Chapter Twenty-five
ON MY RETURN from the privy I noticed that there was a well in the garden. I filled a few buckets, carried the water to the house and poured it into a pot that hung over the hearth. I raked the ashes and found enough embers to light some kindling and then I placed a log or two in the grate from the woodpile stacked outside the door. Thus the pot on the fire was simmering by the time the house began to stir and Mistress Anne arrived in the kitchen.
She glanced at the hearth and nodded in approval. ‘I see that you are not an idle child and I am glad of that, although I have a kitchen maid who comes in each morning to help out.’
‘Would you like me to make another eggnog for Master Nostradamus?’ I asked her.
‘He is sleeping,’ she said wearily. ‘He was awake most of the night. I could hear him moving about in his rooms above my head. It will do him good to rest for a while. And anyway, we two have business that must be attended to.’
As I looked at her in puzzlement she went on, ‘We need to decide what to tell people about the circumstances of how you came into this household. The rival factions of Protestant and Catholic in Salon are always seeking to cause discord. There are informers everywhere who run with any snippet of news to Lord Thierry, or to the bishop and his friend the Duke of Marcy. So let us concoct a good plain story of your background before any servant or visitor arrives here and you become the subject of gossip or speculation.’
‘I may already be the subject of speculation,’ I said. I told her of the brawl outside the tavern the previous afternoon, of how I had slipped away and been conducted to the house of Nostradamus by an old pedlar woman.
‘I think I know that woman,’ Mistress Anne replied. ‘She goes about the streets and is harmless enough in her own way, but she is very poor with no children to support her. If she hears that the Lord Thierry has an interest in a minstrel boy, then, in the hope of a small reward, she’ll certainly inform the captain of the town watch that she guided such a boy to my house.’ Mistress Anne surveyed me critically. ‘We must think of how to deal with you.’
‘Deal with me?’ I said. ‘In what way?’
‘Tush, child. Look at you. You are quite bedraggled and you still have the appearance of a boy.’
‘It is as a girl that I am being sought by the king and the Count de Ferignay,’ I reasoned, ‘so it would be best if I remain as a boy.’
‘Not here,’ said Mistress Anne, speaking slowly as she was thinking aloud. ‘No. You have been involved in an incident in the town where Lord Thierry was present. He is a very astute man and if he admired you as a musician and wanted you to go to his castle at Valbonnes to play for him as you said, then he will try to find you. Know this: he is the type of person who once he starts to investigate something or someone does not leave off until he’s satisfied.’
I recalled the keen look of the man in the black and red surcoat as he stood on the ramparts and also later as he had gazed at me while sorting out the rabble in the street outside the tavern.
‘I think it would be best if this wandering minstrel ceased to exist,’ Mistress Anne went on, ‘and you became a girl once more. That means we can devise a more ordinary and natural reason for your presence in my home. I have a twin sister and there are many cousins in our family. I think you will be Lisette, who has come from the countryside to learn skills in the apothecary shop that we run from one of the rooms at the front of the house. Yes’ – she nodded her head – ‘that will do. I’ll find you a dress and a suitable scarf that you may cover your head and conceal your short hair until it grows longer.’
I saw the wisdom in her words and knew that it would be sensible to put on a dress and become a girl again. But the realization was tinged with regret. I had become somewhat used to being a boy, enjoying the exhilaration of swaggering along a street with no escort or chaperone, the freedom to make a joke or pass a remark as I pleased, the ability to come and go on my own whim.
‘One thing.’ Mistress Anne held out her hand. ‘You must give me your mandolin.’
This I resisted. ‘No, I cannot.’
‘You must.’ She said this more kindly. ‘Mélisande, it is the one consistent part in any description of you, both as the minstrel’s daughter sought by the Count de Ferignay, and as the unnamed boy who arrived in this town and ran away from the law maker, Lord Thierry, when he had done no wrong.’ She held out her hand again.
