In the Presence of Evil

by Tania Bayard

  ‘We promise,’ they whispered.

  ‘And remember, I know your teacher and the parents of your friends at school, and just about everyone else in Paris. So if you tell, I’ll find out. Now go down and play. Take Lisabetta and Goblin with you, and don’t leave the house.’

  When they’d gone, Michel said, ‘I’m sorry if I frightened them, but no one else must know about this, no one.’

  Francesca bustled around the room, tidying up the books and papers Christine had left scattered about. ‘It is easy for anyone to know this is your room, Cristina. But who would want to frighten you?’

  ‘Someone who thinks I’ve been asking too many questions.’ Christine sat down at her desk and held her head in her hands.

  Michel picked up the mandrake. ‘What do you plan to do with this, Christine?’

  She knew she should take it to the queen. But she’d had enough of the horrible root, and she had the sinking feeling that if she gave it back to her, it would cause more trouble. ‘Throw it into the fire,’ she said.

  ‘No!’ her mother shrieked. ‘You must not burn a mandrake. We will all become ill. The house will burn down. The children will die.’

  ‘God in Heaven!’ Christine cried. ‘That’s the problem. All those ridiculous beliefs. Don’t you see, Mama? Whoever brought the mandrake here thinks I’ll be frightened and give up trying to find out who murdered Hugues de Précy.’

  ‘That may be so. But I will not let you throw the mandrake into the fire.’

  ‘Our infirmarer at the abbey would like to have it,’ Michel said.

  ‘I’m sure he could put it to good use,’ Christine said, remembering what her father had told her about doctors numbing their patients’ pain with the juice of the mandrake root.

  Francesca looked at her and sighed. Then she turned to the monk. ‘I will only lend it to you, Michel. It is bad luck to give away a mandrake.’

  ‘It was left here for me, Mama,’ Christine said. ‘I’ll decide what to do with it, and I’ve decided you can have it, Michel.’

  The smell of something burning came up the stairs. ‘What has the girl done now?’ Francesca cried, rushing from the room. Michel laid the mandrake on the desk, directly in front of Christine.

  ‘Do you have to put it there?’ she asked.

  ‘It can’t hurt you.’

  ‘I know it can’t.’

  ‘But the person who came into your house and hung it in your fireplace can. Do you really want to go on trying to find out things you aren’t supposed to know?’

  ‘I can’t believe you asked that, Michel.’

  ‘I ask because the situation has become extremely dangerous, and I am sorry I encouraged you in this. I am very afraid for you now, Christine.’

  ‘Do you expect me to sit in a corner, shaking with fear like Georgette, or like a foolish old woman?’ She picked up the mandrake. The rough skin was warm, like human flesh. The thing felt alive in her hand, but she held onto it nevertheless, and she shook it in Michel’s face. The knob that looked like a head bobbed up and down, and the tail jerked between its legs. ‘Perhaps I won’t let you take it to your infirmarer. I’ll keep it. I’ll bath it in wine, bake it in the oven, dress it in silk, feed it communion bread …’

  The monk wiggled his fingers at the mandrake as if he hoped it would disappear.

  ‘You’re not afraid of it, are you, Michel?’

  He smiled. ‘As I’ve said before, Christine, I always wondered how Étienne could tolerate your sharp tongue.’

  THIRTY

  One sees so many women who, because of their husbands’ cruelty, live miserable lives in the shackles of marriage where they are more badly treated than the slaves of the Saracens.

  Christine de Pizan,

  Le Livre de la Cité des Dames, 1404–1405

  Francesca returned. ‘The leeks are burned, but we may eat what is left of the dinner. You must stay, Michel.’ She looked at the mandrake in Christine’s hand. ‘Why have you not given that to him?’

  ‘He’ll take it with him when he leaves.’

  Francesca went back downstairs, and Michel followed. But before going down herself, Christine shut the mandrake in a chest at the foot of her bed so her mother and Georgette wouldn’t have to see it again. She pushed the lid of the chest down firmly, hoping that she, too, might be able to forget about the detestable root for a while.

