It was a time of heresy. The Middle Ages during 1400 to 1500 ad in France, where civil wars reigned supreme and no one was safe from the horrors of war, torture and slavery.

Joan was a simple country girl, strong, determined and obstinate. I met her in my dreams where she demanded retribution. She somehow became known to the reigning King Charles VII of France and offered her services as a warrior to drive the English out of France. In fact, she often heard God her Lord speak to her through three archangels. Of course the bishop would not hear of her ranting and demanded her execution.

These were barbaric times indeed, where the terrors of torture were submitted to thieves and common criminals. Heresy was punished by being burnt at the stake during these dark foreboding times. This common practice was rife to the point where over six hundred people in Spain alone were burnt at the stake.

In France, Joan of Arc insisted archangels directed her from God when she fought in her battles. Joan's leadership drives the English out of France. However, such was her interference in the laws of the land that she was put on trial for heresy. The pithy board of directors sentenced her to death by burning.

The board would have consisted of great Lords and Bishops from that era. They commanded anyone to be put to death who did not obey the Catholic Church and its sermons to a fault. In fact, many people were wrongly accused and put to death, simply by rumour. Any rumour of sorcery or witchcraft would most certainly guarantee you a place on death row.

Joan of Arc was just one of many burned at the stake and she came before me in a dream begging for help. I must do something! Sweat forms at my brow as I twist and turn in my sleep.

"Speak to Michael, your archangel. Stop your interference with the hierarchy and the King. Leave the city before it's too late, my Joan," I cry out, leaving no doubt to anyone nearby that I'm completely mad.

Joan repeats her mumblings to her Lord. She has been locked in a freezing cold dungeon in a small cage. The sobs of others fill the air. A great bitter sadness envelops my heart.

The morning light peeks its arrival from a tiny brick window above. The day of execution has arrived. A priest reads Joan her last rites as she is being led to her stage of execution.

King Charles of France, the Archbishop, Warwick and the chaplain have all sentenced her to death.

But Joan believes she has been chosen by God to save France from England with her leadership in battle. She believes she is the chosen one, because of the archangels who speak to her.

The crowds have already gathered outside, eagerly awaiting today's entertainment.

I can see the guards drag her over to the stake, bind her hands and ankles to the pole tightly. They offer her the customary blindfold but here she refuses. Nothing will intercept between her and her God. She squeezes the small cross she holds in her hand.

The men cover her in paraffin, drench sticks at her feet aside mountains of branches littered around her. Their torches light the edges.

I can hear her piercing screams as flames lick at her waist. I see terror filled eyes red from smoke. Her hands clutch her cross as she prays in fervent mumblings. The devil of pain envelops her soul as thousands look on dispassionately.

What makes Joan so special? Why is she the chosen one, and why must she be put to death?

The hypocrisy of the Middle Ages, the laws of the land, the ecclesiastical beliefs of Lords and chaplains have all contributed to her untimely execution.

Joan's ultimate devotion to God, her bravery in battle, her gumption and pride in her dealings with the King, have all led her to a place of extreme torture and persecution.

It has delivered her to a place of heavenly fulfilment. A place without bias, judgement and pain. Her ultimate sacrifice.