Spoils of the Game (12 page)

“Is there anything I can do?” asked Austin, who knew he was a disaster in the kitchen.

“Go to my closet or the refrigerator, and pick a wine, if you would. Louis keeps me well supplied.”

Austin enjoyed good wine, but he was not an expert. He guessed, and Madeline’s reaction suggested he’d done well.

Dinner was excellent—it was more than excellent. During dinner, Austin and Madeline talked about many things, but they did not talk about them as a couple. Austin was trying to play it cool and not get personal until dinner was behind them. Austin helped Madeline clean up, and when the time was right, he came up behind Madeline, put his arms around her, and thanked her for dinner. To both of them, the hug was more than just a hug. Madeline turned, looked at Austin, and kissed him, and he kissed back. Austin did not want to impose on this woman, whom he knew was fragile. He let her lead, and he spent the night.

The following day Austin called Madeline so he could thank her for dinner and make sure that she was okay with his staying over. Everything was fine. Madeline stated that she had a Louvre function that night and would not be able to see him until Wednesday. She also mentioned that the Gladieux paintings from Saint-Abban were to be delivered on Wednesday and said that she thought it would be fun if Austin were there for the opening of the boxes, and then perhaps they could go to dinner or something. Austin was fine with all of it.

At two o’clock Wednesday afternoon Austin showed up at the Louvre workshops and joined a small group of onlookers. The German army had done an excellent job of packaging the contents of all three boxes. Austin saw the stenciled swastika that suggested that someone had paid a big price so that the Third Reich could have the pleasure of owning the art.

The first stage in the process was to photograph the box to begin building a file. With the initial photographs completed, the next step of the investigation began with a crowbar. The largest box was attempted first. Within a few seconds the nails that held the box closed yielded to the crowbar, and a large framed painting was revealed. Although Madeline and Austin has opened the boxes in Saint Abban, they had learned little. Now six sets of eyes looked into the box, with each trying to divine the contents in a friendly race to identify the painting and the artist. The artist’s name was difficult to determine, because a film of filth covered the canvas. The picture was cleaned with a brush in the lower right, and then someone said, “Maetan.”

The second box contained a portrait, and the artist was identified as Lodewyk Jamart. The third box contained a simple painting of a monastery with distinctive architecture, and again the artist was Lodewyk Jamart. Austin looked at Madeline and some of the others in attendance, and the disappointment was universal. The three paintings were lined up against the wall for everyone to study.

One of the technicians brought a book over to the table and searched for the first artist’s name. “It’s Francois Maetan,” was the announcement. This name appeared to be known by some, with little reaction. Austin pulled up a chair and again studied the larger painting that he had seen in the barnyard. The painting depicted a battle scene with knights and horses. Some of the soldiers had very primitive guns, while others had spears or swords. It was clear that one side of the battle was winning and the other was in retreat. Bodies littered the ground, with some bodies shown in pieces. In the middle of the victorious side was one individual who appeared to be the center of attention. Austin turned to some of the technicians and asked if anyone knew the age of the painting. One of the technicians who was familiar with the name Francois Maetan checked the information in the reference book.

“It is perhaps five hundred years old,” was the answer.

Austin looked at Madeline. “So is this a valuable painting? Are any of these paintings valuable?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. The quality is good but not great. There is some damage or something on the right side of the large one, and that must be investigated. For now it will be cleaned up, catalogued, and put into storage. The other paintings will be studied briefly and also put into storage. You have seen the warehouse where we keep surplus art, and I am afraid that these will join the thousands of paintings in that inventory.”

As they were talking, Austin noted the arrival of Badeau.

“So let me see your discovery, Madeline,” said Badeau with a smile.

“I am afraid it is just commercial art, and other than the fact that it is a representation of a period in history, these painting are headed for storage,” stated Madeline in an effort to beat her boss to saying the same thing.

“Monsieur Austin, discoveries like this arrive now and then, and I am afraid that your project will have many of the same experiences,” volunteered Badeau with a trace of attitude.

Badeau took Madeline aside, and after a brief discussion, Badeau left.

“So what was that about?” asked Austin.

“Oh, just some issues with procedures. He is not aware of the conditions under which this painting was given to the Louvre, and he was not willing to listen. So in the end, I have failed to meet his requirements.”

Austin changed the topic, to get her mind off her boss. “So what were you saying about damage or something on the larger painting?”

“Can you see that this section has a different gloss? It may have been painted at a different time, or painted over. It may actually have been painted by a different artist to finish the painting. There doesn’t appear to be any damage to the canvas in that area, so I cannot tell you what the reason is, but something is different here. It almost looks like it was rushed, or like something was covered up. It may just be that the varnish is different.”

Madeline gathered up some papers. “I have to make a couple of calls, and I want to send a letter and some pictures to Father Gladieux to thank him for the paintings and to tell him that they are going to be taken care of.”

Austin was walking Madeline through the hallways toward her office when by chance they came upon a man about seventy years of age, with snow-white hair. He was not a big man, but he was the type of man that you learned to respect for his status and his knowledge.

“
Bonjour,
Henri,” said Madeline with a smile. “Austin, this is Henri Feret. He is an old friend and a professor of art history at the Sorbonne. Henri is part of the family here, although he is not a Louvre employee. Henri was one of my professors when I was much younger. Henri, this is Austin Clay.”

“
Bonjour,
Monsieur Clay. Do you work here at the Louvre?”

“Oh, no, I am just a long-term visitor under the care of Madeline.”

“Henri, Monsieur Clay is from the United States and has identified a number of collections that he believes may be under threat. He believes that he can put together the sponsors to retrieve and perhaps protect these paintings.”

“So where are these paintings now?” asked Feret.

Austin hesitated to reveal this information, for fear that the elderly gentlemen would laugh at the concept. Austin did not need any negative thinking this soon in the project.

