The Moon and the Sun (57 page)

“Bring another chair.”

“Your Holiness!” Yves exclaimed.

Innocent’s command jarred the stunned servants to obedience. Yves seated Pope Innocent in his own place and took the new chair in the no-man’s-land at Innocent’s right hand. While the guests marveled in horror at the Pope’s breach of etiquette, servants rearranged the high table, whisking away Innocent’s place and leaving the King’s gold setting in the center. The usher looked faint.

“His Majesty, Louis the Great, King of France and Navarre, the Most Christian King.”

Everyone rose; everyone bowed. His Majesty, in cloth-of-gold, rubies, and diamonds, took his place without acknowledging that something terrible had happened.

He gazed down the Hall of Mirrors, impassive. One moment of his glance raked Marie-Josèphe, and her brother, and Lucien, and pierced His Holiness.

“Your Holiness...” Yves said. “Your place —”

“Our Savior ministered to lepers. Can I do less?” Innocent regarded Lucien.

“Though Our Savior was not required to traffic with atheists.”

Marie-Josèphe blushed with anger at the insult.

“If He had,” Lucien said, “no doubt He would have been gracious about it.”

“You are gracious, Your Holiness,” Yves said quickly, “to share our dishonor.”

“My royal cousin is very angry,” Innocent replied.

“We deprived him of a meal,” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed. “To keep him from committing murder.”

“We feared for his soul, Your Holiness,” Yves said.

“Perhaps you’ve protected a demon,” Innocent said, addressing Yves. “Or perhaps you deprived my cousin of immortality.”

“Sherzad cannot give anyone immortality, Your Holiness,” Marie-Josèphe said.

“Only God can do that.”

Innocent ignored her, ignored her impudence. “You claimed the sea monster’s flesh had the power —”

“I lied,” Yves said miserably. “God forgive me, I lied. I made no tests, Your Holiness. The truth doesn’t matter —”

“Yves, how can you say such a thing?” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed.

“All that matters is what the King believes.”

“And he believes in immortality, because you told him it was true. Now he’ll wonder, he’ll be tempted — he’ll break his word, and kill her.”

Lucien met her gaze, but he said nothing.

I hoped he would deny it, Marie-Josèphe thought. I hoped he would say, His Majesty never breaks his word. Even if he rebuked me, I’d know Sherzad would live.

“You could save Sherzad, Your Holiness,” Marie-Josèphe said. “You’re revered for correcting the Church’s errors, for stopping the corruption —”

“Be quiet!” Yves cried.

“Allow me a moment of praise, Father de la Croix,” Innocent said. “Allow me to indulge in a moment’s sin of pride. I did stop corruption.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Holiness.”

“God gave us beasts to use, the devil to oppose, and pagans to convert. Which is the monster?”

“She’s a woman.”

“I am not speaking to you, Mlle de la Croix. Father de la Croix, the monster claims death is everlasting.”

“Your Holiness,” Yves said carefully, “would a beast understand death?”

“If devils existed,” Lucien said, “surely they’d affirm life after death, Heaven and Hell. Otherwise, where would they live?”

Fighting her urge to giggle, Marie-Josèphe dared to speak to the Pope again. “Your Holiness, you could teach Sherzad about everlasting life.”

“Stop meddling, Signorina.” Impatience and anger tinged Innocent’s voice.

“Women must be submissive, obedient — and quiet. It is God’s will.”

Lucien leaned toward Innocent, making a sharp, angry gesture. He froze; when he recovered himself, even his lips had paled. Marie-Josèphe feared he might faint.

“If you believe in your God,” Lucien said, his voice harsh, “then you must accept that He made Marie-Josèphe de la Croix both audacious and brave.”

“You —” Innocent said. “You and the creature both are unnatural!”

The disk of the sun touched the western horizon. The light turned scarlet, filling the Hall, blazing from the wall of mirrors like fire, streaming all over with blood.

28

The Spanish treasure arrived, heavily guarded. The wagons passed, creaking with the weight of gold. Marie-Josèphe sat on the steps of Sherzad’s prison, imprisoned herself.

Guards watched the tent; they watched her rooms; instead of taking their ease when she arrived to visit Sherzad, they intensified their vigilance.

She could have escaped at night though her window and over the roof, as Lucien had shown her, but once she escaped she would have nowhere to go. If she escaped, Sherzad would be alone. If she escaped, Lucien would be left behind.

