The Sun King Conspiracy (33 page)

T
HE muffled sounds of the festivities reached as far as the statue of Hercules. Huddled in its shadow, Gabriel leant with all his weight on the lever he had slid beneath a flagstone joined to the monument’s plinth. He stopped for a moment to get his strength back, and turned to look at the flickering lights at the far end of the gardens. All the guests were now in the chateau. Looking upwards, he gazed briefly at the dark-blue sky. The clarity of the night, illuminated by an intense, whitish-yellow moon, was not marred by a single cloud. Tensing his muscles, he pushed down on the lever again. Little by little, the stone moved from its housing, pivoting with a muffled cracking sound to reveal the dark cavity leading to the network of channels which served the park’s lakes and fountains.

Gabriel groped about to locate the iron rungs set into the wall. Then he went to fetch the torch he had carefully planted in the earth behind the plinth, so that it would remain invisible from the buildings, and began to climb down into the shaft.

Taking care to gain a secure footing on the damp, rusty iron, he felt the stench of the stagnant water catch in his throat. He slipped his arm through a rung and pulled his cravat up over his face to cover his nose and mouth, and then continued his descent.

He thought of Fouquet and d’Orbay. Everything now rested upon him. He remembered d’Orbay’s solemn expression as he said:

‘Nicolas wouldn’t be able to get away for long. A prolonged
absence would be too obvious. And the same is true for me, though to a lesser extent; Colbert’s men will be watching us. You are going to have to go and fetch the formula from wherever you hid it on your return from London. And you’ll also have to carry out the transmutation process. I will have prepared the necessary plants in the tower beneath the cupola. They’ll be hidden beneath the supporting structure – I showed you where. No one will have access to the tower except the man responsible for the fireworks, and he is one of us. The risk of fireworks exploding will keep away any intruders, as will the guards posted on the stairs. At exactly ten o’clock the moon’s rays will be shining on the cupola at the optimum angle. You must be ready. Then you’ll go to Nicolas’s bedchamber. He’ll be waiting for you to make sure the operation is a success …’

Gabriel suddenly lost his footing on a particularly slippery rung and almost fell, only just recovering his balance in time. He paused for a moment to get his breath back, then climbed deeper into the shaft.

When he felt packed earth beneath his feet, he stepped away from the ladder and headed down the tunnel which had opened up before him. The sound of the water running through the conduits echoed in the enclosed space, making his ears buzz. He concentrated on counting the number of steps he took, forcing himself to space them evenly, and after a while he stopped and turned to face the brick wall on his right. Leaning his torch against it, he took the dagger from his belt and worked away to remove a brick that was at waist-height. It fell to the ground without a sound. Gabriel slid his hand into the cavity and withdrew a small box, which he slipped into a pouch that hung round his neck, then returned the way he had come.

‘He’s late,’ grunted d’Orbay, his voice filled with tension.

Screwing up his eyes against the summer wind’s caress, Fouquet turned to the architect and smiled.

‘Don’t be impatient. He will be here any moment now.’

Then he gripped d’Orbay’s arm and pointed to a silhouetted figure running along beside the outbuildings.

‘Look, there he is. Allowing for the time it takes him to climb up to the tower, he will be in place in five minutes.’

The Superintendent took out a small silver pocket watch and held it up.

‘Twenty minutes to ten. Perfect.’

They fell silent. As they stood there on the terrace, their eyes once again swept across the vista laid out before them. The brightness of the moon, together with the lights from the party, combined to make the shadows of the groves and flowerbeds dance in the darkness.

The two men returned to mingle with the crowd.

A moment later, Gabriel emerged on the balcony of the tower. He glanced swiftly at the moon, then went back inside to examine the supporting structure and re-emerged a few seconds later with a black box clasped in his hands like some precious gem.

Everything is ready,
he said to himself feverishly as he lifted the lid, revealing twelve separate compartments filled with powders of various colours.
All the components are here: the eight plants, the powdered gold, the water, oil and myrrh.

