The Serpent Garden - Judith Merkle Riley (38 page)

They say that at the coronation, Dauphin François held the crown over the queen’s head himself, to spare her the weight, and even though I didn’t see it, I could imagine him taking the opportunity of casting many improper looks at her with his sharp little eyes the way I had seen him do before. Then once she was crowned, the queen had a triumphal entry in procession through the Porte Saint Denis, into the city of Paris itself, where Nan and I had already gone to see about the new studio space that one of Duchess Marguerite’s lackeys had rented for us. It was really quite splendid, being the whole third floor of a narrow little house on the Pont au Change, right where the goldsmiths and money changers are—and also several dealers in jewelry, expensive curiosities, and manuscripts of olden times, and galleries for the sale of works of art previously owned by distinguished persons in temporarily impecunious circumstances. There is also a shoemaker who makes very elegant slippers, but they are too fine for me. It was also convenient for me, being not all that far from the Hôtel des Tournelles, the palace where the king stays when he is in Paris, or from the Louvre, the greatest of his city palaces. The floor of my new studio was only a little bit tilted, and there was a fine window to the north, which is the best kind of light, and two fireplaces. It was also furnished, though very simply with a commodious old cupboard, a bedstead big enough to fit a huge family, and a well-scarred worktable.

“The last man to have this was an engraver,” said the landlady, looking at us suspiciously. “I thought the duchess’s notary said a painter and his household were to move in.” And not a woman of ill fame, masquerading as a widow, her eyes seemed to say.

“I am a painter, to persons of distinction only. Ordinarily, I live at court. This is to be my studio space. The duchess’s notary assured me it was a suitable place for a respectable woman, but perhaps he did not notice that low establishment across the way. I am not sure my patroness would approve of my staying even a night opposite something called The Giant’s Cask. In England, I would never have suffered such an indignity. I think, perhaps, it would spoil my reputation to stay here.” The landlady’s eyes traveled from my widow’s black, to Nan with her severe expression and neat gown, and then to the lackey in the duchess’s rich livery who was carrying my box. I could see the calculation in her eyes.

“I have never heard of such a thing,” she said grumpily.

“In England, there are many respectable women engaged in trade—and simply dozens of lady painters. Perhaps you have lady weavers here in Paris?”

“But of course, how else can an honest man’s widow live?”

“Well, then, it’s just the same with lady painters in England. Only more genteel, of course, from the association with persons of rank.” The fierce old Frenchwoman in the cap and apron shook her head wonderingly. “Disgusting…,” she muttered, “foreign…still, the duchess herself…”

“What did you tell that woman?” asked Nan, as we listened to the landlady’s heavy steps thumping down the outside staircase.

“That there were dozens of lady painters of the highest rank in England,” I answered.

“You are a terrible liar,” said Nan, with a fierce frown. That was what Master Ashton used to say, and hearing it made me feel sad, but I didn’t want to tell her.

“Oh, look out the window,” I said, changing the subject. “There’re three drunk fellows on horseback in front of the Giant’s Cask. Oh…there…I thought so. One of them’s fallen off.” The man who had fallen off lay on his back in the mud. Suddenly he spied me and pointed upward. There was a lot of shouting in French as the other two looked up and pointed and howled things I couldn’t make out.

“Merciful God, another tavern,” said Nan. “And you a hopeless simpleton in spite of everything. Susanna, what you need is a man to look after you—a proper one, not a drunk or a philanderer—or sure as fate, you’ll not be safe on this earth.”

“Oh, nonsense, Nan. I had a man, and he didn’t look after me at all, and now I’m just beginning to enjoy myself. Listen, I hear the cheering. It must be the queen’s procession on the way to Les Tournelles.” So of course we had to drop everything and rush away and crowd into the street to see the queen pass by on her litter, the Dauphin François riding beside her very cozily, with all her troops of French attendants, banner carriers, mounted guards, and trumpeters, riding to meet the king, who had skipped most of the festivities to go ahead of her and go to bed. It was a very grand and inspiring sight, and everybody there was talking about nothing but the great tourney between England and France, which would be grander than the queen’s entry. Grander than anything ever seen before. It would be held in the queen’s honor, and it was the Dauphin’s idea.

