“They’re here Joan!  They’re here.  The Burgundians are here!” Her voice called to me through the smoke filled barn.  My eyes stung, I felt a dry heat from the flames around me.

“Mother and Papa took the boys.  Hurry Joan, take my hand.” I was only six, my legs too young to know how to push through the fear.  I looked into my sister Catherine’s face, and held it with my mind, fixating on its safety.  Her blue eyes were bright like our mothers.  Her long dark hair always shining, always kept.  Marble, perfect smooth marble, her face was a masterpiece.

“Ma petite seur, little sister, take my hand.”  My arms wouldn’t move, nothing would move.  I was stone, like the statues in the cemetery.  The flames grew hotter, brighter.  I could hear the clamoring of horses and the screaming of women and children.  Metal clashed against metal.

The barn let out a dying screech.  Catherine yanked my arm hard, nearly pulling it from my body.  My feet dragged along the gravel for a moment before remembering how to run.  I looked back to see our barn.  The one we played in, worked in, and helped our animals give birth in.  It was a broken pile of flames.  Gone.  It was gone.

“Where are we going Catherine?” I couldn’t help the tears.  I wanted my mother, I wanted Papa.  Why had they left me? 

“I’ll hide you.  Don’t cry.  I won’t let them find you.  I swear to God Joan, I’ll not let them touch you.”  Her breath was short and fast.  Her grip on my arm tightened as we ran through the dark, hiding behind trees, hiding behind walls.  

I heard the Burgundians, the French traitors who were loyal to England, their voices yelling and laughing, “Over here, there’s one hiding over here.” It was Nicolette’s house.  They were in Nicolette’s house.  Mine was next, only fifty feet from where we crouched behind the lilacs.

 “Follow me Joan.” I didn’t have a choice, Catherine hadn’t let go of my arm.  We moved quietly through the lilac.  My fingers pounded below her grip.  “In the church, you’ll be safe in the church.”

My stomach was in my throat, burning the back of my tongue.  My chest shook with uncontrollable whimpering.

“You mustn’t cry.  They’ll find you if you cry.” Tears welled up in Catherine’s eyes. “Promise me, no matter what happens you won’t cry.” I nodded my head. “Swear to God Joan, look at me and swear to God.”

“I swear.  I swear to God, Catherine.  I won’t, I won’t, I won’t cry.”

Catherine stopped my lips. “Shh, they’re going into our house.” She got up from her knees and crouched on the tips of her toes. “When I tell you to go, you run.  And I mean you run Joan.”

“What about you?  Aren’t you coming with me?” I couldn’t make it without her.  I would freeze.  I would stop.  They would catch me.  Papa said the Burgundians did horrible things to girls when they got caught.  I squeezed my head with my hands, trying to hold back the tears.

“I’ll be fine Joan.  I’ll be fine.” Her voice trembled. “There’s not enough room for both of us to hide there.”

“I won’t go without you.” I held the strings of her blue linen frock.

Catherine pulled me into her chest, her arms like steel around me. “You will run into that church.” She whispered into my ear. “You will go and hide under the altar and pull the velvet down around you.  And you will not move Joan.  Not until I come for you.” I could feel her warm tears against my cheeks.

“I love you Catherine.” My heart fell to my stomach.  I didn’t want to go. 

“Je’taime ma petite seur, I love you my little sister.” She kissed my cheeks, my nose, my forehead, and my hair.  She kissed my hands and then pushed them away. “Run Joan, run!”

I ran.  I ran for what felt like miles, across countries and continents, through deserts, and over mountains.  I ran into the church, only a few paces from the lilacs.  There it was at the opposite end of the chapel, the altar with crimson velvet hanging over its sides.  I couldn’t get there fast enough.  Everything moved slowly.  There was a commotion outside the door.

“Search the building.” A soldier ordered.

I dropped to the floor trembling, willing the movement of my hands and knees.

Almost there.  Almost there.

Heavy booted footsteps slapped the stone floor at the doorway.  He would see me, another step and he would see me.  I felt the heat from his searching eyes draw nearer and nearer, inches from my feet.  My body wouldn’t move; every part of me was hot and frozen.

“Don’t find me, don’t find me, please God, don’t let him see me.” I think I said the words, it felt like I said them, though my lips did not move.

“For God and for France!” A voice rang through the chapel.

I lunged under the draping velvet.  A chill ran up my back, Catherine.  I peered through a crack in the seam.

The soldier turned in his shining armor, covered in metal plating, chain-mail, thick wool and leather boots.  He turned to see Catherine, a ten year old girl, barefoot in her linen gown and frock.  In one swipe of his massive arm he had her.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to run and shove him down and beat him for touching my sister.

 My feet nearly found the courage when she called out, “God blesses those who keep their promises!”

She kicked her legs and beat her fists on the soldiers back.  He carried her like a pile of rags out the door.  Out where I could see her no more.

“O God in Heaven,” I whispered into my chest, my body tight as a ball. “Please spare Catherine, help her get away.” I had no tears.  

I lay there while they beat her.  The thuds and groans pounded in my ears.  Her pain was mine, every bruise, every cut, and every broken bone.  I felt it with her.  The sound of vomiting made my throat jump with empathy.  I wanted to hold her hair back, like she had done for me when I was ill.

It grew quiet, deathly quiet.  I didn’t move.  I stared at the underside of the altar, blocking out all thought by tracing the swirls of marble with my eyes.  All night I stared until my body was released into sleep.