Enchantress of Paris (36 page)

Heavy clouds rolled over the ocean, and I felt myself growing tired. In the innermost ring I wrote four of God's divine names,
Adonay—Eloy—Agla—Tetragrammaton,
and drew crosses between them. Finally, in the center of the circle I drew a great cross. On the east side I wrote
Alpha,
and on the west,
Omega.
My stick had grown faint again, so I stepped out of the rings and shoved it deep in the fire, stirring the embers. Moréna tossed more wood into the flames. I quickly drew four Solomon's stars, one on each side of the fire and two opposing them on the other side of the circle. I looked at everything I'd done and grabbed Moréna's hand. “Come into the circle with me. Whatever you do, don't step out.”

Her voice sounded nervous. “I thought you were calling on your God's forces of good.”

“I am.” I took up the flask of holy water, arm muscles shaking with fatigue. “But some of these angels might have fallen, and one never knows if demons might respond to the call.”

I poured holy water into my palm and began committing sacrilege. I threw handfuls on the fire, the pot of sandalwood powder, and the kidskin parchment, reciting the fiftieth Psalm. “Purge me with hyssop, Oh Lord, and I shall be clean: Thou shalt wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.” I sprinkled holy water over my entire circle. “
Asperges me Domine.
In the name of Adonai, the Living God, and Ruler for generation upon generation, Amen.”

I walked my circle, stopping in every quadrant of the cross to pray, “Father have mercy on me, make appear the arm of thy power.” From the center of the ring, I tossed the sandalwood powder into the fire. It popped and hissed and released its musky sweet smoke into the air. I knelt and called the name of every angel I'd written in the rings. The words rose to the heavens with the smoke. I stayed on bended knee out of reverence and exhaustion and cried, “Being made in the image of God, endued with power from God, and made after his will, I adjure and call you forth! Appear before this circle in a fair human shape.” I stared into the sandalwood smoke, which swirled and danced as gusts swept in off the ocean.

I stood and threw the last of the sandalwood on the fire. I turned as I called an angel from each direction of the fourth heaven. “Aiel from the north. Uriel from the south. Gabriel from the east.” Finally I turned west, to the ocean and the incoming wind, and raised my hands. “Anael from the west!”

The western wind rose.

“What's happening?” called Moréna over the rushing sound of the winds. She crouched behind me, holding her turban.

The parchment with Solomon's protective star tore from my hands. Were the angels coming? I struggled for breath. “Come without delay and make rational answers unto all things I shall ask of you!”

The gale roared in my ears, and I fancied it was the collective voice of all the angels in heaven. The strength of the wind pushed my body, and I fell to the salt bed, clawing the crosses I'd drawn into it, clinging to hold my ground in the circle. Sparks scattered from the fire pot. The smoke stung my eyes and seemed to enter my very mind. The musk of sandalwood filled my lungs, and I coughed out my questions, voice lost in the wind.
Angels, tell me what to do.

Lightning split the sky, and thunder shook the earth. I heard something as the rains blew in. It was not so much the roar of angel voices, but the still cry within my heart that I'd refused to listen to all along.

The right thing to do is let him go.

*   *   *

We returned to the citadel in silence well before dawn. Hortense had a fire crackling. She asked no questions, just helped us change our wet clothes. When warm and dry, I wrote a letter to my uncle submitting to the marriage alliance he intended for me.

 

CHAPTER
48

Paris

June 1660

Paris was at its best in spring, before piss-filled gutters became too pungent in the summer sun, and when winter branches in the courtyards were outlined with green buds. Birds fluttered overhead, nesting in every eave, their cheerful twitter making me forget my grief for a moment. Only a moment. In the six months since I'd cast my magic circle and decide to give King Louis up, I had thought of him each day.

On this particular sunny day, I walked in the Gardens of the Tuileries with Prince Charles of Lorraine as we'd become accustomed to doing. We talked amiably of the weather and the variety of flowers emerging from the ground. Sometimes we talked of the potential size of my dowry or whether a marriage between us might gain him enough favor to help reclaim his family duchy from the crown. We even talked of how I'd prefer to marry him and stay in France rather than marry Colonna, my uncle's choice, which would move me to Rome. But we only discussed this if Venelle was out of earshot.

