by Tania Bayard
Loyse and Klara came out of the lions’ stockade. Loyse’s face was, as usual, smeared with dirt, and her hair was unkempt; next to Klara she looked like a beggar.
‘We can’t let the poor girl go on like this,’ Christine said.
‘You’re the smart one, Lady Christine. Think of something to do about it.’
Christine bowed her head. All sorts of considerations ran through her mind, foremost of which was her relationship with Alips. She’d never paid much attention to the dwarf before. What about all the other people the queen cared for: the fools, the mute, the minstrel, the Saracen? The queen treated them all with respect, often seeming to care for them more than she cared for her ladies-in-waiting.
Loyse had shut the gate, and she and Klara were standing in front of it, looking at something Loyse had drawn in the sand. It was an arrow, pointing toward the stockade.
‘See that?’ Marion asked. ‘She’s letting Klara know she wants her to come again. She’s very clever. It’s not right for her to spend her life in a lions’ den.’
‘No, it isn’t. I think I know what to do,’ Christine said.
TWENTY-SIX
At great courts it is often best to play dumb. Don’t say what you think, just flatter others and beware of intrigues. Humor, dissimulate, and endure, but don’t linger.
Eustache Deschamps (c. 1340–1404), Ballade 208
Christine had a plan, and she was eager to try it out; so early the next morning she went into the hall and started to get ready to go to the palace. Francesca came in and saw her. ‘It is a cold day, Cristina. Why do you not stay home?’
‘You know I can’t do that.’ Christine picked up her brown cloak. Then she threw it down. A mouse ran across her foot.
Francesca gave a horrified cry. She seized the cloak and examined it all over, paying no attention to her daughter, who stood tapping her foot as she waited impatiently to put it on. Finally, she gave a sigh of relief and said, ‘Grazie a Dio! There are no holes.’
‘Even if there were, this is an old cloak. You’ve patched it before, and I’m sure you could do it again.’
‘It is not that,’ Francesca said. ‘Holes don’t matter. But what if the mouse had chewed on it? That would be a sign that something very bad would happen to you today.’
Christine hurried out the door.
Her mother had been right about one thing. It was a cold day. She pulled the cloak around her tightly as she walked toward the palace, where she found Simon and Renaut huddled together at the entrance to the queen’s residence. The great gallery was chilly in spite of its several large fireplaces, and she was glad to arrive at the queen’s chambers, where, in addition to fireplaces, there were braziers filled with hot coals.
The queen sat with Catherine de Villiers, reading aloud from a large book, while the other ladies stood around, discussing the missing playing cards. The women were becoming more and more agitated, distressed because the present for the king had been lost.
The queen looked up and said to them, ‘Do not distress yourselves. They will be found.’ She pointed to a window seat on the other side of the room where Gracieuse the minstrel sat, playing a slow, sweet melody on her lute. ‘Let the music calm you.’
After a maid had taken her cloak, Christine approached the queen. She was curious about the book she was reading, and as she knelt, she tried to see what it was. The queen held it up. It was the story of Tristan and Isolde.
Alips came over. ‘I don’t like that book. There’s a dwarf who does something mean.’
The queen laughed. ‘So, you have been listening.’
‘I always listen,’ Alips said.
‘Sit on this cushion and we can talk,’ Isabeau said to Christine. Catherine de Villiers and the other ladies-in-waiting drifted away, still arguing.
Christine sat on the big blue cushion that Catherine de Fastavarin had always used, and looked around the room. The queen’s fools, Guillaume and Jeannine, twirled each other around in a strange little dance, Collette the mute played hide and seek with the squirrel, the monkey swung from one of the tapestries, the greyhound rolled on the floor, and Jeannine’s mother stood quietly in a corner, watching.
A chambermaid came in with the Saracen girl, who ran to the queen and climbed onto the day bed. Guillaume let go of Jeannine, danced over, and stood in front of her. He made a face and said, ‘I won’t bite you, but if you bite me, I’ll make you cry.’
