Hortense and I rode in the queen mother’s carriage as part of her household, since Venelle stayed behind in Paris with Marianne and Olympia, whose belly swelled with child. We were trapped, reading aloud from boring prayer books, jostled over broken pavers, the heat exacerbated by our voluminous skirts. Moréna fared worse, sitting atop my cassone in a wagon, baking in the sun. I envied the king, who rode horseback most of the way.
When we reached Sedan, Mazarin, King Louis, and Monsieur closeted themselves to review plans to attack Montmédy. Hortense and I shuffled to our room in a château designated as the royal lodging. Moréna arrived with our belongings, and we stared at each other.
“Why are we here?” groaned Hortense.
So the cardinal could use King Louis. “So the king can receive updates and issue prompt orders.”
“So the cardinal can issue orders,” Hortense replied.
Indeed. Moréna drew curtains over the windows. We all stripped naked and collapsed on the bed.
* * *
The most favored French female courtiers gathered daily in the queen mother’s makeshift presence chamber, jostling for position near open windows, fanning themselves rapidly. Hortense stood in a corner, reading aloud, and I sat nearby playing the guitar. The queen mother played cards with my friend from the salons, the comtesse de La Fayette. Even our guards seemed about to melt with boredom. They stood at every doorway, surrounded the château, stood at every city gate, and blocked every street. I eyed their harshly gleaming muskets and fat pouches of gunpowder. They reminded me of danger. We were at war. And Mazarin wanted my king near the fighting. Well, I don’t.
The cardinal, the king, and Monsieur arrived.
“Sit. Have some black-currant wine,” said the queen mother. “Marie, play something more lively.”
I plucked out a quick melody while servants distributed glasses.
“Where are the dispatches?” asked King Louis in a huff.
“My brother is anxious to distinguish himself on the battlefield.” Monsieur tugged the lace of his cravat. “And I wouldn’t mind showing myself on the battlefield in this fine uniform.”
The ladies giggled. Just then a messenger arrived, and I stopped playing.
The cardinal read silently, then stood. “We are laying siege to Montmédy. The moment is crucial.” The king sat up. My uncle glanced at me. A signal.
I took a swig of black-currant wine, buying time, studying the king. He seemed so … excited. He wants to go. He was on the verge of saying so himself. What would a little prompt harm? “Ah, I’m reminded of Rinaldo marching bravely into Jersualem before his glorious triumph.”
The king beamed at me. “Brother, ready your horses. We leave immediately for Montmédy!”
The three of them bid farewell to the queen and were gone.
Had he really been waiting on my approval? I felt terrible dread. What have I done?
A furious chatter rose among the ladies. They must donate to the king’s fund for arms, they must go down to watch the king depart, they must lift up prayers for the king’s safety.
“Pardon,” I muttered, and fled without proper dismissal. I ran to my chamber, trying to remember my father’s quickest charm for protection.
“Moréna, I need rue,” I said, out of breath. But she wasn’t there. She was likely in the kitchens preparing our supper. I opened my little casket of medicinal herbs, but rue wasn’t an herb we had much use for. Known to ward off evil, it also blistered the skin. I grabbed a pewter vial of holy water and an empty white jewelry pouch and ran out to the gardens. Beyond the ornamental parterres, I found the kitchen pottage garden and searched for the yellow blooms of summer rue. At last I spotted some, neglected along a fence, and ripped off a handful. Kettledrums and trumpets sounded at the front of the château. I ran, pouring holy water over the rue, stuffing it into the pouch, and reciting powerful Latin, “Ihesus autem transiens per medium illorum ibat.” If I could just get it to the king in time I would hang it from his neck, stuff it into his pocket, slip it under his saddle. But as I reached the courtyard, the king’s retinue galloped away at full speed, dust rising in their wake. I crushed the charm in my hand. Rue and holy water dripped between my fingers and splattered my silk skirts.
* * *
The cardinal found me crying in my room. “I’m going to Mardyck to be closer to Montmédy,” he said. “Get up. Stay near the queen mother. Mademoiselle de Montpensier is coming, and I want you present.”
