Joan of Arc: The King-Making (Part 3)

We trace Joan of Arc’s blistering Loire campaign to the shock victory at Patay, then follow her to Reims where Charles VII gains anointed legitimacy that reshapes French monarchy. Triumph bleeds into uncertainty as Joan’s voices go quiet and politics overtake momentum.

Transcript

Joan At Reims, Tears And Triumph

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Joan is standing near the altar in full armor. The white plate that's become her signature, still bearing dents and scrapes from six weeks of nearly continuous combat. Her banner is in her hand, the one with Christ in judgment and the words Jesus Maria. That has been at the front in every battle since Orléans. She's crying so hard she can barely stand. We are at the Ron's Cathedral, July 17th, 1429. Joan is watching Charles VII be crowned King of France. The ceremony follows a script that's been used for French coronations for 600 years. He places the crown, crown of Charlemagne, on Charles' head. Every gesture is prescribed, rehearsed, wait with centuries of tradition. Three months ago, this moment was supposed to be impossible. Charles was an uncrowned claimant holding a fragment of his father's kingdom. The English controlled the north, including Reims, the only city where French kings can legitimately be crowned. Without Reims, without the ceremony, without the sacred oil and Charlemagne's crown, you're just a man with an army and a claim. Joan of Arc made this possible. She broke Orleans. She led the French army through the Lois campaign, smashing English positions that had been held for years. She dragged Charles north towards Reims when every major advisor told him to negotiate peace instead. She stood at the gates of this cathedral and demanded entry. And now she's watching it happen. Crying so hard the nobles around her are trying to figure out what it means. Is it religious ecstasy, relief that she can finally go home? Joan will later say something that most people miss. It was fitting that he who had borne the burden should share the honor. But perhaps what Joan is really feeling at this moment is that she's crying because she's realized something. The voices told her to crown the king, and she has done that. But they haven't told her what comes next. And Joan is starting to understand that there might be no after that includes going home to Don Remy. This is part three of the Joan of Arc Story. You know how they say you can't understand someone until you walk a mile in their shoes? Well, I'd argue you can't understand a nation until you've walked through its history. Not just to highlight Rio or the sanitized version you find in textbooks. I mean really getting into its DNA. Those defining moments that shaped everything that came after. Those moments where paths were chosen, where decisions were made in palaces and backrooms and city streets that changed the course of millions of lives. I'm your host, Paul, and this is Double Helix, Blueprint of Nations, where we unravel the genetic code of countries through their most transformative moments. Think of it like ancestry testing, but for entire nations. We dig deep into the historical DNA, finding those crucial moments that made countries who they are today. Within days, the English are retreating north. Within a week, French soldiers who spend months on starvation rations are celebrating in the streets. Within two weeks, Joan's name spreads across Europe like fire through dry timber. But Joan's voices have already given her the next instruction crown the king at Reims. And that means clearing the Loire Valley of every single English stronghold between Orleans and the Coronation City. Charles, for his part, wants to negotiate truces. His advisors want to consolidate the games. Joan wants to strike while the English are afraid. The compromise they reach is this. Take the Lois fortress first, then march to Ron. Joan accepts this because at least we're moving north. But what happens over the next twelve days transforms the war. The town of Jargot sits on the Loire North Bank. Stone walls rising from the river, held by the Earl of Suffolk with 600 English soldiers. Have had weeks to prepare their defenses. Expecting an attack? They are ready for it. The French approach in darkness. Joan riding at the front at La Pirée de Allencon. They prestige ladders, battering equipment, everything they need for an assault. The plan is pretty straightforward. Hit the walls at first light when defenders are still groggy from Nightwatch. The assault begins at dump. French soldiers rush forward with ladders, trying to scale the walls while English archers pour arrows down. Joan is at the front, where she always is, climbing a ladder with her battery. And a stone hits her on top of the head. It is thrown from the walls, heavy defensive projectile meant to knock attackers over the ladder. It catches Joan on the side of her head with enough force to drop her to the ground. Her companions rush forward thinking that she's dead. The install wavers. French