The Lady and the Unicorn (3 page)

‘Yes.’

‘Blood?’

‘
Pardon
, Madame?’

Geneviève de Nanterre waved her hand. ‘This is a battle. Will there be blood flowing from wounds?’

‘I expect so, Madame. Charles the Bold will be killed, of course.’

‘Have you ever been in a battle, Nicolas des Innocents?’

‘No, Madame.’

‘I want you to think for a moment that you are a soldier.’

‘But I am a miniaturist for the Court, Madame.’

‘I know that, but for a moment you are a soldier who has fought in the Battle of Nancy. You lost your arm in that battle. You are sitting in the Grande Salle as a guest of my husband and myself. Beside you is your wife, your pretty young wife who helps you with the little difficulties that arise from not having two hands — breaking bread, buckling on your sword, mounting your horse.’ Geneviève de Nanterre spoke rhythmically, as if she were singing a lullaby. I began to feel I was floating down a river with no idea where I was going.

Is she a little mad? I thought.

Geneviève de Nanterre crossed her arms and turned her head to one side. ‘As you eat you look at the tapestries of the battle that has cost you your arm. You recognize Charles the Bold being slaughtered, your wife sees the blood spurting from his wounds. Everywhere you see Le Viste banners. But where is Jean Le Viste?’

I tried to remember what Léon had said. ‘Monseigneur is at the King's side, Madame.’

‘Yes. During the battle my husband and the King were snug at Court in Paris, far from Nancy. Now, as this soldier, how would you feel, knowing that Jean Le Viste was never at the Battle of Nancy, yet seeing his banners everywhere in the tapestries?’

‘I would think that Monseigneur is an important man to be at the King's side, Madame. His counsel is more important than his skills in battle.’

‘Ah, that is very diplomatic of you, Nicolas. You are far more of a diplomat than my husband. But I'm afraid that is not the right answer. I want you to think carefully and tell me in truth what such a soldier would think.’

I knew now where the river of words I floated on was heading. I didn't know what would happen once I moored.

‘He would be offended, Madame. And his wife.’

Geneviève de Nanterre nodded. ‘Yes. There it is.’

‘But that's no reason —’

‘
De plus
, I don't want my daughters to look at bloody carnage while entertaining at a feast. You've met Claude — would you want her to stare at some gash in a horse's side or a man with his head cut off while she's eating?’

‘No, Madame.’

‘She shall not.’

In their corner the ladies-in-waiting were smirking at me. Geneviève de Nanterre had led me to just where she'd wanted. She was cleverer than most of the noblewomen I'd painted. Because of that I found I wanted to please her. That could be dangerous.

‘I can't go against Monseigneur's wishes, Madame.’

Geneviève de Nanterre sat back in her chair. ‘Tell me, Nicolas — do you know who chose you to design these tapestries?’

‘No, Madame.’

‘I did.’

I stared at her. ‘Why, Madame?’

‘I've seen the miniatures you do of ladies in the Court. There is something about them that you capture which pleases me.’

‘What is that, Madame?’

‘Their spiritual nature.’

I bowed, surprised. ‘Thank you, Madame.’

‘Claude could do with more examples of that spiritual nature. I try, but she doesn't listen to her mother.’

There was a pause. I shifted from one foot to the other. ‘What — what would you have me paint instead of a battle, Madame?’

Geneviève de Nanterre's eyes gleamed. ‘A unicorn.’

I froze.

‘A lady and a unicorn,’ she added.

She must have heard me with Claude. She must have heard me or she wouldn't have suggested it. Had she heard me seducing her daughter? I tried to guess from her face. She seemed pleased with herself, mischievous even. If she did know, she could tell Jean Le Viste about my attempt to seduce their daughter — if Claude hadn't done so already — and the commission would be lost. Not only that — with a word Geneviève de Nanterre could ruin my reputation at Court and I would never paint another miniature.

I had no choice but to try to sweeten her. ‘Are you fond of unicorns, Madame?’

One of the ladies-in-waiting giggled. Geneviève de Nan-terre frowned and the girl stopped. ‘I've never seen one, so how would I know? No, it's Claude I am thinking of. She likes them, and it is she as the eldest child who will inherit the tapestries one day. She may as well have something she likes.’

I'd heard talk of the family
sans
heir, of how it must rankle Jean Le Viste not to have a son to pass on his beloved coat of arms to. The blame for having three daughters must lie heavily upon his wife. I looked at her a little more kindly.

‘What would you have the unicorn do, Madame?’

Geneviève de Nanterre waved a hand. ‘Suggest to me what he might do.’

‘He could be hunted. Monseigneur might like that.’

She shook her head. ‘I don't want horses and blood. And Claude wouldn't be pleased if the unicorn were killed.’

I couldn't risk suggesting the story of the unicorn's magic horn. I would have to repeat Claude's idea. ‘The Lady might seduce the unicorn. Each tapestry could be a scene of her in the woods, tempting him with music and food and flowers, and at the end he lays his head in her lap. That is a popular story.’

‘Perhaps. Of course Claude would like that. She is a girl at the beginning of her life. Yes, the virgin taming the unicorn might be the thing. Though it may pain me as much to sit among that as to be amidst a battle scene.’ She said the last words almost to herself.

‘Why, Madame?’

‘I will be surrounded by seduction, youth, love. What is all that to me?’ She tried to sound dismissive of these things, but she seemed wistful.

