Chapter 55

Everyone has different things that set them off. Even the most mild-mannered person can turn into a monster when someone pushes the wrong buttons.

For Maxime, that trigger was anyone close to him being harmed. The priest was lucky. Maxime was currently serving as captain of the engineering unit, helping maintain the wagons.

Had he been there, he would have forgotten all about his status as a Saint and swung his hammer at the priest.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Does the envoy from Troyes have no sense of chivalry?!”

The atmosphere turned hostile. The soldiers made no attempt to conceal their murderous anger toward the man who had dared to lay a hand on their precious Saintess.

“There’s no need to get upset. My clothes are just a little wet, that’s all.”

Jeanne d’Arc was the only one who remained calm.

She recalled how Maxime never wavered, even when confronted by ruffians.

This is exactly what he would have done.

Losing her composure would only give her opponent what he wanted. Instead, she needed to remain courteous and show that she was completely unfazed.

“I’m perfectly fine. Father, in the future, please don’t waste holy water by throwing it into the air. Use it to help people instead.”

“A… witch…?”

The priest’s mind went blank at Jeanne d’Arc’s pious response. He had just denounced her as a witch, yet she had reacted in a way that defied everything he believed.

Why is she completely unaffected by holy water?

Of course, nothing extraordinary was going to happen simply because a human being came into contact with water mixed with a little salt.

The priest’s reaction was a mistake born of blind religious faith. Few people approached religion through knowledge and reason, as Father Tommaso did. Many simply accepted things without question in the name of faith.

“Since you’ve come all this way, why not stay for a glass of hippocras? It’s a spiced wine traditionally served to honored guests.”

Rather than getting angry, Jeanne d’Arc actually offered him hospitality. Even the soldiers listening nearby were deeply moved by her response.

Heavens, why have you subjected me to such a trial…?

Father Richard remained utterly bewildered. He had prepared himself for death when he splashed the holy water on her, only to be met by a woman who displayed the bearing of a true hero.

“……I’ll be leaving.”

“What?! You think you can behave so disrespectfully and simply walk away?!”

“Please let the priest go. He needs to tell the people of Troyes that we seek peace.”

Jeanne showed mercy to the very end. Her genuine kindness moved the priest’s heart.

“…I’ll make sure to deliver your message.”

***

Father Richard’s attempt to drive out the witch had failed. Even more shocking was the fact that he himself had apparently fallen under her spell.

“The priest has been bewitched by evil sorcery! Now he’s urging us to surrender!”

“I knew something like this would happen. He’s always been a fool. Even his sermons are terrible.”

The priest had suggested that Jeanne d’Arc might truly be a Saintess and that they should open the gates before it was too late. His proposal was promptly dismissed.

Of course, not everyone was willing to go to war. There were those within the city who wanted to avoid a confrontation, but they made little effort to act.

“What if we keep holding out and they actually attack us?”

“Oh, come on! Haven’t you heard what happened at Auxerre? If we just sit tight, they’ll move on rather than risk taking casualties.”

“And if we open the gates now, they’ll probably just seize the city’s supplies.”

The reason for their passivity was their vague expectation that no siege would actually take place. In fact, the French were seriously considering bypassing Troyes, just as they had done at Auxerre.

What they hadn’t accounted for was Maxime.

“I can breach their defenses in a single day.”

Furious after hearing about the holy water incident, Maxime immediately prepared his siege cannon and loaded it with a cast-iron cannonball.

Those who knew only the Saint’s usual gentle demeanor were dumbfounded to see him so aggressively advocating an attack.

“Hey, Captain, are you okay?”

“Pierre, be quiet.”

“Yes, sir.”

Seeing Maxime’s expression, the men from Domrémy immediately fell into line. They knew from experience that there was no stopping Maxime when he was like this.

“I agree with the Saint. We are on our way to crown our rightful king. Leaving such a treacherous faction in our path would only sow the seeds of future disaster.”

A consensus quickly formed.

“You have my permission to attack.”

Dauphin Charles was equally willing to authorize the offensive at the prospect of eliminating a treacherous faction.

