Enchantress of Paris (18 page)

That was indeed the title I had in mind. I shuddered.

“I wanted to believe you would carry out the plans I set into motion when I die.”

“Believe it. I want the king to be great, too.” My tone didn't sound convincing. Pretending we had the same definition of “great” had grown too difficult.

He slumped in his armchair. “The king is more taken with you than ever. I take it you haven't spread your legs for him yet?”

I frowned. I would not answer that.

“Do not capitulate.” He thumped the table again. “Damn Condé. He charged right through the center of our entrenchments to relieve Dunkirk. We surrounded him, even killed the horse underneath him. But his captain put him on his own horse and sacrificed himself while Condé made his getaway under a shower of musket fire. The bastard.”

“Spain will concede when they are unable to conscript soldiers through Naples.”

“Oliver Cromwell is dead. Alliances may shift.”

“Help Charles the Second reclaim England, then. Charles will keep England faithful to France, especially if you marry him to Hortense.” I held my breath.

He waved the idea off as if swatting a fly. “Spain could rebuild their army through Savoy if we don't get there first. I need you to be brave now. Brave as one of our men in battle.”

I didn't like the sound of that at all.

“For years Savoy,” he said, pointing between France and Modena on the map on his table, “has claimed neutrality. The queen regent, Christine of France, a daughter of Henry the Fourth, has refused to help France. Disloyal snit. The only way she'll even meet with me is if I agree to marry her daughter to King Louis.”

“No.” I tamped down my panic. “I cooperated. King Louis agreed to the Naples Plan because I pushed it. You said I could be queen.”

“Did you forget that Savoy's cooperation was part of the Naples Plan?”

“What is my role in this?”

“Princess Margherita is an ugly little thing. King Louis will meet her.” He curled the edge of his mustache. “You must ensure he doesn't like her.”

“You expect Savoy to cooperate and grant safe passage for French troops after King Louis
rejects
her?”

“I will seal the alliance. Margherita will be relieved if you do your job right.”

“The Savoyard court will think I'm some all-powerful, shrewish
maîtresse-en-titre.
”

“Consider this an opportunity to prove your loyalty to me and keep your king.” He paused. “Olympia is with child again. Will you force me to use Hortense in your place?”

Not my sweet little sister.
I shook my head, stuck obeying the cardinal's orders. Again.

He stacked papers and took quill in hand. “My household follows the king's court south within the week.”

“The queen mother's household isn't going? What excuse do I have to travel south?”

“Figure it out.”

*   *   *

The next morning, I didn't attend the queen mother's toilette. I stayed abed, sick in mind if not in body, and waited. It didn't take long for King Louis to visit. “What's wrong?”

“You know perfectly well.” I reclined on ten feather pillows in a red silk undress gown clasped up the front with rubies.

“Your uncle told you about Savoy.”

I clutched the embroidered coverlets.

He saw my frown and slumped. “No matter who I wed, you know you will always rule my heart.”

“How can you say that when you want to marry
me
? I won't be your whore.”

King Louis rubbed his face with his hands. “My family expects me to take a wife of royal blood. Our position in Europe is insecure. Royal marriage is a political alliance.”

I closed my eyes. “We should have discussed these things before.”

“You're right. I just couldn't face it.” He sighed. “Why can't I have a wife to secure alliances and provide heirs and keep you by my side?”

I sat up. “You swore never to command my heart, and my heart will not share you.”

“Think how lonely a political marriage will be for me. Say you won't leave me.”

“You are leaving to meet her. Who knows how long you'll be gone? Lyon is a long way south.” I cringed. Hinting and fishing was more underhanded than outright lying and cheating.

“I will beg my mother to go so you have an excuse to travel with her household.” He took my hand. “You'll come, won't you?”

I had done it again.
Damn my uncle.
“As you wish.”

