by Tania Bayard
Christine said, ‘Willem admitted that he was responsible for the fire. But we can’t prove it, now that he’s dead.’
‘I want to know the whole story. But not just yet.’
Christine said, ‘I haven’t even told anyone in my family the whole story. It would only frighten them. Especially my mother. So, come in, but let me do the explaining.’
In the kitchen, Francesca stood at the table, mumbling to herself and doing something with some nuts. She said, ‘I gave Klara valerian and put her to bed.’ Then she looked up and pointed her finger at the stranger who’d brought Klara home. ‘I think I deserve to know who you are and why the girl is in such a state.’
Christine said, ‘This is Martin du Bois, Klara’s husband.’
Francesca drew a deep breath, put her hand over her heart, and plopped down onto a bench. ‘You’re supposed to be old and decrepit!’
‘Is that what Klara told you?’ Martin asked.
Francesca started to laugh. ‘She really had us fooled. Have you come to get her? Why is she so upset?’
Christine said, ‘Her brother is dead.’
‘What happened?’
‘She took him to the lions’ stockade, and the lions attacked him.’
‘I thought those old lions were harmless.’
‘Something disturbed them. Don’t say too much to Klara about it.’
Marion stood in the doorway, and all the children crept up behind her and tried to peer into the room.
‘This is Klara’s husband,’ Christine said.
‘I hope it means that Klara will go back to her own house now,’ Jean said.
‘Have some compassion. She’s had a horrible experience. Her brother has died. You’d be upset, too.’
‘Maybe not,’ Thomas said. Jean smacked him on the back of his head.
‘What is Marion doing here?’ Francesca asked. ‘I knew you two were putting yourselves in danger again.’
‘There’s no danger now,’ Christine said. ‘I’m sure Martin would like to see his wife, so I’m going to take him upstairs.’
In Francesca’s room, Klara lay on the bed and Georgette sat beside her, talking to her quietly and smoothing her forehead.
‘You can go downstairs now, Georgette,’ Christine said. ‘We’ll take care of Klara.’
When Klara saw Martin, she began to cry.
‘I know what happened,’ he said. ‘I know it wasn’t your fault.’
‘But it was!’
Christine said, ‘No one will think that, Klara. So just keep quiet about it, and everything will be all right.’
‘You think I knew what my brother was going to do. But I didn’t.’
‘You didn’t know he’s been prowling around the house, looking for you? Or about the poisoned playing cards?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Didn’t you wonder why your brother was in the queen’s chambers, dressed like a woman?’
‘I didn’t know he was there, until you took me to meet the queen.’
‘So what did you think when you saw him?’
‘He was my brother. He did strange things.’ She sobbed harder than before. ‘But I don’t know why he hurt Loyse. She never did anything to him. She didn’t deserve to die.’
‘She’s not dead,’ Christine said. ‘She’s only badly hurt.’
‘Who is Loyse?’ Martin wanted to know.
‘She was the lion-keeper’s helper, before Klara came along. She’s living at the palace with the queen now.’
‘Can I go and see her?’ Klara asked.
‘First you have to come home with me,’ Martin said. ‘Do you think you can get up now?’
‘Let me stay here and rest for a while.’
Martin and Christine went back downstairs, where the children were crowded around Francesca, who was making walnut preserve. ‘I suppose you are going to take the book you wrote for Klara home now,’ Francesca said to Martin.
‘Perhaps I should let you keep it. Klara isn’t interested in it.’
‘My daughter has read me a few of your recipes, and I’ve tried some. They aren’t bad if you like a lot of sauces.’
‘I know you Italians do things differently.’
‘You wrote about this preserve I’m making,’ Francesca said. ‘I like the way you put holes in the nuts and stuff them with bits of cloves and ginger.’
Klara crept into the kitchen. ‘I’m ready to go home now, Martin,’ she said.
FIFTY-TWO
Everyone at the court asked for a long time who was responsible for the disaster. When it was finally accepted that it was the Duke of Orléans, no one dared punish him, because he was so powerful. But when some wise men reproached him gently for his thoughtlessness, he promised that in the future he would make amends for his youthful errors with better conduct.
The Monk of Saint-Denis,
Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis,
contenant le règne de Charles VI de 1380 à 1422
The next morning, Christine hurried to the palace. At the entrance, Simon greeted her with a barrage of questions.
‘Do you know about the boy who was killed by the lions? Who was he?’
‘That boy was the woman you saw running out of the palace. He’d disguised himself as an old woman and pretended to be the mother of the queen’s fool.’
‘Then he’s the one who nearly killed the deaf girl?’
‘Yes. Do you know how she is?’
‘They say she’ll recover. Tell me more about the boy.’
‘He was a mischief-maker.’
To escape further questions, Christine hurried into the palace. In the great gallery, she found Henri Le Picart waiting for her.
‘I know you are on your way to see the queen,’ he said. ‘I must talk to you first.’
‘I know how to talk to the queen,’ Christine said. ‘I don’t need your help.’