The little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth and looked puzzled.
‘It’s a riddle,’ Alips said.
‘It’s an onion,’ the queen whispered, and the child clapped her hands.
Guillaume danced back to Jeannine, grabbed her hands, and started to swing her around again.
The queen was occupied with her godchild, and Christine had time to observe the ladies as they stood by the window discussing the missing cards. Jeanne de la Tour seemed genuinely upset; her hands shook uncontrollably. When Madame de Malicorne noticed this, she put her arms around her and eased her down onto the window seat. Catherine de Villiers, still holding the book she and the queen had been reading, sat beside her, put the book down, took her hands in hers, and stroked them, while Marguerite de Germonville spoke to her in an uncharacteristically soft voice. Symonne du Mesnil stood to one side, watching the queen with a frown on her face. Is she angry with her? Christine wondered. Symonne saw Christine looking, and turned away. She’s so slender, she could almost pass for a boy, Christine thought.
She came out of her reverie when she realized the queen was looking at her, waiting for her to speak. She drew a deep breath and said, ‘You know, Madame, Blanche the murderess had two daughters. Alix de Clairy was one. Have you ever thought about the other one?’
‘I am aware she is with the lions. It has been told to me that she is a very strange person, that she has demons.’
‘That is what people say. But it is not true.’
‘Then why did her mother not love her?’
‘She just didn’t know how to care for her. You see, Madame, Loyse – that is her name – has always been treated as though she were not in her right mind. But she is merely deaf.’
The queen sat up straight. ‘How you have startled me! Is that all that is wrong with her?’
‘Yes, that is all. She doesn’t talk or respond as others do, because she is deaf. She is actually very intelligent. It is not right that she should have to live in the lions’ stockade.’
The queen put her arm around her godchild and smiled at Christine. ‘I see that you have something in mind for her.’
‘I do, Madame.’ She hesitated. Alips touched her hand, and she bent down to her. ‘Don’t worry,’ the dwarf whispered. ‘She will agree.’
Christine said to the queen, ‘I wonder whether you would care for her here.’
The queen looked thoughtful. ‘The girl has been with the lions for a long time. Would she not be lost here? And my ladies would not like to be with someone who smells like lions.’
Christine shuddered as she thought of Loyse’s unkempt hair and the rags she wore. She would have to ask Francesca to make her presentable. It seemed an impossible task. But she’d come this far; she’d have to try.
‘Perhaps I could go to see her in the lions’ den,’ the queen said.
‘You won’t go into the lions’ den, Madame,’ Alips said. She and the queen burst out laughing.
The ladies gathered round, wondering what the joke was.
The queen said, ‘I think it is possible to have the girl here. Bring her to me.’ Then she waved her ladies away and said in a low voice, ‘But do not forget, it is more important that you find out who is trying to kill the king.’
Christine nodded, made her obeisance, retrieved her cloak, and went out into the hallway. Alips followed her. ‘I’m sure it’s the Duchess of Burgundy,’ she whispered.
‘Be careful what you say. Remember Brother Michel’s warning. Someone may be listening.’ Christine went back to the door of the queen’s r
oom and peered in. Most of the ladies still stood by the window, but Symonne du Mesnil had gone over to the queen’s day bed and was playing a game with the Saracen girl; the child put her hands over her eyes and tried to guess how many fingers Symonne held up.
‘What do you know about Symonne, other than the fact that she drinks too much wine?’ Christine asked Alips.
‘Not much yet. I told you, she’s new here.’
‘Was she with the queen at the masquerade?’
‘I didn’t notice, so much was happening.’
Christine said, ‘We have a problem, Alips. If the person we’re looking for is a member of the court, how can we, as commoners, accuse him? We need help.’
‘Brother Michel helped you when you were trying to save Alix de Clairy. Why is he not helping you now?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Do you know that poet who’s always here at the court?’
