The Sun King Conspiracy (23 page)

S
TEWARD
of Finance:
the title went round and round in Jean-Baptiste Colbert’s mind like a deafening litany. When he had taken the oath a few moments earlier, the deceased Cardinal’s protégé had felt his heart fill with joy and pride as the words spoken by the Parlement’s president resounded in his ears.
Steward of Finance.
Colbert was sitting on a gold-trimmed red banquette in the great gallery beside the meeting hall, now emptied of its crowd. Dressed as usual in black from top to toe, enlivened for the occasion by a belt of watered silk, he tried to hold on for a moment to his public recognition. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the exact feeling he had experienced, to picture once again the faces of each of his assistants … Footsteps striking the marble floor of the corridor and echoing beneath the vaulted stone roof made him turn his head.

‘There you are, Monsieur!’ exclaimed Toussaint Roze, waving his arms. ‘I feared you had left alone, or in another carriage.’

Colbert gave him an icy look.

‘I was merely meditating for a few moments. Well, let us go if we must,’ he grumbled.

‘The fact is, Monsieur Perrault is waiting for you, Monsieur, by the carriage,’ Roze apologised as they headed for the door. ‘And Monsieur Le Tellier has said that he would like to see you this
evening, to discuss an important matter relating, so he told me, to the security of the State …’

Colbert did not respond, but his gaze clouded. What had he been thinking, summoning his investigator here at this hour? The presence of Perrault reminded him of the bad news of recent days, detracting from the dazzling success of his promotion.

‘Did you flush him out?’ he demanded of his investigator, without even greeting him.

Perrault stammered, holding open the door of the carriage for Colbert, followed by Roze.

‘No, of course you didn’t,’ said Colbert as he warmed himself. ‘But he cannot have flown away, damn him! That boy must be somewhere. So find him. Between that man Molière, who does not even know his secretary’s full name, and you, who have no idea where he is hiding, what am I supposed to do? Look for him myself?’

Leaning out of the window, Colbert stopped talking for a moment and scowled at Perrault, who had not moved a muscle.

‘I need results, Perrault. Quickly. Find that boy, find the papers, but for the love of God find something!’

Colbert angrily pulled down the curtain and rapped sharply on the carriage partition, signalling that it was time to leave. Perrault could barely swallow as he watched the carriage move off into the distance.

Colbert breathed deeply. The words and tone of voice he had used to reprimand Perrault had left a pleasant taste in his mouth. Not enough however for him to relax completely nor to restore his earlier feeling of satisfaction.

‘I have yet to determine what is really on the King’s mind,’ he
mused. ‘I am not happy with the audience granted to Fouquet, nor this business of a council for overseas trade. I must know more.’

Suddenly, a broad smile lit up his ugly face.

Ah yes! Now there’s an idea,
he thought.
I’ll find out more about the King’s intentions and at the same time solve the problem in which Perrault has become mired, despite such a promising start.

Looking pleased, he turned to Toussaint Roze who was sitting beside him.

‘As soon as we get back, organise a meeting with the Cardinal’s niece.’

‘But which one?’ Roze enquired fearfully.

Colbert sighed.

‘Olympe, of course.’

Colbert settled down on the carriage’s comfortable seat and closed his eyes to relive the moment when he had sworn his oath as Steward of Finance …

Roze, who sat with his hands resting on his knees, thought it best not to ask if the meeting was very urgent.

C
OLBERT recognised the road which was taking him to Mont-Louis. But this time his visit was not undercover, unlike that of the night of 10 March. Having used Le Tellier as a go-between, he was on his way to meet the Archbishop of Paris, absent from the capital for almost ten years. Paul de Gondi’s semi-clandestine return to the city and the prospect of their meeting titillated Colbert, who was now anxious to leave no stone unturned in his frenzied quest for support.

The former Fronde member had prepared his mission to Paris as soon as he heard that his enemy Mazarin was dead. As he still feared arrest, the Roman exile had deliberately asked the Superior of La Chaise for his hospitality, and it was in the latter’s private apartments that he now awaited his visitor. Colbert took pleasure in imagining him gazing nostalgically through the window at the outskirts of the city he had been parted from for so long.

‘Spring brightened up Paris this afternoon, Monseigneur, but I am sure the French sun is no match for the Italian one,’ said Colbert with pointed irony as he entered the room.

Paul de Gondi turned calmly at the sound of the voice which had interrupted his reverie.

‘Winter is at an end, Monsieur Colbert, and the sun now shines for everyone,’ replied the Archbishop, not displeased with the direct tone their conversation had taken.

After the usual polite exchanges, the two men sat down opposite each other in the only armchairs the Superior’s modest dwelling had to offer.