The sea woman lay with her head in Marie-Josèphe’s lap. The spreading ulcer on her shoulder oozed. The bites on her ankle remained raw. She fasted, in silence.

“Please, Sherzad, listen. If you give His Majesty more treasure, perhaps he’ll relent...” Her voice trailed off. She could not make herself believe the King would free her friend. She certainly could not convince Sherzad.

“Mlle de la Croix.”

At the musketeer’s approach, Sherzad slipped away from Marie-Josèphe and submerged. She lay underwater, face up, staring blankly, waiting to die.

“Come with me.” The guard unlocked the cage to let Marie-Josèphe out, and locked it again behind her.

To her surprise, Zachi waited for her. The mare nuzzled her, accepting her caresses.

I expect everything to be taken from me, Marie-Josèphe thought, even Zachi.

Sherzad’s life, my brother’s affection, my sister’s companionship. And Lucien.

She had not seen Lucien since the end of the banquet, which despite the lack of sea monster flesh had been a wonder, stretching past sunset, when the servants whisked away the flowers from the candle-stands and replaced them with candelabra, and beyond midnight, when the servants replaced the guttering candles and carried in another course. Marie-Josèphe had not been able to eat a bite.

At the end of the banquet, His Majesty gave the Chevalier de Lorraine a purse of a thousand gold louis. In Lucien’s place, the Chevalier rewarded M. Boursin.

At the same time, guards bowed courteously to Lucien and ushered him away.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

She had done nothing else. She mounted Zachi. The mare pranced, offering to run, offering to outdistance the plodding mounts of the King’s guard. Marie-Josèphe stroked her neck and calmed her. Zachi might carry her over the rooftops of Versailles, but she still had nowhere to go.

The musketeers escorted her to the top of the garden and into the chateau.

She gasped when she entered His Majesty’s council room. The King sat surrounded by bars of silver and gold bullion, by chests of gold coins, by heaps of jeweled chains.

The King played with a heavy golden chalice. Marie-Josèphe curtsied; she knelt before him.

“What does your monster say?”

“Nothing, Sire. She won’t sing, she won’t eat. Her death will be on your hands if you don’t let her go.”

“Many deaths are on my hands, Mlle de la Croix.”

“Deliberate murder? We saved you from that, Lucien and Yves and I. We saved your soul.”

“Why do you persist in this delusion?” he cried.

“My friend Sherzad is dying of despair.”

“Beasts know nothing of despair. If the sea monster doesn’t please me, I might as well give it to my cousin’s holy Inquisitors.”

He put down the chalice. He wore dark brown and black, with only a little gold lace.

He offered Marie-Josèphe his hand. She took it and let him raise her to her feet, as if they were back on the floating platform in the Grand Canal, about to dance.

“Or I could eat it, which would be a kinder fate.”

Marie-Josèphe wanted to cry, You promised! You’re a great King, how can you break your word, how can you betray me, and Sherzad, and break Lucien’s heart?

“Your Majesty,” she said, as calmly as she could, “you have the power to destroy her. To destroy me, and my brother, and Lucien, who loves you.”

“Do you say you do not love me, Mlle de la Croix?”

“Not as Lucien does.”

“He loves you more.”

“I know it, Your Majesty. It doesn’t mean he loves you less. Please, Your Majesty, is he all right?”

“He lives.”

“You haven’t —”

“I’ve done nothing but ferret his men out of my guard. Why should I trouble myself? His body tortures him.”

“May I see him?”

“I will see.”

“Sire, you have the power to show mercy to us all.”

“You’re even more stubborn than your mother!”

Marie-Josèphe’s outrage exploded. “She — you — my mother submitted to you entirely!”

“She refused...”

Marie-Josèphe watched, in amazement, as his expression grew sad and his eyes filled with tears.

“She refused everything I wished to give her.” He turned away until he recovered his dispassionate expression. “Come with me. Persuade her to carry out my will.”

For an eerie moment, Marie-Josèphe thought the King meant to refer to her mother.

oOo

His Holiness stood beside the cage. He sprinkled holy water through the bars. He chanted, in Latin, a rite of exorcism.

“Cast off your pagan ways,” he said. “Accept the teachings of the Church, and you will receive everlasting life.”

Sherzad snarled.

“If you defy me, your soul will never rest.”

Marie-Josèphe ran to the cage. “Let me in!”

