“It is my Lord who tells me,” answered Jeanne, regarding him with reverent look in her large grave eyes. “When I see a place I know at once where the artillery should be placed.”
At which the young duke’s wonder grew; for he knew that she had never seen ordnance until at Orléans the month before. While the captains were planning the mode of attack word came that the Earl of Suffolk was parleying with La Hire, offering to surrender if not relieved within fifteen days, no doubt believing that Fastolf would arrive with reinforcements before that time.
“Tell them that they may leave in their tunics, without arms or armour,” cried Jeanne. “Otherwise the place will be stormed at once.”
The terms were refused by Suffolk, and immediately the cannon began their work. One of the towers of the town was 253 destroyed, and the sharpshooters of the French picked off some of the garrison with their culverins. The English too used their artillery with telling effect. As Jeanne and Alençon stood watching the bombardment, she cried out to him suddenly, recalling the promise she had made his wife to bring him back safe.
“Change your position. That gun will kill you!” pointing to a gun on the walls. Alençon stepped aside quickly, and a few moments later a gentleman was killed on that very spot.
Soon Jeanne urged an assault on the walls, which Alençon believed to be premature. He thought that the artillery should continue the bombardment before the attack should be made, and was therefore reluctant to follow. As the trumpets sounded the assault, and he did not advance, Jeanne turned upon him quickly:
“Why do you hesitate?” she asked. “Doubt not! When it pleases God the hour is prepared. God helps those who help themselves.” As he still hesitated she added: “Ah, gentle duke, are you afraid? Do you not know that I promised your wife to bring you back safe and sound?” Thereupon they both rushed to the attack.
As the body of the men rushed into the fosse to plant the scaling ladders Suffolk tried to parley, but it was now too late. The English resistance was effective and stubborn, so that for several hours the struggle went on with Jeanne in the thick of it. The ditch was bridged and, banner in hand, the Maid started up one of the scaling ladders as at the Tourelles and tried to mount the wall. One of the garrison threw down a stone which crashed through the banner, struck on the light 254 helmet that she wore, and stretched her stunned to the ground. For a moment only she lay, and then springing to her feet unhurt, she cried:
“Friends, friends, on! On! Our Lord has condemned the English. They are ours! Have good courage.”
The French had learned that cry. They knew that victory awaited them, and swarmed over the walls in a rush that carried all before them. Suffolk retreated toward the bridge, hoping to escape across it into the Beauce, but the French followed him too closely. One of his brothers and many of the garrison were slain, but he and all who were left alive were captured. As Suffolk was surrounded a knight cried: