The Lady and the Unicorn (25 page)

The room was crowded with guests, with
jongleurs
playing and dancing and tumbling, with squires bringing around wine and titbits — pickled quails' eggs, pork cutlets, meatballs decorated with dried flowers, even raspberries usually impossible to find in winter.

Jean Le Viste stood at one end of the room, by the tapestry of Smell, dressed in a red fur-trimmed gown among other men wearing the same. They would be discussing King and Court, matters I was never much concerned with. I preferred Geneviève de Nanterre's end of the room, where I could watch the ladies in their brocades and their furs of mink and fox and rabbit. The mistress of the house herself was dressed quite simply in sky-blue silk and grey rabbit fur, and stood beside À Mon Seul Désir.

The tapestries were much admired, but though they made the room warm and softened the sound of so many people, they were not so striking in loud company as when I had been alone with them. I could see now that a battle with its clamour of horses and men would have better suited a feast room, whereas these ought to be hung in a lady's chamber. Jean Le Viste had been right after all.

I tried not to think about this too much, but drank as much spiced wine as the men pouring it would serve me. At first I stood alone and watched the tumblers and the ladies dancing, and ate a roasted fig. Then a noblewoman I'd once painted called me to her. After that it was easier, to talk and laugh and drink as I would if I were at the tavern.

When Claude entered wearing red velvet, surrounded by ladies — Béatrice among them — I felt my shoulders loosen and my arms flap at my sides like pieces of twine. Of course I had been waiting for her to appear — even as I drank and flirted and ate my fig and even danced a galliard with a merry lady. Of course she would come. That was why I was here.

The room was crowded and I didn't think she saw me. At least she gave no sign. She was thinner and bonier than when I'd seen her last. Her eyes were still like quinces but they were not as lively as they had been. They fastened onto her ladies rather than following the dancers, or she looked at something distant — perhaps at one of the
millefleurs
in Smell or in Taste across the room from her, though not at the Lady herself.

Béatrice did see me, and looked boldly with her dark eyes. She too was thinner. She didn't lean over to her mistress and whisper and point, but stared at me until I looked away.

I didn't try to go up to Claude. I knew it would be futile — someone would get in my way, the steward would be called to march me away and throw me into the street, perhaps with another beating. I knew this without being told. Now I knew why Geneviève de Nanterre had invited me — I had been brought here to be punished.

Soon the music and dancing stopped, and trumpets sounded for the meal to begin. Claude joined her parents and some others at the high table — the oak table I had once stood on to measure the walls. The rest of the guests sat along trestle tables down the sides of the room. I found myself at the very end — the lowest place, furthest from Claude. Just behind me hung Taste. Across from me hung Sight with Aliénor's sweet, sad face keeping me company.

A priest from Saint-Germain-des-Prés came to lead us in prayer. Then Jean Le Viste stood and held up his hand. He did not honey his words but spoke bluntly, so that when I heard it the wound was clean and deep. ‘We are gathered here to announce my eldest daughter Claude's betrothal to Geoffroy de Balzac, valet de chambre of the King. We will be proud to call a member of such an honourable family our son.’ He held out his hand and a young man with a brown beard stood up from the high table and bowed slightly to Jean Le Viste and to Claude, who kept her eyes fixed on the table before her. Geneviève de Nanterre did not bow her head, but looked down along the trestle table to me perched at the end. Now you are having your punishment, her look said. I dropped my eyes to my trencher, and saw that the bread had been carved with the initials CLV and GDB intertwined. Birds finding their mates indeed.

After that I did not listen to what Jean Le Viste said, though I raised my cup when everyone else did in toasts that I didn't hear. When the trumpets sounded the squires brought in the roast fowl — a peacock fanning his tail before the female, a pair of pheasants with their wings arranged as if they were about to fly away, two swans with their necks entwined. I took in these sights without pleasure, and didn't reach with my knife for a taste. My neighbours must have thought me dull company indeed.

