This story is based upon the French heroine who prevented the capture of Beauvais in 1472 by the troops of Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy.
The air burns. It’s working. Hurry, more fire. She shreds another dress — her last one — and binds a bundle of sticks with the ragged strips. The pail’s almost empty. Damn. She runs the faggot along the inside, scraping out the precious fat. With blistered hands, she massages the sticky muck into the crude torch. She’s taking too long. More fat, she cries, as she lights the faggot and passes it up the wall.
Antoinette drops a full pail at her feet. No conversation, just a quick glance to say keep going. The woman’s face is black with soot and shines with grease. Her face feels the same.
Shred. Bind. Dip. Light. Pass. Another torch goes up the wall. And repeat. She can’t stop. Beauvais depends on her. They all do.
Whoosh. Her torches are flung from the ramparts above, feeding the growing inferno on the other side. But still the Duke’s men climb, hell-bent on taking the town — the one they thought would roll over and surrender. Jamais! Beauvais’s too proud to let some flea-bitten asshole lift up her skirt and ram one in.
Shred. Bind. Dip. Thud. A man slams into the ground beside her. He groans and humps the earth as he tries to stand. His back’s broken. She looks up. Merde…
