by Tania Bayard
‘I hope you will bring the missing man’s young wife to see me sometime. I would like to meet her.’
What an appealing young woman the old duke married, Christine thought. It really would be good for Klara to meet her. But she was unsure of Klara, so perhaps it would be unwise. She smiled and nodded, hoping the duchess would take that as an affirmation, curtsied quickly, and left.
She hurried down the rue Saint-Antoine to the rue des Rosiers and asked a woman who stood in front of a belt-maker’s shop where to find the illuminator. But before she could answer, Jacquemin himself came out of the shop next door and emptied a pail of water into the gutter that ran down the middle of the street. When the big man saw her, he greeted her with his booming laugh, ushered her into his studio, made her sit down on a bench, and announced proudly that this was where he did his work. It was an intriguing place: pots of paint, mortars and pestles, brushes of all sizes and shapes, burnishing tools, and partly finished manuscript pages covered every surface. She thought perhaps she should have become a manuscript painter instead of a copyist.
Jacquemin had several young assistants. One boy was energetically grinding red paint in a big mortar, turning himself red in the process. Another was beating out sheets of gold, while a third rubbed a piece of parchment with powdered pumice, preparing it for painting. Jacquemin also had a female assistant, a woman absorbed in her work on a brightly colored illumination.
‘Are you surprised to see her here?’ Jacquemin asked.
‘Not at all. I know there are women in this profession.’
‘She does very good work. Come and see.’
The woman was painting intricate scrolls and leaves around a picture of Saint Margaret holding her dragon. Cleverly mixed in with the foliage were other dragons, as well as lions, bears, and little men who looked like dwarfs. Christine thought of Alips and wished she could see them.
Jacquemin asked Christine, ‘How is my book coming along?’
‘I haven’t had time to work on it. I have other things on my mind. That’s why I’ve come to see you. The Duke of Berry tells me you had a young assistant who disappeared.’
‘That rascal! I tried to teach him my craft, but he never learned. I kept him on because he didn’t mind cleaning the shop and running errands. Then he ran away, taking some of my paints. If I ever get my hands on him …’
He was interrupted by an outburst from the woman, who looked up from her painting and said, ‘I hope I never see that one again.’
‘What was his name?’ Christine asked.
‘He said his name was Pierre,’ Jacquemin said. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘How long had he been with you?’
‘Several years. When he first came, he seemed honest enough. Then he changed. I can’t say I’m sorry he’s gone.’
‘I’m delighted,’ the woman chimed in. ‘Now I can work in peace. He was no good; I can tell you that.’
Christine thought she looked quite able to protect herself from any man’s advances. Another woman might have been easy prey.
‘Can you describe him?’ she asked.
‘He wasn’t much to look at,’ the woman said. ‘I don’t know why he thought he was so attractive.’
Jacquemin said, ‘He looked much older than he was, mostly because his hair was turning white. But he was nondescript, except for his eyes. They were a most unusual blue, and cold as ice.’
It was Willem, Christine thought.
FORTY-TWO
There was a time when it was a pleasure to visit the court and admire acts of courage firsthand and learn how to be virtuous from the excellent men who governed France. But things changed quickly, and it became better to be shrewd and have one foot in the court and the other elsewhere. Today it makes more sense to have both feet as far from the court as possible.
Eustache Deschamps (c. 1340–1404), Ballade 1104
Alips went back to Simon, who said, ‘Your friend Christine was here, asking for you. She said I should tell you not to go around asking questions. Brother Michel is worried, too. He says the court is a dangerous place, and you should be careful.’
Alips laughed. ‘I’m just interested in people. It’s fun to overhear their conversations. Especially people who are new here.’
Renaut piped up, ‘Always hiding behind the furniture. That’s what Brother Michel said.’
Several courtiers came into the courtyard. Renaut ran to greet them. ‘We’re looking for new people,’ he said.
The courtiers laughed. ‘That’s the portier’s job,’ said a tall man in a bright blue fur-lined cape.
