Enchantress of Paris (13 page)

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 stayed 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.

Now she hadn't summoned me in time for the birth. I climbed the wide staircase to her wing and passed through chamber after opulent chamber. The nurses were washing Olympia's newborn son. He kicked and screamed, pink and healthy, while a flock of doctors stood over him. A midwife tucked fresh silk sheets around Olympia, then carried a bowl of bloody linens away. Olympia reached to me.

I took her hand, sat on the edge of her bed.

She wiped her eyes. “I don't want to die like Victoire.”

“Shhh.” I tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Make up the herbs for me like our father taught us. Don't let those damned doctors touch my son.”

I placed a velvet bag upon her lap.

She realized it was the herbs she'd just requested. She kissed my hand. “I'm sorry.”

“It doesn't matter,” I whispered. “We will both do what we must.”

I went to the cradle, pushed the doctors aside, and took a great swath of red silk from the nurse. With a quick motion I swiped my nephew into it and carried him to Olympia. The doctors fussed and clucked and flapped their arms. I cooed to the boy and he quieted, trying to focus his newborn blues on my face. I placed him in Olympia's arms, and together we took hold of his tiny hand. We peered at his palm and saw it at the same time: a long and prosperous lifeline. We smiled at each other, and for a moment everything was perfect.

But after Olympia ordered a good dinner for her guests and I'd left her asleep in her bed with her infant son, I went home to Palais Mazarin, where the front doors stood wide open to the cold air. In the hall, the maids and footmen jumped around wildly, yelling and waving brooms in the air, looking ridiculous, trying to shoo out a raven that had somehow gotten inside. I leaned on the doorframe and watched the poor bird swoop from one end of the hall to the other. It didn't matter if they got it out; the damage had been done.

Moréna gasped. “Is this a bad omen in your culture, too?”

I crossed myself. “If you consider the impending visitation of death a bad omen, then yes.”

*   *   *

A fortnight later the cardinal summoned us all. I stood in his private study, holding my sisters' hands. The comte de Soissons arrived without Olympia. Philippe entered unshaven. Martinozzi and her husband, Conti, swept in last.

Mazarin gestured for them to close the door. “Alphonse injured his skull while playing with classmates.” He struggled to maintain composure. “Physicians removed broken bits of bone to relieve bleeding in the brain. It is no use. Alphonse is dying.”

Marianne started whimpering. Hortense held her. I remembered the raven and silently cursed it to keep myself from crying out.

Mazarin went on. “As you know, Alphonse is my heir.”

Everyone glanced at each other. We had not known this. Not for certain.

“If he dies, to whom will I leave the management of this great country?” Mazarin looked at the men. “None of you are capable.”

The muscles in Philippe's jaw tensed. I didn't blame him for being angry. Mazarin refused to give Philippe responsibilities or offices, a slight that would become more obvious to the court if he were the only remaining Mancini male.

Marianne interrupted. “Marie could. She knows everything.”

The cardinal smiled at her forbearingly. “Thank you, Marianne, but Marie is a girl.”

My own jaw muscles twitched.

The cardinal went on. “I must defeat Spain before age and infirmity overtake me. To do it, we must first win Naples.”

Philippe cut in. “What will you do with Naples?”

Mazarin gave my brother a look that made us all cringe. “If we seize the Spanish territory of Naples, we can eliminate Spain's access to reinforcements. We will meet Condé's troops at Dunkirk this summer with Cromwell's army at our side. Condé will run out of men. We will crush him.”

The men in the room glanced at each other. Mazarin seemed to sense what they were thinking. “Don't start casting lots for Naples. Christina of Sweden will rule there. I can control her.” Christina had abdicated her throne in Protestant Sweden to become Catholic and had taken refuge in the French countryside. Mazarin could control her because she owed him money.

His Eminence went on. “Conti, you must get information about the movement of your brother Condé's troops. Find out where they get provisions and their number of cavalry.” He shifted his stern eye to Martinozzi, who looked like she wanted to flee. “Anne, write to your sister in Modena. She must make her husband move his troops to take Naples.” He looked around and barked, “Soissons. You have ties to the House of Savoy. Ensure the duc de Savoy will permit the passage of French troops south through his province to Naples. In the meantime, I will ask Oliver Cromwell to send his ships into the Mediterranean.”

Soissons looked confused. “Why wouldn't we send our own?”

The cardinal ignored this. But I knew. France didn't
have
enough ships. Instead, the cardinal had a treasure trove of jewels and gold.

“You could triumph over Spain,” said Philippe, attempting to recover from his earlier blunder.

“If I triumph, you all triumph. Hortense and Marianne. You may be called upon to make marriage alliances as your sisters and cousins have done. Can I trust you to submit willingly to betrothals to secure your family's power?”

