The Sun King Conspiracy (35 page)

F
OUQUET was feeling relaxed as he walked down the great staircase of the Château de Nantes, where the King had just convened his council. The Superintendent of Finance was deep in thought as he returned to the sedan chair awaiting him in the courtyard.

The meeting had certainly gone well. It was the young monarch’s twenty-third birthday and everyone had presented their compliments. Louis XIV had even kept him behind for a private talk after the other ministers had left, in order to discuss various trivial matters. The lord of Vaux had interpreted this as a sign, and had taken advantage of the opportunity to request a private audience with the King. This had been granted without him having to give the reason for his request, and a meeting had been fixed for that very afternoon.

I shall be able to convince him at last. He must have been thinking about our conversation at Vaux
, thought the Superintendent.

The rumours about him were proliferating. He had objected when, in the course of a long conversation the previous evening, another minister had expressed anxiety about the air of agitation and secrecy that seemed to surround the King and Colbert of late. The Superintendent had dismissed this with a wave of his hand.

‘My friends, there is nothing to fear,’ he had said. ‘If anyone should be wary of Louis XIV, it is Colbert himself!’

The Superintendent recalled these words as he prepared to climb into his sedan chair.

As for d’Artagnan, he had risen at dawn and had carried out to the letter the instructions received directly from the King.

‘Tomorrow, at four o’clock in the morning,’ the King had told him after summoning him the previous evening, ‘you will send ten men to Ancenis, led by a sergeant. At six o’clock, a squadron of twenty musketeers will assemble in the courtyard of the chateau. Another will take up position by the gate on the city side. The remainder of your company will wait in the fields, in case they are needed,’ Louis XIV had continued as d’Artagnan looked increasingly astonished. ‘You will carry out the act at the entrance to the chateau. Afterwards, a carriage with iron-barred windows will await you. You will head for Oudon without delay. You will be expected for the night at the chateau in Angers.’

So, still feverish from the illness that had kept him in bed for five days until this royal summons had brooked no excuse, d’Artagnan waited from early morning onwards for the man he was to arrest at the chateau gate. The King’s words went round and round in his head:

‘You are going to swear to me that you will reveal nothing of this until you have fulfilled your duty! The copyist who worked on these instructions has been locked up for forty-eight hours, so any leak detrimental to the smooth operation of this plan will have come either from you or from me! Go, Monsieur – the Kingdom’s future depends upon your skill tomorrow.’

All that was now needed before action could be taken was the King’s final confirmation as he left the council. Le Tellier was to relay this to d’Artagnan, but he had been waylaid in conversation beneath the trees and d’Artagnan dared not disturb him, thinking that perhaps the King had changed his mind. But then, when he saw that the Superintendent was about to leave, d’Artagnan rushed forward.

‘Monsieur,’ he said, interrupting the conversation, ‘have the King’s orders of yesterday evening been changed?’

‘Not at all, Captain!’ replied Le Tellier brusquely.

The sedan chair had disappeared.

D’Artagnan ran to the chateau’s gates, and the musketeers on duty there told him that the Superintendent had melted into the crowds and bustle of Nantes. Not knowing what to do, the captain rushed to see the King, who received him immediately.

‘Sire, he has escaped us!’

‘That is impossible,’ said the King, pale with rage. ‘He must be found; and I shall find him! Take fifteen men and bring him in. Search the entire city if you have to!’

D’Artagnan promptly ran off to search for the Superintendent. Meanwhile, Nicolas Fouquet was calmly travelling along, breathing in the cool, dry September air, on his way to lunch at his residence in the Rue Haute-du-Château. The crowds in the old city’s narrow streets had slowed down his progress, and d’Artagnan’s troops caught up with his entourage in the Place Saint-Pierre, not far from the cathedral. Fouquet stuck his head out of the door to see why his bearers had stopped and recognised the captain.

‘What is going on, Monsieur d’Artagnan?’

‘Monseigneur, I must speak to you,’ the Gascon replied in a sombre voice somewhat lacking in self-assurance.

‘Can’t it wait?’

‘I’m afraid not, Monseigneur!’

Nicolas Fouquet then emerged from the sedan chair and bowed to the captain. A ray of sunshine peeped through the clouds, forcing the Superintendent to screw up his eyes to see d’Artagnan properly as he dismounted from his horse and stood facing him.

‘Monseigneur! In the name of the King, I arrest you!’

The Superintendent’s astonishment was evident.

‘Monsieur d’Artagnan, are you quite sure? Is it really me you want?’ asked Fouquet incredulously as the captain took the warrant from the sleeve of his jacket and handed it to him.

As he read the document, his eyes clouded. Deathly white, he returned the document to d’Artagnan.

‘I wasn’t expecting this at all,’ murmured the Superintendent. Then, regaining his composure a little, he raised his voice and addressed d’Artagnan.

‘Captain, I bow to the orders and desires of His Majesty as I have always done. I am therefore at your disposal. But I beg you, do not create a great stir!’