Setting down the box, he picked up from the ground a telescope with a dial fixed to its end, and raised it to his eye. As he put it down again, he realised that he was trembling and mopped his brow.

He unfolded one of the papers he had hidden beneath the
fountain, read the first line, then took a pinch of powder from one of the compartments and put it into a glass test tube to check that he had the exact quantity required.

His excitement mounted as he followed the instructions, and his heart beat louder and louder.

Finally, he poured the oil and water onto the plants and then he stepped back to consult the watch d’Orbay had given him. It showed one minute to ten.

Carefully picking up the vessel in which he had mixed the herbs, Gabriel held it above a copper basin. His eyes rested on the parchment that lay there just as the moon’s rays illuminated it with their almost unreal white light. A breath of wind swept across his cheeks as his hands tilted the vessel and slowly spread its contents throughout the basin. The thick, turbid liquid covered the manuscript, insinuating itself between its pages whose texture seemed to absorb it. Gabriel closed his eyes for a second. When he reopened them, he peered into the basin to see that the document had soaked up all the liquid.

He touched the pages of the codex, which seemed once again dry, and cautiously picked it up. He hesitated for a moment, tempted to open it, and then changed his mind as he looked down and saw the first guests below him, escorted by footmen bearing lanterns, heading for the dais erected at the edge of the forest for Molière’s play. Fouquet must have taken advantage of this moment to vanish on the pretext of making final checks, and the King would have withdrawn to rest in his apartments until the spectators had taken their places. Perhaps the Superintendent was already in his bedchamber.

Gabriel rolled up the codex in a length of white cambric, descended the twisting staircase as quickly as possible, and walked past the principal beam that supported the dome’s colossal frame. He lifted the trapdoor and operated the mechanism which opened a secret
panel on the private staircase leading from the Superintendent’s office to his bedchamber. Stealthily, he crossed the space which separated him from Nicolas Fouquet, ears straining for the smallest sound. He felt for the lever that opened the hidden door, revealed in the near-darkness of the corridor by the thin line of light that surrounded it. The door swung open without a sound. Gabriel stood on its threshold for a moment, dazzled by the powerful light that blazed forth from the two crystal chandeliers and was reflected in an immense mirror of Venetian glass.

Fouquet’s voice reached him before he actually saw the Superintendent, who was standing beside his desk.

‘Come here, Gabriel.’

He obeyed, carrying the wrapped package in his hands. Fouquet took it without a word and placed it on the table. He gently removed the fabric, spent a moment contemplating the cover page, upon which had appeared green and red ornamental swirls together with a sun with fourteen rays, and caressed its surface. Then he opened up the document.

Gabriel watched Fouquet’s hands move over the text and then looked up at his eyes. His gaze was so intense that it seemed it might set fire to the pages he was examining with such care. The Superintendent murmured some words softly as he read on.

Finally he closed the codex and stood for a moment, gazing into space.

When he turned towards Gabriel, the young man saw tears shining in his eyes.

‘It is all for the best,’ was all he said. ‘All for the best.’

Then, as though emerging from a dream:

‘Did François show you the mechanism allowing access to the cavity between the two domes?’

Gabriel nodded.

‘Then go,’ said the Superintendent, almost regretfully wrapping the fabric around the parchment once more. ‘Don’t waste a second: put it in place and then join us at the play.’

Gabriel opened his mouth to answer but Fouquet was already at the door, having laid the package on the desk. Gabriel picked it up and left by the hidden door. It slammed shut, plunging him into darkness again. As he headed for the staircase leading to the dome, the young man felt his heart pounding furiously against the parchment he was clasping to his chest.

A
S soon as the King had taken his place in the front row, Molière stepped onto the stage dressed in town clothes and looking preoccupied. The theatre had been set up on the avenue of fir trees so that its audience would benefit from the coolness of the fountains.

‘Sire, I am afraid we have run out of time. I hope His Majesty will forgive us for not being able to present the entertainment that was expected this evening.’

