Just then the bugles blew the assembly, and that cut our talk short.

Chapter 25 At Last—­Forward!

The days began to waste away—­and nothing decided, nothing done.  The army was full of zeal, but it was also hungry.  It got no pay, the treasury was getting empty, it was becoming impossible to feed it; under pressure of privation it began to fall apart and disperse—­which pleased the trifling court exceedingly.  Joan’s distress was pitiful to see.  She was obliged to stand helpless while her victorious army dissolved away until hardly the skeleton of it was left.

At last one day she went to the Castle of Loches, where the King was idling.  She found him consulting with three of his councilors, Robert le Ma‡on, a former Chancellor of France, Christophe d’Harcourt, and Gerard Machet.  The Bastard of Orleans was present also, and it is through him that we know what happened.  Joan threw herself at the King’s feet and embraced his knees, saying: 

“Noble Dauphin, prithee hold no more of these long and numerous councils, but come, and come quickly, to Rheims and receive your crown.”

Christophe d’Harcourt asked: 

“Is it your Voices that command you to say that to the King?”

“Yes, and urgently.”

“Then will you not tell us in the King’s presence in what way the Voices communicate with you?”

It was another sly attempt to trap Joan into indiscreet admissions and dangerous pretensions.  But nothing came of it.  Joan’s answer was simple and straightforward, and the smooth Bishop was not able to find any fault with it.  She said that when she met with people who doubted the truth of her mission she went aside and prayed, complaining of the distrust of these, and then the comforting Voices were heard at her ear saying, soft and low, “Go forward, Daughter of God, and I will help thee.”  Then she added, “When I hear that, the joy in my heart, oh, it is insupportable!”

The Bastard said that when she said these words her face lit up as with a flame, and she was like one in an ecstasy.

Joan pleaded, persuaded, reasoned; gaining ground little by little, but opposed step by step by the council.  She begged, she implored, leave to march.  When they could answer nothing further, they granted that perhaps it had been a mistake to let the army waste away, but how could we help it now? how could we march without an army?

“Raise one!” said Joan.

“But it will take six weeks.”

“No matter—­begin! let us begin!”

“It is too late.  Without doubt the Duke of Bedford has been gathering troops to push to the succor of his strongholds on the Loire.”

“Yes, while we have been disbanding ours—­and pity ’tis.  But we must throw away no more time; we must bestir ourselves.”

The King objected that he could not venture toward Rheims with those strong places on the Loire in his path.  But Joan said: