The Crown of the Hundred Years' War

Chapter 44 Holy Song Company

Ri'an was preparing for the northward advance into Reims, while Jeanne d'Arc, along with Metz and others, was forming their own "Holy Choir" for the first time as commanders. However, even Metz, the most experienced among them, was merely a newly appointed squire. Standing outside the camp gates, looking at the sea of ​​applicants, they were unsure how to begin.

A rickety horse carrying a knight slowly swayed by. As they drew nearer, it became clear that the knight was an elderly man with red hair, dressed in loose-fitting casual clothes. He greeted them first.

"Ah, young lady, you must be the saint?" Seeing Joan of Arc nod, he slowly dismounted. "I was sent by Attil to teach you bunch of greenhorns how to lead troops. Just call me Old John."

Before Metz and the others could react, he had already walked unceremoniously toward the camp gate. Joan of Arc had no choice but to follow.

The open space in front of the camp was packed with people, a dense, dark mass, at least a thousand. They had come from all directions, appearing to be knights with their squires. When they saw Joan of Arc emerge with Old John, the crowd stirred. The knights in the front exchanged glances, then knelt on one knee, saying, "Welcome, Saintess! We are knights from Champagne, with our squires and infantry, ready to serve you!" The people in the back cheered, tiptoeing forward to push their way in, reaching out to touch the hem of her robes, some even lunging forward to kiss her hand.

Joan of Arc took a half step back. Metz, with practiced ease, quickly stepped forward to block the group at the front, repeatedly saying, "Make way, make way, don't push!"

Old John, mounted on his horse, arms crossed, watched the scene coldly. Once the commotion subsided, he strode to the front of the crowd and scrutinized the kneeling "knights" from head to toe.

"You," he gestured with his chin to the middle-aged man at the front wearing a worn breastplate, "where is your family crest? Show it to me."

The middle-aged man blushed and stammered, "Sir... we're not some high-ranking nobles, just minor country gentry. Our ancestors did have fiefdoms, but... but then they were gone." He pointed to the few skinny horses behind him. "We're trained, but where are we going to find any family crests right now?"

John then looked at the infantrymen behind him. The man in the front row didn't have a scabbard at his waist; instead, a rusty longsword was strapped to his waist. Several of the spearmen behind him were also missing their spearheads. The entire column consisted of archers, with hardly any crossbowmen.

"And you?" John asked, "carrying this junk and you dare call yourselves infantry?"

A man mustered his courage and replied, "Sir, although we don't have money to buy equipment, we have plenty of strength and we've seen blood! We're definitely qualified to be infantrymen! And as long as we can fight alongside the Holy Maiden, we'll do it even without pay!"

John snorted, turned and took Joan a few steps back, lowering his voice to say, "These men are alright. Select the strong and healthy, kick out two or three hundred, and keep the rest. I'll ask Attil about the equipment; he still has some British spoils."

Joan of Arc frowned slightly, pointed at the embroidered sword, and whispered, "They can't even gather enough equipment, they're not even as good as the militia. Can they really go to the battlefield? If you ask me, it's best not to take any of them."

John chuckled, prompting Metz to turn around and look at him: "Young lady, it's a good thing that your newly formed company has a few capable commanders and has established a structure! If it weren't for your reputation, these people wouldn't be coming to join you! Aren't these militia members you mentioned all the result of decades of effort by the towns themselves? Do you expect them to be given to you for free?"

Joan of Arc gripped the flagpole, puzzled. "Then why are these people coming to me? Why don't they stay in their own towns?"

John sighed, gestured with his eyes to the few "knights" who were already sweating nervously, and said to Joan in a low voice, "War is also a profession. Look at these men, all strong and healthy. If you force them to come out and make a living, what will become of their hometowns? Let me tell you, when the army goes there, the fields will be abandoned and the markets will disappear. If these men join the army, at least they can get some food."

Joan of Arc glanced helplessly at the pile of scrap metal, but finally nodded. John turned and roared at the crowd, "The saint has taken pity on you junk, but she only wants the eight hundred strongest men! The rest, go to the labor camp!"