‘My dear Colbert, I shall not prevaricate about the reason for my visit. The death of Mazarin opens up a new era for the Kingdom. It seems to me that the time has come to purge the past,’ said the Archbishop firmly. ‘There are many who demand my return to Paris and beseech me to occupy at long last the archiepiscopal throne which is mine by right!’

He’s mighty sure of himself,
Colbert said to himself, making an effort to look as if he was hanging on Paul de Gondi’s every word.

‘I would like to believe that I was unable to return to my dear homeland because of a misunderstanding between the King and His Holiness,’ the Archbishop said in an increasingly confident tone. ‘For my part, I have always been faithful to His Majesty, which is what led me to oppose the Cardinal’s intolerable financial irregularities. Today, exile weighs heavily upon me. My dearest wish is to be able to return to Paris. I know the price of this request, and am willing to provide the King with several tokens of my goodwill.’

Here we go,
Colbert said to himself, nodding his encouragement to the Archbishop.

‘In short, Monsieur Colbert, I am firmly resolved to lay my rights to the Archbishopric of Paris at His Majesty’s feet …’

Excellent,
thought Colbert, remaining silent to allow Paul de Gondi to reveal a little more about his intentions.

‘Clearly,’ went on the former rebel, ‘it would be appropriate, as a
sign of his new-found trust, for the King to grant me the guarantees hoped for by an exiled former prisoner who is anxious to have the freedom to come and go as he wishes.’

‘I hear you, Monsieur Archbishop,’ Colbert said soberly. ‘But you spoke just now of several tokens?’

Surprised by this decidedly cold reaction, Paul de Gondi reflected for a moment before continuing.

‘If this comes about, my friends will be in your debt – and you are aware of the influence they wield in the Kingdom.’

This is more interesting,
thought Colbert, picking up on the allusion to the zealots and to their previous unerring support of Fouquet and his family.

‘And what else?’ persisted the little man, keen to push his advantage further.

‘I am coming to that, Monsieur Colbert. You are searching for some documents stolen from the Cardinal’s palace, and you know that those documents are no longer in the hands of those responsible for their disappearance.’

Colbert started.
Cunning Archbishop,
he said to himself, astonished by these revelations.
Now I know what he’s come back for.

‘But you probably do not know the exact nature of the stolen papers. I have a theory about them which I believe is extremely credible.’

‘I am all ears, Monseigneur,’ declared Colbert, suddenly amused.

‘Mazarin threw me into prison at Nantes, and I shared a cell with a man whose real name I never knew,’ explained Gondi. ‘He called himself “Naum”. We had time to get to know each other and I can attest that the man was highly educated and trustworthy. Several times I had the opportunity to test the quality of his reasoning and
the truth of what he told me. Naum was ill. Sensing his end was near, he decided to confide in me. He told me that he had given Cardinal Mazarin some extraordinary documents in exchange for a large sum of money, by what means I do not know. He was arrested shortly afterwards, and was convinced that the Cardinal wanted to kill him. As he lay dying, the poor man revealed to me where he had hidden his money. In fact it was this little gold mine that enabled me to go back to Rome and live there after my escape,’ added Paul de Gondi, clearly still pleased to have cocked a snook at Mazarin.

‘But,’ interrupted Colbert, ‘what did these “extraordinary documents” contain?’

‘According to him, they gave the formula that gained access to a text which was capable on its own of casting doubt upon the foundations of the State and of the Holy Church. I know little else. Naum was not a talkative man, particularly as his illness rendered him unconscious a good deal of the time. Surely this name, Naum, will not have escaped you in His Eminence’s accounts?’ Paul de Gondi asked with a small smile.

Colbert did not know what to say. He did indeed recall having noticed this peculiar name against some very large sums of money in the Cardinal’s private accounts. In fact he had asked Mazarin for clarification, but had not received an answer. The Chief Minister had merely told him to classify this sum under the heading ‘Exceptional Service to His Majesty’.

It was all slowly becoming clear in his mind. The Cardinal’s anguish when he learned of the disappearance of his papers must have been partly down to the loss of this Secret he had purchased at such a high price from Naum some years earlier.

The Archbishop knows a great deal more about this than he’s letting
on,
thought Colbert, more and more convinced that Gondi was manipulating the networks of zealots from Rome, and was behind the burglary of the Cardinal’s apartments too.

‘Thank you for confiding in me, Monseigneur,’ said Colbert, trying to sound flattering. ‘As far as His Majesty is concerned, I shall be your faithful mediator. I know how much the Kingdom would stand to gain by welcoming back a man of your worth. I shall try to ensure that our conversation bears fruit.’

