“You are trembling, Joan,” the same woman tells her.

She does not speak. She is afraid that if she speaks, her voice will tremble, too.

Even today, a fine morning in May, no one woke her. No one informed her that the captains of France were going to fight at the fortress of Saint Loup, one of the gates of the city, that this was the day of their first battle. But she has swallowed the insult.

The women step back to look at her. Their task finished, they lower their eyes and whisper a prayer before this figure of steel they have prepared for battle. Normally the squire would have dressed her, but the women of the household wanted the honor. It is as if Joan already belongs to them: the mothers, daughters, wives, and sisters of the city who look to her to lift the siege. The men will free the men, but you will free us.

A servant opens the front door, and she walks into sunlight. Her squire is here with her horse. He helps her mount. Her pages run up with her sword.

A week ago, a sword was taken from the cathedral at Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois, a relic said to have been wielded by the great Prince of the Franks, Charles Martel. But that sword, seven hundred years old, could not be used; the monks discovered the case held only a piece of rusted iron. So a precise copy was made with a decoration of five crosses on the blade. The monks, too, bless them, had thought it would look very pretty, very dashing, for Joan to carry a scabbard made of cloth of gold to battle. Cloth of gold for a scabbard? And what if the sword should cut through the thread? She had nearly laughed. So, a new scabbard was made, in plain but hardy leather.

As she takes the weapon, everyone is quiet. Her squire will ride after her with her banner. Her pages will remain behind. Her hand, which is now the hand of a metal giant, makes the sign of the cross across her steel chest, over her plate-protected heart.

The treasurer’s wife is looking at her as if Joan were her own daughter. Even with this armor, this sword, they don’t think she will return alive. They don’t believe it is enough against men who are also monsters.