The group exchanged bewildered glances. The "knight" bowed and asked, "Sir, how is the military pay calculated?"

John didn't even look at him, and continued to roar, "Look at yourselves, you pathetic bunch! Don't even try to compete with mercenaries. I'll give you a fair price: three francs for the knights, ten silver dollars each for the infantry, and the laborers will only be provided with food. As for what comes after that, we'll see what you're made of!"

After a quick discussion, the group, led by the "knights," shouted in unison, "Long live the Holy Maiden!"

Joan of Arc dodged the "knights" who actually tried to kiss her feet, looking at this rabble with a headache. This was actually her first army.

John had just led Metz and others to set up the company in a basic formation when the army officially set off. The French army totaled six thousand men, advancing northward in a mighty force.

The chorus was positioned in front of Charles, and Joan of Arc increased the number of sentries daily to prevent Burgundian attacks. However, after several days in Champagne, they hadn't seen a single enemy soldier. Finally, as Joan of Arc grew increasingly anxious, the chorus received Charles's first task—to gather provisions.

The entire company dispersed into groups of several dozen men, heading along the marching route to nearby villages to collect provisions. Joan of Arc volunteered to lead a group northward toward the villages of Champagne. However, she soon discovered that this was completely different from the provisions collection she had seen near Orléans.

At the first village, several militiamen at the entrance saw the French flags, turned and ran, immediately closing the gates. Joan of Arc could only raise her banner and reveal her identity, but the militiamen only continued to drive them away, eventually threatening to shoot arrows. Although Joan of Arc was furious, she thought it might be the Burgundians who had frightened her, so she bypassed the village.

But the same thing happened in the next few villages and towns they visited. Even in the towns, the few bold merchants who were willing to come out and negotiate would either shake their heads and say they didn't have any grain, or quote an outrageously high price, once they heard that they wanted to buy grain.

Joan of Arc, mounted on her horse, gazed at the tightly closed town gates in the distance, her brow furrowed. She turned to Metz and asked, "When did the people of Champagne become like this? Are we less hospitable than the farmers of Orléans?"

Metz simply shook her head, puzzled. John, watching from behind, chuckled, "Young lady, Orleans was besieged by the British for six months; everyone there was eagerly awaiting our arrival. It's different here. A few years ago, we were fighting the Burgundians in this area! We stole a lot of grain back then. Of course, the locals are afraid of us."

Joan of Arc retorted loudly, "But we won't do that now! We've come to liberate them!"

John shrugged and didn't reply.

After several days, Joan of Arc had only managed to acquire a small amount of food, not even enough to feed the hundred or so people around her, let alone the entire army. However, John brought a new mission—to escort Latre to negotiate with representatives of the cities in the Champagne region.

The negotiations were held in a not-too-large manor. Latre and Joan of Arc sat on one side of a long table, while on the other side sat several members of parliament dressed in respectable robes, their expressions respectful yet somewhat tense.

A gray-haired councilor spoke first, keeping his voice as calm as possible: "Lord Latre, Lady Joan of Arc, on behalf of the towns of Troyes, Charon, and Reims, we express our sincerest respect to His Majesty the King."

Latre leaned on his cane, nodded slightly, and said nothing.

The senator continued, “The cities of Champagne have formed an alliance. We are willing to submit to His Majesty Charles and recognize him as the rightful King of France. But—” he changed his tone, becoming cautious, “the Burgundians are still in the city. They demand a peaceful withdrawal or they will hold out to the death. If they don’t leave, we can’t open the gates.”

He paused, then took a folded parchment from his sleeve and handed it over with both hands: "So, all we can offer right now is a ceasefire agreement."

Joan of Arc's face darkened instantly. She stood up abruptly: "A truce? You are His Majesty's subjects, not slaves of the Burgundians! The rule of the English and Burgundians is illegitimate, and now the King's army is here to wipe them out, and you still want to negotiate with them? Don't you feel ashamed?!"

The faces of several councilors turned grim, and they lowered their heads, exchanging uneasy glances.