*   *   *

Days later, the entire royal court stood in Notre Dame Cathedral listening to mass, listening to the echoes of the organ, listening to boyish Latin voices rise like the song of angels in four-part harmony, and listening to prayers for the marriage of King Louis and Princess Margherita of Savoy. Anyone not listening gossiped about the marriage behind feathered caps or fluttering fans. A sparrow soared through the nave between the arches of the aisles. We set out from Notre Dame. Outside the birds flew south, the same direction our train traveled, one rumbling coach after another.

The blue cornflower petals the commoners had thrown days earlier to greet the king had shriveled on the paving stones. Now the Parisians threw a shower of sunflower petals. Even with standards, guards, drums, and the fanfare of trumpets in our procession, the people only had eyes for King Louis. His white horse draped in red velvet, his hat topped with a red plume, his head held high, they cheered at the sight of him. They never looked at me, riding horseback close behind him, and they didn't throw mud at the cardinal's carriage. They waved banners and hoisted children upon their shoulders, shouting, “Long live the king!” and “Bring us a queen!” Even they expected a queen of royal blood.

 

CHAPTER
23

The King, as if inspired by this new devotion to Mademoiselle Marie de Mancini, was always in the best humor—indeed quite gay.

—MADEMOISELLE DE MONTPENSIER'S MEMOIRS

We stopped in a town well past Fontainebleau. We endured the usual welcome harangue from city officials. They thanked the royals for the honor of the visit, then begged us to make ourselves at home.

In the morning, the king's page found me bundled together with my sisters in some drafty room in some crumbling castle. “The king requests Trojan made ready, that you might ride with him again today.”

Hortense buried herself deeper under our covers. “But it's raining.”

I tossed the covers aside. “Then I shall wear a hat.”

*   *   *

King Louis and I rode beyond the hearing of the queen mother's ladies, who had quickly given up riding in the rain and retreated to the carriages. They stretched from the windows, straining to hear our conversation. In a moment of downpour, King Louis took off his wide-brimmed hat and reached between our horses as if he intended to shelter me.

I steered Trojan away a pace. “Sire, do you fear I will melt?”

“I don't want you to take a chill,” he said sheepishly, replacing his hat. “Don't be indignant. I forbid you to be indignant.”

“Just how do you intend to control my emotions?” I asked, laughing.

He pointed to a distant hill. “I will race you.”

I kicked Trojan into a gallop and reached the top of the hill just ahead of him.

He beamed. “I knew you couldn't be indignant if you could beat me soundly.”

But he wouldn't be able to mend my heartbreak if I lost him.

*   *   *

At Dijon, city officials gave the keys of the city to King Louis. Courtiers scattered in sumptuous houses throughout, and I was delighted to be assigned lodgings near the king's. The cardinal stopped to inspect our chambers while servants bustled about hanging our tapestries and setting up our furniture.

He swept from room to room, checking everything. “We will be here a fortnight while the assembly ratifies taxes for the king's exchequer. Where is Venelle's room?”

I pointed. “Just a chamber away.” Had he assigned her to spy on us?

As he left, I grabbed his arm. “Have you received any messengers from Spain?”

“You will be the first to know.” He eyed my hand on his arm.

I removed it. “Conceal nothing from me.”

“Look to your affairs and leave me to mine. I must have these Burgundy Estates vote a tax of two million livres.”

“That is an outrageous sum!”
He doesn't need it.
I thought of the huge chests of gold at the Château de Vincennes.

Mazarin didn't respond, and I fought the urge to argue.

*   *   *

“Oh, Hortense,” I said, fluffing my curls a week later. I glanced in the looking-glass that Moréna held aloft. “I wish we could journey all the time.”

She laughed. “Is the king hosting another collation tonight?”

“As he will every night here at Dijon.” He spoke to almost none but me, as if I were the only person at the table, in the ballrooms, or at cards.

“What on earth do you talk about for hours on end?”

“The upcoming
lit de justice.
He's outraged that the Parlement here in Burgundy resist coming together.” We took pains to avoid any mention of the proposed marriage. I didn't push, and he seemed grateful.

