Monsieur stepped from his place behind the king’s chair to take my hand. “You must meet my cousin, Don Juan,” he said. He swept his arm toward a dark-haired man upon the dais and made the introduction.
Though Don Juan was King Philip of Spain’s acknowledged bastard son, he had no right to stand on the royal dais. But royal favor surpassed convention, so I curtsied for him.
He nodded a fraction.
A short person peeked from behind Don Juan to ogle me. Seeing cropped hair and a riding suit, I first took this person for a man, but I noticed the curve of breast and hips as she walked toward me. She also had a curve in her spine, and her eyes looked crossways. She cocked her head in strange directions to get a good look at me. “So this is she, the famed Marie; who hopes one day the queen to be.”
Her little rhyme drew laughter from everyone within earshot. I was not amused. I glared at Monsieur.
Monsieur cleared his throat. “This is Capita, Don Juan’s infinitely amusing jester.”
I chose not to acknowledge her. I passed her to stand with my brother and sisters by the dais to await the king’s arrival.
But Capita did somersaults in my wake. She pranced around us Mazarinettes. Hortense looked nervous. Capita circled me the way a cat would a mouse.
I turned to Philippe. “Where is the king? Get him quickly.”
My brother hurried out with Mazarin glaring at his back. Capita tugged Olympia’s purple silk skirts. Olympia swatted at her.
“Ignore her,” I whispered to Olympia.
But Capita heard, and she pointed at me. “This Mazarinette is very proud; sailing through court on a jeweled cloud. But I wonder, Marie; what will you do; when your king abandons you?”
Everyone roared at her bad poetry—the queen mother, her ladies, even my own uncle and all the courtiers who had parted in deference for me only moments before. They all hooted and jeered. Hortense put a hand on my arm. The king’s herald called from the doorway.
Face flaming, I fixed Capita with my haughtiest glare. “You think you can see into the future with those squinty crossed eyes? Go back to Spain, you little hunchback.”
Everyone looked to Capita. She put both hands over her heart and stumbled to the ground. She did sloppy backward rolls into the throng of courtiers, who leapt out of the way with exclamations. She lost momentum and splayed across the floor at the king’s feet.
“What now, Capita?” King Louis said, staring down at her.
She didn’t rise. “My infanta bid me lie before you; to proclaim she loves you true.”
The king laughed!
Capita scrambled up and made a courtly bow. “The Spanish infanta has no malice nor pride; for a king of your stature she’s the one perfect bride.”
King Louis scanned the dais until he spotted me. He gave Capita a tight nod. “I bid good evening to the jester who always speaks in rhyme.”
She hopped up, landing in a ridiculous pose. “Only when I have the time!”
The courtiers applauded. King Louis walked past her. He kissed his mother but didn’t sit with her. He acknowledged his cousins, nodded to the cardinal, then stood beside me. I took his arm with relief.
Capita stood on her hands and walked in circles, holding everyone’s attention. “My infanta is light of hair and sweet of heart; a dark Italian miss would tear France apart.”
My sharp intake of breath stunned even me. Every single head in the chamber turned toward King Louis. The muscles of the king’s arm flexed.
The fool did an awkward backflip, landed with her arms wide, and said, “For all Marie might pluck and preen; when Louis weds his Spanish queen; Marie will not again be seen!”
King Louis turned to Don Juan. “Your jester doesn’t know her place.”
Don Juan chuckled. “Ridiculing the vain tends to elicit laughs.”
The king stepped to him, stretching to his full height. “You insult me.”
Don Juan backed away with his hands up. “Not you. Your Italian mistress. Surely she understands she must disappear once you’re married.”
I wanted to slap him.
King Louis clenched his fists. “You make me glad I beat you at Dunkirk. Tonight I rejoice in that victory anew.”
“Victory? Our war isn’t over.” Don Juan’s confidence seemed to return. “There is life in the Spanish army yet.”
The queen mother twisted her thick frame. She gave King Louis the sign to hold his tongue.
