Sparrow

by Michael Morpurgo

  She talked to him mostly of her family, and of Hauviette, about how odd they thought she had become recently, how quiet and distant. It was her father that worried about her, more than anyone else, it seemed. “You know the worst of all this, Belami?” she told him. “I am deceiving my own father. By not telling him of my voices, of what they say I will one day have to do, I am deceiving him. And he loves me so much, and he trusts me too. We’re so alike, him and me. He knows me so well, as I know him. Sometimes, Belami, I find him looking at me very strangely. It’s as if he knows something. You know what he said, only yesterday? Out of the blue it was. Father was talking of Robert de Beaudricourt, the captain of the castle at Vaucouleurs, and what a fine soldier he was. All I said was that given half a chance (and if I wasn’t a girl, of course) I’d go off and be a soldier, and I’d drive the English out of France once and for all. He looked at me hard and suddenly became very angry. ‘Don’t you ever speak of such a thing, Joan,’ he says. ‘I had a dream once, a dream that comes back and back to haunt me, a dream that you would one day run off with the soldiers.’ My brothers sniggered at this. Father banged the table and glared at them. ‘It is no joke,’ he stormed, ‘I tell you, if Joan ever went off with the soldiers I would drown her myself in the river, with my own hands. There could be no greater shame for all of us. Speak to me no more of soldiers, Joan. Be content that you are what God has made you, with what God wants you to be.’

  “There are times, Belami, and that was one of them, that I so long to tell him what it is that God really wants me to do. But I cannot. My voices forbid it. To do what I have to do, what God tells me I must do, I must wrong my own father. I must hurt him. Yet he is the one man on this earth I will ever love, my voices have told me as much. How he will hate me, Belami, how they will all hate me.” She wept bitterly at the thought of it.

  Belami had taken to waiting for her outside the chapel at Beaumont while she went in to pray. She was always a long time at her prayers; and besides, it was often warmer for him outside, and Belami loved to feel the sun on his feathers. She would often be overwhelmed by tears when she came out, but not this time. Her eyes were bright with excitement. “The moment has come, Belami. I feel like an arrow released at last from its bow. Just now, in the chapel, Belami, the blessed St Margaret came to me and said that I have to go to Vaucouleurs, as soon as possible. I have to see Robert de Beaudricourt himself. I am to tell him to send me to the Dauphin at Chinon. I am to go to fight the English. It is the beginning, Belami, it is the beginning.”

  It was several weeks before Joan could arrange things. Vaucouleurs was a dozen miles away through the forest. She would need an escort, somewhere to stay, and most important, a reason for going. Otherwise her parents would become suspicious and would never allow her to leave at all. In the end luck lent a helping hand, or fate perhaps. Joan’s favourite uncle, Uncle Durand – he was a cousin really, but Joan had always called him Uncle – paid the family a visit. He just happened to say to her that she must come over and stay one day soon, that her Aunt Joan hadn’t seen her in a long time.

  “She could come now, when I leave,” he said. “Why not?”

  “She’s work to do here,” her mother replied, rather tartly.

  “We can do without her for a few days,” said Joan’s father. “It’ll be good for her to get away for a while. She’s not been looking herself lately. Let her go.”

  And so it was arranged there and then. When Uncle Durand went the next day, Joan would go with him.

  Sitting under her tree with Belami the evening before she left, Joan was beside herself with excitement. “Can you believe it, Belami?” she said. “Do you know where Uncle Durand lives? Not two miles from Vaucouleurs! And he knows Robert de Beaudricourt. He knows him! My uncle, he’s a kind man, and godly too. He will listen to me. He will believe me, I know he will.”

  Belami was there the next morning as Uncle Durand and Joan set off into the mists of the forest. She waited until the village was well behind them before she told him. She first made him promise faithfully he would never tell anyone what she was about to tell him. She didn’t tell him everything, only as much as she thought he needed to know. Uncle Durand sat in stunned silence on his horse as she told him, his eyes never leaving her face. “So you see, Uncle, if you do not take me to Robert de Beaudricourt at Vaucouleurs, where my voices tell me I must go, then he will not send me to the Dauphin at Chinon, and I will not be able to drive them out of France, nor to have the Dauphin crowned King of France, King of all the French. Without you, none of this can happen, Uncle.”

