Mistress of the Sun by Sandra Gulland

Author:Sandra Gulland [Gulland, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2007-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

NICOLAS FOUQUET WELCOMED his royal guests to his new château with an effusive show of grandeur. “This modest fete is in your honor, Your Majesty.” Attired in lace and brocade, he handed the King and the Queen Mother down from their royal coach himself, presenting the Queen Mother with a tiara of diamonds. He expressed regret that the Queen, great in her maternity, had been unable to make the three-hour journey from Fontaine Beleau.

Madame Fouquet, fully with child herself, made a curtsy and was helped to rise by the Marquise de Plessis-Bellièvre.

Petite glanced away when the Marquise—Fouquet’s spy, she now knew—looked at her coldly.

“Ah, my dear Fouquet,” the Queen Mother said as one of her attendants placed the glittering bauble on her head, “you honor to excess.”

“Nothing is too great for Your Majesty,” Fouquet said, but glancing over at Louis, who was surveying the grounds. The limestone château was encircled by courtyards and a moat. Vast gardens, defined by clipped hornbeam hedges, extended down to a canal.

“Ah, the beautiful Madame,” Fouquet exclaimed as a swarm of footmen unhitched Henriette’s litter from the backs of two palfreys. “What a trial for you to have come all this way,” he said, bending to kiss her hand.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Monsieur,” Henriette said dreamily. She was officially young with child now, and delicate. Her doctor and Philippe had objected, but she had insisted on making the trip. She had had to travel by litter, well dosed with laudanum.

“And in such heat, such dust! Come, Your Majesties, I will show you to your suites so that you might refresh.”

Petite followed as footmen hoisted Henriette’s litter up the carpeted stairs. The château was exquisite in every detail: frescoes, rare mosaics, porphyry tables, gold-framed mirrors, ancient Greek sculptures everywhere. She noticed an emblem carved into the cupola high above—Fouquet’s device. It showed a squirrel climbing a tree, and underneath, the words Quo non ascendet?

She puzzled over the translation. Where to not climb? To what not to climb? To what place—what height—would he not climb? That was it, she realized with a chill. To what heights would he not climb?

Does Fouquet seek the crown? Petite wondered. Certainly, he was acting the part. It was said that he had spent over a hundred thousand livres on this fete alone—more than Louis spent in a year. Where had the money come from? Louis suspected that Fouquet was taking money out of the national treasury, that his wealth was embezzled—from him, from the people. Such display of luxury would no doubt confirm his suspicions. Where would it lead? Louis was intent on change, intent on rule without corruption—by force if need be.

“Look up,” Nicole sang out softly beside her. “Ludmilla’s watching.”

Louis was standing on the landing. He glanced beyond Petite and then directly at her, his eyes lingering. With the slightest of smiles, he looked away.

Fouquet appeared at the balustrade beside him. He too caught Petite’s eye. He lifted his gloved hand to the brim of his green hat in salute.

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