The French army formed in four divisions: the advance-guard, commanded by Alençon; the centre, commanded by René de Bar; the rear, with which were the King himself and La Trémouille, was under Charles de Bourbon, and a large body of skirmishers under Jeanne, Dunois and La Hire.
The position of Bedford was too strong to admit of a direct attack. He also had the advantage of a superiority in numbers, so the French tried to draw his forces from behind 295 their barricades in the same manner that Talbot had tried to entice Jeanne to forsake the strong position which she had occupied on the height above Beaugency the night before Patay. But, though several times French knights, both on foot and on horseback, rode up to the palisade and so taunted the English that some of them rushed out, the result was only skirmishing. The main body of the enemy stood firm.
When Jeanne saw that they would not come out she rode, standard in hand, up to the palisade and struck it a ringing blow hoping to excite the enemy into action. For answer the English called, “Witch! Milkmaid! Go home to your cows. If we catch you we’ll burn you.”
There were other names added, some of them vile and insulting. At the same time they waved in mocking defiance a standard copied from that of Jeanne’s, showing a distaff and spindle, and bearing the motto: “Let the fair Maid come. We’ll give her wool to spin.”
This roused the rage of the French, and thereafter no quarter was asked or given in the skirmishes that ensued when parties of the English sallied out in answer to the jibes and taunts of the French. But with all their endeavors the English were not to be stung into leaving their strong position. Later Alençon and the Maid sent a message that they would retire and give the English a fair field to deploy in, but they did not accept the offer. Bedford was not anxious for a chivalrous engagement in a fair field.
In the afternoon the English captured a few field pieces which the French had brought up to enfilade the English line. So the long summer day passed, and when it grew dusk so 296 that friend and foe could not be distinguished from each other the French retired to their quarters. The King left them, and retired to Crépy.
Early the next morning the French withdrew, hoping that the English would follow them. But the Regent would not. As soon as he was clear of the French he retreated to Senlis and from there went to Paris. Of course the royal army should have followed him, but the triumphant spirit that filled the troops at Patay had been dissipated. The captains feared to move without the King’s sanction, and, though Jeanne counselled the pursuit, they deemed it best to join the King at Crépy.
Compiègne, Senlis, and Beauvais now made their submission to the King and the Maid. Charles marched at once to Compiègne, fifty miles from Paris. At Beauvais those persons who refused to recognize Charles were driven out with their possessions. Among these was Pierre Cauchon, its Bishop. This man never forgave Jeanne for being the cause of his losing his diocese and his revenues, and later took a dire revenge upon her.
Charles dallied at Compiègne, greatly to the distress of Jeanne, who knew the value of rapid movements. She saw too that the troops were losing heart. The King, however, was busy entangling himself with new truces with Burgundy, but of this the Maid at this time knew naught. She only knew that the fifteen days’ truce was ended, and Paris had not been delivered to her King; that August was almost spent, and that nothing had been accomplished. She grieved at the monarch’s shilly-shallying, and suspected that he was content with the 297 grace God had given him without undertaking any further enterprise.
As the time passed without bringing action of any sort, or any promise of it, the girl’s patience became thoroughly exhausted. She had only a year to work in, she had said, and France’s King was wasting the time that should have been used for France. So one day she said to Alençon: