The Sun King Conspiracy (31 page)

‘T
OO hot! Still too hot!’

With a gesture of irritation, the King rejected the pail of water which the manservant was about to pour into the copper bath in which he sat.

‘I told you to warm it! Warm it, you fool, not boil it!’ Sblood, I am not a pig to be skinned!’

The servant ran out as fast as his legs would carry him, the water slopping out of his pail leaving steaming trails on the stone floor. The King re-immersed himself in his thoughts. The dazzling spring colours visible through his bathroom window, the blue of the sky: everything converged to drive away his momentary anger.

Even the constant feeling that there was still work to be done to ensure the establishment of his authority could not dislodge his smile at the thought of Louise’s face and the stolen moments they had shared over the past fortnight. Everything about her delighted the young King: her beauty, her passionate temperament, her lust for life, her spontaneity.

And I am going to be a father,
he thought, untroubled by the change of subject.
Anyway, here I am thinking about politics again,
he mused plunging his head beneath the water as if to drive away these notions.

When he opened his eyes underwater, the face of Marie Mancini came back to him, just as the scar of a poorly healed wound
continues to remind its owner of its presence from time to time. Marie and Louise: Louis XIV consigned these two names to the inner recesses where he isolated those young man’s dreams he no longer quite had the right to enjoy. As for the Queen, she had now deserted those inner recesses where, moreover, she had made only timid appearances. Visiting her in her bedchamber was a duty, and one which only the King’s sensual nature and overflowing vitality rendered bearable. True, the news of her pregnancy had delighted him, but only as the announcement of a victory on the battlefield might. The glory he envisaged demanded an heir.

‘It has to be a boy,’ he sighed softly.

Then he spoke out loud:

‘Come, some water.’

Footsteps heralded the servant’s approach. Readying himself for a cascade of hot water, the King once again slid full-length into the bath.

‘My son, I have caught you unawares and I beg you to forgive this intrusion.’

Recognising his mother’s voice, Louis XIV suddenly turned over, splashing everything around him.

‘Madame?’ he demanded in astonishment. ‘Obviously the King of France cannot have a second to himself!’

‘Come come, my son,’ replied Anne of Austria with a smile, sitting down on the small wooden chair at the foot of the bath. ‘True, it has not happened for a long time, but I can remember supervising your bath on several occasions, including those when I do not think you could keep your head above the water on your own.’

It was the King’s turn to smile.

‘Alas, I have not come here today to be moved by talk of times past. And the reason I have not visited your office for a private
audience is that I need to be certain that our conversation remains confidential.’

The King sat up in his bath.

‘You unsettle me, Madame. What is this about?’

The Queen saw from her son’s frown that he was troubled.

‘Don’t worry. I have not come to reproach you for your conduct, or to talk about your wife.’

The King’s expression became even darker.

‘I have already informed you of my feelings on that matter, as did Monsieur Cardinal in respect of his niece, and I shall not return to them, however disagreeable I find the rumours which unfailingly reach my ears.’

‘People often speak ill of others, Madame, even within the walls of my own palace,’ grunted the King, adopting a tone which made it clear that he did not intend to talk about it any further. ‘You have been the victim of sufficient slander yourself, I believe?’

Mother and son looked at each other for a moment.

‘Indeed, my son,’ went on Anne of Austria. ‘People often speak ill, you are right. But there are more serious matters. People conspire. And attempt murder. Even within the walls of your own palace.’

The King shuddered at these words, which reminded him too much of his recent conversation with Colbert.

‘What? What are you saying?’

Anne of Austria got to her feet and walked to the window.

‘The truth, Louis. There has just been an attempt to poison one of the companions of your brother’s future wife, whose marriage is to be celebrated in a fortnight’s time. In my apartments.’

The King opened his mouth to speak but no sound escaped his lips. Suddenly it seemed as though the water around him had frozen. The Queen went on with her story without looking at him.