Simon stepped aside to let them pass into the palace, and then he said to Alips, ‘It is not wise for you to be talking like this in front of the boy.’
‘I’ve seen someone new,’ Renaut said. ‘I’ve seen him sneaking around.’
‘Who?’ Simon asked. ‘How could he get past the door without my knowing about it?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ve seen him. He’ll be right in front of me, and then he disappears.’
‘You’re imagining things,’ Simon said.
Renaut looked downcast. ‘You believe me, don’t you, Alips?’
‘I’m afraid I do.’
Simon shifted his mace from one hand to the other. ‘I’ve always said, people come and go too freely here.’
Just then the door opened, and Colin stepped out. He greeted Simon, ruffled Renaut’s tawny hair, and said to Alips, ‘The queen doesn’t know where you are. You’d better go to her.’
She went to the queen’s chambers, sat on the floor with the greyhound, and pondered. Her investigations had come to nothing. She’d been so sure the person who’d thrown the torch must be someone new at the palace. Now she wondered. Might it not be someone who’d been there all along, someone who seemed innocent, but who harbored evil intentions no one suspected?
She looked around the room. While she’d been out, Christine had brought the deaf girl, and everyone was being kind to her. Madame de Malicorne had even brought in the queen’s baby for her to admire. Now the girl was on the other side of the room, sitting with Collette. They seemed to be devising gestures they could use to communicate with each other. The two fools pranced around mimicking them, making everyone laugh.
No one needed to have worried that the girl would be out of place at the palace, Alips thought. She’s already right at home.
The queen was resting, and Catherine de Villiers was reading to her. Alips got up, went to the queen’s day bed, perched on one of the big cushions, and looked around the room.
Marguerite de Germonville stood in front of the goldfinches’ green and white cage. She’d opened the door and put her hand inside so she could entice the birds to sit on her finger. Jeanne de la Tour, looking very small and fragile next to Marguerite, cautioned her not to let the birds fly out. ‘Don’t worry,’ Marguerite said in her loud voice, ‘I have little birds of my own. The queen has given me two silver cages for them.’
Symonne du Mesnil sat on a window seat with Madame de Malicorne, who was reprimanding her for napping in the room where Christine did her copying. ‘There’s no harm in lying down for a bit,’ Symonne said. She turned away and began to scold the queen’s monkey, which was scampering up and down the tapestry on the wall beside her.
Alips had made it her business to learn everything about the queen’s ladies, and she considered them all now. She knew that Marguerite’s husband was a carver for the queen and that Jeanne de la Tour, who was in charge of the queen’s jewels, came from a family that had been at the court for many years. Catherine de Villiers had originally been a lady-in-waiting for the king’s mother, and Madame de Malicorne was so trustworthy that the queen had given her control over everything having to do with the royal children. The one lady she didn’t know anything about was Symonne, who’d been brought to the queen by the Duchess of Burgundy and seemed to be the only person the duchess didn’t scowl at.
Gracieuse played her lute and sang about a horse be
cause she knew that the queen had just given Madame de Malicorne a new bay palfrey. The huissier’s daughters were there that day, looking prettier than ever, and they joined hands and trotted around the minstrel. Collette and Loyse were still conversing with their mysterious hand gestures. Guillaume the fool had told Jeannine the fool a joke. Alips couldn’t hear what it was, but it must not have been funny because Jeannine wasn’t laughing. Jeannine’s mother looked away.
She felt discouraged, and very tired. She slouched on the cushion, and her eyes started to close as she listened to Catherine’s soft voice droning on and on, reading from the book about the mean dwarf. All of a sudden, she came to a passage that gave Alips a start, and the dwarf was wide awake. She thought she knew who was planning to kill the king.
She sat up straight and looked around the room again. She was sure she was right. But she couldn’t tell the queen, not yet. It would be too dangerous. She got up quietly and left the room.
She didn’t know that cold blue eyes watched her every move.
