By Honor Bound (36 page)

“I am so sorry, Honneure, that you and Philippe do not reside within the palace,” Antoinette remarked softly, breaking the silence within the lofty ceilinged room.

Honneure arched her brows. “Majesty?”

“You could be with him now, as I’m sure you must desire.”

“My place is with you, Majesty.”

“As things remain, however,” Antoinette continued as if she had not heard, “I fear it is far too dangerous for you to try and leave the palace.”

Honneure did not respond. Her mouth had gone dry from fear, and her tongue felt swollen. It was, indeed, too dangerous to attempt to leave.

The head of the Assembly had chosen twelve of the Parisian mob army to meet with the king in the Salle de Conseil. The remainder roved the palace grounds. For all Honneure knew, they had invaded the Hameau. She closed her eyes and murmured a prayer for her husband’s safety.

Seconds later her reverie was interrupted by the entrance of the king. Antoinette rose to meet him, and he took her hands in his.

“What’s happening, Louis? Tell us, please.”

The king seemed overwhelmed with emotion. He cleared his throat.

“There were twelve of them,” he began. “Their spokesman was a mere girl, a pretty child, a flower seller from the Palais Royal. When I asked her what she wanted, she replied simply, ‘Bread. We want bread.’”

“And you replied?”

“I replied that she knew my heart. I would order all the bread in Versailles to be collected and given to the people.”

“Oh, Louis!”

“The poor girl fell to the floor. When she was revived she begged to kiss my hand, but I told her she deserved better than that. I embraced her.”

“My dear, dear husband,” Antoinette crooned and touched his florid cheek.

“Do you know what happened?” It was obvious the king fought tears. “When she returned to the crowd to tell them what had transpired, she found herself in danger of her life for her conversion to the Court. The crowd threatened to strangle her with her own garters.”

Antoinette’s indrawn breath was audible in the ensuing silence.

“They seem to have gone mad, Antoinette. There is no reasoning with them.”

As if to underscore the king’s statement, several shots sounded in the courtyard.

Antoinette cried out and flung herself into her husband’s arms.

“Oh, Louis, what now? What’s happening now?”

“I shall find out,” he replied, gently disengaging himself from his wife’s embrace. Without another word, he turned and strode from the room.

It was almost two in the morning. Most of the candles in the Queen’s Antechamber had guttered and gone out. The queen was pale and trembling, and the king looked haggard. Madame Campan had fallen asleep sitting in her chair, but Honneure remained wide awake, her thoughts in turmoil.

In every town of France a citizen militia had been organized, answerable to the Assembly, known as the National Guard. The Versailles guard was hostile to and jealous of the king’s troops and had welcomed the Parisian horde. Earlier in the evening they had provoked a clash with the king’s bodyguard, and shots had been fired. The incident had died down, but with the Parisian women bivouacked outside the gates, everyone in the palace had become a virtual prisoner. The Parisian guard, twenty thousand strong, had been summoned, and it was news of their arrival they now awaited.

Honneure strained to hear the sound of footsteps, every nerve in her body strung so tightly she seemed to hum. If only she knew what had become of Philippe! She could be strong for herself, for her queen, but her fears for her husband were nearly disabling. She had to know if he was well and safe.

Despite her anticipation, Honneure jumped when the long-awaited footsteps sounded at last. The king straightened in his chair.

“Majesty.” The attendant bowed low. “General La Fayette, of the Parisian Guard.”

A tall and distinguished gentleman swept into the room. He approached the king and dropped to one knee.

“Rise, La Fayette,” Louis said at once. “And give us your assurances.”

“We are twenty thousand strong, Your Majesty,” the general replied. “And it is our duty to protect the palace and its inhabitants.”

“You give me your word, personally, the royal family is safe?”

“You have my word, Majesty.”

Louis sighed. “Return to your troops. With my thanks.”

As soon as the door had closed behind the general, Louis turned to his wife.

“Try and get some sleep, my dear. For tonight, at least, you are safe.”

In spite of La Fayette’s and the king’s reassurances, Honneure’s fears were not eased. Worry for both the queen and Philippe tormented her. She had declined the offer of a place to sleep in Madame Campan’s chamber, choosing instead to sit in the queen’s interior salon, outside the door to her boudoir. The night had fallen quiet at last, but she did not trust the silence.

There was utter madness afoot in the land. If she had not been living the history herself, she would not have believed it. Paris housewives marching on the palace of Versailles, imprisoning the king and queen! It was beyond the limits of imagination.

