The Moon and the Sun (42 page)

Marie-Josèphe caught her breath.

“Enough, please.” Her voice shook. Her body trembled with the same pleasure that had awakened her to the sea woman’s song.

“As you prefer.”

Riding in the cool forest shade, she regained her composure. “Count Lucien, if M.

de Lorraine loves men — what does he want with me?”

“M. de Lorraine does not so much love men, or women, as himself and his own interest.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me? Warn me?”

“Perhaps because you didn’t ask.”

“I always asked questions, when I was a child.” She met his transparent grey gaze.

“I delighted in asking.”

“You may ask me whatever you like, Mlle de la Croix, and if I know the answer I will tell you.”

Zachi snorted. Undergrowth crackled nearby.

“There she is, our lost Mlle de la Croix!”

Lorraine, Chartres, and Berwick burst out of the forest, whipping their lathered horses. Chartres forced his mount ahead of the others.

“I thought you’d been eaten by a bear!” Chartres cried. He aimed for Marie-Josèphe, but found himself separated from her by Zelis and Count Lucien. His horse tossed its head. Bloody foam flew from the bit.

“Bears are shy,” Marie-Josèphe said. “They’ll never harm you, unless you provoke them. Unlike other predators.”

“The provocation is so delightful,” Chartres said. “I may die of a broken heart.”

Berwick and Lorraine spurred their powerful, exhausted horses up close behind Zachi and Zelis.

“Mind her heels,” Count Lucien said, for Zelis laid her ears flat back in irritation.

Lorraine and Berwick forced their stallions to lag a step or two.

“What an animal!” Berwick exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such speed as this bay possesses. Mlle de la Croix, you must sell the creature to me.”

“I must not, sir, as Zachi isn’t mine.”

“Is it the King’s horse? He’ll give it to me, I’m his cousin.”

The relationship was more intricate, but Marie-Josèphe could not remember exactly what it was; it was, as well, complicated by Berwick’s bastardy.

“Berwick,” Chartres said with condescension, “these petit horses all belong to Chrétien.”

Lorraine guffawed. “Who else would they belong to?”

“It may be too small, but it’s marvellously swift. Monarch will cover her. Their issue will win every race —”

“That’s impossible, M. de Berwick,” Count Lucien said. “You may send a mare to my stud in Finisterre, if you covet a foal with some qualities of the desert Arabian.”

“No, no, that won’t do, your stud on my mare? Absurd.”

“Somehow,” Lorraine said, “he would manage.”

“M. de Lorraine, M. de Berwick,” Chartres said severely, “you are in the presence of a lady.”

Marie-Josèphe almost burst out laughing at Chartres’ hypocrisy, but she feared the men would take her for an hysteric. This time, they would not be so far wrong.

“I beg your pardon, miss,” Berwick said offhand, mixing his languages, never taking his attention from Count Lucien. “Chrétien, you must sell me this bay mare!”

“Must I?”

“I’ll give you ten thousand louis!”

“Do you mistake me, sir, for a horse-trader?”

The French aristocracy did not engage in trade. Count Lucien’s voice contained no anger, but from that moment Marie-Josèphe never doubted he was a dangerous man.

“Not at all, not at all!” Berwick strove to retract the insult. “But an arrangement between noblemen, an exchange —”

“I do not part with these horses. They were a gift. Were Zachi to bear a foal from any sire but her own desert breed, her bloodline would never be pure again.”

“Ridiculous!”

“The sheik believed it. I choose to respect his beliefs. I will not part with the mares: I gave my word.”

“Your word!” Berwick exclaimed. “You gave your word to a Mahometan? No Christian need keep such a promise!”

Even Chartres and Lorraine flinched. Marie-Josèphe stared at Berwick in shock.

“No doubt that’s true,” Count Lucien said coldly. “But I am not a Christian.”

Berwick laughed. No one joined in his hilarity. He retreated into an uncomfortable silence.

“Let us return to the hunt.” Count Lucien impelled Zelis forward with sudden urgency.

Marie-Josèphe spoke to Zachi, freeing her to run. The two Arabians galloped together, outdistancing the three stallions that Zachi had raced to exhaustion.

Marie-Josèphe followed Count Lucien through the straggled hunting party. The huntsmen and gun-bearers bowed him past; the courtiers on horseback gave way for His Majesty’s adviser. He approached His Majesty’s caleche, where Mme de Maintenon spoke intently to His Majesty and His Holiness. Her animation enlivened her, as if she were in her favorite place, Saint-Cyr, instructing her beloved students. Monsieur spoke flirtatiously to Yves, who valiantly attended to Mme de Maintenon’s discourse without snubbing Monsieur.