‘The young woman escaped death by a hair’s breadth – and she was saved by a miracle. How pale you are, Louis,’ she remarked in an even tone, turning round. ‘And I believe the name of the young person is not unknown to you: Louise de La Vallière.’

The King stood up and took the towel proffered by a valet.

‘That’s enough, Madame. Do not play games with me,’ he said coldly. ‘I hear what you are saying and what you are not saying.’

‘Then act, Sire,’ continued the Queen in the same tone of voice. ‘Right now it matters little what attaches you to her, and what I condemn as a mother, a mother-in-law and a Christian. All that matters is that an attack on her is an attack on you, and as Queen of France I will not tolerate that. You must act ruthlessly, my son, and without delay. Personal morality demands that you do so to save this girl whom you have placed in danger; but above all, your royal dignity demands it for the sake of your public glory and your authority.’

Draped in his towel, the King gazed with new-found emotion at the austere, dignified form of his mother, hearing in the sincere tone of her voice that which had guided his entire existence.

‘You are right, Madame,’ was all that he said.

The Queen raised a finger.

‘One more thing, my son, before I leave you to your duty. No one knows what has happened except those close to me and those who are guilty of the infamy. This should not deter you from taking action. The punishment will be understood by the guilty parties, and those who do not understand it will fear it, which is no bad thing. Through the offices of a young man whom I believe to be honest and who has rendered me a great service, I have acquired further information which you should also take into account.’

‘Speak, Madame,’ replied the King.

‘The steward of my household, the Cardinal’s own niece, Olympe, has for reasons unclear conceived feelings of hatred and jealousy towards Mademoiselle de La Vallière. She is the one who carried out the attempt, I am convinced of that. As for the leader of this conspiracy, I hesitate to grant credence to those pointing a finger at your own brother. I hesitate because then I would have to acknowledge my own guilt at having failed to turn him aside from his appalling deviancies …’

‘Enough, Madame,’ the King interrupted gently. ‘I know my duty and I know the Duc d’Orléans too well not to be aware of his weaknesses as well as his good qualities.’

The Queen nodded silently.

As she walked past her son, she brushed his cheek with the tips of her fingers, which were almost entirely covered by the lace of her oversleeve.

The King stopped her on the threshold.

‘Just a moment: the name of the young man who has made such serious allegations?’

‘He told me that his name is Gabriel de Pontbriand, and that he is in the service of Monsieur Fouquet.’

The King watched her leave the room in silence, then stifled a shout of rage. Louise! How dare they?! When he had even promised that he would protect her. How stupid he had been! His power was nothing. His mother was right – he would make them tremble! He would trust no one.

His pain slowly turned to anger, modified only by his surprise at hearing the name of that young man in connection with Louise’s rescue.

‘Pontbriand,’ he murmured thoughtfully, ‘and Fouquet again …’

Then the blood that boiled in his veins made him angry again.

‘They will fear me,’ he seethed, leaving the room watched anxiously by his servants, who dared not enquire if he needed anything. ‘I shall crush them all! I am the King, I will have no more advice, no more help, no more support!’

Tears of rage burned his eyes.

‘Their presence humiliates me, all of them.’

How he missed his godfather. Even his mother’s face seemed like an attack on his power.

‘Am I still a child, that she must open my eyes! My mother’s counsels, the Superintendent’s cleverness! To hell with my advisers! I am the King!’

Realising that he had spoken out loud, the King glared thunderously at his principal valet.

‘Dress me,’ he snapped. ‘And send for Colbert immediately.’

L
OUIS XIV’s rage had not abated. He strode up and down his office, shouting at the Duc d’Orléans.

‘Monsieur, my brother, I shall no longer tolerate conspiracies at the French Court. The era in which people fomented their own underhand schemes in the corridors of this palace is over once and for all. Do you quite understand me? At. An. End,’ shouted Louis XIV, ‘and that includes blood princes.’

‘But …’

‘There is no “but”! Who do you take me for, that you dare to attack those close to me? You are a subject of this Kingdom like any other and I demand the same obedience from you and the same respect for my person, in the absence of which …’ growled the King, angrily seizing his brother by the jabot of his shirt to bring his face up to his.

