The Lady and the Unicorn

by Tracy Chevalier

  I work best when it's quiet. Then I can weave for hours without noticing time pass, thinking of nothing but the coloured threads under my fingers as I pull them back and forth between the warp. But one restless weaver or a chattering woman can make the whole shop unable to settle. We need this silence now to do proper work, if we're ever to finish the tapestries in time. Even when it's quiet these days, often all I can think of is time — of what has gone and what is left, of how we shall manage and what we can do to catch up.

  I was sitting between Georges Le Jeune and Luc, finishing the jewels the Lady held in À Mon Seul Désir, while also keeping an eye on my son as he began the hachure on the Lady's shoulder, yellow into red. He was making a good job of it — really I no longer needed to watch as he did it. It is a habit that's hard to break.

  The two hired weavers, a father and son called Joseph and Thomas were working on millefleurs in Taste. They have done millefleurs for me before, and are good and quick at them. And they're quiet, though Thomas uses the pedals on his loom more than he needs to. Sometimes I think he does it on purpose to make noise, as the young often do. I had to teach Georges Le Jeune to shift his pedals quietly and only when he was making a large enough shed. Of course I cannot tell another weaver what to do, but I grit my teeth when Thomas makes such a racket.

  It's not easy being the lissier. Apart from watching over the others, I weave the hardest parts — the faces and hands, the lion's mane, the unicorn's face and horn, the intricate cloth. I jump between the two tapestries, trying to keep up as the other weavers press on with millefleurs and animals, waiting for me to fill the hole in the centre.

  I've told the weavers they must be sitting at the looms, ready to start, when the bells of the Chapelle ring — earlier now May has begun. We began at seven this morning. Other workshops may use the bells as a signal to begin preparing for the day, but there's nothing in the Guild rules to say that weavers can't arrive early and study the cartoon to see what they will be weaving that day and make their bobbins ready. Then they can begin the moment the bells sound.

  I don't worry about Georges Le Jeune or Luc — they know we have no time to dawdle in the mornings. The other two weavers have managed so far, but it's not their workshop or commission, and though I trust their work — their millefleurs are as fine as mine — I wonder sometimes if there will come a day when they find other work that's not so demanding and don't turn up when they should. Joseph hasn't complained, but I've seen Thomas sit down to the loom and stare at it after the bells ring until at last he lifts his hands to the threads as if he had stones tied to his wrists. Yet I need ten months' more work from him, noisy pedals or not. It could be he hasn't properly recovered from his illness this winter. Though Aliénor dosed him and Georges Le Jeune through their fevers, it took them a long time to get well. We have not yet recovered the time lost.

  Pray, Christine is always saying. But it takes too much time to pray, and I tell her to go to the Sablon and say our prayers for all of us so that we may remain here and weave instead.

  Now I heard voices in the kitchen. Madeleine had come back from market, and brought a man with her. I thought little of it — Madeleine often has swains buzzing around her. One day she'll be stung by one of them.

  Then Aliénor came in from the garden, a strange look on her face.

  ‘What is it?’ Christine asked, breaking the workshop's precious silence.

  Aliénor was listening to the sounds in the house. ‘He's come back.’

  Georges Le Jeune looked up. ‘Who?’

  He needn't have asked. I knew who. Our peace was about to be wrecked — that man can never keep quiet.

  Madeleine appeared in the workshop with a silly smile on her face. ‘The Paris man's here,’ she announced.

  Nicolas des Innocents appeared behind her, still splattered with mud from the journey, and grinned at us. ‘You're all sitting just as I left you last summer,’ he scoffed. ‘The world goes on, but Brussels never moves.’

  I stood. ‘Welcome,’ I said. ‘Christine, drink for our guest. Small beer.’ Although he was a nuisance, I would not have it said of me that I don't welcome visitors, especially those who've travelled far.

  Georges Le Jeune began to stand as well, and Luc, until I shook my head at them. Nicolas needn't disrupt everyone's work.

  Christine nodded at him as she passed. ‘So you've come for another look, have you?’ She made a gesture with her head that took in both the looms and Aliénor still idling in the doorway.

  ‘I have indeed, Madame. I had hoped to see Aliénor dancing around a maypole, but I've arrived too late.’

