She imagines they will throw her in a river (if so, she’s not too worried; she can swim) or give her a holy text to read aloud (this would be a problem), but they don’t. A boy brings her to the royal stables, addresses her respectfully. While she waits for the Dauphin and his councillors to deliberate on what to do with her, she can make herself useful. He hands her a shovel. And if she doesn’t like the smell of horse manure, didn’t she once work in the kitchens? She can put on an apron and clean the spits and cauldrons. The cook would be grateful for any extra help.

Her reply: I can help the cook after I am done here.

The boy who works for La Trémoille expects to find her idling. But by the time he returns, the stables are cleaned. The horses brushed. He finds Joan paring apple slices for a chestnut mare. She tells the wide-eyed messenger, “You had better close your mouth before you swallow a fly.”

The next day, she is taken to the training grounds. Ah finally, she thinks. But no, the same messenger leads her to a stool placed in full view of the riding and sparring. Here is a breastplate. Here gauntlets, a pair of greaves and sabatons. And here, says the boy, is a brush, some sand and vinegar, and cloths.

She is tempted to tell the boy about her sword-polishing stall. She wants to say, You know, it was a dream of mine when I was a child of ten to do this; but she doesn’t, because she is afraid he will change his mind if he sees this task gives her pleasure. At the end of the day a different man returns to inspect her work. She is given watery stew and a piece of dry bread for supper.

The following morning she is tasked with rolling barrels filled with sand to clean chain mail. And the day after: It’s back to the stables and shoveling horse manure. Then cleaning out the kennels of the hunting dogs. Two men find her sitting on the straw-covered floor, hugging the Dauphin’s greyhounds. Her face is wet with dog kisses; they love her as much as Salaud did. She says to the men, trying to keep the pleading out of her voice, “Can I come back here tomorrow?”

After a week, she asks one of La Trémoille’s servants, “Am I getting paid for any of this?”

The boy’s face brightens. “You want money, do you?” He thinks she is like the other pretenders—the first holy woman who came, the monk—and she wants to get rich. If so, a bribe can be negotiated so she will go away.