A murmur ran through the crowd of guests invited to this sumptuous party by the lord of Vaux-le-Vicomte. Louis XIV himself remained impassive as he sat beside the Superintendent of Finance, whose smile was surprising after the announcement just made by the great actor.

But this opening artifice, devised by Molière as a prelude to the entertainment, soon gave way to Madeleine Béjart, dressed as a nymph. Thunderous applause greeted the actress’s appearance. The entertainment commissioned by Fouquet was the first of a new genre that blended theatre and dance. There were ballets by Beauchamp between each act of the play, which was entitled
Les Fâcheux,
and a suite by Lulli had also been included. The story lavishly praised the King’s merits, and it was a complete success. A long ovation greeted the end of the performance. Molière was exultant. The King had
applauded and laughed heartily several times during the evening, which reassured Fouquet who had been suffering from a fever since the morning. As the guests began to disperse along the avenues, a firework display lit up the park, beginning with a formation of fleurs-de-lys. An enormous whale was then seen approaching along the canal, to the accompaniment of trumpets and drums. Puffs of smoke escaped from the animal, and the whole Court gasped in astonishment.

‘Sire,’ Fouquet ventured, ‘this feat of illumination was perfected by the great Torelli, whom I brought over from Italy expressly for you this evening.’

Louis XIV nodded, but did not answer. He walked beside his Superintendent towards the chateau. Fouquet had been particularly attentive towards Anne of Austria, providing her with a carriage and pair so that she would be spared any exertion. Still dazzled, the crowd moved silently back towards the main building.

‘View it from this side, Sire,’ cried Nicolas Fouquet, pointing to the chateau’s cupola.

At that very moment, the final, crowning piece of the firework display exploded from the dome’s pinnacle, to everyone’s great surprise. Countless fireworks now formed an arching canopy of light above the delighted and astonished crowd. The Superintendent was watching Louis XIV, who was still as impassive as ever, despite the magnificence of the spectacle.

Whatever can he be thinking?
he pondered, stunned by the young King’s lack of reaction.

Inside the chateau a final collation largely made up of sumptuous trays of fruit was being served to the accompaniment of violins. Conversation flowed, and everyone was full of admiration. Never had the French Court been invited to such a reception, and the
splendour of the chateau and its gardens reinforced the impression of power and grandeur even more.

On the pretext of discussing some financial documents, Nicolas Fouquet contrived to be alone with the King in one of the salons. Gabriel, who was looking for Louise, observed the scene from a distance, as did Colbert, who had been busily spreading his venom amongst the guests.

‘Sire, all of this is for you,’ said the Superintendent suddenly, taking in the chateau and its riches with a sweeping gesture. ‘I have no other ambition but to serve Your Majesty and to place my fortune at the service of the King!’

The young sovereign looked at him darkly before answering.

‘It is all extremely luxurious,’ he said, eyeing the furniture, the tapestries and the paintings which decorated the room. ‘Extremely luxurious!’

‘Sire, permit me to provide you with further proof of my devotion tonight,’ went on Fouquet, mopping his brow; his fever was making him feel extremely uncomfortable. ‘I am in possession of an ancient manuscript of extraordinary value. A manuscript which, if used unwisely, could imperil the structure and government of the Kingdom.’

The young King still appeared withdrawn.

‘Nevertheless, were you to accept it, this precious document could serve to enhance Your Majesty’s present and future glory. The document is incontestably of Biblical origin. It would enable the King of France to re-establish the legitimacy of his power, and at the same time guarantee the happiness of the people he governs.’

‘Is it your opinion, then, that the King of France’s power is not legitimate, Monsieur Superintendent?’ enquired Louis XIV pointedly.

‘Your Majesty is young; you wish to take the Kingdom’s affairs in hand and give France a place in the world which she has never known before,’ went on Nicolas Fouquet without acknowledging what the King had said. ‘This is a worthy ambition, but times have changed, Sire. The aspirations of ordinary people are evolving too. Tomorrow, the people will wish to express themselves in one way or another, to participate more actively in defining their own destiny. And if we do not listen to this wish, it will then become a demand, a rage, a rebellion. It will imperil our country! I can offer you the chance to instigate a new era! You alone can provide the impetus needed, and become the leading figure in this change.’

