The Sun King Conspiracy (13 page)

T
HE Église Saint-Roch was dear to Louis XIV’s heart. He had laid the first stone in 1653, and on this late afternoon it was full to bursting. Throughout Paris, prayers were being said for the salvation of the Cardinal who was dying at Vincennes. This was exceptional, for up until then this forty-hour period of prayer had been reserved for those of royal blood. Everyone realised that this was the King’s way of demonstrating his great esteem for his godfather.

In Vincennes, the crowd of supplicants at the Chief Minister’s bedside was growing by the hour, each hoping to obtain one last favour from His Eminence, or indeed the benefit of a final codicil to his will. As for the ordinary folk of the capital, they had responded to the priests’ calls. If the truth be told, Mazarin was not particularly well liked by Parisians, notably because of his foreign roots and the somewhat dubious origins of his wealth. But France recognised his positive role in promoting the unity of the country, and had not forgotten that he had been the architect of peace with Spain.

This atmosphere of collective fervour and sadness had aroused Gabriel’s curiosity, so he joined the crowd at Saint-Roch. There, in the calm of the church, he was happy to have found a place where he could reflect on the riddle of his father’s signature. His feeling of unease had been heightened by a visit from his washerwoman a few hours earlier. She had come to tell him about the suspicious comings
and goings of mysterious strangers around his lodgings. Hiding the documents as best he could, he had decided to step out for some air.
I can’t stay here doing nothing, waiting for those criminals to come and find me
, he admonished himself.

So, as sacred music echoed beneath the church’s high, vaulted ceiling, the actor was not thinking of the young laundress’s charms, although he was not indifferent to them, but of the documents contained in the red leather case. His father’s signature gave these papers a precious link to a past which intrigued him. Gabriel had not known his father well; according to his mother, he had died during a journey to London. He had gone there to sell the wine produced on his lands in Touraine. Gabriel had been five years old at the time and was left with nothing but a few fragmented memories of the man he had so missed during his childhood and adolescence. That was why he had decided to keep the papers whatever happened, even if it were to endanger his life. Gabriel was more determined than ever to unlock their secret and find out how his father could be mixed up in a mystery which seemed to concern so many people.

I must find a way of discovering what this is all about. A specialist in codes, that’s what I need
, he thought. But no matter how much he turned the problem over in his mind, he could think of no one capable of helping him.
Unless
… he thought, as he left the church at the end of the service.

The outer sanctuary of the church was crowded with worshippers, and Gabriel had to elbow his way through to get down the steps. Just as he reached the street, a firm hand grabbed him by the shoulder. Turning, the young man recognised the bandaged face of the man whose nose he had broken at the theatre, to save the life of
the old doorman. Gabriel pulled free of his grip and fled. The sound of running feet in the street behind him told him that at least two people were following him. Running as fast as he could, he managed to weave between the traders crowding the narrow streets of Paris, selling dairy products, sand, rags and a thousand other things.

‘Where do I go now?’ he wondered, running from one alleyway to another. ‘Not to my lodgings, that’s for sure: the police are bound to be waiting for me! Louise, I’ll go to Louise’s apartment. At least I’ll be safe there.’

Ten minutes later, he arrived breathless at the door of Louise de La Vallière’s residence. Her apartment was on one of the upper floors of a private house belonging to Monsieur, the King’s brother. It looked out onto a narrow street with ill smelling drains.

Gabriel ran up the stairs in a flash.

‘Louise, it’s me, Gabriel. Open up!’ he gasped.

‘Whatever is the matter?’ exclaimed Louise de La Vallière as she opened the door to her friend.

Her blonde hair had been hastily piled into a chignon, from which strands escaped and hung loose about her cheeks.

‘I was getting ready for dinner. But you’re out of breath, as if you’ve been fighting!’

‘I’ll explain,’ he replied, diving inside the apartment.

Simply furnished but decorated with brightly coloured tapestries, Louise’s room exuded calm. As he got his breath back, Gabriel savoured the pleasure of seeing how his friend lived. Then he told her what had happened that evening, without mentioning the documents he had discovered at the theatre.

‘But at least,’ she told him after she had listened attentively, ‘you have nothing to fear from the police; they must be watching you and the rest of the actors in Molière’s troupe after Mazarin’s fire and the
discovery of that dead boy you told me about before. As for those men …’ she trailed off.

