In the Shadow of the Enemy

by Tania Bayard

  ‘Perhaps,’ Francesca said. Then she drew Christine out into the hall, away from the children. ‘You haven’t told me what is going on at the palace. I suspect that visit from Marion has something to do with it.’

  ‘There is nothing for you to concern yourself with, Mama.’

  Francesca threw up her hands. ‘How many times have I told you, you should not be involved in what goes on at the palace. There is evil there. The king’s mind is gone. More terrible things are sure to happen.’

  That’s true, if we don’t find out who is trying to kill him, Christine thought.

  ‘The king’s uncles and his brother will all murder each other, and then where will we be?’ Francesca continued.

  ‘You’re talking about things you know nothing about.’

  ‘I know well enough you are putting yourself, and all of us, in danger. I do not think we are safe even in this house. Do you know someone has been prowling around outside, hiding in the shadows?’

  ‘What are you saying? How do you know this?’

  ‘We have all seen him, or felt his presence, at least. We are frightened.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? Do you have any idea who it is?’

  ‘No. We have always lived quietly here, until you started involving yourself in affairs of the court.’

  ‘You must tell me the next time you see this prowler!’

  ‘I do not see him. I just know he is there.’

  Christine felt chilled. She hadn’t considered the possibility that she was putting her family in danger. She gave her mother a hug and went into the kitchen.

  The children sat at the table waiting for supper. ‘What were you two talking about?’ Jean wanted to know.

  ‘Your grandmother tells me you think someone is prowling around the house.’

  ‘He goes into the shadows when we come out,’ Marie said. ‘We’ve never actually seen him.’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ Thomas said.

  ‘I am,’ said Lisabetta, and she started to cry.

  Loyse, who couldn’t understand what they were talking about, looked alarmed. Klara just stared at the floor.

  Georgette stood in the doorway. ‘I’ve told my mother about this prowler, and she says I shouldn’t work here anymore.’

  ‘Oh, Georgette,’ Francesca cried. ‘I am sure this has nothing to do with you.’

  Christine could see that her mother, in spite of all her criticisms of the girl, was very upset. Georgette was slovenly and saucy, but she was the only servant they could afford. And she was not all that bad. Lately, she’d even improved. She was certainly a help with Klara, more patient with her than the rest of them.

  ‘We need you here, Georgette. Don’t worry. We’ll find out who this prowler is and send him away. As my mother says, it has nothing to do with you.’

  At the sudden reassurances from Christine, who had never been particularly sympathetic to her, Georgette started to cry. That set off the rest of them: Jean, struggling to hold back tears and looking embarrassed, Marie and Lisabetta sniffling, and Thomas, for once not making a smart remark, bawling loudly.

  Christine realized how little attention she’d been paying to them and their fears. She felt guilty. And very tired.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The wise princess, like all wise women who value their honor, wants everyone to know that she loves her husband.

  Christine de Pizan, Le Livre des Trois Vertus, 1405

  As Christine walked to the palace the next morning, she hoped to buy a meat pasty or a sweet wafer from one of the vendors on the rue Saint-Antoine. But she heard thunder and saw all the vendors scurrying away, eager to avoid the rain. The storm rose quickly. Women out doing their marketing took off their aprons, held them over their heads, and hurried toward home, darting around merchants who were busy gathering up the wares they displayed in front of their shops. A group of beguines strode by and turned down the rue de l’Ave-Maria, their shapeless habits already soggy. Two very wet stray dogs ran after them.

  She held the pouch with her writing supplies under her cloak and dashed to the Hôtel Saint-Pol. The rain poured down as she approached the queen’s residence.

  ‘Go inside quickly,’ Simon said.

  Lightning flashed, and Renaut, who’d been trying to catch raindrops with his tongue, laughed and clapped his hands. ‘The queen won’t like this. She’s afraid of storms.’ His tawny hair hung in wet ringlets around his face.

  Christine made her way to the queen’s apartments, worrying that her visit might come to nothing because she’d heard that the queen, who was terrified of thunderstorms, often refused to see anyone until they were over.

