The Lady and the Unicorn. Tracy Chevalier

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СКАЧАТЬ of me as your unicorn. There are times when you’re sullied, yes, even you, beauty. Every woman is. That is Eve’s punishment. But you can be made pure again, every month, if you will only let me tend to you.’ Plough you again and again until you laugh and cry. ‘Every month you will go back to Eden.’ It was that last line that never failed when I was hunting a woman – the idea of that simple paradise seemed to snare them. They always opened their legs to me in the hope that they would find it. Perhaps some of them did.

      The girl laughed, raucously this time. She was ready. I reached out to squeeze her and seal our exchange.

      ‘Claude? Is that you? What’s taken you so long?’ A door across from us had opened and a woman stood staring at us, her arms folded across her chest. I dropped my hand.

      ‘Pardon, Maman. Here he is.’ Claude stepped back and gestured at me. I bowed.

      ‘What’s in your mouth?’ the woman asked.

      Claude swallowed. ‘Clove. For my tooth.’

      ‘You should be chewing mint – that’s much better for toothache.’

      ‘Yes, Maman.’ Claude laughed again – probably at the look on my face. She turned and ran from the room, banging the door behind her. The room echoed with her steps.

      I shuddered. I had just tried to seduce Jean Le Viste’s daughter.

      In the times I’d been to the house on the rue du Four I had only ever seen the three Le Viste girls from afar – running across the courtyard, leaving on horses, walking with a group of ladies to Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Of course the girl by the well was one of them too – if I’d been paying attention I would have understood when I saw her hair and how she held herself that she and Claude were sisters. Then I would have guessed who they were and never have told Claude the story of the unicorn. But I had not been thinking about who she was – I’d been thinking about how to bed her.

      Claude had only to repeat to her father what I’d said and I would be thrown out, the commission taken from me. And I would never see Claude again.

      I wanted her more than ever, and not just for bedding. I wanted to lie with her at my side and talk to her, touch that mouth and hair and make her laugh. I wondered where she had run to in the house. I would never be allowed in there – not a Paris artist with a nobleman’s daughter.

      I stood very still, thinking of these things. Perhaps I did so for a moment too long. The woman in the doorway moved so that the rosary hanging at her waist clicked against the buttons on her sleeve, and I stepped back from my thoughts. She was looking at me as if she’d guessed all that was going through my head. She said nothing, though, but pushed the door open and went back in. I followed.

      I had painted miniatures in many ladies’ chambers – this one was not so different. There was a bed made of chestnut and hung with curtains of blue and yellow silk. There were oak chairs in a semicircle, padded with embroidered cushions. There was a side table covered with bottles and a casket for jewels and several chests for dresses. An open window framed a view of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Gathered in the corner were her ladies-in-waiting, working on embroidery. They smiled at me as if they were one person rather than five, and I chided myself for ever thinking Claude could be one of them.

      Geneviève de Nanterre – wife of Jean Le Viste and mistress of the house – sat down by the window. She had clearly once been as beautiful as her daughter. She was still a handsome woman, with a wide forehead and a delicate chin, but where Claude’s face was heart-shaped, hers had become triangular. Fifteen years as Jean Le Viste’s wife had straightened the curves, set the jaw, lined the brow. Her eyes were dark currants to Claude’s clear quinces.

      In one way, at least, she outshone her daughter. Her dress was richer – cream and green brocade, intricately patterned with flowers and leaves. She wore fine jewels at her throat and her hair was braided with silk and pearls. She would never be mistaken for a lady-in-waiting – she was clearly dressed to be attended to.

      ‘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 СКАЧАТЬ