  But of course no one talked of anything else while they were eating. Georgette hovered around the table, hanging on every word.

  ‘Who put it in the fireplace?’ Thomas wanted to know.

  ‘Someone who wanted to frighten me,’ Christine said. ‘But it’s nothing more than a root with an odd shape.’

  ‘It is not just a root,’ Francesca said. ‘Your father knew. There is a little demon in it. You do not want a mandrake in your room at night. It will shine in the dark.’

  Georgette nodded agreement, and said, ‘Witches use them as lamps.’ Lisabetta moved closer to Jean.

  ‘That’s enough, Georgette. Bring more wine,’ Christine said.

  The girl skulked off to the pantry, and Christine said to her mother, ‘You’re encouraging her in those ridiculous beliefs. And you’re frightening the children.’

  Michel drank the last of his wine and rose from the table. ‘No one will find out whether the mandrake glows in the dark, because it is going with me to the abbey.’

  Christine followed him to the hallway, and whispered, ‘Please leave the mandrake here for now and come with me to the Châtelet. I’m taking the duke’s letter to the provost.’ She put on her cloak and boots.

  Francesca came to the doorway. ‘You must not go out, Cristina.’

  ‘Don’t be afraid, Mama. Michel is coming with me. Keep the children inside, and I’ll be back soon.’ She hurried out the door, and the monk followed.

  Near the old wall, they found Marion, stamping her feet and waving her arms around to keep warm. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ She curtsied to the monk.

  ‘This one has a devil in her,’ he muttered under his breath.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ Christine asked her.

  ‘Ha! You didn’t see me. I hid when I saw you coming home from Mass with your mother.’

  ‘Did you see anyone near my house this morning?’

  ‘No one in particular, except the Duke of Orléans, looking especially fine in a crimson cape. Why do you ask?’

  Christine looked at Michel. ‘Should I tell her?’

  ‘It may prove the truth of the old saying, “A bad beginning leads to a bad ending.” But I suppose you’d better.’

  Marion made him another little curtsy. ‘Empty-headed monk.’

  Before Michel could retort, Christine said, ‘While I was out, someone broke into my house and left a mandrake hanging in my fireplace.’

  ‘We have to find out who it was,’ Michel said.

  ‘I’ll help.’

  Michel studied the girl in her crimson cloak, swinging her embroidered purse. ‘I suppose we must employ desperate means,’ he muttered under his breath. He said to her, ‘Perhaps one of your friends knows something about it. But therein lies a difficulty. You must ask questions without saying why you are doing so.’

  ‘I’m not as stupid as you think. Someone on the rue de la Truanderie may know. I’ll go there.’

  Michel shook his head and said something about the derelicts who lived on the street of the vagabonds.

  ‘Where did you find this blockhead?’ Marion whispered in Christine’s ear.

  They walked to the Châtelet in silence, and when they arrived, Marion made a face at the monk and sauntered off with her nose in the air.

  Michel and Christine went to the entrance of the prison. Christine gave the duke’s letter to the wart-nosed guard, and, as before, the man disappeared into the provost’s side of the building. Soon he returned, bringing with him the jailer with the defective teeth, who looked at the monk and said, ‘I’ll admit only the lady.’

  ‘I
’ll wait right here for you, Christine,’ Michel said.

  The jailer gave Christine a nasty smile, and led her to the dingy room where she had spoken with Alix before. The stout guard named Hutin opened the door. He, too, smiled at her, but his was a kindly smile.

  Alix stood listlessly by the grimy window, still wearing the tattered dress and the little red cape, now covered with grime. Her hair was so dirty it seemed to have turned gray. When Christine spoke her name, she turned and said, her voice barely a whisper, ‘How far away the light is. I hope they burn me soon.’ She swayed and clutched at the wall to keep from falling. Christine went over to support her, and said to Hutin, ‘She needs something to sit on.’ He left, came back with a stool, and eased Alix down onto it. Then he reached into a pouch, brought out a tart that smelled of pork and herbs, pressed it into her hand, and went out.

