The Flanders Panel

1463: Official engagement of Ferdinand of Ostenburg to Beatrice of Burgundy. Amongst the embassy sent to the Burgundy court are Roger de Arras and Pieter Van Huys, the latter sent to paint Beatrice’s portrait, which he does this year. (The portrait, mentioned in the chronicle of the nuptials and in an inventory of 1474, has not survived.)

1464: The Duke’s wedding. Roger de Arras leads the party bringing the bride from Burgundy to Ostenburg.

1467: Philip the Good dies and his son, Charles the Bold, Beatrice’s cousin, takes over the duchy of Burgundy. French and Burgundian pressure intensifies the intrigues within the Ostenburg court. Ferdinand Altenhoffen tries to keep a difficult balance. The pro-French party back Roger de Arras, who has great influence over Duke Ferdinand. The Burgundian party relies on the influence of Duchess Beatrice.

1469: Roger de Arras is murdered. Unofficially, the blame is laid at the door of the Burgundy faction. Other rumours allude to an affair between Roger de Arras and Beatrice of Burgundy. There is no proof that Ferdinand of Ostenburg was involved.

1471: Two years after the murder of Roger de Arras, Van Huys paints The Game of Chess. It is not known whether the painter was still living in Ostenburg at this time.

1474: Ferdinand Altenhoffen dies without issue. Louis XI of France tries to exercise his dynasty’s former rights over the duchy. This only worsens the already tense relations between France and Burgundy. Charles the Bold invades the duchy, defeating the French at the battle of Looven. Burgundy annexes Ostenburg.

1477: Charles the Bold dies at the battle of Nancy. Maximilian I of Austria makes off with the Burgundian inheritance, which will pass to his nephew Charles (the future Emperor Charles V) and ultimately belong to the Spanish Habsburg monarchy.

1481: Pieter Van Huys dies in Ghent, whilst working on a triptych intended for the cathedral of St Bavon, depicting the Descent from the Cross.

1485: Beatrice of Ostenburg dies in a convent in Lieges.

For a long while, no one dared speak. They looked from one to the other and then at the painting. After a silence that seemed to last forever, Cesar shook his head and said in a low voice, “I must confess I’m impressed.”

“We all are,” added Menchu.

Julia put the documents down on the table and leaned on it.

“Van Huys obviously knew Roger de Arras well,” she said, pointing to the papers. “Perhaps they were friends.”

“And by painting that picture, he was settling a score with the murderer,” said Cesar. “All the pieces fit.”

Julia walked over to her library, consisting of two walls covered with wooden shelves buckling beneath the weight of untidy rows of books. She stood there for a moment, hands on hips, before selecting a fat illustrated tome, which she leafed through rapidly. Then she sat down between Menchu and Cesar with the book, The Rijksmuseum of Amsterdam, open on her knees. It wasn’t a very large reproduction, but a knight could clearly be seen, armour-clad, head bare, riding along the foot of a hill on top of which stood a walled city. Next to the knight, engaged in friendly conversation, rode the Devil, mounted on a scrawny black horse, pointing with his right hand at the city towards which they seemed to be travelling.

“It could be him,” said Menchu, comparing the features of the knight in the book with those of the chess player in the painting.

“And it could just as easily not be,” said Cesar. “Although, of course, there is a certain resemblance.” He turned to Julia. “What’s the date of this painting?”

“ 1462.”

“That’s nine years before The Game of Chess was painted. That could explain it. The horseman accompanied by the Devil is much younger.”

Julia said nothing. She was studying the reproduction.

“What’s wrong?” Cesar asked.

Julia shook her head slowly, as if afraid that any sudden move would frighten away elusive spirits that might prove difficult to summon up again.

“Yes,” she said, in the tone of one who has no alternative but to acknowledge the obvious. “It’s too much of a coincidence.” And she pointed at the page.

“I can’t see anything unusual,” said Menchu.

“No?” Julia was smiling. “Look at the knight’s shield. In the Middle Ages, every nobleman decorated his shield with his particular emblem. Tell me what you think, Cesar. What’s painted on that shield?”

Cesar sighed as he drew a hand across his forehead. He was as amazed as Julia.

“Squares,” he said unhesitatingly. “Black and white squares.” He looked up at the Flemish painting, and his voice seemed to tremble. “Like those on a chessboard.”

Leaving the book open on the sofa, Julia stood up.