Kitabı oku: «The Lady and the Unicorn», sayfa 2

‘You have just been with my husband in the Grande Salle,’ she said. ‘Discussing tapestries.’

‘Yes, Madame.’

‘I suppose he wants a battle.’

‘Yes, Madame. The Battle of Nancy.’

‘And what scenes will the tapestries display?’

‘I am not sure, Madame. Monseigneur has only just told me of the tapestries. I need to sit down and sketch before I can say for certain.’

‘Will there be men?’

‘Certainly, Madame.’

‘Horses?’

‘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 Nanterre 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’ 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 a lady and a 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.’

The steward grunted. As I turned to go, he muttered, ‘You watch your back, pisspot.’

I found a pole in the stables and was carrying it across the courtyard when Jean Le Viste himself came striding out of the house. He swept by without even looking at me – he must have thought I was just another servant – and I called out, ‘Monseigneur! A moment, please!’ If I didn’t say something now I might never get another chance alone with him.

Jean Le Viste turned to see who was calling, then grunted and kept walking. I ran to catch up with him. ‘Please, Monseigneur, I would like to discuss the tapestries further.’

‘You should talk to Léon, not me.’

‘Yes, Monseigneur, but I felt that for something as important as these tapestries you should be consulted directly.’ As I hurried after him, the end of the pole dipped and caught on a stone, tumbling from my hands and clattering to the ground. The whole courtyard rang with the sound. Jean Le Viste stopped and glared at me.

‘I am concerned, Monseigneur,’ I said hastily. ‘Concerned that you should have hung on your walls what others would expect from such a prominent member of Court. From a President of the Cour des Aides, no less.’ I was making up words as I went along.

‘What’s your point? I am busy here.’

‘I have seen designs for a number of tapestries this past year commissioned by noble families from my fellow artists. All of these tapestries have one thing in common – a millefleur background.’ This much was true – backgrounds of a dense pattern of flowers were popular now, particularly as weavers in the north perfected the technique.

‘Flowers?’ Jean Le Viste repeated, looking down at his feet as if he had just trampled upon some.

‘Yes, Monseigneur.’

‘There are no flowers in battles.’

‘No, Monseigneur. They have not been weaving battles. Several of my colleagues have designed scenes with – with unicorns in them, Monseigneur.’

‘Unicorns?’

‘Yes, Monseigneur.’

Jean Le Viste looked so sceptical that I quickly added another lie that I could only hope he wouldn’t discover. ‘Several noble families are having them made – Jean d’Alençon, Charles de St Émilion, Philippe de Chartres.’ I tried to name families Jean Le Viste was unlikely to visit – they either lived too far away, or were too noble for the Le Vistes, or not noble enough.

‘They are not having battles made,’ Jean Le Viste repeated.

‘No, Monseigneur.’

‘Unicorns.’

‘Yes, Monseigneur. They are à la mode now. And it did occur to me that a unicorn might be appropriate for your family.’ I described Béatrice’s pun.

Jean Le Viste didn’t change expression, but he nodded, and that was enough. ‘Do you know what to have this unicorn do?’

‘Yes, Monseigneur, I do.’

‘All right, then. Tell Léon. And bring me the drawings before Easter.’ Jean Le Viste turned to cross the courtyard. I bowed to his back.

It hadn’t been so hard to convince him as I’d thought. I had been right that Jean Le Viste would want what he thought everyone else had. But then, that is nobility without the generations of blood behind it – they imitate rather than invent. It didn’t occur to Jean Le Viste that he might gain more respect by commissioning battle tapestries when no one else had. As sure of himself as he seemed, he wouldn’t strike out on his own. As long as he didn’t find out that there were no other unicorn tapestries, I would be safe. Of course I would have to design the finest tapestries possible – tapestries that would make other families want their own, and make Jean Le Viste proud to have been the first to own such a thing.

It wasn’t just him I wanted to please, though, but his wife and daughter too. I wasn’t sure which mattered more to me – Claude’s lovely face or Geneviève’s sad one. Perhaps there was room for both in the unicorn’s wood.

