In the Shadow of the Enemy

by Tania Bayard

  FORTY-SIX

  The women and ladies of a court ought to love and care for one another like sisters.

  Christine de Pizan, Le Livre des Trois Vertus, 1405

  It was late, so Christine returned home; but the next morning, she was up early, eager to get back to the palace. While she was in the kitchen, getting ready, Marion appeared.

  ‘The queen’s dwarf has disappeared,’ Christine told her.

  ‘That’s bad news. Do you think Klara’s brother has anything to do with it?’

  ‘Who else could it have been?’

  ‘That means everyone at the palace is in danger!’

  ‘We have to be careful what we say around Klara,’ Christine said. ‘I don’t know how much she knows.’

  Klara appeared. Marion took one look at her long face and whispered to Christine, ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘She’s been like that ever since we came back from the palace yesterday. She seemed happy to meet the queen, and she was delighted to see Loyse again, but then her mood changed. She started to cry, and she asked to go home.’

  ‘What are you two whispering about?’ Francesca wanted to know.

  ‘Nothing,’ Christine said. ‘I’m going to the palace.’

  Francesca let out a cry of despair. ‘I sneezed while I was putting on my shoes this morning. You know that means something terrible is about to happen!’

  ‘I know nothing of the sort.’

  Marion said, ‘I’ll take care of your daughter.’ She took Christine by the hand and pulled her out the door.

  On the rue Saint-Antoine, she hesitated. ‘Exactly what do you plan to do?’ she asked Christine.

  ‘That’s the problem. I don’t know.’

  At the entrance to the queen’s residence, Simon saw Christine and shook his head. ‘No one has found her,’ he said.

  ‘Let my friend Marion come into the palace with me.’

  Simon looked at Marion in her crimson cloak and bead-studded hair. ‘I know you’ve been helping Christine. I suppose it will be all right.’

  Christine pulled Marion through the door.

  When they entered Isabeau’s apartments, they found her surrounded by her ladies. She motioned for Christine to approach. Marion followed, and they both knelt.

  ‘This is my friend Marion, Madame,’ Christine said. ‘She helped me save Alix de Clairy.’

  ‘Rise. You are welcome here,’ the queen said.

  Marion’s face glowed with pleasure. I didn’t think she’d be so impressed, Christine mused.

  The Duchess of Burgundy strode into the room, took one look at Marion, and said, ‘This is not to be believed! Do you know that this woman is a prostitute, Madame?’

  ‘What does it matter?’ the queen asked.

  The duchess looked apprehensively at the queen’s greyhound, which was lying at the foot of the bed. The dog seemed more nervous than usual, and she stepped as far away from him as she could.

  Christine said softly to the queen, ‘Marion is here to help us, Madame.’

  ‘This is an outrage,’ the duchess cried. The dog stood up.

  The ladies-in-waiting were staring at Marion. The Duchess of Burgundy stamped her foot. ‘Go away,’ she cried.

  The ladies gasped and moved back. The duchess stamped her foot again, and they scurried over to one of the windows. Shocked and offended, they gathered around Madame de Malicorne, who spoke to them like a mother comforting her children. Jeanne de la Tour started to cry. Catherine de Villiers put her arms around her, and Marguerite de Germonville spoke to her in a voice so low that, for once, Christine couldn’t hear what she said. Symonne du Mesnil took Jeanne’s trembling hands in hers and led her to the window seat. As Christine watched, she felt very sorry for them. They are noble ladies, she thought. They may argue with each other sometimes; but they aren’t used to such hostility, and they deserve better. She looked at the queen and saw that she had tears in her eyes.

  The duchess started to say something more, but the greyhound bared his teeth and growled at her. It’s as though Alips is here, telling him what to do, Christine thought.

  The duchess called for her maid and stormed off.

  Christine said, ‘I know who took Alips, Madame. There is a boy here, in disguise. He started the fire, and he is the one who is plotting to kill the king. He must have learned that Alips is looking for him. We have to find him.’

  The queen looked frightened. ‘This means the king has more danger than ever. What plan have you for finding this boy?’

