by Tania Bayard
‘We will see about that.’ The duchess called for her maid, and stalked from the room, the skirts of her red houppelande swishing and her gold bracelets and necklaces jingling and clinking. The queen’s ladies knelt as she passed, and they all kept their heads down, except for a slender blond woman, much younger than the others, who looked directly at the duchess and smiled. The duchess smiled back; it was the only time Christine had ever seen her without a frown on her face.
THIRTEEN
The Duchess of Borgoyne, who was a cruel lady, had the queen under her control, and no one could speak with the queen unless she approved.
Froissart, Chroniques, Livre IV, 1389–1400
The ladies came back and crowded around the queen, talking excitedly, the long fur-lined sleeves of their gowns swirling around them and the jewels in their hairdos sparkling.
‘Why do they burden themselves with those hairdos?’ Christine asked Alips. ‘They look as though they have bowls of fruit on their heads.’
‘They’re just copying the queen.’
‘Do you think she tells them to?’
‘She doesn’t have to. She knows they will follow her lead.’
Alips sat down on the floor by Christine’s feet. ‘The queen understands her ladies very well. I don’t think they understand her, though. Except for Catherine de Fastavarin. She understands her because they grew up together in Bavaria, and they speak German to each other. But Catherine is so distraught about the fire, she doesn’t come here now. I’ve heard she’s hardly able to get out of bed these days. It must not be pleasant for her new husband.’
I’m sure the queen misses Catherine sorely, Christine thought. The other ladies, wives of knights and court officials, had been chosen for her, and most of them were older than she was. They were handsomely rewarded for attending to her every need, from her clothes and hair to her jewels and her books, and they seemed more like paid companions than friends. She watched them intently, wondering whether there was one among them who wanted the king to die.
Jeanne de la Tour, the oldest, who was quite frail, began to shake and had to sit down on one of the big cushions. Marguerite de Germonville, a large, bossy woman, hovered over her, telling her in a loud voice to take a potion of valerian and lavender for the tremor in her hands. ‘And chamomile,’ added Madame de Malicorne, a stout personage who was in charge of the queen’s children. She held the queen’s year-old son and dangled a diamond bracelet in front of his eyes.
‘The queen gave her that bracelet yesterday,’ Alips said. ‘The others are envious. She’s a great favorite, and they think she’s haughty. She’s actually very kind. She laughs at the things I tell the queen.’
Catherine de Villiers, a little bird-like woman who cared for the queen’s many books, came in bringing the manuscript Christine was copying. She hurried to the room where Christine waited, nodded to Alips, who had risen so she could pass, went to the desk, and slowly removed the book from its linen case. As she placed it in front of Christine, she cautioned her to treat it with care. Christine was not offended. She knew the woman loved books as much as she did, for she’d often seen her sitting with Isabeau as they read together from one of the volumes the queen had in her own collection or from something they’d borrowed from the king’s library, which was even more extensive than the queen’s.
Catherine went out and joined the other ladies, who were examining the playing cards again. Madame de Malicorne placed the baby in the queen’s arms, picked up the cards, and turned them over and over in her hands, so engrossed, she forgot the others were waiting for a chance to examine them.
‘Let someone else have a look,’ Marguerite de Germonville said. At the sound of her booming voice, the Saracen girl clutched the queen’s hand, and the baby started to cry. Madame de Malicorne laughed and handed Marguerite the cards. When it was Jeanne de la Tour’s turn, she held them carefully in her trembling hands, but almost dropped them when the queen’s greyhound brushed against her. The woman who’d smiled at the duchess earlier laughed.
‘That’s Symonne du Mesnil,’ Alips said. ‘She acts that way because she drinks too much wine at dinner. Everyone wonders why she has to lie down for the rest of the afternoon.’
Christine was shocked. The women chosen to be the queen’s ladies-in-waiting were supposed to be models of decorum. ‘How do you know?’
‘I know most everything about those ladies. Except for Symonne. She hasn’t been here long. The Duchess of Burgundy brought her.’