Today Venelle walked several paces ahead of us with Marianne on her arm, occasionally glancing back. Several paces ahead of them walked Hortense and Meilleraye. That man talked of nothing but his adoration for Hortense and his zest for religion, which bored her thoroughly. Mazarin had not yet responded to Meilleraye's latest request for Hortense's hand. Praise God.

Lorraine cleared his throat beside me. “Would it pain you to discuss the king's recent marriage?”

It had happened at the beginning of June. I had done my best to avoid the celebrations in Paris and tedious descriptions of the ceremony and of how seventy-five horses were required to carry the new queen's lavish household.

“It grows easier,” I replied.

Lorraine went on. “Soon after I requested your hand in marriage, Mazarin entered an article in his peace treaty to restore certain disgraced nobles to favor. Now that the treaty is ratified, my uncle the duc is out of prison. He is blocking our marriage because—well, he wants you and your uncle's favor for himself!”

I almost laughed. “This means Mazarin opposes you both. He knows I'll refuse to marry an old man; thus he keeps your family's duchy for the crown.”

“I'm sorry for it. You and I get along quite nicely,” he said, bewildered. “Really, I'm quite shocked at the move your uncle made.”

This time I did laugh. “How can you be surprised? My uncle said he opened negotiations with you six months ago.”

“He never did.”

“Exactly. Because he wants me to marry Colonna so he can send me to Rome. He controls me as he controls my brother and sisters and the king. Do you know when my brother was released from prison? The moment I agreed to give up King Louis.”

“Is it so bad?” Lorraine loosened the cravat at his throat.

I smiled grimly. “You heard Mazarin tried to imprison Colbert de Terron for smuggling letters between the king and me, but do you know how Mazarin found out about Terron?”

Lorraine shook his head.

“Because Mazarin paid a spy in the king's household … the king's own valet!” Terron had narrowly escaped, saved at the last minute when the king ordered Mazarin not to arrest him. “Mazarin is like a sorcerer,” I said bitterly. “He will find a way to make me marry Colonna.”

*   *   *

In our chamber at Palais Mazarin weeks later, Hortense was attempting to distill jasmine. She watched the bottles and tubes bubble over her flame. She'd become rather clever at concocting beauty elements.

Marianne bounded in. “I've a letter from Philippe,” she cried. We sat on my bed while she summarized. “Condé gave up his best château in exchange for the king's pardon, then was forced to beg our uncle's forgiveness on bended knee.” We each knew how vital the moment must have been for Mazarin and how he must have gloated. He'd conquered with diplomacy rather than battle, just as Moréna once predicted. Marianne went on. “The court is slowly traveling back to Paris. He complains of the agonizingly slow pace.” She paused to smirk. “And he wants to know about Olympia's new baby.”

I shrugged. “We will have to confess we haven't been to visit our newest nephew.” Olympia had returned to Paris for the birth a fortnight earlier. I just didn't have the stomach to face her.

Marianne gasped. “Philippe describes how the king took a detour to Brouage. He watched the king shed tears in the room where Marie slept.”

I grabbed the letter. Philippe went into great detail about how King Louis slipped into melancholy while walking the shores I'd walked. It had alarmed the cardinal. I looked up from the letter to see my sisters staring at me.

I remembered my conversation with Lorraine in the park, when I'd told him how deftly the cardinal controlled us all. “Now Mazarin will stop at nothing. He will find a way to make me
want
to go to Italy.”

*   *   *

The next week we packed freshly cut herbs, which I'd finally managed to plant in the pottage garden behind Palais Mazarin, a bottle of Hortense's new jasmine perfume, and a box of
nebât
into a basket for Olympia. We reported to the Hôtel Vendome.

The footman at the door looked apologetic. “His Eminence summoned her to join the court at Fontainebleau.”

But the comte de Soissons called cheerfully from the inside hall. “Come in! I'll take you to the nursery to see my newest son.”