That night I drank at Le Coq d’Or to celebrate the commission, and afterwards slept poorly. I dreamt of unicorns and ladies surrounded by flowers, a girl chewing on a clove, another gazing at herself in a well, a lady holding jewels by a small casket, a girl feeding a falcon. It was all in a jumble that I could not set straight. It was not a nightmare, though, but a longing.

When I woke the next morning, my head was clear and I was ready to make the dreams real.

CLAUDE LE VISTE

Maman asked Papa about the tapestries after Mass on Easter Sunday, and that was when I heard the artist was coming back. We were all walking back to the rue du Four, and Jeanne and Petite Geneviève wanted me to run ahead with them and jump over puddles, but I stayed back to listen. I am good at listening when I’m not meant to.

Maman is always careful not to bother Papa, but he seemed to be in good spirits – probably glad like me to be out in the sun after such a long Mass! When she asked he said that he already had the drawings and that Nicolas des Innocents would be coming soon to discuss them. Until now he has said little about the tapestries. Even admitting that much seemed to irritate him. I think he regrets changing the battle into a unicorn – Papa loves his battles and his King. He left us abruptly then, saying he had to speak to the steward. I caught Béatrice’s eye and we both giggled, making Maman frown at us.

Thank Heaven for Béatrice! She has told me everything – the switch from battle to unicorn, her own clever pun on Viste, and best of all, Nicolas’ name. Maman would never tell me any of it, and the door of her room is too thick – I couldn’t hear a thing when he was in with her, except for Béatrice’s laugh. Luckily Béatrice tells me things – soon I will have her for my own lady-in-waiting. Maman can spare her, and she would much rather be with me – she will have much more fun.

Maman is so tedious these days – all she wants to do is to pray. She insists on going to Mass twice a day now. Sometimes I have dancing lessons during Terce or Sext, but she does take me to Vespers for the music, and I get so restless I want to scream. When I sit in Saint-Germain-des-Prés my foot starts to jiggle and the women on my pew can feel it but don’t know where it’s from – except for Béatrice, who places her hand on my leg to calm me. The first time she did that I jumped and shrieked, I was so surprised. Maman leaned over and glared at me, and the priest turned around too. I had to stuff my sleeve in my mouth to keep from laughing.

I seem to irritate Maman now, though I don’t know what bothers her so. She irritates me too – she’s always telling me I’m laughing too much or walking too fast, or that my dress is dusty or my head-dress is not straight. She treats me like a girl yet expects me to be a woman too. She won’t let me go out when I want – she says I’m too old to play at the Fair at Saint-Germain-des-Prés during the day and too young for it at night. I’m not too young – other girls of fourteen go to the fair to see the jongleurs at night. Many are already betrothed. When I ask, Maman tells me I’m disrespectful and must wait for Papa to decide when and what man I shall marry. I grow so frustrated. If I am to be a woman, where is my man?

Yesterday I tried to listen to Maman’s confession at Saint-Germain-des-Prés to find out if she felt bad about being so spiteful to me. I hid behind a pillar near the pew where she sat with the priest but her voice was so low that I had to creep quite close. All I heard was ‘Ça c’est mon seul désir’ before one of the priests saw me and chased me away. ‘Mon seul désir,’ I murmured to myself. My one desire. The phrase is so bewitching that I repeat it to myself all day long.

Once I was sure that Nicolas would be coming I knew I had to see him. C’est mon seul désir. Hah! There is my man. I’ve thought about him every hour of every day since I met him. Of course I’ve said nothing to anyone, except for Béatrice, who to my surprise was not very kind about him. That is her one fault. I was describing his eyes – how they are brown as chestnuts and pinched at the corners so that he looks a little sad even when he clearly is not. ‘He’s not worthy of you,’ Béatrice interrupted. ‘He’s just an artist, and not trustworthy at that. You should be thinking of lords instead.’