The gesture was so violent that the Duc d’Orléans paled.

‘You must understand once and for all,’ continued the sovereign when he had let go of him. ‘By attacking Louise de La Vallière, you attack me. If I allow myself to be scoffed at, the State would suffer the humiliation. To achieve your aims and conceal your involvement, you thought it a good idea to place a weapon in the hands of Olympe Mancini …’

‘But …’ the Duc d’Orléans attempted once again.

‘Monsieur, stop interrupting me at every opportunity,’ the King
snapped. ‘The information given to me by the Queen Mother has been corroborated by the investigation carried out at my request by Colbert. You were wrong to believe that my affection for the Cardinal’s nieces would extend to pardoning this crime. Olympe deserves death a hundred times over. But out of respect for my dear godfather, I have decided to grant her the favour of exile. She is to leave this very day for the provinces, where she will pray for the eternal repose of the Cardinal’s soul, and spend the rest of her days begging for God’s pardon.’

Cowed, and hanging his head low, Philippe d’Orléans said nothing but waited anxiously for his punishment.

‘As for you, Monsieur, I am giving you one final chance to rehabilitate yourself in my eyes and to show yourself worthy of my father’s inheritance. You will marry Henrietta of England as planned. You will control your impulses in order to lessen my mother’s grief, and you will cease your mania for conspiracies once and for all!’ Louis XIV angrily signalled the end of the conversation.

Unable to find the courage to reply, the Duc d’Orléans left the room. After all, he had emerged rather well from the affair and promised himself that, from then on, he would steer very clear of any kind of intrigue.

‘Send in Colbert,’ barked Louis XIV, returning to his work table and picking up a letter.

‘Colbert,’ ordered the sovereign in a voice still filled with rage, as the Steward of Finance entered and bowed almost to the ground. ‘You are to go immediately and inform Olympe Mancini of the decisions I have written down in this letter. You will see to
it personally that my orders are carried out without delay. She is to have left Paris before nightfall. Do you hear me?’

‘I shall see to it, Sire,’ replied Colbert, curious to find out the contents of the letter.

As soon as he left the King’s office, Colbert stopped by a candelabrum in the corridor to skim through the document setting out Olympe’s punishment. He went swiftly to the other wing of the palace, to the apartments occupied by the steward of the Queen Mother’s household. Through the carved wooden doors, he could hear the young woman sobbing.
No doubt the Duc d’Orléans has already notified her of her fate,
Colbert said to himself as he entered the salon. When she saw him, Olympe exploded.

‘I will tell everything! Don’t think you can escape from this just like that! It’s out of the question that I should be the only one to pay! You were perfectly aware of what was being plotted,’ raged the young woman as she approached him, ready to pounce.

‘Calm yourself, Madame,’ said Colbert, with a tone of cold authority. ‘You had a narrow escape, and your clumsiness could have cost us dear. How could you be so stupid as to risk your head like that?’ demanded the Cardinal’s former secretary. ‘Poison is a subtle weapon … doubtless too subtle for you!’

‘But …’

‘No “buts”,’ went on Colbert. ‘No one asked you to be so clumsy. Consider yourself fortunate to have emerged with your life intact. Exile is not death! But I warn you, death will find you in any exile if by some misfortune you feel the preposterous desire to blurt anything out! In a word, leave here quickly and quietly, before the King changes his mind and sends you to the scaffold!’

Sniffing tearfully, Olympe Mancini realised that she had lost. She
alone would have to take responsibility for her actions.

‘You say exile is not death! I want to believe you, Monsieur. But you do not know how miserable our provinces can be in the winter,’ said the young woman, her voice sugary again. ‘In order to guarantee my silence, would it not be wise to endow my enforced stay with the minimum of comfort conducive to meditation and silence?’

Evidently these Mancini sluts will never change,
Colbert said to himself.

‘We shall make ample provision for that, Madame, ample provision!’