“We removed most of her armor and her shirt of mail to see what damage had been done. The arrow had penetrated six inches deep. My lord Dunois left his horse and held her hand. As he prayed, someone ran off to find a priest. When she saw who was crouching next to her, she strained to lift her head and said in a whisper to him, ‘Dark hair, shoulder-length, older than you.’ ” Jean imitates the rasping voice, clasping his throat. “We turned to one another, bewildered. We didn’t understand what she meant, so she added, ‘I think I saw the fool celebrating with his friends.’ Then she closed her eyes. La Hire squeezed my shoulder and said to me, ‘Sometimes it is like this. Not all soldiers live to a ripe old age.’ His words were practical, yet his voice shook. I think the old brute had grown fond of her.

“I looked away. I stared at her twitching hand until it no longer moved. And though the sound of battle was still near, we leaned forward. We listened together for her death rattle.”