by Carol Ann
opening in the black velvet curtains. I had fallen asleep in Louis’s bed and he was standing over me with a full erection. He ordered me to stand and ripped my clothes off, and slapped me hard across the cheek, calling me “whore”.
“Bitch, this is my other side. The King who plots the wars and murders his enemies. We shall punish you for being a faithless bitch.”
“But nothing happened, Louis.”
“You kissed and embraced him. That is heresy.”
Then Louis threw me on the bed and roughly spread my legs pinning my hands down by the wrists. He then turned me over and went up my ass. There was no foreplay, just the violent jolt of his turgid cock. And he would not stop when I told him he was hurting me. His cock felt hard like iron. It was unforgiving bloody thrusts. It was not like a joining: it was like two opposing forces. It was unforgiving bloody thrusts. A thin trickle of blood came from my ass and I could feel a searing pain. He continued on ramming me violently and I began to get wet in my private part. The more he moved the greater the pleasure and pain. I felt his angry eyes staring at me in the darkness and a stream of obscenities issued from his mouth.
The wet and tingly sensation persisted in my sex. His rough kisses on my neck, and shoulders further aroused me. Finally he shoved in to the very hilt of me and I cried out in pain and he came profusely. As his cock recessed I felt my own shuddering release.
He got up and rapidly dressed saying he would have a servant bring me a fresh gown and under clothes. “Let me find you gone, whore, when I come back.” Afterward I was still aroused and so angry that I took my hunting knife and stabbed every one of his 244
pillows in the room. Then I broke all the dishes in the hamper. My rage was greater than any sense of caution. I truly hated him and wished him ill. I cursed him with a cold wind, and fever and chills but he was so healthy it did not take.
The next day a servant appeared at my door holding a red velvet pillow with a huge diamond wedding ring in the center. He told me the King required me in his chambers immediately. I nodded and shut the door. I decided to wear my black mourning gown to express my rage. I wore the wedding ring to confuse him. I put on my face paints to conceal the purple bruise on my left cheek. When he opened the door he was all smiles and his eyes shined with love.
“My love, I beg you to forget what happened last night. Forgive me. Sometimes I feel I am two people, man and King. Why are you dressed in mourning clothes?”
“I decided to mourn the end of our love.”
“Not for Us, Tekla. We bet you didn’t know We knew your gypsy name.
Another women would be glad for my forgiveness. You betrayed me, you know.”
“I did nothing in seeing Julio. I was just saying goodbye to my old life. I was raped twice before. One man came to a terrible end: the other, I left alone. I am not glad, Louis.”
“We will not be contradicted, You are Our woman whether you like it or not, and We shall not release you. We are the last man you will ever have. Have you any idea how much that ring cost? You should be happy.”
“Of course, we whores know the price of everything, and you still owe me for the price of my ass!”
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“The wedding ring is payment, my second wife. And it is worth more than any whore is worth. You are no whore. What can We do to make Us suitable to you? Do you plan to castrate Us in Our sleep?”
“No, but I did curse you with fever and chills. I would never kill you, Louis.”
“Ah, good news! From what you just said We should behead you but your head looks so beautiful atop your neck We cannot do it.”
“I love you, too, Louis. With all my heart.”
“My ring speaks for itself. You are the damndest woman. We don’t know anyone like you. Did you try to murder Our pillows last night and put an end to all glass crystal?
“I did better than try, Louis. I, also, am sorry. I, too, have a violent side.”
“Go take off those damn mourning clothes: We did not die nor will We. Wear something red in celebration of our love. Wear red at my funeral: be a cardinal amidst the ravens.”
“I’ll wear cherry red and eat an apple during the eulogy.”
“Wear something sexy, the color of fresh blood. Sometimes in spirit, you are so vivid, rich, and wild that We wish We could drink your gypsy blood.”
“I shall return in a red dress with a string of garlic around my neck and a cross.”
“You are the safest woman in the world, darling. Being many things as you might surmise, We wish to state that We are not a vampire.”
