At this moment there came one who spoke to one of the gentlemen in waiting, who instantly approached the King.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “a man waits without. An armourer of the city. He has but come from Fierbois, and he bears a sword which he is to deliver to the Maid whom he has been told is here.”
“Let him present himself at once,” said Charles eagerly.
Amid a hush of expectancy the armourer whom Jeanne had sent to Fierbois entered, and advanced toward the King. At a sign from the monarch he handed to him the sword that he bore. Charles drew the weapon from its sheath and examined it curiously. It was an ancient blade, and though it had been cleaned still showed traces of rust. Upon the handle there were five crosses, as Jeanne had said there would be.
“Did the priests know that the sword was there?” he asked of the man.
“No, Sire. They said at first that the Maid must be mistaken, as they knew of no such sword; but, after much labor and search, ’twas found just where the Maid said that it would be. It was very rusty when it was taken from the earth, but when the priests started to clean it the rust fell away of itself. So marvellous is the matter deemed that there is a great stir over it at Fierbois, and the priests have had this scabbard of crimson velvet made for the Maid to carry the sacred weapon in.”
“The matter is of a truth marvellous,” commented Charles, laying the sword in Jeanne’s eager, outstretched hands. “But good blade though it be, Pucelle, it will need sharpening before it can be used.”
Jeanne hung her head, blushing.
“It shall never be used for the shedding of blood,” she said reverently. “I love it already, fair Dauphin, but it shall not be used to kill. I could not shed blood.”