The French established their positions and brought out their equipment. Ladders for scaling the walls and siege weapons were put into place.

“…The Armagnacs are actually preparing to fight!”

“Fuck, we’re screwed! How the hell are we supposed to stand against an army that size?!”

Only when the French began preparing for a siege did the people of Troyes finally grasp the reality of their situation. They hastily dispatched a letter offering their surrender.

Political emotions had a way of clouding people’s judgment.

“Was this your plan all along?!”

“Truly… The wisdom of a man blessed by Heaven knows no bounds.”

“……”

Maxime had simply wanted to blow a hole in the city walls to vent his anger, but he decided to keep his mouth shut and let them believe what they wanted.

***

Philip, Duke of Burgundy, anxiously awaited news. His anxiety and stress had already driven him to smash more than ten wineglasses.

He heard someone approaching outside. Rather than knocking directly on the door, visitors used a relatively quiet mechanical door knocker.

Realizing that the messenger he had been waiting for had finally arrived, Philip immediately called out to him.

“You’re here! Come in at once! What did the Duke of Bedford say?”

The messenger lowered his gaze.

“…It doesn’t appear that he intends to help us. He says his recent losses were too severe and that he has no resources to spare.”

It was hardly surprising. The Duke of Bedford had not forgiven Burgundy for withdrawing its troops from Orléans. Their alliance was beginning to fracture.

And with more than three thousand English soldiers dead, it was also true that Bedford had little capacity to offer assistance.

“So he intends to leave the entire burden of dealing with the Armagnacs to me?! They’ve made it perfectly clear that Reims is their target, yet he dares to treat a matter of such importance so lightly…!!”

The French advance had gathered too much momentum for Burgundy to stop alone. Public sentiment had shifted entirely in the Armagnacs’ favor, and city after city was surrendering without resistance. Burgundy was helplessly losing territory.

Even Troyes had surrendered. There was no longer any will to fight.

“…Your Grace, shall we prepare to resist before the French reach Reims?”

“You fucking idiot! With public sentiment the way it is, mobilizing my troops would be like throwing my precious soldiers into the jaws of wolves! If I fight a losing battle, I could end up losing even more territory!”

Philip couldn’t bring himself to confront the French army as it advanced with overwhelming momentum. He lacked sufficient troops, and even if he managed to deploy them, there was the troubling possibility that the local population would refuse to support them.

Then what the hell am I supposed to do?

The unfortunate servant, who had suddenly become the target of the duke’s anger, was forced to endure his superior’s furious tirades for the rest of the day.

After all that shouting and raging, Philip ultimately decided to abandon any attempt to intervene in France. The servant was so frustrated by the whole ordeal that he could barely contain his resentment.

***

“Hey, you! Keep your place in formation!”

“Montjoie Saint-Denis! Montjoie Saint-Denis!”

“Keep it up, everyone! Châlons isn’t far now!”

The French army advanced the eighty kilometers from Troyes to Châlons-en-Champagne at full speed. No one stood in their way.

“Your Majesty, just a little farther.”

“Do you have any idea how many times you’ve said ‘just a little farther’?”

The long journey had left the Dauphin exhausted and irritable. His speech grew harsher, and even the smallest inconveniences provoked an angry reaction.

On one occasion, he even assaulted an attendant inside his carriage. Afterward, perhaps reminded of his father, who was notorious for his madness, he went to great lengths to keep the abused attendant out of sight.

But no secret could remain completely hidden. The handful of generals who learned of the incident began casting uneasy glances at him.

“Châlons has surrendered.”

“They’ve prepared somewhere for me to sleep, I assume?”

The Dauphin immediately entered Châlons and went straight to bed. Nothing else mattered to him.

Reims was now only a day’s march away. The Dauphin ordered its citizens to open their gates.

“We are your king, the rightful heir to France chosen by Heaven. Therefore, delay no longer.”

The commander of the Reims garrison hastily sent letters to England and the Duke of Burgundy, but the only response he received was that reinforcements could be dispatched if he managed to hold out for more than a month.

Holding out for that long was impossible.