Agitated, wild, Sherzad swam back and forth. Louis pushed himself from his wheeled chair. The musketeer unlocked the cage. Marie-Josèphe dashed in ahead of the King, oblivious to etiquette or simple manners.

“Sherzad, be easy, dear Sherzad —”

“Don’t interfere, Signorina de la Croix,” Innocent said. “You ignore my counsel at your peril!”

Marie-Josèphe ran down to the platform, while His Majesty remained at the top of the stairs.

Sherzad saw him. She shrieked.

“Sherzad, no!”

The sea woman propelled herself toward Marie-Josèphe. She swam with desperate speed. She launched herself, snarling, her claws extended, straight toward the King.

Marie-Josèphe flung herself at Sherzad. They crashed together and fell in a heap. The edge of the stairs knocked the wind out of Marie-Josèphe. Sherzad lay in her arms.

Blood poured from a splintery gouge across her forehead. Marie-Josèphe tried to stop the bleeding. Her hands, her dress, turned scarlet.

“Suicide is a mortal sin,” Innocent said. “She must vow obedience and repent before she dies, or I’ll know her for a demon.”

Marie-Josèphe looked up at the two men, the holy man who thought Sherzad had tried to kill herself, and the King who must believe she had tried to murder him.

Perhaps they were both right.

Sherzad raised herself and sang furiously. Blood streaked her face. She looked like a monster.

“What did she say?”

Marie-Josèphe hesitated.

“Tell me!”

“She said — forgive her, Your Majesty — she said, Toothless sharks amuse me. She said, Will a fleet of treasure ships buy my life?

“Where?”

“She’ll tell me — after you free her.”

“With what assurance?”

“Mine, Your Majesty.”

She thought he would dismiss her, call her a thief, accuse her of lying.

“You do not ask me for leniency? For yourself, for your brother, for your lover?”

Marie-Josèphe hesitated, then shook her head. “No, Your Majesty.”

oOo

Sherzad thrashed in the basin, splashing water through the net that restrained her. She cried and struggled, smelling the sea, desperate to reach it.

“Sherzad, dear friend, don’t injure yourself.” Marie-Josèphe worked her hand through the rough mesh so she could touch and comfort the sea woman.

Marie-Josèphe sat beside Sherzad’s basin, under a canvas canopy on the main deck of His Majesty’s flagship. On the upper deck, the King sat in a velvet armchair, shaded by tapestry. He spoke a word to the captain, who shouted to his men. The sailors burst into activity, preparing the ship to sail.

The flagship’s skiff cast off from the dock and rowed toward them. Marie-Josèphe whispered encouragement to Sherzad. She tugged her hand free of the net. The skiff came alongside. Lucien, elegant in white satin and gold lace, handed his sword-cane up the side and climbed the ladder to the deck. Marie-Josèphe ran to him; she caught his hands, fine and strong in deerskin gloves. No one would ever guess he had come straight from prison.

“Lucien, my love —”

“Pardon me,” he said. He walked unsteadily to the leeward rail and was sick over the side.

“The ship hasn’t even raised anchor!” Marie-Josèphe said. She brought him some water. He did not drink, but splashed it on his face.

The anchor cable groaned around the capstan. The sails fell open; the wind whipped them taut.

“It has now,” Lucien said, and leaned over the side again.

“My poor friend,” she said. “You’ll feel better soon.”

“No, I won’t,” Lucien said. The ship rolled a few degrees. He groaned. “I wish I were on the battlefield... in the rain... unhorsed... without my sword. I wish His Majesty had left me in the Bastille.”

“How can you say that!”

“Do me the kindness,” he said, “of leaving me alone.”

On the rough crossing from Martinique, many of Marie-Josèphe’s fellow passengers had been seasick, but none with the marvelous sensitivity of Lucien. The galleon sailed through calm coastal waters with barely enough breeze to make headway, but Lucien’s illness intensified. Marie-Josèphe worried as much about him as she worried about Sherzad. The King showed no sympathy for either of them. Even when the ship sat pitching and yawing at anchor all day while the skiff searched for Sherzad’s rocks, Louis showed no impatience. Marie-Josèphe became convinced that he found malicious enjoyment in stripping Lucien of his position and his blue coat and subjecting him to misery.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to coax Sherzad to eat a fish; she tried, unsuccessfully, to persuade Lucien to drink some broth.

The captain came to her under her canopy. He bowed.

“My respects, mamselle, and His Majesty demands your presence.”

In the King’s luxurious cabin, Marie-Josèphe curtsied.