The Moon and the Sun (32 page)

The overseer screamed at the convict rowers. He lashed their backs. The galley plunged into the lead.

“Hardly a fair race.” Lorraine gazed at Marie-Josèphe. The candlelight, and the light of the waxing moon, flattered his handsome face. “A whip against the barest breeze.” He slipped his hand around Marie-Josèphe’s ankle. She moved her foot; he gently restrained it.

There’s no harm in it, Marie-Josèphe thought. His touch pleases me. Yves would not like me to allow it, but Yves allows himself his own pleasures, riding in the galleon with the King and the Pope, reliving the sea monster hunt.

“Why must they race?” Marie-Josèphe said. “The poor men —”

“They’re only convicts,” Lorraine said. “Prisoners of war, or murderers —”

“Surely not!”

“Who else would suffer such treatment? My dear, His Majesty races so he may lose his bet with King James. Then James will have money for another week or two at Versailles.”

“His Majesty is magnanimous,” Marie-Josèphe said.

Lorraine moved his hand above her ankle to her calf.

Monsieur gazed at Lorraine. Despite the shadows of candlelight, despite his powder and diamond patches, distress showed plain in his face. Marie-Josèphe wondered if perhaps the friends had argued.

The galley reached the man-made island that floated where the arms of the Grand Canal crossed. A cheer went up from the English King’s party.

“You are looking particularly splendid this evening,” Lorraine said.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “It’s entirely thanks to you.” She stroked the peacock feather in her hair. “Odelette had no time for my hair. Mademoiselle needed her — and Mary of Modena particularly requested her attendance. I’m so proud of her success! But if not for your peacock, my hair would be...”

“What a fortunate peacock.” He closed his eyes, and opened them; his long eyelashes brushed against his cheeks.

The gondolier, a fine tenor, held a high note till the bow of his boat touched the island. Marie-Josèphe applauded him; he bowed. Lorraine tossed him a gold piece. The passengers disembarked onto the heavy planks of the island. Lorraine took Marie-Josèphe’s arm and helped her onto the platform. Nearby, in the galley, the rowers gasped for breath. Loincloths and chains hid their nakedness. They glistened with sweat and blood. Lorraine hurried her past them, out of hearing of their groans as their salty sweat stung deep welts.

A fairyland of delicate gold archways and tall spires distracted the guests. Sprays of crystal dispersed the light of a thousand candles in colors across drifts and wreaths of flowers. The chamber orchestra’s music filled the perfumed air. The island was wonderful. Yesterday it had not even existed.

“You must have some wine,” Lorraine said.

At the edge of the island, sprites walked on water, carrying trays of wine and baskets of sweets. The supports of the island lay just beneath the Canal’s surface, invisible bridges for the servants in their costumes. Lorraine fetched Marie-Josèphe a glass of wine.

“Is this your third? Or fourth?”

Marie-Josèphe laughed. “Oh, sir — I’ve lost count.”

They passed beneath an arbor. Moss lay soft under their feet. Lotte plucked a strawberry from the trailing vines and ate half. Red juice shining on her mouth, she gave the other half to Marie-Josèphe. She crushed its sweetness between her teeth. Lotte brushed her fingertip across Marie-Josèphe’s lips.

“You wear hardly any powder or rouge,” she said. “There, now your lips aren’t quite so pale.” She picked another strawberry and gave it to her mother. Madame embraced her daughter and ate the strawberry. The arbors hung heavy with fruit and sweets tied with gold thread.

“Come along, my dear.”

Monsieur took Lorraine’s free arm. Lorraine bent to kiss Monsieur quickly on the lips.

“Rumor says, our friends plan games in a hidden bower.” Monsieur’s manner excluded Marie-Josèphe; his troubled gaze hesitated on her face, then returned to Lorraine. “You must allow me retribution, after what you did to me last night.”

“It will be my entire pleasure — to gamble with you, Monsieur.” Lorraine’s manner grew formal, and he bowed.

Monsieur and his family and Marie-Josèphe all followed Lorraine’s lead in saluting His Majesty. The King approached, smiling, accompanied by Mme de Maintenon, M. du Maine, Mme de Chartres, and her friend Mlle d’Armagnac. Mme de Chartres wore a towering fontanges, but Mlle d’Armagnac went against the mode in an even more extreme fashion than Marie-Josèphe. She wore as a headdress a great fan of peacock feathers.

Marie-Josèphe wondered where Count Lucien had got to; she always expected to see him, when she saw the King.