  ‘That’s the problem. I don’t have a plan. That’s why I’ve brought Marion; she knows all the guards and footmen who work at the palace. Perhaps if she asks around, she’ll learn something.’

  The queen nodded, an anguished look on her face.

  ‘Marion will stay with me and watch everyone,’ Christine said, and she went to the room where she did her copying. There she was surprised to see on her desk a leather pouch that looked like the one that had held the missing playing cards. She opened it and looked in. The playing cards were there.

  She closed the pouch and started to take it to the queen. Then she hesitated. She opened the pouch again, pulled out a card, and examined it. Then she pulled out a few more, placed them on the desk, and studied them carefully.

  ‘So much gold,’ exclaimed Marion, who was looking over her shoulder.

  ‘Too much,’ Christine said. The gold that served as background for the implements of war was not as lustrous as the gold she’d seen in manuscript illuminations, and it was so thick that in some places it had peeled off. Jacquemin is one of the finest illuminators in Paris, she thought. He would never have been guilty of such carelessness.

  She put the cards back in the pouch and said to Marion, ‘These cards were painted by an illuminator named Jacquemin. His shop is not too far from here, on the rue des Rosiers.’

  ‘I know him,’ Marion said.

  ‘Willem used to work for him. He stole some paints and ran away. I want you to go and ask Jacquemin what those paints were. Go quickly and come right back.’

  Marion hurried to the door. Christine was pleased to see that she remembered to kneel on her way out.

  Christine looked into the queen’s room. Loyse sat with Collette on a cushioned seat in front of a window. She seemed perfectly at home, and Christine was glad she’d brought her. But the two mutes looked sad, and they weren’t gesturing to each other as they usually did. Gracieuse played a mournful tune on her lute, but the goldfinches didn’t sing along. Guillaume the fool tickled the monkey, but the monkey didn’t make his usual babbling noises. Without Alips there, everyone seemed out of sorts. Jeannine the fool stood next to her mother, ignoring her. The mother, her head covered by her wimple and her face nearly obscured by her gorget, looked at the floor.

  Christine slid the pouch with the playing cards under the coverlet on a small day bed that stood on one side of the room and went to the queen. ‘Where did Jeannine come from?’ she asked.

  ‘Far from here, somewhere in the south of this country. The king found her on one of his journeys and brought her to me as a gift, when we were first married. Her parents are poor, and they were glad to give her away. She has only fourteen years now.’ She motioned for Jeannine to come to her. The fool, a thin, rather plain girl, stood before the queen with her head bowed. ‘She does not say much,’ the queen said. ‘But she is really very clever.’

  ‘Will she speak now?’ Christine asked.

  ‘That is up to her,’ the queen said. The fool remained silent.

  ‘Does her mother visit her often?’ Christine asked.

  ‘When she came here some days ago, she had not seen her daughter for many years. Perhaps Jeannine does not recognize her. She was very young when she was taken away.’

  Loyse suddenly jumped up from the window seat and gestured to someone who stood at the door to the queen’s chambers. Christine turned to look and was amazed to see Klara. She started to go to the girl, but Klara swept past he
r and knelt before the queen. Christine was horrified. Klara was not supposed to have come by herself; it was not proper. But the queen didn’t seem to mind; she smiled at the girl and told her to rise.

  Angry at Klara and impatient for Marion to return, Christine went out to talk to Simon. He and Renaut were huddled together, and Renaut was asking over and over again when Alips would be found. When Simon saw Christine, he said, ‘The girl you brought yesterday came to find you. She said you forgot her today, you were in such a hurry. I suppose that was because you are so concerned about Alips. I let Colin take her to the queen’s chambers.’

  ‘She looked familiar,’ Renaut said.

  ‘That’s because you saw her yesterday,’ Simon said.

  ‘I suppose that’s it,’ Renaut said.