‘You mean Eustache Deschamps. He was a friend of my father’s. I know him, too. I showed him some poems I’d written. He liked them and said he’d help me learn more about composing verse. Why do you ask?’
‘We could get him to help us.’
‘Unfortunately, he’s away, on a mission for the king’s brother.’
Loud sounds came from the queen’s room. Symonne and the Saracen girl were playing a clapping game. The girl giggled. The queen drew the little girl close and hugged her.
Christine said to Alips, ‘In any case, Henri Le Picart is helping us.’ Then she remembered that she hadn’t seen Henri since the day she and Marion had gone to talk to Bernart le Brun’s wife. Sudden anger overwhelmed her. Not only had the man disappeared; she realized that she rather missed him.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Tell the woman who sells you milk that you don’t want it if it is watered. They often augment their milk this way, and if it has water in it, or if it is not fresh, it will go sour.
From a book of moral and practical advice for a young wife, Paris, 1393
Francesca had asked the children to help Georgette prepare for dinner. Marie and Jean were calmly setting up the trestle table, but Thomas and Klara ware having a tug of war with the knives and spoons.
‘I said I’d do it,’ Klara cried. ‘I don’t need any help.’
‘You need all the help you can get,’ Thomas smirked. ‘You’re stupid. Why don’t you go back to your husband?’
Klara threw down the knives and spoons, which clattered onto the floor. Startled by the noise, Goblin began to race around nipping at everyone’s ankles. Georgette laughed, and Francesca threw up her hands in despair.
Finally, Georgette ordered everyone to sit down. She picked up the knives and spoons, dusted them off on her apron, and put them on the table. Then she brought bowls of soup and there was peace for a while, until Francesca said, ‘This soup was made from one of your recipes, Klara.’
‘They aren’t my recipes.’ Klara got up from the table and left the room.
After the meal, Christine found Klara in her room looking through the pages of her husband’s manuscript. ‘I’m trying to find the soup recipe,’ she said.
‘I know where it is,’ Christine said. She took out the page. ‘Your husband gives you some good advice here. He tells you not to buy watered milk. Did you know that the women who sell milk often cheat their customers that way?’
‘No. I’d give them a piece of my mind.’
‘You see? You could be a good housekeeper if you wanted to be.’
‘But I don’t.’
Georgette had come into the room with a pile of logs for the fire, and she’d heard all this. ‘She’d rather go to see the lions,’ she said.
‘That’s a good idea,’ Christine said. ‘Get your cloak, Klara.’
Out in the street, they were met with a blast of cold air. ‘Hurry,’ Klara said. ‘It’s warm in the lions’ stockade.’
‘We have to stop somewhere else before we go there.’
Klara looked disappointed, and she dragged her feet. But when they came to the beguinage, she took Christine’s arm and tried to hurry her past.
‘What’s wrong?’ Christine asked.
‘Marion said that’s where Agnes lives. What if she comes out?’
‘What if she does? You don’t have to be afraid of her. Why do you dislike her so much?’
‘Everything was fine until she came. I thought she would be nice to me if I did everything she asked me to. I even promised to read Martin’s book. But she only liked my brother.’
A man selling crispy waffles approached. ‘Buy one for the pretty little miss,’ he cried. With a grand gesture, he bowed to Klara and offered one of his wares. Christine handed him a denier.
‘Thank you,’ Klara said as she munched the sugary cake. ‘Why don’t you have one, too?’
Christine handed the vendor another denier.
‘My mother says I’m always eating,’ she said as she devoured the waffle. ‘I don’t deny it. But I disagree with her when she says that means I should enjoy cooking.’ Too late, she realized what she’d said, and she added hastily, ‘That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy cooking, Klara.’
Klara started to laugh. ‘So you aren’t perfect after all.’
‘I admit I don’t like housekeeping. My mother thinks that’s all a woman is good for. My father thought otherwise. He taught me to read and write, and now that I have to support my family, I’m grateful. I do the job of a man, and I believe any woman is capable of this.’