We entered the nursery, and the firstborn, Little Louis, bounded to me, trying to climb my skirts. “Maah-ree,” he said, practicing my name to the best of his three-year-old ability.

It made us all laugh, and Marianne rewarded him with a
nebât.

“Where is your little brother?” I asked.

He pointed to the wet-nurse, suckling the one-year-old Little Philippe. Little Louis was too preoccupied with his
nebât
to show us the newest brother.

Soissons took us to a cradle, pulling a coverlet back to reveal the baby. “We named him Louis-Jules.”

Despite all she'd done, seeing Olympia's boys made me proud.

Back in the carriage, Hortense asked, “Why would Mazarin bother with Olympia now? So soon after the birth and with the king safely married?”

I sighed. “Because the king still loves me, and the cardinal can't stand the thought of me regaining influence. Just wait. We'll soon find out how Mazarin has employed Olympia against me.”

 

CHAPTER
49

Queen Maria-Thérèsa feels great jealousy when she sees the king making new demonstrations of love to Mademoiselle Marie Mancini and would like her to leave France as quickly as possible.

—PAPAL NUNCIO MONSEIGNEUR CELIO PICCOLOMINI IN A LETTER

The summons arrived at the end of July. We were ordered to Fontainebleau to pay our respects to the king and his new queen. The moment I'd been dreading. We dressed in our finest court attire and rumbled south along the River Seine to the Fontainebleau I'd once adored, shining green in all its summer glory.

The Cardinal's Guards took us directly to the François Gallery, where Olympia, wearing new diamond hair combs, stood behind King Louis. His skin seemed sallow, with dark circles under his eyes. I felt a rush of worry for his health but tamped it down. The cardinal, standing behind the queen mother, shocked me. His hair had grayed, and he stooped over his cane, making himself seem inches shorter.

Where is the new queen?
I curtsied, my sisters dipping behind me in unison. We held our low pose.

The king finally cleared his throat. “I see you've returned to court.”

I rose, feeling my hands tremble. “I wish to heartily congratulate Your Majesty on the happy event of your marriage.”

The king frowned. My sisters remained silent behind me. Venelle hadn't even entered.

The queen mother's eyes flicked to her son and back to me. “We decided you shouldn't meet Queen Maria-Thérèsa yet.”

So this is a test.
To see whether Olympia had effectively turned the king against me.

“You can meet my queen this evening,” King Louis said to me. “The cardinal invited us to sup in his apartments. You may serve my queen her supper.”

The queen mother beamed. I felt the color drain from my face.

Olympia snorted with laughter. “Welcome back to court, sister.”

Mazarin had paid her to play this role. I ignored her. “Your Majesty, being assigned to serve her comes as quite a blow.”

He straightened abruptly. “So did your betrayal.”

I forgot the others and spoke to King Louis in my old way. “You engaged yourself to be married and started an affair with my sister but accuse
me
of betrayal?”

He stood. “You know I delayed my marriage for your sake. Entertaining Olympia was a ruse!” Olympia huffed, and the king ignored her. “I waited for you to—” He stopped himself before revealing too much. “Then I heard of your fascination with the Prince of Lorraine, how you love him, how he visits you.”

Olympia had fed him lies. I glanced at her, and she grinned back, full of pride and glittering with Mazarin diamonds.

King Louis waved his hand dismissively, and I curtsied, backing from the room, kicking my skirts back with each step. When the doors closed, I spotted Venelle. “Call up the carriage. We're going home.”

Before she could go, the doors swung open again. The cardinal emerged. “That was very good, Marie.”

I hated him for making poor Louis suffer! “You orchestrated this like one of your court ballets.”

My sisters shrank back. Venelle disappeared. I doubted she'd call up the carriage.

Mazarin curled his mustache. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You didn't have to humiliate me.”

“I will do what I must to ensure you wed Colonna. You will leave, Marie. Leave France to me and leave King Louis to Olympia.”

“Look at yourself. Your plots and deceptions have cost you your health.” I studied him. The pristine red robes couldn't hide his frailty. I whispered quietly, “I warn you, inflicting pain upon me while I am already defeated shall cost you your life.”