“Good evening, my brother,” Louis said.

“Good evening, sir.” Monsieur and the King smiled at each other, despite the ceremony with which they always spoke.

“Mlle de la Croix.” His Majesty raised her gently. “The image of your mother! Ah, my dear, how glad I am that you are safe in France.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She returned his smile. Despite the loss of his upper teeth, he maintained the charisma of his youth, and added to it the refinement of age. He patted Marie-Josèphe’s cheek.

“Your floating island is delightful,” Monsieur said.

“A pleasant little thing, is it not? Brother, I require your knowledge. Who’s the most passionate man at my gathering tonight?”

Monsieur hesitated, but his glance touched Lorraine.

“Chrétien has declined to be entered in the race,” the King said.

“Why, Your Majesty? Because he won’t go to sea?” Lorraine’s gesture encompassed the floating island.

His Majesty chuckled. “No, no, perhaps because it would be an unfair competition.

M. du Maine is passionate — aren’t you, dear boy?” The King patted his natural son’s shoulder. “But you reserve your passion for your wife!”

“I must suggest Father de la Croix,” Mme Lucifer said.

“No, no, no, he’s eliminated on any number of grounds. Besides, he must dedicate his passion to God.”

Monsieur finally added a word to the conversation. “You shall choose, sir, as your decision must be correct.”

“I know who you’d choose, if your natural modesty didn’t restrain you.” Louis spoke without irony. “Your advice is most valuable. Now, come along, I must give over to James my command of the ocean.”

As Mme de Maintenon passed, she glared with an expression of ferocious resentment, leaving Marie-Josèphe confused, hurt, and startled. Always before, Mme de Maintenon had treated her with the intention of kindness.

His Majesty led the way to the open center of the island. His guests gathered, their costumes as bright as the candles. The chamber orchestra played, and a wide expanse of gleaming parquet lay ready for the dance. Pope Innocent and his Cardinals, in shining white and brilliant red, challenged the jewels and gold lace of the courtiers. Yves wore only black, but his presence drew the eye. Odelette attended Queen Mary, bearing her handkerchief on a velvet cushion.

Louis and James met in the center of the dancing floor. Louis crowned James with a diadem and presented him with the trident of Poseidon. An exquisite rope of pearls, at least three armspans long, twined around the sea-god’s weapon.

“You bested me,” His Majesty said. “And in my own boat!” He laughed.

“Next time I’ll command a wind from the sky, so the race will be closer.” James laughed, too, and adorned Mary of Modena with the pearls. He could not reach over her fontanges, it was so tall. Instead, he poured the pearls across her bosom and looped them over her bare pale shoulders.

His Majesty took his seat before the orchestra. A little sea-nymph, in golden scales, ran up to place a cushion for his foot. The King invited his royal guests to join him, and the rest of the courtiers gathered behind.

Marie-Josèphe’s mind wandered from the play and its balletic interludes, for it retold ancient history: the Fronde, the civil war. Her attention drifted from the music.

She fancied she could hear the sea monster’s singing.

Before her, Madame nodded, jerked awake, nodded again. Her chin sank toward her ample breasts. In a moment she would begin to snore. Marie-Josèphe laid her hand on Madame’s shoulder. The duchess d’Orléans snuffled once, snapped awake, and sat up straight in her chair. Marie-Josèphe smiled fondly and tried again to follow the action on stage. A dancer represented the young King, triumphing though his uncle Gaston roused a large faction of France’s aristocracy against him. The coup d’état failed.

Marie-Josèphe wished she had seen His Majesty dance. When he was younger, his performances as the sun, as Apollo, as Orpheus or Mars, formed part of his legend. He had not taken part in ballets for decades.

The entertainment ended. His Majesty’s guests expressed their appreciation, and His Majesty accepted their gratitude.

The Grand Master of Ceremonies, who had paid handsomely to hold the position for the quarter, approached Madame. He bowed to her, then turned to Marie-Josèphe.

“The King requests your attendance, Mlle de la Croix.”

Marie-Josèphe sketched a quick and startled curtsy to Madame, slipped out of the crowd of courtiers, and hurried after the marquis.

His Majesty sat in his armchair, listening to the music, one fine leg outstretched, the other resting on its cushion. Marie-Josèphe dropped to the floor in a rustle of silk and lace. She felt improperly dressed, with her hair so simply arranged.

His Majesty bent forward, lifted her chin, and gazed into her face with his beautiful dark blue eyes.

