Days two through four, she is still beaten, but the task—she can see it on the faces of her instructors—has grown more difficult. It is a challenge to knock her off her feet.

Day five, she beats the squire for the first time.

Day six, she sends the knight reeling. Also, she seems to have an affinity with horses. When she whistles, not only her own horse but the horses of other men come running.

Days seven through eleven, she has bested both men more times than they can count. The archer, who has witnessed her skill with a bow, tests her. He ties a piece of black cloth to a far-off birch tree, intending this as a joke. There are other trees in her line of vision, but she sees—and her arrow sees—only its target. Later, the torn cloth is passed around the circle of men so that they can inspect it. They slide and wiggle their fingers through the hole, shaking their heads. They mutter beneath their breath, How is this possible? The two servants tasked with carrying and guarding the supplies think it may be witchcraft. But the knight and squire believe her gifts come from God.

A journey is a passage to a new place. It is a chance to forget. On the last day, Joan climbs a hill. The hour is dawn; the light casts a mist like a spell over the land, and she is quiet as she takes in the sight beneath her. For nearly two weeks she has lived like a bat, but now her eyes are opened to new things. Her body is the same, but also different.

Still, it is impossible to leave behind the past. On the hill, she feels someone’s hand brush her arm, though when she looks there is no one. She hears a voice that seems to speak from the air: “Now go, Joan.”

In the castle of Chinon, the royal messenger escorts her to a bare room with a single window. He invites her to take a seat.

Another Robert, not Sir Robert, a more important Robert, is standing near the window in a wash of azure light. This Robert is a courtier, a trusted advisor to His Majesty the Dauphin, and he tells her, by way of greeting with a brief nod, that he has been waiting for her arrival.

VI

CHINON, MARCH 1429

The chapel is small, but there is an alcove on an upper floor where Joan stands with the courtier and former chancellor of France, Robert le Maçon. Eleven years ago, le Maçon was with the Dauphin when Paris was taken by the Burgundians. He gave the Dauphin his horse so that the prince, then a pimple-faced adolescent of fifteen, could flee with his life. He is no longer chancellor of France, but in the Dauphin’s court, his word still carries weight.