‘A
T the Château d’Angers!’

‘You heard me, Monsieur de La Fontaine. Monseigneur has just spent his first night as a prisoner at the Château d’Angers.’

‘Angers,’ repeated d’Orbay, ‘his family home! That can have only one aim – to humiliate the Superintendent in order to break him!’

‘As soon as I learned of his arrest, I could think of only one thing,’ confessed Isaac Bartet as he finished off the glass of wine he had been given on his arrival, along with some bread and cheese – he had been galloping almost non-stop for twenty-four hours. ‘To inform you, and then head for Saint-Mandé to try and protect what could still be protected. So, Messieurs …’ said the spy who had remained faithful to Fouquet, getting up from his chair.

‘But be reasonable,’ said La Fontaine. ‘You cannot leave like this! You can barely stand. Get an hour or two’s sleep.

‘Think about it,’ replied Bartet. ‘We haven’t a moment to lose. That venomous snake Colbert has orchestrated this entire operation. He must have despatched his henchmen all over the place already!’

As the hirsute, mud-spattered Bartet galloped away from the estate, Gabriel returned from riding the most beautiful thoroughbred in the Vaux stables. Dismounting, the young man realised from his companions’ expressions that the situation was grave.

‘They arrested Monseigneur yesterday morning in Nantes and he’s been imprisoned in Angers. He’ll probably be taken from there to the Bastille,’ Jean de La Fontaine announced sadly.

‘But that’s not possible!’ Gabriel declared. ‘It’s a mistake! The King must be told! When he knows …’

‘It was Louis XIV himself who signed the warrant,’ replied d’Orbay. ‘There’s nothing more we can do for the moment. Except save what can still be saved.’

‘I’m going to stay here to try and safeguard everything that will be vital for the trial which Colbert is sure to stage-manage,’ decided La Fontaine.

‘Good,’ replied François d’Orbay. ‘You should also look after the interests of our friend’s wife and children. Like Bartet, I fear that the vultures will swiftly descend upon the Superintendent’s carcass.’

‘And what about me?’ Gabriel cut in. ‘What can I do to prove my fidelity?’

‘Protect yourself by leaving here as soon as possible!’ suggested d’Orbay, giving his best friend’s son a look that was both affectionate and firm. ‘Go up and pack your things without delay. When you get to Paris tonight you can collect the rest of your belongings from Rue des Lions Saint-Paul and …’

The architect fell silent for a moment.

‘and … then we shall see,’ he went on. ‘Go – I’ll join you in a few minutes to help you with your baggage.’

‘And what about you? What do you plan to do?’ La Fontaine asked as they walked back into the chateau.

‘Oh, I know where my duty lies!’ the architect answered in a strange voice.

Gabriel ran up to his bedchamber. He could not believe that the Superintendent of France, the most powerful man in the Kingdom and the master of Vaux, could have been arrested and imprisoned on the King’s orders. He thought of his father as he climbed the stairs four at a time.
He would have been able to advise me.
Then Louise’s image came to mind.
I have to talk to her. There’s no question of my leaving Paris without carrying out my revenge. She will help me …

A few moments later, d’Orbay knocked at Gabriel’s door.

‘I’ve almost finished,’ he announced without turning round. ‘I have very few things here, I must say!’

‘I’ve just given the orders. An unmarked carriage will be waiting for you in half an hour’s time, to take you to Paris.’

‘And what then?’ Gabriel asked. ‘I thought I might go and see Louise de La Vallière and ask for her …’

‘Sit down,’ ordered François d’Orbay. The young man was somewhat surprised by the abruptness of the command.

‘The situation is serious, as you will have realised,’ went on the architect, sitting down beside him on the bed. ‘Fouquet may not emerge from this affair alive, and with his demise the hopes of your father and of our Brotherhood will have collapsed once and for all. Last week in Rome, I reassembled our company of wise men and we voted on the Superintendent’s last request. He asked for you to be accepted into our Brotherhood, should any misfortune befall him.’

‘Me!’

‘Yes,’ went on d’Orbay with a smile. ‘He considered you worthy to succeed your ancestors. I must now ask you an important question, Gabriel. Do you feel ready, in your turn, to agree to protect the Fifth Gospel? Are you strong enough to devote your entire life to it and,
if necessary, to sacrifice your life to it, as your father did? Would you be able to accept that from one day to the next you might have to change your identity, your life, leave your country and your friends, with no hope of going back? Think carefully,’ he said solemnly.

‘I accept!’ replied the young man after a moment. ‘But what must I do now?’

D’Orbay sighed deeply and withdrew a document from his doublet, then handed it to Gabriel.

‘In this envelope you will find everything you need to know about the Brotherhood and its rules. Learn all of it by heart and destroy this copy.’

Gabriel gripped it firmly.

‘Now I will tell you what our companion wishes. You are to go on a journey, Gabriel, and you must leave immediately.’

‘A long journey?

