It isn’t holiness she is concerned with but what will sustain an army moving across hundreds of miles, what will keep a soldier’s instincts sharp and his mind on the alert when he enters the fray. A blacksmith wouldn’t light a fire while drunk, so why should a soldier stumble on his feet after a night’s revelry on the morning of battle? “I want to ban gambling. I want to ban prostitutes and drunkenness. And I want every man properly equipped. No more men showing up with billhooks and cleaving knives from their local blacksmith. I want them to know why they are here, what their mission is. Reports issued out with regularity, no one kept in the dark, every man valued. I want more confessors, priests to say Mass to the soldiers, absolving them of their sins and listening to them. It will help with morale, believe me. These men need an audience, a sympathetic ear. They have suffered so much already. They want to talk. If I had my way, every other town of France would have an armory and, with it, a garrison.” I want, I want, I want…

“And where will you find the money for all this, little maid?” he asks.

She looks at Dunois, at the members of the nobility around the table. Some are newcomers. She thinks of Yolande and her chests of jewelry. How much does a diamond brooch fetch, she wonders. “You?” she suggests.

But if the Dauphin comes, then talk shifts to His Majesty’s day, how it was spent, how he slept, his digestion, whether good or bad. Is he in a fine mood or is he in despair (again)? For if the latter, then he must be consoled—which, depending on how the discussion goes, may take hours. Sometimes, His Majesty will arrive with a servant who brings his lute, and the Dauphin will play a song. La Hire or Dunois will sing.

The Dauphin may invite Joan to go hunting with him, but she always declines. Her reply: “I have come to the aid of Your Majesty to kill the beast called the English, not the stag or the boar.”

Before she goes to sleep, Joan will remember the hill on which she and her sister once stood, the beauty of autumn spread below them like a tapestry. “You have stayed here too long,” Catherine said, “and I know you stay because of me.”

Across the room, she hears the sound of a door opening, and a servant stepping quietly to remove the basin of used rose water she had washed her hands and face in.