The Maid

A short story about the life of Joan of Arc before she set out on her mission. The setting is 15th century rural France and the events unfold in the village of Domremy.

“Jeanette, you wayward maid, where have you been all this while?” asked the woman as the girl stepped in.

“In the fields mother, I was entertaining the sheep and the lambs.” The girl’s eyes twinkled, her cheeks glowed and it seemed as if she were greatly excited about something or other.

“Oh were you? Then it's no marvel how you are so disheveled and grimy. Go wash yourself directly!”

“Yes, mother, but first I have something to tell you.” Her eyes widened and a dreamy expression appeared on her face.

“It’s truly wonderful. It happened while I was out in the fields yonder.”

“I am quite convinced that it is one of your daydreams. Is it not, my girl?”

“It was not a daydream mother, but a vision… no not even so, I was sure it was real. I saw myself as a soldier on horseback, bearing a pennant, though I don’t recall the markings on it. I didn’t know in which direction to go, when there came a voice. It was the most magnificent voice I’ve ever heard and it said ‘go forth Joan, in the name of God.’ Then I woke up before I could see anything more. Is it not amazing, mother?”

“Amazing, Jeanette is your wild imagination. You are almost fifteen years old and while other young maids of your age are already betrothed and housekeepers no less, you insist on running in the fields playing at childish games and hallucinating like an old maid. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

“But I’m not mother and I don’t want to marry either.”

“Of course you will marry, I shall make sure of that.”

“No mother, no one would fancy marrying me. They will find out soon enough that I wasn’t made to be married. I don’t take to dolls the way I take to horses and I’d rather go in my petticoat than in a silken dress,”
She spoke rather forcefully, which surprised her mother who was acquainted with her usually gentle tone of speaking.

“I am shocked at your speech, my girl. A maid of your age should not talk so. Know your place. You are a woman, not a man.”

“That is the greatest plague of my life! I would have been much happier as a man and_”

“Soft! Enough with your folly! God has made you as a woman and you shall accept that. I do not want to hear you speak against that again. What’s more, you shall do what a woman ought and no more. Is that plain?”

“I beg your pardon, mother.” She said. “I didn’t mean to be carried away. And after all in His eyes, we are all alike- whether man or woman- we are all mortal beings. It is our souls that make us what we are.”

Her mother chuckled, but her eyes beamed. “Very good, Jeanette. If you were a man I am convinced you would have been a monk.”

Joan smiled and said no more.

Suddenly from outside came the loud grating sound of cartwheels turning over the rough dirt road. Along with it came the neighing of horses and a man’s voice shouting a command.

“It’s Father!” Joan said and rushed outside. Her father spotted her just as he turned the cart inside and waved.

He was in his late thirties, but retained all the countenance of his youth. He was upright and good-natured, hard-working and caring
and Joan was greatly fond of him. She often believed he had all the qualities worth admiring in a person.
Her brother’s face appeared from the back where he sat crouched on some empty sacks. He was a year older than she, slightly taller; more bronzed perhaps, with the same hair and eyes but was in character less reflective. He waved to her indifferently.

Her father steered the cart in to a shed, halted it and began to untie the horses. Her brother unloaded the sacks one by one. Joan ran in exclaiming.

“Father, Pierre, you're here early! I thought you were to arrive tomorrow.”

Her father nodded and smiled. “We were fortunate this year, Jeanette. Everything was sold off sooner than we thought. They went like hot cakes, didn't they Pierre?”

Pierre indicated agreement. “You should’ve come sister, you missed a great deal. The marketplace was overflowing to the brim with all manner of things. We had heaps of fun didn’t we, father?”

Joan pouted. "You know I could not come as I could not overlook the feast of St Catherine.”

“Of course not. You are too pious. Speaking of which, where is that lass of mine, Catherine?”

“Sleeping, I imagine.” Joan said trying to sound cheeky.

“What, at this hour?” her brother asked. “She must have missed me awfully.” He folded the sacks, put them in a corner and hurried out to find his sister.

Joan stood by her father and smiled shyly up at him. “Father, I’m glad you're back early. It was… lonely without you.”

“It was but five days, my girl. Was that too long?”

“It was, father. But, no matter. You must be tired; I shall look after the horses. They will need feeding and a drink of water after such a long journey. I shall attend to it. Go and rest, father, you look as if you had been deprived of sleep for months ”
Her father smiled at this and bent and embraced her.

