The Sun King Conspiracy (27 page)

As far as the eye could see, the roofs Gabriel saw from above to the left and right seemed to stretch all the way towards the horizon, linking the chateau and its outbuildings in a compact unit and totally transforming the look of the edifice. What Gabriel was gazing at in wonderment was no longer simply the proud chateau of a great lord but a town, a new city.

‘Vaux is the concrete illustration, the symbol of the word of which we are guardians. Like that word, it has two appearances: one obvious but deceptive, the one you see through the main gates when you look at the façade. And the other, hidden one, which reveals its true nature.’

Fascinated, Gabriel could not tear his gaze away from the sight.

‘Now do you grasp it?’ Fouquet went on. ‘This Secret involves more than just you and me, and that is why you must postpone your vengeance: it involves the entire Kingdom, and even more than that. This Secret is the establishment of a new political order. That of a society of consent, not of fear; of choice, not of subservience. A
society in which the sovereign will no longer reign in the name of a transcendent order, but in the name of the people who make up its population. A society in which the ruling principle will be equality, in which chateaux will no longer glorify one man alone, but will instead become houses for all.’

Gabriel was now gazing at the Superintendent.

‘Vaux is the symbol of that. At its heart, beneath the cupola where the sun of our Brotherhood will soon shine, beneath the fourteen pillars symbolising the fourteen Brothers who have borne this quest through the ages, the codex, the Fifth Gospel, will soon lie. This dome was built in such a way that its positioning would be just right on the designated date, enabling the text to be revealed in the right conditions. And it is there that I shall hand the King the proof before which he will be obliged to bow, and to agree to re-establish his reign upon new foundations.’

Fouquet took a step forward.

‘We chose the sun because it looks upon all men in the same way, granting them its light and heat equally. If you defer your rightful desire for vengeance, our plan will have more chance of succeeding. The choice is now yours. Your father’s inheritance is now in your hands. Do you count yourself one of us, Gabriel de Pontbriand?’

Turning aside for a moment, Gabriel took in the formidable view that had been revealed to him. Then he looked once again into Fouquet’s eyes. The wind had strengthened and was ruffling his black hair.

‘I do,’ he replied simply, opening his arms. ‘But will you at least tell me the date chosen to reveal the text?’

Fouquet smiled, and his eyes took on a supernatural brightness.

‘The seventeenth of August,’ he replied. ‘The evening of the seventeenth of August.’

‘D
O not move, Your Highness, I beg you, sit still!’ said the painter in his heavy accent to Henrietta of England, the future sister-in-law of Louis XIV.

Positioned on a chair that was uncomfortable to say the least, and imprisoned in a ceremonial gown whose corset barely allowed her to breathe, she was clearly beginning to find the sitting tedious. Her future husband had insisted upon these long hours of posing for a painting by the talented and famous Dutch portrait painter, Rembrandt Harmensz Van Rijn. The artist, who was more inclined towards self-portraits, was finding the task extremely boring, too, but the substantial sum of money promised by the King’s brother had persuaded him to accept the commission.

Louise de La Vallière was present on this morning, as she was each time, so that she could respond to her young mistress’s every whim. A respectful but friendly relationship had grown up between Henrietta and the young girl from Amboise. They liked to entertain each other by making fun of old Rembrandt’s mannerisms. They particularly made fun of his outfit, which comprised an over-sized cap, presumably designed to protect his bald head from the cold, and a thick indoor jacket spattered with paint. Louise smiled as she watched Henrietta, who was a little intimidated by the artist’s barked commands. She was thinking of Gabriel. A laconic letter had informed her of his departure for London along with the
Superintendent, and since then she had had no news. She missed their desultory conversations – more than she would have imagined.

But he must have come back from London,
she thought.
The Superintendent has been back in France for several days
…

At that moment, Isaac Bartet came discreetly into the large salon, which had been transformed into a painter’s studio for the occasion. Raising a finger to his lips, he signalled to Louise not to say anything, so that his presence would pass unnoticed.

‘Come, Mademoiselle,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘I am on a mission for the Superintendent and I must talk to you. It is important!’

The spy in Fouquet’s service led the young girl into the corridor.

‘Whatever is happening, Monsieur?’ Louise asked, intrigued. ‘And first of all, who are you?’