“He hasn't been to the queen mother's table even once. She'll hold it against you.”

I dabbed perfume on my wrists. “We visit her every morning after mass, and the king takes me to her rooms to say good night before he walks me home. She's so complimentary. Praising my clothes or my hair, giving me little trinkets.”

“That is because she doesn't know your plans.”

I tried not to look nervous. “Perhaps she will accept me if she knows the king loves me.”

She shrugged. “Olympia sent word that she is returning to Paris instead of continuing to Lyon. Pregnancy makes her unwell. And jealous, I think.”

“Olympia will benefit if I prevail.”

Hortense sighed. “I hope you become queen just so I don't have to wed that wretched Armand de la Meilleraye!”

*   *   *

The Parlement chamber at Dijon was a miniature of the one in Paris. Magistrates in red robes sat in a square against a backdrop of blue, dotted with gold
fleur-de-lis.
I stood well outside the square with a handful of the queen mother's ladies, watching the king sit tall in his place of honor. The president of the
lit de justice
gave a polite, firm speech suggesting Burgundy was too poor and unprotected to pay for the ruinous war and overgrown government. The cardinal looked stunned. They voted merely three hundred thousand
livres
and concluded the session. The king seemed at a loss for words. The cardinal … could do nothing. I grinned. I might not be a bewigged parliamentarian but I, too, intended to show Mazarin the limits of his power.

*   *   *

We followed the River Saône through the countryside, finally crossing it onto a peninsula, the heart of Lyon. To the right ran the River Rhône, and beyond its banks rose a hill with monasteries and the Archbishop's Palais. To our left beyond the Saône, the land was dotted with silk factories and merchants that made the city wealthy. Windows started opening everywhere. People leaned out, waving colorful silk scarves, cheering for the king and his supposed marriage. As the king and I approached the Cathédrale Saint-Jean-Baptiste in the city, the Cardinal's Guards galloped between us. They surrounded me.

“What is this?” called the king.

“Cardinal's orders,” barked a guard. “Mademoiselle Mancini must return to her carriage and wait until he assigns quarters.”

The guards made Trojan nervous. I let him buck and rear, but they wouldn't back down. Keeping a tight ring, they ushered me toward my carriage. “Philippe,” I called to my brother on the far side of the King's Musketeers.

Philippe looked astounded, glancing left and right for some means to help me. But he couldn't break ranks. The procession forced him and the king to move forward. The archbishop arrived, and I lost sight of the king as he helped his mother from her carriage for presentation. The counts of St. John began the formal welcoming harangue.

As I climbed into my carriage, Marianne said, “Flames and fury, are they starting those eternal speeches again?”

I didn't bother answering. After an age, the long train of carriages started breaking up and moving. I hung out the window. The king and queen were headed to the hill across the Rhône, and we were heading deeper into the city. In the opposite direction!

*   *   *

In the Place de Belle Cœur a noble family welcomed us. Silk adorned every wall and window and bed. The cardinal came, as usual, sweeping our temporary chambers, making his inspections.

“Must we stay here?” I asked my uncle, careful to keep the edge out of my voice. “There is room at the Archbishop's Palais, and it's closer to the king's quarters.”

He pointed at me. “The Archbishop's Palais is for me and the Savoyard party.”

“You've arranged for Margherita to be closer to the king? I don't understand.”

“This must start well. Don't make a fuss. They will be here in a few days. You will not go to the fields with the court to meet them.”

“That's unfair. What news from the Spanish king? Tell me you've had a message.”

“No fuss!” he yelled, and he left in a huff.

 

CHAPTER
24

I did not fuss when we missed that night's dinner banquet. I did not fuss at having no place in the next day's ceremonious parade. I did not even fuss when the king was surrounded by the officials of Lyon on the third evening's ball.

But on the fourth day, Moréna announced, “The royal households are riding outside the city to greet Princess Margherita.”

“Have Trojan saddled.” I pinned on a cape.