  Christine disappeared inside without telling him we'd worked through May Day — though I had let Luc and Thomas go early to see the fair.

  As Nicolas stepped down into the workshop, he winced as if he'd stepped on a nail. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

  Nicolas shrugged but held his elbow against his side. ‘A little battered from the journey, that's all.’ He turned to Aliénor. ‘And you, Aliénor — how do you keep?’ When he smiled at her I saw that two side teeth were missing, and there was a trace of bruising around his eye. Either he had fallen off a horse or been in a fight. Perhaps there had been thieves along the road.

  ‘Very well, Monsieur,’ Aliénor said, ‘but the garden is even better. Come and smell the flowers.’

  ‘In a moment, beauty. I want to have a look at the tapestries first.’

  Aliénor smiled wryly. ‘You want to see her, don't you? Well, you've come too early.’

  I didn't know what she meant until Nicolas looked at the strip of Taste on the loom. ‘Ah,’ he said, crestfallen. What he could see was a Lady's arm with the hand holding a parakeet, a fold of an overdress, the beginnings of a monkey and the tip of a magpie's wing. And millefleurs, of course. To a weaver there was much to admire, but I could see that for a man like Nicolas the strip must be a disappointment. He glanced at À Mon Seul Désir, perhaps hoping for a face there. But there was only another Lady's arm reaching out with her jewels, more overdress, a monkey, and a blue tent flap with golden flames dotted on it.

  ‘It could be worse,’ Aliénor said. ‘We might already have woven her face and wound her around the roller so that you couldn't see her until the tapestry was done.’

  ‘Unless you unwound her for me, Mademoiselle.’

  ‘Papa unwinds tapestries for no one,’ Aliénor replied sharply. ‘It ruins the tension in the warp.’ That was the answer of a lissier's daughter.

  Nicolas smiled again. ‘Well, then, I shall have to stay until you've woven her.’

  ‘Is that why you've come all this way — just to see a strip of tapestry?’ I said. ‘That is a long trip for a woman's face.’

  Nicolas shook his head. ‘I have business with you, on behalf of Léon Le Vieux.’

  I frowned. What could Léon want now? He knew I was too busy for other commissions. And why send this artist rather than come himself? The weavers were all looking at me. Whatever it was, I wanted them working, not listening. ‘Come into the garden, then,’ I said, ‘so you can see Ali—énor's flowers. We can talk there.’

  I led the way. As Nicolas followed me through the doorway to the garden, Aliénor stepped aside to let us pass. ‘Go and help your mother,’ I said as she began to follow us. Now it was her turn to look crestfallen, but of course she did as I ordered.

  Aliénor's garden is at its best in May. The flowers are fresh and new, not yet faded by the sun. Solomon's seal, periwinkle, violets, columbine, daisies, carnations, forget-me-nots — they were all blooming. Best of all, Aliénor's lily of the valley had its brief flowers, and its strange seductive smell was everywhere. I sat on a bench while Nicolas wandered for a few minutes, sniffing and admiring.

  ‘I had forgotten how beautiful this garden is,’ he said as he came back to me. ‘It's like a healing balm, especially after many days on the road.’

  ‘What's brought you here, then?’

  Nicolas laughed. ‘As abrupt as ever.�
��

  I shrugged. My hands were twitching — they needed to be weaving. ‘I am a busy man. We've much to do yet.’

  Nicolas reached out and plucked a daisy. Aliénor hates people picking her flowers — they're trouble enough to grow without killing them. He began to twirl the bud between his fingers. ‘That's why I'm here,’ he said finally. ‘Jean Le Viste is concerned about getting his tapestries on time.’

  That damned merchant, poking around the workshop back during Lent. I knew he was spying for Léon Le Vieux, though he said he was keen to commission me. I hadn't heard from him since.

  There was a rustle behind me — Aliénor was crouching in the herb bed with a pair of kitchen shears. She was trying not to be seen, but a blind girl is never good at hiding. ‘What are you doing there, girl?’ I growled. ‘I told you to help your mother.’

  ‘I am,’ Aliénor faltered. ‘She wanted chervil for the soup.’

  Her mother had sent her to listen. I know my wife — she doesn't like to be excluded. I didn't send Aliénor back — she and Christine would know soon enough anyway. ‘Don't repeat what you hear,’ I said to her. ‘Not to weavers, nor the neighbours, nor anyone.’