“I put on my red dress, one of many, and we played the morning away, laughing and having sex. He was especially tender to assure me of his love. It was easy and 246
gentle, very like floating down a clear crystalline river and having each drop of water carress me.”
We boarded our ship on 25, January, 1701, and Phillip V, himself, saw us off. He was a dour man shaped like a giant manatee, all sloth and softness so unlike Louis. He was hesitant and spoke in a low, melodious voice. Perhaps he was afraid of Louis, his grandfather. His wife, Princess Elizabeth of Parma, stood straight and proud as any royal and her eyes had that spark of intelligence that King Phillip lacked. I thought that it was a pity no woman could rule directly on the throne of Spain. As King Phillip embraced me, I felt the softness of his body and I saw the mental instability in his eyes. He had the same melancholy aspect that Carlos before had. I mentioned it to Louis who acknowledged my fear. He was in line for a Bourbon succession and Louis did not want a strong man on the Spanish throne. He wanted someone he could control like a puppet.
I said Spain could not survive another weak king. Louis said that as long as Spain had France to back Her up, all would be well. As we pulled away from the shore I felt great unease for my country.
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CHAPTER THIRY-ONE
Our return to France was jubilant with so many parties aboard ship, crisp, white linen tablecloths, champagne glass clinking together, and the ever present yellow roses, my favorite flowers, clams on the half shell, swimming in red wine and garlic, white wigs, and the tinge of pink face paint on cheeks and lips on soft alabaster skin. Long Live the King and Blessed Gitana echoed throughout the room. I received several dark looks from Madame’s people. No doubt she had spies posted aboard the ship. For the first time, I felt free from Spain and all Her difficulties. But I knew I was coming into new problems: Madame’s smile lingered over my heart. It was a cold feeling amidst all the laughter and warmth. I could never be His wife: my role as a mistress was all too familiar, a woman outside the circle of light just standing in the shadows.
Still on the last night of sea faring, I wore a long lace gown with a low bodice in semblance of a bride. I also wore a white lace mantilla. I wanted to hurt Louis in a subtle way. The symbolism was not lost on Louis. He raised his eyebrows, and said,
“We see great beauty in you, my second wife. Perhaps you wanted to sting me with the realization that it could never be.”
“And does it sting?” I asked.
Louis pulled me close and kissed me hard and long and in his eyes were tears.
“You are second to no one in my life. Not even Madame. We have found in you a kindred spirit. The likeness of my own soul, mon amor. (my love). And he placed my hand on his cock, and said, “It is all yours, all yours.”
I felt a great rush of love for him like a creek violently overflowing its banks. My heart, a sodden stone, rose up in my chest. I knew people who were more deserving of 248
happiness than I. I had loved greatly, been a loyal subject to my King and Queen, yet I had also been treacherous, dangerous, and murderous. Yet, I took my fate as it came with heart and utmost courage. I had always thought of myself as a stone cast into a vast ocean, a very hard, black stone. St. Sara had given me a marvelous life.
Madame and her couturiers awaited Louis’s arrival at the dock. I thought I saw Madame scouring the crowd looking for my face so I stepped back i
n the shadows. I would depart later in a special coach Louis had arranged. As he kissed her I felt a stabbing pain in my heart. I knew our affair could be no secret. Too many people knew who we were.
Later after Louis disembarked I boarded my own coach, and was surprised to see Monsieur Philippe, the King’s brother waiting for me inside the coach. He told me Louis wanted to have a welcoming party upon arrival and who better to provide entertainment for me. I embraced him and kissed him in a sisterly way. He looked more frail than I remembered him and there were dark circles under his eyes, and sunken cheeks, and his mouth was set in a hard line of pain. It was 31, January, 1701.
“Well, darling Carmen, guess what I had to do? You won’t believe it possible. I am married twice and am on my second wife. I even had children.”
“No!”
“Yes, darling we royals must breed or perish. I never thought I was up to the task.
