In the Name of the King

by A L Berridge

  My room seemed cold that night, for my dress had been a long time damp against my skin and when I lay down to sleep I missed the warmth of my little cat. My heart was bitter at what was done to her, but I comforted myself with foolish thoughts and when I slept at last it was his face and no other that I saw in my dreams.

  Whose face, Monsieur? You do not attend, or perhaps you do not know women. Whose do you think?

  Jacques Gilbert

  We walked down the silver track with the trees getting bigger all the way. Charlot said it made the path look longer from the house, but I didn’t want anything to look bigger, I was scared enough already. We went in through huge doors with windows of flat glass, crossed a reception room with a ceiling so high it was like we were still outside, then passed into a hallway with a great staircase winding up to a railed gallery. Servants came crowding from all over, girls in pink dresses flocking round saying ‘M. André, M. André!’ and the boy kissed them all and made them giggle. No one tried to kiss me, so I stayed where I was and stared hard at my boots. They looked worn and grubby against the marble floor.

  ‘You will want refreshment, Monsieur,’ said Charlot, gently steering me away.

  I looked behind to see the boy being whisked up the staircase by a footman. ‘But the Chevalier …’

  He smiled blandly. ‘Madame la Comtesse has sent for him. Doubtless you will see him in the morning.’

  I felt sort of flat. I knew it was fair, I mean André was her grandson, but she knew perfectly well I was too. I’d had a kind of idea she’d always wanted to know me, I’d even had this stupid picture in my head of her giving me a hug. I saw André disappearing along the railed gallery and felt suddenly desolate.

  I said ‘I’m his aide, I ought to be looking after him.’

  Charlot’s eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Indeed you are, and that makes you very important. Tonight others will attend the Chevalier while we look to your own needs.’

  He didn’t really mean ‘we’, he just clapped his hands and everyone else rushed about. They escorted me to the kitchens and gave me wine and a dish of veal liver they fried just for me, but it was difficult eating by myself while three maidservants watched with their hands in their aprons and smiled every time I looked up.

  Charlot was giving orders in the background, and when I pushed away my plate he was at my elbow wondering discreetly if I might like to wash. I got up to go to the well, but two footmen sort of boxed me in and led me into a room with a stone floor and a huge bath with steam coming out like I was going to be made into soup. They wouldn’t go away either, they practically ripped my clothes off and even helped me get in. I didn’t seem to have any control over what was going on, my head was swimmy with wine and the steam from the bath, I was as naked as when I was born and felt like it was happening again right now.

  They scrubbed till my skin was pink and sore, then I put my clothes back on and they suddenly felt stiff and dirty. At least someone had cleaned my boots while I was bathing, and one of the footmen started working them over my dirty hose while the other combed my hair. Then Charlot appeared again and said in a carefully unsurprised voice ‘If you are ready, Madame will see you now.’

  The footman’s hands stilled on my boot. The comb stopped dead in my hair. The Comtesse was asking to see her grandson’s aide.

  There wasn’t any question of keeping her waiting. Charlot swept out of the bathing room with me practically hopping after him, trying to tug the second boot up over my heel. My heart was suddenly banging and my skin all damp and prickly. André’d told her. He’d said we knew who I was, and she was furious, she was going to order me out of the house in the middle of the night.

  We went up the sweeping staircase and down a long gallery, but I wasn’t looking at anything but Charlot’s back in front of me and wondering what I’d see when it went away. I followed him through a door with a footman outside, heard him say ‘M. Gilbert, Madame,’ and watched his back bend as he bowed and stepped aside. I was looking at a silvery coloured wall with shimmery blue curtains, then I lowered my gaze and there she was facing me, Elisabeth, Comtesse de Vallon, my grandmother.

  I’d forgotten how small she was. She was so tiny and perfect she made me think of an elaborately carved chess piece. She was quite old, of course, I mean she must have been over fifty, but her face was pink and her eyes bright, and her hair shone like silver in the candlelight. I hadn’t time to take in more, I dropped my eyes at once, because she was nobility and I mustn’t look at her face.

  ‘Come nearer the chandelier, M. Gilbert,’ she said. ‘Let me look at you properly.’

  She had the most beautiful voice I’d ever heard. It went up and down in little trills like a bird’s, and she didn’t just say the shape of words like other people, she said the whole word with all the letters in it. I stepped forward dumbly and kept my eyes on the floor.

  ‘Head up, man,’ said the voice, with a trickle of laughter in it. ‘I want to see your face.’

  I stared hard at the wall behind her head. Something moved to my right, and I saw André leaning against the mantelpiece, looking somehow taller and more elegant than I was used to. He caught my eye and grinned.

  ‘Well, Charlot,’ said the Comtesse. ‘You know who this is, don’t you?’

  André’s head shot round, and I had to work hard not to turn myself. Charlot knew. I wondered if everyone did, if me and André were the last people in France to find out.

  ‘I would have known it anyway, Madame,’ said Charlot, closing the door softly. ‘The resemblance rather declares itself.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Comtesse, and I felt her searching my face again. ‘The blue eyes are the mother’s, I think. She was a pretty child. My poor Antoine.’

  My poor mother. I could see her as clearly as if she was in the room with us, her anxious face and shabby blue dress, the look of wonder in her eyes when she’d told me about my real father and how she’d always loved him. I couldn’t speak.

  André’s voice had a sudden edge in it. ‘Madame, this is my dear Jacques, my best friend and brother.’

  ‘Half-brother,’ corrected the Comtesse. ‘Half and illegitimate. We cannot quite sweep aside the sanctity of marriage, no matter how inconvenient it may be.’

  André didn’t waver. ‘He’s still your grandson. We have to acknowledge him.’

