Enchantress of Paris (15 page)

“Hush, fool. Come up at once!”

I pulled the window closed and told myself tonight had nothing to do with Moréna's magic or her drive to be free. My relationship with Louis would be entirely my own. I would brook no more interference. Not from Olympia, and certainly not from Mazarin. If I had to deceive Mazarin, so be it.
Love takes risks.
To truly love King Louis would be to risk
my
very freedom.

 

CHAPTER
18

Spring 1658

Marie was the best and the wildest of all the Mazarinettes.

—LOUIS DE ROUVROY, DUC DE SAINT-SIMON
's memoirs

A huge fire warmed my salon, and half-emptied bowls of strawberries and peas sat alongside platters of fruit tarts upon my table. Monsieur, Soissons, and Conti sat at another table, looking bored while Louis and I huddled on a divan discussing
Jerusalem Delivered.
We sat so close you couldn't slide a piece of paper between us. I treasured every moment of the king's daily visits, savoring his musky ambergris perfume. But Soissons's eyes were on me. I knew he reported everything he saw here to Olympia. The husband was jealous that I'd snatched his wife's lover. If only I could wrap my hair around the king and tie him down with braided flower vines to keep him as Armida had done to Rinaldo.

“Summer approaches,” said Monsieur. “The war campaigns will soon begin.”

I frowned. The cardinal had tried using these visits to broach his Naples Plan. He'd given up, as I managed to turn every conversation from business to literature.

“Sire,” said Conti, “will you inspect Cromwell's troops at Mardyck?”

King Louis glanced at me. He knew I didn't want him going near the troops again. “Don't worry, my mother will follow as far as Calais.”

“That gives me an excuse to follow as her lady in waiting. I shall take my own carriage.”

“Take whatever means necessary,” the king said, standing to go. “So long as you come.” He kissed me soundly on the mouth, right in front of the others. He'd managed to avoid the question about the troops.

When he'd gone, Soissons remained. “Olympia wants you to stay behind.”

“Why should I?” I wished
Olympia
would stay.

“The king hasn't visited us since Lent began.”

“He shows you both favor.”

“She wants … time alone with him.” He clenched his jaw.

I didn't envy Olympia, whose husband would willingly lead her to the king's bed for his own benefit. “What? She wants a turn, as if the king is some plaything?”

He turned ruddy red and said no more.

*   *   *

The court left Paris in a fanfare of kettledrums and trumpets, with commoners waving from every street corner and leaning from every window. Standard-bearers rode one behind the other the entire length of our train, flags snapping in the breeze. Drivers cracked whips, and postilions called, “Ho!” In the rear, coaches packed with servants, cooks, musicians, and artists were followed by wagons of furniture, food, wine, and gunpowder. I had my own carriage, with my own servants and footmen and drivers. Moréna sat where the postilion usually stood, and my postilion rode Trojan. Hortense, Marianne, and Venelle traveled inside with me holding baskets of breads and wines and smoked salmon. A chamber pot was stored beneath one seat. I was not unprepared for
this
journey. We slowly rolled northwest to Calais by way of Amiens. The king rode at the head of our cavalcade and did not allow us to stop.

When the sun dipped into the afternoon side of the sky, I opened my carriage door.

“What are you doing?” asked Venelle.

I didn't answer but called to my postilion, “Throw me Trojan's reins and climb onto the carriage.”

He tossed me the reins and scrambled up. Hortense cried, “Be careful, you fool!”

“Mind the door.” I stepped out, securing one foot in Trojan's stirrup. “Easy, boy.” Holding the pommel tight, I threw my other leg over the saddle. I straddled it perfectly, and my skirts fell neatly into place. I kicked Trojan into a trot.

Gendarmes and musketeers gaped as I passed, and every carriage rang out with cries of shock. “It's that Mancini girl!”

I approached the musketeers that flanked King Louis and slowed to match their stride. One of them was Philippe, who laughed when he saw me.

“Lovely day for a war, Your Majesty,” I said.

King Louis never looked more surprised. “You're either wild or mad.”

