A Tale of Two Maidens: A Novel

One

The Chess Game

March 7, 1429

Troyes, France

I could not bear it a moment longer. The headpiece dug into my scalp, forming the same groove that it always did by the end of the day. As soon as we finished washing the supper dishes, I took off the stiff linen coif and unpinned my hair. I shook my head, my unruly curls tumbling across my face and down my back.

Every evening you unpin your hair at the same time. You are just as predictable as evening bells, my sister Ameline teased.

I would set myself free earlier, but then I wouldn’t be able to see the dishes. Besides, you are predictable too, I teased back, tucking my hair behind my ears. Her own amber tresses would remain neatly in place until just before she went to bed.

Come, let’s put the game table closer to the fire.

The night was bitter cold as Ameline and I moved the table and chairs. Filled with a heaping bowl of her fish stew, I felt warm inside in spite of the wind whistling through the cracks in the shutters. The house still held the pungent scent of ginger that she used to flavor it.

While Ameline added logs to the fire, Aunt Charlotte warmed her hands at the hearth, and I set up Father’s chessboard. Tonight, I would play with the ivory pieces and Ameline the jade.

I saved my favorite pieces, the knights, for last. I loved the odd way they moved: one square diagonally and the other straight. They were tricksters, especially when they worked in tandem with one another like two pickpockets. I picked up my last knight and looked at it closely. The piece was carved to resemble a knight on horseback, pressing his thighs into the flanks of a stallion that reared up on his hind legs. His face was hidden underneath a helmet, but I imagined his look of determination to control a beast twice his size.

Goosebumps rose on my flesh as I remembered what I’d heard on the streets today as I walked home from my apprenticeship.

Ameline returned from the fire and sat in the chair across from me. Her cheeks rosy from the fire, Charlotte came to the game table too and sat between us to watch us play as she did every night.

You look as if your mind has journeyed somewhere far away, Ameline said.

I lifted the knight closer to the candle. Today I heard that Jeanne the Maid has been outfitted with a suit of armor. Also, she’s learning to ride a warhorse. I was trying to imagine what she looked like. What do you think?

For two weeks, rumors about this mysterious peasant girl had spread throughout our town, each day with embellishments. At night, Ameline and I discussed any new tidings about her. Father says that people from the east of France are dark-haired and stocky, Ameline replied. Maybe her hair was dark and unruly like yours before she cut it off.

I imagine that she is tall for a woman and strong like a man, I said, moving the queen’s pawn two squares forward.

It’s her visions that I wonder about the most, Ameline said as she moved the knight’s pawn. She wrapped her black wool shawl around her thin shoulders. Does Saint Michael the Archangel have flowing white robes and wings? And do Saints Margaret and Catherine smile at her as her own mother would?

I would be frightened if they came to me and told me what they told her, I said. Cut your hair and dress as a boy. Leave home. Embark on a long journey to the dauphin’s court and tell him that God wants you to help him fight to regain his lands. You must help put an end to the war that has ravaged France for nigh on a hundred years.

I suppose I would too, Ameline admitted. But maybe I would welcome the saints’ appearance after a while. Maybe she does too.

I don’t think I would ever welcome them. I shuddered and returned my attention to our game. After we had both moved half a dozen times or more, I felt a prickling of excitement as I saw a very good move. I remembered Ameline’s advice and considered the consequences before moving my queen across the chessboard and placing her in a square that threatened Ameline’s knight.

Good move, Felise, she said with a smile. It won’t be long before you defeat me.

I grinned back, proud of my improvement over the past few months. You’ve taught me well.

Charlotte circled her arms around my neck and hugged me. Good move, she said, echoing Ameline in her high-pitched voice.

I hugged her back. Charlotte never remembered how to move the chess pieces, just as she had never learned to write the letters of the alphabet in spite of all the times I tried to teach her. Her mind was a child’s although she was twenty-five years old.

I expected Ameline to move her knight out of danger, but she surprised me by putting my king in check at the same time. How did you think of that move? You are clever enough with battle tactics to be a captain in the dauphin’s army. You could help the Maid go to battle for him.

