by Debbie Rix
On the day of the marriage itself, the royal couple arrived in Bruges to find the streets decked with ribbons and bright banners. A spectacular procession took place through the streets, in which the new Duchess was carried on a litter to her Ducal Palace. Tableaux were performed all along the route; the first was of Adam and Eve in paradise; the second depicted Cleopatra being given in marriage to Alexander. English and Burgundian nobles, accompanied by their yeoman and men-at-arms, led the procession. Minstrels and trumpeters, playing as they marched, followed them. Ambassadors, knights, bishops and clerics came next. Then the merchants of all the loggias of Bruges processed, led by the Venetians dressed in crimson velvet; they were followed by the Florentines, with the Medici banker Tomasso Portarini leading the way; his merchants were all dressed in black satin with crimson doublets. After them came the Spaniards, followed by the Genoese, led by a beautiful girl on horseback representing the virgin saved from the dragon by St George. Finally, one hundred and eight German merchants, including Peter Haas, dressed in violet cloth and grey fur, made a spectacular finale to the procession.
The new Duchess arrived at the Ducal Palace at midday. The wedding breakfast was to take place in a wooden banqueting hall complete with glass windows, which had been prefabricated in Brussels and erected on the Duke’s tennis court. In the afternoon, the wedding party moved to the Market Square to watch the first of many jousts. Peter and his family joined the crowd watching the spectacle from the upper rooms of the Burg. As one of the leading merchant families in the city, Peter, Maria and their daughters had been invited to a banquet at the Palace that evening. Maria had insisted on new gowns for their four girls. Margarethe, Beatrice and Katje had chosen silks in shades of green and blue. But Caterina, with her fair hair and grey eyes, had selected a dramatic cloth of red silk, embroidered with black thread. It was cut in a low ‘V’ at the front, revealing a little décolleté, with a belt of black silk just under the bust and sleeves edged in fur. Her hair would be pulled back, as was the fashion, and she would wear a tall hennin headdress with a delicate veil. The dress was delivered the day before the grand banquet and Caterina could not wait to try it on. She hoped it would create a magnificent impression.
On the evening of the banquet, Peter Haas ushered his beautiful wife and four daughters into the Duke’s Palace. The entrance was dominated by a vast tableau painted in gold and azure blue depicting two lions, the Duke’s coat of arms. On either side were painted two archers; created in relief, they appeared almost real to the observer. But behind their wooden facades, newly constructed fountains had been erected that flowed with wine. It spouted and gushed from the archers’ arrows: Beaune from one and Rhenish wine from the other. It fell into large stone vats from which guests could take their fill.
Inside the large banqueting hall, two gargantuan mechanical chandeliers had been suspended from the ceiling. They looked like mountains, with paths winding round their bulk, decorated with life-like flowers and trees. Models of people and animals ascended the paths, climbing towards a castle that stood at the summit of each mountain. At the base of each chandelier were seven mirrors which were arranged so that anyone glancing up could see everything that happened in the vast space beneath; the walls were hung with rich tapestries made of gold and silver thread and a large stage had been erected for dancing and tableaux. The food was served on silver plates and guests were seated at long wooden tables on which stood seven-foot-long wooden ships painted in gold and azure blue and each carrying the name of one of the Duke’s lordships. They were perfect in every detail – with ropes made of gold thread and miniature models of sailors. Into each ship was placed the food for the banquet. Beside them stood tall pies made to look like castles, also decorated in gold and azure blue. And surrounding each one were little dishes of olives and capers and lemons.
The girls gasped when they sat down at their places. ‘What extraordinary imagination the organisers must have,’ said Beatrice. ‘Look up there,’ said Katje. ‘You can see your face in the mirrors. And the little sailors… They’re so sweet.’
