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Honour after Battle (Part I)

by Maureen Glaude

30 Decembre, 1429

Jesus and Mary *

Ma Mère,

With haste I prepared this letter
for the herald to take to
our little farmhouse
and all of you, to help heal the wounds
I’ve suffered at battle,
knowing that every one of them
have maimed you too.

My shoulders and neck are long-healed
and the thigh, gouged open
at the September ordeal at Paris
recovered easily, praise The Lord
for I could not bear
to lose my mount to lead the army
for any length of time
I ached more to ride again
than from the flesh inflictions
and commanded the physician to apply the best
poultice to end the festering quickly
and prevent an infection.

I trust the herald brought my last letter
informing you of this.
It grieves me that there are interlopers
who try to seize my mail, even to you
in hopes to discover
military strategies I may reveal; do they think me
such a fool to endanger you, and France, this way?
or naive like a green schoolgirl?

My years of age belie my role, and my wisdom
I know you understand that.

I rejoice today to know it must be God’s wish
that for your sleepless nights and valiant prayers
with flawless support of my convictions
you and mon père now with me are blessed by Our Lord, the utmost Judge,
and by Le Dauphin, our King, who sent word
last evening of his decree for our family’s
ennoblement, as well as a coat of arms and the surname
“du Lys” for the Remys.

Accept these with full heart, for all your bravery for me
in the anguish of your role
since first I ran to you, from the summer meadow
eager to inform you of those initial voices
of Saint Margaret and Saint Catherine
though even I could not then foresee
at such a young age, the future grandeur of
their purpose.

You trusted me and my martyred saints
in all my strange reports, even when they
directed me away from ordinary life
into strange attire and the fire of infamy
from the non-believers.

When I storm with my men
against the English
and the turncoats of our own land,
now I’ll envision your proud smiles,
and the dedication sent back to my beloved kin
at Domremy, to proclaim us noble of cause
and accomplishment for France and God.

Think on those nights of dilemma
when your insides churned
for me, after all my mysterious decisions
and my trances, hearing the ominous calling from above.
How often I wished you could share in the glory
of their sound.

When the dampness of these grounds at night
the rats and the enemy lurk close by me
I think of all the patience and faith
you and mon père have bestowed me.
I swear upon my crucifix I wear against my breast
that this honour belongs to you at home.
Laugh to remember how I struggled with the mystery
that kissed my ears, and to decipher the direction
from the messages
aiming to be worthy, while you seemed to grasp the
magnitude of the meaning
and never scoffed at my will.

Let royal acclaim echo the Lord’s
to dry your loneliness and dread,
for this daughter, turned soldier
distant and early-summoned
to her grand cause.
Wear our coat of arms as salve
as you await my safe return
and know I feel the King’s and God’s love,
my Saints’ and yours, and never my afflictions

I embrace you and mon père eternally,

Your Jeanne.

11/14/2003

Author's Note: My imaginary letter from Joan of Arc, to Isabelle Remy, her mother, dictated while away at battle, on the occasion of news December 29, 1429 of her ennoblement along with her family's, and the award of a coat of arms and the surname "du Lys" for the Remy name.
1429, September 8 - Attack on Paris; Jeanne was wounded in the thigh while trying to locate a spot for her troops to cross Paris' inner ditch.
Joan's began her letters usually with the words Jesus and Mary

Posted on 11/14/2003
Copyright © 2024 Maureen Glaude

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kate Demeree on 11/19/03 at 02:07 PM

You captivated me with this Mo... How well you do these sort. There is strength and excitement, and commitment through out the whole piece. Great Read

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