“Nan, I just have to see that tournament.”

“Nonsense. The only safe place for a woman will be in the stands, which are for ladies only. Besides, you aren’t invited.”

“I just have to. Everyone says it will be the most splendid display ever. I’ll take an easel and tell everyone I’m commissioned to make a print of the celebration.”

“That’s another terrible lie. And who would believe it? No decent woman would be seen in such a fashion. You’ll be attacked. Try to get a view from a window at Les Tournelles. What are all those towers good for, anyway? Besides, it will probably rain. What good will you be if you get sick again? This time it could be lung sickness. Just think, you could die because you can’t stop being foolish….” But the more Nan warned me, the more I wanted to see everything. And not all of it from far away in a window above the Parc des Tournelles.

“The very first thing one does in Paris, Lord Belphagor, is have one’s money changed. Then off to the
cour des miracles
to hire a sly Frenchman or two for your body servants. We’ll want eyes and ears in this city, and men who aren’t afraid to use a knife in the dark.” Crouch’s tone was confidential, worldly. Belphagor looked at him impatiently.

“Look, Crouch, the imps can do what I want for me. I don’t need crafty fellows in my service. I’d rather have a sweet, innocent soul or two. They’re more trustworthy now and positively delicious afterward.”

“Ah, but do your imps speak French? Even my faithful Watkin here does not have enough language to handle our more delicate errands.”

“You speak French. You do my errands,” said Belphagor bluntly, and since Crouch saw the steam issuing from his ears, he nodded and smiled a wan little smile.

“An excellent idea, Lord Belphagor. Let as few people in on our plans as possible,” said the cunning demon-master. You fool, he whispered to himself. Soon I will have all your dark powers, and your imps to do my bidding. Already you’ve given too much away. How fortunate the mirror has told me I’ll be the victor.

“You find this conspiracy for me, Crouch; I want to make common cause with this Helmsman in the destruction of the Valois.”

“But the manuscript…”

“Writing. What’s writing anyway? I don’t need it.”

“But I…you do, Lord Belphagor. You need to know their Secret. Then when they gain power you can betray them to their enemies.” This demon’s a child, thought Crouch. How easily one can distract him with a promise of trouble! It’s like offering a baby candy. But wearying. This damned creature gets more spoiled by the minute. It’s something about living in the city; it corrupts even demons. When will I be done with this tiresome thing? I’m beginning to see why the Templars locked him in that box.

“Well, then, get it too.”

“We must find Mistress Dallet.”

“What do you mean ‘we’? I am a gentleman now; you will do my bidding, Crouch. You find. You get. Remember, treasures of the earth. Do you think I should wear both sword and dagger, or would it be considered extreme at the French court? Oh, yes, and find me a dancing master. I overheard a gentleman at Calais say you simply can’t be received anywhere important unless you know the new steps.”

Crouch ground his teeth. I’ve done the job too well, he thought. Still, it keeps him distracted, and I can use that to my advantage.

Bystanders heard nothing of this conversation. What they saw were two distinguished-looking foreign gentlemen, mounted on black mules, followed by a rogue of a lackey on an old spotted mare riding through the narrow, muddy streets of the Right Bank. One of the gentlemen was tall and heavy, with snow white hair rising like wisps of steam and a square-cut beard with just a touch of iron gray still among the white hairs. He had heavy, malicious eyebrows, lines in his face that bespoke a life of vice, and eyes of a glacial green. He was radiating a kind of servile charm toward the second gentleman, who was even more richly dressed than he. The second gentleman had a curiously insubstantial look to him. His face had been whitened with powder, through which an odd greenish tinge showed through. But his neck, which had not been powdered, seemed to vanish as if it were smoke. A rich chain sat against it as if it rode on air. But the defect soon vanished beneath the rich fur trim of a heavy velvet gown and was scarcely what one could call a fault on a gentleman of such obvious wealth and distinction.

