Christine de Pizan

In the spring of 1429, the fate of France hung by a thread over the banks of the Loire. The English, dominant since the crushing defeat of the French at Agincourt, had pinned their hopes on the capture of Orléans, the gateway to the south. If the city fell, the Dauphin, the future Charles VII, would lose his last major stronghold and his claim to the throne. Into this geopolitical abyss stepped a seventeen-year-old peasant girl from Domrémy. Joan of Arc, calling herself the Maid, arrived with cropped hair and men's clothing, carrying a conviction that she was the vessel of God’s will. Her journey was not merely physical, covering hundreds of miles through bandit-infested territory, but spiritual, as she sought to convince a cynical court that a virgin could succeed where generals had failed. The Audacity of the Peasant Prophet Joan’s arrival at the court of Chinon challenged every social and religious hierarchy of the fifteenth century. She was illiterate, yet she dictated letters to the King of England demanding he "make satisfaction to the King of Heaven" and surrender the keys of France. Her presence was a paradox; she adopted the garb of a knight to protect her virtue and signify her role as a soldier of Christ. To the Dauphin, she was a desperate gamble. He faced a crisis of legitimacy, living in the shadow of his father’s madness and a treaty that named the English King as heir. Joan offered the one thing his advisors could not: a divine endorsement. She promised not only to break the siege of Orléans but to escort him to Reims for his coronation, a feat that required cutting through the heart of enemy territory. To verify her claims, the court subjected Joan to a gauntlet of examinations. In Poitiers, a committee of theologians scrutinized her for signs of heresy or sorcery. They found only "humility, virginity, and piety." This clerical approval was essential, as it framed her unconventional behavior—such as wearing breeches and hose—as a necessity of her divine mission rather than a violation of scripture. Even more compelling was her charisma. She possessed an uncanny ability to "compel credence," winning over hard-boiled commanders like the Duke of Alençon and the pragmatic Yolande of Aragon. By late April, the Dauphin provided her with a suit of white armor, a black charger, and a banner of white silk depicting Christ flanked by angels. The Strategic Masterstroke at the Loire When Joan reached the outskirts of Orléans, she found a city suffocating. The English had constructed a ring of fortresses, or "bastilles," to choke off supplies. The most formidable of these was Les Tourelles, a bridgehead fortress on the south bank commanded by Sir William Glasdale. Joan’s entry into the city was a psychological turning point. While the French captains, led by the Bastard of Orléans, preferred cautious maneuvers and supply runs, Joan demanded immediate, aggressive action. She viewed the conflict not as a chess match of logistics, but as a holy war. Her first test of leadership came not through a sword—which she claimed never to have used to kill—but through her banner and her presence. On the 4th of May, the French launched an assault on the isolated fortress of Saint Loup. Joan, hearing the commotion of battle while resting, rushed to the front line. Her appearance galvanized the demoralized French troops. The fortress fell in three hours. This victory shattered the aura of English invincibility that had persisted for decades. Joan followed this by firing an arrow into the English camp with a third and final ultimatum. The English responded with jeers, calling her a "cow-girl" and a witch, but the momentum had shifted. The French soldiers, previously at rock bottom, now believed they were invincible under the protection of the Maid. The Climax at Les Tourelles On the 7th of May, 1429, the French army turned their attention to the centerpiece of the English defense: Les Tourelles. The assault was brutal and relentless. For hours, waves of French soldiers attempted to scale the walls using ladders while being picked off by English longbowmen and crossbowmen. In the heat of the struggle, a bolt pierced Joan’s neck, knocking her from a ladder into the mud. The English cheered, believing the "witch" was dead. However, Joan’s squire, Jean d'Aulon, recovered her banner and pushed forward. Miraculously, Joan returned to the field, her wound dressed with oil and lard, and stood at the edge of the moat shouting encouragement. This was the turning point. As Joan urged the final assault, the citizens of Orléans bridged the broken gaps in the Loire bridge with wooden planks, attacking Les Tourelles from the rear. Trapped between two forces, the English defense collapsed into a panic. Sir William Glasdale, attempting to retreat across a burning drawbridge, fell into the river and drowned, dragged down by the weight of his armor. By the time the sun set, the most significant English stronghold on the Loire was in French hands. The following morning, the remaining English commanders, including John Talbot, drew their men up in battle formation one last time before turning north to retreat. The siege that had lasted six months was broken in just four days of Joan's presence. A Legacy Carved in Steel and Faith The relief of Orléans was more than a military victory; it was a cultural resurrection. For the first time in a generation, the French believed the tide of the Hundred Years War had turned. To contemporaries like the poet Christine de Pizan, Joan was the fulfillment of ancient prophecies, a virgin savior sent by God to redeem the kingdom. The victory confirmed Joan’s status as a visionary leader who could bypass the gridlocked politics of the nobility and speak directly to the hearts of the common soldiers. Reflecting on these events, we see that Joan’s power lay in her absolute refusal to accept the "practical" limitations of her time. Where the generals saw insurmountable English fortifications, she saw a path for the King of Heaven. Her success at Orléans forced the world to engage with her on her own terms. Whether one viewed her as a saint, a witch, or a lucky mascot, her impact was undeniable. She had transformed a failing dynastic struggle into a national crusade, proving that in the darkest hours of a civilization, a single voice of conviction can rewrite the course of history.