Madame rode behind the King, chatting and laughing with her ladies, who rode in a caleche and wore grand habit.

“Do you ride with Madame,” Count Lucien said. “Chartres cannot misbehave too badly in her sight, or the formidable lady will turn him over her knee, and Lorraine as well.”

Marie-Josèphe wished it were true; she wished Count Lucien would ride beside her back to the chateau.

“Thank you,” she said. “You must attend His Majesty —”

“I must send for M. de Baatz’ salve,” Count Lucien said. “Return to your apartment, rest — I’ll have the salve brought to you.”

“I cannot. The sea woman is alone —”

“Someone else can feed her.”

“— and lonely. If I don’t tend to her, I’ll arouse comment — they’ll think I’m ill!”

“The Fountain of Apollo, then.” He tipped his hat courteously, rode ahead, paused to send a musketeer galloping off toward the chateau, then allowed Zelis to take him briskly to his place at His Majesty’s side.

Marie-Josèphe hoped Count Lucien’s salve would soothe her arm. The purple streaks stretched across her palm.

I mustn’t let anyone else see, she thought as she joined Madame, or they’ll send for Dr. Fagon...

“Mlle de la Croix!” Madame said smiling. “There you are, my dear. Did you see my fox?”

The hunt might have taken place a year ago, for all she recalled of it. She had forgotten the fox. Free of Chartres and Lorraine, relatively safe in the company of Madame and His Majesty, she felt weary and feverish.

“Yes, Madame, of course, your fox.”

“I’ll present him to His Majesty.” A servant in Madame’s livery ran toward the caleche carrying the limp scrap of red fur. “But His Majesty will return him to me. His pelt will make a lovely tippet. I dispatched him with a single shot, so the fur will hardly be damaged at all.”

The servant handed the fox to a huntsman, who presented it to Yves, who offered it to His Majesty. Pope Innocent drew back from the bloody carcass. His Majesty touched the dead fox; his reply returned by a route as circuitous as the fox’s arrival.

Madame’s servant dodged between horses and stopped at Marie-Josèphe’s side.

“His Majesty asks Madame to attend him.”

“Madame,” Marie-Josèphe said, “His Majesty —”

As Marie-Josèphe spoke, Madame advanced like a cavalry officer. Marie-Josèphe followed in her substantial wake. Count Lucien surrendered his place in respect of the Princess Palatine; only Madame separated Marie-Josèphe from the King.

Lorraine, Chartres, and Berwick rode their lathered horses out of the forest. They rejoined the hunting party, riding up next to Monsieur.

Lorraine tipped his hat to Marie-Josèphe. She ignored him. Between Madame and Count Lucien, she did feel safe. Monsieur brushed his fingertips across Lorraine’s hand, a possessive gesture that Marie-Josèphe now understood, as she understood Pope Innocent’s frown. She felt sorry to have caused Monsieur concern and jealousy.

I suppose, she thought, I cannot tell him he has nothing to fear from me. It would be kind, but it would be the height of arrogance.

“Good afternoon, Madame,” His Majesty said. “You shot excellently well.”

“Your Majesty, it’s my greatest joy to ride with you.” Madame’s voice and words grew tender, much different from her usual bluff comments, when she spoke to the King.

“You’ve won the prize.” His Majesty unfastened a collar from the dead fox’ throat, bringing away a handful of light, a wide bracelet of gold and diamonds. He fastened the bracelet around Madame’s wrist.

“Your Majesty,” Madame said, breathless. “I am overwhelmed.” She admired the sparking rainbow facets and showed the bracelet to Marie-Josèphe.

“It’s beautiful, Madame,” Marie-Josèphe said sincerely. “The most beautiful bracelet I’ve ever seen.”

Madame glowed in His Majesty’s attention; she even nodded to Mme de Maintenon with a smile very different from her usual exquisitely polite coolness. Taken aback, Mme de Maintenon hesitated, then nodded in return.

“I have a prize for you, as well,” the King said to Mme de Maintenon. “Close your eyes and put out your hands.”

“Oh, Sire —”

“Come, come, come!” He bullied her cheerfully.

Mme de Maintenon obeyed her husband. The King opened a black velvet bag and poured out a magnificent parure of diamonds and sapphires: earrings, brooch, and bracelet. The jewelry gleaming in her palms, Mme de Maintenon sat obstinately motionless, her eyes tightly closed.

His Majesty’s cheer faded. “You may open your eyes.”