I went then to the cupboard where I had passed the night and I brought her my mandolin. As Mistress Anne took it from me she said, ‘When it is dark and everyone is in bed you may play it. But during the day it must be out of sight.’
She pulled the kitchen table near to the shelves that ran along one wall. She put a chair on the table and, climbing up, placed the mandolin on the highest shelf, pushing it back so that it could not be seen by anyone standing in the kitchen.
‘There,’ she said. ‘You are taller than me so by dint of doing what I’ve just done you may retrieve it at any time, but I beg you not to be foolish. We do not want any official investigation brought here. It is hard enough to keep clear of trouble without another load being added.’
‘What kind of trouble?’ I asked, as we moved the table back to the centre of the room. I was curious to know this. I’d thought that this must be one of the safest houses in France. With the protection of the highest in the land what kind of retribution could Mistress Anne fear?
‘Catherine de’ Medici has always valued Master Nostradamus and she favours us,’ Mistress Anne explained. ‘But the royal court does not hold so much sway here in the south of France, and even though the queen may believe that certain people have been given a gift to foretell the future, there are those who do not view it so kindly. Many see it as the work of another, darker, force. It would not take very much for us to be denounced to the courts of the Inquisition.’
The Inquisition!
I had once seen an example of the doings of the courts of the Inquisition. Papa, Chantelle and myself had just entered a town across the Spanish border where there was to be a fiesta in a few days’ time and we hoped to make some money playing to the crowds in the streets. On approaching the main square we’d had to stand aside to allow a long file of people to pass. On the outside of the line were figures clothed in black robes, their faces and heads covered in tall hoods with sockets cut for eyes. They carried torches of burning pitch and were escorting two men and a woman who had crosses tied to their backs. The woman’s nose had been cut off and she was staring out from bloodshot eyes with a demented look. The crowds surged all round the procession, calling out horrible words and spitting at these unfortunates. In answer the woman gave out a loud braying laugh like a donkey. My mouth hung open in stupefied fear at the noise issuing from her throat. It was only later that I was told that they had probably also cut out her tongue. One of the men was singing. His voice was not tuneful but it had tremendous power as it carried across the square. The other man trudged along as if he would crumple to the ground at any moment.
‘I’ll warrant no Simon of Cyrene will go forward and carry any of their crosses for them,’ my father said harshly.
In the crowd someone nudged him roughly. ‘Why don’t you go then if you’re so smart and quick to criticize? Eh? Eh?’
A few more people turned to stare at us. One of the men leered at Chantelle. ‘Now that’s a pretty one you’ve got there.’ He spoke to my father. ‘How much for her?’
My father grasped both our hands and began to withdraw.
‘Just for the hour,’ the man called after us. ‘Then I’ll let you have her back for your own pleasure.’
Over their rude words and vulgar suggestions I could hear the tortured woman screeching, the bellowing of the singer, the chanting of the hooded men, and the ratcheting sound of wooden clappers. Being young and curious to know what was happening, I tried to twist round to see, but Chantelle covered my eyes with her hands and my father gathered us to him and we went quickly from that town.
Everyone knew that the Inquisitors had far-reaching powers, and travelled around the country holding courts to torture and condemn those accused of heresy. I remembered how the pedlar woman had glanced around the street yesterday before offering to read my palm and foretell the future. A man like Nostradamus would have to be extra careful not to attract the attention of those who might condemn him.
‘And, indeed’ – Mistress Anne looked out of the kitchen window in alarm – ‘here comes one who loves gossip more than she does work.’
A stout woman, whom I guessed was the morning maidservant, was bustling up the path.
‘Quickly now.’ Mistress Anne took me by the arm into the hallway of the house and pushed me ahead of her upstairs to her own bedroom. ‘We must get you some clothes and rehearse your story before Berthe has a chance to see you.’
Chapter Twenty-six
‘YOU ARE VERY thin.’
Mistress Anne tutted as I undressed, taking off my sandals and breeches and tunic.