  Christine didn’t tell Simon that she hadn’t intended to bring Klara to the palace. She went to the center of the courtyard. The fountain had been turned on, and she rinsed her hands in the water in the basin. Then she walked around the courtyard several times, remembering how she’d first met Renaut and how he’d laughed because she’d sworn at the stone lion. She looked up at the lion and thought of the real lions, waiting for Klara to come and feed them. She walked around the courtyard again. She watched several courtiers in big beaver hats stroll in, greet Simon, and enter the palace. She watched several other courtiers come out, tousle Renaut’s hair, and amble away. She watched Colin dash out the door, say something to Simon, and run back in. Then she sat down on the edge of the fountain, folded her hands in her lap, and tried to be patient as she waited for Marion.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  All through Paris you hear them shouting that everyone wants their old rags and worn-out clothes.

  Guillaume de la Villeneuve, Les Crieries de Paris, thirteenth century

  Alips thought she was lying on a bed of old clothes in the rag-picker’s shack. There was no light, but she was sure it would soon be morning because she thought she heard the cries of the man who hawked his strong eau-de-vie before the sun came up. Soon old Emmelot would wake her. She’d put on a dirty dress, and they’d start out in the dark, going from house to house, knocking on doors, begging for used clothes and linens, enduring the glares of housewives and sleepy servant girls who resented being awakened so early. Then Emmelot would start down the street, hawking what they’d collected, her cries mingling with the cries of the pasty vendors, the water carriers, the wine sellers, the rat-catchers. There was always an old cane seller who would wink at Emmelot and tell her she should buy one of his canes so she could use it to beat the dwarf riding in her cart.

  She was glad old Emmelot let her ride in the cart. She could sleep some more. She was very tired, and her head ached.

  She burrowed into the pile of old clothes and dreamed of thin soup and crusts of bread, hoping there would be some when they got to the Grand Pont, where Emmelot would stop to greet the beggars, prostitutes, and other wretches who loitered there around the water trough. Horses were drinking from the trough, and she wanted to drink, too, but someone held her back. She thought she smelled sweat and urine. Old Emmelot picked her up, set her in the cart, and they started off again. She shrank deep into the pile of clothes. There had been no soup or bread. And she was so thirsty.

  When they got back to Emmelot’s shack, they sat outside, sorting through the day’s haul. ‘Give me something to drink,’ she begged, but the old woman merely told her, as she did every day, about her superstitions. They all had to do with water, but she couldn’t remember exactly how. Was it bad luck to spill it? Good luck to bathe in it? Bad luck to drink it? All she knew was that she wanted a drink, and Emmelot wouldn’t give it to her. She went back to sleep.

  The thirst woke her. And the throbbing in her head. Her whole body ached. There must be bruises, she thought, but she couldn’t see them, it was so dark. And she was cold. Her dress was ripped and most of her body was uncovered. She felt around, and her hands touched walls that closed in on her. I’m in my coffin, she thought. What does it matter. She went to sleep again, and again it was the thirst that woke her. They were back at the water trough. She clambered out of the cart and started toward it. An old man’s hairy arms encircled her and pulled her back. She was terrified. She screamed.

  In the queen’s chambers, Isabeau reclined on her day bed, talking to Klara, who sat on one of the big cushions. Collette and the fools sprawled on the floor at the foot of the bed, playing with the monkey. Gracieuse sat on a stool in front of one of the tapestries and sang a sad song about a dwarf. The greyhound sat beside her, his head cocked as though he were listening to the music.

  The ladies-in-waiting stood talking softly together. Jeannine’s mother watched from across the room. Loyse stood next to her, and Klara asked the queen to be excused so she could go and greet her friend.

  Suddenly the greyhound jumped up and began to whine, softly at first, then insistently. He raced to the door of the room, slid to a halt when he found it was shut, howled, and began to run around as though possessed. When he came to Gracieuse, he stopped short and stood in front of her, snarling and baring his teeth. The minstrel jumped up and dropped her lute, whereupon the dog, barking and wagging his tail furiously, leapt at the tapestry behind her and began to claw at it, attacking it so fiercely that it swayed and threatened to fall.

