Young Writers Society

Author's note: I haven't written on this story in a while, so it was rather difficult getting it out. It might come out as clunky and such... but oh well. xD There will be something in-between this chapter and Chapter 10, but for now I'm putting this up since I can't figure out an appropriate scene. Most likely it will be something that gets a good setting of Blois and the surrounding area. Please let me know if this is too much to take in (the no swearing, women are to leave, ect..,). Thanks!

Looking back on it, Jean couldn’t remember a time when he had felt such respect for any one person. The way she said so clearly every little statement—her soft but firm voice always seeming to echo and bounce off of walls—,and her abrupt manner of dealing with her armies.

Shaking his head, he grinned down at his boots.

Being a man who had never fallen into the habit of swearing too often, he couldn’t quite understand the mannerism of the soldiers. But he knew that with an army came cursing. It would be considered strange in these times of war if an army of rough Frenchmen didn’t swear and curse God’s name for creating the English. This was something that was a well-known fact.

Even so, the very day that Joan arrived at the camp and forbade La Huire to swear Jean could see her eyes widening with surprise and horror as she walked through the camp and listened to the men’s talk. Many a time he would inwardly wince as they walked past a tent and a spew of words swearing and cursing by God’s name came flowing out. To his shame later on, it wasn’t the swearing that was causing him discomfort, but the look of pure white-faced anger on the Maid’s face. Never had he seen such white rage.

“How dare they…?” she breathed, her hands coming up and resting on her hips is tightly formed balls. Turning around she stomped away, and towards the center of the camp.

Looking ahead, he saw that she was heading towards La Huire and the generals. “What are you doing now, Joan?” he muttered to himself. Keeping his step only two behind hers, he trailed behind her, taking care to not kick any mud in front of him and on Joan.

The broad road that cut through the center of the camp had been trampled by men and horse alike. Glancing over the dirt, he could see that it had rained at least yesterday. The appearance of wagon wheels slipping through the mud—even stopping and sliding backwards—were apparent. Stepping off to the side, Jean walked carefully on the very edge of the road where there was very little trodden dirt.

Feeling the curious glances that passed over him to rest on Joan, filled him with discomfort. Trudging after her, he stared at the ground—confused thoughts running through his head. Why she just can’t let this go? She’s in charge of an army of soldiers trained for the one purpose of war. Why can’t she understand that she isn’t leading an army of monks…

“La Huire!” He heard her voice echo over the field as she called ahead to the broad-shouldered man.

“Ah, yes, Maid,” La Huire answered cheerfully, stepping forward to meet her. Running his eyes over her face, they darkened when they saw the anger vibrating off of her being. “Something amiss?”

Placing her hands on her hips, Joan nodded vigorously. “Yes, I wish the swearing to stop in this army. I told you before, I will not ride at the head of an army full of blasphemous men.”

Shifting awkwardly, La Huire stared at the ground. “Joan,” he said, looking up at her and attempting a smile, “you do realize that these men will not take kindly to such an order. They will resist you in every way they can think of. Some will disobey directly, others will just desert. You should think this over more, before making such a decision.” Lowering his voice, he stepped closer. “It’s one thing to order a leader of the army to give up blasphemy and swearing, as I was ready to follow you, even before I had met you. But these men are different. They don’t know who or what you are, so they have no reason to obey your command in such a matter.”

Joan’s eyes softened. “I understand your concern, but my mind is made up on this matter.”

“Listen well, La Huire. Tonight, before the soldiers lay to rest, I wish you to issue a command. From your own mouth, I wish for you to say, The Maid has commanded that from this moment onward, no more swearing or calling down of evil –by the use of God’s name—from this moment onward will take place in this army. Furthermore, by tomorrow morning every woman will be gone from this encampment, and sent back to their rightful homes.”

As she dictated this out to La Huire, Jean could see a smile halfway twitching to life on his face. “Why must the women leave?” the big man asked, staring at her face intently now. “They have done nothing.”

“They have done nothing, but draw the men’s attention away from the task at hand,” she replied. “Furthermore, their current situation with the men is impure, and should be done away with. That is why they must be sent away. There is no reason for them to be here.”

Shrugging his shoulders, La Huire sighed. “Be it as you say, Maid. But I warn you, sending the women away will provoke more of an uprising than forbidding swearing.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, turning away. “Before we leave for Orleans, I want every man to have gone to Confession and received Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament.”

“Confession?” La Huire inquired. “Why?”

“Why? What do you mean by that?” Turning back around, Jean stared at him in utter bewilderment. “They are about ready to march into battle. They need to be ready to meet death, and God. What other reason is there?”

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, Jean couldn't help but notice her crossed arms, narrowed eyes, and now cold voice. He could see the reason of why all the men would be receiving the sacraments before going into battle, but even his good childhood didn't see the problem of whether or not they actually did go, or if they didn't.

“Well, Joan,” La Huire said, for the first time his eyes lowered to the ground in a submissive manner. “I don’t recall the last time I've seen any of my men go to Confession or receive Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. I don’t know how they will take this.”

Joan smiled. The wind whipping around the lower plains near Blois, threw her hair every direction and into her face. Reaching up she pulled it away. “It is best that we always have the soldiers prepared for death,” she said softly. “That way we will feel no guilt upon sending them to it.”