It was like stocking my head in a barrel of fish heads and smelled the same. I never thought the faucet would work!”
“Oh, Philippe, I am so sorry. Does this mean you have given up men?” 249
“Sacre bleu, (my God) no. She is lucky if I fuck her thrice a year. Her face is as flat and expressionless as a frying pan and her hips span the width of two mules. In fact I’d prefer a mule to her. The worst of it is she’s not even beautiful.”
“Oh, Monsieur, you are so funny but you look as though you’re in pain.”
“I have the grippe or something. They are not sure what. There’s a wheezing in my chest and I have coughing spells. It is not tuberculosis though. I went to a soothsayer she said I had many happy years to live. And I chose to believe her. Anyway if I die I’ll be the first to know.”
“Oh, Monsieur, I am so sorry to hear of your ailment.”
“Nonsense, Gitana, I manage quite well.” He spread his arms wide and said,
“Tell me, Carmen, have you ever seen such a beautiful man?” I said that indeed, I had not. Monsieur Philippe was resplendent in a gold brocade jacket, and purple tights with gold embossed slippers. He took me to his club for a New Years celebration. There was a thirty foot Christmas tree with dark blue ornaments, and silver twisted icicles in the middle of the room and many, many, colorful gifts wrapped in festive colors under the tree. Every one clapped and cheered when I arrived.
Everywhere candles glowed warm and orange, and chandeliers hung from the ceilings in all of the rooms. A pretty blond boy walked up and handed me two gifts, and he said,
“So you are the Good Witch who steals Madame’s meat. Let us drink to the downfall of Madame!” Inside one package was a chastity belt for Madame. The boy laughed and said “I hope you deliver it personally, and now unwrap your gift.” It was a costly bottle of Fleur de Lily perfume, the finest in the land. Madame, due to her many pious pronouncements about homosexuality, was very unpopular in the community of men 250
loving men. She even took it upon herself to keep track the monthly cycle of Monsieur’s wife.
“The girl is in fallow: get to it Monsieur,” she would say.
Philippe had complained to Louis who had told him that his love life was of no great concern for a king and to just ignore her.
But back to my description of the party. The air was awash in expensive cologne and the room seemed misty to me like a dream. It could have been the numerous goblets of red wine I consumed along with the champagne. The costumed waitresses (men dressed as famous women) danced as they served up the food and drink. The music was haunting and beautiful like the sound whales make when they call to each other on the vast, trembling sea. Everywhere men in silks, velvet, and brocades of brilliant colors danced together. All the colors seemed to run together like paints on an artist’s palette.
It reminded me of a Bosch painting called “Garden of Earthly Delights.” I liked the varying shades of red as red is my favorite color, yet, the greens were reminiscent of winter spruce and pine.
Some men sat on side couches and kissed while languorously unbuttoning each other’s pants. The dining room couches were a prelude to the upper rooms. Yet, none of them went up. They were waiting for the main event. There was to be a dancing boy, a virgin, who would be the grand prize of the evening. He was said to be the most beautiful boy in all of France.
The boy, who appeared to be about seventeen, arrived one minute after midnight and began to dance next to the Christmas tree. The pale, blond boy was dressed as an angel complete with large, white feathered wings. Certain parts of his body were covered 251
with a light gauzy material such as the right side of his chest, and his private area. All could be plainly seen through the gauze. The boy rotated his pelvis and shoulders to the beat of a drum. He was not afraid: he enjoyed the attention of men’s hungry eyes. While the boy danced five of the richest men, including Philippe, played chess to decide who would win the affection of the earthly angel.
I noticed the younger men were so beautiful that I was reminded of Narcissus of Greek mythology. Narcissus was very beautiful and spent hours staring into a pond to see his own reflection. Then he fell in and drowned. In the end, Monsieur Philippe won the boy.
