Eye of the God (12 page)

He laughed pleasantly. “I've got time. Why don't you tell it to me?”

She sat up in bed and crunched her eyebrows. “Really?”

His voice shifted from flirtatious to serious, and he said, “Yeah, why not? I've got a deadline, remember? Unless, of course, you've got other plans tonight.”

“Like sleep?”

“You can do that anytime.”

Abby looked at the clock, its minute hand inching toward midnight.

“What do you say, Dr. Mitchell? I could use a bedtime story.”

She hesitated, feeling somewhat adolescent. Wasn't this the kind of thing she did in high school? Yet she only debated for a moment, considering that the alternative was hanging up the phone. “Sure, why not?” Abby pulled the covers up to her chest and lay down her head on her pillow.

“So good old Tavernier kept his greedy little hands on the diamond for nearly two decades. What could have possibly convinced him to part with it?”

“Oh, surely you've figured that out by now, Alex.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wanted the same thing every thief wants—money.”

There was a prolonged silence on the other line that Abby took for interest. She leaned over, switched off her bedside lamp, and told Alex exactly how Jean-Baptiste Tavernier sold his soul to the cursed diamond.

8

VERSAILLES, FRANCE, DECEMBER 6, 1668

R
ARELY HAD JEAN-BAPTISTE T AVERNIER TRAVELED IN SUCH LUXURY AS HE
did now. It was not the king's personal coach that carried him through the cobblestone streets of Versailles, but one sent by Louis the XIV nonetheless. It was for moments like this that he endured such hardship during his career.

Only a month before, Tavernier received the summons for which he had been waiting patiently for fifteen years. Though he could have sold his precious blue diamond any number of times, he chose instead to keep it until presented with the right opportunity.

It was no small honor to be invited to the king's court, but Tavernier was specifically asked to tell of his travels and to bring the king any jewels he thought worthy of the Crown. The lust of a wealthy aristocracy for precious gems was a never-ending thirst that Jean-Baptist Tavernier was uniquely equipped to satisfy.

The carriage moved closer to the Château Versailles, home to King Louis XIV, as it rolled through a tree-lined park on the outskirts of the estate. As the carriage rounded a bend, the palace came into view, its heavy stone buildings sprawling out over acres of pristine gardens.

“
Monsieur, nous approchons le palais,”
the driver shouted, announcing their approach to the palace.

Tavernier took a deep breath and caressed the leather pouch hidden beneath his robes.

Today we part, my beautiful.

The king's court was a complicated place for such a man as Tavernier. He fell somewhere between the ranks of nobility and commoner. He was not important enough to command the king's respect, nor was he simply an afterthought. Tavernier was a curiosity in the eyes of Louis XIV, and today he would play that to his full advantage.

The carriage pulled to a stop before the palace steps, and Tavernier took a moment to prepare himself before stepping down. In order for things to go as planned, he must proceed carefully.

The coachman swung open the carriage door, and Tavernier descended into the gravel courtyard. A great expanse of manicured lawn, speckled with fountains and ornate topiaries, surrounded him. He savored this royal moment. On the steps leading to the massive palace doors stood Jean-Baptiste Colbert, the Controller General of Finance.

“Good afternoon, Minister,” Tavernier said. He bowed as expected.

Colbert returned the greeting with a slight nod, guardedly eyeing Tavernier's odd attire. Colbert was a tall man with a pencil-thin mustache and mounds of curly black hair. Unlike so many of the king's courtier's he had no need for a wig. Nature had supplied him in abundance with the required mane. Over his breeches and coattails, Colbert wore a heavy black velvet cloak and white lace collar indicating his status as officer in the royal court. The wrinkles around his eyes and the tight lines embedded at the corners of his mouth belied his age and his natural bent toward stoicism.

“
Heureux pour vous rencontrer, Monsieur Tavernier
,” said Colbert after careful observation.

“I'm pleased to finally meet you as well, Minister Colbert.”

“I have heard much about you,
monsieur
. Your travels are as legendary as your diamonds.”

“No doubt blown largely out of proportion,” Tavernier said. “I fear you may find yourself horribly bored by my company.”

