The Moon and the Sun (37 page)

“May I take it, Your Majesty? The meat must hang, Your Majesty, or it will taste gamy, Your Majesty.”

“The creature is a fish,” Count Lucien said.

“A fish, M. de Chrétien?”

“If the sea monster isn’t human,” Count Lucien said, “then it’s a beast. M. Boursin himself brought to Your Majesty’s attention that the Church has judged sea monsters to be fish. If M. Boursin kills it today, its flesh will be rotten before Your Majesty’s banquet.”

“But —” M. Boursin said.

“M. de Chrétien is correct,” His Majesty said.

“But —”

“No more, M. Boursin! You may not butcher the creature today! M. de Chrétien, if you please, arrange for Dr. Fagon to attend Mlle de la Croix.” The King remained perfectly calm, perfectly in control.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Count Lucien departed.

Lorraine swept Marie-Josèphe up in his arms. His musky scent overpowered the sharp sweetness of Monsieur’s swooning compound.

“My deepest apologies, Sire,” Yves said. “I overtaxed her — her natural sympathy

— a shock —”

Lorraine pushed past courtiers and Academicians alike, carrying Marie-Josèphe from the tent. Sunlight spread over her face like hot wine. Zelis’ hoofbeats struck a rhythm in the distance; Count Lucien rode away toward the chateau.

“Let me down,” Marie-Josèphe whispered. “Call Count Lucien back, please, I don’t want to see Dr. Fagon.”

“Shh, shh.” Lorraine embraced her more strongly.

His Majesty climbed into his wheeled chair and sat at his ease while his deaf-mutes pushed him away.

“Be easy, mademoiselle. Dr. Fagon will set you right.”

oOo

Lorraine laid Marie-Josèphe on her bed. Haleed jumped from the window-seat, dropping the lace and wires of Queen Mary’s new fontanges.

“Mlle Marie, what’s happened?”

Yves sat beside Marie-Josèphe.

Lorraine said, “The surgeon will be here soon.”

“That’s what I fear!” Marie-Josèphe whispered.

Haleed sponged her face.

“You know the creature’s to be butchered,” Yves said. “How could you become so attached to it? This is just like your lamb, when you begged papa not to kill it —”

“Don’t task me with what I did as a child,” Marie-Josèphe said. “I’m not a child any longer.”

“Your behavior —”

“I’m attached to the sea woman as I’m attached to you, as I’m attached to Mlle Haleed — I beg for her life because she is a thinking, reasoning person, a being with a soul, and because I do not wish my King to be a cannibal —”

Dr. Fagon cleared his throat. Marie-Josèphe fell silent.

“You’re speaking nonsense,” Yves said.

Dr. Fagon and Dr. Félix entered Marie-Josèphe’s room without asking her consent.

Marie-Josèphe thought wildly that her apartment was becoming as crowded as one of His Majesty’s evening entertainments.

“His Majesty is right to be concerned with your well-being,” the first physician said.

“I’m perfectly well, sir.” Her voice was steady, but she was trembling. She felt cold and light-headed.

“Hush, you are pallid and hysterical.” Fagon bent over her and peered into her eyes. “What happened?

“She received a shock,” Lorraine said. “She fainted.”

“Nonsense,” Haleed said. “Fainted!”

“Be silent!” Dr Félix said.

“She’s only tired,” Haleed said, outraged. “She’s hardly slept since M. Yves returned.”

“No one spoke to you.” Dr Félix swung around toward her so violently that Haleed flinched.

“Sir!” Yves said. “The King’s favor doesn’t allow you to abuse members of my household.”

“Don’t touch her!” Marie-Josèphe said. “Don’t touch me!”

“Marie-Josèphe, let him examine you,” Yves said.

Haleed flung herself across Marie-Josèphe. Marie-Josèphe buried her face against her sister’s shoulder, grateful and terrified.

Dr. Félix and Lorraine pulled Haleed up. She struggled and keened. Félix propelled her toward Yves.

“Take your servant away,” Fagon said. “We cannot work with two hysterical women in the room!”

Yves held Haleed so she could not move from his side.

“Brother —” Haleed cried.

“Take this madwoman away,” Fagon said. “I shall send the barber to bleed her, as well.”

“It’s for your own good, sister,” Yves said, “I’m sure it is.” He backed out of Marie-Josèphe’s room, into his dressing room, taking Haleed with him.

“Yves, don’t let them — please — remember papa —” Fear overtook Marie-Josèphe, for she was lost.