I kissed Monsieur and wished him well with his boy. Then I got in my coach and headed to my villa, just outside of Versailles. It was magnificent beyond my wildest imaginings. I could see in the night by the light of the full moon that it was constructed of a pink stone. Mythological frescoes covered the ceiling including a scene of Prometheus bound to a rock being devoured by vultures. Other scenes of Zeus, Dianna, Venus, and Athena adorned the ceiling. The black and white squares of marble on main floor reminded me of the chess game and the winning of the boy.
I was glad for Monsieur but he looked very ill indeed. He had won the hand of a virgin angel and I had won the hand of a King. Furthermore there were two gardens, one with cupids spitting water from their mouths, and yellow roses outside the fountain. In the back garden there was honeysuckle growing on the white trellises and purple irises growing on the paths. Inside there were numerous, large couches and each room had its own color scheme. The marble floors were covered with thick Persian rugs and the color scheme for my bedroom was a deep, vibrant red. A red like the inside of Jonas’s whale.
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The wooden bed was large enough for three people and had a roaring lion’s head carved into the headboard. Numerous hunting tapestries graced the walls, and portraits of Louis were everywhere as if to say, “Gitana you are mine.”
The following morning, Lady Magdalena was at my door. She explained that Louis feared I might be lonely. She said that Madame took the fact of my arrival with rage and recrimination. Louis told her she had been a good, faithful wife, and that his new love had nothing to do with anything she lacked personally. He explained that he had not changed in his feelings for her and would be her husband until death. He merely said that there would two women in his life that he loved. She arose and came at him with curses and arms flailing. He caught her arms and held her to his chest. But still she would not relent. She calmed down with ashen face and said she did not want him in her bed and to get it from his whore instead. All of this news Magdalena obtained by bribing the guard at the door. She, Hortencia, had watched from the keyhole, and saw everything. As you see I brought Hortencia over from Spain to be Louis’s private guard. She said her word was final and she would not consent to the ungodly union. He could be her husband in name only.
He had said, “Francoise, you will live to regret this: I still love you.” Magdalena said she had no trouble in extracting the information from Hortencia as she suspected Hortencia desired her. Magdalena thanked her and insinuated she would be well rewarded for this bit of information and she gave her some sovereigns for the favor and kissed her on the mouth. Nothing is sacred in this world not even a King’s private conversation with his wife. Secrets are made to be plundered.
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This was good news for me. Madame had driven a stake into Louis’s heart and he would come to me to mend it.
And come he did. Magdalena and I were sunning ourselves on the back porch, drinking Sangria, when he arrived. The light was filtering through our wine glasses, sparkling on the rims of the glasses in a kind of phosphorescence. And the wine and cheese floated on our tongues like ambrosia and the sun beat down on our bare breasts.
Louis spoke first, “Gitana, she has expelled us from the marital bed. We look into her eyes and We see a stranger who hates me. We are heartsick about this.” I can still she him standing there so hard and bold, the sun lit his mass of brown hair like a kind of halo. His eyes were hard with the look of the warrior King.
At that moment he would have cut her out of his heart like an encrusted boil if had a knife. None of the pain showed through only the rage.
“If she were not the mother of my children We would behead her tomorrow.
After a night of pleading she still cast Us out and We say good riddance. We have never begged and shall never beg again. We are next to God and Our wishes are to be granted.”
“Yes, my Lord, I understand. Come receive a kiss of wine from me. She most certainly will relent, you will see,” I said.
“She must relent or We shall find a way to punish her in some way,” he said.
Magdalena spoke next. “I pray you not to do that. She has many influential friends. This would be very bad for you politically.”
“We may do so anyway. It is treason to defy or deny the King.” I told him to consult with his Confessor as to what to do.
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The King laughed, “We do not consult the clergy for anything other than baptisms, and marriage. He would probably tell me to send you back to Spain.” I asked if he would do that.
“Never,” he replied, “We have just had a part of our heart removed. Why would we discard the second half as well.” With that he leaned down and kissed me hard on the lips and ran his hands over my breast. Then he put my hand on his cock.