  Alips was waiting for her. ‘I knew you would come.’

  ‘Will she see me?’ Christine asked.

  ‘She will. She’s fine at the moment. I put an acorn on the windowsill, to prevent the lightning from striking us.’

  Christine had to laugh. ‘She believes in that old superstition?’

  ‘She learned it from her mother. You probably learned such things from your mother, too.’

  Indeed I did, Christine thought.

  The queen was sitting calmly on her day bed. ‘There is no need to fear the storm,’ she said. She and Alips smiled at each other.

  Christine looked around, wondering why no one had closed the shutters over the windows. Collette the mute sat watching the flashes of lightning, unaware of the claps of thunder that resounded throughout the queen’s chambers. The Saracen girl tried to coax the queen’s squirrel out from behind a cushion where it was hiding, while Gracieuse played her lute and sang a song in French about ships in a storm. Jeannine the fool, whose mother was not there that day, held the queen’s monkey and covered his ears with her hands.

  Guillaume the fool danced over to Christine, bowed to her, took off his cap, and said, ‘Cut off the tip of your calf’s right ear and throw it into the wind.’

  Christine laughed. ‘I know that old proverb.’

  ‘That’s good,’ the fool said. ‘Your calf will grow up to be a strong bull.’

  ‘She doesn’t have any calves,’ Alips said.

  ‘She should bless the sun, the moon, and the stars, and she’ll get one. Then she should bless them again, and she’ll get another.’ He danced away, his bald head glistening in the lightning flashes.

  ‘Where are your ladies, Madame?’ Christine asked the queen.

  ‘The Duchess of Burgundy sent them away.’

  Just then a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows and shook the floor. The queen’s greyhound, which had been lying quietly beside the bed, jumped up and began to howl. The queen buried her face in her hands. Alips’s attempts to calm her fears go only so far, Christine thought.

  Guillaume came back, bringing Jeannine, who put the monkey on the floor, and sat down on the bed next to the queen. Guillaume announced, ‘Swans’ eggs will hatch now.’

  ‘That’s one I haven’t heard before,’ Christine said. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘Thunder and lightning are supposed to crack the shells of swans’ eggs,’ Alips said.

  Guillaume clapped his hands. The monkey jumped up and climbed onto the bed with Jeannine.

  Another clap of thunder rocked the room. The queen cried, ‘Thunder in February means someone is going to die!’

  Christine said, as she always did when her mother repeated this old superstition, ‘No one is going to die. That is a foolish belief.’

  ‘The king is safe,’ Alips said. ‘I just saw him with the Duke of Orléans in the great gallery.’

  Guillaume did a few somersaults, but the queen did not look reassured. Then the fool said, ‘Listen. There is music in the rain.’ He ran to the window where the deaf girl sat and put his ear against the glass. ‘It sings on the leaves. It dances on the roofs.’ He went to Gracieuse and pulled her over to the queen. The minstrel sat on one of the big cushions and sang about raindrops that come on a gentle west wind, bringing violets and primroses and all the flowers of spri
ng. Guillaume smiled and nodded. Jeannine rocked the monkey in her arms.

  The queen tried to smile, but she couldn’t conceal her unease about the king. It was obvious that Charles meant more to her than anything else in the world, and she was not afraid to let everyone know it. To what lengths would she go to keep him safe? Christine wondered. Should a wife give up everything for her husband? Her mother certainly thought so, as did Martin du Bois, who’d written a book exhorting his wife to obey and serve her husband, no matter what. She felt sympathy for Klara, who chaffed under these commands.

  Christine became aware that the queen was looking at her. ‘What are you thinking about?’ Isabeau asked.

  ‘Only the thunder,’ Christine lied. ‘Why do you fear it so?’

  ‘Something my mother told me.’ Isabeau sat up straight on the bed. ‘I must rid myself of these superstitions.’

  That she should, Christine thought. Superstitions will not serve her well.

  The queen was making an effort to control herself. She waved Gracieuse and the fools away and said to Christine, ‘I am sure you will find the person who casts a shadow over me and threatens the king.’