Félix held her face between his powerful hands. Fagon forced her mouth open. His fingers tasted of blood and dirt. She could not scream. He poured a bitter draught down her throat. She gagged and struggled.

“Sir,” Dr. Fagon said to Lorraine, “will you condescend to help, for His Majesty’s sake?”

“I’ll help for my own sake, for she’s mine.” Lorraine pinioned Marie-Josèphe’s arms with his hard hands.

“I never fainted, I never faint.” She turned her head away from Dr. Fagon’s dirty fingers. “I assure you, sir —”

“I shall bleed her,” Dr. Félix said. “Bloodletting will calm her mind.”

Marie-Josèphe fought, terrified, but she could not overcome the strength of all three men. She tried to bite.

“Don’t struggle so. We’re acting for your benefit.”

Her scream came out as a strangled cry. Kneeling on the bed beside her, Lorraine covered her with his musky scent. He pressed her shoulders down with all his weight.

The long locks of his perruke tumbled around his face and curled at Marie-Josèphe’s throat. She kicked. Someone held her feet, one bare, one shod.

“Show some courage,” Lorraine said. “Make His Majesty proud of your fortitude —not ashamed of your cowardice.”

Félix pushed her sleeve above her elbow and held her wrist tight. He took up his blade. The sharp steel pierced the soft skin of her inner arm. Hot blood flowed through pain, its coppery scent cutting through Lorraine’s heavy perfume. She moaned. Her blood gushed into the bowl, spattering her riding habit and the bedclothes. Bright flecks stained the lace spilling from Dr. Fagon’s sleeves.

Smiling, gazing into her eyes, Lorraine held Marie-Josèphe down.

oOo

Lucien limped along the narrow, dim corridor, ignoring the faded pain of his wounded leg and the stronger, nearly constant ache in his back. He disliked the attic of the chateau. He disliked its shabbiness, its smell, its memories. As a child, a page, he had lived in the Queen’s apartments. After the Moroccan embassy, returned to the King’s good graces, he had lived in the town of Versailles until the builders finished his own country lodge. He had lived here in the courtiers’ warren only during the most miserable months of his life, when he was alienated from His Majesty.

Mlle de la Croix’ door opened. Dr. Fagon, Dr. Félix, and Lorraine stepped into the hallway. Mlle de la Croix’ cry of despair dissolved into a whimper. Lucien frowned. He judged character well; he did not often mistake courage. He had considered her stalwart, if impetuous.

Lucien nodded to Fagon and Félix; he returned Lorraine’s cool bow. Félix rubbed his thumb over the back of his hand, smearing drops of blood to faint streaks.

“I have cured her hysteria,” Félix said.

“His Majesty will be glad to hear it. He’s fond of the young lady and her family.”

“And of her golden hair and her white bosom,” Lorraine said.

Lucien replied with a conventional compliment. “No one could fail to admire her.”

Though Mlle de la Croix was entirely innocent, rumors of a liaison with the King could work only to her benefit. Lucien wished His Majesty would in fact form such a liaison. His connection with Mme de Maintenon, drawing him deep into piety, did little to sustain his vital spirit.

“She may require another bloodletting tomorrow, to augment the cure.” Fagon tilted the basin. Liquid blood moved beneath the clotted skin.

Félix probed the blood with his finger, breaking the elastic surface. Fagon righted the basin as the blood flowed over the edge and stained the carpet.

“Her blood is far too thick, as you must observe,” Fagon said, “but I shall balance her bodily humours.” He chuckled. “Though she may bite my finger off!”

“She tried to bite me, too,” Lorraine said as they walked away. “The minx.” He chuckled. “Like a trapped animal. But she has quite trapped my heart.”

All alone, Mlle de la Croix lay crying in a tangle of bedclothes and bloody lint, her face hidden in the crook of her elbow. She heard or felt Lucien standing beside her. She reached weakly toward him.

“Dear God, please, no more —”

She touched his arm, fumbling. A bloodstain widened on the bandage. Lucien took her hand.

“Oh!” She drew away, shocked and startled. Her hair fell in damp untidy strands around her drained face. “Forgive me... I thought you were my brother.”

“I will call him.”

“No — ! I don’t want to see him.”

“Do you feel better? Calmer? Cured of delusions?”

“I don’t see delusions! I can talk with the sea woman! You must believe me, sir — if you don’t, why did you take such a risk on her behalf?”

“His Majesty does as he pleases,” Count Lucien said. “I only offered him the rationale.”

“Is that the only reason you spoke?”