  Uncle Durand rode on for some time before replying. “I should take you straight home, Joan, and tell your father. That’s what I should do. But I cannot, can I? I promised you I would say nothing and I will keep my promise. But what am I to do, Joan? What am I to make of you? You could be lying to me, making the whole thing up for all I know; or perhaps you are deluded and mad in the head. But if not, then you must be truly blessed. I shall help you, Joan, because I have always known you to be a good and honest and God-fearing girl, and because there’s a light in your eyes that makes me want to believe in you, want to help you.

  “But there’s another reason, too, why I’m going to help you, Joan. I once heard a story, a legend if you like, about a young girl from these parts who would one day drive the English out for good and save France. Maybe the story is a true one, a prophecy, and not a legend at all. Maybe you are the one, Joan. I hope to God you are. I may live to regret it, but I will follow my hope and help you all I can, all I can, dear Joan. But we’ll have to tell your aunt, we cannot keep it from her.”

  Joan reached out and took his hand in hers. “I knew you would,” she said. “Thank you, Uncle, thank you.”

  But her Aunt Joan was not nearly so easy to persuade. She believed her – that wasn’t the problem – but she had other serious objections. “You shouldn’t go anywhere near that Robert de Beaudricourt,” she said. “He’s a soldier, and all soldiers are the same – rough, coarse creatures. That castle’s no place for a girl your age. I’d never forgive myself.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen, Aunt,” Joan replied. “I’ll have Uncle with me, and besides I can look after myself.”

  “And he drinks too much,” her aunt went on. “Everyone knows it. He won’t listen, Joan. He won’t believe you. Your uncle and I, we believe you because we love you, we know you.”

  “If you believe me, Aunt,” said Joan, “then you must believe my voices too. It’s my voices that tell me I must go to the Dauphin. Robert de Beaudricourt can get me to the Dauphin. He’s the only person who can. I must go, Aunt, can’t you see?” Her aunt still looked doubtful. “I’ll be all right. I’ll have Belami with me too, as well as Uncle Durand!”

  “That sparrow,” tutted Aunt Joan. “What is it you see in him? He goes everywhere with you. I don’t mind outside, but I don’t like him in the house – I’ve told you.”

  “He loves it here,” Joan replied. “You’ve got no cats, and he loves you too because he knows you’ll help me, because you believe in me. So tomorrow, Aunt, when we go to Vaucouleurs, I will go with your blessing, won’t I?”

  “Of course,” said her aunt, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s just that I fear for you, I fear for what will become of you.”

  “But how can you fear for me when I have God on my side?” Joan exclaimed.

  They set off early the next morning. Belami flew up and perched himself high on the castle wall as Joan and Uncle Durand rode into the courtyard below. They had to sit there and wait all morning, and all the while Joan had to endure the coarse banter of the soldiers. Several times she had to restrain Uncle Durand from boxing their ears. Then, at long last, two men came striding out of the castle. Both were in armour, swords at their side. “That’s him,” Uncle Durand whispered, “and that’s Bertrand de Poulengy with him.” Uncle Durand stepped forward. “My lord, we sent word we wanted to see you. It’s important, important for France.” Robert de B
eaudricourt tried to ignore him, but Uncle Durand blocked his path determinedly. “My lord, I have brought my cousin to see you. She is from Domrémy. What she has to say to you may save us all, may save France.”

  “What do you mean? What are you saying?” He was looking down at Joan, towering over her.

  “I come to you in my Lord’s name, Robert,” Joan said, her eyes looking back into his, unflinching. “I come to tell you that you must send a message at once to the Dauphin. You must tell him not to engage in any battles with the English until I am there at his side. Tell him that I shall lead his army into battle and give the English such a beating that they will all go running back home where they belong. Once this is done I shall be there to lead him to his coronation in the cathedral at Reims. Tell him, Robert. Do it for me, do it for France, do it for my Lord.”