Paul de Gondi smiled at these words, thinking that his aim had been true.

Having taken leave of the exile at the door of the building, Colbert climbed into his carriage. As the vehicle moved off, he gazed at the distant outline of the capital and mused that the Archbishop of Paris’s dream of a triumphant return to Court might come true after all.

‘L
OOK, Louise, the horse chestnut trees are in blossom!’

Leaning against the window of her carriage door, Louise de La Vallière bent forward to look at the white flowers that were illuminated by the last rays of sunlight. They had just passed the toll-gate at Vincennes and were now travelling through the outskirts of the city. Dusk had brought with it a cool breeze making the carriage’s occupants shiver.

Spring has arrived,
thought Louise,
my first spring in Paris.
She tried to imagine what the lodge at Versailles would be like in springtime. She could not help it, everything made her think of the King.

‘Louise, are you daydreaming?’

Louise started in surprise, making her companion laugh. Aude de Saint-Sauveur, another of the maidens of honour attached to the household of the future wife of Monsieur, the King’s brother, pointed towards the lights that had appeared to the left of the carriage.

‘Look, daydreamer: there’s the keep of Vincennes. And there,’ she added, pointing to the left, ‘that avenue of flaming torches leads to Monsieur Superintendent’s house!’

Louise listened in amused silence, observing her companion’s excitement.

‘Pray God that this marriage takes place soon, so that we can celebrate too,’ added Aude, as if Henrietta of England’s marriage was also to some small extent her own.

Much good will it do her,
thought Louise, gazing into space,
but the truth is, this is all she has, this life as a maid of honour.

She felt herself blush at the superior tone of her inner voice and rearranged her necklace to disguise her lack of composure.

‘We’ve arrived, we’ve arrived,’ cried Aude, bursting with impatience.

The carriage made its way up the avenue, which was lined on either side by blue-and gold-liveried footmen, all of them carrying torches, whose light added to that of the nearby keep.

From the window of his office, Nicolas Fouquet watched his guests arrive thinking that he ought to have postponed these festivities. Coming only a month after the death of the Cardinal and the King’s reorganisation, the event was taking place for no reason other than his wife’s goodwill – and in spite of her pregnancy, which tired her and was sure to prevent her enjoying her guests. For the first time, the revels seemed futile to him.
Come
, he told himself, attributing his bad mood to having worked too many hours over the past few weeks,
I must join the guests and put on a brave face against ill-fortune.
But his mind was filled with thoughts of another celebration, the only one he was really looking forward to: the one to mark the completion of his chateau at Vaux.

Fouquet paused for another moment at the top of the grand staircase that overlooked the entrance hall. The guests had now all arrived and an uninterrupted tide was ebbing and flowing from the salons to the garden, where two chamber orchestras were playing.

At least the weather is on our side,
he thought to encourage himself. And, taking a deep breath, he plunged into the crowd.

Louise was bored, yet she had barely been there for half an hour. She had to admit that she was not in the mood to enjoy herself, however splendid the evening and however prestigious the list of guests. The opening display of Roman candles had entertained her for only a moment. Tables groaned under plates of meat and pyramids of vegetables, but even the most exotic fruits did not tempt her. And the little animals – monkeys and brightly coloured birds – which mingled amongst the guests had merely drawn a smile. Aude had vanished without her noticing, and Louise now found herself sitting on a bench seat next to a pillar, topped with an antique bust carved from black marble.

‘Are you missing your actor friend, Mademoiselle de La Vallière?’

The ironic question made her jump for the second time that evening, and looking displeased, she turned towards its author.

There in front of her stood the master of the house, Nicolas Fouquet, wearing a slightly mocking smile. Surprised, Louise got to her feet and curtseyed, at the same time thinking that the gibe had been only partly incorrect: she was indeed missing Gabriel, despite that absurd jealousy …

‘Youth is inconsistent, don’t you think?’ went on the Superintendent. ‘You are bored in Paris while he is bored at Vaux, if I am to believe what I see. If you were there you would see him moping about with that languid air of his, fretting. He daren’t give too much away because he has been well brought up, but he’s as easy to read as an open book, even though he’s an actor.’

Detecting a glimmer of wariness in Louise’s eyes, Fouquet came closer.

‘Don’t worry, Mademoiselle. When he placed himself under my protection, Gabriel did me the favour of confiding in me to the extent that I know what unites you, that is to say his name, his parentage
and his youth. I only wish him well. But apart from the dangers which surround him, making it preferable for him to stay away from Paris, I fear that Monsieur Colbert’s manoeuvring with regard to that ungrateful wretch Molière may have considerably damaged his professional situation. I don’t yet know what is afoot that should make his activities so interesting to such powerful individuals, even if he is Gabriel de Pontbriand. But I shall find out. From now on, he had better be careful.’

