While she practices shooting, her clerks read her letters aloud. They compile lists of her expenses, which are carefully reviewed before being passed on to her benefactors. The costs of her household are divided chiefly between Yolande and le Maçon, though it is not uncommon for those who have pledged themselves as her supporters and sent her gifts to also receive a bill, compliments of the Duchess of Anjou. In a separate note, Yolande explains to Joan’s most ardent followers: Think of it as an investment, high-risk but with the potential for enormous return. When France is liberated, the men of England will slink back to their island kingdom, physically and financially crippled by the war. And then I will remember your kindness in this difficult time. I will put a good word into the ear of His Majesty, who is, as you already know, the most openhanded king in Christendom.

Joan’s clerks have taught her how to properly hold a pen, and she is learning how to read and write. In a sheaf of papers bound together with string, she has written and rewritten her name and the names and titles of the Dauphin and Dauphine. The clerks gently point out her errors. They praise her steady progress and patiently watch as, tongue curled over her upper lip, she copies new words. “Soon you will be able to compose poetry,” they tell her, smiling. She is as diligent with a stylus and tablet as with a sword.

Each day, hundreds arrive in Chinon to join the army, though no efforts are made to find these men. One no longer has to knock on doors to locate men who wish to be called soldiers. They have heard of the miracles performed at Orléans and during the Loire campaign. Now the story is five thousand English, not two thousand, were killed at Patay. They call their journey a pilgrimage, and they have come not to pay their respects to the Holy Virgin but to offer their services to the virgin warrior of France.