Trojan pranced beneath me, tossing his head, itching for a run. I laughed. “Those meadows are begging to be ridden.”

He heeled his horse and took off, breaking through the musketeers. Trojan galloped after him through the fields. Philippe and three other musketeers followed. We scaled outcropping rocks and a winding stream and left the train inching slowly behind. At the top of a hill King Louis stopped, signaling for the guards to keep a good distance. I pulled Trojan to a halt beside the king, and we looked back at the court, now just a thin line in the distance. He jumped off his horse and helped me dismount. We embraced between the horses, kissing until I wanted to fall into the tall grass and have our fill of one another.

“One day,” murmured King Louis, “I want to be alone with you.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

He laughed. We led our horses down the other side of the hill.

“If you must go near the fighting, I want to be with you,” I said.

“No. I must go to Mardyck, where Turenne has his headquarters. It is too close to the front.”

“Then it is too close for you to go!” I dropped his hand.

He grabbed it again. “Don't be angry.”

“You mistake fear for anger.”

He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “I will be careful.”

I slipped my hand into my hanging pocket and brought out the white silk pouch hanging from a long silver chain. This time, it contained more than merely blessed rue. It held vervain, the Heavenly Letter on a miniature fold of parchment, and a cross of brown agate. “Wear this around your neck.”

He looked skeptical.

“Keep it by your heart. It will bring you back safely to me. Please.”

He let me loop it over his head and unbutton his doublet enough to tuck it under his shirt. I stroked his chest. His breathing grew heavy, and he pulled me close. I planted one kiss in the hollow between his collarbones and slowly buttoned his doublet, wishing I could tear the thing to shreds and kiss every inch of him. He propped his chin on the top of my head, and I rested my ear over the sound of his heart.

“Return to me,” I whispered. “If this heart stops,
my
life will end.”

Philippe interrupted. “Your Majesty,” he called, pointing to the cavalcade. It had come around the hill by a bend in the road. “We must keep near the others.”

We returned to the train, and I'd extracted no promise from my king.

*   *   *

“You should hear how people talk when you break free riding with the king!” Cardinal Mazarin paced the tiny chamber allotted to my sisters and me in his Calais lodgings.

“I do hear. I don't care.”

Hortense pretended to be asleep on the bed. Marianne snored in earnest.

“Don't care that they call you a wild pagan? That you ride like a man? That they can't see what the king sees in you?”

“Jealous spite.”

“Their spite will reach his ears and turn his mind against you.” He crossed his arms. “I expected decorum. Olympia never behaved thus.”

“We never get time alone.”

He stepped to me. “So you stole some. What did you learn in your time
alone
?”

“We discuss books and poetry.”

“Has he mentioned Naples? Cromwell's troops?”

It was the first time my uncle had questioned me on this score in weeks. Praise heaven I could answer honestly. “No.”

He flung his hands out. “Do you want to be queen or don't you?”

His words froze me.

“Find out what he thinks, girl. See if he makes the connection between victory and his ability to choose a wife. If he doesn't, plant the seed.” I nodded, and he went on. “Most importantly, make him promise to capture and execute Condé!” He bid me good night so fast, with little more than a wave, that he didn't notice my shock.

Hortense sat up. “Did he say you might be
queen
?”

“Never repeat that.”

“The queen mother will tear out her hair.”

“Swear, Hortense!”

“You better follow Uncle's advice.”

“What do you mean?” I threw open a trunk, hauled out a feather mattress, and tossed it on the floor.

“Know the king's mind and have him firmly in hand. Be certain of his love, or his mother will take you down.”

I snatched her pillow.

“Do you want to be his queen?”

I collapsed on my makeshift bed. “All I know is—” I couldn't say it.
I love him.

*   *   *

As part of the cardinal's household, we didn't have to wait upon the queen mother. But the next morning she summoned us to her lodging anyway. My sisters and I dressed each other quickly. We met Olympia in the queen mother's antechamber.

“There is the wild Mancini,” Olympia said quietly. “Step aside and let me handle the king without
scandalizing
the family.”

