Free Sparrow by Michael Morpurgo Page A

including Marshal La Hire himself who was not known for his gentility – she would not tolerate bad language and most certainly no blasphemy. She was fierce in this and would brook no argument about it from them nor from anyone else. Indeed, as they were all soon to discover, this seemingly sweet-natured, simple country girl, once roused, could be fearsome in her anger.
    It very soon became clear to Joan that some of the marshals of the army were treating her as little more than a sort of mascot, a lucky talisman. They murmured amongst themselves about the indignity of having to accept Joan as an equal. To them she was merely an illiterate, ignorant peasant girl, unfitto be a soldier, and untried in any campaign. It was more than many of them could stomach. She might be useful for raising the morale of the soldiers, they felt, but that was all. So they told her nothing of their plans, and did not consult her on strategy, but instead humoured her gently, conforming to her wishes that there should be no crude soldier talk, no pillaging, and in particular no women. Grudgingly they accepted all she had decreed. Joan was the only woman in the five-thousand-strong French army that marched from Blois towards Orléans, along the south bank of the Loire river that rain-soaked April. With them went thousands of cattle and sheep and pigs and wagonloads of provisions, all for the relief of the besieged people of Orléans.

  
    There was a rainbow over Orléans when she first saw it. The roofs of the city shone across the river under the distant sunshine. But as she stood there on the river bank, she was not completely happy. She sent for La Hire and the other marshals at once. “There is the river between us and the English,” she said, quite unable to hide her anger and her disappointment. “Tell me, how are we to fight the English if we are here and they are there? Why did you not tell me how things were?” La Hire tried to explain that it was safer to approachfrom the south, that the English were stronger to the north of the city, that they would wait for the Governor of Orléans, the Bastard of Orléans, as he was called, to come across with his boats, then the army could cross. It would be safer that way, he said.
    “Safe!” she blazed. “In God’s name, are we here for our safety? I am no one’s poodle, La Hire. I am the envoy not just of the Dauphin, but of God. Remember that. Never forget it.” And she stormed off leaving him lost for words. All he could do was marvel at her. “When he comes,” he whispered under his breath, “my friend the Bastard of Orléans is in for a hell of a surprise, I think.” Fully fifty paces away by now Joan whirled around pointing her sword at him. “Yes, indeed he is. And you mind your language, La Hire!”
    That afternoon the Bastard of Orléans cameacross the river to greet Joan. Her reputation, her fame, had gone before her. Like everyone else in Orléans he had been longing to meet this miraculous peasant girl who seemed to be rallying an entire nation, who had come to lift the siege of his city. But it was not quite the meeting he had been expecting.
    “I suppose,” said Joan eyeing him darkly. “I suppose you must be the one they call the Bastard of Orléans. You’re the one who hatched up with La Hire and the marshals this silly notion of coming south along the river to avoid a fight with the English. Are you frightened of them too?”
    No one in all his life had ever dared accuse the Bastard of Orléans of cowardice, until now. He should have been furious with indignation, but instead found himself being conciliatory.
    “We thought it wisest, Joan, not to be caughtout in the open by the English, with all the beasts and the baggage. We thought it more important to first supply the city – the people are in dire need of what you bring. Then we can march the army in afterwards. After that we can sally out to fight the English whenever we like.”
    Joan could see the sense