‘But you do. You’re going to tell her there really was someone who was trying to kill the king. But you are also going to tell her she must keep it to herself.’
Christine looked at him in surprise. ‘Why?’
‘The Duke of Orléans suffers because he thinks it was his torch that started the fire. But he would suffer more if people thought he was trying to put the blame on an innocent boy who can’t defend himself because he’s dead.’
‘But we know it was Willem who threw the torch. He admitted it to Marion.’
‘Who would believe a prostitute?’
‘We can prove that he tried to poison the king. He put orpiment on the playing cards.’
‘And where are those cards now?’
She remembered. ‘Willem threw them into the fire.’
‘So you see. No one would believe Louis if he said the boy started the fire. And remember, he did bring lighted torches into the room.’
‘But how can we let him continue to punish himself for something he didn’t do! And what about Brother Michel? Shouldn’t he know the truth so he can put it in his chronicle?’
‘Brother Michel will record what everyone believes. The duke will just have to accept the fact that he will always be thought guilty. But his conscience will be clear. That will have to be enough.’
‘Who is going to tell him?’
‘I am.’
‘And what about the musicians who played that night? They suspect the truth.’
‘They won’t say anything. They’re too afraid of being accused themselves.’
‘But I must tell the queen everything.’
‘Of course. And you will explain to her why she must never tell anyone else.’
‘What about Alips and Marion? And the Duchess of Berry? She saw a third torch, too.’
‘They will understand, when you explain it to them. The Duchess of Berry is with the queen now. Unfortunately, the Duchess of Burgundy is there too, so you must get her out of the way. She, of all people, must never know.’
Christine could see Henri’s reasoning, and, much as sh
e didn’t want to, she agreed. She saw him smiling at her, and she remembered their earlier conversation in the great gallery. ‘I will do as you advise,’ she stammered.
In the queen’s chambers, she was relieved to see that Loyse, her head encased in a large bandage, was well enough to sit in the queen’s big chair. Alips stood beside her, holding the greyhound by his collar.
The queen sat on her day bed, talking to the duchesses of Berry and Burgundy. Her ladies stood on the other side of the room, murmuring to one another.
‘No one knows what is happening,’ the queen said. ‘Jeannine’s mother has hurt Loyse and run away, and the playing cards have disappeared again.’
Christine looked over at Alips. The dwarf nodded and let go of the greyhound’s collar. The big dog bounded to the queen’s bed, brushing against the Duchess of Burgundy, who gave a startled cry and fell. One of her attendants ran to her, helped her to her feet, and helped her limp from the room. Alips put her hand over her mouth and smothered a laugh.
Christine almost laughed herself, but instead she said to the queen, ‘I have much to tell you, Madame. Please dismiss your ladies.’
The queen called her ladies and asked them to leave for a while. Sensing that they weren’t supposed to be there either, Guillaume, Jeannine, and the rest of the queen’s entourage left with them. Then Christine said, ‘There is nothing to worry about now, Madame. The person who meant to harm the king is dead.’
‘This I have felt. Since last night, I do not feel the shadow on me as before.’
‘How is this possible?’ the Duchess of Berry asked.
Christine recounted all that had happened the day before.
‘Then we really do know that the king’s brother was not responsible for the fire,’ the duchess said.
‘Yes. But no one will believe it.’ And she told her what Henri Le Picart had said.
‘To let Louis suffer for something he didn’t do!’ the Duchess of Berry exclaimed.
‘It would be worse if people thought he was trying to shift the blame onto a boy who is dead and cannot defend himself.’
‘The duke suffers so much,’ Alips said. ‘Who will comfort him?’
Christine had to smile. There were many women who would be ready to comfort Louis. ‘We can’t worry about that now. The important thing is that there is no longer a boy here hiding in disguise waiting to kill the king. The shadow is lifted.’
At the church of the Celestines, Louis, Duke of Orléans, had set aside his costly clothes, feathered hat, gold rings, and other adornments to don – as he often did when he visited the priory – a plain white robe, in imitation of the austere habit of the monks. He knelt before a statue of the Virgin Mary and wept. In the silence of the empty church he thought he heard her speak.
One of the brothers came in, but quickly left when he heard great sobs echoing through the church and saw the king’s brother on his knees. He could not know that the duke was actually rejoicing: Louis had learned the truth about the fire at the palace, and he was weeping tears of joy. He also realized he owed a great debt to Christine, a woman he’d treated unfairly in the past and who had now saved him from a lifetime of remorse.
The duke accepted the fact that most people would never know the identity of the person who had really set the masqueraders on fire; it would be folly to accuse a boy who was dead and couldn’t defend himself. Louis would always be blamed for the tragedy, but he could endure the angry stares and the murmured accusations because he’d been assured that it was not his fault. He had not caused the deaths of the four men who had gone up in flames, and that was all that mattered.
Louis brushed away his tears and stretched out face down on the floor to pray. The light of the afternoon sun streaming through the colored glass in a high window bejeweled the white robe, which glowed emerald green, sapphire blue, and ruby red against the cold grey stones of the church.