I wiped my face. “The duc d’Orléans’s daughter? Didn’t she fight alongside him during the Fronde?” She’d fired the Bastille’s cannons at Mazarin’s army, wounding my oldest brother, Paul, and making it impossible for Mazarin to enter Paris. It took Mazarin a whole year to regroup. Paul had died.
Mazarin sensed my shock. “I stripped her of many lands and bonds, but she’s still the richest woman in France. I can’t let her marry, lest her husband use her wealth to raise another army. Letting her back to court will give me more control over her. She has an eye to wed King Louis.”
I put a hand to my head.
“Ah, I see the notion doesn’t please you either.”
CHAPTER 14
I obeyed. I went with the queen mother to mass, to prayer in her chambers. I waited behind her at supper, where she talked of nothing but the king’s safety. We prayed in the morning, we prayed at night, we never missed a mass. Day after day, my prayer was the same. God keep him safe, and I’ll never subvert him again.
Within a week the queen bid us accompany her to meet Mademoiselle de Montpensier. Moréna laced Hortense and me into our best day dresses.
“It’s too hot for this. We’ll sweat and ruin the silk,” complained Hortense.
“You want to look frumpy in front of one of the richest, highest-ranking women in France? You want her to think you are nothing and nobody?” Moréna slathered perfume on our necks. “You’ll wear it and your jewels, too.”
The queen ordered half the guards and three carriages to carry us to a meadow outside Sedan. We arranged ourselves behind the queen mother and heard the sound of trumpets. Mademoiselle’s gendarmes and cavalry broke from the distant woods and dashed into the meadow, followed by her own carriage. Her troops formed a path between her carriage and the queen, and she stepped out. As tall as King Louis, blond and dressed modestly, she wore no jewels. She walked the twenty paces to the queen and fell to her knees. She kissed the hem of the queen mother’s gown.
The queen mother hesitated. “I don’t blame you for obeying your father’s orders.” She seemed to tense. “But for firing that cannon … I could kill you with my bare hands.”
Part of me wanted her to.
Mademoiselle kissed the queen’s fingertips. “I deserve it.”
Finally, the queen pulled her up and embraced her stiffly. “Let us start afresh. You haven’t aged in six years.”
“I’ve been so unhappy while deprived of your court that some of my hair has grayed early.”
The queen laughed and fell into a conversation about hair powder. Mademoiselle joined us in the queen’s coach, and they didn’t stop talking—about hair and what they’d been doing for six years and the royal salute from the King’s Gendarmes that the queen had arranged to welcome her as we entered the city gates. Hortense and I glanced at each other. Mademoiselle didn’t say a word to us. I am no one to her. But she could take everything from me.
Inside the city gates a courier from the cardinal chased down the royal carriage.
The queen ripped open his missive. “We’ve taken Montmédy!”
“And the king?” I asked, trying not to sound breathless.
“He returns tomorrow. For dinner.”
I rubbed the blisters between my fingers caused by the rue. Praise God.
When we left Mademoiselle at her lodgings and were alone in the carriage, rolling back to the château, the queen eyed me. “What did you think?”
“She is a regal woman.” I hated to admit it.
* * *
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Mademoiselle went with us to mass, then followed us to the queen mother’s rooms. The queen showed off her jewelry, plied Mademoiselle with sweetmeats. “Why do you wear your hair in the old style?” the queen mother asked her with a sickening smile. She promptly rearranged Mademoiselle’s hair herself. She insisted on playing piquet, and when the card game was done she made Mademoiselle list every single property her father had forced her to relinquish after the Fronde. She seemed to relish Mademoiselle’s torment. “It’s a shame you weren’t clever enough not to sign so many documents.”
In truth, the cardinal made Gaston take property from Mademoiselle as a condition of returning to court, and the queen knew it. Mademoiselle just nodded, bearing royal punishment like a true princess.
We heard the kettledrums and trumpets at the supper hour. The king. I flew to the window. He galloped into the courtyard, tall in the saddle, his shiny black boots and gray riding habit covered in mud. I breathed a sigh of relief.
The queen snapped her fingers. “I will reintroduce Mademoiselle to the king alone.”
