Enchantress of Paris (19 page)

“You can't ride through the city alone,” she cried.

“I won't make it in time if I don't.” I rode Trojan fast through the streets, over the Rhône to my uncle's quarters at the Archbishop's Palais.

“I'm coming with you,” I said to him, breathless.

A footman helped him into his carriage. “You are staying put.”

“You want me to fail,” I cried. “Since the moment we left Paris, you have announced this marriage publicly.”

Trojan's ears flattened as Mazarin signaled to his tallest footman. The man yanked me from my horse and pushed me into the carriage. My loyal steed reared and kicked the equerries that rushed to surround him.

My uncle slammed the door. “The Savoy marriage is a ploy to force Spain into peace.”

“It's a ploy to get rid of
me
so you can have the king's ear to yourself again.”

He stood over me. In a frenzy of blows, he brought his fist down on my ribs, my back, my side. I screamed, kicked him, and yanked the door handle. It didn't budge. The guard on the other side held it fast. Trojan whinnied outside. The cardinal grabbed my hair in fistfuls by my ears and pulled.

A fury like I'd never known came over me.
I will let him kill me before I let him see my fear.
I wanted to open his throat with my teeth. Instead I grabbed his ermine cappa magna, pulled him close, and spat in his face.

He released my hair. “You can thank your saints or your stars or whatever it is you believe in that I haven't marred your face or made you bald. I won't show the same grace next time.”

I felt no pain. My entire body shook with rage. I put my hand out, pointing at his legs, and whispered, “As you betray me, so shall your body wither and your bones ache.”

And that old expression, that vague sense of fear, reemerged. Shadows of it played on his features. Then it disappeared. “Go back to the Place de Belle Cœur and await the morrow. You will receive a summons to a reception here at the Archbishop's Palais.” He pounded the wall of the carriage, and the door finally opened. “When I send for you, I will put you before the king. Until then, stay out of sight.”

*   *   *

I could hardly mount Trojan for the violent trembling in my limbs. I scrambled up the saddle in a clumsy disarray of skirts and cape. We rode hard through Lyon, getting lost in the winding streets of the city, skirts, cape, and mane flapping wildly. I ignored the strange looks that the flower sellers on the streets shot me. When a shabby man leapt from the gutters trying to grab my reins, Trojan kicked until the man fell back. I rode without fear. I no longer feared the convent. My uncle could banish me, marry me off, he might even kill me. But I refused to fear him. I rode until my limbs stopped shaking, and found myself in a small square. Pigeons scattered, and I halted, searching the skyline for the hill. I kicked Trojan into a gallop in its direction. It took me another half hour to find my way through the city, but I finally arrived at my destination, panting and sore. Twilight began to fall on the royal quarters.

I marched inside, upstairs, and demanded to see Mademoiselle de Montpensier.

“She won't see you,” said a footman.

But she entered the antechamber at that moment, riding hat in hand. She greeted me with her usual tall, graceful poise. “I'm just back from the queen mother's chambers. We escorted Princess Margherita into the city. The entire Savoyard party is here except the duc. He won't enter until we grant his branch of the family precedence over ours. Can you believe his audacity?”

“I didn't see the king's carriage outside.”

“He is taking the princess to the Archbishop's Palais.”

“Do you think he liked her well enough to … marry?” I asked, unable to summon the wit to construct something clever.

“He complimented her eyes, and they conversed a great deal.” She studied me. “But there is little chance of a marriage happening now. The cardinal just rushed into the queen mother's rooms with a remarkable message from the Spanish king.”

Spain.
My uncle had been telling the truth! “He surrendered?”

She paused. “Not exactly, but he did offer peace as part of a marriage agreement between King Louis and his daughter, the Infanta Maria-Thérèsa.”

Another
marriage? I stood speechless.

Mademoiselle stepped to me. “You will have to give up this pursuit sometime. The king must marry the daughter of some great country for the sake of his kingdom.” I stared, and she flung out her hands. “I cannot make you understand how royals think.”

“Try,” I said. “Explain my obstacles.”

