In the Presence of Evil

by Tania Bayard

  Christine didn’t bother to ask the woman what she intended to do with her once she’d finished. She felt around on the ground and experienced a rush of exhilaration when her hand touched a club. Her fingers were stiff, but she was able to get them around it. When Blanche looked away, distracted by Renaut, who was crying and begging her to take him home, she took a deep breath, gripped one of the horizontal bars of the carriage of the battering ram, and heaved herself up. She couldn’t stand, but she braced herself by throwing her arm over the bar and leaning against the side of the carriage. She lifted the club, thankful it was not too heavy, and swung it as hard as she could, hitting Blanche on the side of the head. The woman cried out in pain and lunged toward her, knocking her to the ground.

  As she fell, Christine could see men approaching, men who lashed out with their own clubs and sent Blanche sprawling. Then she lost consciousness.

  This time when she awoke, she was lying on a cushioned bench in a small, dimly lit room. By flickering candlelight and the glow of flames in a fireplace, she could see someone standing over her, someone with a black beard and black eyes, wearing a black cape. She struggled to sit up, but his strong hand on her shoulders restrained her. She looked around and was relieved to see many other people. Surely, they won’t let him kill me, she thought.

  ‘Lie there and rest,’ Henri Le Picart said. She realized she had never heard him speak before. His voice was not unkind.

  Michel stepped out of the shadows. ‘I told you, you were wrong about him, Christine.’

  She seemed to be waking from a dream. ‘Where am I? Where is Alix de Clairy?’ She was so exhausted she could hardly speak, and it was difficult to breathe because there were so many people in the small room. The air, thick with the smoke of candle wax and the wood fire, was suffocating.

  The Duke of Orléans appeared. ‘You are in the palace. Alix de Clairy is here, too. You don’t need to worry about her. She won’t be going anywhere.’

  ‘How did I get here? Where did you find me? Where is Blanche?’

  Michel leaned down to her. ‘Too many questions all at once, Christine.’ He knelt beside her and took her hands in his. ‘To begin with, it is important for you to understand that Henri saved your life.’

  Her head spun. ‘I want to sit up.’

  The monk placed soft pillows behind her back. ‘Ludwig helped, too. He told the duke that Blanche was in the cloister, about to kill you.

  He was still in the cloister while Blanche and I were raging at each other, Christine thought. He must have seen her carry me off. But he wasn’t trying to save me. He was trying to make sure Blanche got caught before she could kill him.

  Michel said, ‘Simon told me that after you talked to Renaut, you rushed off calling Blanche’s name. That was when I finally realized what the duchess had tried to tell you by pointing to pictures in the Book of Hours. Alas, she died before she could know we finally understood.’ He bowed his head for a moment, then continued. ‘Simon showed me which way you had gone, but when I got to the cloister, only the duke and Ludwig were there; Blanche had already taken you away. Fortunately, Henri arrived. He had heard the duke and Ludwig talking, and he had followed them.

  ‘Ludwig didn’t know where Blanche had taken you, but he thought he knew in which direction she had gone. Henri remembered something about that part of the palace. There is a tunnel under it that goes to the Bastille. A passage branches off from the tunnel. It runs beneath the field where the war machines are stored and opens into one of the sheds. He surmised that Blanche might have gone there. And he was right. That is where we found you.’

  Christine gazed up at Henri, still suspicious of his motives. ‘That is all very well, but why have you been following me all this time?’

  Henri said, ‘Listen to me, Christine. I believe Alix de Clairy is innocent. But if I interfere, it will only anger the provost. You, however, have been putting yourself in great danger, and Brother Michel has been unwise to encourage you. He thought he could protect you, but he failed to take into account the fact that one should never expect a woman to do the sensible thing.’

  Christine started to protest, but she saw Michel shaking his head, and she held her tongue.

  Henri continued, ‘When I heard Michel talking to you at the palace this morning, urging you to continue looking for the murderer, I suspected you would be foolhardy enough to try to do it on your own. Your friend Marion was foolhardy, too, when she decided to go by herself to find that bookseller.’

  ‘How did you know that was what she was about?’

  ‘I guessed. Then I followed you both to the palace, but I lost you, after you talked to that boy, Renaut, and went running off after Blanche in the dark. I must say, even I was surprised at the recklessness of that.’

  ‘I wasn’t running after Blanche. I was looking for Michel!’

  ‘You were a fool.’

  ‘I found the murderer.’

  His expression softened. ‘Praise God.’

  She turned to the duke. ‘Where is Alix de Clairy?’

  ‘She is here.’

  She looked around the room. It was dark, but she could see Blanche in one corner, bound to a chair, with Renaut standing beside her, crying. On the other side of the room two sergeants-at-arms held a woman dressed in dirty rags. A mass of tangled hair hid her face, but Christine knew it was Alix. Her hands were tied in front of her.

  ‘Why is she bound?’

  ‘She escaped once. You can be sure we won’t let it happen again,’ the duke said. ‘Now she will die.’

  ‘What are you saying, Monseigneur? Alix de Clairy didn’t murder her husband. Blanche did. She admitted it!’