A note of urgency entered his voice.

‘That applies to you too, Mademoiselle. It is said that the year 1661 is a perilous time for newcomers to Court. Take care,’ he urged her, his tone serious. ‘One is not always aware that one is playing a dangerous game until one steps on a nest of vipers …’

Perplexed by this enigmatic phrase, Louise looked at him questioningly.

‘What do you mean, Monsieur?’

‘Monsieur Superintendent!’

As he was swallowed up by a group of guests, Fouquet gestured vaguely to Louise that he was unable to answer that. She watched him move away with an unpleasant feeling of apprehension in her heart.

Why did he say that?
she wondered, knitting the slender eyebrows which arched above her large blue eyes.
And what exactly does he know?

She had no time to arrive at an answer before a hand was laid on her bare arm, making her jump for the third time that evening.

‘My dear, how nervous you are,’ said the voice of Olympe Mancini softly.

Louise bowed, trying to suppress the blush she could feel rising in her cheeks.

‘What do young girls dream of?’ Olympe continued, sitting down beside her. ‘Shall we talk for a while? You are young and new to these surroundings; I should like to talk to you as I would to a friend. The Court is a cruel world and above all a world that is difficult to understand, full of codes and manners which set traps for the newcomer. It is best not to venture into it alone; it would be far too easy to believe that the moon is made of green cheese … or of charming princes,’ she commented with a feigned air of detachment.

Louise’s mistrust sprang into life. She could feel Olympe’s eyes on the back of her neck, on her cheek. She must not allow her feelings to show.

‘People are like seasons,’ went on Olympe, ‘ever changing and unpredictable. It is better to start from the basis that one has no friends apart from those with whom one shares a common interest. I know this must seem sad and cynical to your childish heart, but it would be wicked of me not to put you on your guard.’

Louise felt Olympe’s cold fingers on her wrist.

‘I can be your friend; I have to be your friend. A friend who is extremely dependable, faithful and useful. A friend capable of keeping your secrets and protecting them. Believe it or not, they do not interest me,’ she said, her voice suddenly curt.

Louise listened in silence as the words accumulated, adding to her feeling of unease. She took a deep breath and turned to face Olympe.

‘That would be a most precious friendship,’ she replied slowly, making an effort to control her intonation. ‘I fear I do not have the means to afford it.’

Olympe hesitated for a moment before replying.

‘Do not be foolish. What interests me is what you see, what you hear, no more. You will talk to me, and that is all.’

‘Secrets are like perfumes,’ said Louise, pulling her hand away. ‘They cannot bear to be spilled …’

‘Precisely!’ Olympe exclaimed, her voice almost menacing and tinged with the fear that her prey was about to escape.

‘… and besides, I cannot answer your proposition on my own. Do I have your permission to put it to His Majesty?’ Louise enquired, fleeing without waiting for an answer, as though frightened by her own boldness.

‘Damn her!’ swore Olympe between her teeth. ‘She will pay for this.’

Louise ran towards the garden and came out onto the terrace, almost knocking over a servant carrying a salver. The cool, flower-scented air filled her lungs. She realised she was trembling.

The festivities were coming to an end. Guests were leaving the house in small groups, travelling back down the avenue where the footmen had once again taken up their positions. The cold air slowly reclaimed the deserted grounds. Jolted about by the wheels as they trundled over earth that was still muddy from the previous day’s rain, Louise drew her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. Aude was already asleep beside her, her head slumped to one side and threatening to fall onto her shoulder at every jolt. The shrill grating of the wheel hubs resounded in Louise’s ears. She tried to relax, but was unable to forget her encounter with Olympe. The woman’s words seemed to stick to her skin like the over-sweet juice of those grapes she had once pilfered with Gabriel:
What a long time ago,
she reflected … She shivered again as she recalled the threats barely veiled by Olympe’s honeyed words; she had made it known that she was aware of the bond uniting Louise with the King, and that people
with evil intentions could take offence at it and seek to harm her. Olympe had hinted that she needed protection, and that it would be so easy for her, so innocuous, to ensure the recognition of powerful people by telling them what the King said, and what his concerns were.

Louise wondered if she had been right to say no; perhaps she should have held her tongue. Whatever the answer, the lightning bolts that issued from Olympe’s eyes as she had fled left her in no doubt that there was no way back.

‘Tomorrow, we shall see tomorrow,’ Louise murmured again, feeling sleep overwhelm her.

A moment later, as the coachman urged the horses along the road to the Paris toll-gate and the Vincennes keep had already vanished over the horizon, there was only silence and darkness inside the carriage.