‘Martin taught me to read and write, too,’ Klara said. ‘But I don’t think that means much if I have to stay home and do nothing but cook and sew and obey all the rules he wrote about in his book.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t mean exactly that.’
They were approaching a small house near the palace gardens. ‘We have to go there before we visit the lions,’ Christine said.
A man with a red face and a big mustache answered her knock on the door. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked, his mustache bouncing up and down as he spoke.
‘You probably don’t remember me,’ Christine said. ‘I was only a child when my family lived at the palace. But you might remember my father, the old king’s astrologer.’
The man’s face became even redder and he exclaimed excitedly, ‘I certainly do remember him! He’d come to see the lions, and he’d ask questions about them. He was interested in everything.’ He squinted at Christine. ‘I think you came with him sometimes. You’ve changed a lot.’
Christine laughed. ‘Of course I have. I was only a child then. I was always afraid to go near the lions.’
She turned to Klara. ‘This is Gilet, the lion-keeper. Loyse helps him.’ Then she turned to Gilet and said, ‘This is Klara. She isn’t the least bit afraid of the lions.’
Gilet made a slight bow in Klara’s direction, and Klara made a little curtsy.
Christine said to Gilet, ‘I have a favor to ask. I’m concerned about Loyse, living with animals. It’s not right. She’s an intelligent young woman, and I want to take her away.’
‘Where? What else can she do?’
‘Do you realize she’s deaf?’
‘I know. Everyone thinks she’s demented, but I’ve never believed it.’
Christine said, ‘I’ve talked with the queen, and she’s willing to have her at the palace. There’s another woman in the queen’s entourage who’s deaf. I think Loyse would be happy there, too.’
‘I’ve gotten used to having Loyse around,’ Gilet said. ‘My wife thinks I’m too old to do the work alone, but that’s not true. I’m just lazy. It’s nice to have someone to help.’
‘I could do that,’ Klara piped up.
Christine looked at her in surprise. ‘You?’
‘I could, you know. You were just telling me women can do anything.’ She frowned. ‘Perhaps you were just saying that. Perhaps you really want me to be like your mother, happy with the housework.’
Christine laughed and said, ‘Come with us, Gilet. We’ll go to the
lions, and Klara will show you how she gets along with them.’
At the stockade, Loyse appeared and went in with Klara and Gilet. Christine followed, keeping well behind, and watched as Klara approached each of the lions in turn, talking in a low voice.
‘One of the reasons Loyse works so well with them is that she doesn’t speak,’ Gilet said. ‘These lions are old and so accustomed to humans, they aren’t really dangerous; but they can get agitated if someone talks to them in a loud voice. I see that Klara understands that.’
‘I can feed them, too, just like Loyse does,’ Klara said, and she went to a large trough and pulled out some red meat. Christine looked away as the lions gathered around her and took the meat gently from her hands.
Gilet was smiling. ‘We can give her a try.’
‘I hope you don’t think you’re going to live here, Klara,’ Christine said.
‘Of course she won’t,’ Gilet said. ‘I’ll be close by. And the lions can be by themselves at night.’
Klara looked disappointed, but Christine put her arm around her and said, ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss my mother’s good meals.’
‘Or your rude children.’
Gilet interrupted. ‘How are you going to make Loyse understand what’s happening when you take her away?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Christine said. ‘But I have an idea. We’ll come back soon and see if it works.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Perfect disciples seldom speak, even for good, holy, or edifying conversation, for it is written: If you speak much, you will not escape sin.
Saint Benedict’s Rule for Monasteries, sixth century
As Christine and Klara walked down the street to Christine’s house, they found Brother Michel hurrying toward them, battling a strong wind that sent his black habit swirling around him. Christine told Klara to go in and help Francesca.
‘I’m worried about Alips,’ the monk said. ‘She’s still asking questions, and she’s going to get into trouble.’ The wind had set his cowl askew, and he pulled it back over his head.