by Tania Bayard
‘He and I were the only ones here. He’d had a toothache for several days.’
‘Oh, I know what that’s like,’ Henri said, putting his hand on his jaw. ‘Did he take any medicine?’
‘He had me go to the apothecary’s shop down the street and get a potion to relieve the pain. The apothecary had to prepare it and have it delivered later. We’ve known him for years. There couldn’t have been anything wrong with the medicine he sent.’
Henri picked up the vielle he’d laid on the table. ‘This is a beautiful instrument. I’d like to buy it.’
The woman smiled for the first time. ‘I’m just varnishing it. Come back another day, and you can take it.’
‘Thank you. We’ll leave you to finish your work.’
Christine wanted to stay and learn more about the woman and the instruments she was making, but Henri hustled them away. ‘Let’s find out about the person who delivered the medicine,’ he said as he rushed down the street.
‘I didn’t know he could play the vielle,’ Marion whispered to Christine as they ran to keep up.
‘A man of many talents,’ Christine said. ‘If only he had some manners.’
Henri stomped into the apothecary’s shop. A squat, bald man balanced on a ladder, arranging neatly labeled and stoppered glass bottles and jars on a shelf. He hurried to climb down when he saw Henri, who strode up to a long counter, pushed aside a large marble mortar and pestle, and leaned heavily on his elbows. The apothecary put his hand on the pestle to stop it from rattling in the mortar and looked at his scales, alembics, and crucibles to make sure they hadn’t been upended by Henri’s abrupt gesture.
‘You sent some medicine to Bernart le Brun a few days ago. What was it?’ Henri asked.
‘Bernart had a toothache. He often did. His wife used to give him cloves and have him breathe steam from a pot of boiling water and sage.’
‘I’ve tried that,’ said Marion, her voice muffled because she was peering into one of the many large barrels on the floor. Henri turned and glared at her.
‘He needed something stronger this time,’ the apothecary continued, ‘so I sent over a gargle of poppy juice, myrrh, and honey.’
Henri said, ‘Do you know that Bernart died the same day?’
‘Of course I know.’
‘He was poisoned.’
‘I hope you don’t think I was responsible! There was only enough poppy juice in the gargle to make him sleepy.’
‘No one suspects you. Is the boy who delivers your preparations here?’
‘No. He’s sick. Come to think of it, he was sick the day Bernart’s wife asked for the medicine. I gave the bottle to a boy who came into the shop and asked where Bernart lived. I thought that as long as he was going there, he could deliver it.’
‘Do you remember what the boy looked like?’
‘No. I was so busy with customers, I hardly glanced at him.’
Henri slapped his hand on the counter, overturning one of the crucibles. He righted it and plunged out of the shop, leaving Christine and Marion to scramble after him.
They went back to Bernart’s house, where his widow was varnishing the vielle Henri wanted to buy. Without any explanation, Henri asked, ‘Do you remember who brought your husband’s medicine from the apothecary’s shop?’
‘I wasn’t here when the medicine was delivered. I’d gone to the market.’
‘When did your husband take the medicine?’
‘While I was out. When I came back I found the empty bottle on the table. Bernart wasn’t here. I didn’t know where he’d gone until the sergeants from the Châtelet came and told me he was dead.’
Henri turned on his heel and left. Christine wanted to give the woman some explanation, but there was no time. When she and Marion caught up to him on the rue Saint-Martin, he turned and said, ‘Your theory about Martin du Bois being the murderer was wrong, of course, Christine.’
Before she could respond, he added, ‘It was the boy who brought the poison to Bernart. Bernart took it, believing it was medicine for his toothache. He became deathly ill, and he went out to get help.’
‘And he got only as far as that empty house,’ Marion said. ‘He must have stumbled and fallen through the door, just like I did.’
‘Right,’ Henri said. ‘The next task is to find that boy.’
‘But we don’t know anything about him,’ Christine said. ‘We don’t even know what he looks like.’
‘Since you two are so good at solving problems, you can figure it out,’ Henri said, and he walked away, leaving them staring after him, open-mouthed.