  A guard came in from the hall. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

  The queen sprang to her feet and ran to the dog, which bounded away and ran out the now-open door, leaving the tapestry hanging precariously on one of the hooks that attached it to the molding at the top of the wall.

  Colin rushed in. ‘There’s something on the other side of that wall,’ he cried.

  ‘Nothing to make a dog act like that,’ the guard said.

  ‘You fool!’ Colin shouted. ‘Don’t you know that dogs can hear things we can’t?’ He raced out of the room. The guard yelled that everyone else should stay where they were and followed him.

  In the corridor, the dog was clawing at a large wooden chest.

  ‘That’s where the laundresses keep dirty linens,’ the guard said.

  The lid of the chest was slightly askew. Colin put his ear to the opening and listened. ‘She’s in there!’ he cried. He raised the lid, reached down into the dirty bed clothes, chemises, shirts, and undergarments and lifted Alips out.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  A color known as orpiment is yellow. It is an artificial color, and it is very poisonous … Don’t get it in your mouth, for if you do, you will suffer greatly.

  Cennino Cennini, Il libro dell’Arte o Trattato della Pittura, c. 1400

  Marion ran into the courtyard. ‘Orpiment!’ she cried. ‘The boy stole orpiment. Jacquemin told me it’s used instead of gold. It’s less expensive.’

  ‘And very poisonous,’ Christine said as she pulled Marion through the door to the palace.

  The scene that greeted them when they entered the queen’s chambers was one of utter chaos. One of the huge tapestries lay on the floor; the queen’s monkey scampered around in a frenzy of screaming and hooting; the goldfinches chattered frantically as they lunged against the walls of their cage, causing it to swing precariously on its chain; the fools stood in the middle of the room, laughing hysterically and crying at the same time; and the queen’s ladies fluttered like a flock of agitated birds around Loyse, who lay on the floor with blood streaming down her face. Collette knelt at Loyse’s side, sobbing silently. In one corner of the room, Gracieuse the minstrel stood bewildered, holding her broken lute.

  And even more astonishing, Alips lay on the queen’s bed. The queen, her long black hair streaming around her face, stood over her, stroking her forehead with one hand and with the other holding the collar of the whining greyhound.

  ‘Alips was in a chest,’ Isabeau said. She patted the greyhound. ‘He heard.’

  ‘Is she going to be all right?’

  ‘I know not. She has a blow on the head.’

  Christine looked at the dwarf. The little figu
re lay motionless.

  The queen said, ‘Colin found her and brought her here. Then Jeannine’s mother shoved Loyse out of the way and ran off. Loyse fell and hurt herself.’

  ‘Where is Klara?’

  ‘She ran out with Jeannine’s mother.’

  Christine knelt beside Loyse, who had an ugly gash on the side of her head. She seemed to be breathing, but she couldn’t be sure.

  Someone said, ‘The doctor is coming.’

  Alips moaned and tried to say something. Christine went to her and bent down so she could hear. ‘I thought it was Guillaume,’ the dwarf rasped. ‘It was the mother.’

  Christine hurried to the room where she did her copying and lifted the coverlet on the bed. The pouch with the cards was gone. ‘What a dunce I’ve been. I let him get away!’

  Marion stood beside her. Thoroughly confused, she asked, ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Willem disguised himself as Jeannine’s mother.’

  Marion clapped her hand to her head.

  ‘He took the playing cards,’ Christine continued. ‘Then he brought them back, with the gold leaf replaced by orpiment, which looks like gold. Orpiment is deadly poison. It contains arsenic.’

  ‘The cards were meant for the king.’

  ‘Of course they were. The king bites his fingernails. After touching the cards, he’d put his fingers in his mouth, and he’d poison himself.’

  Christine went to a small fireplace on the other side of the room. In the flames, gold glittered and faded away. Marion came to her side and gasped as she watched the playing cards go up in smoke.

  Christine said, ‘We have to find him.’

  ‘But he could have gone anywhere!’

  ‘We have to try,’ Christine said. She and Marion rushed from the room.

  ‘Did the fool’s mother come out this way?’ Christine shouted at Simon at the entrance to the palace.