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At last the Dauphin came to a decision. To Poitiers, Jeanne must go, and there be examined by the French Parliament, and by the most learned men in the kingdom, to prove that she was capable of achieving that which she wished to attempt. When Jeanne heard this she cried out impatiently, “To Poitiers? In God’s name I know I shall have my hands full, but the saints will aid me. Let us be off!” which showed that the Maid, for all her saintliness had also a very normal human degree of impatience to do as she had planned, and who can blame her?

To Poitiers she went, and there as everywhere the people loved her for her goodness, her enthusiasm for the rescue of France, and for her unassuming piety. For long weary weeks, she was cross-examined by the cleverest men who could be found for the task, but ever her keen wit was able to bring her safely through the quagmires and pitfalls they laid for her to fall into; then at last it was announced that “in consideration of the great necessity and peril of Orleans, the King would make use of her help, and she should go in honourable fashion to the aid of Orleans.”

So back again to Chinon went Jeanne, overflowing with eagerness and hope, looking, it is said, like a handsome, enthusiastic boy in her page’s suit, full of the joy of living, happy in the thought of hard work ahead, then on at last she went, with her escort of both soldiers and cavalry officers, to the accomplishing of her second duty. By the King’s orders she was dressed this time in a suit of fine steel armour which was well suited to the lithe grace of her slim young figure, and over her armour she wore a “huque” as the slashed coats worn by knights were called. She had her pick of a horse from the royal stables, and even he was decked with a steel headpiece and a high peaked saddle. Jeanne, de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy, her faithful followers, were also fitted with special armour, which was very costly and handsome.

The sword Jeanne carried was one which had been found under the altar of the church of St. Catherine of Fierbois, around which many legends of miracles clustered, but to Jeanne it was at best only a weapon, and she said she should never make use of it. Her great white standard was the thing she loved, and even when she was in the thick of the battle, she always carried it, with its painted figure of God throned on clouds holding the world in his hands, while kneeling angels on either side presented lilies, and above were the words, “Jhesus, Maria.” On the other side of the banner was a shield with the arms of France, supported by two angels. She had also a smaller banner with a white dove on azure ground, holding in his beak a scroll with the words, “In the name of the King of Heaven.”

With her great white banner floating high in the carrying wind, her sword scabbard of cloth-of-gold, glittering in the sunlight, and the armour of her men-at-arms gleaming in its new splendour, the Maid set out for Orleans, preceded by a company of priests singing the Veni Creator as they marched.

Jeanne’s plan of entry into Orleans was a very simple one. She desired to march right in under the great forts defending the besieged city, to flout the enemy, and cheer the desperate citizens by her daring. But the captains of her army, although they had sworn to obey her every command, were seasoned veterans in the art of war, and had no intention of carrying out any plan of campaign laid out by a girl of seventeen, so they wilfully disregarded her plan, and by so doing delayed their entry into the city for weary hours, and in the end were obliged to enter in the very way planned by their young Commander. When at last, at night, attended by troops of torch bearers, Jeanne went into Orleans sitting proudly erect on her great white horse, and the people of the city saw first the Maid who had come to their relief, they could but wonder at sight of her girlish figure, in its shining armour, and the radiant young face carried inspiration and comfort to their wearied hearts. So eager were they to touch her or her horse that in crowding near, a torch touched her banner, and set it on fire, but wheeling around lightly, she crushed out the flame, as though she had long been an expert in such deeds. Then she and her company went to the Cathedral of St. Croix to return thanks for having entered the city, and afterwards were lodged for the night at the house of the Duc’s treasurer, where Jeanne shared the room of her host’s nine-year-old daughter and slept as sweetly and soundly as the child herself.