“He is nothing but a prize to you,” I said.

She tried to look defiant. “The court is starting to say … that you've supplanted me. Did Mazarin promise to make you queen?”

I gasped. A handful of ladies looked our way. Hortense started talking loudly to Marianne to obscure our conversation.

“He tried that with me,” Olympia muttered. “Mazarin will use your own heart against you.”

I tried to look amused. “I have no doubt he would have elevated you to queen if he could have. But there is a difference. The king never loved you.”

She bit her lip. “I need royal favor for my son's benefit.”

I put my hands on her shoulders. “You would have everlasting favor if I were queen. For once, give
me
a chance.”

Madame de Motteville opened the doors to the queen's chambers, and Olympia moved to the head of the line of ladies. Olympia said nothing as we dressed the queen and said nothing at mass. She said nothing as we served the queen's dinner and nothing when we played cards. Finally, as the hour we anticipated news about the war approached, Olympia seemed to come to a decision.

She yawned loudly and stretched her arms. “Our queen must be bored to tears!”

The queen mother smiled indulgently.

Olympia grabbed a lute. “My sister must regale us.” She handed it to me. “You're the only one here with any talent, Marie. Won't you play?”

I took it with a grateful smile. She nodded and walked away. I strummed chords and hummed tunes to old Italian lullabies. The chamber fell quiet except for my music and the other ladies humming along. Thus, when King Louis crept in, I held the floor. When my song ended, he was first to applaud.

The queen mother opened her arms to receive his kiss. “What news?”

“Cromwell's men joined General Turenne's at Mardyck, six thousand strong. Provisions are in. They move toward Dunkirk to engage within days. I leave for Mardyck before dawn.”

The queen mother nodded. “We will be ready.”

“No,” said King Louis. “Your household will stay at Calais.”

She frowned. “You will take your physicians and best musketeers?”

“Of course.” He glanced at me. I refused to meet his eye.

The queen mother gave a short nod. “I expect regular dispatches.”

He kissed her again. “As you wish.”

*   *   *

We played cards until Monsieur and King Louis started discussing ammunition. That's when I ushered my sisters back to the cardinal's lodging on the northern reaches of Calais.

In the hall, maps and charts and muster rolls were spread across half a dozen tables. Messengers came and went constantly. My uncle's command center. “Stay out of the way,” he barked when he saw us.

I leaned to Moréna. “Order my equerry to ready Trojan before dawn. I will sleep in my black riding jacket tonight.”

“You can't go to Mardyck,” said Moréna, for once reserved.

“Nothing in heaven or on earth will stop me from going to Mardyck.”

 

CHAPTER
19

“Nothing in heaven or on earth will induce me to let you come to Mardyck.” King Louis dismounted his horse right in front of his cavalrymen and moved toward me in the predawn glow. I'd ridden Trojan from the stables into the ranks before the first trumpet blare.

My feet never touched the ground. His arms encircled my waist, and he tossed me over his armor-plated shoulder. Philippe watched helplessly from the ranks of musketeers. The king marched inside and deposited me on the reception hall floor, skirts in disarray around my ears. I pushed them down, glared, and scrambled to my feet.

He dragged me through the command center, where two sleepy footmen jerked to attention. He kicked open the door to my bedchamber. “Out!” he commanded. In a flurry of sheets and robes, Madame Venelle, Hortense, and Marianne scurried away.

King Louis slammed the door and threw me on a bed. “Stay.”

I jumped up. “No!”

He pushed me down, pinned my wrists by my ears. “There is no place to quarter a woman at the front. I share a bunk with General Turenne, you understand?”

“I cannot let you go alone.” I fought it, but tears filled my eyes.

“I have men with
muskets.
”

I stretched to kiss his chin.

He shook his head. “I—I wouldn't be able to focus, let alone command. I can hardly breathe around you—” He kissed me with a hot fury then, hungry, angry, demanding. He buried his face in my chest. Shameless, I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, anything to keep him, to trap him. But he pulled away. My skirts fell back, and he kissed the inside of my knee.