When we were alone Léon Le Vieux chuckled. ‘What a fool you are.’
With Léon it’s best to come straight to the point and ignore his gibes. ‘My fee is ten livres tournois – four now, three when I finish the drawings, and three when the paintings are done.’
‘Four livres parisis,’ he responded quickly. ‘Half when you finish the drawings, the rest when you deliver the paintings and they’re to Monseigneur’s satisfaction.’
‘Absolutely not. I can’t work with no pay at the start. And my terms are in livres tournois.’ It was just like Léon to try to confuse me by using Paris livres.
Léon shrugged, his eyes merry. ‘We are in Paris, n’est-ce pas? Shouldn’t we use livres parisis? That is what I prefer.’
‘Eight livres tournois, with three now, then three and two.’
‘Seven. I will give you two tomorrow, then two and three at the end.’
I changed the subject – it is always best to let the merchant wait a little. ‘Where will the tapestries be made?’
‘North. Probably Brussels. They do the best work there.’
North? I shuddered. I once had business in Tournai and hated the flat light and suspicious people so much I vowed never to go north of Paris again. At least I wouldn’t have to do more than paint designs, and that I could do in Paris. Once they were done I would have no more to do with the making of the tapestries.
‘So, what do you know about the battle at Nancy?’ Léon asked.
I shrugged. ‘What does it matter? All battles are the same, non?’
‘That’s like saying that all women are the same.’
I smiled. ‘I repeat – all battles are the same.’
Léon shook his head. ‘I pity your wife one day. Now tell me, what will you have in your tapestries?’
‘Horses, men in armour, standards, pikes, swords, shields, blood.’
‘What will Louis XI be wearing?’
‘Armour, of course. Perhaps a special plume in his helmet. I don’t know, in truth, but I know people who can tell me that sort of thing. Someone will carry the royal standard, I expect.’
‘I hope your friends are cleverer than you and will tell you that Louis XI was not at the Battle of Nancy.’
‘Oh.’ This was Léon Le Vieux’s way – to make a fool of all around him, excepting his patron. You did not make a fool of Jean Le Viste.
‘Bon.’ Léon took out some papers from his pocket and laid them on the table. ‘I’ve already discussed the contents of the tapestries with Monseigneur and done some measuring. You’ll need to do them more precisely, of course. Here.’ He pointed to six rectangles he had roughly sketched. ‘There’s space for two long ones here and here, and four smaller. Here is the sequence of the battle.’ He explained the battle carefully, suggesting scenes for each of the tapestries – the grouping of the two camps, the initial strike, two scenes of battle chaos, then the death of Charles the Bold and the triumphant procession of the victors. Though I listened and made sketches of my own on the paper, part of me stood apart and wondered at what I was agreeing to do. There would be no women in these tapestries, nothing miniature and delicate, nothing that would be easy for me to paint. I would earn my fee with sweat and long hours.
‘Once you’ve made the paintings,’ Léon reminded me, ‘your work is done. I’ll take them north to the weaver, and his cartoonist will enlarge them to use for the weaving.’
I should have been pleased that I wouldn’t have to paint the horses large. Instead, however, I became protective of my work. ‘How do I know that this cartoonist is a proper artist? I don’t want him making a mess of my designs.’
‘He won’t change what Jean Le Viste has decided on – only changes that will help the design and making of the tapestries. You haven’t done many tapestries, have you, Nicolas? Only a coat of arms, I believe.’
‘Which I scaled up myself – I had no need of a cartoonist. Surely I’m capable of doing so on this commission.’
‘These tapestries are a very different matter from a coat of arms. They will need a proper cartoonist. Tiens, there’s one thing I forgot to mention. You’ll need to be sure there are Le Viste coats of arms throughout the tapestries. Monseigneur will insist on that.’
‘Did Monseigneur actually fight there?’
Léon laughed. ‘Undoubtedly Jean Le Viste was on the other side of France during the Battle of Nancy, working for the King. That doesn’t matter – just put his coat of arms on flags and shields that others carry. You may want to see some pictures of that battle and others. Go to Gérard the printer on the rue Vieille du Temple – he has a book he can show you of engravings of the Battle of Nancy. I’ll tell him to expect you. Now, I’ll leave you to your measurements. If you have problems, come and see me. And bring the drawings to me by Palm Sunday – if I want changes you’ll need enough time to get them done before Monseigneur sees them.’
Clearly Léon Le Vieux was Jean Le Viste’s eyes. I had to please him, and if he liked what he saw, Jean Le Viste would too.
I couldn’t resist a last question. ‘Why did you choose me for this commission?’
Léon gathered his plain brown robe about him – no fur trim for him. ‘I didn’t. If it were my choice I would have someone who has done more tapestries, or go direct to the weaver – they have designs in hand and can work from those. It’s cheaper and they are good at the designs.’ Léon was always frank.
‘Why did Jean Le Viste choose me, then?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough. Alors, come to me tomorrow and I’ll have the papers for you to sign, and the money.’
‘I haven’t agreed to the terms yet.’
‘Oh, I think you have. There are some commissions an artist doesn’t say no to. This is one of them, Nicolas des Innocents.’ He gave me a look as he left.
He was right. I had been talking as if I were going to do them. Still, the terms were not bad. In fact, Léon had not haggled very hard. I wondered suddenly if his terms were still in Paris livres after all.
I turned my eyes to the walls I was to dress so sumptuously. Two months to draw and paint twenty horses and their riders! I stood at one end of the room and walked to the other, counting twelve paces, then walked across, counting six paces. Pulling a chair to one wall, I stood on it, but even reaching as high as I could, I was far from touching the ceiling. I pulled the chair back and, after hesitating a moment, stepped up onto the oak table. I reached up but was still at least my height again from the ceiling.
I was wondering where I could find a long pole to use for measuring when I heard humming behind me and turned around. A girl stood in the entrance watching me. A lovely girl – she had pale skin, a high forehead, a long nose, hair the colour of honey, clear eyes. I’d not seen such a girl before. For a moment I couldn’t say anything.
‘Hello, beauty,’ I managed at last.
The girl laughed and hopped from one foot to the other. She was wearing a simple blue dress, with a tight bodice, a square neck and narrow sleeves. It was cut well and the wool was fine, but it was not ornate. She wore a plain scarf too, her long hair falling almost to her waist. Compared to the servant who had cleaned the fireplace, she was clearly too fine to be a maid. Perhaps a lady-in-waiting?
‘The