Caterina refused to be drawn by her sisters’ excitement. Her attention had been taken immediately by a handsome young man seated on her right-hand side. Carlo Cavalcanti sold silks on behalf of the Medici family, who were bankers to the Burgundian Court. His manager, Tomasso Portarini, had been intricately involved in the wedding arrangements. He had supplied the cloth of gold worn by the Duke on his wedding day along with a large proportion of the clothes worn by the Duke and his family throughout the twelve days of feasting and jousting. The Duke owed Portarini over fifty thousand pounds, and young Carlo, who had arranged for the fine cloth to be imported, had been rewarded with a place at the Duke’s feast.
‘So, madam,’ he said to Caterina, gesturing towards the royal couple at the top table, ‘what do you think of the Duke’s fine cloth of gold?’
‘It is stunning,’ said Caterina. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I brought it into the country, from Florence. The Medici were tasked with supplying all the wedding clothes.’
‘I’m very impressed,’ said Caterina politely. ‘And what do you make of my dress? My father had the silk brought in from Venice.’
‘I recognised it. It’s beautiful – as are you, lady.’
Caterina giggled. There was no doubt that Carlo was a handsome man; he was also amusing, and well connected. At fifteen, she was keenly aware that she should find a husband soon. The Duke had the power to compel unmarried or even widowed women from merchant families into marriages with his friends and acquaintances if he thought the alliance would be helpful. Caterina had recently overheard her mother discussing the plight of a young widow who had been persuaded into a marriage against her will. Her husband, a furrier named Jean Pinte, had died suddenly and even as he was being buried his widow was forcibly engaged to another furrier named Willeret de Noeuville. He had the virtue, at least, of being a young man, aged just twenty, but nevertheless, the woman was forced to consummate the marriage the day after she buried her first husband. Had she been a rich widow, her family could perhaps have paid money to prevent the marriage, which was the only way to avoid it. This was not a predicament Caterina wished to find herself in. Her parents were rich, of course, which would afford her some protection. But Caterina didn’t want to take any chances; she had already asked her father to help her select a suitable husband as soon as possible, and he had promised to do so. She wondered now if Carlo Cavalcanti might be the man.
‘How long have you worked with the Medici bank?’
‘Some five years. I speak French and so it makes sense for me to liaise with the court here in Bruges. I have a good position.’
‘They are powerful, the Medici.’
‘Yes, very. We do well here.’
‘And will you stay – here in Bruges?’
‘I think so,’ said Carlo. ‘At least for now. I like it here. The people are wealthy, the ladies are beautiful, and I am good at what I do.’
‘You are full of conceit,’ said Caterina playfully.
Opposite Carlo sat a dark-haired young man. He had pale blue eyes and a long nose, which he rubbed from time to time between thumb and forefinger. He was not classically good looking, but he had a gentle countenance. Perhaps he was shy, Caterina thought, for he had not yet spoken to anyone around him.
Wishing to tease Carlo a little, Caterina turned away from him and spoke instead to the young man.
‘Do you like it here, in Bruges?’
The young man blushed a little and looked slightly surprised to be so addressed.
‘I do,’ he said quietly.
‘I do not believe we have been introduced. I am Caterina Haas, the daughter of Peter Haas the merchant; he is sitting down there.’ She gestured towards her father, who was laughing loudly at a friend’s joke.
‘Cornelius van Vaerwye, from Antwerp.’
‘Antwerp – is it nice there?’
‘It is. I have lived there all my life. I lik
e it.’
‘And what do you do in Antwerp, Cornelius van Vaerwye?’
‘I am a merchant too. My family has been there for many generations.’
‘And are you successful?’
Cornelius blushed. He was slightly shocked at the young woman’s impertinence. ‘I am, madam. I mean, we are.’
Margarethe, who had been seated next to Cornelius, glared at her younger sister.
‘Cornelius,’ she interjected, ‘what did you make of the wonderful tableau as we arrived? Was it not astonishing?’
The young man smiled and appeared to relax a little. He and Margarethe began to chat easily. Not for the first time in her life, Caterina felt a pang of jealousy. Her elder sister appeared to have an easy way with conversation. Caterina preferred a combative style. Her father often chastised her for it, but secretly he admired his daughter’s quick wit and sharp tongue. She made him laugh and he saw himself in her – cool and fair-haired on the outside, but fiery and hot within.