“We trace our noble heritage back hundreds of years. We have generations of royal blood, descendants of Saint Louis himself.”

“Mancini is one of the oldest noble families of Rome. How conveniently you forget that your family tree is littered with two Medici women, decidedly nonroyal Italians raised to queenship.”

She sighed. “There is a difference between you Italians and us French. Louis was raised with a sense of duty. We submit to our parents as royals are expected to do. King Louis won't act against his mother's wishes regarding marriage.”

“The queen mother adores me.”

She shook her head. Of all people, Mademoiselle understood matters of precedence best.

Everything will depend on King Louis alone.
“Forgive my outburst.” I curtsied deep and stepped to go, but she grabbed my arm.

“Tell me something in return. Would Cardinal Mazarin approve my marrying Monsieur?”

“You killed my oldest brother the day you fired cannons from the Bastille.” I slipped from her grasp. “His Eminence says you also killed any chance he'd let you marry
anyone.
”

I left her standing agape, relieved that she no longer aimed to wed King Louis. The downstairs hall of the abbey where the royals were housed seemed sparse. Bare. They must have sent their wagons of royal furniture to the Archbishop's Palais to impress Princess Margherita. Part of the farce.

I recognized one of the king's guards standing sentry and went to him. I stared at him as he stared dutifully ahead. “Admit me to the king's chamber.”

He folded. “That I can't do.”

I whispered, “Please.”

He turned, walked through the doorway, and gestured to another door.

I pulled out one of my pearl drop earrings and handed it to him. “See to it I get time alone with the king before his men enter behind him.”

The guard refused my bribe. “I'll do my best.”

The king's bedchamber seemed dim, so I opened the curtains. Soon I heard a brief exchange with the sentry; then King Louis appeared.

He smiled the warmest smile. “Marie.”

I ran to embrace him.

He held me close. “Does this mean you'll forgive me if I marry her?”

“The cardinal never intended you to marry Princess Margherita,” I said. “Spain sent an emissary with a letter from the Spanish king. Mazarin is coming here to tell you his conditions for peace.”

He smiled. “He's surrendered?”

“No. A peace treaty sealed with your marriage to the infanta Maria-Thérèsa. Mazarin flirted with Savoy only to make Spain feel threatened into a peace. Mazarin knew all along we wouldn't get as far as Naples.”

He seemed stunned. “That's too simple. There are too many details, too many territories to allocate.”

“My uncle
used
you. He's using me in a worse fashion. He staked everything on my ability to separate you from Margherita so
he
wouldn't look underhanded.”

“I cannot believe he would put you in such a position.”

“
Us.
He counted on your loyalty to get you to play the believable suitor. He sent heralds announcing the Savoy marriage to the four corners of the earth to ensure Spain would hear of it. Now he waits to see if I will become his scapegoat.” I took a deep breath. “Now you have an excuse to assert yourself.”

He hesitated. “I have no proof.”

Proof?
I hid my frustration. “Your mother and Mazarin will take drastic measures to show you don't like Margherita. Tomorrow their actions will be your proof.”

“You and I are no closer to wedlock if they have yet another match for me.”

“Expose them and claim me.”

He stooped to kiss me. I enjoyed him for just one moment, then pushed away. “Tomorrow.” I opened the door. The sentry nodded. The king's men in the hall were busy comparing the size of their scabbards, and I left unnoticed.

*   *   *

When I finally found my quarters in the Place de Belle Cœur, Moréna had a hot bath waiting.

“How did you know?” I asked. She wouldn't answer. I stripped off my chemise. She didn't seem shocked by the red marks on my skin that were turning to bruises. The water smelled of heavenly spices. I sank into it, and the stiffness in my muscles slowly melted.

“Fetch the St. John's wort tincture,” I said.

She fished it from my trunk, but hesitated. “This is all you have.”

How long had it been since I'd harvested this herb properly under the sun and sign of Leo? If country healers could be condemned as witches for trying to heal the sick with prayers and poultices, inquisitors would find the effectiveness of my herbal tinctures and decoctions suspicious. I couldn't risk making more. “Pour it in.”

