Joan of Arc's tent was a austere place, barely decorated with the essentials for a commander. A wooden table, cluttered with maps, scrolls, and candles, occupied the center. Joan sat at it, reviewing reports while Gilles de Rais, her right-hand man, stood to the side with his arms crossed and a furrowed brow.
"Joan," Gilles finally said, breaking the tense silence. "We need to talk about the outsider."
Joan looked up from the scrolls and observed him calmly.
"Speak, Gilles."
The man took a step forward, his expression filled with concern.
"That man, Marchand... do you really think he's someone we can trust? He's strange. His knowledge seems limitless, yet he has no clear explanation of who he is or where he comes from."
Joan set the scroll down on the table and interlaced her fingers, listening intently.
"I know, Gilles. He's a mysterious figure. But it's also true that his strategy gave us victory this morning."
"That proves nothing," Gilles retorted, almost brusquely. "He could be earning our trust to betray us at a crucial moment. What if his true intention is to lead us into an ambush? What if he's working for the English?"
Joan frowned, annoyed but not surprised by his words.
"I understand your doubts, Gilles. But what sense would it make for an English spy to help us win a battle against their own army?"
"What if this is part of a more elaborate plan?" Gilles insisted, raising his voice slightly. "What if he's leading us toward a greater defeat? It's not just me who has doubts. The officers are already talking, and if this reaches the ears of the nobles—or even the king—our position could be in danger."
Joan sighed deeply, her gaze as hard as steel.
"Then what do you propose?"
Gilles didn't hesitate to respond, his tone full of conviction.
"Execute him. Now, before he causes more problems. If he's not a spy, at least we eliminate any possibility that he could be."
The air in the tent seemed to grow heavier. Joan slowly rose from her seat, standing face-to-face with Gilles. Though she was shorter, her presence was commanding.
"Execute him?" she repeated, her voice calm but with an edge that cut through the silence. "Why? Because of the possibility that he might be a spy? Don't you think that would be a rash decision, even for you?"
Gilles held her gaze, though there was a slight tremble in his hands.
"Joan, we're at war. We can't afford to take unnecessary risks. If the nobles or the king believe we've lost a battle because of an outsider, it won't just be him who pays the price. It'll be you and me."
Joan closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, there was an unshakable determination in them.
"If that's what worries the nobles and you, then I have a solution."
Gilles raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but also wary.
"What solution?"
"Marchand will be my responsibility," she said, her tone firm, almost defiant. "From now on, he'll be mine. My property. No one else will have authority over him, nor will they question him without going through me."
Gilles fell silent, clearly surprised by the declaration.
"Your property? And how do you think that will solve anything?"
"Because by doing so, I make it clear that any mistake he makes will be my mistake, not his. That way, the nobles will have no reason to distrust him, as he'll be nothing more than a tool under my control."
Gilles looked at her in disbelief.
"Joan, this is madness. Are you really willing to take on that responsibility for a man you don't even know?"
"I am," Joan replied without hesitation. "And not because I blindly trust him, but because I believe in giving chances. He's already proven his usefulness. If he proves it again, he'll become a powerful weapon for our cause."
The silence that followed was heavy. Gilles seemed to wrestle with himself internally but finally shook his head in frustration.
"I'm not convinced, Joan. Neither I, nor the officers, nor the nobles will be. But if you decide to move forward with this, it'll be on your own responsibility."
Joan watched him calmly, though her gaze remained challenging.
"Then so be it."
Gilles scoffed and took a step back, heading toward the exit of the tent. Before leaving, he turned to look at her one last time.
"I hope you don't regret this, Joan. Because if that man turns out to be a traitor, I won't hesitate to do what's necessary."
"I trust my judgment, Gilles. And I hope you do too."
With those words, Gilles left the tent, leaving Joan alone with her thoughts.
She approached the map once more, though this time her mind was far from military strategies. She thought of Leonardo Marchand, the outsider, and what his presence meant.
"If you really are a spy," she murmured to herself, "there will be no place in the world where you can hide from me."
Outside the tent, the French countryside remained immersed in the activity of a moving army. But inside Joan of Arc's tent, the young maiden had made a decision that would change the fate of her crusade.
---
The camp was quiet, enveloped in the whisper of the wind and the sounds of sleeping soldiers. Only the torches faintly illuminating the tents and the guards on duty kept the night awake. Joan of Arc was alone in her tent, kneeling before a wooden crucifix. She had finished reviewing the day's reports, but her mind was not at peace. Gilles' words still echoed within her: *"That man could be a spy."*
Though her decision was made, a lingering unease refused to let her rest. She closed her eyes and began to pray.
"Lord, if I have made a mistake, guide me. Show me the right path. Grant me clarity in my thoughts and faith in my actions."
Suddenly, a strange silence enveloped everything. It wasn't the usual silence of the night but something deeper, as if the world itself had held its breath. Joan opened her eyes, bewildered, and realized that the light from the torches outside the tent seemed to have gone out.
"What's happening...?" she murmured.
Then, a blinding light filled the tent, warm yet overwhelming. Joan looked up, and within that radiance, a figure formed—majestic and radiant. It was a presence she had felt before, one she knew deeply.
"My Lord..." she whispered, kneeling in reverence.
The figure did not speak immediately, but its voice resonated in the air and in her soul simultaneously, as if it were everywhere.
"Joan, my faithful servant. You have walked in faith and obedience, and for that, I speak to you once more."
She kept her head bowed, trembling slightly.
"Lord, tell me, what must I do? Have I made the right decision in trusting that man?"
The light seemed to intensify, and the divine voice continued:
"Leonardo Marchand is no ordinary man. He does not belong to this time but to a distant future you cannot comprehend. I have allowed him to be brought here by my will, for his presence is necessary to fulfill your mission, Besides, he has a bigger purpose than I can tell you, being a key piece for the profane actions of the humans in the forsaken future."
Joan raised her head, startled by the words.
"From the future...? But how is that possible?"
"Do not question my designs, my child. Leonardo Marchand possesses knowledge that surpasses that of any man in this time. That knowledge, if used correctly, will be your greatest strength. But it will also be a risk, for those around him will not understand his origin and will view him with suspicion."
Joan pressed her hands against the ground, processing the revelation.
"So, should I trust him?"
"Yes, Joan. Trust him as you trust me. He will help you face the challenges ahead and save you from a terrible fate. Without his help, victory will be meaningless, and your sacrifice will be in vain."
The words resonated deeply in her heart. Joan swallowed, feeling a mix of relief and fear.
"I will do as you ask, Lord. I will protect and guide him, if that is your will."
"It is, my child. But remember: though he is a tool in my hands, you are my servant. Do not forget your purpose, even when doubts assail you."
The light began to fade slowly, and Joan felt the temperature in the tent return to normal.
"Thank you, Lord..." she murmured, bowing her head as the divine presence faded completely.
When the light disappeared, the camp was once again filled with the usual sounds of the night. Joan remained kneeling, breathing deeply. Her mind was calm, but her heart pounded fiercely.
Finally, she stood and returned to the crucifix, closing her eyes once more.
"Lord, if this is your will, grant me the strength to fulfill it. And protect Leonardo Marchand, for now I understand that he is part of your plan, and I will be his guardian."
Joan stayed praying for several more minutes, this time not only for her cause but also for the man who, by divine will, was destined to change her fate and, perhaps, the fate of the world.
---