I followed the other women to the antechamber, where they watched the return of the troops from the windows. I stayed by the door. The king marched in. We dipped low, and he winked at me as he passed. I couldn’t remember being happier in all my life.
I overheard the queen tell him, “Your cousin Mademoiselle swears to be good in the future.”
The king laughed but didn’t offer forgiveness. “My brother will arrive shortly. He took his carriage rather than muddy himself up on horseback like me. He heard you’d be here and wants to impress you.”
I chuckled. If poor Monsieur thought he could brace up his finances by marrying Mademoiselle, I would have to warn him of my uncle’s plan.
The king went on. “I wouldn’t be such a mess if not for the assassins. We were shot at from the woods. They killed my coachman, but we chased them down.”
“Good God!” cried the queen.
I clamped my hands over my mouth. Condé.
“We captured twelve Spanish gunmen. Two with fresh gunpowder on their hands were executed on the spot. The rest are prisoners.”
Monsieur’s carriage stopped before the château, and he rushed through the antechamber. I barely heard the queen mother introduce him.
I walked alone and in silence to the king’s lodgings. I stood against the wall of his antechamber, empty but for two guards at the door and another pair at the entrance to his bedchamber. It didn’t take long.
The king marched in by himself, dripping mud with each heavy step. He didn’t spot me until the moment he passed. He looked up. Smiled. “Marie!”
I shoved him as hard as I could. He fell back a step. All four guards advanced. The king held up his hand, and they halted. He glared at me, astonished. I balled my hands into fists and went after him, pounding his shoulders, his chest, and then his hands as he fended me off.
“How could you?” I cried.
He grabbed my fists. “What is this rage?”
“You’re a damn fool chasing those gunmen.” I tried to break away, but he pulled me close. “You should have left it to your men.”
“I’m unharmed!”
“If you haven’t a care for yourself, you should have considered me. What would I do? I—I think I would die if you died.”
His face softened, and I burst into tears. He glanced over his shoulder, and the guards scrambled back to position. The king pulled me into his bedchamber and wrapped his arms around me. I thought I would melt into a puddle, but I couldn’t stop crying.
“Hush now.” He wiped my face with his muddy fingers. “The Spanish are in retreat, and the fighting is over for the season. You have nothing to fear.”
In retreat. Not beaten. I put my hands on his, savoring the feel of his palms on my cheeks. “You’re the only one who’s ever seen me cry.”
“You surprise me, Marie.”
I looked into his eyes. What am I doing? I took a step back. The king stepped with me, and lowered his lips to mine. I stiffened, surprised. But his kiss was a gentle caress, tentative. In a flash as fierce as my fury, I kissed him back. Something hidden and hungry within me rushed forth. He pressed against me, tilting my head back, devouring my lips. I lapped him up like a thirsty animal. Please don’t stop, don’t even breathe. He broke to kiss my chin, my neck, and he ran his hands down the front of my bodice. I moaned softly, surprising myself. I have lost control.
Footsteps sounded in the antechamber. I pushed the king away. He stared down at me with heated intensity. His valet de chambre walked in, took one look at us, and walked right back out again.
I sidestepped. I resisted the urge to stroke the anguished look off of the king’s face and followed the valet.
* * *
Hortense found me in our bedchamber hours later. “The cardinal has returned. You should have heard how he flattered and praised that Mademoiselle.” It didn’t surprise me. Hortense wolfed down a bowl of green lentil and sausage soup Moréna had set out. “Eat or your stomach will growl during Their Majesties’ supper.”
But I couldn’t.
Their Majesties dined to a harpist’s melodies. I stood behind the queen, serving her and Mademoiselle. Monsieur talked to Mademoiselle constantly. The queen mother kept interjecting, trying to get the king to talk. But he was watching me. I could feel it. I avoided eye contact.
He paid Mademoiselle due respect by opening the dance with her in the reception hall.
Then he took my arm and walked me to a corner. “Will you avoid me?”
“Perhaps.”
“How am I to take your silence? Don’t cut me out before I have a chance to prove my adoration.”
