I had expected Nicolas merely to glance at it, or to sneer and say the design was poor or the workmanship shoddy compared to Parisian workshops. Instead he kept his mouth shut and studied it, which put me in a better humour with him.
Georges Le Jeune broke the silence first. ‘The Virgin's robe is very fine,’ he said. ‘I could swear it was velvet.’
‘Not half so fine as the red hachure creeping up and down the young king's green hose,’ Luc replied. ‘Very striking, the red and green together.’
The hachure was indeed very fine. I'd allowed Georges Le Jeune to weave it himself, and he had made a good job of it. It is not easy to weave thin lines of one colour into another without blurring the two. The beads of colour must be accurate — just one out of place will be noticed, and the shading effect ruined.
Georges Le Jeune and Luc make a habit of praising each other's work. Afterwards they will find each other's faults, of course, but they try first to see the good in the other. It was generous of my son to praise an apprentice when he could just as easily order him to sweep the floor or fetch a hank of wool. But they work side by side for months, and if there's ill feeling between them the tapestries suffer, as do we all. Young Luc may be still learning, but he has the makings of a weaver in him.
‘Wasn't there an Adoration of the Magi made in Brussels for Charles de Bourbon a few years ago?’ Léon said. ‘I saw it in his house in Paris. The young king wore green hose in that tapestry as well, as I recall.’
Aliénor was passing through the workshop with mugs of beer. She halted at his words, and in the sudden silence that fell we could all hear the slopping of beer to the floor. I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it again. Léon had caught me out, and with very little cunning.
The Adoration of the Magi he spoke of had been woven at another Brussels workshop, but the cartoon design had been bought by Charles de Bourbon so that the tapestry would not be copied. I had admired the king's green hose in it and had used them in this work, assuming that Charles de Bourbon's family were unlikely to see the Hamburg patron's tapestry. I knew the other lissier well, and could bribe the Guild to keep quiet about my borrowing. We may steal each other's business, but in some matters we Brussels lissiers are loyal to each other.
But I had forgotten about Léon Le Vieux. He sees most work that goes in and out of Paris, and he never forgets details, especially a memorable one like green hose marked with red hachure. I had broken a rule in copying them, and now Léon could use that in the haggling — he could demand whatever he liked for the Le Viste tapestries, and I would have to agree. Otherwise he could tell the Bourbons their design had been copied and I would be heavily fined.
‘Will you have an oyster, Monsieur?’ Christine held out a plate to Léon, bless her. She is a clever wife. Although she couldn't repair the damage done, she could at least distract him from it.
Léon Le Vieux gazed at her. ‘Oysters don't agree with me, Madame, but thank you all the same. Perhaps a cake instead.’
Christine bit her lip. It was Léon's way to make even Christine feel wrong-footed in her own house and yet be so pleasant about it. It was impossible either to like him or despise him. I've worked with him before — he admires the workshop's millefleurs and has brought us several commissions — but I could not call him a friend. He keeps to himself.
‘Come into the house where we can spread out the designs,’ I said to him and Nicolas, gesturing to Philippe as well — I wanted him to see the designs too. Georges Le Jeune made to follow us. I shook my head. ‘You and Luc stay here and begin undressing the loom. Clear the rollers of the remains of the warp. I'll be along later.’
Georges Le Jeune slumped his shoulders and turned back to the loom. Christine followed him with her eyes, then frowned at me. I frowned back. She had something on her mind. Later she would tell me what it was-she always does.
Just then Nicolas des Innocents said, ‘What is she doing?’ He was watching Aliénor, who had crouched by the tapestry and was running her hands over it.
‘Checking her work,’ Philippe answered, going red in the face again. He is protective of Aliénor, as a brother might be.
I led the men inside to where Christine and Madeleine had set on trestles the long table where we eat. It was darker and smokier in the house, but I wanted the boys to get on with their work without being distracted by the new commission. Léon began to unroll the canvases, and Christine got out heavy crocks and tankards to weigh down the corners. As she placed them I could see her glancing at the designs. She would have her say later, when we were alone.