  She nodded and began to cut herbs into her apron.

  ‘It's nothing to be worried about,’ I said to Nicolas. ‘We did fall behind during the winter because of illness, but we're catching up now. We'll have them done for next Easter as Monseigneur Le Viste has asked.’

  Nicolas cleared his throat and squatted to sniff at some carnations and finger their petals. There was something more he wanted to say, I knew, but he was taking his time about it. When Christine appeared with mugs of beer he looked relieved. ‘Ah, thank you, Madame,’ he cried, jumping up and stepping forward to meet her.

  Normally Christine would send Madeleine or Aliénor to serve the beer, but this time she had come herself, hoping to hear the news from Nicolas rather than later, second hand, from me. I took pity on her. ‘Sit,’ I said, making room on the bench next to me. Christine might as well hear it too. Whatever it was, it would not be good. We faced Nicolas on the bench, with Aliénor clipping quietly behind us, and waited.

  When Nicolas finally got to it — after drinking from his beer and admiring more flowers — he said it bluntly. ‘Jean Le Viste wants his tapestries by Candlemas.’

  Aliénor stopped rustling behind us.

  ‘That's impossible!’ Christine cried. ‘We're working flat out as it is — every moment God gives us.’

  ‘Can you hire more people?’ Nicolas suggested. ‘Put three weavers on each loom?’

  ‘No,’ I answered. ‘We can't afford to pay another weaver — if we did that we'd be losing money. I'd be paying Jean Le Viste for the privilege of making the tapestries.’

  ‘If you finish them sooner you can begin other work sooner, and that will bring you money.’

  I shook my head. ‘I have nothing spare to pay anyone — I wouldn't be able to hire a weaver without paying him something first.’

  Nicolas made a futile gesture with his hands. ‘Jean Le Viste wants them by Candlemas and is sending soldiers to collect them then. If they aren't done he'll have them seized and not pay what's owed.’

  I snorted. ‘Whose soldiers?’

  After a pause Nicolas said quietly, ‘The King's.’

  ‘But the contract says Easter,’ Christine said. ‘He can't break that.’

  I waved away her words. Nobles can do what they like. Besides, Léon still held over me the threat of the Magi's green hose. If I had to pay a fine for them, I would certainly be ruined. ‘Why didn't Léon come himself?’ I said with a scowl. ‘I would prefer to discuss this with him.’

  Nicolas shrugged. ‘He was too busy.’

  Aliénor's rustling stopped again. My daughter is like me in judging people. She has an ear for lies, as I have an eye for them. She heard something in his voice, just as I saw the lie in his eye as it cast about but did not meet mine. He was leaving out part of the story. I didn't ask him, though, for I suspected I wouldn't get it out of him here — perhaps later, in a place where he felt more at home.

  ‘We'll talk more later,’ I said. ‘At Le Vieux Chien.’ I turned to Christine. ‘Is dinner ready?’

  She jumped to her feet. ‘Soon.’

  I left him in the garden to finish his beer and went back to the workshop. I did not start weaving again, but stood in the doorway and watched the weavers. They were leaning over their work and sitting very still, like four birds lined up along a tree branch. Occasionally one would push the pedals to shift the threads and change the shed, but apart from that clunk of wood, it was quiet.

  Christine came to stand next to me. ‘You know what we have to do,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘We can't,’ I answered as quietly. ‘Apart from breaking Guild rules, it's hard on the eyes, and the candles drip onto the tapestries. The wax is hard to get out, and leaves an easy clue for any Guild member who wants to make a fuss.’

  ‘I didn't mean that. No one weaves well at night — not even you.’

  ‘You want us to weave on Sundays? I'm surprised you would suggest such a thing. Though perhaps you could bribe the priest — you've got his ear.’

  ‘That's not what I meant either. Of course we don't weave Sundays — they're sacred.’

  ‘What do you mean, then?’

  Christine's eyes were bright. ‘Let me weave millefleurs and Georges Le Fils can do the harder parts along with you.’

  I was silent.

  ‘As you said, we can't afford to pay another weaver,’ she continued. ‘But you have me. Use me, and let your son do what he is able to do.’ She looked hard at me. ‘You've taught him well. Now it's time to let him be his own weaver.’