  Alix sat hunched over on the stool, holding the tart. ‘Please eat it,’ Christine said. Like a dutiful child, Alix nibbled at it.

  ‘I know they’ve tortured you,’ Christine said.

  Alix held up her arms to show the marks of the cords. She tried to smile. ‘It could have been worse. They already thought I was guilty, so they didn’t try too hard.’ She shifted her weight on the stool and nearly slid off.

  Christine feared she was too weak to tell her what she wanted to know, and she was surprised when Alix sat up straight, and said, ‘The Duke of Orléans disliked Hugues – the king was too fond of him.’

  Christine said, ‘I don’t think the duke could have killed Hugues. He was at the masquerade.’ She spoke these words, but at the same time she knew the duke could have commissioned one of his men to do it. Guy de Marolles, for example. She hadn’t forgiven Guy for knocking her down in the courtyard.

  Alix spoke again. ‘I don’t really think the duke did it. It’s more likely the queen’s brother did. Hugues found out something about him. I was the one who told him.’

  Christine felt a bit of hope. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Ludwig took something that belonged to the king – a sapphire set in a gold band. The queen had it in her room one day, and I saw Ludwig take it. I shouldn’t have said anything to Hugues about it, but I did.’

  Christine remembered Michel saying the king had lost a valuable sapphire that was supposed to cure diseases of the eye. Georgette had said Colin had discovered a secret. That must be it, she thought. Ludwig stole the gem and Colin found out. Ludwig had bought the boy’s silence with a new knife, but a knife wouldn’t have been enough for Hugues. ‘What did Hugues do?’

  ‘He told me he made Ludwig give him money so he wouldn’t tell the king. Ludwig was worried the king would send him back to Bavaria.

  ‘Now I understand why Ludwig lied to the king.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He told the king he saw you give your husband the poison. It’s quite understandable that he would tell such a lie, if he himself murdered Hugues because Hugues was blackmailing him.’

  A furry shape scuttled up the wall. Alix didn’t notice it, but Christine cringed and looked away. Everything about the room was foul. A weak ray of sunlight barely penetrated the dust covering the window, and drops of water oozed from the mold-encrusted walls. She couldn’t bear to think what might be hidden under the filthy piles of straw on the floor. She stood behind Alix with her hands on her shoulders to keep her from toppling off the stool and looked into the corner where she’d imagined seeing Étienne smiling at her on her previous visit to the prison. He wasn’t there. She was alone with this unhappy young woman who had no family except for a disagreeable little man who probably wouldn’t care whether she lived or died.

  Or perhaps he would care, she thought. Perhaps there would be money for Henri Le Picart if Alix died.

  ‘What do you know about your father’s brother?’

  ‘He’s in a monastery.’

  ‘No longer. He’s here in Paris. He calls himself Henri Le Picart, but he’s still your uncle. If you die, he could inherit your property.’

  Alix covered her face with her hands. ‘Then he should have just killed me.’

  ‘In order for him to obtain your property, your husband would have to die before you. He did, and now if you die, the property could go to Henri.’ Or so Christine thought. She was often in court fighting for the money owed her from her husband’s estate, but beyond that, she had to admit to herself, she had limited knowledge of the laws of inheritance as they applied to royal chamberlains like Hugues de Précy.

  Alix started to slip from the stool once again, so Christine knelt on the floor and held her. Dust and bits of straw caught on her cloak, and she tried to forget the rat she’d seen. She said, ‘The last time I was here, you told me the night Hugues was poisoned, he had a book he was going to give the queen.’

  Alix sat straight up on the stool. ‘Please don’t ask me about the book! I don’t know where it is.’

  ‘You must know something about it.’

  Alix looked up at Christine, anguish in her eyes, and then she fell against her, sobbing.

  Christine understood. ‘Hugues killed the man behind the chest, didn’t he, Alix – to get the book.’

  In a barely audible voice, Alix said, ‘I recognized his dagger. It was an old one he kept in a chest at home. He never wore it. No one else could have known it was his.’

  ‘How did you know it was the same book he was going to give the queen? Did you see it?’