‘Attendez — that's not how you should look at them,’ Nicolas said, and began rearranging the paintings. I didn't like to look while he was fussing about, so I turned my back on the glimpses of red and blue I'd had and looked around the room instead, trying to see it as these Parisians must. I expect they are used to more luxury — a bigger hearth, indeed a separate room for cooking, more carved wood, more cushions on the chairs, more silver plates for show rather than pewter, more tapestries on the wall. It's odd — I make tapestries for others but have none of my own. They cost too much — a lissier does well enough but still we cannot afford our own work.
Perhaps Nicolas expects my wife and daughter to dress in fine clothes and wear jewels in their hair and have their servants hand them everything. But we don't flaunt our wealth as Parisians do. My wife does have jewels but those are locked away. Our servant Madeleine is useful but Christine and Aliénor like to do things for themselves, especially Aliénor, who is always keen to show that she doesn't need help. If they wanted, Christine and Aliénor could choose not to sew the tapestries. They could keep their fingers smooth and let someone else bear the needle pricks. But they prefer to help in the workshop. Christine knows how to dress a loom, and has the strong arms to stretch warp threads as well as a man. If I am short of a weaver she can fill in on the easier parts, though the Guild will not allow it for more than a day or two.
‘That's done,’ Nicolas said. I turned around and went to stand next to Philippe.
The first words to say when negotiating with the patron's man are not praise. I never let them know what I think of designs. I always start with the problems. Philippe is also careful with his words. He is a good lad — he has learned much from me about haggling.
We looked for a time. When I finally spoke I kept the surprise from my tone. That I would speak of later, with Christine. Instead I sounded indignant. ‘He's not designed tapestries before, has he? These are paintings, not designs. There is no story within each tapestry, and not enough figures — instead we look to the Lady in the centre, as we do with paintings of the Virgin and Child, rather than all along the tapestry.’
Nicolas began to say something, but Léon interrupted. ‘Is that all you can say about them? Look once more, Georges. You may not see the likes of such designs again.’
‘What is it, then? What is meant to be the story?’
Aliénor appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the workshop, an empty mug in each hand.
‘The Lady's seduction of the unicorn,’ Nicolas said, shifting from one foot to the other so that he was turned towards Aliénor. The fool. ‘Also there are the five senses —’ he pointed — ‘Smell, Sound, Taste, Sight, Touch.’
Aliénor crossed to the barrel in the corner.
We looked for longer. ‘There are too few figures,’ I said. ‘Once they're the size of the tapestries there'll be much space to fill. We would have to design a field full of millefleurs.’
‘Which is what you are known for, and why I chose you for the commission,’ Léon replied. ‘It should be simple for you.’
‘It isn't that simple. We'll have to add other things.’
‘What things?’ Nicolas demanded.
I looked at Philippe, expecting him to speak, for it would be his work to make these designs usable, to fill the empty space. He said nothing. He's a shy boy and takes his time about speaking. I thought he was sensible, but now the sil
ly lad had a strange look on his face and was gazing at the paintings as if he were looking on the most beautiful woman in Brussels.
Mind you, the women in the tapestries were — I shook my head to clear it. I would not let them seduce me. ‘More people, more animals, more plants,’ I said. ‘Eh, Philippe?’
Philippe tore his eyes from the designs. ‘Bien sûr.’
‘What would you add to them, apart from people and animals?’
‘Oh. Er, trees, perhaps, to give it structure. Or a trellis of roses.’
‘I won't have these designs touched,’ Nicolas said. ‘They're perfect as they are.’
There was a loud clatter as Christine dropped a plate of oysters. She didn't pick it up, but glared at Nicolas. ‘I won't have such blasphemy spoken in this house! No man can design anything perfect — it's only in God's power to do that. You and your designs are as full of flaws as anyone.’
I smiled to myself. It had not taken Nicolas long to feel my wife's temper. After a moment he bowed. ‘I'm sorry, Madame. I didn't mean to offend.’