In the end, he faced reality.

“…Open the gates.”

The Dauphin met with the leading figures of Reims. Once negotiations concerning his coronation had succeeded, he graciously extended his mercy.

“Your king is a ruler who knows the meaning of mercy.”

He revoked all the punishments imposed on Reims for having tolerated Burgundian and English rule. The city’s leading figures gladly bowed their heads in gratitude for the king’s mercy.

The Dauphin’s prestige had reached its peak. René of Anjou, Maxime’s patron, and the Duke of Lorraine also formally pledged their allegiance to him.

“Let’s keep this momentum going!”

The Dauphin sent a letter to Duke Philip, urging him to recognize the King of France and make peace.

Philip remained silent. He could not forgive the Dauphin for assassinating his father, who had been known as John the Fearless.

***

Late that afternoon, Maxime took everyone from Domrémy out to dinner in the restaurant district of Reims.

Although it was his first time setting foot in the city, the familiar company made the surroundings feel less foreign. Walter trotted along happily, wagging his tail.

“Are those the people everyone’s talking about?”

“Yes! I heard it firsthand. I’m telling you, it’s them!”

“I recognize the Saintess, but which one’s the Saint?”

“Can’t you tell just by looking? It’s the man right next to her!”

The citizens of Reims were fascinated by the Saint and Saintess, whose exploits had already become the stuff of legend. Even Pierre, who had been gripping his halberd as a precaution, relaxed his guard when he saw the friendly looks directed their way.

Maxime and Jeanne d’Arc walked confidently through the city at the head of the group. Behind them, their companions from Domrémy exchanged whispered remarks.

– What’s going on with those two? Did they finally decide to start dating?

– How should I know? Don’t ask me.

– If anything ever happens between them, I bet it’ll be because my little sister made the first move.

– Stop making big sister sound like that!

Their confident stroll through the streets naturally attracted attention. At one point, a group of women who revered Jeanne d’Arc as a Saintess approached her.

“Saintess, please touch our prayer books!”

“Please, we beg you!”

They hoped that the Saintess’s divine presence would be imbued into their prayer books.

“Why don’t you touch them yourselves? Your hands are no different from mine.”

Jeanne d’Arc humbly declined their request. The women’s cheeks flushed with admiration.

“She’s amazing…”

When Jeanne returned, Maxime asked her a question.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to eat? We should have a hearty meal, especially with the coronation tomorrow.”

Maxime had made a mistake. The people nearby overheard the Saint’s words and immediately reacted.

“The Saint wants a hearty meal!!”

“Bring out the food! Right now!!”

The citizens of Reims descended on them like a pack of hyenas, carrying all kinds of food. Before they knew it, the group had been dragged to the tables of a nearby restaurant and practically forced to accept a feast.

“Saintess, please try this!”

“It’s Jambon de Reims, the pride of our region!”

Unlike other varieties of ham, Jambon de Reims was prepared without smoking, giving it a clean, delicate flavor. Its mild taste also complemented the image of Reims as a cathedral city.

Pierre and Walter happily dug into the meat.

Everyone else offered a prayer first before slowly examining the dishes spread across the table.

Where is that familiar fermented smell coming from…?

Maxime spotted a piece of pungent, aged cheese tucked away among the dishes. He picked it up and popped it straight into his mouth.

Crunch, crunch. Smack, smack…

The citizens who witnessed this clapped their hands over their mouths and trembled.

Who the hell brought that stuff here?!

It was cheese from the Abbey of Saint-Nicaise. Made from sour goat’s milk, it had such a powerful odor that people outside Reims generally avoided it, referring to it as “monk’s cheese.”

Dear God…

It was a local specialty that people either loved or hated. Even many natives of Reims couldn’t stomach it, and the citizens were terrified that it might offend the Saint.

“…Hey, this is pretty good. Thank you, everyone, for bringing all this food.”

Maxime proceeded to devour the entire fist-sized chunk of cheese.

Watching the Saint unexpectedly put on a cheese-eating show, the citizens of Reims were overwhelmed with local pride, their hearts swelling with affection.