EIGHTEEN
You’ll never see a man so old that he won’t gladly take a young wife.
From a book of moral and practical advice for a young wife, Paris, 1393
‘What do we do now?’ Marion asked.
‘I have no idea.’
They walked to Christine’s house, lost in thought, and when they got there, they found Francesca standing at the door. ‘Where have you been, Cristina?’
‘Go back inside, Mama.’
‘It is dinner time,’ Francesca said as she stalked into the house. Christine told Marion to wait and went after her mother. In the kitchen, she said, ‘Let Marion stay and eat with us.’
‘I know she helped you save Alix de Clairy, but enough is enough. Should she not be at that brothel of hers?’
‘I’ll tell you a secret. I think Marion is selling her embroidery, which means she doesn’t need money from her other profession.’
‘Has she told you that?’
‘No. And don’t ask her. She’ll tell us about it when she’s ready. Let her stay for dinner.’
Francesca slammed a pot down on the table, but she didn’t say no.
Christine went to get Marion and found her with Brother Michel, who was shaking his finger at her.
‘I’ll wear what I like, porc de Dieu,’ Marion said.
‘Doesn’t she know she can be arrested for wearing that gold belt?’ the monk asked Christine.
Marion folded her arms and turned her back.
Christine asked, ‘What are you doing here, Michel?’
‘I’m worried about you. I don’t think you took seriously what I was telling you about the court.’
‘You don’t need to remind me. But I’m glad you’re here. There’s someone I want you to meet. My mother is preparing dinner; she’ll be pleased to see you. You stay, too, Marion.’
Marion turned around and said, ‘Your mother won’t be pleased to see me.’
‘Never mind,’ Christine said. ‘Go on in, Michel. I want to talk to Marion for a moment.’
Michel gave one last accusatory look at Marion’s belt and went into the house.
‘He warned me about the court. He told me to stay away,’ Christine said. ‘So don’t say anything to him about what we’re doing.’
‘I won’t. But let’s go in quickly. I can’t wait to see what that little lady does when she sees a monk.’
‘Perhaps he can help her. But I’m not counting on it.’
‘I told you, I know how to straighten her out.’
‘Have you something in mind?’
‘You’ll see,’ Marion said.
They took off their cloaks and went into the kitchen where the children, holding plates and goblets, stood waiting for Georgette to set up the trestle table. Klara sat on a stool by the fire holding Goblin.
‘You could help, too, Klara,’ Christine said.
‘We don’t have to do that at Martin’s house.’
‘Is that so?’ Marion said. ‘What a spoiled little lady you are.’
‘Putain,’ Klara said. Then she saw Michel. She let go of Goblin and started to cry.
‘It looks as though she’s learned a bit of humility. Perhaps she’s read her husband’s book,’ Christine said.
‘She needs to read some more,’ said Marion. ‘I’d like to meet that man.’
Christine said to Klara, ‘This is Brother Michel.’
Francesca said, ‘Stay for dinner, Michel.’
Michel went into the hallway to take off his cloak. When he returned, the children crowded around him. ‘You said you’d take us to see your abbey,’ Jean said, remembering a promise the monk had made several weeks earlier.
‘And so I will,’ he assured them.
Thomas looked skeptical. ‘I’ll bet you don’t even live there.’
Michel laughed. ‘If you mean I’m always at the court instead, you’re right. That’s because I’m writing about the king, and I have to observe everything he does. I can’t do that if I stay at the abbey all the time.’
Francesca brought a basin of water and a towel, and they washed their hands and sat down at the table. Michel said a blessing, and Georgette handed around bowls of soup.
‘Zuppa di cipolla,’ Thomas shouted.
Michel laughed. ‘Still learning Italian from your grandmother, Thomas?’
‘I’m getting good, too. I’ll be able to talk to everybody when she takes me to Italy.’
Christine looked at her mother. ‘You have to stop putting these ideas about Italy into his head!’