  ‘I will continue to do what I can,’ Christine said, and she went into the room where she did her copying. Alips followed her. ‘She’s counting on you. There is little she can do by herself. Especially with the Duchess of Burgundy watching her so closely.’

  As she said this, the duchess stalked in and stood over the queen with her hands on her hips. Before she could say anything, Isabeau called out, ‘Come back here, Guillaume.’ The fool pranced over and asked the duchess, ‘Shall I speak now?’ The duchess stamped her foot and said, ‘I will have you hanged.’

  ‘No, you will not,’ Isabeau cried. ‘You can dismiss my ladies, but you will not harm my fool!’

  The duchess sneered at Guillaume and left the room.

  Catherine de Villiers came in with the manuscript and laid it on Christine’s desk. ‘The queen is upset,’ she said. ‘I will read to her. That will calm her.’

  ‘I hope it’s not the book with the mean dwarf,’ Alips said.

  Catherine glared at her. ‘If you don’t like it, you don’t have to listen.’

  ‘I listen to everything,’ Alips said.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  King Charles had a valet de chambre of whom he was very fond because of his good character. This valet surpassed everyone, and he read aloud better than all the others, with the appropriate intonations. The man, Gilles Malet, chevalier and maître d’hôtel, was very intelligent, wise, and respected, and he was enriched by the king. One day one of Gilles Malet’s sons was holding a knife while he was running, and he fell on the knife and died. In spite of his great grief, the father came to the king and read to him at length as usual, with the customary countenance and expression. When the king, who was attentive to everything, learned later about the child’s death, he esteemed this man even more and said, ‘If he did not have such a strong character, he would not have been able to conceal his mourning so well.’

  Christine de Pizan, Livre des faits et bonnes moeurs du sage roi Charles V, 1404

  Christine was too distracted to concentrate. After she’d made a mistake in her copying, and spent a long time scraping away the error, she decided it was time to leave.

  The thunderstorm had abated, and she walked slowly away from the palace, sloshing through puddles, her head down, not looking where she was going, so lost in thought that instead of turning down the street that led to her house she continued down the rue Saint-Antoine. When she realized where she was, she decided that since she was halfway there, she’d continue on to the royal library at the Louvre and talk to the librarian, her friend, Gilles Malet. He might be able to tell her something about Martin du Bois since he had known the old Duchess of Orléans and had been involved in her search for someone to copy the housekeeping manual.

  Gilles, who’d been librarian for the king’s father and now served Charles the Sixth, knew Henri Le Picart, too, because in addition to all his other accomplishments, Henri was a scribe, and he often did his work at the library. The duchess had first asked Henri to make the copy of Martin du Bois’s manuscript, but Henri had said he wasn’t interested in anything having to do with housework and morals. He and Gilles had then advised the duchess to give the work to Christine.

  She’d had difficulties with Gilles lately. He held conventional ideas about women, and when she’d said she intended to help Alix de Clairy, he’d tried to stop her. In his way of thinking, no woman would ever get involved with an accused murderess. He’d become especially incensed when she’d announced that she would go into the prison and visit Alix. She hoped he wouldn’t get angry now, when she told him that she was looking into the mysterious disappearance of Martin du Bois.

  She walked down the rue Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois, cringing as she passed the Châtelet, and came to the Louvre, the palace where the library was housed in a tower. She crossed a moat, went up a spiral staircase, and found Gilles, a tall, lean man with bushy eyebrows, pacing up and down with a stack of books in his arms. When he saw her, he threw the books down on his desk and sat down behind them, as if to hide.

  Christine couldn’t resist smiling; Gilles was embarrassed.

  ‘I understand why you’re surprised to see me, Gilles.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would be coming here any time soon, after the way I treated you a few weeks ago. I have to admit, I was wrong about Alix de Clairy.’

  ‘Do you still think I shouldn’t have pursued what I knew was right, just because I’m a woman?’

  Gilles hesitated, then frowned. ‘It isn’t proper for a woman to be involved in such things. To think that you went into the prison! And then you almost lost your life because you decided to go after the murderess yourself! No, Christine, I didn’t think it was seemly at the time, and I never will.’