“You are such a fine child, my Jeanette, it was hard not to miss you. Not you, your services, I mean.” He laughed. “But I shall take your advice and rest. Oh, and poor Nanette had a particularly rough spell. She is still young and unused to travel. It was a mistake to strain her. Look on her, will you, my girl?”

“Yes father, I shall.”

Her father stepped out. Joan approached the horses and patted each one in turn, smoothing their manes and speaking gently to them. She addressed each differently. To Nanette, the brown filly, and her favorite, she said ‘I missed you. It was your first journey away from home, was it not? You are growing by the day. But don't worry, I’ll still take care of you like always.” Nanette, who had been drooping her head out of sheer exhaustion, lifted it slightly at the sound of the girl’s voice and swung her tail to and fro in appreciation. Joan glowed.

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It was after mass in the morning and the sun was high in the sky. The sounds of echoing chants and murmured orisons, which had emanated forth from the grey stone church began to fade in the morning air. The congregation gathered within began to swarm out slowly on to the church steps and on to the street.

A few remained inside. One was the vicar who lingered at the altar; the others were those who had something pressing to pray about, veiled thoughts and fears that asked to be revealed openly before the Almighty. Joan was one of these.
She knelt on the cold stone floor of the chapel, her hands resting on the back of a wooden pew, eyes shut and hands clasped together in prayer. Her face was serene and she prayed with all her heart, asking for guidance and strength to carry out a hitherto unknown task, which she sensed lay ahead of her. She was uncertain of what was expected of her, but her heart swelled with passion because she believed sincerely that she had been chosen to do God's work.

With a soft ‘amen’ she crossed herself and arose. The chapel was empty except for an old dame and a young boy who knelt leaning against her. They were half hidden in the gloomy semi-darkness which pervaded the rear end of the chapel, and Joan studied them with quiet interest. Suddenly the old woman’s eyes flew open and rested on her. She felt slightly self-conscious as she always did on being observed by any stranger, but she managed to smile kindly when she saw the softness in the woman’s eyes.

“Come here, child.” She said in a frail, barely audible voice, beckoning to her with a white, withered hand.

Joan obeyed and sat beside her curiously. The woman was very old, almost ancient Joan thought, quite possibly eighty. She had a wizened, drawn face, but Joan noticed that her features were those of an aristocrat; a noble forehead, a sharp nose and chin enhanced by dark eyes. Beneath her black veil, her hair was pure white.
The child next to her was good-looking and obviously closely related, for the resemblance was striking. He looked to be about eleven years old, with piercing dark eyes and hair.
The woman smiled, making the wrinkles deepen in her face “I have seen you here often my child, what is your name?”

“I am called Joan, my lady”

The woman nodded and looked at her appraisingly. After awhile she said, “See this little lad by me? He is the son of my son, who is now departed from this world, along with his wife and other children. I am all he has in this world.”

“Why, my lady, whatever became of them?”

“Died, most wretchedly of a terrible disease; all of them. Only this young one was spared and he was not even a year old. His poor young mum died not long after he was conceived. It breaks my heart to dwell on it.”

She paused, as if waiting for Joan to reply, but went on “At first, I was outraged that the Lord should take the lives of so many that I had loved, but I can now understand why. I was a selfish young imp in my youth, who cared nothing for others except for whatever took my fancy and pleasure. I was not betrothed when I first conceived, indeed that was a sin in itself, and I drove my husband away with my devious ways. This is my price.”

Joan reflected before she answered. She would not have usually spoken her mind before a stranger, especially not if it concerned some intensely personal matter, but something in the woman’s manner made her answer with vigor
“We all fall in to sin sometime or the other, ma’am, it is human nature; but we must then rise up when He shows us we are wrong. We must repent of our sins and only then will we be at peace with ourselves."

The woman laughed and said “You are a devout child, that I know. I have never seen a young lass who prayed as much as you. Yet you must have something critical on your mind, for it is only those folk who pray so much.”

“Yes ma’am” Joan could not give a full answer.

“I pray for the welfare of this lad” the woman continued, “who I hope will become a gentleman and make me pleased; a knight maybe, like his poor father was. I pray for myself too, asking Him to keep my withered old body alive for another five years at least, for who will care for him once I’m gone?” She laughed warily.

“It is virtuous to pray, but abstain from doing it merely for your gain alone. It will not be a true prayer unless said selflessly.”

She smiled and said carefully “My dear, who have I left to pray for but my boy and I? As for the rest of the earth, she may worry about herself, for I have nothing to give her. We have done little for each other.”