She went out into the palace gardens and walked along the paths, lost in thought. After the recent rains, more snowdrops and crocuses had appeared, and the gardeners were busy preparing for the spring planting; the sound of spades biting into the soil rang in her ears. She could hear the dogs barking in their kennels and the caged birds chirping along with the wild birds perched in the bare branches of the trees in the orchards. In the distance, one of the king’s lions roared.
She started to laugh. It all seemed so simple. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She walked quickly back to the palace. Christine would be coming tomorrow, and then they would decide what to do.
‘Did you meet anyone?’ Renaut asked at the entrance to the palace.
‘You’ll find out soon,’ she said, and she went in, leaving Simon scratching his head.
There were no guards in the great hall, but she could hear them calling in the distance. The queen’s monkey must have run away again, she thought as she entered the corridor leading to the queen’s chambers. She walked along slowly, admiring the tapestries lining the walls and searching, as she always did, for any small beings that might be dwarfs among the lords, ladies, knights, and mythical figures embroidered there.
Footsteps sounded behind her. Someone spoke her name. She turned to see who it was. She said, ‘But I thought …’
He looked surprised. Then his expression changed to malice. ‘You were wrong,’ he said.
FORTY-THREE
Like most women, your mother wanted to keep you busy with spinning and the silly things girls do.
Christine de Pizan, Le Livre de la Cité des Dames, 1404–1405
The next morning when Christine went downstairs, she found the children sitting calmly at the table, with Goblin lying quietly at their feet.
‘What’s gotten into them?’ she asked Francesca.
‘Klara is not here. She is still in bed.’
‘Let her sleep. It’s so peaceful here without her,’ Christine said.
‘She should come down and learn to make what Georgette is preparing.’
‘What is it?’ Christine asked Georgette, who was grinding something with a mortar and pestle.
‘Spices for one of your mother’s soups,’ the girl said.
‘Zanzarelli!’ Thomas shouted. ‘Can we have saffron in it?’
‘Yes, Thomas.’ Christine laughed. ‘We can buy saffron now.’
Francesca said, ‘If Klara won’t read the book her husband wrote for her, at least she could learn something about cooking from me. You never wanted to do that, Cristina.’
‘You know I hate cooking.’
‘You are a bad influence on Klara.’
Christine groaned.
Francesca went on with her complaint. ‘What will her husband say when he finds out you have encouraged her to live with lions rather than learn how to be a good wife?’
‘Helping with the lions is good for her.’
‘I hope she stays with them,’ Thomas said.
‘Me, too,’ said Jean. ‘When are you going to find her husband?’
‘I have found him. Or, at least, he found me.’
‘Mio Dio!’ Francesca exclaimed. She sat down heavily on a bench. Georgette stopped her grinding. Marie, who was holding Goblin, squeezed the dog so hard he yelped.
‘Where? What did he say? Why did he go away?’ Everyone talked at once.
‘He came up to me in the street.’
‘When’s he coming back to get Klara?’ Thomas asked.
‘Basta, Tommaso!’ Francesca said. ‘What did he say to you, Cristina?’
‘He said he went away because Klara’s brother, Willem, is trying to kill him.’
‘Surely not!’ Francesca exclaimed.
‘Willem wants revenge for what happened in Courtrai.’
‘Was Klara’s husband there?’ Jean asked.
‘Yes. He says he didn’t have anything to do with the killings, and he saved Klara and Willem from being taken away by the soldiers. But Willem doesn’t care about that. He only knows he saw his parents being murdered.’
‘If he kills Klara’s husband, Klara will have to stay with us forever,’ Thomas wailed.
‘That’s one of the reasons why we want to make sure Martin finds him,’ Christine said. ‘You can all help. We need to find out what Klara knows. You’ve told me there’s someone prowling around the house. It may be Willem. We need to know whether she’s spoken with him.’
Francesca said, ‘If she’s spoken to her brother, I would know about it. She sleeps with me, and I know she doesn’t sneak out at night.’
