Enchantress of Paris (22 page)

“What are you doing?” asked Hortense hazily.

“Go back to sleep and get some for me,” I whispered. “For I shall get none.”

We set fire to my bed that night, with his hand over my mouth to keep me from calling out in the height of pleasure. We broke one of my old pearl bracelets, and he crept out, using pearls to silence the frustrated musketeers. My body ached at the loss of his warmth.

When Venelle came into our chamber the next morning, I saw in her expression that she could smell it. She made sure the windows were locked fast from then on. She slept more lightly. She wore herself out checking on us in the middle of the night, groping along our bedsteads in the darkness. Once she tripped on my slippers and fell smack into me. I bit the hand that landed on my face, eliciting a scream that would have woken the dead.

“Stay out,” I told her. “Or I'll bite you again.”

She grabbed a silk stocking to stanch the blood. “I won't. I can't. Your uncle commanded me.”

“To spy?”

“To ensure your safety.”

But I knew better.

In the evenings, when we breezed into the queen mother's presence chamber so King Louis could kiss her cheek and she could pay her compliments, I thought I caught glimpses of the Spanish dignitary leaving. One day we stopped in Mazarin's chambers so King Louis could sign some certificate and pick up a little velvet bundle.

“Did you smell foreign shaving water?” I asked as we left. “I swear I caught a whiff of scented Spanish leather.”

King Louis shook his head and handed the bundle to me. Inside the velvet folds was a new pearl bracelet. The king laughed at my surprised expression. He whispered that he longed to see me wearing nothing but that bracelet.

Soon, all of my dancing slippers had holes on the bottoms and we had lit every advent candle.

“Why haven't you told him about his mother and Mazarin yet?” wailed Moréna as Christmastide ended. She eyed the open box of wax I used to make lip paints. “I will craft a wax figure of Mazarin and toss it in the river.”

“You will not.” I closed the box and put it in my
cassone.
“I need the king to develop a sense of independence. I can't make demands and force my will when he must learn to exert himself.” But the edge of my worry had dulled from razor to butter knife.

The new year came and went, and we packed for our return to Paris. King Louis waited for me at the city gates, mounted on his horse. I wore my black velvet
justaucorps
trimmed in sable with a huge purple plume in my matching hat. We set out ahead of the long string of carriages for our vast journey home, talking of books and of fêtes we would have before the Lenten season. No other courtier dared brave the late January cold to ride horseback with us. They knew it would have been to no avail, for before we rode out, the king kissed my hand so lords and ladies peeking from heavy leather carriage curtains saw; he had no wish for any company save mine.

 

CHAPTER
28

Le Palais des Tuileries

February 1659

I held my parchment lace–covered overskirt out on each side and twirled in hop steps in the center of Monsieur's masquerade ball at le Palais des Tuileries. King Louis looked on, one hand on his hip. The gold sequined half-mask he wore matched mine exactly, ending just above the broad smile he wore while watching me. The masks fooled no one but allowed the king to move freely in public. He nudged Lully, who often put aside his violin to dance with us. Now he nodded appreciatively at the glimpse of ankle flashing beneath my skirts. Lully leapt into step beside me on the dancing floor, adding flourish with a flick of the wrist here, or holding a pose a beat longer there. I started to mirror him, and soon we had a crowd of onlookers.

The violinists ended their song. Lully and I collapsed into each other, giggling.

“You must dance in the
Ballet de Raillerie
this season,” he said.

I'd been hoping for this invitation.

As we'd reentered Paris at the first of February, King Louis had turned to me and said, “We have but one month until the Lenten season. What shall we do?”

“Have grand fêtes,” I'd said. “Banquets, balls, masquerades, and more balls.”

He'd laughed. “Then this will be the most spectacular carnival season the court has ever seen.” He'd lined up his courtiers at the Pavillon du Roi and issued a command: Entertain us. And so it was that every evening we'd feasted, and every night we'd danced. But every morning, while dressmakers and cobblers streamed in and out of Palais Mazarin to refresh my armament and let Hortense's bodices out at the bosom, King Louis had practiced for this season's ballet.