  Robert de Beaudricourt’s laughter echoed round the courtyard. But the man beside him was not laughing with him. “And who,” scoffed Robert de Beaudricourt, “and who – if I may be so bold as to ask – who is this Lord of yours?”

  “The King of Heaven,” said Joan quietly. “It is He who has sent me to you, Robert, He who has sent me to save France. My voices have told me.” For some moments Robert de Beaudricourt did not seem to know quite what to say.

  “Did you hear that, Bertrand? She’s another of these mad visionaries. The King of Heaven! Why, you insolent hussy. You could burn for such blasphemy. You dare to claim you speak for God Almighty! And did you hear her, Bertrand? She gives me orders! She calls me by my Christian name, me, Robert de Beaudricourt, Captain of Vaucouleurs! I should throw you to my soldiers for your impudence – they’d know what to do with you all right.”

  “That was unworthy of you, Robert, to say such a thing. You should know now that neither threats nor insults will deter me. You speak of daring. I will dare everything, I will dare anything for my Lord in Heaven, for France. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I could have you whipped, girl,” he bellowed, beside himself with fury now. “I could have you thrown in the dungeons. How would you like that?”

  “I am not frightened of you, Robert. I am frightened of no one. That is how we shall win. I shall show all France that we must not be frightened, that my Lord is with us.”

  “Ye gods, Bertrand,” cried Robert de Beaudricourt, slapping his side. “How she goes on!”

  “You blaspheme, Robert. And you should not. When I lead the army, there will be no swearing amongst the soldiers, and no drinking either.”

  Robert de Beaudricourt guffawed again, even louder this time. “Durand Lassois,” he said, shaking his head, “take this hussy back to her dung heap in Domrémy, and have her father box her ears, before I do it myself.” He turned away. “She’s mad, Bertrand, off her head.”

  “Maybe, Robert, but maybe not,” Bertrand de Poulengy replied. Until then, he had not spoken a word, but had been watching Joan with ever-increasing interest. “What is your name, girl? So I shan’t forget.”

  “I am called Joan, Joan of Arc; and I promise you, you will not forget me.” And to Robert de Beaudricourt, she said: “I shall be back, and when I come back next time, you will do as I say.” And with that she leapt up on to her horse and clattered out through the castle gate, her Uncle Durand still fumbling with his stirrup and calling after her to wait.

  Only Belami was close enough to her to witness her tears of anger and frustration, as she galloped back through the forest to Uncle Durand’s house at Burey. Try as he did, Uncle Durand could not catch her up. By the time she arrived no tears were apparent, but she could not hide her disappointment. When she heard the news, Aunt Joan put her arms around her to comfort her.

  “Pay no attention, Joan,” she said. “I told you, that Robert de Beaudricourt is just a goat of a soldier, and a goat with very little brain, too.”

  “I must try again, Aunt, and soon. I cannot fail my voices, I must not. May I come again, Aunt? Will you have me again, after all this?”

  “January next,” replied Aunt Joan. “You shall come again in January. I shall arrange it with your mother. I shall need you then. By then I shall really need you.”

  “Need me?”

  “Well, if I am right,” she said, looking hard at Uncle Durand, “and I think I am – in January next year I shall be having my first baby, and I’ll need a helping hand.”

  Uncle Durand looked completely dumbstruck for a few moments. Then he whacked his horse’s rump, gave a great whooping cheer and cavorted around the farmyard like a wild thing, sending the horse and the geese and the ducks and the hens scattering in all directions.

  “Your uncle’s quite pleased, I think,” said Aunt Joan. “So you’ll come back then?”

  “Oh yes,” Joan replied. “You can count on it. So long as I can bring Belami too.” And they laughed at that and hugged each other tight. Each of them knew that many hardships lay ahead, but in each of them hope was high.

  The months that followed were the loneliest Joan had ever known. It wasn’t long, of course, before the word was out. Joan of Arc had gone to the great Robert de Beaudricourt and told him how he must send her to the Dauphin, that she was going to save France! She claimed she heard voices. She claimed she saw visions. There were endless strange looks in the village, and mockery, too, from most of her friends. Only Hauviette said she believed her, that she knew Joan would not lie about such things, but that all the same, she should just try to forget all about it and stay at home.