Christine thought about how her mother snored, and she wondered how Klara got any sleep at all.
‘But I do know one thing,’ Francesca continued. ‘Do you remember the golden spur we found with her jewelry, the day we went to her house?’
‘Have you seen it since?’
‘She has it in the chest where she keeps her clothes. She takes it out every once in a while and looks at it.’
‘She’s thinking of her brother. And her family, killed by the king’s troops,’ Georgette said. ‘And her country. It’s no wonder she’s unhappy. The old man who brought her and her brother back to France may be kind, but that wouldn’t make up for everything she’s suffered.’
‘But the sack of Courtrai was eleven years ago,’ Jean said.
‘Do you think anyone could forget something like that?’
Thomas made a face. But Georgette persisted. ‘I’m sure the girl misses her brother.’
‘If she misses him, maybe she’s figured out where he is,’ Christine said.
‘Did Martin du Bois tell you what Willem looks like?’ Jean asked.
‘His description was pretty vague. All he said was that the boy has ice-blue eyes, his hair is turning white, and he looks much older than his age. And he’s sure he’s disguised himself.’
‘I’ll bet that even in a disguise, he couldn’t fool Klara,’ Jean said.
He’s right, Christine thought. As soon as Klara wakes up, I’ll take her to the palace.
Klara was so excited about going to meet the queen, she went upstairs and put on her best gown. The children looked at her and started to giggle. Georgette shushed them. ‘You look very pretty,’ she said to the girl. ‘Let me fix your hair under your headdress.’ Christine felt a pang of guilt; she wasn’t planning to let Klara stay long with the queen. Her plan was to introduce her and then have Alips take her away, show her around the palace and the grounds, and watch her carefully to see whether she recognized anyone.
She shooed the children out of the kitchen and let Klara preen. Then they put on their cloaks and went out into the street, where they were met with a driving winter rain. On the rue Saint-Antoine, none of the pastry vendors were out crying their wares. A lone horseman galloped toward the palace, a rag-picker pushed a cart laden with soggy clothes, and a lame beggar sought shelter in a doorway; Christine stopped to press a coin into his hand. Then she
urged Klara to hurry, and they raced up the street, getting colder and wetter by the minute. When they reached the palace, Klara was in tears. Her cloak was soaked and the trim white headdress Georgette had so carefully arranged was askew. Her hair formed damp ringlets around her face.
‘Never mind,’ Christine said. ‘I’m as wet as you are. The queen won’t mind.’ They ran to the entrance to the queen’s residence, where Christine expected to be welcomed with a hearty laugh when Simon saw how bedraggled they were.
But Simon wasn’t laughing.
‘Is something wrong?’ Christine asked when she saw his somber face.
‘I’m afraid there is,’ the portier said. ‘Alips has disappeared.’
Christine gasped. ‘Come on, Klara,’ she said. She grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her into the palace.
‘Who’s Alips?’ Klara asked breathlessly as they rushed through the great gallery.
‘The queen’s dwarf,’ Christine called back over her shoulder. ‘The queen loves her.’
Christine left Klara standing at the door to Isabeau’s chambers and ran to the queen, who wailed, ‘Alips is gone.’ She’d been crying; her eyes were red, and her nose was running.
‘I was afraid this would happen, Madame. She’s been asking too many questions.’
Christine was so distraught, she hadn’t noticed the Duchess of Burgundy standing nearby. The woman asked, ‘Why are you so concerned about the dwarf? Everyone knows dwarfs bring bad luck. You should be glad she’s gone.’
The queen’s greyhound stood quivering on the other side of the room. Suddenly, he sprang toward the duchess. She stepped back and nearly fell. One of her ladies, who was standing nearby, caught her and steadied her.
The queen stood up and took hold of the dog’s collar. She looked toward the doorway and saw Klara. ‘Who is that?’ she asked.
‘That is my friend, Klara, Madame. I brought her to meet you. But we were caught in the rain, and with all that has happened, perhaps it would be best to wait for another day.’