‘You should demand God's pardon, not mine.’
‘All right, Christine,’ I said. ‘You'd best go and start sewing the hem of the Adoration. We'll need to bring it to the Guild soon.’
The hemming could have waited, but if she stayed with us she might force Nicolas des Innocents to his knees to say his prayers in front of her. Though that would entertain us, it would not help with the haggling.
Christine glared at me, but she obeyed. Aliénor crouched where her mother had dropped the plate and began feeling about for the oyster shells. Philippe made a move to join her but I squeezed his elbow to stop him. His eyes darted between her and the designs. He lives near, and often helps Aliénor when he is here — he has looked out for her since they were children. Now he often works with me on designs. I forget sometimes that he is not my son.
‘Tell me the size of the tapestries,’ I said to Léon Le Vieux.
Léon went through them while I added up in my head. ‘What about gilt or silver thread? Silk from Venice? English wool? How many figures in each? How dense the millefleurs? How much blue? How much red? Dovetailing or not? Hachure?’ As Léon answered each question, I altered the time and cost of the work.
‘I can do them in three years,’ I said at last. ‘It will cost 400 livres tournois, and I keep the designs.’
‘Monseigneur wants them finished by Palm Sunday 1492,’ Léon responded quickly. He always answers quickly, as if he is several steps ahead in his thoughts. ‘He will pay 300 livres tournois for them and for the designs, which he will keep — he wants fully painted cartoons he can hang in the place of the tapestries if he takes those with him somewhere.’
‘Impossible,’ I said. ‘You know that's impossible, Léon. That's in less than two years. I can't possibly weave them so fast, for so little. In fact, your offer is insulting. You'd best take it elsewhere.’ It was indeed insulting — I should take my chances with the green hose rather than work for such wages.
Aliénor was getting to her feet with the plate of oysters. She shook her head slightly at me. She's like her mother, I thought, watching out for me. Though without the temper. She can't afford to have a temper.
Nicolas des Innocents was still making eyes at her. Of course she didn't notice.
‘You can take on twice the men and make them in half the time,’ Léon said.
‘It's not so simple. The workshop will only fit two horizontal looms at best, and even with twice the men there's only me to look after them. A work like this can't be rushed. Then there are other jobs I agreed to long before you told me about this one.’
Léon waved his hand to dismiss my feeble arguments. ‘Give up the other jobs. You will manage. Look at them, Georges.’ He held his hand out to the designs. ‘You can see that this is an important commission, perhaps the most important this workshop has ever been offered. You don't want a little detail like how long they will take to stop you from agreeing to this one.’
Nicolas looked pleased. Compliments from Léon were rare.
‘What I see,’ I said, ‘are designs made by a man who knows nothing about tapestries. We will have to make many changes to them.’
Léon spoke smoothly over Nicolas' sputters. ‘Perhaps a few changes will make the terms more appealing.’
I hesitated. The terms offered were so bad that I wasn't sure I could even haggle. If I took on such a job it might ruin us.
‘What about the gilt thread?’ Philippe suggested. ‘The Lady is not royal, nor is she the Virgin, even if she and the unicorn remind us of Our Lady and Her Son. Her dress doesn't have to be gilted.’
I gave him a sharp look. Now he was speaking when I didn't want him to. I was meant to haggle, not him. Still, he could be right. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘The gilt is costly and hard to use. Weaving with it takes longer.’
Léon shrugged. ‘So we leave off the gilt. What does that save?’
‘The dovetailing too,’ I added. ‘It is not such an easy technique to interweave colours, and the weaving takes longer, though it is finer work in the end. If we don't dovetail but sew the colours together we'll save some time. If Monseigneur Le Viste truly wants the best, he'll have to pay more and allow more time.’
‘There isn't more time,’ Léon said. ‘He wants them for Easter 1492, for an important occasion. And he isn't a patient man — he would never accept your paltry excuses.’
‘Then he can't have gilt thread or dovetailed weaving. That is your choice.’