Klara was sniffling. Christine put her arm around her shoulder and said to Michel, ‘Klara’s husband has disappeared, and she’s staying with us until he’s found.’
‘Where have you looked for him?’
‘He knows the Duke of Berry, so I went to the duke and asked him if he could give me any information.’
‘And what did the duke tell you?’
‘He didn’t even remember him.’
Michel laughed. ‘I’m not surprised. The duke doesn’t have much interest in anything other than his jewels and castles and illuminated manuscripts.’
‘And pretty young men,’ Marion muttered under her breath.
Georgette, who was taking empty soup bowls away to be washed, hurried back to the table.
‘Why are you standing there with those dirty dishes?’ Francesca asked her. The girl slouched away.
Christine said to Michel, ‘I did have a conversation with the duke’s wife.’
‘Jeanne of Boulogne is a remarkable young woman,’ Michel said. ‘Only sixteen, but more sensible than her much older husband.’
‘Why would she marry an old man?’ Klara asked.
‘Surely you know there are many young women married to older men,’ Michel said.
‘She doesn’t know lots of things,’ Thomas muttered.
‘Basta, Tommaso!’ Francesca said.
‘Actually, the duke’s brothers and the king questioned the marriage, too,’ Michel said. ‘At the time, the girl was only twelve.’
Klara gasped.
‘And besides that, the Count of Foix, who had brought Jeanne up at his court, wanted her to marry someone else.’
‘And why didn’t she?’ Klara asked.
‘The duke got one of the king’s advisers, Bureau de la Rivière, to talk to the count. The count relented, but the duke had to pay him a lot of money.’
‘What did Jeanne think?’
‘She doesn’t seem unhappy,’ Christine said. ‘From what I’ve seen, I’m sure she really cares for her husband.’
‘That’s fortunate,’ Michel said, ‘because I don’t think the duke realizes what a strong woman he has on his hands.’
‘She saved the king’s life,’ Jean said.
‘She did indeed. And now she’s saved Bureau, too.’
‘How?’ everyone asked at once.
‘After the king went mad last year, his uncles threw his advisers into prison, Bureau included. Bureau hasn’t been beheaded because Jeanne reminded her husband of how he’d persuaded the Count of Foix to change his mind about the marriage.’
At the mention of beheading, Klara started to cry. Christine remembered the girl had told them her brother had seen the French soldiers in Courtrai cut off her parents’ heads. She put her arms around her.
Georgette returned with bread and cheese, set them on the table, and stood behind Marion, who whispered, ‘I can’t tell you anything more about the Duke of Berry.’
‘Go and finish washing the dishes, Georgette,’ Christine said.
‘Tell us about what’s going on at the court, Michel,’ Francesca said. She’d once had many friends there, and Christine wished her mother wouldn’t dwell on this because she was aware of things her mother knew nothing about. Certain people had derided her father for having tried to cure the king with a medicine that might have caused him harm, and there were those who’d laughed at him because he’d made tin figures that were supposed to represent Englishmen and had them buried all around France in the hopes that this would make the enemy leave. She knew that Henri Le Picart had been involved in the absurd project, and this was one of the reasons why she disliked him so much.
‘We’re all worried about the king,’ Michel said. ‘After the tragedy at the palace, we were afraid he’d have another of his attacks. So far he hasn’t, but it’s obvious he is not well. Imagine, letting himself be drawn into the disgusting masquerade. He made a fool of himself.’
‘A king isn’t supposed to act like that,’ Marie said.
‘Were you at the masquerade?’ Francesca asked Michel.
‘No. But it’s been described to me many times.’
‘Tell us about the men who burned up,’ Thomas said, bouncing up and down. Georgette, who stood close to the monk with a stack of bowls in her arms, said, ‘Yes, tell us.’
‘Did the Duke of Orléans start the fire?’ Jean asked.
‘Of course he did,’ said Marie. ‘Everyone says so.’
Michel said, ‘You’re right, Marie. It is generally accepted that it was a spark from the duke’s torch. That doesn’t mean he did it on purpose, although many people think he did.’