Yet it had happened. And because it had, Honneure was able to imagine even worse. She had not long to wait.

The cry went up at five thirty, just before dawn.

One of Antoinette’s ladies-in-waiting who had remained in the Antechamber suddenly flew into the salon.

“Save the queen,” she screamed. “Save the queen!”

“What?” Honneure grabbed the hysterical woman by her shoulders and gave her a shake. “What are you saying? What has happened?”

“Treachery! One of the women surrounding the palace was given a key to a locked gate, and they are inside! They have killed and cut off the heads of two guards … and they are headed for the Queen’s Apartments!”

Honneure did not wait to hear more. She ran from the salon back toward the Antechamber. She was greeted by two other ladies running toward her. For their lives.

She could hear the crowd now. They had reached the door to the Antechamber and were pounding on it. Honneure could clearly hear their enraged chant.

“Death to the whore! Death to the whore!”

The door began to splinter.

Honneure turned and fled. At the very moment she locked the door to the interior apartments behind her, she heard the women break through to the Antechamber. She rushed into the boudoir.

Antoinette, alerted by her ladies, stood in her shift and petticoat, stockings in hand.

“Come! Come quickly,” Honneure ordered. “There’s no time to dress. Hurry!”

Honneure grabbed the queen’s hand and pulled her through the door to the corridor connecting with the king’s chambers. As they locked it behind them, they heard the women raging in the queen’s bedchamber. It sounded as if they were tearing it to pieces. Honneure could even hear the sound of saber slashes rending silk. She tugged at the queen again.

“Louis!”

Honneure sagged with relief. The king and his personal guard had come to find them. Minutes later they were joined by their children and the royal governess, Madame Tourzel.

“Follow us, Antoinette,” the king said. “We’ll go to a safer place. And trust in La Fayette.”

The king’s faith had been well placed, Honneure thought. The general had quickly cleared the palace of assailants and restored a modicum of order. The royal family, Honneure, and the three ladies-in-waiting had been able to come out of hiding. But the crowd had gathered in the Marble Courtyard and was clamoring for the king.

“I do not know how long I can hold them, Majesty,” La Fayette said.

“Then I shall give them what they want,” the king replied.

“Louis, no!”

The king did not reply but smiled sadly at his wife. There were great purple pouches beneath his eyes. He turned away and walked to the balcony overlooking the courtyard.

A resounding cry went up from the horde below. The king held up his hands, but the noise did not abate. It grew louder still and soon coalesced into an intelligible chant.

“The queen! The queen!”

The king turned slowly and looked at his wife. Honneure watched in horror as Antoinette began to move toward him.

“Majesty, please … no!” Honneure stepped in front of the queen. “Forgive me, but I cannot allow you to do this.”

“I belong at my husband’s side,” Antoinette said quietly. “You, of all people, so loyal and devoted, should understand this.”

Honneure had no response. She watched in agonized silence as the queen, in her yellow-striped dressing gown, hair in disarray, stepped onto the balcony.

Honneure followed, standing as close behind her sovereign as she dared. She gasped as she saw the muskets leveled at the queen.

Antoinette did not flinch. Instead she drew a breath and straightened her already rigid back.

The roar of the crowd subsided and then came back, full-throated and overwhelming.

“Long live the queen!”

The queen’s courage had turned the tide. Honneure felt tears prick at her eyelids. Then another shout rang out.

“The king to Paris!”

The crowd took up the cry. “The king to Paris! The king to Paris!”

“Oh no,” Honneure whispered. “No …”

Honneure had not thought she could experience greater sadness than she had at the funeral of poor little Louis Joseph. But as she watched the royal family being bundled into the coach, she thought her heart might break.

Following the people’s demand for the king to go to Paris, Louis had retired from the balcony to confer with his ministers. They had almost all been of a single mind. Flight was now out of the question, and appeasing the mob seemed the only way to avoid further bloodshed. The king had returned to the balcony.

“Friends!” he had called out. “I shall go to Paris … with all I hold most dear. My wife and children I trust to the love and protection of my good subjects!”

And so the royal family had hastily packed. Honneure had personally seen to the queen’s trunk and, when she had done, quietly approached Antoinette.

“I have Your Majesty’s wardrobe in order,” Honneure had said. “With your permission, I would like to hurry home to tell Philippe I am leaving and pack some items of my own.”

Honneure had silently prayed the queen would allow her to briefly return to the cottage. She just had to see Philippe before she left and know he was safe. She wanted to hold him in her arms one more time, for she did not know when she would see him again. But Antoinette had been firm.