Caterina spent the rest of the meal chatting with Carlo. He was charming and intelligent and appeared to enjoy her company. But she could not help glancing across the table towards her sister. Margarethe and Cornelius appeared to be in deep conversation about something. They kept their voices low and it was impossible to decipher what they were saying.
When the meal was finished and the tables cleared away, the room was prepared for dancing.
A group of performers displayed the latest dances on the stage. The audience all applauded. Then the musicians struck up a familiar tune and the guests were invited to take to the floor.
Carlo invited Caterina to dance. She accepted, but noted with irritation that Cornelius had asked her sister Margarethe. They lined up next to one another. There was something in Caterina’s nature that caused her to chase after anyone who failed to show an interest in her. It was as if she was determined to have whatever she set her mind to. She resolved to persuade Cornelius to fall in love with her.
The first dance was the basse danse. It was popular at the Burgundian court. The couples processed gracefully in an elegant gliding motion. Caterina found it rather dull. She preferred dances where the participants were required to leap or hop from the floor. She and Carlo moved elegantly around the room, his hand just touching hers. He was tall and graceful and smiled at her from time to time. But she was unable to take her eyes off her sister who appeared to be quite entranced by Cornelius. The pair moved together so perfectly, in such unison, that they were almost like one person.
The pavane came next. Much like the first dance, it involved slow graceful processional movements. Caterina suggested to her partner that they went for a glass of wine. She stood at the side of the great hall watching her sister with Cornelius. Carlo leant down and whispered in her ear.
‘You watch your sister with great interest, Caterina.’
‘Yes, I think she is making a fool of herself with that boring merchant from Antwerp.’
‘Shall we break them up?’ asked Carlo, smiling.
‘Can we?’ asked Caterina.
‘I shall ask her to dance, then he will be forced to dance with you. I am envious of him already.’
‘Why would you do that?’ asked Caterina.
‘Because it would please you.’
As the pavane came to its stately close, the couples began to disperse. Cornelius and Margarethe walked back towards their table.
The musicians struck up a saltarello. This was much more to Caterina’s liking as it was faster than the earlier dances and involved the dancers hopping on each second beat. Carlo went at once to Margarethe and asked her to dance. Cornelius looked around and saw Caterina gazing at him. He was powerless to avoid her.
‘Would you care to dance the saltarello?’
‘I would,’ said Caterina. She threw herself into the dance, laughing as she leapt into the air, twirling around her partner. Her pale skin flushed a little, her fine gold hair escaped from her hennin.
Cornelius danced well; he appeared more handsome than at first sight. As the dance came to a close he spun her round; he put his hand on her waist and she felt herself shudder with excitement.
The two couples walked back to the table. Caterina chattered gaily to her companion. But Cornelius seemed impervious to her; his eyes, she noted with irritation, followed Margarethe around the room.
The family arrived back at their house on the Groenerei well after midnight. Maria kissed the girls as they went upstairs to bed.
‘You were all beautiful tonight.’
Her daughters smiled: ‘So were you, Mama.’
‘I think perhaps one of you might have met your husband tonight?’ said Maria, smiling up at Margarethe.
‘Mama! What makes you say such a thing?’ said Margarethe, blushing.
‘Just something about the way you were together. I spoke to him a little, as did your father. He is from a fine family of merchants in Antwerp.’
Margarethe smiled. ‘So, did you like him?’
‘We did. We have invited him to dine with us next week.’
Margarethe was delighted. ‘Oh Mama, thank you. I should very much like to see him again.’
‘He will be here throughout the Duke’s celebrations. I thought it would be a good opportunity.’
‘I thought him rather dull,’ said Caterina spitefully. ‘I can’t imagine a worse person to marry than that.’
‘Oh Caterina,’ said Maria, ‘don’t be so silly. He is delightful. He would not be right for you perhaps, but Margarethe has a much gentler disposition.’
This cut Caterina to the quick. Her mother professed to love her daughters equally, but she could not avoid the feeling that her eldest sister had more of her mother’s love and affection.