“Monsieur Feret, I believe that there are many paintings in the possession of the Church and in private collections that perhaps are in need of care.”

“Monsieur Clay, if you are successful, then you must be a very good friend of God. The Church has its ways, and it is not always very cooperative.”

Feret’s words hit Austin in the gut, but they were only restating what he already knew. Vassar was not the hurtle; it was the Church. It was now clear that perhaps he was approaching the problem backward.

“Henri, we were just looking at a recent Louvre acquisition that was painted by Francois Maetan. Does that name mean anything to you?” said Madeline, trying to change the subject.

Feret got a strange look on his face that both Austin and Madeline noticed.

Madeline said quickly, “Excuse me, if you would, but I have some things I have to attend to. This conference room is empty. Henri, if you have the time, could you please tell Austin what you can about Maetan? I will be back in a few minutes.”

Austin was happy to meet Feret and did not want to impose upon him, but his reaction to the name Maetan was intriguing.

“Monsieur Austin, since you are a friend of Madeline, I will give you whatever time you might need,” said the elderly gentlemen with a smile.

Both men sat in the conference room, as Madeline had suggested.

“So, Monsieur Austin, you have seen a painting by Francois Maetan. He is one of those artists that is not known for his outstanding skills or his artistic achievements, but in the world of art he is noteworthy.”

“Oh?” replied Austin. “Was he a great lover or handy with a sword?”

“Well, I am not sure if he was a great lover, but I am sure that he had the distinction of being the only artist that I know who was tortured to death.”

“Tortured to death?” said Austin, surprised. “What did he do to deserve that?”

“Well, the history is a little weak, but he was accused of stealing millions of euros in gold. There is little evidence that he was responsible, but at the time of the Italian Wars, justice was not always present. If you displeased those in charge, you could be killed or tortured for apparently no reason.”

“Italian Wars?” asked Austin.

“Monsieur Clay, are you familiar with European history at all?”

Austin did not want to expose his ignorance, and in his defense, the question was almost too broad to answer. “Oh, I know some of the basics. You know… Rome, some of the First World War and the Second. The Cold War.”

“Monsieur Clay, that is the typical exposure that many in the United States have, and I don’t fault you. In fact European history is so layered and intermingled that it is very difficult for the most dedicated Europeans to know or understand it. If we just consider the last one thousand years, there is more than you could ever learn. Most people think of wars between countries, and that is true, but add to that wars between competing royalty, regional powers, and different religions, and of course the presence of some groups that knew no other life besides fighting. Add the complicity of the Church, a plague or two, and of course the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Dark Ages, the Renaissance, and Napoleon, and you begin to see many years of political, military, and social turmoil. With the invention of gunpowder, the whole concept of the castle became less significant. Monsieur Maetan was a victim of the Italian Wars. The Italian Wars are well documented, but that is different than saying they made any sense. The wars were fought over land, specifically portions of Northern Italy. The participants included France, Spain, Venice, and Milan, along with the pope. The French were the instigators, and once the wars began, the others were involved in trying to stop the invaders or to make sure that they got their share of the spoils. The wars began in 1495 and lasted until 1557. Thousands died, the Northern Italian economy was destroyed, and in the end nothing lasting was achieved. In a sense it should provide a lesson on war to everyone. I mean, in the end, nothing is ever achieved.”

“Okay,” said Austin. “What does all of this have to do with Francois Maetan?”

“Oh, yes,” said Feret. “Francois Maetan, who was also known as Lodewyk Jamart, was a Flemish painter who was hired by the French to document their victories in the Italian Wars I mentioned.”

“Why the two names?” asked Austin.

“I honestly don’t know. Perhaps he owed someone money,” said Feret with a laugh. “Anyway, he was one of several artists that were selected to chronicle the war. They were essentially war correspondents that generated paintings instead of photos. Often these were painted in the field, but usually they were painted at a later time, from sketches. Many artists made a living painting war scenes, and although many provide a peek into history, many were painted as propaganda or to show a king or ruler in a good light.”

“So what did he do to be tortured to death?” asked Austin.

“According to a Venetian historian, there was a Venetian merchant whom many believed was very wealthy. He was perhaps the Bill Gates of his time. The merchant had twin sons that were fifteen at the time. Seeking adventure, the boys left Venice and headed to the battlefront. Apparently the French captured the boys, learned who they were, and demanded ransom demand from the Venetian merchant. Within a couple of weeks the ransom was delivered by a small group of mercenaries hired by the Venetian. The exchange did not go well. There was a conflict, and apparently the mercenaries tried to keep the money and get back the boys. In the battle that resulted, several on both sides were killed or wounded, but the boys escaped and returned to Venice. The money, all of which was supposed to be in gold, disappeared. Did the mercenaries recover the gold? Did the French actually have it, and did junior officers steal it? As the story is told, immediately after the conflict, Francois Maetan and his brother came upon the battle in two wagons. Apparently Francois tried to help many of the wounded. He placed two survivors in one of the wagons and took them back to the French encampment, but when they arrived, the solders were dead. There was no mention of the other wagon. At first Francois was seen as a loyal hero who had tried to help. The French continued to look for the gold and began to become suspicious of everyone. Spies were sent out throughout the region, but nothing was learned. Several months after the incident, Francois was questioned, and it did not go well. He did not give the answers that the French military or the French king wanted. After some time in prison under continued torture, Francois died. The history says his body parts were fed to the crows. No one knows if Francois Maetan knew anything about the gold, and no one knows what happened to his brother. There was no report that the gold was ever found.”

“How much gold was there?” asked Austin.

“The history says there were four chests. I don’t know how much gold that is. If Francois and his brother did steal it, then each chest could not have been heaver that what two men could lift.”