The girls nodded, and I shuddered.

Mazarin crossed his arms. “If Alphonse dies, we must abbreviate our mourning and participate in the festivities of carnival season. I cannot have you wasting at home. If the nobles or their meddling wives speak against my methods, or if any of them gets word of our secret doings … tell me.”

The question of his heir remained open. Whom would he appoint as his
successor
? Who would manage my king's affairs when my greedy uncle finally croaked?

He dismissed us with one sweeping wave but called, “Marie. Stay.”

I stepped out of line and stood before his desk. “Eminence?” The doors to his cabinet closed softly.

“You mustn't give up hope just because I couldn't buy the German Electors.”

Hope couldn't be bought. Nor could trust. “I never had any to begin with.”

“You should.” He curled the ends of his mustache upward. “If I can beat Spain, we will be the richest, most powerful nation in Europe. King Louis can be great without being emperor. And he has never looked upon a woman with more desire than he does you.”

I tried not to believe him.

“You have read my important documents.” I started to protest, but he held up a hand. “Do not bother lying. Do you understand my work?”

I glanced at Colbert. His face betrayed nothing, but that man knew everything. “I understand how you line your pockets.”

“You confuse greed with preparation. If there is another Fronde, the king must have money enough for troops and provisions. How do you think I quelled civil unrest last time?”

King Louis came of age, and you control King Louis.
“You bought the nobles' loyalty?”

Mazarin grinned. “You might say I bought power. The power and glory of France will be my legacy. Now Alphonse will not be present to see my plan through to the end. You are the only Mazarinette capable.”

King Louis didn't need to be emperor. He didn't need to rob his people of riches to defend himself against them. He needed to feed his poor, build hospitals for his sick. He could do these things on his own without a greedy chief minister. “I am.”

“That is why I will let him marry you if we defeat Spain. You've proven you can guide Louis, and with Colbert's assistance, you can muster the wealth to make him the greatest king.”

I ignored the silly flip my heart did. “The queen mother will never allow her son to marry a pagan of minor Roman nobility.”

He waved this away as if he had always valued me. “I can influence the queen. Your task is simple. Keep the king. Keep him at all costs.”

Colbert opened the door, my signal that the conversation was over.

Moments later I reached the landing at the top of the stairs, where Philippe grabbed my arm. “I can't bear Mazarin's arrogance another day.”

“Does that mean you're willing to set yourself against him?”

He looked surprised. “Can you help me?”

“Do nothing yet. If you're willing to wait for the right time, I might have information that will topple the cardinal.”

He sagged. “Mamma is dead. Victoire is dead. Death comes in threes. If Alphonse dies, the cardinal will slight me. How long will you make me wait?”

“Until I know what must be done.” I turned to my bedchamber, leaving him behind. “In the meantime, pray God allows Alphonse to live.”

 

CHAPTER
16

February 1658

What an unapt instrument is a toothless, old, impotent, and unweldie woman to flie in the aier? Truelie, the devil little needs such instruments to bring his purposes to passe.

—REGINALD SCOT,
The Discoverie of Witchcraft

Alphonse died. Our uncle declared a two-week mourning and enclosed himself at the Château de Vincennes.

“When our mourning is over, you will go to masquerades with me,” said Olympia the next week, checking herself in the mirror of my bedchamber at Palais Mazarin. “And the finest ballet of the carnival season.”

“Is King Louis performing?”

She nodded. “You and I have parts in it, too. You will distract my husband while I win back the king. But I must prepare. Come with me.”

She was testing me. Pushing me out of the way. “Where?”

“Rue Beauregard. I need a rare ingredient for a love powder.” She pointed to a new ring on her finger. With a subtle flick, the jeweled bezel lifted to reveal a little container.

A poison ring!
“To visit La Voisin? She practices the black arts!”

Olympia put her fists on her hips. “She's the only one who'd have cantharides, an insect that drives a man's lust.”

“There's no need to visit La Voisin,” I said. “The Spanish fly you speak of is here at Palais Mazarin. The cardinal keeps a supply hidden in his medicine chest.”

She seemed stunned at my knowledge. We avoided discussing
why
a prince of the church possessed an ingredient to drive a man's lust. “I checked. He is out.” She moved to the door. “I shall get it elsewhere.”

“Olympia, potions will get you in trouble.”

She grinned. “No one will suspect me of witchcraft for visiting Ninon de l'Enclos.”

“The courtesan? She is imprisoned at the Madelonnettes Convent for offensive conduct.”

“The
celebrated
courtesan. Even Condé himself was once in love with her. She was released, and she is bound to have what I need.”

Moréna stopped dusting tabletops to whisper close to me. “Might this courtesan still have a memento of her former lover? An old handkerchief or strand of hair I could use in a spell to speed Condé's downfall?”