Felise, she began in a tone of voice that I knew well. Today was my fifteenth birthday, and I wondered if I would ever outgrow the need for advice.

First, you are just as clever as I am, and you will soon be able to think of such moves, Ameline said. Second, I know you are eager for this Maid to win the dauphin’s approval and lead his army into battle for the first time. But I beg you to temper your enthusiasm.

I sighed, knowing we were about to disagree about Jeanne again. Our family, as well as most of the other fine-blooded families of Troyes, supported the Dauphin Charles, the rightful heir to the French throne. My grandmother had even named Charlotte after him. The English had placed their own false king on the throne, with the help of their French allies, the Burgundians. These nobles were cousins of the royal family but were estranged from them because of a bloody struggle for power. By joining forces, the English and the Burgundians had captured most of the dauphin’s lands in the northern part of France. I yearned for the Maid to bring us victory and end the war at once, but Ameline was more cautious than I was.

You know how I feel about the Maid, she said. And you know that I want the dauphin to win back his throne and that I desire our land to be at peace. But I do not believe that we and the other Dauphinists in our town should throw our support to the Maid when all we know of her is rumor. She fingered a pawn on the first row of her pieces. Let us withhold judgment until we know more of the truth about her.

Do you fear that Satan binds her to him through false visions of saints? I asked, making a hasty sign of the cross. That was what the Burgundians said about her on the streets.

She shrugged. Who can say? Maybe God didn’t send her saints either.

Who else could have sent them?

Maybe she conjures them herself.

Her boldness startled me. So you think that she’s lying about her visions?

I don’t know. Maybe she wants to have fame and power through them. Or maybe she isn’t self-serving. Maybe she believes with all her heart that she must take action to end this war. And because of her strong desire for peace, she herself conjures the saints.

I clasped Ameline’s small hand in mine and stared into her clear brown eyes. I fear what the Dauphinists would do to you if they ever heard such an idea.

She brushed back a strand of my hair that had fallen across my face and dangled onto the chess pieces. Don’t worry. I won’t speak of this to anyone but you, here in the safety of our home where no one else can hear. Her voice had that tone that she always used to lift my spirits. Jeanne is a girl like us. She has her desires, and we have ours. Instead of waiting to find out the truth about her, we should work to make our own vision come true.

But we don’t see saints as she does.

Her eyes shone in the firelight. True, but we do have a vision.

What do you mean?

Come now. We’ve talked about it many times.

Suddenly I realized what she meant, and my heart began to beat faster. Our vision was a dream in our minds. It wasn’t ghostly like the Maid’s saints but real. We had a plan.

In the months that Father is away on his merchant journeys, we live here alone and take care of ourselves, Ameline reminded me. We are learning to find our own way in the world, Felise, without husbands.

I stared at the glowing embers that created caves and hollows in the wood and said, And you, Sister, can earn your living by owning a cloth shop and I by owning a bookshop. You will make beautiful clothes and I will copy beautiful books.

She took my hand and raised it skyward with hers. Charlotte clutched each of our arms with one of hers. She had taken off her coif and unpinned one side of her hair, which glowed amber in the firelight. Me too, she exclaimed, her crescent-shaped eyes sparkling with excitement.

You too, Charlotte, Ameline reassured her. May God hear our prayer and allow us to live by our own handiwork.

"As femmes soles," I added, my eyes on the shadow of our arched hands against the wall.

And sisters who always—

A loud knock on the door interrupted her. It couldn’t be Father because his signal was three quick knocks. Night had fallen and it was past the proper time for visits. Ameline and I looked at each other as Charlotte tried to wriggle loose from me and go to the door. But I held her tight.

Ameline reached for one of the candles illuminating our game and gripped the handle of the holder. Who’s there?

Pietr Wervecke of Flanders sent us, a man’s voice boomed, thick with an accent that I didn’t recognize. We’ve come to collect your father’s debts.

In Father’s desk, Ameline had found a scrap of paper in his hand mentioning a moneylender named Wervecke. I shook my head, trying to grasp what was about to happen.