soldiers hesitate, looking back towards where Joan fell. But as she always does, she gets back up. Blood is streaming down her face from a gash that should skyline her for weeks. She grabs her banner from where it fell and screams of the French soldiers. Up. Our lord has condemned the English. The insult turns forward again. This time the French make it over the world. Fighting inside Jargot becomes brutal. Hand-to-hand combat in narrow streets where armor and swords give the advantage to whoever wants it more. The French want it more. By afternoon, the Earl of Suffolk surrenders. The English garrison is captured or killed. Three days later, at My-sur-Loire, on June 15th, 1429, the French attack again. This time they're targeting the bridge rather than the town. Control of the crossing and you control movement across the Loire. The English defend the bridge approaches with archers and barricades. They're fighting soldiers who've just watched Joan take a stone to the head and keep attacking. The bridge falls in less than a day. At Buginsea, the English garrison sees Joan's armies approaching and asks for turns before the assault even begins. They'll surrender the fortress if they're allowed to leave with their weapons and honor intact. The French agree. And Bugincy deals without a fight. In six days, Joan has cleared three English strongholds from Delois. The English commanders gathering at Pate are trying to figure out how to stop her momentum before it becomes unstoppable. The English have assembled a field army at Pate. It is now the late morning of June 18th. About 5,000 men under experienced commanders are ready to crush Joan's forces and restore English control. They're moving to engage the French, confident in their long bowmen and their decades of experience winning battles against French knights. The English stop to rest in open ground near Pate. Their scouts spread out to watch for the French army. Their archers begin preparing defensive positions, planting the wooden stakes that protect them from cavalry charges, setting up in formation to maximize their killing power. They are expecting the French to arrive in a few hours. Time enough to prepare properly. But the French arrive in minutes. A French scouting party stumbles on the English position before it is ready. The English archers are still planting stakes. Their formation is loose. Their commanders are caught between rushing to defensive positions and trying to organize an orderly retreat. Lacira sees the opportunity instantly. He leads the French cavalry in a charge before the English can prepare. The Longbowmen, those fear weapons that won pristine in Agincourt, barely get off the bumblebee before French knights crash into their minds. And so, the battle becomes a rapid. English soldiers break and run. French cavalry rides them down. Fighting lasts maybe an hour. But when it is over, the English have lost 2,000 men and most of their command staff. The French lose perhaps a hundred. Joan is found after the battle sitting on the ground near the field praying. She's weeping. Around her, French soldiers are celebrating the most complete victory over English forces in open battle since the war began almost a hundred years before. Joan is crying for the English dead. As Lakiray approaches her, covered in blood that isn't his own, he's fought beside Joan for six weeks now. He's watched her take wounds that would break most men, has seen her cry after every victory when the casualty reports come in. The voice has told you, he says. Joan nods. He said we would win. Said the English would break. They said France needs this. Lachidez studies her face. Thirty years of warfare have taught him to trust results over explanations. Joan predicted this victory. Joan has predicted every victory. At some point, whether her voices are divine or the luckiest commander in French history, it stops mattering. Then he says, and Rons? The king must be crowned. So that is what comes next. Charles receives news of Pate at Chinon, and he's simultaneously thrilled and terrified. Joan has just shattered the English field army. The path to Ronz is opening. And now she's going to demand that he march north through territory that's still technically hostile. But Charles is a survivor, a negotiator, someone who spent his adult life learning that sometimes you get more through compromise than through crushing your enemies. But Joan keeps handing him victories that make compromise look weak. When envoys from Burgundy arrive offering a 15-day truce, just two weeks of peace to discuss terms, Charles wants to accept. His advisors are urging him to take the diplomatic victory, but Joan is absolutely opposed. In late June of 1429, Joan corners Charles after the meeting with the Burgundian envoys. Joan is still in her armor because she's barely out of it now. Charles is in his court clothing and looking exhausted. They're buying time while we sit here discussing peace terms. The English are fortifying Paris. Charles meets her eyes. You win battles and win political