King Louis paused. “Your jester’s stay at the Louvre has come to an end. I want her on the road back to Spain before first light.”
Soft groans of disappointment rose among the court.
Don Juan leaned forward in a small bow, so shallow it screamed of disrespect. “As you wish.” He backed away, snapped at his jester, and they both left the chamber. She swayed like a damned monkey with each exaggerated step.
I could not contain myself. “You should have dismissed the don as well,” I muttered to the king.
“Don’t you understand?” he replied. “This peace is uncertain.”
Mazarin heard us. “Now he’ll demand to see our outline. I’ll have to make reparations. Marie, go back to Palais Mazarin. Stay there, and stay out of this mess.”
The king spun on his heel. “Handle it, Cardinal, as is your duty. Quit barking orders at Marie.” He pulled me away, calling for his carriage. Everyone scattered. Together we left the Louvre, Venelle hustling close behind.
We didn’t speak in the carriage, unable to do so freely in front of the spy. King Louis ripped open the curtains to let in the chilly air. Venelle huddled in her cloak.
He looked at the sky beyond the rooftops and torchlights of the city. “What do your stars have to say about this?”
“You know I don’t consult them anymore.”
He eyed me.
I understood. “But I watch them sometimes, from the northwest corner of the garden where the shadows help my eyes see them arc across the sky.”
He smiled. Venelle just shivered.
After his carriage pulled out of our court and Venelle watched Moréna undress me and tuck me dutifully into bed, I waited for our wing of the palais to fall silent. I donned my fur cloak and slippers, crept noiselessly outside, and ran to the northwest corner of the garden with the hand of fate against my back.
We could hardly see so far from the lights of the palais. But we sensed each other and fell into each other’s arms.
“Did you come here to read the heavens?” he asked.
I glanced up and searched for the constellation of Virgo, the virgin. But she had not yet ascended to the early spring sky. Instead I saw a shooting star sweep across the heavens. A sign of change? I chose to believe it meant we would overcome the odds. “You know I came for you.”
He ran a hand inside my cloak, feeling my satins. “You’ll be cold in this.”
“Not with the Sun King to warm me.”
“Look at us, forced to meet in the dark. What will happen to us, Marie?”
“You will shine,” I whispered, “and darkness will flee.”
There, under stars tossed like silver against a velvet sky, our lips met. We held each other as if we would soon be torn apart, fighting to keep our grip. We fell to the ground, wrapped in my fur cloak, and thrust into each other like animals. I fumbled with the ties to his pantaloons until they gaped wide. He groaned, pulled up my chemise, and devoured my breasts, muttering, “You’ll be queen, I swear … you’re the only queen for me.” I forgot politics and schemes and lost all resolve. I gave myself to him, dreaming the garden was our marriage bed, where we generated enough heat to force an early spring.
CHAPTER 33
Easter 1659
I pass my days in great delight,
With wise Marie and Hortense Bright.
—PHILIPPE MANCINI, DUC DE NEVERS
Easter morning I stood before the mixing table in my chamber and tipped a vial of citron into a dish, savoring the lemony scent, then added powdered pearls and coral. In a
nother dish I combined citron and bismuth powder. Lent had given way to Easter at last. Tomorrow I would combine my mixtures with peach flower essence to make Spanish White. As a powder or mixed with pomade, it would add a luminous fleshy-pale glow to my face and shoulders for the upcoming balls. As I set a pot containing a block of wax and rosewood oil by the hearth to melt for pomade, Moréna burst in.
“Your brother,” she cried. “He’s been arrested!”
“He went to Roissy for Good Friday,” I replied. “He will be back on the morrow.”
“He returned early because his companions were eating meat and he disapproved.”
“It was Lent. What’s wrong with refusing meat?”
She stared blankly, unfamiliar with Catholic dictates. “Your uncle charged him with abusing Holy Week and had him seized.”
“Our uncle wouldn’t—” But of course he would. I remembered the look on Mazarin’s face as Philippe went to fetch the king for me a few weeks earlier. “Where did you hear this?”