His words stunned me. But the joy they brought was quickly stricken by shame. If the king adores me, Mazarin will only make me abuse him further. “Like you adored Olympia?”
He blinked, taken aback. “I can’t eat. I think of you instead of sleep. Even at Montmédy I thought of you during the fighting. I don’t know what to do. Normally I’m handed everything I want.”
I glared. “So I am a thing to be wanted?”
“Is it wrong to want you?”
“What happened to admiration?” How easy it was for the king. Olympia, d’Argencourt, and even our gardener’s daughter had too willingly fallen into his arms. Did his feelings for me extend no further than they had for them? The thought hurt, then it made me angry. “Go back to studying your siege maps and your battle plans and quit teasing me. You don’t know what love is.”
“Don’t be angry at me because women throw themselves at my feet. Don’t assume it blinds me to what’s real.” He paused for a long moment. “I’ll prove myself to you. Give me a quest.”
“Like some knight in a novel? Do you think you’re Rinaldo?”
“Name it, Armida.” His expression seemed anguished.
I longed to trust in him. Courtiers keeping their respectful distance leaned toward us a fraction. Mademoiselle shot a glance over her shoulder. My hand flew to the diamond necklace Mazarin had given me. Mazarin’s goal seemed as good as any to keep King Louis from focusing on Mademoiselle. “I’ll believe you when you win the title of Holy Roman Emperor.”
He turned serious. “As soon as we return to Paris, I will arrange an envoy to Metz. I will accompany Cardinal Mazarin and bribe the Electors myself if I have to.” He bowed slightly, then walked away. He nodded to his mother and Mademoiselle, signaled his attendants, and retired. Mademoiselle looked dejected.
I found Hortense, took her arm, and led her upstairs to bed. “But it’s so early,” she complained.
“We must rest up for our miserable journey back to Paris.”
But I didn’t sleep a bit. If all the stars and Papa’s spirits confirmed I was born bad, then why did I feel so guilty?
CHAPTER 15
There will be signs in the sun, moon, and stars.
—WORDS OF JESUS CHRIST IN LUKE 21:25
When the envoy left Paris for Metz, Venelle s
tayed with my sisters and me at Palais Mazarin. Autumn fell, and I did not have herbs to harvest on the equinox, no tinctures to mix, no bundles to prepare. Instead we dressed daily and took my pretty carriage to attend the queen mother’s afternoon salons at the Louvre.
The envoy returned a failure. When Cardinal Mazarin arrived home, he closeted himself with Colbert. I hid behind an ancient statue of Psyche in the gallery and listened at the library door as Mazarin screamed and raged about greedy German Electors who’d enriched themselves by failing to be bribed. Shame compounded my guilt.
King Louis came to his mother’s salon wearing his austere frown again, all quiet dignity. He let me win at cards without waiting for me to flirt in return. He led me in a dance at a ball without leaning too close. He listened intently when I sang an aria for the queen’s ladies, nothing like the spoiled prince I’d accused him of being. He didn’t speak of our conversation in Sedan. I regretted it too much to remind him. My quest had ended when I’d set his up to fail. Soon Mazarin would realize I was no longer useful.
King Louis came to Palais Mazarin one day, requesting to see me.
He bowed slightly in the reception hall, a noble knight clutching his hat. “I was riding nearby.”
My heart thudded wildly. It made me light-headed.
He gestured toward the city. “Olympia’s child is due any day.” He looked as though he wished to say more.
I nodded, longing to draw near to him. Neither of us deserves you. Go away.
He did go. And for an hour I stood in the spot where he had stood and wished things could be different.
* * *
Moréna leaned over my bed in the dim light of a mid-December morning. “It is time.”
Olympia is giving birth. She dressed me in haste, and we rushed in my carriage to the Hôtel de Soissons so I could serve as her witness.
But I stepped into the hall to the sounds of infant cries. “She called for me too late.”
“You don’t have to go up,” Moréna replied in a huff.
I wanted to see the child, though. When we’d returned from Sedan, Olympia refused to let me join her lying-in. I’d presented a basket of apples, but she’d turned me out of the room saying, “You’re no sister, you’re a thief.” She’d kept the apples.
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