victories. You need to trust me to know when diplomacy serves France. The coronation serves France. Every day you remain uncrowned, your enemies can question your legitimacy. The crown at Reims, consecrated with holy oil, wearing Charlemagne's crown, you become the anointed king of France. You're 17 years old. Been doing this, what, for six weeks? I've been navigating French politics for a decade. Jones' response is quiet but absolute. Voices tell me to crown you. I intend to fulfill that mission, whether you help me or you get in my way. As Charles stares at her, this peasant girl that has just told the Dauphin of friends that she'll complete her mission with or without his cooperation, should be treason. But it is also exactly what his soldiers believe: that Joan answers to God before she answers to Kings. And so he makes a compromise. He accepts the 15-day truth, and then he will march on Rons. The march to Rons begins in early July, and it is a gamble. Moving through Burgundian territory with an army that's exhausted from six weeks of continuous fighting, the Joan's reputation is spreading ahead of her like a wave. That opposing her means opposing God's will. We are now in Trois, in July of 1429. Tois sits between the French army and Rons. The city leaders watch Joan's army approach and face an impossible decision. They're Brangundian by oath, French by blood. If Joan attacks and takes the city by force, thousands will die. If they surrender to someone claiming divine mandate, are they breaking their oath or following God's will? Joan writes around the wall for three days, visible from the ramparts. She's in her white armor, carrying her banner, studying the fortifications while praying constantly. Defenders watch her circle their city like she's already won. On the second day, Joan sends a message. On July 10th, after three days of Joan's presence outside of their walls, Touis opens its gates without a fight. The pattern repeats at every city between Touas and Reims. Chalon Summar sees Joan approaching and surrenders before she arrives. Ronz itself sends word that they'll open the city to Charles. Cities are yielding to Joan's reputation before she even attacks. By mid-July, Charles and his army are camped outside of Reims. Inside the cathedral, preparations begin for a coronation that three months ago was supposed to be impossible. As the preparations are underway, Joan dictates a letter to her parents. She can't write, but the words are hers. Dear and beloved father and mother, please forgive me for staying away so long. Events have moved faster than I expected. The king will be crowned soon, and after that, I hope God allows me to come home. I think of Don Remy often, and miss you both. The letter never goes out. The voices have been specific about crowning the king. They've been silent about what comes after, and that silence is starting to feel ominous. Let me take you to the moment in the cathedral where we started the episode. It is July 17th, 1429, at the Ron's Cathedral. The ceremony takes hours, every gesture prescribed by ritual older than anyone can remember. Charles is anointed with the holy oil. Charles receives the crown of Charlemagne. Charles holds the scepter and the hand of justice. The archbishop pronounces him King of Friends by the grace of God. Joan stands near the altar with her banner, crying. The nobles watching her whisper among themselves. Some see triumph, some see exhaustion. Ahire, standing with the other commanders, sees something else. Relief mixed with fear. Joan has just completed the mission her voices gave her. The king is crowned. But what happens when a prophet fulfills her prophecy and the voices go quiet? After the ceremony, Charles calls Joan forward. In front of the assembled nobles, he embraces her publicly. This peasant girl who dragged him north against his judgment and just made him the legitimate king of France. You have honored me greatly, Charles says. Joan, still crying, replies. Now is accomplished the will of God. Who wish that I should raise the siege of Orleans and bring you to the city of France to receive your consecration? Now he has shown you you are the true king. Everyone hears now is accomplished. Joan hears what she left and said. I have no idea what comes next. That was a specific, measurable, and achievable goal. Joan could point to a calendar date and say when this happens, has succeeded. But now that Charles is crowned, the English still hold Paris. The war has transformed from an existential crisis about legitimacy into a grinding territorial conflict. And Joan, who has been driven by divine voices with clear instruction for five months, suddenly finds herself without the clarity. But here's what the coronation does accomplish it gives Charles an authority that goes beyond military success or political maneuver. Enemy soldiers might surrender to a successful general, but they bow to an anointed king. Charles walks out of that cathedral with a mystical authority that transforms the entire political landscape. And that authority, that