‘If he were untrustworthy, my father would never have hired him,’ I retorted. ‘Oncle Léon wouldn’t have allowed it.’ Léon is not really my uncle, but an old merchant who looks after my father’s business. He treats me like a niece – until recently he chucked me under the chin and brought me sweetmeats, but now he tells me to stand straight and comb my hair. ‘Tell me what sort of husband you’d like and I’ll see if there’s one ripe at market,’ he likes to say. Wouldn’t he be surprised if I described Nicolas! He doesn’t think much of the artist, I’m sure – I overheard him with Papa, trying to undo Nicolas’ unicorns, saying they wouldn’t be right for the Grande Salle. Papa’s door is not so thick, and if I put my ear right up to the keyhole I can hear him. Papa won’t change his mind again, though. I could have told Léon that. To change once was bad enough, but to switch back now would be unthinkable.

Once I knew that Nicolas would be coming to the rue du Four, I went straight to the steward to find out exactly when. As usual, the steward was in the stores, counting things. He is always worried we are being robbed. He looked even more horrified than Béatrice when I said Nicolas’ name. ‘You don’t want anything to do with that lot, Mademoiselle,’ he said.

‘I’m simply asking when he is coming.’ I smiled sweetly. ‘If you don’t tell me I shall just have to go to Papa and say that you have not been helpful to me.’

The steward grimaced. ‘Thursday at Sext,’ he muttered. ‘Him and Léon too.’

‘You see, that wasn’t so bad. You should always tell me what I want to know, and I’ll be happy.’

The steward bowed but kept looking at me as I turned to go. It seemed he was about to say something, but then he didn’t. That struck me as comical and I laughed as I ran away.

Thursday I was meant to go with Maman and my sisters to grandmother’s at Nanterre for the night, but I pretended to have a bellyache so that I could stay at home. When Jeanne heard I wasn’t going she wanted to pretend along with me, even though she didn’t know why I was really staying behind. I couldn’t tell her about Nicolas – she is too young to understand. She hung about until I had to say nasty things to her, which made her cry and run off. Afterwards I felt awful – I shouldn’t treat my sister so. She and I have been close all our lives. Until recently we shared the same bed, and Jeanne cried then too when I said I wanted to begin sleeping alone. But I am so restless at night now. I kick off the covers and roll about, and even the thought of having another body in the bed – apart from Nicolas’ – annoys me.

Now Jeanne has to be more with Petite Geneviève, who is sweet but only seven, and Jeanne has always preferred to be with older girls. Also Petite Geneviève is Maman’s favourite, and that is irritating to Jeanne. Of course she has Maman’s lovely name, while Jeanne and I have names that remind us we are not the boys Papa wanted.

Maman had Béatrice stay back to look after me, and she and my sisters finally left for Nanterre. I then sent Béatrice out to buy some honeyed orange peel I have a liking for, saying it would settle my stomach. I insisted that she go all the way to a stall near Notre Dame for it. She rolled her eyes at me but she went. When she was gone I let out a big sigh and ran to my room. My nipples were rubbing against my underdress and I lay on my bed and pushed a pillow between my legs, longing for an answer to my body’s question. I felt like a prayer sung at Mass that is interrupted and left unfinished.

Finally I got up, straightened my clothes and head-dress, and ran to my father’s private chamber. The door was open and I peeked in. Only Marie-Céleste was there, crouching at the hearth to light the fire. When I was younger and we were at the Château d’Arcy for the summer, Marie-Céleste used to take me and Jeanne and Petite Geneviève down to the river and sing us bawdy songs while she washed clothes. I wanted to tell her now about Nicolas des Innocents, about where I wanted his hands to go and what I would do with my tongue. After all, it had been her songs and stories that taught me about such things. But something stopped me. She had been my friend when I was a girl, but now I am growing up, soon to have a lady-in-waiting and prepare for a husband, and it was not right to speak of such things with her.

‘Why are you lighting the fire, Marie-Céleste?’ I asked instead, even though I knew already.