Mazarin had commissioned it, as usual, but he hadn't given parts to his Mazarinettes. A purposeful omission. Mazarin spent most of his time locked up with Colbert in his private study, outlining demands for the treaty with Spain. Or plotting how best to dispose of me. Would it be the convent? Marriage to some foreign noble, so far away I'd never see the king again? I couldn't know.

Nor could I obtain leverage to prevent my downfall. Every night when I returned home, feet throbbing from dancing, Mazarin or Colbert was in the study, quill scribbling and candles ablaze, blocking access to my uncle's chest of letters. Mornings were the same. When I wasn't home, Moréna always found someone there. Even Philippe traveled back and forth from the musketeer garrisons to work for Mazarin in hopes of gaining a moment to search. I
must
have my proof.

But for now I smiled at Lully, watching King Louis approach from the corner of my eye. “We must ask the king if I should take part in the
Ballet de Raillerie.
” Though I already knew what he would say. He'd been scheming ways to get me onto the stage all week.

Lully turned to him. “Sire?”

The king grinned. “Put her in a shepherdess costume and set her to dancing. She'll outshine even me.”

Lully feigned a look of surprise. “Outshine the Sun King? Is that possible?” Our crowd of observers dissolved into laughter.

Just then Philippe appeared. He bowed, then took hold of my arm. “Sister, shall we dance?”

The king nodded his consent. My brother led me out, and the courtiers parted. They watched as we began the steps of a sarabande.

I kept my expression passive. “Why would you take me away from the king?”

“Were you able to get to Mazarin's chest of letters?”

“Not for lack of trying. I assume that means you were unsuccessful, too?”

“Mazarin assigns me menial tasks, copying letters or adding rows of sums in ledgers.” He sounded frustrated. “They never leave me alone.”

“The pressure weighs on me, Philippe. What if Mazarin consigns King Louis to marriage with the infanta before I have a chance to expose his affair with the queen mother? I need those letters.”

“It's going to be harder to get your hands on them now.”

I didn't like the sound of that. “Why?”

“While you've been twittering around on your toes, our eminent uncle moved to his apartments at the Louvre. To free up space at Palais Mazarin for a particular dignitary to inhabit.”

“Tell me this dignitary isn't from Spain.” I let my guard down, pausing in the dance.

My brother quickly swept me back into step. “No sense getting upset. Don Antonio de Pimentel
is
here on behalf of King Philip of Spain.”

“He'll live at my own house? The humiliation!”

“Pimentel will never leave his wing. He'll be concealed from the court's thousand eyes. Mazarin will come daily to Palais Mazarin to work with him on peace negotiations.”

“If our uncle moved his offices, does that mean…”

My brother shrugged. “I don't know whether he moved his chest of letters. Everything is in disarray.”

It was too much. “How will we ever get them now?” I couldn't breathe. I stopped dancing to grab the fan from the gold chain hanging at my waist. Philippe immediately walked me toward a door. Every head turned to follow us, pointing and talking. “They watch me constantly now. Those thousand eyes are ever upon my skin like twisting blades.”

“Hold up your chin and show them you have the dignity to be queen.”

I did it, and dropped my fan.

Armand de la Meilleraye appeared out of nowhere with a goblet of watered wine. He must have run for it as soon as I'd stopped dancing. “Can I get you something? Show you to a chair? Are you well?”

Lully and Somaize and the Prince of Lorraine and a few other masked faces gathered behind him, acting concerned. Other curious masked faces appeared.

I was not used to people seeking my favor. I took a courteous sip of the watered wine as King Louis approached. “Perfectly well. Why wouldn't I be?” I held out my hand.

King Louis kissed it right there in front of everyone. “Is anything wrong?”

“My brother told me the most tedious joke about a Frenchman brought before a judge and charged with stabbing someone's dog with his scabbard. The judge asked why he didn't just hit the dog with the
hilt
of his scabbard instead.” I paused.