The oily red mixture swirled around me like blood. Moréna gave me the bottle, and I gulped the last swig.

“Why treat your bruises? Show the king Mazarin's fury.”

The king had asked for proof only hours earlier. “What, show the king I am weak and easily battered? Incite pity rather than respect? I need to show the king my strength if I'm to lead him away from Mazarin.”

“Your brother can command the King's Musketeers. Seize the cardinal. France would rejoice.”

I shot her a warning look. “The
king
loves Mazarin. He must be convinced subtly, and that will take time. But when I'm ready to tell the king what I know, it will shake the very foundations of Paris.”

 

CHAPTER
25

St. John's Wort doth charm all the witches away

If gathered at midnight on the Saint's Holy Day;

Nor devils nor witches have then power to harm

Those that do gather this plant for a charm.

—FROM AN OLD ENGLISH POEM DATING AROUND 1400

The next morning I endured Moréna's worst-smelling unguent and facial scrub. We perfumed my hair and curled it into puffs above my ears. Moréna laced red ribbons up the back of a rose satin bodice with great paned sleeves that rested off the shoulder. I wrapped a gauzy rose scarf around my shoulders, gathered it in the front, and tacked it into place with a ruby pendant.

Hortense burst in with a summons from our uncle. “The duc de Savoy will arrive today, though he hasn't yet granted precedence. He wants to meet me in particular! They say he's terribly handsome. You're to report to the Archbishop's Palais this afternoon for a private dinner before his reception. May Marianne and I join you?”

I plucked my linen chemise through the panes of my sleeves until they puffed out prettily. “Why not?” Let them watch and learn.

*   *   *

My carriage stopped in front of the Archbishop's Palais at the appointed time. Hortense jumped out. “Are we late?”

As I stepped down I winced at the tenderness over my ribs, where bruises were rapidly healing thanks to my St. John's wort. Yet the reminder of Mazarin's rage made me regret letting my sisters come. I leaned to Venelle. “Keep Marianne and Hortense close.”

Mazarin appeared at the door, that snake in cardinal red. “Come.” He ignored my sisters and ushered me up the steps. In the hall, Christine of France, duchesse de Savoy, known as Madame Royale, stood to the left with her daughter. Princess Margherita was short, brown, and plain. To the right stood King Louis with his mother and brother.

Cardinal Mazarin should have presented me to the family from Savoy. It would have been the proper thing to do. Instead, he took me straight to the king.

It was the perfect opportunity to take control of the situation, to guide King Louis away from Margherita and make a show of myself. Just as Mazarin wanted.

Instead, I did nothing.

Mazarin cleared his throat. King Louis looked from Mazarin to Margherita, then to me. He seemed to realize what was happening. I saw a flicker of anger. Mazarin actually looked uneasy. Madame Royale and Margherita glanced nervously at each other. Finally, King Louis made the introductions himself. My sisters crept in, and he introduced them, too. We curtsied low, and the Savoy women tried to look indifferent.

The king took my arm. “Let me escort you to the dining hall and show you the archbishop's fine tapestries along the way.” We strolled from the room, pretending to study the sumptuous tapestries. It forced Cardinal Mazarin and the queen mother to chat with Madame Royale. Margherita just watched with quiet dignity.

King Louis muttered, “Did he expect you to break all protocol and make a fool of yourself?”

I leaned in. “I told you he wants to blame me for breaking up the marriage.”

The Savoy royals sat on one side of the table, and we Mazarinettes sat at the other. Footmen appeared with great platters, and Madame Royale seemed no longer able to stand the silence. “My son the duc so enjoys hunting the stag, he hunts at every opportunity.”

Rather than offer an invitation to hunt, King Louis said nothing.

Madame Royale went on. “He is such a devoted son, so dutiful, so loyal. I dote on him. Whenever he asks for a little money, I give it without inquiring what it's for. He's entirely trustworthy.”

The cardinal nodded his approval at this example of conformity. King Louis said nothing. The tension thickened.