‘As for those men,’ said Gabriel, ‘they are pursuing me for something, but I don’t know what it is they’re after. It’s all very worrying, especially since, as you know, I have to be careful.’

‘I do,’ said Louise. ‘Perhaps the men were sent by your uncle?’

‘I thought of that, but if that is the case why would they attack the concierge?’

Before Louise could reply, there was another knock at her door. This time it was the connecting door between her apartment and that of Henrietta of England, fiancée of the King’s brother, whose companion she was.

‘Louise,’ moaned a voice punctuated by sobs.

Louise immediately recognised the voice of Henrietta, who was in Paris to prepare for her wedding which was to take place in May. She was astonished by this most unusual intrusion. Before opening the door, she pushed Gabriel into the bathroom:

‘Wait for me in here, and whatever you do, don’t make a sound. No one must know that you’re here with me this evening!’

When she opened the door, Louise found the King of France’s future sister-in-law collapsed on the threshold, in tears.

‘Madame, please get up, I beg of you! What is wrong?’ cried the young woman, disconcerted by her mistress’s great sorrow.

She put an affectionate arm around her and helped her to her feet.

‘The King’s own brother, my future husband,’ sobbed Henrietta, struggling to get her breath back to finish her sentence, ‘he’s being unfaithful to me,’ she sniffed. ‘I have proof that he’s deceiving me with a man!’

H
IDING in the bathroom where he had been hurriedly secreted by Louise, Gabriel heard her footsteps moving away across the wooden floor of the bedroom. Then the door closed again, and the young man was plunged into silence. The white-walled room was small and not excessively luxurious, and contained a well-made copper hip-bath as well as an earthenware bowl surmounted by a large mirror framed in gilded wood. Spotting a chair, Gabriel pushed it up against the wall and climbed onto it, bringing his head up to the level of the open skylight. Putting his elbows and chin on the edge, he was able to see the sky and by leaning over a little more and standing on the tips of his toes, he could make out the residence’s paved courtyard.

Ah well
, he thought,
I’m stuck here now for goodness knows how long. I can only hope that Monsieur’s fiancée doesn’t go on for too long.

He was about to get down from his perch when two footmen rushed forward to open the great double gates, which then admitted a coach drawn by four horses. Gabriel saw the outline of a woman descend, walk towards the front steps, and then disappear from his field of vision. Intrigued, he got down and sat on the chair, trying to recite Act I of
Dom Garcie
to himself to pass the time.

His memory exercise was interrupted after a few minutes by the sound of a woman’s voice which seemed distant, but distinct. Listening carefully, Gabriel looked around the room to identify the source of the sound.

‘… to tell you the news without delay,’ said the woman.

There was the sound of footsteps and moving furniture, then a few phrases he could not make out. But he thought he heard the name ‘La Vallière’, and listened twice as intently. Then there was a man’s voice, followed by the woman’s who said:

‘… you consider that he was awaiting the King’s decision,’

The man’s voice thundered:

‘Decision! What a grand word! Does my brother think he has taken a decision?’

Recognising the voice of Monsieur, the Duc d’Orléans, Gabriel went over to the corner of the room from where the sound seemed to be coming. He noticed a small grate set into the tiled floor. The room’s ventilation shaft was clearly linked to the chimney flue of a fireplace in one of the salons on the floor below, thus offering a channel of indiscretion.

The man’s voice was filled with anger:

‘Your uncle is far too cunning to have given him the choice. Did he give him a choice in the matter of your sister?’

There was a silence before the woman’s voice spoke again, annoyed now:

‘Indeed not, Monseigneur, but this minx …’

‘Olympe Mancini,’ murmured Gabriel to himself, recalling the face of the young woman Julie had pointed out to him at Hortense’s wedding. ‘It must be her, and the sister she is talking about is Marie, the King’s first love. But what is she doing here?’

‘The rumour has been verified, Monseigneur,’ said Olympe Mancini. ‘The Cardinal has made a gift of his entire fortune to the Crown. And it is also true that the King has just refused this bequest, returning my dear uncle’s possessions to him.’