‘There used to be more of them around the queen. Where are the others?’
‘The duchess sent them away. She’ll get rid of all the rest, too, if she has her way. She wants to be the only one who can speak with the queen.’
‘Why?’
‘The king’s uncles are running the government now, because the king is ill. The Duke of Berry doesn’t take much interest, but the Duke of Burgundy is hungry for power. He told his wife to make sure no one else has influence with the queen, especially any of her ladies who were married to the king’s advisers.’
Christine opened the manuscript to the page where she’d left off her copying, cringing when she saw the illumination there, a naked Saint Catherine, her hands folded in prayer, standing inside a spiked wheel, waiting to be torn to pieces.
Alips stood on her toes, trying to see, so Christine turned the manuscript in her direction. The dwarf looked at the picture and said, ‘I know what happened next. The wheel broke apart before the spikes got to her. In order to kill her, they had to cut off her head.’ She looked up at Christine. ‘I listened when Catherine and the queen were reading.’ She laughed. ‘The Duchess of Burgundy saw me, and she got mad.’
‘Do you think the duchess will have you dismissed, Alips?’ Christine asked.
‘She might. I know Catherine de Fastavarin talked to her about it. But for now, she doesn’t think I’m important enough to bother with.’
‘You seem important to the queen.’
‘I suppose it’s because we’re both strangers here.’
‘Weren’t you born in Paris?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t remember my parents. They may have given me away, or perhaps I was stolen. All I know is, I was raised by an old woman who sold rags. She never told me where I came from.’
Christine started to say something, but Alips interrupted her. ‘You’re wondering how I got here, to the palace.’
‘I’d like to hear about it.’
‘I ran away because a man molested me. I fell into a ditch, and the husband of one of the queen’s ladies found me. He gave me to his wife, the Countess of Eu. Do you remember her?’
‘Yes. She’s dead now.’
‘She was a jolly, good-natured lady, and she found me amusing. She thought I’d be good for the queen, and she brought me to her.’
Alips watched the queen sitting on the bed playing with her baby and her godchild. ‘She looked very different the day I first saw her,’ she said. ‘She was pregnant, her hair was disheveled, and her cheeks were covered with tears. She was terrified because there was a thunderstorm. Every time she heard a clap of thunder or saw a flash of lightning she started up and cried out.
‘Catherine de Fastavarin was with her, and she looked at me with malice. I knew right away she was one of those people who hate dwarfs, fearing we will bring them misfortune. The Countess of Eu paid no attention to her. She said to the queen, “I’ve brought someone to cheer you, Madame.”
‘The queen stopped crying and pushed her hair away from her face so she could get a good look at me. Catherine leaned close to her and hissed into her ear some words in German; I didn’t have to be told she was advising the queen to send me away. The belief that dwarfs can bring any kind of luck, good or bad, is nonsense, of course. I could sense the queen knew that. I remembered something the old rag-picker had told me, and I said, slowly, because I wasn’t sure how well the queen understood our language, ‘When I was a baby, someone put me on the ground, and while I was l
ying there a man came and stepped over me. He didn’t know that unless he then stepped backwards over me I would never grow tall. That is why I am a dwarf, Madame.’
‘At that point, the Countess of Eu must have had second thoughts about bringing you to the queen!’ Christine exclaimed.
‘She looked aghast. I grinned at her.’
‘What did the queen do?’
‘She laughed and laughed. She reached down, took my hand, and drew me close. Catherine spoke to her angrily, but she waved her away.
‘Ever since, I’ve been the queen’s friend. She accepts me, even though Catherine de Fastavarin doesn’t. The other ladies-in-waiting don’t know what to make of me.’
It was a mild day, and the windows were open, letting in a soft breeze and the sound of birds chirping on the roofs of the palace. Christine wondered whether any of the ladies-in-waiting would rather be outside than in the over-warm room with the queen, imprisoned in cumbersome gowns. The dwarf wore a heavy gown, too, and Christine thought she might feel weighed down by it.