The King was still looking at Fouquet distractedly, making him feel more and more ill at ease.

‘Sire, will you allow me to show you this document so that you can judge its contents?’

The obstinately silent King stood before the Superintendent as though lost in his own dreams.

‘Sire, do you hear me? I beg you to consider my words! The fate of the Kingdom is at stake!’

All at once the King came to life:

‘The fate of the Kingdom? And what do you mean by that, Monsieur Superintendent: that of a people, a monarchy or a sovereign? I hear what you are saying, but I question why you devote so much attention to the “wishes” of the populace and so little to the interests of your King. In what way is it in my interest to consider the wellbeing of those who wish to damage my power? And in whose name am I to question a tradition of which I am merely the repository, as were my ancestors before me and as my descendants will be after me?’

‘But there is only one interest, Sire, that of France, of which the
common folk are the flesh and you the embodiment!’

An icy smile flickered on the King’s lips.

‘You sometimes talk like those Jesuits who surround me, Monsieur Superintendent. Personally, I would prefer fewer arguments and more proof of the care you say you are taking to ensure my glory and the success of my policies. Moreover, your argument gives me no reason to go against tradition based upon the Church’s teachings.’

‘This text is precisely that proof, Sire. I have in my possession a torch which can set the country alight, and undermine the foundations on which it rests. But I wish to use that torch solely to light your way and guide your steps.’

The King clenched his fist in a gesture of vexation.

‘Guide, guide!’ he growled. ‘I have no lack of guides; I can’t set foot outside my bedchamber without ten people offering to guide me! I want to be served,’ he continued, raising his voice.

‘But you cannot ignore the text,’ said Fouquet in reply. ‘It exists, and you must look at it. I am serving you by enabling you to discover it, before the world knows anything about it. You may then consider it and prepare to reveal it to the world. You will be the man who opens the eyes of the world! Sire, this document speaks the Truth, the only Truth that is …’

‘The Truth, Monsieur Superintendent,’ cut in the King, ‘has no need of discovery. It is already in our possession.’

‘But Sire, just imagine …’

‘And no one,’ the sovereign interrupted again icily, ‘has an interest in seeing it called into question unless he wishes to open a truly terrible Pandora’s box. I know how I wish to be served. And what I do not wish is that my Superintendent of Finance should seek to turn himself into a philosopher and exegete. Forget Biblical texts, Monsieur Superintendent. For pity’s sake, devote more of your
energy to enabling me to possess the means to stage receptions as fine as the one we have attended this evening.’

He thinks I am mad,
thought the Superintendent, coming to his senses a little.
Or is it that I am no longer speaking clearly? Has my fever led me astray?

‘I hear nothing of what you say about this manuscript,’ went on the young King. ‘Or more precisely, I hear nothing but words which a less benevolent spirit than mine would readily accuse of heresy, sacrilege or lese-majesty. “A torch”? “Undermine the foundations” on which the country rests? Why not also speak of republics, Monsieur Superintendent?’ raged the King, before struggling to regain his composure. ‘I cannot listen to these kinds of ideas. But tell me, are you ill?’

Without waiting for a reply, the King walked a few steps away before turning round:

‘Farewell, Monsieur Superintendent, it is time for us to part,’ he said in a voice that was strangely measured and solemn.

Crushed, and realising that he was going to gain nothing from the evening, Fouquet trailed behind Louis XIV, whose slow, formal walk to the door of the salon provoked a tidal wave of bows from the assembled courtiers.

Fouquet stood at the foot of the steps and watched the King of France’s carriage move away. He was now shaking all over from the fever which had been with him all evening.

La Fontaine approached him.

‘You look unhappy, and yet what a magnificent reception! It lacked for nothing! The Court will remember it for a long time, I can tell you!’

‘Let us hope the King does too!’ muttered the Superintendent, walking back up the steps of his palace.