Young Writers Society

Author's Note: OK, for those that have read my earlier chapters, I would really appreciate some feedback on where do you think Jean's character is heading, and if you think this is going too slow. Also, any nitpicks with grammar, and stylistic issues would be most appreciated. Thanks!

Her jaw muscles twitched, and for a second Jean thought she was going to ask him another equally uncomfortable question. But her eyes only remained steadily affixed to his face for a few moments, and then slid away.

“The line is moving,” he said quietly, motioning towards the long train of men behind them.

Joan dipped her head, and then turned to look at the dusty trail ahead. “What will you do if we get caught in a witch hunt?”

“That would be up to Sier de Gourcout. Unless you say otherwise, he will make the final decision,” Jean said.

He twitched the reins, and moved his horse away from hers. “We probably won’t encounter any trouble along the way, with the witch hunt. The main problem is the English.”

She nodded and carefully pushed her horse towards the front line. As Jean turned to follow, he could feel the change of air current on his face and hair. The wind had turned hot and dry. And it was starting to blow hard.

Jean’s eyes narrowed and he turned his horse around to look towards the left side of the road. Through the thick passing of soldiers he could see the trees branches starting to toss, and the shadows deepen.

Strange weather for this part in the Valley, he thought. Warily pulling back on the reins he turned his back to the main stream of men and watched the forest.

Still looks the same, he thought drily. The trees just look darker. Maybe…

Chewing his lip, he fought down the sudden twist of uneasiness that had started to knot up in his stomach.

It really wasn’t just the weather that was worrying him so much. The look in Sier de Gourcout’s eyes was one of amusement. Like that of a parent trying to trick their child into thinking that they are having their way in an argument.

“Just do your job, and let everybody else worry about the rest,” he muttered to himself.

You were ordered to be her squire, he thought. Just protect only her and ignore all the disasters around you.

Gripping the sides of his horse he rode slowly through the mass of men towards where Jean now was. At the head of the men, riding alongside Sier de Gourcout and the Archbishop of Reims.

Jean frowned and stared at the middle aged man that he had always known as simply the Archbishop of Reims. What was his name? He wondered to himself. I don’t remember it.

Doesn’t matter, he decided. I’ll just ask Joan about it later…

The leaves underneath his horse’s hooves could be heard, with their un-mistakable crunch, as Jean gradually wove through the mass of men, finally coming to where Joan was.

Breathing in the clear brisk morning air, he found that from behind and beyond, the rolling peaks of the countryside could be seen. The golden sun rose out of the west and behind its hills, glinting off the shiny metal armor that the burly French men wore.

Joan brushed some strands of hair out of her face with a slender hand, and cautiously looked at him. Her horse wandered next to his, and she gripped her reins tightly.

She spoke softly, her voice filling his head, making it hard for him to think properly. “You do not understand your actions, do you?”

His fists balled in anger and he glared at her, eyes narrowing and filling with hate. “There are several things that I do not understand, but I have done nothing that I regret.”

“What do you not understand?” she asked, her voice lowering to the point of a whisper.

“I don’t need your help in anything,” he lashed out, his face white and the pupils of his eyes going to pinpoints. “You shouldn’t be here, commanding the army or even associating yourself with such matters of war.”

Joan’s mouth twitched and the corners turned slightly down. “That is not for you to say,” she reprimanded. “God sent me here to lead the armies of France to victory!”

“How do you know it was God, who sent you?” Jean shot back, not caring that heads were turning now, upon hearing their raised voices.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jean saw the Archbishop glancing at them, a smile playing across his mouth. Let him think what he wants, Jean thought.

“What do you mean?” Joan blustered, her face now turning red with anger. “Are you now suggesting that the Devil possesses me?”

“If I had wanted to suggest that, then I would have said so,” Jean replied coldly.

A streak of red was planted across her face, showing Jean that she was angrier than he had ever dreamed of making her be. “That will be enough from you, soldier,” she said, her voice calm with anger.

Jean smirked. “Are you now telling me what to do, after all I’ve done for you?”

“I don’t want to be your commander, but a friend to you,” Joan replied. “But you’re stepping out of line now. I’m sorry.”