As a boar covered with gold leaf was brought in, I knew I wouldn't stay to see the many courses announced, the drink and the food and the spectacle going on and on all night and into the next day. I had no taste for the feast. I stood and after a last glance at the tapestries — for I knew I would not see them again — I slipped away to the door. To get there I had to pass the high table, and as I did a movement caught my eye. Claude had brought her hand down on the table suddenly and her knife clattered to the floor. ‘Oh!’ she cried. One of her ladies went to fetch it but she stopped her with a laugh — the first merriment I had seen in her all evening. ‘I'll get it,’ she said and dived under the table. I couldn't see her — the white tablecloth painted with Le Viste coats of arms fell to the floor, shielding everything behind it.

I waited a moment. No one seemed to notice me. Béat-rice was standing behind her mistress's chair, talking to a man who was serving Geoffroy de Balzac. Geneviève de Nanterre was speaking to her future son-in-law. Jean Le Viste was looking my way but seemed to see straight through me. Already he didn't remember who I was. When he called over his shoulder for more wine I pulled my cap from my head and let it fall, then went on my knees to retrieve it. In a second I had hiked up the cloth and was under the table.

Claude was sitting in a ball, arms around her legs, chin on her knees. She smiled at me.

‘Do you always have your
rendezvous
under tables, Mademoiselle?’ I asked as I put my cap back on.

‘Tables are very handy for hiding under.’

‘Is that where you've hidden all this time, beauty? Under a table?’

Claude stopped smiling. ‘You know where I've been. You never came for me.’ She turned her cheek to her knee so that her face was hidden. All I could see was her red velvet head-dress, beaded with pearls, her hair carefully tucked away under it.

‘I didn't know where you were. How could I?’

Claude turned her face back to me. ‘Yes, you did. Marie-Céleste said —’ she stopped, doubt spreading over her brow.

‘Marie-Céleste? I haven't seen her since the day I last saw you — when I was being beaten. Did you send a message with her?’

Claude nodded.

‘I never got it. She lied to you if she said I got it.’

‘Oh.’

‘Damn her. Why would she lie?’

Claude rested her head on her knees. ‘She has her reasons. I was not so kind to her before.’

A greyhound strayed under the table, rooting around for scraps, and Claude reached over to pat it. When her sleeve fell back from her wrist I saw that it had been scraped raw, as if by angry fingernails that wanted cutting. I reached over and gently clasped her wrist. ‘What has happened here, beauty? Have you hurt yourself?’

Claude pulled her wrist away. ‘Sometimes it is the only thing that makes me feel. Well,’ she continued, scratching at the wounds, ‘it doesn't matter, really. You couldn't have got me out.’

‘Where were you?’

‘In a place that is a paradise to Maman and a prison to me. But that is what a lady's life is, I've found.’

‘Don't say that. You're not imprisoned now. Come with me. Run away from your
fiance.’

For a moment Claude's face lit up like the sun on the Seine, but as she thought about it more her face went dark again, like the river's normal muddy colour. Wherever she had been had changed her spirit. It was a sad thing to see.

‘What about
mon seul désir
?’ I asked softly. ‘Have you forgotten that?’

Claude sighed. ‘I have no desire now. That was Maman's.’ The dog sniffed at her lap and she cupped her hands around its face. ‘Thank you for the tapestries,’ she added, gazing into the dog's eyes. ‘Has anyone thanked you? They're beautiful, though they make me sad.’

‘Why, beauty?’

She looked at me. ‘They remind me of what I was like before, all light and happy and free. Only the one where the unicorn lies in her lap is like me now — that Lady is sad and knows something of the world. I prefer her to the others.’

I sighed. I seemed to have got all the Ladies wrong.

The tablecloth rippled then and the tiny red-haired girl crawled under the table. She had found the dog's tail and followed it back to its source. She showed no interest in us but patted the dog's back with both hands, squeezing its ribs. The dog didn't seem to notice — it had found a lamb bone and was gnawing on it.

