The Lady and the Unicorn by Tracy Chevalier

only small beer.’
She felt my wet sleeve and shook her head, angry at herself.
‘Really, it doesn't matter,’ I repeated. ‘I was stupid to leave my bag there. Don't trouble yourself over the beer — I wasn't so thirsty anyway.’
‘No, I'll get you more.’ She didn't listen to me, but hurried out again and came back a few minutes later with another full mug, stepping carefully this time.
She stood at my side, the designs at our feet, while I drank. I tried not to gulp my beer loudly. When I'm with Aliénor I'm always aware of how noisy I am — my boots creak, my teeth chatter, I scratch my hair, I cough and sneeze.
‘Tell me about the story,’ she said. Her voice is low and smooth — smooth like the way she walks or turns her head or picks up something or smiles. She is careful in everything she does.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked. My voice is not so smooth.
‘The tapestries. The Lady and the unicorn. What is the story?’
‘Ah, that. Well, in the first there is a Lady standing in front of a blue tent with words on it. À mon seul désir.’ I read it slowly.
‘ À mon seul désir ,’ Alienor repeated.
‘The lion and the unicorn sit holding open the flaps as well as the banner and standard of the Le Viste family.’
‘Are they very important, these Le Vistes down in Paris?’
‘I expect so, if they are having tapestries as grand as these made. So, the Lady is taking jewels from a casket, and she wears them in the other tapestries. Then there are three tapestries where the Lady draws the unicorn nearer. Finally he sits in her lap and looks at himself in a mirror. In the last one she leads him away, holding onto his horn.’
‘Which Lady is the prettiest?’
‘The one feeding her parakeet. That is meant to be Taste, of the five senses. There's also a monkey eating something at her feet. This Lady is more spirited than the others. The wind blows through the scene, making her headscarf flap. And the unicorn is lively.’
Alienor ran her tongue over her bottom lip. ‘Already I don't like her. Tell me about the other senses. What stands for each?’
‘The unicorn looking in the mirror is Sight, and the Lady holding his horn is Touch. That's clear enough. Then there is Sound, where the Lady plays an organ. And in this one — ’ I peered at the painting — ‘this one is Smell, I think, for a monkey sits on a bench and sniffs a flower.’
‘What kind of flower?’ Aliénor always wants to know about the flowers.
‘I'm not sure. A rose, I think.’
‘You can see for yourself, beauty.’ Nicolas was leaning in the doorway, watching us. He looked bright and fresh, as if the drink had not touched him. I suppose he lives in taverns in Paris. He stepped into the workshop. ‘You keep a garden, I've heard — you must know a carnation from a rose when you see it. Surely my painting is not so bad as that, eh, beauty?’
‘Don't call her that,’ I said. ‘She's the daughter of the lissier . She should be treated with respect.’
Aliénor had turned red, though whether from Nicolas' words or mine, I don't know.
‘What do you think of my paintings, beau—Aliénor?’ Nicolas persisted. ‘They're fair, non ?’
‘Designs,’ I corrected. ‘These are designs for tapestries, not paintings. You seem to forget that they are merely a guide for works someone else will make — Aliénor's father and son, and other weavers. Not you. They'll look very different as tapestries.’
‘As good?’ Nicolas smirked.
‘Better.’
‘I don't see that they can be much improvedon-do you?’
Aliénor pursed her lips — she prefers modesty to boasting.
‘What do you know of unicorns, beauty?’ he said with a sly look I did not like. ‘Shall I tell you about them?’
‘I know that they are strong,’ she answered. ‘It says so in Job and in Deuteronomy — “his horns are like the horns of unicorns: with them he shall push the people together to the ends of the earth”.’
‘I prefer the Psalms: “But my horn shalt