  She resisted the temptation to lash out at her friend and said calmly, ‘I want to discuss something else with you, Gilles.’

  Gilles peered over the books and wiggled his bushy eyebrows at her.

  ‘There’s no need to be wary. I’m simply trying to find out why someone I think you know, Martin du Bois, has disappeared, and whether you know where he has gone.’

  ‘I don’t know Martin very well, but I am aware that he has disappeared. I have no idea where he is. Why do you ask?’

  ‘My mother was worried about his wife, so she brought her home to stay with us.’

  ‘How like your mother. I’ve always found her to be a sympathetic soul.’

  She looked around the room, remembering the days when her father had brought her there to look at the books. Now that the king was ill and paid little attention to the library, his uncles had helped themselves to the finer volumes, and there were many empty spaces on the shelves. She knew that Gilles was distraught about this, and about the fact that everything was falling into disrepair. She could see for herself the cracks in the painted floor tiles and the holes in the ceiling where pieces of inlaid wood had fallen away. She was almost as distressed about this as Gilles, because the library seemed like a second home to her.

  She’d not been listening to Gilles, who was still talking about her mother. ‘You should listen to her,’ he was saying. ‘She knows that women have a place, and that is with the housework.’

  ‘You knew my father, Gilles, and you know he didn’t agree with my mother about that. He wanted me to learn more than how to cook and sew. He felt that a woman could learn just as well as a man, and he wanted me to have as good an education as my brothers. Étienne thought so, too.’

  Gilles slammed his hand down onto his desk. ‘Learning is one thing, Christine. Chasing after murderers is another. Your father brought you here to teach you about books, not criminals.’

  Christine decided it was time to leave. Gilles didn’t know where Martin du Bois was, and he was making her angry. But as she turned to go, she noticed that one of the books on Gilles’s desk was an illuminat
ed Life of Saint Catherine. She picked it up and said, ‘I’m copying a Life of Saint Catherine for the queen. I hope that when the illuminators get through with it, it will be just as beautiful as this.’

  Gilles went to a shelf, took down another book, and handed it to Christine, ‘A woman helped illuminate this one. She was such an accomplished artist that she was able to assist her father in his work. That’s the kind of thing with which you should be concerning yourself.’

  Christine put the book down on the desk, started for the door, and was nearly swept off her feet by a large man with long grey hair who burst into the room calling loudly for Gilles. She recognized him as the illuminator she’d seen at the Hôtel de Nesle the day before, delivering a set of playing cards to the Duke of Berry. He wore a big black cloak, and when he threw it open, it nearly swept the books off Gilles’s desk. Gilles ran over and put out his hands as if to stop the man from going farther into the room.

  ‘Wait, Jacquemin,’ he said. ‘I’m glad to see you, but books are delicate.’

  The man laughed. ‘I know that. Let me see the one on top of the pile. It looks as though it has a lot of gold.’

  ‘It does,’ Gilles said as he handed him the book. ‘You should know. You did the gilding.’

  Gilles turned to Christine. ‘This is Jacquemin. He is the one who will add the illuminations to the Life of Saint Catherine you are copying for the queen.’

  Christine looked at the big man and wondered how he could do such delicate work. She was reassured when she saw him put the book gently back on the desk.

  Gilles suddenly became animated. He said, ‘Christine is just the person you are looking for, Jacquemin. She’s a scribe.’ He went to a shelf and took down a small volume. ‘You wanted a copy of this, and she can do it for you.’

  Jacquemin took the book from Gilles and handed it to Christine. ‘I need this for my work. It’s a book of instructions for manuscript painters. I’d be grateful if you would take it home and copy it for me.’

  Christine looked through the book quickly and saw that it contained detailed recipes for mixing various kinds of paints, instructions for preparing parchment, and other things of interest to manuscript illuminators. Gilles was looking at her intently, to get her reaction. In truth, she was delighted to have the work, but she didn’t want him to know. She didn’t want him to think she was willing to stay at home and concentrate on activities he thought were safe for women.