  ‘The seamstress will be punished for helping her escape. She was cunning about it, I must say. If the guard who took the prisoner out of her cell hadn’t noticed there were no cuts on her arms, the wrong woman would have died at the stake.’

  Hearing this, Blanche cried out, ‘I knew she wouldn’t die. I knew they would realize they had the wrong woman.’

  Of course, Christine thought. Hutin would have told them. He knew about the marks of the cords on Alix’s arms.

  ‘Tell them what you told me,’ she said to Blanche. ‘Tell them you killed Hugues, and why.’

  ‘Of course I killed him. He raped my daughter.’

  ‘Your daughter was his wife,’ the duke snarled.

  ‘Blanche had another daughter,’ Christine said. ‘That daughter died giving birth to a child conceived when Hugues de Précy raped her. Don’t you think that might have driven a mother out of her mind? Don’t you think that might have driven a mother to seek a terrible revenge?’

  The duke shook his head. ‘She is lying, to save her daughter.’

  ‘She is not lying. She poisoned Hugues. Marion saw her do it.’

  ‘No one believes a prostitute.’

  Henri moved closer to Christine, and said to her in a low voice, ‘Why did you go running off in the dark after you talked to the boy?’

  ‘I told you. I was looking for Michel. To tell him about the top.’

  ‘What about the top?’

  ‘Blanche kept the stopper to the flask. Renaut was using it as a top. It broke, and I picked up the pieces. I had them in the cloister.’

  Henri was actually smiling at her. ‘So you must have dropped the pieces there.’

  She couldn’t help smiling back. She looked at the duke. ‘Please send someone to the cloister to look for them.’

  Louis shook his head. ‘You will say anything to prove your friend is innocent.’

  There was a disturbance on the other side of the room, people making way for someone who swept in and strode up to Louis. It was the queen, wearing a plain blue cotte, her long black hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

  She said to Louis, ‘You will send someone to that cloister to look there for the pieces of glass.’

  The duke faced her defiantly. ‘I will obey only the king.’

  ‘The king is not well, and he sh
ould not be troubled with this matter. I speak for him. Send someone to the cloister.’

  Simon stepped out of the shadows and knelt before the queen. ‘Please allow me to go, Madame.’

  ‘Do so,’ she said. Louis started to protest, but she raised her hand. ‘It is necessary to have the truth,’ she said. ‘If Blanche possessed the stopper, then she possessed the flask with the poison with which Hugues de Précy was murdered.’ She stamped her foot. ‘Tell those men to now release Alix de Clairy. She has had enough suffering.’

  The duke made an angry motion to the sergeants-at-arms. ‘Untie her. But stay close to her. Don’t let her escape.’

  Alix couldn’t possibly run away, Christine thought. She’s too weak. Is he so determined to perceive her as an evil woman that he is blind to that?

  Simon took a torch from one of the sergeants, and left, smiling at Renaut as he went.

  Some of the queen’s ladies had come into the room, and they crowded together in the shadows, whispering among themselves as the sergeants unbound Alix’s hands.

  Finally, Simon reappeared. He knelt before the queen and opened his hand. In it were pieces of red glass. The queen took them and held them up for the duke to see. Then she looked at Renaut and said, ‘Come here, child.’

  Terrified, the boy clung to his grandmother. Simon went to him, gently pried him away, and led him to the queen. ‘Now you must kneel,’ he instructed the boy, and Renaut fell to his knees, shaking.

  ‘You need not be afraid,’ the queen said. ‘I want only that you tell me what are these pieces of glass and where you got them.’

  With tears running down his cheeks, Renaut stammered, ‘It was my top. I didn’t steal it. I found it in grand’maman’s room. I was going to put it back, but it broke.’

  ‘So you see,’ the queen said to Louis. ‘Blanche is telling the truth. She is the one who poisoned Hugues de Précy. Alix de Clairy is innocent.’

  FORTY-FOUR

  Now let all those disparaging writers who attack women be silent.

  Christine de Pizan,

  Le Livre de la Cité des Dames, 1404–1405

  At dawn the following morning, Christine and Michel left the palace. As they walked down the street toward the old wall Christine asked the monk, ‘What will happen to Alix de Clairy now that everyone knows she is not the Lord of Clairy’s natural daughter?’

  ‘The king may do whatever he pleases with the lord’s property,’ Michel said. ‘I cannot believe he will leave Alix de Clairy destitute. No, I cannot believe that. The king may not be in his right mind, but he has always been compassionate. I hope the queen will have a say in the matter. She is determined to make amends for all the suffering Alix has endured.’

  ‘Tell me something else, Michel. How did Henri know about the passage to the shed with the war machines?’

  ‘He told me he and your father discovered it years ago, when they were in the tunnel under the palace.’

  ‘What were Henri and Papa doing down there?’

  Michel smiled. ‘Henri is a bit embarrassed about that. He says they were burying the tin figures of the Englishmen.’

  ‘I thought they buried them in the palace gardens!’

  ‘They did put most of them there. But they thought that if they buried some of them deeper, they would be more effective in making the English leave.’