Jean smiled wryly, a light coming into his brown eyes and shining through its depths. “I can understand that. But you need to understand that I’ve never taken an order from a woman before, and this just might be a bit difficult.”

Joan shrugged her shoulders, and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “If I had a choice in this, I would gladly not give you orders and let a man do it, but God told me to do this, and I cannot disobey.”

Flipping the reins over, he curved the rough leather around his hand. “God does a lot of stuff that I don’t understand. This is only one of them.”

The last sentence he uttered softly, bending his head and flicking his brown hair out of his eyes. Every line of his body—that had looked graceful and lean a few moments ago—now seemed awkward and stiff.

Instead of trying to ask him more, like he had expected her to do, she simply nodded and fixed her eyes on the road ahead.

Grimacing, he also turned towards the road, not caring that everybody’s eyes were on them. Not caring that he had spoken to the figurehead of the army of France, like she was some child that was in need of a scolding.

Just as well, he thought. There were plenty of witnesses to this, and I don’t think any of them would have too much trouble reporting me to Charles.

A cooling wind swept through Jean’s hair, letting him release all his trouble into it, and forget what had just happened. The dusky road—ahead and behind—was full of the stampeding prints that had been left by herds of animals long gone now.

But now a steady stream from the French army was streaming down the road, pulling wagons, their wheels clattering and rain water splashing as they went through huge potholes.

Not exactly the best time of year to travel with such a large amount of cavalry, Jean thought, turning around with a grimace on his face.

“What’s that?” Joan asked, pointing her finger towards the center of the road a couple hundred yards ahead. Her face had turned a shade of grey, and her dark eyes were full of sorrow, at the thought of what it might be.

Jean—interrupted from his thoughts—looked to where she was pointing.

Even though the glaring sun was now in his eyes, Jean could make out the body of a woman. A young one it seemed, but poorly dressed.

Riding closer, he could see the tangled ropes lying around her bloody body, burns showing through her clothing. Her raven hair, which must have been pulled back in a braid earlier, was now in a tangled mess off to the side.

Looking back towards the line of men that had slowly stopped, from the appearance of the girl, he could see Joan lifting her hand up to her eyes and peering ahead, trying to pierce through the sun’s light.

Waving his hand, as to beckon her over, Jean got off his horse. His jaw twitched in irritation as his foot caught in the stirrups.

Kneeling down on the cold dirt road, he took her hand and checked her pulse. She was still breathing.

“What’s wro-“Joan started, coming up behind Jean. Her voice stopped and faltered when she saw the blood on the small body.

Now that Jean was closer, he could see that she was no more than a child. Maybe fifteen at best.

“This might have been what I was afraid of,” Jean said, his mouth corners turning down grimly. “Although, I don’t know why they would choose such a young girl as their source to hunt. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Joan turned and glanced towards the rows of soldiers, once again impatiently waiting to get a move on. Like waves, they surged back and forth with impatience.

The Archbishop’s aged face could be seen staring in their direction, not moving. But it was clouded and angry.

“We might want to get her on a stretcher, and out of the road,” she said softly. “The army needs to continue moving before we go off schedule. I’ll send my Page, Louis, to get one of the doctor’s. They can help her.”

Jean nodded, and stood up. He could feel his long lanky legs complaining as he did so, his ankle top boots scraping across the ground.

Why didn’t our men find her, when they went ahead to scout? He wondered to himself. She was lying right in the middle of the road… just around the twist. They couldn’t have not seen her! Unless…

Here Jean bit his lip, and looked down at the slender face of the girl. This couldn’t be a trap, right? To throw us off our guard…

Dismissing the thought as pure imagination, he stepped away and left the page to look over her, while he mounted his horse.

The breeze had died down now, and the sun was beginning to shine down brightly. It began to feel sweltering hot, as Jean and Joan rode back towards the army, leaving behind a page to tend to the girl, while they waited for the doctor to come from the back of the lines.

Jean wiped the perspiration off his forehead, wishing that he had something to else to put it on, besides his shirt sleeve. Urging his horse faster—Jean moved forward—ahead of Joan.