‘Yes, a very long journey in fact,’ confirmed the architect. ‘You are going to travel to the New World.’

Gabriel’s eyes widened in astonishment.

‘Yes, you heard correctly,’ resumed d’Orbay, ‘you’re to leave for the Americas! I was instructed to hand you this letter once you had accepted, and particularly if I felt that the situation endangered the safety of Saint Peter’s Secret. Fouquet’s arrest and the dangers you and I face here oblige me to urge you to accept. I hadn’t imagined that events would be precipitated in this way, but you have to protect our Secret. Louis XIV now knows of its existence. He may attempt to seize it in order to destroy it. Do you understand now why I’m in such a hurry for you to leave here?’

‘I’m ready!’ Gabriel answered simply.

‘Very well. And don’t worry,’ added d’Orbay. ‘I have just sent
a messenger to Nantes. You’ll be expected at the port on Saturday to embark for the Americas. And someone will meet you on your arrival in New Amsterdam. As for money, you will never lack for it,’ d’Orbay added mysteriously.

A shadow passed across Gabriel’s face.

‘But I can’t leave as quickly as that. My father hasn’t been avenged. Colbert has not been made to pay. I put off my vengeance, but …’

‘I shall take care of it,’ cut in d’Orbay. ‘It is all in hand. Have no fear, the punishment is under way. Your duty is now elsewhere,’ he added more gently.

Full of emotion, François d’Orbay embraced the young man in silence.

Gabriel suddenly had a premonition that he would never ever see him again.

‘Why don’t you come with me?’ he asked.

The architect smiled sadly.

‘My time spent serving our Secret is coming to an end. In the Americas you will find companions who are young like you. That is what our Brotherhood’s organisation requires. You will discover this when you read the documents I have just given you.’

Without wasting any more time, the architect led the young man off to retrieve the codex hidden in the chateau’s cupola.

‘Here,’ he told him, handing him the precious cargo. ‘In this box you will find a letter of explanation from Fouquet, which I ask you not to read until you are on the boat. Then destroy it. When you’ve read it, you’ll know everything about the Secret of the Fifth Gospel!’

As the servants were loading the young man’s trunk, d’Orbay said farewell to Gabriel.

‘Don’t do anything reckless, my boy. This evening, you have
become another link in an immense chain which must not be broken! Now go,’ he said, with moist eyes, ‘and remember, your father would have been proud of you!’

As the carriage passed through the gates of Vaux-le-Vicomte at top speed, Gabriel thought only of one thing: taking Louise with him to the Americas!

F
RANÇOIS d’Orbay gazed at the ceiling of the great entrance hall, and at the secret panel hidden in the Gemini medallion along the cornice. He thought of the months spent plotting in the shadows, patiently searching for the signs that had convinced him there was a chance they could take advantage of the exceptional circumstances provided by Mazarin’s death, Louis XIV’s youth and Fouquet’s talent. Where had he gone wrong? What had he not known or misjudged, that this opportunity should have ended in such total failure? Far from calming the dull anger which had brought tears to his eyes, the sight of the towers of Vaux, of its perfect vista, the finely wrought gates, the pale stone, the gardens and the cupola, seemed to him to be a monstrous catafalque, erected to bear witness to this failure for hundreds of years to come. For months, he had exhausted his eyes and his hands on this prodigious work, imagined the radiance of this communal residence, the town destined to spread out around the palace at the heart of the new capital of a Kingdom where men would be equals, a Kingdom at last in accordance with divine teaching … For months he had watched as the Superintendent’s passion for Vaux grew gradually in his soul. A passion which he had orchestrated and staged in order to help Fouquet. And even Colbert and his miserable intrigues had
not ruined that!
No, of course they had not
, he tried to reason with himself.
Besides, what does it matter?

A sad smile lit his face for a moment with a feverish glint.

It matters for Colbert – his price has already been fixed. One wounds a man where he is most sensitive …

He then walked along the terrace in the hot summer’s night. Not a breath of air disturbed the surface of the lakes, which seemed to d’Orbay like dark mirrors in which he saw his dream drowning.

Maybe it just wasn’t the right time
, he thought as anger yielded once more to despair.

Raising his head, he wondered where the codex was now.

‘Gabriel,’ he murmured.

Only that name still brought him a little comfort.

Standing on the chateau’s main terrace, he closed his eyes and forced himself to control his trembling arm.

‘Safe journey, my boy. And good luck.’

Down below, his children were sleeping … Closing his eyes more tightly, he banished the image that tried to force its way into his mind.

It is better this way
, he thought with a flash of clarity,
yes, it is better this way, it gives them a chance …

All he could feel was the coolness on his lips and a metallic taste.

The flame zigzagged through the darkness like a small sun. The blast rang out in the night’s silence, and its sound echoed for a long time beyond the groves of trees, a long time after darkness had taken possession of the paved terrace once again. In the shadow of the cupola, motionless, the body that had rolled to the ground still held in its right hand the wooden butt of the pistol.