I watched Léon as he thought. He has a closed face — it's hard to see what he is thinking. That is why he is good at what he does — he hides his thoughts until they are clear, and when he speaks it is hard to disagree.
‘All right,’ he said.
‘I have not agreed to take it on,’ I said. ‘There's more to discuss. Philippe, you and Nicolas take the designs into the workshop. I'll join you later. Aliénor, go and help your mother to sew the hem.’
Aliénor made a face. She likes to listen to the haggling. ‘Go,’ I repeated.
With the room clear, I poured us more beer, and Léon and I sat back to drink. Now that the others weren't hanging over our necks, I could think seriously about Léon's offer.
That evening Christine and I went for a walk in the Grand-Place. As we entered the square we stopped to admire the Hôtel de Ville, with its thin tower that Georges Le Jeune and Luc like to climb up for the view. They've been making that building all through my life, yet it still surprises me when I see it. It makes me proud to live in Brussels, however much Nicolas des Innocents may sneer.
We strolled past the guildhouses lining the square — the tailors, the painters, the bakers and tallow-makers and carpenters, the archers, the boatmen. The houses were busy, of an evening. Business doesn't stop when daylight fades. We nodded and smiled to friends and neighbours, and idled in front of L'Arbre d'Or, which houses the weavers' guild. Several lissiers gathered around me to ask about Léon Le Vieux's visit, about the designs, the terms, and why Nicolas des Innocents had come. I dodged their questions like a boy playing tag.
At last we moved on — Christine fancied seeing the Church of St Michel and St Gudule in the twilight. As we walked along the rue de la Montagne she said what I knew had been ready on her lips all afternoon. ‘You should have let Georges Le Jeune hear the business between you and Léon.’
Another wife might have asked it as a timid question. Not mine — she speaks her mind. When I didn't answer she spoke it some more. ‘Georges Le Jeune is a good lad and a good weaver. You've trained him well in that. But if he is to take over the workshop he needs to know about the business side as well — the haggling, the terms agreed. Why do you keep him from that?’
I shrugged. ‘I'll be the lissier a long time yet. There is no hurry.’
Christine pursed her lips. ‘Georges, your hair is going grey. Your son is a man and could marry if he wanted. One day the workshop will be his. Do you want him to ruin it and destroy all you've b
uilt up? You have to —’
‘That's enough, Christine.’ I have never hit my wife, though I know of men who would if she were theirs.
Christine clamped her mouth shut. I would think on what she said — I would have to, for she was sure to bring it up again. Some men don't listen to their wives, but I do listen to her. I would be a fool not to — Christine was brought up a weaver's daughter near Notre Dame du Sablon, and knows almost as much about the running of a workshop as I do.
We walked in silence until the church's twin towers loomed up before us in the growing dark. ‘How did Brussels and Paris get on with the designs?’ I asked, to make things better between us.
Christine snorted. ‘That Nicolas des Innocents thinks much of himself. Philippe has his hands full convincing him that we'll have to make changes to the designs. I had to step in once or twice — Philippe is a good lad but he's no match for a Paris rooster.’
I chuckled. ‘I should go. They're waiting for me at Le Vieux Chien to drink to the cutting-off.’
‘Attends, George,’ Christine said. ‘What did you decide, you and Léon Le Vieux? Did you take the work?’
I kicked at a bit of dung. ‘I've not said yes, I've not said no. I may have no choice, what with the problem of the green hose. Léon could go to the Bourbon family to say I copied their design.’
‘You didn't copy, you only borrowed one detail. The Guild will back you.’ She stopped in her tracks, her skirt swaying. ‘Tell me — are we to make these tapestries or not?’
I should not make them. All of my experience as a lissier told me not to — the money was poor, the workshop would be overstretched, I would lose other work and strain to finish them on time. If I weren't careful, the workshop would be ruined.
‘Yes,’ I said, my gut knotting. ‘We will make them. Yes. For I have never seen designs so fair.’ There, I thought. I have let the Ladies seduce me.