All Gabriel could hear in the ensuing silence was heavy footsteps,
which he imagined belonged to the King’s brother. They stopped and his voice went on:

‘Well, what an audacious wager! One doesn’t give away millions of livres every day, even when one is dying. The Cardinal still has the power to astonish us.’

‘For my part, I detect the influence of external advice which I can easily imagine to be Monsieur Colbert’s. He hardly leaves my uncle’s side now, has assisted him at each stage in drawing up the documents, and has just been appointed the only writer fit to work on the text. And if any further proof of his influence were needed, the fear which gripped my uncle this morning before the King made known his answer to him speaks volumes … I thought that his illness was responsible for his grey complexion, but seeing as he recovered as soon as the news was brought by the Queen Mother, it seems the Cardinal really did fear right to the end that his sovereign might take him at his word.’

‘Candour obliges me to say that, although this is a triumph for Monsieur Colbert, we must all rejoice that the manoeuvre has succeeded: You are an heir, by Jove, but so am I, if your information is correct. And by the grace of my brother, we are now heirs with the value of our bequests guaranteed. Making him wait three days, three days before giving his answer …’

Monsieur’s voice took on an amused tone.

‘In truth, it is a gesture befitting royalty and my brother is acting in accordance with his office!’

The voice became serious once more.

‘All the same, the Cardinal must have been worried if he was moved to dream up such a stratagem! Is his wealth so enormous? Undoubtedly it is.’

‘I believe that he was unsettled by the fire the other day. And his staff’s concern to cover up the incident sounds curious to me,’ replied Olympe.

‘So you believe these rumours about papers being stolen?’

‘Having heard him when he was delirious the other day, in bed and half asleep, I really do believe that the fire coincided with the loss or the theft of something which was very dear to him …’

‘Well, Madame, I know you were willing to rush here from Vincennes to bring me this news,’ went on the King’s brother, ‘but what of this other subject you wished to discuss with me which, you say, concerns a companion of my future wife?’

‘Mademoiselle de La Vallière, yes, Monseigneur.’

At the sound of Louise’s name, Gabriel shivered and went even closer to the grille to hear more clearly.

‘I would just like to put you on your guard, Monseigneur. Mademoiselle de La Vallière was presented to the King a few days ago.’

‘Well?’

‘The King did her the honour of speaking to her. Nothing more than a few pleasantries, you will tell me. What is rather less mundane is the fact that the King has written to her.’

‘Written to her?’ repeated Monsieur, intrigued.

‘Yes, Monseigneur, and if my information is correct, which I have every reason to believe it is, he has written to her in terms which are strongly suggestive of a rendezvous.’

‘Interesting, interesting. This is nothing new, although my brother doesn’t usually take the trouble to write. Everything depends on what happens next, and also on the young woman’s mettle. Is she pretty?’ he asked in a cold voice which betrayed his lack of real interest in the subject.

Olympe Mancini replied in a neutral tone that Mademoiselle de La Vallière was fresh and charming.

‘Appetising?’ enquired the King’s brother.

‘You could say so.’

‘We must keep an eye on the matter, Madame. Times are changing and your uncle’s succession will not only bring each of us increased financial security, it will also redraw the maps of power. In this game, each pawn we have on my brother’s side will be a useful mechanism to advance our cause. And we must ensure that we take account of everyone’s ambitions, and I do mean everyone. So we shall keep an eye on this young girl, just in case.’

‘I shall see to it personally, Monseigneur,’ replied Olympe.

Gabriel shuddered at the cold, metallic way in which she spoke those words. The prince’s voice betrayed annoyance.

‘I hope she can also calm the rages of my future wife. Her nonsensical prattling is putting me in an ill-temper …’

The voices became more distant, until he could no longer hear them. Then the footsteps died away and a door slammed. For a moment, silence returned. It appeared infinitely long to Gabriel, whose head was pounding. Louise … a rendezvous with the King? And threats towards her? How could he defend her without appearing to know anything? He broke into a sweat. And yet another mention of the lost papers and the red leather case which reminded him of his father and represented so many intimate things to him. How was he to decipher the documents? How could he make head or tail of it all?

‘Gracious me, dear Gabriel, what an expression – you look as though you’ve seen a ghost!’

Louise’s mischievous face was framed in the half-open door.