“Our washing women get their lye at the Louvre. The dairymen that deliver milk to the Louvre come here, too. Coachmen talk to guards who talk to scullery maids. They’re all talking about it.”
Then it was true, for servants knew such things first. Without trusty Philippe, the cardinal’s old spy D’Artagnan was left in full control of the King’s Musketeers. In other words, the king no longer had command of his own men. “Mazarin knows Philippe is helping me.” I rushed to my bed and grabbed the Colonna book. I pulled out the cardinal’s letter, resolving not to let it out of my sight. “Ready my clothes. And call—” I almost said call for my coach.
“You can’t go anyway. You’ll miss Easter mass.” But she must have seen the determination on my face. “Shall I tell the stables to saddle Trojan?”
“Not on Easter Sunday. I’d better take my uncle’s sedan chair.”
“Mazarin’s runners won’t carry you.”
I fell to my knees and ran my hand along the mattress slats until I found the pouch of pearls left over from my old bracelet. I held them out in my palm for Moréna to count. “This will convince them.”
She scooped them into the pouch, then tugged the hem of her décolletage a little lower with a wink. “I’ll make sure it does.”
She ran out of my chamber, and I stepped awkwardly into a front-lacing bodice. I wrapped the cardinal’s letter in a handkerchief, tucked it under my chemise, and yanked the bodice ties tight. From now until the time I was forced to use it, the letter wouldn’t leave my body.
* * *
One hour, and one jostling sedan ride later, I mounted the stairs two at a time to the Mazarin apartments at the Louvre. I ignored sentries, marched beyond footmen, and elbowed past the valet into my uncle’s bedchamber.
He was sitting at his dressing table, combing wax into his mustache and curling it ever upward. He didn’t budge. “Ah. Marie. You must have heard of Philippe’s arrest.”
“Explain yourself.”
“I explain myself to no one.”
“You know Philippe left Roissy before his companions ate meat.”
Mazarin shrugged. “He wrote a licentious song.”
“That was months ago, and you laughed when you heard it.”
He put away his mustache comb and started slipping a jeweled ring onto each soft white finger. “You’ve risen too high.”
It was both an admission and an accusation. This whole thing is my fault. “You know you still hold more power over King Louis than I do. Philippe and I are no threat. Let him go.”
“The court sees you in a new silk gown every day, your pretty coach, your diamonds. I must make an example of Philippe to prove I don’t favor my family too much.”
I opened my mouth to say I’d get King Louis to free Philippe but stopped myself. “You bestow favor with self-seeking motives. Once I was proud to be your niece, but you’ve treated me like your marionette.”
He put out his hand, now gleaming with his favorite diamonds, and twitched his fingers upward one at a time. As if it were that simple to make his puppet dance.
It sparked anger as if he’d struck me. I walked out.
I went into the Pavillon du Roi in a haze of fury, not seeing courtiers or sentries. I reached the king’s bedchamber doors just as they opened. King Louis emerged.
He smiled widely at first. “You’re just in time to go to mass.” Then he faltered. “What’s wrong?”
“Mazarin arrested Philippe on the outlandish charges that he ate meat on Good Friday.”
He looked stunned. Taking my arm, he steered me toward the cour. “This cannot be. I was counting on Philippe to command the musketeers if you and I had need. Now who can I trust?”
We neared the queen mother’s apartments, so I spoke softly. “This means the cardinal is preparing for his next move.”
King Louis started to respond, but his mother emerged from her chamber. She began walking with us to the carriages in the cour. King Louis fell silent, and I was forced to fall into step behind them.
Monsieur was waiting at the royal carriage. He gestured for us to climb in before him.
The queen mother stopped short. “I didn’t realize Mademoiselle Mancini was joining us for Easter mass.”
The king guided me into the royal carriage himself. “Of course she is. I wish never to be without her.”
The queen mother frowned. The ride to Notre Dame Cathedral was tense and mercifully short. We listened to mass in silence, though I didn’t hear a single word. We left the cathedral in procession.