“Nonsense. His Majesty assures me that you have many a grand tale to tell. Now please follow me. The king awaits you in his private apartment.”

“I am eager to make his acquaintance.”

“I will order one of the butlers to take your valise to your suite. His Majesty requested an audience with you the moment you arrived.”

“I am humbled,” Tavernier said with another short bow, forcing the smile from his face. The king must be eager, indeed, to see his blue beauty.

“If you will follow me?”

Colbert turned and walked up the steps, the heavy fringe of his cape barely dusting the ground.

The court of King Louis XIV was deeply immersed in ritual, dictating the dress, behavior, and mannerisms of all who came before him. Etiquette was a carefully observed art form by which courtiers advanced in royal society. It was therefore no surprise that Tavernier's arrival in the royal court caused such a stir. He presented himself not in the required attire of britches, vest, and coat, but in his elaborately embroidered Oriental robes. On his head he wore a silk turban popular in the Far East, not the heavy coifed wig of French nobility. Although he drew gasps and stares as he followed Colbert through the palace, Tavernier was fully aware that this marked departure from accepted
protocol would ultimately work to his advantage. King Louis's interest had set the gem merchant apart from every other member of the royal court. All eyes were on him.

Colbert escorted Tavernier to the king's antechamber where the highest ranks of French nobility gathered. Most would have stood in awe of the fifteen-foot ceilings trimmed in elaborate gilded crown molding and the deep crimson walls along which hung massive portraits of past and present monarchs. A chandelier of Austrian crystal dangled above the travertine tile floor below. Courtiers sat scattered ceremonially around the room on a series of red velvet divans. It appeared that their single purpose in life was to attend the comings and goings of the king.

Although Tavernier considered this to be a life wasted and dismally boring, it was an honor of the highest degree to those seated in the room. What was most notable to Tavernier, however, was not the extravagant apparel or ornate fixtures in the room, but the overwhelming stench of unkempt bodies poorly masked by oily perfume. Tavernier steeled himself not to wrinkle his nose in distaste. He knew it was not unheard of for French courtiers to go months without bathing, resulting in agonizing outbreaks of head lice. It made his scalp itch just to think about it. Many of the women seated around the room held in their laps thin mahogany sticks for those moments when the itching became unbearable. The odor was quite offensive to the delicate sensibilities of Tavernier, a man used to lavish living, but also wide open spaces and clean air.

A murmur ran through the antechamber as Colbert led him toward the intricately carved mahogany doors that opened into the king's private chamber. The courtiers regarded how this turbaned stranger could be given an honor few of them would ever receive.

“The king has requested that you dine with him this evening, and he is also arranging a lengthy tour of the palace grounds tomorrow. But for now he requests that you join him immediately.”

“I am more than pleased to oblige His Majesty,” Tavernier said.

It was considered improper to knock on the king's door. Instead, those wishing to speak with Louis XIV were required to gently scratch the door with their left little finger. Most of the court, including Colbert, had grown the nail on that finger longer than the rest to accommodate the command. Most, however, would never dare so bold a move. Colbert on the other hand got much use out of that fingernail.

A series of swipes across the heavy wooden panel produced a loud enough sound to be heard within. Tavernier noted the courtiers waited patiently to see if he and Colbert would be admitted.

“
Entrez
,” came the reply.

Colbert swung open the massive doors and ushered Tavernier into the sitting room, closing the doors behind him. The king lounged at a long oval table covered in an intricately woven blue silk tablecloth. The parquet wood floors were polished to a mirror shine, and a bright fire glowed in the fireplace at one end of the room.

Tavernier and Colbert approached the king and knelt before him with bowed heads.

“Your Majesty,” they said in unison.

“Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, your reputation precedes you,” said the king with a curt nod.

He waved them forward and invited them to join him at the table. King Louis sat in an ornately carved high-backed chair covered with blue and gold brocade. Draped
around his shoulders was a thick winter cloak of heavy silk, lined with fur, and embroidered with hundreds of gold
fluer-de-lis
. His wig of black curls fell in preposterous mounds below his shoulders.

“I have worked hard on my reputation,” Tavernier said. “I hope you have heard only the good things.”