Mme de Maintenon barely glanced at the ornaments. “How beautiful — of course I cannot in good conscience wear them.” She pressed the jewels into His Holiness’ hands.

“Sell them, and give the proceeds to the poor.”

“Your charity is legendary.” His Holiness handed the parure to Yves, who took it with the same reserve with which he had handled the dead fox.

Louis remained impassive. Madame was not so stoic.

“I could never part with a present from Your Majesty,” she said. “I’m far too selfish and worldly. I shall wear my bracelet to Carrousel.”

His Majesty nodded to Madame.

Even his smallest action is splendid, Marie-Josèphe thought, and dared to hope for her friend.

“I should sell it to pay my servants,” Madame whispered to Marie-Josèphe, “but I shall wear it — if Monsieur doesn’t insist on borrowing it!”

“I would have liked to see you wear my gift, if but once,” His Majesty said to Mme de Maintenon. He did not raise his voice; neither did he make any attempt to keep the conversation confidential. Monsieur suddenly turned to Lorraine and began a spirited discussion; similarly, Madame displayed the intricate clasp of her new bracelet to Marie-Josèphe. Everyone pretended to be unaware of the exchange between the King and his wife. Even His Holiness looked politely away, asking Yves about some nearby bird or leaf or insect.

The King has no private moments, Marie-Josèphe said to herself. It must make no difference to him, whether he speaks in front of a few noblemen serving at his awakening, or in front of his whole court.

“Sire, I’m a plain old woman. I’d look foolish in a young bride’s baubles.”

“You’re always beautiful to me,” His Majesty said.

“My only beauty is my good work, which I dedicate to you, who rule by the grace of God.”

Louis, called in his youth Dieudonné, God-given, shook his head. “That’s true, yet I’m still a man, who desired to give his wife a gift.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between the King and Mme de Maintenon.

Monsieur’s sudden giggle interrupted it. “The sea monster?” he cried. “The sea monster told bawdy tales?”

“Indeed it did, and Mlle de la Croix translated them for us.”

Lorraine looked past Monsieur, past Yves and His Majesty, past Madame. He smiled his devastating smile at Marie-Josèphe, but he had robbed himself of its power over her.

“Do you tell your story again, Mlle de la Croix,” Lorraine said easily, “for Monsieur and for His Majesty.”

“It isn’t my story, sir.” She did not plan the rude chill in her voice, but she could not regret it. “It belongs to —”

“I forbid you to repeat it,” Yves said.

“— the sea woman.”

“It’s entirely improper, Monsieur,” Lorraine said. “About Northern raiders — and bestiality with sea monsters.”

“Would that not be rather cold — and slimy?” Monsieur shuddered theatrically. “I would prefer — but, my dear, you know what I prefer.”

“It was not about bestiality,” Count Lucien said. “It was about murder, rape — and betrayal.”

“To be sure, M. de Chrétien, it was.” To Marie-Josèphe, Lorraine said, “Your story gains in excitement — coming from your lips. Barbarians ravaging gargoyles —”

“Sir!” Mme de Maintenon’s flushed cheeks were the only color about her. “Consider in whose presence you are speaking!”

Curiosity vanished from His Holiness’ expression, replaced by offended virtue.

“Mlle de la Croix,” His Majesty said, “teach the sea monster tricks, if it amuses you, but govern this delusion about her nature. Your mother would never have invented such appalling stories.”

Silence fell. Monsieur stopped chuckling.PRIVATE

“Your Majesty —”

Lorraine interrupted her. “She thinks Your Royal Highness is a cannibal.”

“And govern your tongue as well.”

“I never believed any such thing, Sire,” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed, horrified. She had only wished to protect him from such an accusation. “Never!”

“Forgive my sister,” Yves said. “She has not yet recovered from her illness.”

With a persistence driven by fever, Marie-Josèphe continued. “Your Majesty, please spare her life. She’s a woman with a soul, like yours or mine. If you kill her, you’ll commit a mortal sin!”

“I would entertain His Holiness’ views on mortal sin,” the King said. “I might entertain even your brother’s. But I hardly think I need listen to yours.”

“Do you call His Majesty a murderer?” Lorraine said, his voice as soft as oiled silk.

“It is neither murder,” His Holiness said, “nor against any commandment, to kill a beast. God put beasts on Earth for the use of man. You must not task yourself with moral philosophy, Mlle de la Croix. It’s too demanding for the minds of women.” He made a gesture of dismissal. “Dabble in your natural philosophy, or better yet take up cooking.”