Alips said, ‘When I was young, I wore rags, and I was often cold, because we lived in a shack; in the winter, the wind blew right through the walls. But in the summer, it was worse, because the stench of sewers permeated everything. Here, I’m never cold, and if I’m hot in the summer, the queen lets me cool off in her beautiful bathtub.’
Christine remembered seeing that tub, when she was a child. Made of polished wood and entered through a trellised door, it was one of the marvels at the Hôtel Saint-Pol. She wondered how many other people were allowed to use it.
The queen’s greyhound trotted over and sat down beside the dwarf, who said, ‘There were always dogs around the shack where we lived. They were covered with fleas, and they stank of the garbage they ate and the filth they rolled in.’ She put her arm around the greyhound and buried her face in his clean white coat.
Two chambermaids bearing silver salvers heaped high with sweets approached the queen. She gathered up the playing cards and put them carefully back in the pouch they’d come in.
‘She doesn’t want them dirtied by sticky hands,’ Alips said. ‘She’s careful of her treasures.’
Isabeau gave her godchild a candied cherry, took a candied almond for herself, and told the maids to pass the sweets to her ladies. Gracieuse the minstrel strummed softly on her lute and sang something in Spanish.
Alips laughed. ‘She’s made up a song about marzipan.’
‘You understand it?’
‘She’s taught me a little of her language.’
Collette, the mute girl, couldn’t hear the music, but she tapped her foot nevertheless. Jeannine the fool laughed, and Guillaume swung her around in an awkward dance that ended when they fell to the floor in a tangle and lay there shrieking with laughter. The daughters of the queen’s huissiers came in and nearly tripped over them. The queen’s monkey ran around, hooting and squealing, the greyhound dashed over to see what was going on, and the goldfinches chattered loudly in their cage. The only one who didn’t take part in the fun was an old woman wearing a wimple with a large, high gorget who stood quietly, watching.
‘That’s Jeannine’s mother,’ Alips said. ‘She’s come to visit her.’
Christine tried to go back to her copying, but after a while she gave up. It was more interesting to watch the fools, the mute, the Spanish minstrel, the pretty daughters of the queen’s huissiers, and the Saracen girl, who sat giggling on the bed, playing handy-dandy with the queen, who’d given her one of her rings.
The ladies-in-waiting were perched soberly on their big cushions, paying no attention to all the commotion, and Alips said, ‘They don’t have much fun, just sitting around like that all day.’
Christine asked, ‘You would have known if it had been one of them on the musicians’ balcony the night of the masquerade, wouldn’t you, Alips?’
‘Of course,’ the dwarf said. ‘The hairdo alone would have given her away. But I’m sure the person who threw the torch was only an accomplice. Anyone in this room could have bribed him to do it.’
‘Do you know who it is?’
‘I have my suspicions.’
FOURTEEN
At some point in his life, the king was afflicted with a strange and incurable malady that often deprived him of his reason.
The Monk of Saint-Denis,
Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis,
contenant le règne de Charles VI de 1380 à 1422
Christine remembered she hadn’t told the dwarf about Bernart le Brun.
‘You said you know the musicians who played at the masquerade, Alips. What about a vielle player named Bernart le Brun?’
‘I like Bernart. He doesn’t start playing extra-loud when he sees me coming up the stairs to their balcony. Sometimes he even helps me up.’
Christine took a deep breath and said, ‘Bernart is dead.’
Alips gasped.
‘He was poisoned.’
‘Who would poison Bernart? He was a good man. His poor wife. She was devoted to him. She used to sneak up to the balcony to listen while he was playing.’
‘Perhaps Bernart saw who threw the torch,’ Christine said. ‘That may be why he’s dead.’ She looked at her small companion and added cautiously, ‘The person who threw the torch must have seen you, too.’
‘I’m sure he didn’t. Most people don’t. And I was in the shadows.’
Christine marveled at how little the dwarf worried about her own safety. Then she remembered her conversation with the Duchess of Berry. ‘Do you know anything about the Viscount of Castelbon?’