‘So who am I to marry?’ she asked petulantly. ‘Someone with a violent disposition? I will not be forced to marry some man that the Duke chooses for me.’
‘Oh Caterina, you are young and so hot-headed. You must not worry about your future husband yet. We will not allow any of our daughters to be married against their will. You must know that. But we must settle Margarethe first and then Beatrice. Your time will come.’
Caterina followed her sisters up the large oak staircase to bed, filled with resentment that she had not been born the eldest sister. But as she climbed into her bed and pulled the curtains around her, she lay against the lace pillows and thought about Carlo Cavalcanti and what sort of life she might have with the man who sold silk to the Burgundian court.
Chapter Seventeen
Antwerp, 1490
Margarethe lay in her bed, propped up with cushions. She had flung the bed curtains open to let in some air. The room was humid, fetid almost, and she felt faint and weak. Early morning light filtered through the latticed windows in her bedchamber. Pain was searing through her and in spite of herself, she let out a high-pitched scream.
‘Madam, madam, calm yourself.’ The midwife stroked her brow. Her voice was soothing, but her face told a different story. She was worried. The baby was stuck and Margarethe could not, however hard she tried, push any harder. Besides, the pain was terrible, unimaginable.
‘I can’t do any more,’ she said after the last contraction as she collapsed onto her sweat-soaked pillows.
‘I know, I know. You are doing well. I must examine you, I think.’
The midwife plunged her hand between Margarethe’s legs. In agony, Margarethe let out an involuntary scream.
‘Hush now, I know it’s uncomfortable.’
‘Uncomfortable!’ shouted Margarethe. ‘That was terrible. I’ve never felt such a thing before.’
‘The baby is breach – I must turn it or you and the baby will die. You will never push it out the way it’s lying.’
Margarethe wept silently and fingered her rosary. It was made of carved coral beads with a silver bead at either end. Cornelius had given it to her on the birth of their first child Jacob eighteen years before.
‘I will turn the baby now. Take a dee
p breath.’
Margarethe took in a huge draft of hot humid air as the midwife plunged her hand deep inside her. Her fingers clutched at the rosary so tightly that the sharp carved edges of the tiny beads cut the flesh of her palm. She prayed under her breath. ‘Pray for me, mother of God, now and in the hour of our death,’ over and over again.
‘There! It is done,’ said the midwife with an air of satisfaction, wiping her bloody hand on her apron. ‘I did one of those last week too.’
‘And did it go well?’ said Margarethe anxiously.
‘Not on that occasion, no. Now, when the next contraction comes, you can push.’
Within seconds, the deep burning pain rose up through Margarethe’s body and she pushed with all her might. Her entire being seemed to be on fire as she finally expelled the reluctant child.
The slippery infant fell into the midwife’s waiting hands. She tossed the child upside down and slapped it firmly on the back. It wailed gustily.
Margarethe collapsed back onto the pillows and wept with relief and joy. The absence of pain was overwhelming. ‘Is the baby all right?’
‘Yes! A fine girl – a sister for all those boys.’
‘A girl! Oh, thank you!’
At the age of thirty-nine, Margarethe knew that she was fortunate to have survived another birth. She and Cornelius were already parents to five sons. Two other children had been born – both girls – but they had died in infancy. This was then her eighth delivery, and she was grateful that it was over. She hoped fervently that she would never have to endure it again. She prayed too that this daughter would survive.
The midwife cut the cord; as was the custom, it would be burned later that day in the fire. The baby was bathed and swaddled. Margarethe’s maid helped her to change her nightgown. Her bed was cleaned as best they could and the child was laid in her arms. Cornelius entered the bedchamber accompanied by Margarethe’s dog, Lysbette, the granddaughter of her beloved Spitzke. The little griffon snuffled around the pile of soiled linen that lay by the bed before the midwife shooed it away. Gathering the linen up in her sturdy arms, she left the couple alone together. A fire had been lit in the hearth, casting a warm glow in the room.