Just a moment, Ameline called as she rose from the table, her eyes intent upon me. Don’t speak, she whispered. Just do as I say.

She flung her shawl over my head, and I hid my hair as best I could, ashamed that strangers would see it tumbling down my back. As soon as she unbarred the door, a fat man with a jagged scar on his face pushed past her, followed by two other men. Reeking of ale and horses, the stench of their unwashed flesh filled the great room as they unfurled parchments.

See for yourselves what your father owes our master, the leader announced in his harsh Flemish accent, pointing to the loan and interest amounts listed on the scrolls.

Charlotte started toward the table, for she always took commands literally. The men drew back, and the scar-faced man turned to Ameline. See that the idiot stays away from the table, he snarled. I don’t want her looking at us with those strange eyes, in case she puts a curse on us and brings us misfortune.

Ameline nodded and he turned to me, his gaze resting too long on my breasts. You, girl, get us some of your father’s wine, he commanded. Ameline motioned that I should take Charlotte with me. I hurried over to the wine barrel with her hand in mine. Those men smell bad, she complained loud enough for them to hear.

At least we’re not as ugly as you are, idiot, the red-haired man yelled.

Hold your tongue, simpleton, the scar-faced man barked, or we’ll tie you in a sack and throw you in the river.

Charlotte’s chin quivered, a sure sign that she was about to cry. I put my finger to my lips, and she imitated me, barely holding back her tears. After pouring wine into three cups, I carried them on a tray back to the table. Charlotte followed me, stopping when she reached Ameline.

The thin bald man leered at Ameline, and the redhead swatted me on the rump as I served him wine. If you and your sister wore yellow knots on your sleeves, I wager you would soon earn the money to pay back your father’s debts. Especially you, girl.

The other men laughed so hard that I hoped they didn’t notice the blush spreading across my face at the thought of turning to harlotry. Before I could stop the scar-faced man, he had pulled the shawl off my head and stroked my hair. Men would pay extra money to bed a girl with such beautiful hair.

I drew back, spilling wine on his hand.

Why such a hurry to leave, girl? he teased, yanking a strand of my hair. The others came closer and reached out their hands toward me as the first man had. I tried to get out of their way, but the redhead pinched my breast, and I yelped in pain.

Leave her alone, Ameline commanded.

You’re feisty, laughed the bald man as he turned toward her. Let’s see what you look like with your hair down.

The three of them shoved me out of the way and strode over to Ameline. I retreated in terror to Charlotte’s side and pulled the shawl over my hair again.

Ameline drew herself upright, her eyes glinting fiercely. If she was afraid, I couldn’t tell. I would try my best to be like her and hide my trembling hands behind my back while Charlotte buried her face in my bodice.

The scar-faced man stood before her. He downed his wine in one go and tossed the cup on the floor, shattering it to pieces. He yanked the coif off her head and pulled out as many pins as he could find. Still, she didn’t flinch. The three men stared open-mouthed as a cascade of her thick amber hair glowed in the firelight.

Ameline looked the scar-faced man straight in the eyes. Never had I seen such power emanating from her, like that of a warrior just before a battle raged. If you touch my sister or aunt again, she said, her voice transformed into a low growl, I won’t give you a sous. If you return to this Pietr Wervecke empty-handed, you will no longer be in his employ.

The scar-faced man gaped at her and shook his head slightly as if he had awakened from dozing. His bald companion snickered as he strode forward. It’s you I want, he breathed into Ameline’s ear, his eyes glinting with lust. He drew out his knife and held it to her neck, but still she held steady.

My eyes darted around the room and found the poker at the hearth. I almost ran for it, but Ameline had commanded me to do only what she said. I stood rooted to the floor.

You can have your way with me, even kill me, and I’ll curse you from beyond the grave, Ameline said, her voice filling the room, but I won’t give you the money if you harm us. And I’m the only one who knows where it’s hidden.

No one moved. The only sound came from the hearth where the logs shifted in the fire.

Damn you, whore, the bald moneylender seethed, pushing the flat blade of his knife against her neck.

The scar-faced man grabbed him by the arm and yanked the knife away. It clattered to the floor. You fool, don’t you see she’s serious? Sit down.