‘Mind you, I did find one good thing in the prison.’ Claude nodded at the girl. ‘I brought her back with me. Nicolette, take the dog away. Béatrice will find him a bigger bone. Go, now.’ She gave the dog's rump a shove.

The girl and dog ignored her.

‘She will be one of my ladies-in-waiting when she's grown,’ Claude added. ‘Of course she'll need training, but that's a long time away yet. She's still a baby, really.’

I stared at the girl. ‘Her name is Nicolette?’

Claude laughed as she had once done — a girlish laugh full of promise. ‘I renamed her. We couldn't have two Claudes at the convent, could we?’

She laughed again when I jerked my head so hard I banged it against the top of the table. I looked at the girl who was my daughter and then at Claude, who gazed at me with her clear eyes. For a moment I felt the old surge of desire push me towards her, and reached across to her.

I never found out if Claude would have let me touch her. Once more — as she had the last time Claude and I were under a table together — Béatrice poked her head into our hiding place. It was her role to come between us. She didn't even look surprised to see me. She'd probably been listening the whole time, as ladies-in-waiting do. ‘Mademoiselle, your mother wants you,’ she said.

Claude made a face but got to her knees. ‘
Adieu
, Nicolas,’ she said with a small smile. Then she nodded at Nicolette. ‘And don't worry — I'll keep her with me always. Won't I,
ma petite
?’ She scrambled out from the table, Nicolette and the dog following her.

Béatrice was looking at me. ‘I've got you,’ she said. ‘I had to live nine months in Hell because of you. I made messages go astray because of you. I'm not going to let you go now.’ She pulled her head away and disappeared.

I remained on my knees under the table, puzzling over her words. At last, though, I too crawled out from my hiding place and stood up. No one noticed me. Jean Le Viste had left the table and was talking to Geoffroy de Balzac, his back to me. Geneviève de Nanterre was standing with Claude at the other end of the table. Béatrice was whispering in her ear.

Geneviève de Nanterre looked over at me.
‘Bien sûr,’
she cried brightly, holding out a hand and stepping over so that she stood between me and Béatrice. ‘Nicolas des Innocents, how could I have forgotten you? Béatrice has told me she's tired of service and would prefer the life of an artist's wife. Wouldn't you, Béatrice?’

Béatrice nodded.

‘Of course it's not for me to arrange, as Béatrice is my daughter's lady now. She must decide. What do you think, Claude — will you release Béatrice from service to you so that she may marry Nicolas des Innocents?’

Claude looked at her mother and then at me, her eyes bright with tears. We were both of us being punished.

‘Claude and I will be sorry to lose you, Béatrice,’ Geneviève de Nanterre added. ‘But my daughter will give her permission, won't you, Claude?’

After a moment Claude gave a little shrug. ‘I will, Maman. As you wish.’ She did not look at me as her mother took Béatrice's hand and slipped it into mine, but fastened her eyes on the tapestry of Taste.

Myself, I did not look at the tapestries with the Ladies gazing down from their walls, nor at the nobles eating and drinking and laughing and dancing. I did not need to look at them to know that they would all be smiling.

EPILOGUE

Nicolas des Innocents was commissioned to design a stained glass window for Notre Dame de Paris. He had three more children, none of them with Béatrice.

Claude Le Viste and Geoffroy de Balzac had no children. After he died in 1510 she married Jean de Chabannes. They also had no children. After her death the Lady and the Unicorn tapestries passed on to the family of her second husband.

Nicolette was Claude Le Viste's lady-in-waiting all her life.

Jean Le Viste died in 1501. After his death Geneviève de Nanterre entered the convent at Chelles.

Philippe and Aliénor had three more boys. The first son, Etienne, and the youngest became painters, while the other two became weavers.

Georges was offered several other commissions to weave unicorns. He turned them down. ‘Too much trouble,’ he said to Christine.

Christine wove a small
millefleur
tapestry for her daughter's belated trousseau. She did not weave for the workshop again.

Léon Le Vieux died in his own bed, his wife and children at his side.