In Orléans, the site of her first victory, they made public prayers for her safety. Still Charles did nothing. The king was embarrassed that he’d needed her help. His chief minister was said to be delighted by the outcome. Talk about ingratitude!
When Charles wouldn’t pay, the Burgundians handed her over to the English, who were salivating at their good fortune. Life with her English jailers was difficult. For four months she was subject to brutal pressure, given meager rations, and regularly deprived of sleep. They interrogated her relentlessly. She had no privacy; three guards stayed inside her cell and two outside her door at all times. An iron cage was placed in her cell to intimidate her. Her ankles were shackled and she was chained to her bed. Joan insisted that she needed her masculine attire to keep from being assaulted and her jailers relented. Finally she was sent to Rouen for trial, which began a few days after her nineteenth birthday.
Joan was brought before the ecclesiastical court, accused of twelve counts of heresy, witchcraft, and idolatry. The English wanted her discredited; they didn’t want to create a martyr. If she was found guilty, her punishment would be execution. Joan had no legal counsel, and none of her friends or family were called as witnesses to defend her. For days, she was questioned relentlessly and repeatedly, in an effort to wear her down. She held up well at first, answering their questions concisely in a clear voice. To every single charge brought against her, she staunchly replied that she answered only to the judgment of God.
Since they couldn’t prove her guilty of heresy and witchcraft, they focused on a third charge, the claim that dressing like a man violated the Bible. The clergy was obsessed with this one; it was offensive to them, because she said that God was the one who told her to wear them. Only when Pierre Cauchon, the Bishop of Beauvais, pointed at the scaffold where she would be burned did she finally break down. She signed a statement confessing that her voices were false, although the brief statement she was shown was not the one the church later claimed that she agreed to. That one was much longer.
Back in her cell, Joan realized that she had traded in the stake for life in an English prison, not the ecclesiastical church, where she would have been protected. Defiantly, she put her menswear back on, rejecting her recantation. Some historians believe that it was a trap, that Joan’s dress, which she had consented to wear, was stolen and she had no choice but to put on men’s clothes again. Joan knew what she was doing; she was committing a crime punishable by death. She was now a relapsed heretic.
After the church pronounced her guilty, she was taken to be executed in the marketplace of Rouen. Before her death, Joan was allowed to take Holy Communion privately, although she was publicly excommunicated. On May 30, 1431, she was led barefoot to the marketplace. Seeing the stake, she couldn’t control her emotions anymore and she burst into tears. Her last request was that a cross be held before her. An Englishman, John Tressart, said, “We are lost, we have burned a saint.” Her ashes were scattered in the Seine to prevent them from being saved as holy relics.
Her death did not have the desired effect the English had hoped for. As Joan had prophesied, the English grip on France was now broken, thanks to her efforts, although England continued to hold some territory until Henry VIII. Despite his less than encouraging start, Charles VII became a strong king who left France in better shape than it was given to him in. Joan’s myth started before her ashes were cold. Many claimed that her heart was not touched by the flames. Over twenty years after her death, Joan was vindicated by a new trial in 1455, ordered by Charles VII. This time, witnesses were called for the defense, including Joan’s mother. When the trial ended in 1456, Joan was declared a national hero, the symbol of France. In 1920, nearly five hundred years after her death, Joan was canonized as a saint by the Roman Catholic Church, the same church that had found her guilty and ordered her execution.
So was Joan a hysteric or a saint? Or perhaps she was just a rebellious teenager who devised a clever way to escape a dull provincial life. There are as many versions of Joan as there are books in the library. In her short life she left her village, led an army, crowned a king, and was renowned throughout Europe. Her story has proved irresistible to the world’s greatest artists for the past five hundred years.
 
Grace O’Malley
(Gráinne Ní Mháille)
 
1530-1603
 
She was nurse to all rebellions in the province for this forty years.
—SIR RICHARD BINGHAM
 
 
In the summer of 1593, an elderly woman traveled to England to plead her cause before Queen Elizabeth I. Her name was Grace O’Malley and she wasn’t just any woman. For over forty years, she had ruled the sea in Connacht, plundering ships and causing trouble for the English in Ireland. Now at the age of sixty-three, she faced an uncertain future. Her only hope was to deal with the queen in person. It was an unprecedented meeting. Although other Irish chieftains had gone to England to parley with the queen, most ended up in the Tower of London. The meeting between these two queens would pass into folklore and legend, with the Pirate Queen of Connacht getting the best of Elizabeth I.
Grace O’Malley (Gráinne, her Gaelic name, means “sun”) was born sometime in 1530 at the family castle on Clare Island off the west coast of Ireland. The O’Malley clan motto was
Terra marique potens
(“Powerful by land and sea”). Her father, Owen “Black Oak” O’Malley, had long made his living mainly on the sea, some of his activities legal (selling fishing rights, trading, and levying tolls for right of passage) and some of them not (piracy and ferrying mercenaries—the Gallowglass—from Scotland). His control over the sea was so extensive that in 1556, Philip of Spain had to pay Owen O’Malley one thousand pounds a year for twenty-one years of fishing rights.
BOOK: Scandalous Women: The Lives and Loves of History's Most Notorious Women
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