He shoved the bald man toward the table where the redhead sat white-faced, making the sign of the cross. She’s bewitched you, he muttered to his companion, and almost made you forget why we came here.

With his arms squared against his chest, the scar-faced man turned his body so he could keep an eye on his underlings and address Ameline.

A pox on Henri and his whore daughters and his half-wit sister, he bellowed. On behalf of Pietr Wervecke, I demand full and immediate payment of his debts.

Ameline directed her gaze at him. I don’t know when Father will return, but he left me with instructions, she began. I am to pay the first half of what he owes Pietr Wervecke. He told me to assure Pietr’s messengers that the second half of his debt will be paid in full by midsummer.

What a good liar she was! Father hadn’t left any instructions.

My sister will fetch the payment as soon as I tell her where it is, she continued.

She turned to face me with her back to the men. Jewels, she mouthed.

Even the amethysts? I mouthed back. She nodded and my heart sank.

I forced myself to hurry to the hiding place, the oldest of the ragbags lying neglected in a dusty corner. I opened the drawstring and groped underneath the mountain of rags until I felt a satchel at the bottom, heavy with jewels, including the amethyst ring and necklace that Mama had bequeathed to Ameline and me. I wanted to take the amethysts out of the bag and hide them but knew I could not. I settled for pressing them against my heart, certain that the moneylenders were growing impatient.

As soon as I returned, I handed the bag to Ameline. Do you have a jeweler among you? she asked the scar-faced man.

He nodded at the bald man, who pulled out a pair of spectacles from his moneybag. I need more light, he grunted when Ameline handed him the jewels.

She set candles closer to him as he inspected Mama’s jewels. After some figuring on a scrap of paper, the jeweler turned to the leader. "Three hundred livres tournois," he declared.

No, they are worth four hundred, Ameline insisted. A jeweler in Troyes appraised the jewels for that amount and I have a receipt to prove it.

I marveled that she had thought of everything while the bald man spluttered that he wanted to see the receipt. She fetched it from Father’s desk and gave it to the scar-faced man. Four hundred, he grunted, but that’s still not enough for the first half of your father’s debt. What else do you have, girl?

She looked around the room. Take Father’s chess set, she said. It is made of the finest jade and ivory. I’ve had it appraised too.

A moan escaped my lips. Not the chess set. But we had nothing else. It serves Henri right, snickered the man with the beard. His debts have checkmated him.

The jeweler set to work appraising the chess set and soon grudgingly admitted that it was worth a bit more than the needed amount. As the men packed the board and pieces in burlap and thrust them into a satchel, Ameline told the scar-faced man that she wanted two receipts of her payment, one for him and one for her.

Your father taught you a thing or two about doing business, girl, he said, narrowing his eyes. But it won’t do you any good. Mark my word, we know of your father, and he won’t pay his debt by July. You and your sister and the idiot will suffer a terrible fate.

I surreptitiously wiped sweat from my forehead while the leader ordered his clerk to write the receipts. After rolling up the scrolls, the men stood and raised their fists at us. They left without another word, slamming the door as if they would break it. Ameline and I collapsed in each other’s arms, with Charlotte wrapping her arms around us, all of us trembling violently. It was a few minutes before I was able to speak.

What are we going to do? I whispered, too frightened to raise my voice.

I don’t know, she said grimly, and the terror in her voice turned my blood cold.

Two

Rose Oil

April 1, 1429

Hide the money, Ameline bade me from her chair by the hearth. Her needle darted through the brocade, but her pale face was etched with exhaustion.

Grabbing the money pouch that held the day’s earnings at the marketplace, I strode to her workroom. My belly rumbled in complaint of the bread and thin soup we had for supper as I reached the far corner and opened the ragbag that had once held Mama’s amethysts and other jewels. My fury at Father burned within me again. Many years ago, when Mama lay on her deathbed, she had told Ameline to hide some of her jewels, leaving enough that Father wouldn’t become suspicious. In law, all of Mama’s possessions belonged to him, but she knew that he would sell the jewels she’d inherited from her mother to pay off his gambling debts.

