Before Versailles (70 page)

Nicolas wrote down the instructions.

“We’ll take the funds necessary from the dauphin’s birth celebration.” Louis smiled one of his rare smiles. “I’ll make it up to my son later. I’ve been thinking, what is the state of fortification on our coasts? Being upon it, if only for a night, has put concerns in my mind. How many of our galleys are attacked by pirates? Will you have the new commander of my Mediterranean fleet come to court? I’d like to question him. Who was the old commander?”

“The Marquis de Richelieu,” answered Nicolas.

“Summon him to court, also,” said Louis.

“They’ll be here for my fête,” said Nicolas.

Louis nodded his head. “Excellent. Inform them I wish them to call upon me. Mister Le Tellier, I understand you have the ordinance prepared that will make certain there is regular payment of my troops. All of you have a copy. Please read it and report any discrepancies you see before I sign it. If I may, Le Tellier, have you the breakdown of troops once we cut back?”

“Household troops, ten thousand; infantry, thirty-five thousand; cavalry, ten thousand.”

“Fifty-five thousand,” said Nicolas. “Still extraordinary when compared to other kingdoms.”

“And you, my superintendent of finance,” Louis faced Nicolas, “you must give me a report of your trade armada soon and that island to the west—what is its name, now—”

“Belle Isle, sire, which is the base of my whaling company, such as it is. I regret to report that we have as yet to kill a single one.”

“You must capture one before your fête and bring it to swim in your landscape canal.” To general laughter, Louis pushed away the papers before him. “That’s all for now. Viscount, will you give me the pleasure of your company just a while longer.” As the two others left the antechamber, Louis said, “Monsieur was not at my rising from bed this morning.”

“Perhaps he was unaware that you had returned.”

“There has been quarreling between us. I think you must know that.”

All his courtier’s instincts up, Nicolas spoke carefully. “I am fortunate to be counted among Monsieur’s friends.”

“Will you tell him for me that I wish to settle the quarrel between us.”

Nicolas bowed. “I will do what little I can.”

“As always, I thank you. What service you are to my family.”

At the door of the antechamber, Nicolas turned. “I’ve heard you lost your favorite hunting dog. When you visit Vaux-le-Vicomte, let me show you the pups in my hunting stable. Perhaps one may take your eye.”

“How kind of you.”

Nicolas walked through antechambers, looking out windows to see who was in the king’s courtyard. He should have been reassured by his majesty’s flattery, but he felt more wary than ever.

L
OUIS, SURROUNDED BY
dogs, stood in the dim of the basement staring down at the linen-wrapped sweetheart that had been his favorite. La Porte had uncovered her head, and Louis touched it once before motioning for the valet to re-cover her.

“We’ll bury her this evening, after I return from the hunt.”

The hunt, the kill, would be in her honor. He’d bring the stag’s heart and bury it with her. He’d send notes to Maria Teresa, to Henriette so that they might join him when he had her buried. Henriette’s presence would ensure Louise’s. They’d bury her near the spring that was the source of Fontainebleau’s name, the spring that had been found by an ancestor’s favorite hunting dog, Bleau. He was burying his boyhood when he buried this dog.

“You have much to live up to,” he told the dogs swirling around his legs as he left the basement. They barked and ran toward a figure in the distance. Colbert waited near the orangery.

“I have some bad news, your majesty,” he said.

Was there any other kind? “Tell me now.”

“I’ve unearthed the existence of another of his spies.”

“Well?”

“It’s your mother’s confessor.”

I
T WAS ALL
over Fontainebleau that the king had returned and wished to go hunting. Those who’d seen him go to Mass this morning with the queen spread the word. Maids of honor and ladies-in-waiting went scattering to dress. Louise felt almost ill with impatience and excitement. She had dragged out the trunk from under her bed and was rummaging through it wildly to find something special, something unique, anything that would catch his eye.

Fanny sat on the bed.

“Aren’t you going to dress?” Louise asked her.

“You must ask him!”

Louise stood, grabbed Fanny by the wrist, pulled her out into the hallway.

“Quarreling,” sang Claude to Madeleine, and they laughed.

“Have you lost your mind?” Louise demanded. “You act as if no one is listening.”

“You have to ask him to forgive the Count de Guiche.”

“What if my doing that makes him angry? Have you thought of that, Fanny, that everyone asks favors of him? I can’t join the rest. I don’t wish to.”

“You of all people can. You of all people can have your heart’s desire with him. Do it for me, Louise. Can’t you see how unhappy I am?”