Strangest of all, perhaps, were the two black mules laboring beneath their handsome tooled-leather harness. If anyone had given them closer attention, he would have noticed a faint glow of flame from their nostrils, almost hidden by their steamy breath. They were in fact two imps from hell, conjured up by Lord Belphagor when the party found that every riding animal save the spotted mare had been purchased by the visiting English and their servants who had arrived in force for the great tourney.

The insubstantial gentleman was craning his invisible neck at the sights, and his nose, the approximate size and shape of a medium cucumber, was sniffing up the foul stink of the streets as if it were perfume. “
Hmm
. The place has changed since I was here last. But there’s that damned cathedral, still squatting like a toad at the center of it all. Ah, the old days—there’s Les Tournelles…they’ve added to it. Crouch, you were right. I spent entirely too long in that box. Never again. Ah! Freedom and excellent clothes. What could be better?” He looked speculatively at Crouch. How much longer did he need his advice? I’ve almost drained him dry, thought Belphagor. Then I can get rid of him. Perhaps I need a Frenchman, somebody clever-looking who can explain philosophy and genealogy, like that fellow over there in the gown who’s talking. A priest would be good. Or maybe a student, all tender and innocent. I could eat him afterwards.

Maître Bellier, who had come out of a tavern still arguing a point of theology with several friends from the Sorbonne, felt the demon’s stare and looked up. Crouch, that’s him, he thought. What has happened to turn his hair so white? And that gross fellow he’s with, all dressed in imitation of a gentleman. Some shopkeeper, some, ugh, I can’t imagine, but certainly no one for a man of distinction to associate with. With an almost invisible gesture, he pointed out the pair to Eustache, who followed behind the little knot of theologians, just outside their conversation. Eustache blinked, then broke away to follow the unholy pair.

“Power, Lord Belphagor,” said the wily Crouch, who knew exactly how to gauge the signs of fatigue in minds smaller than his own. “I will show you how to get it.”

“I know how already. I’ll just buy slaves with this money that you’ve got for me. Isn’t that how it works here on earth?”

“Of course, Your Damnedness. Money buys everything. Don’t you see how it bought the tailor and the ship captain?”

“It didn’t buy mules.”

“That’s because they weren’t there. But in general, there’s not anything you can’t get with money. Or any person, either. All humans have their price.”

“Then what’s wrong with my plan, Crouch?”

“Lord Belphagor, you must buy them one at a time. If you learn how to gather power, you can destroy thousands with a wave of your hand. Why use old-fashioned methods? Just as buying people is quicker than tempting them by whispering in their ears, power is quicker than buying out people one soul at a time. If you set it up right, you can have them all at one another’s throats without all that tiresome flitting about you must have had to do. All you have to do is sit back and harvest them when they’re ready.”

“Oh, splendid, splendid. I didn’t realize power over men could be obtained. With us in the other world, it just is as it has been, since the beginning of time. Power remains exactly the same as it began.” Interesting, thought Belphagor. Power rearranges itself with these creatures. If I learned their secrets, perhaps I might raise my rank in the sphere of the infernal. “But these humans seem different in so many ways,” he said aloud. “Tell me, have they invented a science of rebellion?” Crouch was delighted at Belphagor’s speech. It was almost as if the old demon counted him as a fellow demon. His guard is slipping, thought Crouch.

“Trust me, your damnedness. I have only our own interests at heart. Through my help, you can gain supreme power here on earth.”

Hmm
. And in hell, too, perhaps, if I master these secrets, thought Belphagor. Suddenly, the demon glanced suspiciously at Crouch’s bland, pale face. The green eyes were glowing with malice and ambition. “Trust you, Crouch, whatever for? You’re a damned soul. They don’t make them much more treacherous than you, even in hell. I’m not stupid, you know.”