Venelle met me outside in the parvis. “Mademoiselle! Come home with me at once.” She followed me, fuming, to the king’s carriage.
Right there in front of the cathedral and the French subjects and the queen mother and the long line of carriages, I leaned close to my king, cupping my hand around his ear. “You have to set my brother free,” I whispered, then turned to go with Venelle.
He nodded.
Venelle dragged me toward the carriage that had once been mine. “I hope you enjoyed yourself, because that is the last time you’re going anywhere without me. Honestly, you are almost more trouble than you’re worth.”
I laughed bitterly. “Oh, I’m sure the queen’s and the cardinal’s money will inspire you to persevere.”
* * *
It was she who came to my chambers the next morning to announce King Louis’s arrival at Palais Mazarin. She perched herself on my bedstead while Moréna fastened diamond clasps up the torso of my mantua undress gown. The red silk gaped open from neck to floor, letting my white lawn chemise peek through between the clasps, and revealing the outline of my leg under the white lawn with every step.
“You can’t wear that,” said Venelle as Moréna brushed my hair into curls that tumbled down my shoulders à la négligence. “It’s too loose.”
Loose drapery was intended for indoor wear among family or for portraits, not for receiving guests. Wearing it during the king’s visit signified our intimacy. “There’s nothing loose about it. I’m wearing a corset underneath.” This new garment was boned like a bodice. Moréna had barely slipped Mazarin’s letter under it unnoticed with Venelle watching. I shook my shoulders to prove to Venelle the corset allowed no inappropriate jiggling.
She gasped, shocked, but had no chance to protest as I opened the doors for the king.
He entered, smiling at my ensemble. “What, no jewelry?”
Though I longed to talk of Philippe, I laughed lightly. “Help me choose something.”
We moved to my jewel casket, turning our backs on Venelle. He whispered, “Philippe’s situation isn’t good.”
Venelle moved closer, skirts rustling.
King Louis heard her. “Madame Venelle, go to the window.” He had never issued orders in such a tone. “Go on. Your king is having a private conversation.”
She curtsied stiffly and obeyed.
I turned back to him. “I know that much.”
“He may have to stay there for some time.
”
“You’re the king,” I said. “Get him out.”
He rifled through my jewel casket, opening little drawers. “Your uncle listed half a dozen reasons to keep him in.”
“Exaggerated and falsified.”
“I could give Cardinal Mazarin simple orders such as to stand by the window like Madame Venelle, and he would comply. But when I told him to release your brother, he gave me words of assurance and pacification. I paid a guard to disclose Philippe’s whereabouts. He is in the Bastille.”
I gasped.
“At dawn they transfer him east to the Citadel of Brisach. That is all I could learn.”
“Brisach borders Germany. This is exile. Don’t let Mazarin send him so far! Give orders to the prison directly.”
He shook his head. “The guards, the wardens, the chiefs—they are all in Mazarin’s employ.”
I stared at the jewel casket. He was right. “Mazarin demands oaths of loyalty. Those who don’t comply are removed. Those who do are rewarded.”
“If I issue a command, they will consult Mazarin first. How would it look if my own subjects disobey my order? It would emphasize I’m not in charge.”
My hand flew to the letter safely tucked out of sight by my breast. Showing it to him now would only punctuate his dependence. I needed him to feel strong, powerful. “You must learn to play Mazarin’s game. Buy the loyalty of these guards and chiefs and wardens for yourself. Buy your generals to wield the might of the army. Allow only reverent courtiers to attend you.” I could see it all in my mind: every last lackey eager to please the king; nobles vying for the right to hold the king’s candle aloft during his lever. “It will take time, but you will elevate your status. Start by buying the guards at the Bastille.”
He toyed with a necklace of small pearls. “Oh, my love. If I had the money, I’d have gone to the Bastille already. I’d have bought you a necklace of huge pearls fit for a queen.”
I put my hands on his cheeks. “Don’t you listen to a word I say? All the money you need is at Vincennes.”
He looked doubtful. “Even if he encrusted Vincennes itself in gold, it is his money.”
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