Joan opened her mouth, but shut it again, knowing that an argument about conflicting values with a bitter old woman would do no good to either of them. She only looked thoughtful.
The woman, seeing that Joan had grown quiet said: “My dear, I thank you for your revelations and I hope we may meet and speak like this again.” Her eyes twinkled as she said, “For I am a forlorn old dame who has no friends who spare occasion or pity to talk with or cheer me. You have made me forget my troubles and think neutrally, if only for a moment.”
Her sharp eyes twinkled and Joan saw that her responses were more sardonic than sincere.

“Will you promise to speak with me again?” She repeated.

“Certainly, my lady.” Joan stood up and curtsied. “I must go now, for my mother waits outside for me.”

The woman nodded. ‘And another thing’ she said, ‘Keep in mind, my dear, that in this world it is far more easier to take than to give.’ She winked.

Joan did not know how to retort and seeing her confusion, the old woman actually grinned. Joan instead smiled kindly at the boy, but he only looked down at his hands.

Joan proceeded outside, half glad to escape from the old woman and her skeptical eyes. As she stepped out of the old church, a chilly gush of air suddenly hit her and made her shudder. She drew her cloak closer about her as she looked around for her mother and sister.
Most of the churchgoers were gathered in assorted groups, as was the custom after morning mass, to exchange news and to chatter. She soon spotted her mother among a little group of women. Her mother was not a gifted talker, but she was widely liked among the women of the village, who included her in speaking of all the tales that they had ever heard of.

She decided to look for her sister and found her under the shade of a yew tree just outside the church premises, with a conspicuous group of girls and young women that Joan always tried her best to avoid out of sheer abstinence. Some of them, she noticed, who were not much older than her had little children and babies perched on their laps. She walked by discreetly, hoping they wouldn’t see her and making up her mind to wait for her sister alone.

She was unfortunate; however for on being spotted by someone in the group an animated cry of “Jeanette!” greeted her ears. She went pink, but turning her head towards them raised her hand clumsily in greeting.

“Come, join us,” cried her sister, taking hold of her hand and pulling her towards the others.

Some of the girls in the group stopped their chatter to look up and smile at her. The others who didn’t know her only looked curious.

‘You never talk to us like you did, Jeanette. What is the matter?’ asked Joan’s old playmate Marie, after a while. She was a slender girl who in her childhood had been the boldest tomboy imaginable but had in her new found adolescence grown to be quite the belle of the village.

‘Nothing’ Joan said, failing in words.

Her sister looked at her ‘She prefers to be alone. I don’t believe she favors our company any longer.’

Marie looked amused. ‘Why, are we too childish for you, Jeanette? Are our amusements too stupid? You should not grow up so fast; it is sad. You have lost all your liveliness and merriment, you only have it in you to pray.’

‘Will you be a nun, Jeanette?’ asked another girl.

‘No, I cannot say. There is something else, but…’ Joan felt so uncomfortable that her palms sweated and her feet were prepared to carry her away at the next question aimed at her. She felt the need to speak her mind, but was unsure of how to express her real thoughts, of which she herself was uncertain and at the same time revealing her deepest, innermost beliefs to a group of frivolous young women was not pleasing to her. It would strip them of the sacredness that she so treasured.

A few of the girls looked bored already at the lack of stimulating information being revealed and Joan’s monosyllabic answers were dulling everyone. The central conversation resumed, with Joan being left out of it, much to the gratefulness of all and of Joan in particular. Marie however continued to throw rueful looks at her from time to time.
The conversation soon turned to the pet topic of marriage and suitors. All the girls had something to say on this popular subject and the conversation soon became sparkling and spirited.

‘I am positive Jean fancies me’ a girl named Isabelle giggled. ‘Yesterday, he came to my house with a white lily in his hand and hid in our barn, as if he were waiting for somebody. Nobody but I saw him, and when I approached him to ask what he was doing, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.'

This caused an outbreak of giggles, until another girl said ‘He doesn’t fancy you, silly, it’s your sister that he’s after!’

‘How do you know?’

‘He confessed so to my brother, his greatest friend.’

The other girl’s face fell. ‘But my sister_’ she started feebly.

‘Is much older and much fairer than you’ someone said loudly, causing another loud fit of giggles. Isabelle looked simply miserable.

Once the laughter had died down, a girl put her arm around Marie, saying shrilly ‘So our Marie is finally betrothed! No more fun and games for her!’
Everyone began twittering and patting and stroking Marie as if she were to perform some heroic, noble feat. Joan looked up. So her oldest and best friend was getting married and she was the last to hear about it! A sudden wave of nostalgia mixed with a touch of sadness swept over her.