“The image,” he said, as he always said, “the very image of your mother. She dressed her hair in just such a manner — no towers, no apartments for mice!”

His Majesty rose, drawing Marie-Josèphe to her feet.

“Let us dance.” The King escorted her into the music, into the dance’s intricate patterns. Before all the court, Marie-Josèphe danced with the King.

She could hardly breathe. Her cheeks flushed and her sight blurred. His Majesty’s touch, his friendly gaze, his favor, combined to make her feel faint.

“You dance as exquisitely as you play, Mlle de la Croix,” Louis said. “As your mother did.”

“She was very beautiful and very talented, Your Majesty,” Marie-Josèphe said.

“Much more than I.”

“We all remember her well,” Louis said.

For Marie-Josèphe, her parents existed in a halo of golden tropical light, her mother wise and kind, her father absent-minded and good humored, until the dreadful week when she had lost them both.

“My old friends and enemies, my protegés and advisers are passing,” the King said. “Queen Christina. Le Brun, Le Vau, evil old Louvois. Molière and Lully. La Grande Mademoiselle... sometimes, do you know, I even miss old Mazarin, that tyrant.”

The King sighed. “I miss M. and Mme de la Croix.”

“I miss them too, Sire. Terribly. Only God could have saved my mother, she was so ill. She died so quickly.”

“God was tempted, and He took her. But He does not allow His angels to suffer.”

She
did
suffer, Marie-Josèphe thought. Her fury at God and the physicians flared bright from its embers. She suffered dreadfully, and I hate God so much that I do not know why He has not struck me with lightning into Hell.

During a turn in the dance she brushed away a tear, hoping His Majesty would not notice. How could he help but notice? But he was too much a gentleman to comment.

“I think they would not have died, if...”

“If I had not sent them to Martinique?”

“Oh, no, Your Majesty! It was the physicians — the surgeons... Your commission honored our family.” Marie-Josèphe curbed the uncharitable thought: if you missed them so, Sire, why didn’t you call my family back to France?

“Your father was honorable, indeed,” His Majesty said. “Only Henri de la Croix could increase his poverty while holding a colonial governorship.”

“Father lingered,” she whispered. “I thought he would recover. But they bled him

—”

The King’s gaze focussed blankly beyond her shoulder.

I’ve said too much, she thought. He has important concerns, I mustn’t trouble him with my grief and my anger.

“Those times are returning,” the King said. “The times of youth and glory. Your brother will bring them to me.”

“I — I hope so, Your Majesty.”

She blinked away her tears, made herself smile, and concentrated on the perfect pattern of the dance. She feared what might happen when His Majesty realized Yves could not help him to live forever.

“I must find you a worthy husband,” he said offhand.

“I cannot marry, Your Majesty. I have neither connections nor dowry.”

“You must want a husband!”

“Oh, yes, Sire! A husband, children —”

“And scientific instruments?” He chuckled.

“If my husband allowed it.” She blushed, wondering who had been making fun of her to the King. “But I see no way of achieving such a dream.”

“Did your father never tell you — ? I suppose he would not. I promised, at your birth, that you would be properly dowered.”

The music’s final flourish ended. His Majesty bowed graciously. The applause of His Majesty’s court raked Marie-Josèphe like wildfire. She gathered her wits, fell into a deep curtsy, and kissed his hand. He lifted her to her feet. Like the perfect gentleman he was, he conducted her to the edge of the dancing floor, where Monsieur and the Chevalier stood whispering.

“You will dance the next dance with Mlle de la Croix,” he said to the Chevalier de Lorraine, and put her hand in his.

oOo

Marie-Josèphe ran up the stairs to her room, ecstatic. The candle flickered in her hand. She cupped her fingers around the flame to shield it. She hoped Odelette had returned from attending Mary of Modena; she hoped Yves had returned from attending Pope Innocent. She hoped they were both still awake. She wanted to tell them the King’s wonderful news. She might tell Odelette about her long walk with Lorraine, crossing the water on the clever secret bridges, strolling beside the Grand Canal in the moonlight.

She thought she would not tell Yves, not quite yet, though Lorraine had gone beyond the bounds of gallantry only once or twice.

Muffled voices disturbed the quiet. Marie-Josèphe smiled. Odelette and Yves have both returned, she thought, and Yves has done something to aggravate Odelette. We might as well be back in Martinique. The three of us together, with Odelette abusing my brother because he’s left his linen in a pile on the floor.