Finally the king asked, “What did the man say?”

“He told the judge that's exactly what he would have done if the dog had been trying to bite him with his
tail
end.”

Laughter rose up like a windstorm, and I let King Louis walk me to the floor for the next dance. My brother departed with a knowing look. Though I danced a courante with enough grace to elicit praise from Lully, I couldn't stop thinking about those letters. With Pimentel under my own roof, could I afford to wait any longer to make King Louis overthrow my uncle?

Hours later, we stumbled from the Tuileries carrying half-empty wine bottles to the carriages.

“We shall sssuit you up in the cossstume of a shepherd girl,” said Lully, slurring his words. “You shall be the ssstar of the
Ballet de Raillerie
!”

“Can I carry a great crook to hook the king if he ventures too far away?”

Some tipsy old marquis in need of favor interrupted. “Can I play one of your lost sheep?” He fell on all fours and cried,
“Baah Baah!”

The king laughed so hard he could hardly climb into the carriage.

Everyone standing too close barked the exuberant laughter natural to the shallowest of courtiers. Even drunk, none of them sounded genuine.

*   *   *

I was not drunk. My carriage drove me, sober and determined, to Palais Mazarin. We halted in the court behind the cardinal's carriage and another I didn't recognize.
They are here together.
The moon shone full, making my satin gleam as I mounted the steps three at a time. I considered pausing to invoke the moon goddess to deliver the letters to my hands. What would the stars tell me about my quest? I had ignored their position for so long now I couldn't guess. I was too impatient to stop and slipped quietly inside so as not to stir the servants.

The whole house was still. The gilded clock in the hall read three of the morning. I kicked off my slippers, gathered up my skirts, and crept to the library. As usual, a sliver of golden candlelight spilled from beneath the door. If the cardinal was still here, there was a chance he hadn't moved his letters to the Louvre yet. I put my ear to the door and closed my eyes, making out a muffled male voice, presumably Pimentel.

“Losing their vibrant young Sun King would have been a terrible blow to the French people.”

“It's true his recovery was slow,” said my uncle. “But he is well now.”

“He's grown strong,” said the man. “With an appetite for more than the physician's healing broths. He seems to have recovered his appetite for pretty women.”

My uncle chuckled. “It is no cause for concern. You can assure your master King Philip that King Louis keeps company only with women I trust.”

“But can you trust your
king
? Everyone in Spain talks of the mistress who broke up his engagement to Margherita of Savoy.”

Mazarin laughed. “The
mistress
you fear is my own beloved niece.” I bit my lips together to keep from snorting at the word “beloved,” and my uncle went on. “She does my bidding.”

A pause suggested Pimentel's uncertainty. “I hear he wants company with no other. He reads what she reads. He rides in fields where she rides.”

“After his grave illness, it was necessary to prove to the French people that King Louis was strong in all ways. He must keep their admiration and faith. I admit I've allowed the relationship to carry on overlong, but it was to a political end.”

My fury mounted with each word. Mazarin's skill at exploitation seemed boundless.

“Does King Louis love your niece too much to become another woman's husband?”

“King Louis will wed the woman I tell him to. I will keep the girl only as long as necessary.”

“Why keep her at all?”

In my mind I saw my uncle's sly grin. “When you come to the Louvre you will see how every mother slathers her daughter in face paint and stuffs her into low-cut bodices. Every father positions himself near the king waiting for a chance to thrust his girl forward. They would run this country into the ground if I let them close enough to the king to take it over. You will see the purpose my niece serves.”

“An alliance with Spain will strengthen the king's position.”

There was a thumping sound, as if my uncle were pounding Pimentel on the back. “Exactly, good man! We shall work together to achieve it.”

Footsteps sounded. I hid behind a statue of Circe, gathering my skirts, making myself small. The door creaked, and the two men walked out together. Pimentel carried a taper while Mazarin leaned heavily on a new gold cane, no longer light of foot.

I forgot my anger.
They are leaving the offices empty at last!