‘Only that he was here in Paris, making sure he inherited Gaston de Foix’s estates. It seems he feared the king might decide to give everything to Yvain de Foix. But he doesn’t have to worry about that now. Yvain is dead.’
‘I was speaking with the Duchess of Berry, and she intimated that he might have had something to do with the fire, because Yvain was one of the masqueraders.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Alips said. ‘There is no doubt in my mind that the king was the intended victim.’
Suddenly, the Duchess of Burgundy strode into the other room, her gold necklaces and bracelets clattering, and there was a great stir as the ladies struggled to rise from the big cushions. Guillaume the fool dashed over, removed his cap, and said to the duchess, ‘Shall I speak or hold my tongue, Madame?’
‘Be quiet, fool.’ The duchess turned her back on him.
Alips laughed. ‘He asked her that because he’s dying to say what everyone knows but no one dares to say out loud; the duchess is a liar. She goes around announcing that she was the one who saved the king from the fire. She says the Duchess of Berry only tried to help later.’
‘But everyone saw what the Duchess of Berry did! The Duchess of Burgundy had nothing to do with it!’
‘We all know that. But only Guillaume would be brash enough to announce it to the world.’ Alips lowered her voice. ‘The Duchess of Burgundy is devious.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I heard her talking to the Duchess of Berry about something that happened last summer, before the king went mad.’
Christine sighed, remembering the time when the king was well. Those days seemed so far away.
Alips said, ‘All the terrible things that have happened began when the Duke of Brittany sent his cousin to kill the king’s constable.’ Alips had been speaking quietly, but she lowered her voice even more. ‘I heard the Duchess of Berry tell the Duchess of Burgundy that she overheard someone tell her husband what was going to happen. She assumed her husband would relay the information to the king so he would prevent it, but the duke did nothing, and the constable was nearly killed. The Duchess of Berry feels guilty because she thinks she should have gone to the king herself.’
‘What did the Duchess of Burgundy say when the Duchess of Berry told her this?’
‘She told her she was right not to repeat her husband’s conversations. Except to her.’
; Christine could picture the two women, the innocent Duchess of Berry with the crafty Duchess of Burgundy towering over her.
‘The Duchess of Berry thinks that if the constable hadn’t been attacked, the king wouldn’t have gone out to get revenge on the Duke of Brittany, and he wouldn’t have gone mad,’ Alips continued.
‘It’s true that the king went mad while he was on his way to Brittany. But no one knows what caused his mind to shatter, not even his doctors,’ Christine said.
The greyhound wandered in and went to Alips, who put her arm around his neck. Then the monkey ambled in and leapt onto the greyhound’s back. The dog stood up, trotted over to the queen, and tried to shake the monkey off, sending the Saracen girl into gales of laughter.
‘Do you think the Duke of Berry wanted the constable to be killed?’ Christine asked.
‘It’s possible,’ Alips said. ‘But I’m sure he wouldn’t have wished for such a thing if he could have foreseen the consequences. It must be horrible to have to defer to a nephew who’s unfit to rule and who embarrasses you with his foolish actions.’
The greyhound, who’d managed to free himself from the monkey, came back, and Alips stroked his ears. ‘But I’m sure the uncles knew long before his attack of madness last summer that Charles is not fit to be king. I noticed something was wrong from the first moment I saw him.’
‘When was that?’
‘Soon after I was brought to the palace, seven years ago. He was standing in a courtyard talking with some of his knights. I was close to him, and I could see that even though he smiled and joked with everyone, he had a strange look in his eyes. He appeared not to be in full control of his senses. Ever since then, I’ve felt a sort of kinship with him, as though we both suffer, I with a twisted body, he with a twisted mind.’
Christine looked down at her small companion and felt a pang of guilt. She hadn’t thought about how the dwarf must suffer because she did not have a beautiful body like many of the women around her.
Alips smiled. ‘Being beautiful is not the most important thing in the world. I’d rather be as I am than have a mind as disturbed as the king’s.’