The spy made a small bow.

‘Isaac Bartet at your service, Mademoiselle. Don’t be afraid,’ he went on, seeing the young girl’s look of suspicion, ‘I am a friend and have only come to disturb you because I urgently need to place you on your guard: a great danger threatens you. Mademoiselle, I have very little time to explain the situation to you, So I would ask that you trust me, and that you don’t interrupt.’

Louise nodded to the man to continue.

‘I am in possession of a letter from Madrid addressed to Henrietta of England that shows you in a very bad light. In this missive – which fortunately I was able to intercept, and of which this is a copy so that you may acquaint yourself with it in advance – you are accused of being in the pay of the Spanish court. The author even mentions your recent nocturnal meeting with Louis XIV, whose mistress you are said to have become with the sole intention of serving a cause contrary to the interests of France!’

‘But that’s all …’ cut in the young woman.

‘All of it is untrue, Mademoiselle. Of course. You know that, as do I. But this plot has been extremely well devised and I fear that other copies of the denunciation may have been sent elsewhere to guarantee the attack’s inflammatory effect. The interest which His Majesty has indeed shown in you, together with your link with the Superintendent of Finance via young Pontbriand, are known and are of interest to the highest powers in the land.’

Bartet lowered his voice.

‘As for that nocturnal meeting with His Majesty, I think you are aware that the walls of Versailles have ears and perhaps eyes. Even if your evening remained a chaste one, you will find it very hard to make anyone believe it. Do you not agree?’

Louise was devastated, not only by the accuracy of Isaac Bartet’s information, but above all by this calumny, whose icy breath she felt on her skin.

‘My God,’ she exclaimed in alarm, biting her lip. ‘What am I to do?’

‘Protect yourself, Mademoiselle,’ replied the spy. ‘And I shall leave as soon as possible for Dijon in order to warn the Superintendent about this plot. It seems to me that it is aimed directly at him through you.’

‘Might I ask you to make a stop at Vaux to hand a letter to Monsieur de Pontbriand?’ Louise asked.

‘Be quick, there is not much time,’ said the spy.

Leaving Bartet where he was, the young woman ran to Henrietta’s boudoir and sat down at her work table to write a desperate appeal to Gabriel on paper that bore her mistress’s coat of arms, briefly summing up the threats she was facing. ‘Am in grave danger. Do not know what to do in your absence. I beg you to come to my aid!’ She signed the missive ‘Your Louise’.

She handed Bartet her letter, carefully sealed and enclosing the accusatory letter given to her by the spy. As she watched him stride away, Louise hoped with all her being that Gabriel would come and bring his answer in person.

‘Who can I trust in this nest of vipers?’ she wondered, devastated. Was it possible that people could wish her such ill? Again she tried to summon up images of her childhood to counteract the fear which was invading her. Images in which Gabriel was by her side …

On her way back to the great salon, Louise pinched herself and breathed deeply to make a little colour return to her features.

‘Put on a brave face,’ she murmured. ‘Don’t allow anything to show … And hope.’

Henrietta smiled, reassured to see her young maid of honour return. She raised a hand in her direction.

‘For pity’s sake! Do not move, Highness, do not move,’ snapped the painter. ‘Or your mouth will have the same rictus grin as one of poor Doctor Tulp’s corpses!’

I
T was daybreak and an early ray of sunlight cast a red glow on the mahogany desk in Gabriel’s bedroom. The lines of letters and figures in the coded document danced before the young man’s eyes. ‘The Fifth Gospel,’ he murmured again, as if uttering the words could give meaning to the impenetrable pages. He rubbed his sore eyes. At times, it seemed to him that Bertrand Barrême’s appearance at the royal palace, his father, and the hours he had spent with him had all been a dream. Only the terrible burning pain that had gripped him when he discovered his father’s death, which had been torturing him ever since, cruelly proved that it had all been very real. All that prevented him from yielding to despair were anger and a thirst for vengeance: a thirst that d’Orbay and Fouquet’s revelations had not quenched, but only deferred. Exhausted, he went into the adjoining washroom. The sting of cold water on his face made him shiver. He washed his arms and chest and was drying himself vigorously when someone knocked at the door. Taking a moment to put his shirt back on, Gabriel opened the door and came face to face with Isaac Bartet. Without a word, Bartet handed him a letter. The young man was taken aback, but he smiled when he recognised the writing.