Lucien did not reply.

“Very well,” she whispered. “You care for nothing but His Majesty. You spoke because you know he mustn’t murder the sea woman — he mustn’t risk his immortal soul!”

“Sleep,” Lucien said, preferring not to continue a conversation that took this direction. “Dr. Fagon will return in the morning.”

“Do you want me to die of bleeding, like my father?”

Her voice fell to a horrified whisper. Lucien regretted dismissing her courage, for everyone he had ever known possessed a secret terror. As far as Lucien was concerned, fearing physicians was perfectly rational.

“Do you hate me?” she whispered.

“Of course I do not hate you.”

“Don’t let him bleed me again,” she said. “Please.”

“You do ask too much of me.” If the King ordered Mlle de la Croix to be bled, Lucien could do nothing to stop it. He devoted himself to carrying out Louis’ wishes, not to hindering them.

“Please. Please promise me.” She struggled up, clutching his hand with awful desperation. Fear and pain had leached the intelligence from her face. “Please help me. I have great need of a friend.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Give me your word.”

“Very well,” he said, against his better judgment, but moved by her fear. “I give you my word.”

She collapsed, still holding his hand, trembling. She closed her eyes. Her agitation calmed; her fingers relaxed.

Lucien sighed, and smoothed her sweat-darkened hair.

oOo

Marie-Josèphe drifted, awake, asleep, aware of Count Lucien, comforted by his promise, aware of the denizens of her imagination, afraid to see them in her dreams. She feared sleep, but she shrank from waking.

When she woke, moonlight spilled through the window, pooling on the floor like molten silver. Count Lucien had gone. Haleed slept beside her, holding her, a welcome warmth. Dr Félix must have forgotten his threat to bleed Marie-Josèphe’s sister; Haleed’s arms bore neither wound nor bandage. Yves dozed, slumped over a sheaf of papers. He would have a terrible crick in his neck in the morning.

Yves and Haleed must have undressed her, for she wore only her blood-spattered shift. She hoped Haleed had asked Count Lucien to withdraw; she hoped she had not been unclothed before the King’s adviser. She was no royal lady, to be dressed by tailors and observed by men at the most intimate times of her life.

She sat up, weak and light-headed.

Yves woke. “Sister — are you recovered?”

“How could you let him bleed me?”

“It was for your own good.”

He had found her sketches. He flicked through them, his face impassive.

“The sea woman told me that story,” Marie-Josèphe said. “The true story of the hunt. You caught three sea people. Not two. They struggled. The sailors killed one —”

“Hush,” he said. “I told you the story.”

“You never did. They killed one. They ate his flesh. You ate —”

“— the flesh of an animal! It was delicious. Why shouldn’t I eat it?”

“You claim to love truth! But when you hear it, you deny it. Please believe me.

Yves, my dear brother, what’s changed so, that you have no faith in me?”

Her agitation woke Haleed. “Mlle Marie?” She pushed herself up on her elbow, blinking sleepily. Marie-Josèphe took her hand, desperate for her comfort.

“The sea monsters are beasts, created for the use of man,” Yves said. He sat next to her on her bed. “You should retire from court. Too much attention has distracted you. In a convent, you’d be safe from this agitation of your spirits.”

“No.”

“You’d be happy, back in the convent.”

“She’d never be happy there!” Haleed cried.

“For five years, I read no books,” Marie-Josèphe said. “The sisters said knowledge would corrupt me, like Eve.” She had tried to forgive her brother his awful decision, but she could not let him repeat it. “I heard no music. The sisters forbade it. They said, Women must be silent in the house of God. The Pope demands it. I did without books, without studying — I had no choice! I couldn’t stop my thoughts, my questions, though I couldn’t speak them. Mathematics — !” Her laugh was wild and angry. “They said I was writing spells! I heard music that was never there, I could never stop it, no matter how I prayed and fasted. I called myself a madwoman, a sinner...” She looked into his face. “M. Newton replied to my letter — but they burned it, unopened, before me. How could you send me there, where every moment tortured me? I thought you loved me

—”

“I wanted you to be safe.” His beautiful eyes filled with sudden tears. He put his arms around her, relenting, hugging her protectively. “And now, I’ve asked too much of you — the work is too difficult.”

“I love the work!” she cried. “I do it gladly. I do it well, and I’m not a fool. You must listen to me!”

“I have the obligation to guide you. Your affection for the sea monster is unnatural.”

“My affection for her has nothing to do with what she told me. You know her stories are true.”