‘It is the way I am made,’ I said quickly. In truth I had lost weight, for I’d not had a good meal for a week or more. I’d never worried much about food before. My father always ensured that Chantelle and I were provided for. In recent years he’d secured employment with royal courts, both in England and in France, where there was food aplenty. During the last weeks it had been a new experience for me to know dull hunger, which depresses your body and spirit.
As if she sensed my thoughts Mistress Anne said, ‘The life we lead here is not like that of the grand palaces you may have been used to. We have six growing children to support and although Catherine de’ Medici awarded Master Nostradamus a royal pension, there is not enough money for me to pay you as a proper servant.’
‘I don’t expect payment,’ I said. ‘I will help you as best I can and will be grateful for any food that is left when the family have finished their meals.’
‘Tush, child.’ She clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘You will eat with the rest of us. Now let’s see what’s to be done with you. Those clothes!’ She wrinkled her nose as she gathered them up. ‘They look as though you have slept in haystacks!’
I didn’t like to tell Mistress Anne that I had in fact been sleeping among hay for the last few nights. ‘My cloak is still serviceable,’ I said.
‘But too distinctive.’ Mistress Anne fingered the russet wool and the collar with its gold embroidery. ‘Did you sit with your sister and prick out this pattern together?’
I bowed my head as a warm memory came to me. I felt again Chantelle’s skilful hands guiding my fingers, teaching me how to make the template in fine paper, and showing me how to transfer my own design to the material.
‘I know what it’s like to have a sister very close to the heart,’ said Mistress Anne. ‘I have a twin, and in our girlhood we shared secrets and whispered together as we sat together sewing in the heat of the afternoon.’
A fat tear oozed from one of my eyes and slid down my face.
‘Your sister’s suffering is over,’ Mistress Anne said firmly. ‘Take comfort from that.’
I was tempted then to tell Mistress Anne of my dream last night, of how Chantelle had come to me and told me she was happy. But something stopped me. A sense of oppression. The very walls of this house seemed to ache with dreams and things unsaid.
Mistress Anne spread the cloak wide and wrapped my cap and sandals and breeches and tunic inside. Then she raised the lid of a chest that stood at the foot of her bed and buried the bundle among the rest of the goods inside.
‘Now here is your story. Mind what I say so that we both tell the same tale. You are Lisette de Ponsarde. There, I have given you my own family name. And you have just travelled to Salon from a country farm near Montvieulle.’
‘I have been in that area,’ I said. ‘We passed through it before arriving at the court at Cherboucy.’
‘Very well, any description you can give as to the land and features of that countryside will add credence to your identity. My cousin Guillem has a small farm there where he lives with his wife and large family. He keeps livestock and hens and sells eggs. They have no riches but neither do they starve. As you have been growing up my cousin noted that you showed a bit of intelligence. I will say that he wrote to me and asked if I would train you to help in the apothecary shop and be a house-help to me in return for your bed and board.’
As she was speaking Mistress Anne had taken a basket of clothes from a cupboard in her room and was sorting through it. First she pulled out a scarf of pale blue and then a pair of wooden clogs. The clogs were very worn and too large for me, but they looked as though they might fit if I stuffed straw in the toes. Next she brought out a long dark blue dress with a row of pin tucks at the bodice.
‘Whose dress was this?’ I asked her.
‘It was mine. Before I bore my husband his six children I had a waist that a man could encircle with his hands.’ She sighed. ‘Alas, no more.’
I placed the dress over my shoulders and let it fall. The end of the skirt swung free, some inches from the floor.
‘You can unpick the hem later, and if need be sew a strip of ribbon along the bottom.’ She took the pale blue scarf and wound it around my head. ‘What enormous eyes you have, Mélisande,’ she declared. ‘Excuse me, I must remember to call you Lisette.’ She gave me a smile. It was the first welcoming one that she had bestowed upon me since we’d met. ‘Don’t look so scared. If you tell no one else your true life history and keep yourself to yourself, you should be safe enough now.’