‘Louise!’ he exclaimed softly.

He broke the wax seal hurriedly and unfolded the letter. His smile froze. His fingers tightened around the paper and a sudden pallor spread across his tired face.

He looked up at Bartet, who stood there quite still.

‘For the love of God! What is going on?’ he demanded.

‘Well, Gabriel?’ said François d’Orbay sleepily, sitting up in his bed with a look of surprise. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

The young man was clearly in a state of agitation. As he seized d’Orbay’s hand, his voice trembled with emotion.

‘Terrible danger … I must talk to you without delay …’

‘What time is it?’ asked d’Orbay, surprised to see only the faintest glimmer of daylight through the gap in the heavy curtains.

‘It’s very early, but I couldn’t wait.’

D’Orbay was overcome with anxiety at the sight of Gabriel, who was barely dressed; his shirt was creased, his hair was unkempt, and his eyes were red from lack of sleep. Pushing back his bedclothes, he sat on the edge of the imposing canopied bed and grabbed his dressing gown while Gabriel paced around him.

‘Come, my friend, calm down,’ d’Orbay urged. ‘Tell me what has upset you. I hope you have good reason for disturbing my slumber.’

‘Louise’s safety is at stake, perhaps her life …’ cut in Gabriel.

D’Orbay frowned.

‘You mean Mademoiselle de La Vallière?’

Gabriel’s nod confirmed his fear.

So,
he thought,
even after Nicolas put her on her guard. That child is playing a game that is too dangerous for her.

Gabriel’s fevered gaze made him sigh.

And this one, too. What have I done to deserve this, to find myself surrounded by all the most imprudent young people in the Kingdom?
he thought.

‘She sent me this letter this morning, via Bartet,’ said Gabriel, reaching inside his shirt.

D’Orbay took the letter and read it swiftly.

‘You’re right, this is serious. Fortunately for your friend our spies are effective and this letter has fared better than the daily reports Bartet sends to the Superintendent. Fouquet sent me a concerned letter yesterday, telling me that nothing had reached him since he arrived in Dijon three days ago for his tour of inspection of the Duchy of Burgundy’s tax collectors. I fear that I have now discovered the reason. The reports must have been intercepted by someone who knows that Bartet has discovered the conspiracy, and wants to prevent the Superintendent from intervening. To strike during his absence: that is cunning. It is fortunate that Mademoiselle de La Vallière thought it wise to alert you.’

D’Orbay handed the message to Gabriel.

‘Very well, there’s no time to lose,’ he said after a moment’s reflection. ‘We must leave for Paris.’

Gabriel paled.

‘Do you want to save your friend? Then go and get ready, and come back here in half an hour. I will have a safe-conduct pass drawn up, and a letter which I shall sign on behalf of Nicolas – we will have to get it to the King himself without delay if we want to forestall his reaction. The letter of denunciation is well crafted, and it will not be easy to prove the conspiracy. But a warning from the Superintendent saying that he should be on his guard will at least incline the King to check the information before he yields to angry impulse. I know His Majesty’s hot temper only too well. We cannot risk awaiting the Superintendent’s return. He will not be back here for four days, and that may be too late … This letter has to reach the King before these traitors manage to get their false messages
to him! Go, Gabriel. Hurry. Get your things ready and come back immediately. Each hour that passes brings a greater risk to your friend. You shall go on ahead to reassure her and give her a copy of the letter in case some misfortune should befall us. Then hurry to Versailles. We shall meet outside the toll house on the Paris road. I shall join you by another route, in a carriage bearing Fouquet’s coat of arms – we have to take all possible precautions.’

D’Orbay watched him indulgently as he sped off.

‘A child. But an enigmatic child’, he told himself as he poured himself a glass of wine from the carafe on his bedside table.

One hour later, wrapped in a travelling cape of simple grey woollen cloth, and with nothing on him or his mount to identify the Superintendent’s household, Gabriel galloped away from Vaux by the southern gate.

‘Hold on, Louise,’ he whispered as he spurred on his horse. ‘I am on my way.’