  At home it was worse still. Her brothers ostracised her. She had to endure a constant silent rebuke from her mother, and she could see the hurt in her father’s eyes every time she looked at him. He wanted her to promise him she would never go back again to Robert de Beaudricourt. For weeks she resisted; but finally, to avoid hurting him any more, she gave in and promised, knowing full well it was a promise she would have to break the next January.

  Her only true friend through this dreadful time was Belami. She had no one else to turn to. She would talk to him of the great sadness inside her, of the fears that tormented her, and especially of her voices, how they spoke to her more often now, more urgently. She told him how she already knew that, come January, her life in Domrémy would come to an end, that once she left she would never see it again – her voices had told her so.

  “The sooner January comes the better, Belami. Not that I want to leave, but every moment I stay here now is a torture for me. My brothers are ashamed of me. My mother will not even speak to me – she thinks me wilful and stubborn and disobedient – and she’s right, I suppose. And my father, my poor father, – he just wants things to be as they were before I went to Vaucouleurs. He wants me to be as I was, but he knows in his heart of hearts, in spite of my promise, that I must go there again. He fears for me, Belami, he fears for me. That is why he wants me to stay. I would go now if I could, Belami, I really would.”

  January seemed a long time ahead, but that autumn something happened to speed the days on, something unwelcome, but something that was to change how everyone thought of Joan. They had a day’s warning. The Burgundians were on the march, and Domrémy was right in their path. Not a small raiding party marauding through the countryside this time, but an army, hundreds of soldiers strong. This time they couldn’t just hide away in the safety of the Château d’Ile as they had before – it wasn’t strong enough to resist such an army. This time it mean the total evacuation of the countryside for miles around. So Joan and her family were forced to leave the village with all their belongings they could carry, and join the long trail of refugees, and beasts and carts, on the winding road to Neufchâteau. The autumn rains fell heavily all day. Driving rain it was, that soaked to the skin. The overloaded carts became bogged down in the mud, and many had to be abandoned. Soaked, bedraggled and wretched they arrived in the late evening at Neufchâteau. Here at least they would be safe. Here at least they could find shelter.

  The family put up in a dingy house, down a dark and stinking alleyway. They were in a strange place and cr
owded together in the corner of one room; but somehow happier for it. Now all that mattered was survival. All earlier hurts and bitterness seemed at once forgotten. Belami rejoiced to hear Joan laughing again with her brothers, spinning again at her mother’s side.

  It was her brothers who sprang to her aid when she needed it most. There was a local lad who had taken a passionate shine to Joan and kept following her about the town like an adoring dog – Belami had seen him long before Joan was even aware of him. They talked and walked together, and at last he plucked up his courage and told Joan of his love for her. Belami was close by when she tried to put him off. She told him as kindly as she could that she would have no time to marry, that her duty in life lay elsewhere, in the service of her Lord. But he refused to believe her and would not leave her alone, until she told her brothers about him. They were not so kind to him as she had been. He didn’t come back any more after that, and when he didn’t she half wished he would. Joan could be like that – contrary. “I so want to be like other girls, Belami,” she told him one evening, “but I know it cannot be. I did like him, and now I have hurt him too. Why is it that I must hurt everyone I like?”

  It was shortly after that the news came through that the city of Orléans was being besieged by the English. It was the worst news they could have heard, for everyone knew that once Orléans fell to the English there was nothing left to stop them sweeping south and east, enveloping the whole country. “Cursed English Godoms. They are well named, these English. May God damn them to hell,” said Joan’s father. “Within a year, less maybe, they will have swallowed up all of France. We have to stop them at Orléans. It is now or never.” As he spoke he lifted his eyes and looked straight at Joan, his faith in her unspoken but absolute. At that moment Joan knew that he believed her, and believed in her, and her heart soared. She told Belami about it later: “If Father believes in me, then I can do it, I know I can.”