She doesn't share her husband's bed, I thought. She has had her daughters and has done her part. Not well, either — no sons. Now she is shut off from him and there is nothing left for her. I was not in the habit of pitying noblewomen, with their warm fires and full bellies and their ladies to attend them. But at that moment I felt sorry for Geneviève de Nanterre. For I had a sudden vision of myself in ten years' time — after long journeys, harsh winters, illnesses — alone in a cold bed, limbs aching, hands crabbed and unable to hold a paintbrush. At the end of my own usefulness, what would become of me? Death would be welcome then. I wondered if she thought that.

She was looking at me with her sad, clever eyes.

Something in these tapestries will be hers, I thought in a rush. They will not only be about a seduction in a forest, but about something else as well, not just a virgin but a woman who would be a virgin again, so that the tapestries are about the whole of a woman's life, its beginning and its end. All of her choices, all in one, wound together. That was what I would do. I smiled at her.

A bell rang in the tower of Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

‘Sext, ma Dame,’ said one of the ladies.

‘I will go to that,’ Geneviève de Nanterre said. ‘We've missed the other offices, and I can't go to Vespers this evening — I'm expected at Court with my lord.’ She rose from her chair as another lady brought over the casket. She reached up, undid the clasp of her necklace, and took it off, allowing the jewels to lie glistening in her hands for a moment before they tumbled into the casket to be locked away. Her lady held out a cross dotted with pearls on a long chain, and when Geneviève de Nanterre nodded she slipped it over her mistress's head. The other ladies began putting away their sewing and gathering their things. I knew I would be dismissed.

‘
Pardon
, Madame, but will Monseigneur agree to unicorns rather than battles?’

Geneviève de Nanterre was rearranging the corded belt at her waist while one of the ladies unpinned her dark red overskirt so that its folds fell to the floor and covered the green and white leaves and flowers. ‘You will have to convince him.’

‘But — surely you should tell him yourself, Madame. After all, you were able to get him to agree to have me do the designs.’

‘Ah, that was easy — he cares nothing about people. One artist or another means little to him, as long as they are accepted at Court. But the subject of the commission is between him and you — I am meant to have nothing to do with it. So it is best if he hears from you.’

‘Perhaps Léon Le Vieux should speak to him.’

Geneviève de Nanterre snorted. ‘Léon would not go against my husband's wishes. He protects himself. He is clever but not cunning — and what is needed to convince Jean is cunning.’

I frowned at the floor. The dazzle of the designs I would make had blinded me, but now the difficulty of my place was sinking in. I would prefer to design alady anda unicorn over a battle with its many horses, but I did not like to go against Jean Le Viste's wishes either. Yet it seemed I had no choice. I'd been caught in a web woven between Jean Le Viste and his wife and daughter, and I didn't know how to escape. These tapestries will bring me to grief, I thought.

‘I have a cunning idea, Madame.’ The lady-in-waiting who spoke was the plainest but had lively eyes that moved back and forth as she thought. ‘In fact, it's a punning idea. You know how Monseigneur likes puns.’

‘So he does,’ Geneviève de Nanterre agreed.

‘Visté
means speed. The unicorn is
visté, n'est-ce pas
? No animal runs faster. So when we see a unicorn we think of
Viste
.’

‘Béatrice, you're so clever — if your idea works with my husband you may marry this Nicolas des Innocents. I will give you my blessing.’

I jerked my head. Béatrice laughed, and all the women joined her. I smiled politely. I had no idea if Geneviève de Nanterre was joking.

Still laughing, Geneviève de Nanterre led her ladies out, leaving me alone.

I stood still in the quiet room. I should find a long pole and go back to the Grande Salle to begin measuring again. But it was a pleasure to stay here, with no ladies smirking at me. I could think in this room.

I looked around. There were two tapestries hanging on the walls, with the Annunciation I had painted for the room next to them. I studied the tapestries. These were of grape harvesters, men cutting the vines while women stamped on the grapes, skirts tucked high to reveal their spattered calves. They were much bigger than the painting, and with less depth. The weave made them look rough, and less fleshy and immediate than the Virgin in my painting. But they kept the room warm, and filled more of it with their vivid reds and blues.

A whole room full of these — it would be like making a little world, and one full of women rather than the horses and men of a battle. I would much prefer that, no matter how hard it would be to convince Jean Le Viste.

I glanced out of the window. Geneviève de Nanterre and Claude Le Viste were walking with their ladies towards the church, their skirts blowing about them. The sun was so bright that my eyes watered and I had to blink. When I could see again they were gone, replaced by the servant girl who carried my child. She held a basket and was plodding in the other direction.

Why did that lady-in-waiting laugh so hard at the thought of marrying me? Though I had not yet given much thought to marrying, I'd assumed I would one day have a wife to look after me when I was old. I had a good standing in the Court, steady commissions, and now these tapestries to keep me and any wife. There was no grey in my hair, I had all but two of my teeth, and I could plough thrice a night when the need arose. It was true that I was an artist and not a squire or rich merchant. But I wasn't a blacksmith or cobbler or farmer. My hands were clean, my nails trim. Why should she laugh so?

I decided first to finish measuring the room, whatever I was to design for its walls. I needed a pole, and found the steward in the storerooms, counting out candles. He was as sour with me as before, but directed me to the stables. ‘You watch out with that pole,’ he ordered. ‘Don't go doing any damage with it.’

I smirked. ‘I didn't take you for a bawd,’ I said.

The steward frowned. ‘That's not what I meant. But I'm not surprised that's how you took it, you who can't control your own rod.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean. What you done to Marie-Céleste.’

Marie-Céleste — the name meant nothing.

When the steward saw my blank look he snarled, ‘The maid you got with child, pisspot.’

‘Ah, her. She should have been more careful.’

‘So should you. She's a good girl — she deserves better than you.’

‘It's a pity about Marie-Céleste, but I've given her money and she'll be all right. Now, I must get that pole.’