His Majesty is forgiving. Hadn’t she wanted a chance to redeem herself after the disaster at Paris? So, for her redemption, he gives her an army. And because she has proven that she cannot handle three thousand men, he will spare only five hundred this time, though to make up the numbers, he will also give her several cannons. Yes, the artillery she has such high regard for, so she cannot possibly fail. The cannons have been paid for, he adds, by La Trémoille.

La Hire says, “Tell the King you are ill. Say you have lost your appetite for war, that you have retired. Or that your leg still gives you pain. Do not go, little maid. It is a trap.”

“Then people will laugh at me.”

“They are laughing at you regardless.”

She goes. Weeks in, their supplies are running out. A letter is dispatched, and they must wait several days for an answer. The court’s reply: The King regrets he has no funds to spare for what she requires. His clerk scribbles, as an afterthought, Perhaps she should acknowledge her defeat and return to the safety of Chinon? To her friends who miss seeing her hobble and limp around the castle?

When the letter is read out to her, she does not curse. She tells Jean to prepare a separate letter, which will go to the citizenry of a nearby town.

“Please send what food can be spared, saltpeter…” She looks down at her fingers, gray-blue with frostbite. Jean is tapping the tip of his pen against the ink, a solid block like a stone. He must hold the inkpot over the fire for it to melt, but his hands are shaking from cold.

He frowns. One hand grips the other to still it. He utters aloud what both of them already know.

“This is ridiculous,” he says.

“I gave you the chance to leave. You should have taken it.”

He glares at her. “It isn’t that. The King knew you would not be able to take La Charité. It is like sending a child into a bull’s pen with a stick. Yet he also knew you would not be able to turn down the chance to prove yourself.”

“You must be more careful with your words,” she says. “Even here.”

“As of this morning, we have lost several more men.”

“Deserted or dead?”

“Does it matter?” He bites his lip. When he speaks, he blows small puffs of air.

“In the camp,” he continues, “they say you have been forsaken by God because of your pride.”

“It is their hunger speaking,” she answers.