  ‘And men criticize women for their foolish beliefs!’

  Christine tugged on the sleeve of Michel’s black habit to make him hurry. She was eager to reach her house and tell her mother Alix de Clairy was free. But, for once, Francesca was not at the door waiting for her. She was in the kitchen, sitting on a bench in front of the cold fireplace, her eyes heavy with sleep.

  Michel stirred the ashes and revived the fire while Christine gently shook her mother until she was fully awake. Francesca looked around, confused.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what happened. Weren’t you even a little worried about me?’ Christine asked.

  Francesca smiled. ‘I know what happened. Colin came and told us everything.’

  Christine could picture Colin sneaking into the room in the palace where the truth had been revealed. He’d probably been there the whole time.

  Francesca went upstairs to wake the others, and Michel and Christine rested by the fire until the children came bounding in, followed by Goblin, who jumped into Christine’s lap. The children crowded around their mother. ‘The lady in the dungeon is saved!’ Thomas shouted. ‘Now the seamstress will go to the dungeon.’

  Francesca and Gillette came into the room. ‘What will happen to Blanche’s grandson?’ Francesca wanted to know.

  ‘The portier at the queen’s residence took Renaut home with him,’ Michel said. ‘Simon loves the boy. He and his wife will care for him.’

  ‘And the other daughter, the one who feeds the lions? What has happened to her? Is she really as strange as everyone says?’

  Michel sighed. ‘Loyse is already back with the lions. Nothing that has happened seems to have made an impression on her. Perhaps she is not aware of any of it, because of the mandrake juice Blanche gave her.’

  The front door slammed. Georgette burst into the kitchen and stood looking at Christine with admiration in her eyes. Finally, Gillette, who had been waiting patiently, asked softly, ‘Where is Alix now?’

  ‘The queen took her to her chambers and put her to bed,’ Christine said. ‘She will rest, and under the queen’s care, she will recover.’ She rose, went to the old woman, and led her to the bench by the fire. Sitting beside her and holding her trembling hands in hers, she said, ‘I must tell you, Gillette, Alix is weak and confused. She refuses to believe Blanche is her mother – she thinks the seamstress has lost her mind – and I thought it best to let her continue in that belief. When the time comes, you will convince her of the truth.’

  Gillette nodded. Then Christine told her how she had gone with Alix and watched as the queen’s maids undressed her, took her to the queen’s bath, and brought her back, dressed in one of the queen’s chemises, looking clean and at peace, though nothing like her former self. But she would never tell Gillette, or anyone else, about the conversation she’d had with Alix when they were alone.

  Alix had asked her, ‘Do you think we could do something to help the seamstress?’

  ‘Why should we? She killed two people, probably three.’

  ‘Because she’s lost her mind. But I am grateful to her. She saved me from burning at the stake. And from something worse.’

  ‘What could be worse than that?’

  ‘I could have been damned.’

  ‘Surely not,’ Christine said.

  ‘I will tell you why,’ Alix said. ‘Do you remember that Hugues was limping?’ Christine nodded, wondering why she would mention it. ‘He had a cut in his foot that wouldn’t heal. One day when he had been especially unkind to me, I thought of taking some wolfsbane from Maude’s house and making a powder to put in his shoe. I know what a deadly poison it is.’

  ‘You were only thinking of it,’ Christine said. ‘I’m sure you would not have actually done such a thing.’

  ‘Probably not,’ Alix said. She leaned back against the luxurious pillows on the bed and fell asleep.

  Christine awoke from the memory of this conversation when she realized Michel was telling her mother something about the Duke of Orléans. ‘Once he knew what a tragic mistake he had made, he begged Alix’s forgiveness and went to the church of the Celestines to pray,’ Michel said.

  I’m sure he even shed a few tears, Christine thought.

  Someone pounded on the door, and Francesca went to unlatch it. There was no argument this time; Marion was conducted right into the kitchen. She went to Christine and made a little curtsey. ‘I knew you could save her, Lady Christine. I’ve brought you a present as a reward.’ She opened her purse, drew out a large embroidered belt, and laid it across Christine’s lap. Christine gazed at it in awe. The belt was decorated with brightly colored flowers – roses, viol
ets, snowdrops, and primroses. And with birds – warblers, goldfinches, and nightingales, so real she could almost hear them singing. Michel, who was sitting beside her, leaned over to get a closer look, and she handed it to him. He studied it for a long time. Then he looked up at Marion and asked, ‘Did you make this?’ She nodded.

  He’s going to tell her she should give up prostitution and take up embroidery as a profession, Christine thought. But now is not the time. She silently begged the monk not to say it.

  He didn’t. He just smiled and said, ‘It is beautiful. Very beautiful indeed.’

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to R. C. Famiglietti, for graciously answering my numerous queries about the court of Charles VI; Susan T. Newman, for many gifts of books about medieval Paris; Holly Domney and Emma Grundy Haigh, for skillful editing and copyediting; Josh Getzler, my wonderful agent, for unfailing help and encouragement; and my husband, Robert M. Cammarota, for constant support.