fusion of sacred and temporal power, it's embedded in French monarchy for centuries to come. The idea that French kings are specially chosen by God, anointed with holy oil, carrying a mandate that transcends politics. An understanding of kingship starts here. When years later Louis XIV declares the Tassimo, I am the state, is channeling a concept of royal authority that Joan helped create at Ron. What strikes me most is that Joan creates this authority and receives essentially nothing for herself. She's still a peasant, and she'll return to being a peasant once her usefulness ends. She's given France as divine right monarchy and secure nothing except the knowledge that she did what God asked. And that becomes a template she's creating. The idea that you serve France expecting no reward, that you sacrifice everything for the nation because the nation itself is sacred, that personal glory matters less than national purpose. This is a pattern of French resistance and French identity that will echo through the centuries. Through the revolution, through resistance to Nazi occupation, through Charles de Gaulle. As Charles walks into the cathedral as an uncrowned claimant and walks out as the anointed king of friends, the transformation matters in ways that go beyond symbolism. In medieval political theology, there's this concept of the king's two bodies the idea that a monarch has. Both a physical body that ages and dies, and a mystical body that represents the eternal continuity of the kingdom. The carnation of Rons is this ritual that creates that mystical body. The oil, the crown of Charlemagne, the ancient ceremony, these aren't just theatrical probes. They're the mechanisms through which a man becomes something more than a man. And Joan has just forced this transformation to happen under circumstances that make it clear the mystical body of French kingship can exist independent of English approval, independent of Parish and support, independent of political consensus. If God's anointed king is crowned at Ronce with the proper rituals, then he's the legitimate king regardless of who controls the capital or who holds military superiority. This has enormous implications. It means French monarchy from this moment forward carries an authority that's theological before it is political. When future kings claim absolute power, when they assert that they answer to God alone, when they resist papal interference or noble limitations and royal authority, they're building on foundations that Joan created here. The coronation at Rons becomes a template for divine right monarchy that reached its apex under Louis XIV, two centuries later. There is a tragedy though, embedded in this triumph. Joan has made herself obsolete. The voices told her to crown the king, mission accomplished. So what's her role now? She's a peasant girl with no noble title, no official position, no way to transform military success into political authority. She's given France his anointed king, and that king no longer needs a peasant prophet to legitimize his rule. I believe Joan says this even as she's crying at the altar. The clarity that she's had for five months, the absolute certainty that came from having a specific, measurable mission, is now gone. The voices haven't told her what comes next, and that silence is terrifying in a way that the Siege of Orleans never was. And so now we must begin to shift from triumph to tragedy. The coronation at Rons is Joan's high watermark and the beginning of her downfall. She's created a template for French monarchy that will outlast her by centuries. She's embedded in French consciousness the idea that divine mandate can flow through the humblest person when God wills it. She's proven that conviction itself is a form of power that can override military calculation and political realism. And she's done all of this at the age of seventeen and less than a year of military campaigning, with no training or preparation beyond the voices in her head telling her that God wants her to do these things. Joan creates French exceptionalism at Russ, a belief that France isn't just another European kingdom, but a nation with a special relationship to divine purpose, a unique role to play in human history, a moral authority that transcends mere political power. That exceptionalism drives French colonialism in the nineteenth century, the mission of civilization that claims France is spreading enlightenment rather than conquest. Next time, on double helix, everything falls apart. After Ron's, Joan pushes for an assault on Paris that Charles was no part of. She meets attacks that fail for the first time. She gets caught between a king who wants to negotiate peace and voices demanding total victory. We'll watch her capture at Compion, her trial for heresy, and the moment when the girl who crowned a king burns alive at Rouen's marketplace. How martyrdom becomes more powerful than victory. How Joan's death creates a symbol that France never lets die. Until then, thank you for listening. We will see you soon.