She looked up at me. There was a smudge of ash on her forehead, as if it were still Ash Wednesday. She always was a messy girl. ‘Visitors coming, Mademoiselle,’ she answered. ‘For your father.’

The wood was beginning to smoke, with flames licking here and there. Marie-Céleste grabbed onto a chair and hauled herself to her feet with a grunt. Her face looked fatter than before. In fact – I gazed at her body in growing horror. ‘Marie-Céleste, are you with child?’

The girl hung her head. It was strange – all those songs she had sung about maids getting caught, and she must never have thought it would happen to her. Of course every woman wants a child, but not like that, with no husband.

‘You silly thing!’ I scolded. ‘Who is he?’

Marie-Céleste waved her hand as if batting away the question.

‘Does he work here?’

She shook her head.

‘Alors, will he marry you?’

Marie-Céleste scowled. ‘No.’

‘But what will you do?’

‘Don’t know, Mademoiselle.’

‘Maman will be furious. Has she seen you?’

‘I keep away from her, Mademoiselle.’

‘She’ll find out soon enough. You should wear a cloak at least to hide it.’

‘Maids don’t wear cloaks, Mademoiselle – can’t work in a cloak.’

‘You won’t be able to work soon anyway, by the look of you. You’ll have to go back to your family. Attends, you must tell Maman something. I know – tell her your mother’s ill and you must tend to her. Then you can come back after the baby’s born.’

‘Can’t go to the mistress looking like this, Mademoiselle – she’ll know straight away what’s wrong.’

‘I’ll tell her, then, when she comes back from Nanterre.’ I did feel sorry for Marie-Céleste and wanted to help her.

Marie-Céleste brightened. ‘Oh, thank you, Mademoiselle. That is good of you!’

‘You’d best be off as soon as you can.’

‘Thank you, Mademoiselle. Thank you. I’ll see you when I come back.’ She turned to go, then turned back again. ‘If it’s a girl I’ll name her after you.’

‘That would be nice. If it’s a boy will you name it after the father?’

Marie-Céleste narrowed her eyes. ‘Never,’ she sneered. ‘He don’t want nothing to do with it, so I don’t want nothing to do with him!’

After she left I had a look around Papa’s chamber. It is not a comfortable room. The oak chairs have no cushions on them, and they creak when you shift about. I think Papa has them made like that so no one will meet with him for long. I’ve noticed that Oncle Léon always stands when he comes to see Papa. The walls are lined with maps of his properties – the Château d’Arcy, our house on the rue du Four, the Le Viste family house in Lyons – as well as maps of disputes Papa is working on for the King. The books he owns are kept here in a locked case.

There are two tables in the room – one that Papa writes at, and a bigger one where he spreads maps and papers for meetings. Usually that table is bare, but today some large sheets of paper had been left there. I looked down at the top one and stepped back in surprise. It was a drawing, and it was of me. I was standing between a lion and a unicorn, holding a parakeet on my gloved finger. I was wearing a beautiful dress and necklace, with a simple headscarf that left my hair loose. I was glancing sideways at the unicorn and smiling as if I were thinking of a secret. The unicorn was handsome, plump and white and rearing up on his hind legs, with a long spiralling horn. He had turned his head from me, as if trying not to become spellbound by my beauty. He was wearing a little cloak with the Le Viste arms on it, and the wind seem to whip through the drawing, blowing out his cloak and the roaring lion’s as well, and my headscarf and the Le Viste standard held by the lion.

I gazed at the drawing for a long time. I couldn’t take my eyes from it or move it to see the drawings underneath. He had drawn me. He was thinking of me as I was of him. My breasts tingled. Mon seul désir.

Then I heard voices in the hall. The door swung open and all I could think to do was drop to the floor and scramble under the table. It was dark under there, and strange to be on the cold stone floor alone. Normally I would hide in such a place with my sisters, and we would giggle so much we would be found out immediately. I sat with my arms wrapped round my knees, praying that I couldn’t be seen.