‘Look after him well wont you? And give him plenty of kisses from me!’

‘Marie a wife, a mother? Never thought I’d see the day’

Such were the diverse responses from various well-wishers. Those who were already married offered bits of advice and obligingly related their own experiences on the subject while the younger, yet-to-be-married girls listened intently, murmuring whenever something new was revealed.

By this time Joan had found something to do; she found herself gazing at Marie, trying to analyse her reactions to everything that was being said.
Marie was quite red by this time. She was used to being flattered and pampered, but by nature was rather inhibited and so began to feel uncomfortable at so many personal things being disclosed all at once, especially when she was the cause of it.

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A few months later, at the marketplace, Joan spotted the newly -married Marie at a fruit stall with her husband. She longed to talk to her, but felt uncomfortable about her husband overhearing. Luckily, after a few moments, he left her to go to the adjoining stall, which sold milk and cheese.
Joan saw her chance and sidling up toward her, tapped her on the shoulder. Marie turned to look at her in surprise.

‘Jeanette!’ She exclaimed. ‘What is the matter, have you decided to talk to me after all?’

‘I have Marie, ever since you were married. But until now I never could find you alone, to talk privately, without interruptions. I pray you don't think I was avoiding you.’

‘Weren’t you? Well if that is the case, I am glad, for I felt as if you were. Did you attend my wedding?’

‘Oh yes, I would not have missed it for the world.’ Marie beamed. Joan looked on her affectionately, seeing in place of the girl she’d been, a bright, fresh-faced young woman. She also seemed more tranquil than Joan had ever known her to be. The nostalgia rushed back and she exclaimed ‘You are a wife now; how soon we grow! How soon things change! But do accept my best wishes for you and your husband. May the Lord bless you both.’ Joan kissed her old friend.

‘I thank you, Jeanette.’ She paused and said gently ‘I only wish that you were always this warm with us.’ Marie went on: 'You have changed so much since we were children. At times I think you hate all of us.’

‘Oh Marie, don't think of me that way! True, I have changed, greatly maybe but it is not because I hate anyone. “Hate” is a dark word and I hope I shall never be accused of it! You see, I only like being alone; it is something that I must do.’

‘You surprise me, Jeanette, What can you possibly mean by that?’

Her face became grave. ‘It is The Lord’s work I must do… I have distanced myself from everything that will draw me away from Him… I am waiting for the right moment when I will be called, so I must prepare myself for it.’

Marie bit her lip. ‘But what will you do? Become a missionary, a nun? You are always so secretive and it is precisely why none of us understand you.’

Joan shook her head. ‘I did not come to talk of this with you. It is a trifle.’

‘Do not make excuses. I demand to know what is on your mind, why you are so changed in spirit.’

Joan sighed. ‘If you must know I have been given a different task from yours. I am not for marrying or for bearing children; there are others to do such things. Nor for spinning and weaving, I cannot see myself at them for the rest of my life. Do you remember when we were children long ago, how the English came and burnt down this village, how the women and children suffocated in the flames and how the men died trying to save them? They all died for nothing; there was not a soul to come to their aid, not a soul to avenge their deaths. That is what I shall give them-hope. I want to save our poor country, Marie and I shall start by learning to ride a horse.’

Marie stared, shocked ‘If you were not Jeanette and someone else, anyone would think you were mad! To talk so! Is it not a sin to say that you won't marry, when it is the priority of every girl to do so?’ Joan shook her head. ‘And your parents, what do they say about your strange ideas? My parents should think I were crazy, indeed everyone should think so. And what good will it do to ride a horse when you are only… a girl, a farmer’s daughter? First you said that the Lord had chosen you and now you say you want to ride a horse! I fail to see your meaning…’

‘Forgive me, for I cannot make it clearer. I too, as yet don’t know exactly, but I soon will. Everyone has their calling and such is mine, that is all’

‘But Jeanette, I truly cannot see you doing all of that! You are a gentle girl and what you described seems unfitting to your character.'

‘Oh, Marie, lack of faith is one of the greatest weaknesses one could have. But while there is faith and hope anything is within reach. That is what I believe in and so far, that assurance has not failed me.’

Marie looked doubtful ‘But are you quite sure of this? Is it not just a passing fancy?’

‘Oh no. It is real, it is real! I feel it always.’

Author's Note

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