The polite bantering continued. “I hear that you are the most noted jewel merchant not only in Europe but also in the Far East,” King Louis said. “I hear that you have traveled hundreds of thousands of miles in every kind of weather. I hear that you have been arrested, that you have escaped armed conflict, and that you even survived a shipwreck.”

“It was a mere squall, Your Majesty. Not worth telling.”

“No need to feign modesty in my presence. I am not impressed by it. I invited you here because you have extraordinary stories to tell and because you have exceptional jewels to offer. And it will come as no surprise to you, Monsieur Tavernier, that I only buy the best. My finance minister here can assure you that price is no issue.”

The muscles around Colbert's mouth twitched. “His Majesty is known for an elaborate lifestyle.”

“And it is your job, Colbert, to orchestrate ways for me to pay for that lifestyle.”

“Meaning I must convince the French people that taxes are not only necessary but a joy as well.”

Louis threw his head back and laughed. “And Minister Colbert is a genius at taxing the people. Versailles is financed entirely by an elaborate set of taxes he created.”

“And the people have not howled?”

Colbert smiled for the first time since Tavernier arrived. “The art of taxation consists in so plucking the goose as to obtain the largest amount of feathers with the least possible amount of hissing.”

Tavernier regarded Colbert for a moment, gauging whether he would be foe or ally in his business with the king.

“I have heard much about Versailles, Your Majesty,” Tavernier said, turning his attention back to Louis. “I understand it is quite a marvel.”

“It rivals anything built in the world.”

“Something of a bet was it?”

“Not so much a bet as an illustration. My last minister of finance, Nicolas Fouquet, had the audacity to build a palace grander than mine in Paris. As if a mere courtier should live in greater abundance than the king!”

“Was I right in hearing that Fouquet built his chateau with monies embezzled from the royal purse?”

“Indeed,” Louis said, nodding with great disapproval. “It simply couldn't be tolerated.”

“And where is this Fouquet now?”

“Imprisoned. For life. I couldn't very well let him be executed now could I? An example must be made of those who betray the king.”

“And execution is not sufficient punishment?”

“Sufficient perhaps. But far too quick. I wanted something a little … longer,” Louis said. “But enough of that. I am anxious to see what you have brought me, Monsieur Tavernier.”

“I am pleased to hear that you have such a high regard for my merchandise. I have long felt that Indian diamonds are the largest available and of the utmost quality, a perfect fit for royalty.”

The king gave a short clap, and one of his many butlers stepped into the room from a side chamber. “Have Monsieur Tavernier's merchandise brought from his chambers immediately,” he ordered.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the butler replied and scurried from the room.

“Now,” said Louis. “I would like to hear of your travels.”

Tavernier settled in his chair, running a finger casually over the intricate upholstery. “I have bought and sold precious gems from the time I was fifteen. It was in the writings of Marco Polo that I first heard wondrous tales of Indian diamonds. Polo believed that diamonds sprung from the ground at the bottom of fathomless valleys and could only be extracted by throwing dead animals to the depths, where eagles would then swoop in and recover the carcasses. Diamond hunters then climbed to their nests and picked diamonds from the eagle droppings.”

Tavernier gauged the king's expression for a response, and when he felt as though he maintained interest, continued. “These legends are of course absurd, but you can understand how as a young man I became entranced by the lure of diamonds in the Orient. Over the course of my career I have traveled to many countries, and I believe that Marco Polo was right. There are no diamonds that compare to those found in India.

“They are mined in a way I find very peculiar. Instead of tunneling into the sides of mountains, they dig pits straight into the ground. Each shovelful of earth is carefully sifted for gems. Those larger than ten carats are appropriated for the sultan's personal use. The rest are available for sale.”

The king frowned. “I was hoping that you were bringing me jewels of note, Tavernier. Not pebbles to be used as a child's plaything.”

Tavernier smiled. “It is certainly difficult to escape with a large diamond, but it is not impossible. Let's just say that I have my ways, and you will not be disappointed
with what I offer. The greater part of my life has been spent trading in gems, gaining allies, and negotiating customs. I doubt you will find another merchant in France, or all of Europe for that matter, who can deliver jewels of the quality that I have brought.”