The Sun King Conspiracy

by Yves Jégo

  Del Sarto was now listing the precautions they would have to take, the places, practices and identities they would abandon, the new, far-off horizons towards which the documents now concealed between the two cupolas of the dome at Vaux-le-Vicomte would travel, the means whereby they could hide their tracks from those trying to follow them, and the methods they were to apply that would dissuade those who had the upper hand from believing that they could push their advantage further.

  The Brotherhood was in the process of returning to the silence of anonymity once again, d’Orbay was certain of it.

  For ten, fifty, a hundred years? he wondered.

  His chest tightened. He swayed, passing a hand across his forehead. Then he signalled to the speaker to continue and straightened up.

  A hundred years. Perhaps a thousand.

  Now that they were alone again, Del Sarto’s anxiety showed. He had been observing d’Orbay too, and had detected the fissure which had opened up in the architect’s heart.

  ‘When are you leaving, François?’

  D’Orbay shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘As soon as possible. I have to see Gabriel as soon as possible.’

  And pass the torch to him, he thought.

  ‘That is good,’ replied Del Sarto. ‘Pray Heaven that young Pontbriand proves to be carved in the image of his father and carries out our plan as best he can. And what about your own family?’ he went on, more gently.

  The architect did not answer. Images of his wife and children passed through his mind. Where were they now? Asleep no doubt, in a house where the furniture was already packed up, the luggage ready. Ready to run away, without ever understanding, never asking questions. Without ever being given a reason.

  ‘What did you say?’ Del Sarto, thinking that D’Orbay had spoken, asked in surprise.

  D’Orbay shook his head.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Then it was his turn to look at the doctor.

  ‘Farewell my friend,’ he said softly.

  When they embraced, an icy shiver ran through Del Sarto. I hope to Heaven that I misunderstood, he thought in a silent prayer.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

  Vaux-le-Vicomte – Sunday 28 August, ten o’clock in the morning

  HUGUES de Lionne was already seated in the imposing carriage which had been standing for several minutes at the foot of the steps of the Château de Vaux. Departure was imminent, and everyone was waiting for the Superintendent of Finance. The two men were leaving for Nantes to rejoin the King, who had recently decided to pay a long visit to Brittany. At last Nicolas Fouquet appeared, extremely elegant in a black silk outfit over which he had donned a comfortable cloak to ward off the autumn chill. With it he wore a soft, tawny coloured felt hat. Before getting into the carriage, he took his wife in his arms.

  ‘Supervise the wine harvest at Thomery, my dear. I’m sorry to leave so suddenly, but the King insists. I love you with all my heart.’ The Superintendent tenderly kissed the woman who had just given him another child.

  ‘Take care of yourself, my dear! Don’t do anything rash – spare a thought for your children,’ she answered simply.

  La Fontaine had also come out to say farewell, and Fouquet took him to one side.

  ‘My dear Jean, in my absence I’d be grateful if you could attend to a delicate matter. As you know, the sale of my office brought me one million livres, which I immediately handed to the King. Harlay, who organised the transaction, still owes me four hundred thousand livres and is slow in paying. I still have a few fairly substantial sums in the hands of reliable friends, but that will not amount to much if …’

  ‘If?’ La Fontaine asked anxiously, frowning. ‘Is there something you are hiding from me?’

  ‘Not at all! Some say that I will be declared Chief Minister, others that I will be brought down by a terrible cabal. But over the last few days I have felt that the King has been better disposed towards me. It appears that I have regained his trust!’

  ‘Are you so sure of that?’

  ‘You’re too pessimistic, my dear Jean. Didn’t you predict a short while ago that I was destined for the Bastille? You see, it did not happen. On the contrary, He has summoned me to his side in Nantes. Come, stop tormenting yourself and just help me get back what I’m owed!’ urged Nicolas Fouquet, turning towards those still waiting beside his carriage.

  ‘D’Orbay!’ exclaimed the Superintendent, seeing his architect leap down from his horse. ‘You are arriving just as I’m leaving!’

  ‘I came as swiftly as I was able, Monseigneur,’ replied François d’Orbay with a bow.

  ‘Gabriel will be pleased to see you. If you can manage to track him down,’ said Fouquet with a laugh. ‘I tried to find him to say goodbye, but he had left already at dawn! Let us talk on my return,’ he added quietly, taking d’Orbay’s arm. ‘We shall make whatever decisions the circumstances dictate! But I still have hopes of persuading the King during this trip.’

  The architect smiled back at him with a mixture of affection and profound sadness.

  The Superintendent climbed nimbly into the carriage and sat down opposite Lionne, whom he greeted warmly.

  ‘I’m pleased to be making this journey with you, my dear Lionne. If it’s not too much of an inconvenience, I would like to make a halt in Angers. My family originates from there, you know.’

  ‘I’ll be delighted to do so,’ replied Hugues de Lionne amiably.

  ‘Let’s go!’ shouted the Superintendent to the coachman.

  With a crack of the whip, the carriage bearing gilded squirrels and the Fouquet coat of arms on each of its doors was finally set in motion.

  As they trundled down the avenue, Fouquet caught sight of Gabriel in the distance. Realising that he had arrived too late, he was running towards the carriage. The Superintendent leant out of the carriage door and waved farewell to the young man. He remained in that position to watch the familiar sight of his chateau disappear into the distance. It certainly has been my life’s work! he said to himself as he admired the building’s imposing yet delicate proportions.

  As he took his seat again, Fouquet shivered.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said to reassure Lionne. ‘It’s the same every time I leave Vaux. I always have the feeling that I’ll never see it again!’

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  Nantes – Monday 5 September, eleven o’clock in the morning

  FOUQUET 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!’

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

  Vaux-le-Vicomte – Wednesday 7 September, five o’clock in the evening

  ‘AT 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 su
rprised 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?’