‘Because he wants to be king?’ Francesca asked.
‘Not only that. Some people think he did it out of revenge, because last summer the king almost killed him.’
‘I hadn’t heard that,’ Francesca said.
‘It happened when the king went mad, on the way to fight the Duke of Brittany. I was there, and I saw it. After he’d drawn his sword and killed four of his knights, he charged toward Louis and brandished the sword at him. Louis escaped, but I could see that he was deeply affected. Imagine thinking your own brother is trying to kill you.’
‘How did he do it?’ Thomas asked. ‘Was he sitting on his horse?’ He straddled the bench and made lashing motions with his arms, upsetting a goblet of water.
‘Stop that, Thomas,’ Christine said. ‘The whole story is terrible enough without your making a game of it.’
‘The whole journey was terrible,’ Michel said.
‘Tell us about it,’ the children cried.
‘Where should I begin? The king was in a bad state, very bad. For days, he’d hardly eaten, and he had a constant fever. I heard his doctors telling his uncles not to let him ride. But he insisted, and there was nothing they could do. He was determined to go after the Duke of Brittany, no matter how hard his uncles tried to stop him. Then, on the way, something strange happened.’
‘I know,’ Thomas shouted. ‘The madman! Did you see him?’
‘I did. He jumped out of the woods and grabbed the bridle of the king’s horse. “Go back,” he shouted. I’ll never understand why the king’s soldiers let the man get away. It’s almost as though everyone was glad the man had frightened the king, because even though it probably precipitated Charles’s attack of madness, it did put a halt to his plan to make war on the Duke of Brittany.’
‘The Duke of Berry could have prevented the whole thing,’ Christine said.
‘What are you talking about?’ Michel asked.
‘Alips overheard the Duchess of Berry tell the Duchess of Burgundy she heard someone talking to her husband, warning him there was going to be an attack on the constable. The duke didn’t do anything about it.’
‘I told you to tell Alips to st
op listening to people’s conversations!’ Michel exclaimed. ‘She likes to think no one knows she’s listening, but she’s wrong. If she heard such a conversation, she should keep quiet about it.’
‘Who’s Alips?’ Jean asked.
‘The queen’s dwarf,’ Michel said absently.
Francesca gasped and whispered to Christine, ‘I told you, dwarfs bring bad luck!’
‘You don’t even know what he’s talking about, Mama.’
‘If Michel is angry about the dwarf, that means she’s making bad things happen at the court.’
Christine sighed and turned away from her mother.
‘Why wouldn’t the Duke of Berry want to warn the king?’ Jean asked Michel.
‘He tries not to get involved in affairs at the court,’ the monk said.
‘But he went on the march to Brittany,’ Jean said.
‘He didn’t want to. Neither did the Duke of Burgundy. The Duke of Berry is just lazy, but the Duke of Burgundy had other reasons, one of which was that his wife is the Duke of Brittany’s cousin, and he knew he’d have to answer to her for it. We all know what a disagreeable woman she is.’ He shook a finger at Christine. ‘I’m warning you about her again, Christine. She’s treacherous, especially for those who are close to the queen.’
Francesca let out a little cry. ‘You must never go to the palace again, Cristina!’
‘I have to go.’
‘It is not safe, Cristina. There is evil there.’
‘Perhaps an evil spell made the king’s brother set those men on fire,’ Thomas said.
Marion, who had been sitting quietly without entering into the conversation, suddenly asked Michel, ‘Are you absolutely sure the king’s brother was responsible for the fire?’
The monk looked at Christine and frowned. ‘Absolutely. Anyone would be foolhardy to try to prove otherwise.’
NINETEEN
Dame Agnes the beguine is with you to teach you wise and mature conduct and to serve and instruct you.
From a book of moral and practical advice for a young wife, Paris, 1393
As soon as Michel left, Marion turned to Klara and said, ‘Come with me. I want you to meet someone.’
‘What are you saying?’ Francesca cried. ‘She’s not going anywhere with you!’
