Excerpts from the twenty-seven articles drafted on May 4, 1456, and used as a basis of Joan’s nullification trial. Original witnesses were asked to verbally confirm or deny the truth of each charge in regards to their questioning during Joan’s original trial in 1431:
4) That neither judges, confessors, or consultants, nor the promoter and others intervening in the trial, dared to exercise free judgment because of the severe threats made against them by the terrorizing English; but that they were forced to suit their actions to their fear and to the pressure of the English if they wished to avoid grave perils and even the peril of death. And so it was and that is the truth . . .
8) That they kept Joan in a secular prison, her feet fettered with irons and chains; and that they forbade anyone to speak to her so that she might not be able to defend herself in any way, and they even placed English guards over her. And so it was and that is the truth . . .
25) That Joan continuously, and notably at the moment of her death, behaved in a saintly and Catholic manner; commending her soul to God and invoking Jesus aloud even with her last breath in such a manner as to draw from all those present, and even from her English enemies, effusions and tears. And so it was and that is the truth.
• • •
“I just have to do this,” Vale croaked. “I have to get to Los Angeles, man. Can we just hurry the fuck up, please?” He put his foot up on the dashboard and tucked his hands into his armpits. Sitting there like that, with his posture and his bandages and sunglasses, he looked like history’s most ravaged and sullen teenager.
Traffic had picked up. “We’re going,” I said. “We’re on our way.”
“Dude,” Casper said, leaning over our seats, getting in Vale’s face, “we just saw a ghost, Mike.”
“I know, Casper,” Vale said. He sounded miserable. “It’s just . . . I have to get to LA for a funeral. My wife’s funeral. I have to. Do you get that?” He took his sunglasses off and pressed his heels to his eyes. He might’ve been crying, but it was clear you’d have to be an idiot to ask him about it.
“Hey, it’s cool,” Casper said. “We’re moving again. We’re on our way.”
Vale put his sunglasses back on. “It’s not cool, Casper. There’s nothing cool about it. Name one fucking thing that’s cool.”
I watched Casper shrug in the rearview mirror and sit back on his knees. “My shirt’s cool, remember? Bald eagles and shit? Beers? You’re cool, Mike. You look like a really shitty extra from The Road Warrior. That’s cool.”
Vale nodded once. “Thanks.” I watched a small smile creep across his face.
Casper leaned over the seat again. “Don’t worry about it, dude. I totally cried last night. Didn’t I, Marvin? I figure if there’s little ghost kids lost in random fields by the side of the road? Dead and lost? Things are weird enough that it’s no big deal if guys like me and you freak out every once in a while. We’re the last ones anyone’s gonna care about. Go ahead and melt down, I say.”