Chapter 56: Fire and the Cross
May 30, 1431.
In an open clearing, an execution was taking place. A young girl with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, draped in a grey robe, stepped barefoot onto the soil of Rouen. The surrounding spectators watched in silence as the heroine of France walked step by step toward the pyre.
Many of them did not even know the full story; they had gathered in the market square out of curiosity, only to see this girl wearing a triangular hat inscribed with the words "Traitor, Fallen One, Heretical Witch" escorted to the square by an executioner and two soldiers to be burned at the stake.
Whatever the truth was, for the common folk here, it was merely a spectacle. To witness a witch defined as "heretical" being reduced to ash by the fires of the Lord was, for these people, both a form of cruel entertainment and a cleansing of the soul.
Aside from Jeanne's low prayers and the crisp clinking of the shackles on her ankles, no one cheered, no one discussed, and no one scolded. It was like a silent Mass. Everyone stared at the pyre, waiting for the moment to arrive with bated breath.
"Father, may I hold a cross?" Jeanne asked cautiously.
"This..." The priest hesitated. But seeing the pleading look in the French girl's eyes, he ultimately relented. "Very well."
After handing the cross to Jeanne, the girl gripped it tightly and gave a relieved smile. This time, she walked onto the pyre without hesitation. Unable to bear it, the priest turned his back, not daring to look at what was to come next.
Jeanne stood before the stake, clutching the cross with both hands. She slowly closed her eyes, quietly listening to the Church proclaim her crimes.
"After deliberation by the doctors of the University of Paris, Jeanne d'Arc has been found guilty of twelve serious crimes!"
"At thirteen, you claimed that the Archangel Michael, Saint Margaret, and Saint Catherine appeared before you and gave you revelations. The priests declare this is because you have worshipped Satan since childhood, weaving such a monstrous lie to delude the people."
Jeanne lowered her head to look at the green grass growing through the gaps in the wooden platform, saying nothing. The Bishop continued to announce her crimes.
"You claimed your King knew she was sent by God and entered the court to deliberate with you. You said an angel holding a crown bowed to the King and handed the crown to the Archbishop of Reims, who then transferred it to your King before the assembled princes and lords."
"The priests declare this unbelievable. Jeanne d'Arc, you worship the devil. You are cunning and deceitful, paranoid and arrogant, to weave yet another lie that damages the dignity of angels."
"You say it is by God's will that you wore men's clothing and continue to do so. You wear the clothes of a man and keep your hair short like a man, violating the nature God bestowed upon women and participating in the Eucharist."
"The University of Paris declares that by wearing men's clothing, you blaspheme God, despise the sacraments, and violate God's will, the Bible, and canon law. Under the name of divine revelation, you lure others into idolatry."
Hearing these words, Jeanne remained silent with her head bowed, only remembering the years past on the battlefield.
"How can a woman fight?"
The demoralized French soldiers could only find a bit of solace by mocking Jeanne, a peasant girl. She merely smiled, cut off her long hair with a sword, and leaped nimbly onto a warhorse, as skilled as the most valiant knight.
"For France!"
Once, she galloped across battlefields, only to be captured while covering the retreat of commoners, eventually betrayed by her own kingdom.
"The twelve charges are conclusive. We are certain that you are a false saint, a follower of the devil. You blaspheme God and His saints, despise the sacraments, and violate sacred laws. You are seditious, bloodthirsty, and apostate!"
The Bishop looked at Jeanne with a grim face. "Without a doubt, death by fire! In the name of God, as your final mercy, Jeanne d'Arc, do you have any last words?"
The girl looked up, scanned the surrounding crowd and the Bishop, and said in a calm voice:
"God will punish the guilty."
"And that person is you!" the Bishop shouted harshly.
As the Bishop finished reading the final verdict, a torch was thrown, and the fire began to burn at Jeanne's feet. For those who believe the disappearance of the flesh is the most terrifying thing, this must be the most severe form of punishment.
The flames gradually scorched her skin, charred her flesh, and incinerated her bones, yet Jeanne did nothing but repeatedly chant the names of God and the Virgin Mary. Countless people had told her, "Your prayers are hypocritical!"
Jeanne only found such statements baffling. In her view, there was no distinction between true and false prayers; a prayer is simply a prayer, its essence unchanging regardless of the target. She wanted to say this, but her throat could no longer produce a sound.
At the very end, in her final moments, scenes from her past suddenly flashed before her eyes: the simple village, her ordinary family, and herself, who had left it all behind. If she had covered her ears and refused to listen to that voice, if she had abandoned the soldiers who were destined to die and fled the battlefield to live a mundane life, perhaps she would have lived a life free of suffering.
But if she had to do it all over again, Jeanne knew she would make the same choice. Because that was who she was.
"Regardless of whether my choice was wrong, many lives were saved because of it. If that is so... then it was not a mistake."
The flames surged toward the sky, spreading into a sea of fire in an instant. The crackling and popping of the burning wood drowned out the murmurs of the spectators. In this tumultuous environment, there was no fear on the girl's beautiful face. With the most sincere devotion, she spoke with a voice full of faith.
"The glory of the Lord is with me!"
The fire flared up, and the girl on the cross vanished in the blaze. Past scenes, impossible futures, and the cruel reality all turned to ash and smoke. Amidst the surging flames, the girl did not scream; she departed without a trace of regret.
And the people who heard Jeanne's words only realized later, crying out in terror:
"My God, we have burned a saint!"
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The cold winter air turned breath into white mist. Coming out of the bedroom, Shirou stretched his arms.
"Haaa~"
"Didn't you sleep well last night, Shirou?" Sakura asked, looking at Shirou's state with some confusion, unaware of what had happened the previous night.
"It's not a matter of sleeping or not."
Closing his eyes only to start watching a "movie"—and a tragic, dark one at that—had made Shirou not want to sleep at all.
"Let's not talk about that. Let's eat first."
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