“To Reims then,” he says. His voice is quiet as he addresses her. “God Himself paved the road that brought you to Chinon and to me. Now I understand, in the way only those who look back on the past can discern with clarity the pattern of events, their sequence and true meaning. Our paths moved together as parallel lines across the void of our despair. Like lost children, we traveled many miles off the road that leads out of the dark woods. But God sees all. And He sees you, Joan, with His great and depthless eye, His divine and perfect vision, which no one, not even the angels of heaven, shares. At the hour your king and France most needed you, His wisdom brought us together.”

Here is another moment. As Joan turns to follow the Dauphin, the rows of courtiers are still kneeling. There is a moment—brief and fleeting—when it feels as if they are kneeling to her.

V

In the weeks leading up to their departure from Chinon, a story spreads through the court. It begins, as many stories do, in the kitchens. A boy runs an errand. He sees for the first time the Dauphin. Oh, His Majesty was dressed very fine, the boy announces, feeling his own importance, and describes what he saw to his master. The days being hot, he wore a light doublet in bright yellow and matching hose.

“What was His Majesty doing?” his master asks him.

“Rallying his men, readying his army” is the boy’s reply.

The boy is forgiven for dallying on his errand. He makes a full report of what he witnessed: His Majesty spoke with soldiers of high and low rank. He slapped the backs of his men, eating and praying with them. While a great crowd watched, his royal hands made up a poultice for a lowly foot soldier, wounded at Patay, whose shoulder keeps him awake at night with pain. He behaved with no airs, which took everyone by surprise.