I looked beyond her head at the mirror behind the door. Once again I did not know myself. I was no longer the gawky minstrel lad, nor was I the bold but innocent Mélisande of the royal courts. Now I was Lisette, pale of face and plain of dress. And, if Mistress Anne was believed, a girl of humble origin to whom no one would pay much attention. But I fancied that the face of Lisette that looked back at me was shadowed with sorrow and this would be obvious to any observer.
Mistress Anne took my hand. ‘Let us go and introduce you to Berthe, the kitchen maid. I need to give her orders for the day or she’ll sit with her feet in the fireplace and do nothing.’ She paused before going out of the room and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I say again to you. Be very careful when Berthe is in the house. Her ears are longer than those of the wild hare, and her eyes miss nothing.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
BERTHE, THE MAID, scrambled up from her stool as we entered the kitchen.
She had been sitting close to the grate with her aprons hitched up and the calves of her legs were blotched crimson by the heat from the fire. Quickly she placed her hand on the kettle and swung it off the flames.
‘I have the water here boiling ready, mistress,’ she said.
I saw then that she was a crafty servant, this Berthe. But her attempt to make it look as though she had been attending to her duties did not fool her employer.
‘I have been downstairs already, Berthe,’ Mistress Anne retorted crisply. ‘It was Mél’ – in her annoyance she almost said my name – ‘my cousin’s child, Lisette, who drew the water from the well and set it to boil.’
Berthe flicked a look of resentment at me and thus we began badly, for I saw that in some way she blamed me for this scolding.
‘Well, yes,’ she said, ‘I knew that someone different had been working here since yesterday.’
Mistress Anne pursed her lips. ‘How so?’ she asked.
‘The table has been moved.’ Berthe grinned slyly. ‘I can see the marks on the floor where the legs once stood.’
I glanced up to where my mandolin was hidden.
Mistress Anne saw me and gave her head a little shake.
Berthe was watching us both. Had she seen me glance at the top shelf?
With her next words Mistress Anne swatted Berthe as she might do a bluebottle.
‘I’m amazed that you draw attention to your poor house-keeping skills in this way!’ she exclaimed. ‘The kitchen floo
r should be in such a state after you have mopped each evening that it should not be possible to tell if the table has been moved. In future see to it that you shift the table and the chairs and stools so that you do not merely clean around the furniture but also below and beneath it.’
‘Yes, mistress.’ Berthe bent her head under this onslaught.
‘My cousin’s daughter, Lisette, has come in from her father’s farm at Montvieulle to stay with me awhile. He wants her to learn to assist in our apothecary, but she will come and go as she pleases here and you will treat her as a daughter of the house.’
‘Yes, mistress,’ Berthe repeated. She raised her head enough so that her eyes could assess my clothes and face.
‘Begin by cooking the soaked oatmeal.’ Mistress Anne pointed to a covered dish which stood on the sideboard. ‘Afterwards mix up some flour. I want a pie made for—’
She was interrupted by her older daughter coming into the room carrying the sick child, who had obviously just woken up and was moaning and fretting and tossing its little head from side to side. Upon seeing its mother the child shrieked, ‘Mama! Mama!’ and began to yell loudly.
‘There, there.’ Mistress Anne took a big outdoor shawl from a hook on the kitchen door, coddled the toddler in it and tried to comfort her. ‘Get dressed and prepare for your lessons,’ she directed her older girl. ‘Berthe will make some breakfast for us and will bring it to us when it’s ready. ‘Lisette’ – she turned to me – ‘go into the apothecary shop and introduce yourself to Giorgio, who is Master Nostradamus’s trusted apothecary. Even though it is early Giorgio will be there. Do not be put off by his manner. He is a learned man with many skills. Explain the situation to him and ask if he has anything that will ease my baby’s distress.’ The child moaned again, shook her head and screamed and clawed at her mother’s face. ‘Tell him she howls as if possessed.’
The Nostradamus Prophecy Page 12