The Handy Military History Answer Book. Samuel Willard Crompton

the French have tried again, on another day, to defeat the English?

      Not really. When an army is pummeled to that extent—roughly 10,000 men killed, wounded, and missing out of a total of 25,000—the fighting spirit shrivels. Besides, if the English had contrived some special magic on Saint Crispin’s Day—as many believed—doubtless they would do so again. The French army returned home, and King Henry V headed for the safety of English-held Calais.

      To say that Agincourt was a French disaster is to minimize its importance: both sides remembered the battle for centuries. Equally important, Henry V now held the whip hand in any negotiations with the French. Two years later, under the Treaty of Troyes, he married the French king’s daughter and when their son—the future Henry VI—was born in 1421, it seemed likely that there would, indeed, be one solid realm of England and France combined.

      Was the Hundred Years’ War finally over after the Battle of Agincourt?

      It should have been. We would, therefore, have called it the Ninety Years’ War. But the tide still had one or two cycles to go through.

      In 1429, the English pressed their campaign relentlessly. King Henry V was now dead—from natural causes—and the English nobles fought on behalf of his nine-yearold son, King Henry VI. The English had an overwhelming sense of moral superiority by this point: one had to look a long way back to find, or see, any battle they had lost. The French, at this point, had no king; King Charles VI had died a few years earlier. They had a crown prince—the dauphin—who was in residence at the fortified town of Chinon on the Loire. The English, meanwhile, had invested the city of Orleans on the Loire. It was perhaps the third most important town in France, and if it fell, it was easy to see the English taking the heartland of the Loire River valley. But in the very days and weeks when it seemed that Orleans would fall, the French gained new, sudden inspiration from a most unlikely source: a seventeen-year-old girl.

      Who was Joan, before she became famous?

      Born around 1411, Joan was called Joan of Arc because of her family. She was from the little village of Domremy, in the province of Lorraine, close to the border of the Holy Roman Empire. Her father was a successful innkeeper, and it is a mistake to call her a peasant; rather, she belonged to the rather small middle class of that time. Even so, she was young and female, both of which argued against her becoming a factor in the Hundred Years’ War.

      Joan was an exceptionally religious girl, even by the standards of that time, and at the age of fourteen she began to have visions of the Catholic saints Michael, Margaret, and Catherine. These visions—or apparitions—told her to be a good girl, to stay close to God, and to be ready when she was called upon. During the winter of 1428–1429, Joan’s visions increased in number and intensity. Joan was told that it was her task to rescue Charles, the dauphin, and to bring him to the cathedral city of Rheims to be crowned and anointed with holy oil.

      How on earth was a seventeen-yearold supposed to accomplish this?

      We must say—right at the outset—that Joan had an enormous amount of faith. Without telling her parents, she went to the local fortress commander—Robert de Baudricourt—and asked him to give her a cavalry escort to take her to the dauphin. De Baudricourt thought her crazy and bothersome, but when she came back for the third time, he did just as she asked. Tradition has it that she spoke some secret to him, something which neither she nor anyone else would have known. All we know for certain is that he gave her an escort of six men and that they headed off for Chinon, arriving there ten days later (they traveled at night to avoid the English).

      This romanticized painting of Joan of Arc at the Battle of Orleans erroneously shows her wearing plate mail (Siege de Orléans by Jules Lenepveu, c. 1890).

      The Dauphin Charles learned of Joan well before she came, and he set a trap so he might ensnare her (he feared she was a sorceress). When Joan entered the audience chamber at the castle of Chinon, she found dozens of men standing around a throne and a middle-aged man sitting there. She looked at that man, shook her head, went around the room slowly, and when she came to the dauphin—who wore clothing much like all the others—she sank to her knees and told him that it was her task to have him crowned and to liberate France from the English.

      It sounds as if she was rather like a witch. Did Charles continue to fear this?

      Charles had her examined by a group of priests and nuns for the next ten days. At the end of their investigation, they pronounced her of sound—if overenthusiastic—mind and testified that she was a virgin. The concern was that she might have lain with the Devil to gain satanic powers. Charles and his leading commanders continued to have their doubts—can anyone blame them?—but he chose to give her leadership of a section of his army. Joan was to be watched day and night, however, and the male commanders were to remove her if things went ill. Then again, one can ask whether things could get any worse than they already were?

      Knowing that Orleans was the key to the Loire River countryside and that its fall would be devastating to French morale, Joan brought 4,000 men to relieve that town. By the time her counter of the English siege had begun, some of the men were already devoted to her. Wearing male attire and armor and carrying an immense white flag with the name of Jesus embroidered upon it, Joan was a striking sight.

      How did Joan of Arc succeed where so many others failed?

      That was, and remains, one of the great questions associated with Joan of Arc. Immediately upon arriving outside of Orleans, she sent letters to the English commander, imploring him, in the name of heaven—these were her words—to depart. When he scoffed, Joan started her own set of attacks.

      Difficulties and dangers were everywhere during the siege, and Joan was wounded in the breast on the second day of battle. She had the wound dressed and appeared on the third day, much to the disgust and anger of the English. Her tactics were nothing unusual, but her adolescent excitement inspired the French, who broke into the strongly built fortress that was the key to the English siege. After a week of battle, the English lifted the siege and withdrew to the north.

      Could anyone else have accomplished this?

      Historians generally think not. Joan was the essential change element, the factor that allowed for the French victory at Orleans. When Charles the Dauphin arrived, he got off his horse and walked over to Joan and publicly embraced her (this was, sadly, the only occasion on which he fully expressed his gratitude). She told him that it was wonderful, but that God’s plan was not yet complete. She was to take him to Rheims for his coronation.

      Charles’ military advisers spoke against this, saying it was better to consolidate what had already been accomplished. By now, Joan had a wave of confidence behind her, however, and many of the soldiers would not do their duty unless she led the army. Charles, therefore, went with Joan and within six weeks they reached Rheims, where he was crowned on July 17, 1429.

      Was she real, this amazing girl called Joan?

      She was the real thing, a person of great piety and devotion who turned her religious inspiration into military accomplishment. But her story, which is fabulous, quickly begins to go downhill. Once he was King Charles VII, duly anointed and crowned, the monarch showed less interest in Joan. In fact, he practically asked her to go home. In gratitude, he made her town of Domremy free from all royal taxes (it remained that way until 1789). But Joan had other ideas. The king did not have her services for long, she said, and he should make use of her now. She wanted to attack and capture Paris.

      Charles VII held back from this. He wanted to negotiate, to win over the Burgundians who had caused so much havoc in the war, and then to eject the English slowly. It must be said that Charles VII’s idea was strategically sound, while Joan’s was tactically superior. Charles VII withheld support, and when Joan finally did attack Paris, she was defeated. Months later, she was captured by the Burgundians, who sold her to the English.

      What happened to Joan?

      After a two-month trial, at which she testified with great fervor and strength, Joan was found guilty of being