Fanny’s last words were said with tears in her eyes, but Louise didn’t stay to comfort her. Back in the bedchamber, she continued to pull items out of her trunk, but she had to stop. Her hands were trembling. She felt like crying herself. She was afraid to ask him, afraid to bring the least ripple to their love’s perfection. She didn’t want to be a supplicant like everyone else.

L
ATER SHE STOOD
in a mix with the other maids of honor, just outside the king’s gatehouse, as grooms walked horses up the road from the stables. Louis remained in the gatehouse with Henriette and Maria Teresa, neither of whom were joining the hunt, and every now and again his eyes went to the maids of honor, who stood together like bunched and fragrant lilies. Louise met his eyes just once, and that was enough. His desire was clear and his love.

Louis’s master of the household brought a dashing filly forward. “It’s my privilege to offer you a better mount as a special gift from someone who cares for you,” he said to Louise.

All around women were being aided in settling themselves into the sidesaddles that were the proper and fashionable seat for a woman on horseback. The courtier put his hands together so that Louise might place her foot into them.

“The saddle has been specially made for you,” he said quietly, as she gracefully, lightly vaulted herself up. He touched a design of gold stitching, and Louise saw the design was intertwining L’s. “He asks that you stay in his sight.”

She should have been unhappy that yet another person knew, but she wasn’t. What about your honor? Choisy had questioned. Today, she went hunting with the king of France. That was her honor. With a light touch of the whip, she was off, trotting the filly into the center of the milling, talking, mounted group.

At the sound of the trumpet the hounds, down the road near the stables, snarling and growling and pulling at their leashes, were let go. Barking and some of them beginning to bay, they ran out into open ground, and runners followed them. The court began to ride down the road, past manicured gardens surrounding the palace, toward open country, toward forest.

O
NCE THE STAG
was killed, they stopped at Versailles. Blue slates on its steep roofs, it was pleasant enough, two wings extended from each side of a center pavilion, three floors to each building, one of them attics, but it was small and simple, little ornamentation on its exterior, a few busts on the corners of the roofs but no grand marble statues and columns and wreathing. It had been a place for his father to rest overnight should his hunts run long. There were grounds at the rear, very large parterres for courtiers to walk in, a lovely oval pool with handsome wrought-iron railings, vast spaces beyond for riding to nearby hills. There was no room to chamber households or the servants to manage them. Compared to the Louvre or Saint-Germain or Fontainebleau or his cousin’s Luxembourg in Paris or his brother’s Saint-Cloud, it was nothing.

Louis walked into the king’s bedchamber, the heart of the château, the center of the U made by the adjoining buildings. She wasn’t there. Surprised, he took off his gloves, walked to the window and looked out. No one was in the front courtyard. They were still in the gardens, lingering over the remains of a fine picnic and the wine he’d ordered served. He leaned out those windows, trying to observe her from among the others. Where was she? His desire to be with her after an absence of a week was almost more than he could bear. When too much time had passed, he stopped pacing and decided to leave, was pulling on his gloves as the door opened, and she ran in.

“Where were you? How dare you keep me waiting?” he flashed.

“I couldn’t get away. I was sitting by Monsieur, and he wanted to talk—oh, don’t be angry with me. I’m so sorry! I would never offend you, your majesty.”

She’s afraid of me, thought Louis, and that was not what he wished from her, not after being away from her for days, but it was what came with his power. With her, he didn’t wish to display power, and yet hadn’t it been the imperious king in him that was offended at being kept waiting, a king who kicked more and more at the traces of any restraint?

He pulled her into his arms, and she broke down and cried. He could just make out some of her words: “so sorry,” “there was no way I could get away,” “missed you so much.” Her time didn’t belong to her, or for that matter, to him. It belonged to those whom she served, to Henriette and to Philippe. He had to remember that. He began to kiss the part in her hair. “We don’t have time for this. Come and lie with me.”

It felt like he couldn’t breathe until he made love to her. She’s becoming necessary to me, he thought. Their lovemaking was hurried and rushed; they didn’t even undress. Then she was up and straightening her gown, and he lay on the bed and watched, his heart hurting because this wasn’t what he’d envisioned. He didn’t want her to leave yet, and he could see how distressed she still was.

“I am so sorry I displeased—” she said.

“It is I who am displeasing. It was unworthy of me to be angry. If you must be late, perhaps next time you might send me a message.”

“I could think of no way—”