Mama was right. The day after her funeral, Father had taken the entire jewel box with him, and we’d never seen it again. Even as a seven-year-old child, I had shared Ameline’s shame and anger at Father. Because of his debts, he had severed Mama’s family tradition of bequeathing jewels from the mother through the daughters to the granddaughters.

But the loss of Mama’s jewels paled in comparison to what he had done now. Why hadn’t he tended to his debts before he’d left us to go on a long journey? Because of him, Ameline bent over her needle from dawn until an hour past her usual bedtime. Because of him, she had dark circles under her eyes.

I stormed out of the workroom, determined to help her finish the work she had allotted for this night. It was part of the plan she had devised the day after the moneylenders had come to our house nearly three weeks before. After work that day, she had gathered us around the great room table. We had not slept well, and the day’s duties had wearied us to the bone, but we had no time to waste.

The moneylenders might return soon, Ameline said somberly. We cannot depend on Father to repay his debt, so we must do it for him by earning extra money. Our future depends on it.

Every night since then, we had sewn long past our usual bedtime in order to make more clothing to sell. But when I returned to the great room, it surprised me to see that she had set her needle down.

What’s wrong? I asked.

Just a headache. Don’t worry. Tonight, I need you to sew the hem of this christening gown.

From her sewing basket, she lifted out a tiny brocade gown studded with pearls. Charlotte rose from her chair to look as well. For baby, she crooned. I want to hold the baby.

Soon, Ameline replied. Remember that our neighbor Sybille will give birth to her baby any day.

Sybille has a baby in her belly. Soon I will hold it, Charlotte said with a smile, rocking an imaginary baby in her arms. Her short, stocky body made monstrous shadows in the firelight that belied her innocence. Whose baby will wear this gown? I asked Ameline as I threaded the needle. Sybille wasn’t rich enough to afford a garment made of such fine cloth.

I didn’t want to accept this commission, Felise, but I had to, she replied, her voice low. A Burgundian’s child will wear my handiwork.

What? I gasped, looking up so quickly that I pricked my finger with the needle.

Her face grew even paler as she put her sewing aside and nodded. For the first time in nine years, a Burgundian was buying a garment from our cloth shop.

We both stared at the fire, and that terrible day when the Treaty of Troyes had been signed filled my mind. It had happened a year before Mama’s death. I was six and Ameline was nine when the dauphin’s mother, Queen Isabeau, had sided with the English and the Burgundians by disowning her son. She had also agreed that her daughter Princess Catherine could marry Prince Henry, the heir to the English throne. Furthermore, the treaty made him the heir to France, and his sons after him. After nearly one hundred years of fighting, the English kings had finally achieved their goal of ruling our country, thus combining England and France into one kingdom.

I had known none of this history that May morning when shouts on the street outside jolted me awake. When I ran downstairs, Father, Ameline, and Charlotte were holding hands and praying. Father hardly ever prayed since he scorned our priests, believing they were greedy hypocrites. Ameline’s face was drained of color. Terror rose in me as I asked where Mama was. She was always the first to rise and kindle the fire. Before anyone could answer, I heard a loud moan from her chamber upstairs.

Her labor to give birth had begun many months too early. Petronile the Midwife, and Anes, her best friend, attended her all day as her shrieks of pain continued. They punctuated the uproar on our streets as Dauphinists and Burgundians, their enemies who supported the English, fought to the death.

The firelight illuminated Father’s round face, a mirror image of mine, as he enfolded me in his arms. Beneath his tunic, I felt the rounded shape of his recorder, which he always wore hanging around his neck.

Later that day, he played merry music on it to accompany the tales of his journey, trying to distract us. But he couldn’t block out the screams of agony coming from inside and outside the house. Even as a child, I had known that my baby brother or sister was dying upstairs and that men were being slaughtered on our very streets. Nightmares plagued me for months.

The memory of that day flooded me until Ameline turned toward me, her face pleading in the candlelight. I cannot change what happened nine years ago. Nor will my needlework for a Burgundian make things any worse, she said. "Besides, the Burgundian lady will pay me well. And if