  She was trying to make that be what mattered, but I knew what was really behind her words — she wanted to weave.

  ‘ Écoute, I'm hungry,’ was all I said. ‘Isn't the meal ready yet?’

  Directly after the bells rang to end the day's work I took Nicolas to Le Vieux Chien. I didn't much fancy being among loud men, but it might be a better place to haggle with him over Jean Le Viste's demands. Georges Le Jeune came with us, and I sent Luc to fetch Philippe as well. We had not made a night of it in some time.

  ‘Ah,’ Nicolas sighed, looking around and smacking his lips as he drank. ‘Brussels beer and Brussels company. How could I forget this? Taverns like graves where they serve water and call it beer. For this I've travelled ten days on bad roads?’

  Myself I was glad it was quiet. ‘It will be livelier later. You'll have your fun.’

  Georges Le Jeune wanted to know about Nicolas' journey — how his horse was to ride, who rode with him, where he stayed. He's much taken by the thought of other places, though when he has come with me to Antwerp or Bruges he's slept poorly, eaten little and been fearful of strangers. Always he's happy to return home. He says he wants to see Paris one day, but I know he will never go.

  ‘Did you meet thieves on the road?’ Georges Le Jeune asked now.

  ‘No, nothing more than mud got in our way — mud and a lame horse.’

  ‘Then how did you get that?’ Georges Le Jeune pointed at the yellowish bruises around Nicolas' eye. ‘And you've hurt your side.’

  Nicolas shrugged. ‘There was a brawl in one of the taverns where I drink in Paris. I got caught up in it, though it was naught to do with me.’ He turned to me. ‘How is Aliénor?’ he asked. ‘Is her trousseau coming on?’

  I frowned. What could he know about Aliénor's trousseau? Only Christine and Georges Le Jeune knew of the agreement I'd made with Jacques Le Bœuf. Christine had insisted that we tell our son so that he would know what to expect when he took over the workshop. He had told no one else, though — he can keep secrets.

  Before I could think what to answer, Philippe arrived with Luc. ‘We didn't expect you back,’ he said to Nicolas as he sat down. ‘You painted so fast last summer I was sure you were glad to go. I thought you vowed never to leave Paris again.’

  Nico
las smiled. ‘I have business with Georges, and I wanted to see how the tapestries are coming on. Of course it's always a pleasure to see Christine and Aliénor. I was just asking Georges about her.’ He turned to me again. ‘How does she fare?’

  ‘Aliénor is very busy now,’ I said curtly. ‘She sews the tapestries long into the night so that she won't be in our way during the day.’

  ‘Then you have an advantage over the other workshops,’ Nicolas said. ‘If she could see she would never be able to sew in the dark. But being blind, she can work all night and not just between the bells. You may be grateful that Aliénor is such a help.’

  I had not thought of it that way.

  ‘Of course she has no time to work on her trousseau, then,’ Nicolas added. Philippe started. I suppose anyone would — no one expects Aliénor to marry.

  ‘My daughter isn't worrying about a trousseau, but about these tapestries, like all of us,’ I muttered. ‘And now that we're to lose two months it'll be even worse.’ I had not meant to blurt it out, but Nicolas annoyed me so that I couldn't help it.

  Georges Le Jeune stared at me. ‘Why are we to lose yet more time? As it is we're behind.’

  ‘Ask Nicolas.’

  Everyone — my son, Luc, Philippe and I — looked at Nicolas, who squirmed and gazed into his beer. ‘I don't know,’ he said at last. ‘Léon said only that Jean Le Viste wants the tapestries earlier, not why he wants them.’

  If he didn't know even that, there was little we could haggle over.

  ‘Léon must know,’ I said, my voice full of scorn. ‘He knows everything. Why didn't he come himself? Don't tell me he's too busy — that's never stopped him before, not when it's Jean Le Viste's business.’

  Nicolas looked at me defiantly — clearly he does not like to be held in contempt. He raised his mug and drained it of beer. We all watched as he picked up the jug and filled his mug again, then drank it down in one long pull. I dug my fingernails into my palms but kept quiet, though he was drinking me dry of beer.

  Nicolas belched. ‘Jean Le Viste's wife told Léon to send me. She wanted me gone from Paris.’