Latre raised his hand and gently pressed Joan's arm, gesturing for her to sit. He spoke slowly, "Lady Joan is young and impetuous; please don't take offense. I will forward the matter of the truce to His Majesty for his decision." His tone suddenly softened, "However, there is a more urgent matter at hand—the army is marching north, and supplies are running low. The royal family hopes to purchase some grain in your towns. That shouldn't be difficult, should it?"

The councilors exchanged glances, their expressions visibly relaxing. The white-haired councilor nodded: "There is some grain... but the price—"

"The price is negotiable." Latre smiled, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the group.

Just then, the white-haired councilor pulled another cloth bag from his sleeve, placed it on the table, and gently pushed it towards Latre. The bag was small, but it made a heavy thud when it landed on the wooden table—the sound of gold coins clinking together. The councilor said softly, "My lord, this is just a small token of my appreciation. I only hope that when the army enters the city, they will show mercy and spare the people from the calamity of war."

Joan of Arc's face turned ashen, feeling insulted: "You—"

Latre waved his hand, interrupting her. He reached for the bag, weighed it in his hand, and put it away.

"Miss Joan of Arc," he said as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, "it's nothing to accept; it's just a small token of our sincerity from the members of parliament."

Joan of Arc was stunned, her mouth opened and closed, but she didn't know what to say for a moment.

Latre turned to the councilors, his tone softening: "Rest assured, gentlemen. Given your sincerity, I will certainly put in a good word for you before His Majesty. I anticipate that when the army enters the city, they will not commit any offenses."

Several councilors nodded repeatedly, their faces showing relieved smiles.

Latre had the councilors escorted away. Joan of Arc then angrily asked, "Why did you accept it? That was a bribe!"

Latre handed her the money bag: "I'll take it so they'll believe us. There's about two thousand écu in here. Take it and buy some grain. Be quick."

Before Joan of Arc could reply, Latres left, leaning on his cane. Joan of Arc stood there in silence for a long time, clutching the bag, but ultimately did not let it go.

That afternoon, Joan of Arc, with her two thousand écus, surprisingly managed to purchase a large quantity of grain in nearby villages and towns. The merchants changed their tune within half a day, offering fair prices, behaving well, and even eagerly displaying their granaries. Within a few days, Saint-Germain had gathered enough provisions. With sufficient supplies, the army set off again, crossing the Ionne River. The towns along the way transformed, opening their gates to welcome the French army. Wherever Charles went, the people lined the streets to welcome him, no longer fearful or hiding.

As the French army was about to arrive in Troyes, a middle-aged man dressed in an old robe rode out of the city and headed straight for the Saint-Germain camp. He dismounted at the camp gate, announced to the sentries that he was a member of the Troyes council named Roc Richard and wished to see Joan of Arc.

Joan of Arc was pondering the events of the past few days in her tent when she heard the report. She looked up at Metz and said, "Let him in."

Richard entered the tent, his steps hesitant. He looked Joan up and down, his gaze inquisitive and scrutinizing, as if confirming something. Seeing his hesitation, Joan's lips curled slightly, and she said in a slightly teasing tone, "Come on in, I won't fly away."

Richard paused for a moment, then smiled. He straightened his collar, stepped forward, and bowed deeply.

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Troyes was once the most prestigious commercial city in all of France, boasting a renowned reputation and immense wealth. However, with the decline of its markets, the city has fallen into decline.

Even so, it remains one of the important cities in the region and has a town council where garment artisans hold prominent positions.

Due to economic ties, Troyes needed to maintain peaceful relations with the powerful Burgundy to the north and the British—they would starve if the British closed the Seine ports used for transporting clothing bags. This was one of the reasons they were among the first to agree to the Treaty of Troyes.

But while the lower-class weavers, dyers, and tanners leaned towards an alliance between England and Burgundy, the city's nobles and people from all walks of life did not ignore the changing times: for ten years, the English had failed to deliver on their promises of peace and prosperity. The previously expelled Armagnesians were fighting back, and English and Burgundian forces were being driven out of vast swathes of territory. Now they faced a true king, backed by an invincible army.

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Charles VI [France] Jean-Jouvenal de Joursen