  ‘I guessed. He told me he’d found a book of magic somewhere. He thought he could use it to gain the queen’s favor. Hugues would do anything to get what he wanted. He deceived everyone. I am so glad my father didn’t live to see it.’ She shook uncontrollably as she said this.

  To take Alix’s mind off the terrible truths she had just revealed, Christine said, ‘Tell me about your father.’

  ‘He was kind, but he was always busy with his estates. My mother died when I was six, and he didn’t want me to be lonely, so he let me have a companion – my old nursemaid, Gillette.’

  The old nursemaid who was foolish enough to give her a mandrake, Christine thought. ‘Where is Gillette now?’

  ‘She’s here in Paris. I know she would come here to visit me if she could.’

  Christine wanted to find out more about this old woman. ‘Would you like me to go and see her?’

  ‘Oh, yes! She lives with her cousin Maude on the rue Beaubourg. The last house before the old wall.’

  Keys rattled, and the door opened. Hutin had come to take Alix away. As they left, Alix turned and said to Christine, ‘I’m going to die. Tell Gillette it’s better that way.’

  Michel was pacing back and forth in front of the prison, ignoring the guards, who looked as though they feared he might attack them. When Christine came out, they made a great show of sniffing their fingers.

  ‘What is the meaning of that?’ Michel asked.

  ‘They’re mocking me. The last time I was here I brought Alix a sprig of my mother’s rue.’

  ‘Audendo magnus tegitur timor,’ Michel announced in a loud voice. The guards raised their cudgels.

  ‘Michel! What did you say to them?’

  ‘I told them a show of bravery usually conceals great fear. But I’m sure they don’t know any Latin.’

  ‘I don’t care whether they do or not. We’ll come to grief if you say any more.’ She hurried away. Michel laughed and followed.

  ‘Did you learn anything from her?’ he asked when he caught up with her.

  She looked back over her shoulder at the guards. The bald man with the harelip was staring at them with a blank look on his face, and the giant with the warty nose was giving them the fool’s finger. She took Michel’s arm and led him down the street and into the church of Saint-Jacques-la-Boucherie. In the dark, deserted nave, silence settled around them like a comforting blanket, and after a few minutes, she felt at peace for the first time that day. Michel knelt to pray, and she knelt, too, thankful for this man of God who thought she was right to try t
o save Alix de Clairy and was willing to jeopardize his own safety to help. She whispered, ‘I know for certain it was Hugues de Précy who stabbed the man behind the chest and stole the book.’

  ‘She told you that?’

  ‘Yes. And she also told me that the night Hugues was poisoned, he was bringing the book to the queen. He said it was a book of magic.’

  Michel shook his head. He knows very well what sort of book it is, Christine thought.

  ‘The duke must suspect Hugues killed the man,’ the monk said. ‘That’s why he thinks Hugues’s wife knows where the book is.’

  ‘What’s in the book, Michel?’

  He just shook his head. ‘It would be unwise for you to go back to the palace. It would be better for me to tell the duke you have learned nothing about the book.’

  They both understood what would happen then. Once the duke believed Alix really didn’t know anything about the book, he’d see no reason why she should be kept alive.

  ‘What more did you learn from her?’ Michel asked. ‘Did she mention anyone who might have wanted to kill Hugues?’

  ‘It could have been the queen’s brother. Hugues was blackmailing him. He’d discovered Ludwig had stolen the gem the king lost – the sapphire you told us about, the one that is supposed to cure diseases of the eye.’

  Michel shook his head. ‘I’m not surprised to hear that about Ludwig, not surprised at all.’

  Christine looked around the church. Rays of the setting sun streamed in through the colored glass windowpanes, and carved saints smiled down at them from the pillars. It pained her to think of what Alix de Clairy was suffering in the prison while she and the monk sat in such a peaceful place. Desperate to save Alix, she found herself devising an impossible plan. She said to Michel, ‘Tell the duke Alix is so confused she can’t remember where the book is. Tell him she may be able to think more clearly in a day or two. Ask him to write another letter to the provost for me, so I can talk to her again. That will give us more time.’

  ‘Can’t you think of anything better than that?’