  ‘Have I said I will not?’ There was a kind of twinkle in her voice. ‘Your uncle and I are fully minded to do it, Chevalier, we have thought it all this last year.’

  He looked steadily at her. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Truly,’ she said, and smiled. It was an amazing smile, it didn’t make her face softer, just harder and more brilliant, like a diamond. ‘While you continue to risk your life in this reckless fashion, surely you can see the value in a second heir to safeguard the estates?’

  Colin’s dad always said they ought to have a spare. Well, they did, they’d had one all along, and it was me. I felt too numb even to be miserable.

  She turned back to me. ‘You are silent, Monsieur. Have you no opinion on this?’

  I said quickly ‘I’m not asking for anything.’

  She flinched at the sound of my voice, and I heard it myself, thick and very Picardie, as wrong in this room as a horse would have been. But she only said ‘I know that, child, what I wish to know is whether you will accept it if it is given.’

  I started to say ‘Yes, of course,’ but she flicked up her hand to stop me.

  ‘Think what it will mean. You will be under my authority and your uncle’s. You must subjugate your wishes to what is best for the family. We will control your career and marriage as we do the Chevalier’s. Are you really prepared for this?’

  André was studying the floor, determined not to sway me, and I knew it had to be my choice. I looked desperately round the room, then my eyes caught on something and sort of went back all by themselves. Above the fireplace was a picture of a man on horseback with his sword in the air. Whoever painted it knew bugger
all about horses, it had a body so huge its legs would have snapped under it, but the man looked noble and heroic and exactly as I remembered him. He was laughing in the picture, there was a youth and excitement about him, and his eyes were right smack on mine.

  ‘The Chevalier Antoine,’ said the Comtesse’s voice, and I thought she sounded softer. ‘Your father.’

  I looked at that picture and thought of all the other times I’d seen him. They were things that actually happened, but this was the first time I’d looked at him knowing I was his son.

  My voice came out better this time. ‘If it’s what you want.’

  She inclined her head. ‘Bravo. We shall see what can be done.’

  André took two quick paces across the floor. ‘Jacques,’ he said, and grasped my hands.

  ‘All right, Chevalier,’ said the Comtesse. ‘Now go and have a bath or something, you smell like a stable.’

  He gave me a little grimace and released me. ‘My apologies, Madame. I have of course no excuses.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be pompous, André,’ she said briskly. ‘You have plenty of excuses, I never knew you when you didn’t. But I need to speak with Monsieur without your pouncing to his defence at every imagined slight or I shall be here all night.’

  He grinned suddenly and looked more like himself. ‘All right.’ He made her a beautiful bow, but when she gave him her hands he stooped and kissed her cheeks before she could stop him, said ‘Good night, Grandmother,’ gave me a little wave and walked out.

  I thought she looked warmer for a moment, but then she turned back to me. ‘Now, Monsieur, you would like to be Jacques de Roland?’

  It sounded stupid and wrong. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now for heaven’s sake sit down, you’re giving me a stiff neck.’

  I plopped down on a pretty little chair with curved legs. It creaked under my weight and I tried not to think what would happen if it broke.

  The Comtesse started pacing round the room in an oddly silent way that was like a swan. ‘To legitimate a baby is relatively simple, but a young man is quite another thing. You will have to be taught the ways of the nobility, and that is difficult when childhood is past.’

  I said miserably ‘I’ll be twenty in September.’

  She looked at me. ‘I know when you were born, Monsieur. I know the very hour.’

  I felt the first twinge of feeling towards her, but she was off floating about the room again and the moment went.

  She said ‘We’ll keep you here discreetly for a time while Charlot teaches you to be a gentleman. The Chevalier will learn with you. You know he needs it, don’t you?’

  I admitted I did.

  ‘Oh, I’m not blaming you, child,’ she said. ‘I’m aware there have been other, less desirable influences. This man Ravel, for instance, the Chevalier has written of him more than once. Is there danger of further contact?’

  I said ‘I don’t think so.’ I was sure, actually. Stefan was never going to forgive André for not killing d’Estrada, they’d hardly spoken since.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then we have only to teach him how to survive his new life.’

  I was puzzled. ‘He’s safe here, isn’t he?’

  ‘Safe?’ she said, and stopped right in front of my chair. ‘He has come within a feather of fighting three duels in a single day.’

  It didn’t sound very good when she put it that way. ‘But he can win, he’s really –’

  ‘Duelling is illegal, Monsieur, surely you know that?’

  I said ‘It still happens, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Naturally,’ she said, ‘and I would be ashamed if the Chevalier failed to act when his honour demanded it. But every hour of every day? No, Monsieur, he must learn greater distance for his own survival. Will you help him?’

  I looked at the empty hearth and silvery wallpaper, and everything felt cold. When M. Gauthier talked about nobility it was all swords and honour and glory, but this felt flat as stone. I said ‘All right.’

  ‘Well done,’ she said, and extended her hand. I took it and sort of stuck out my lips till they touched her, then she took the hand away and smiled, and I knew I was dismissed.

  Charlot escorted me along the gallery to a bedchamber, then bowed and left me alone. The room was huge, and the bed had velvet curtains like I was going to be lying dead in state. There was a bell and a fat beeswax candle on a chest by the bed, and a great white nightshirt and cap laid out on the covers. I put them on obediently.

  The bed was soft and squashy with all smooth linen sheets, but it was horribly chilly when I climbed in. I supposed I ought to blow out the candle, but I’d never slept without even the horses for company and didn’t want to face the dark. I felt a sudden longing for my old blue blanket that was still on Tonnerre’s back at Le Pomme d’Or. I’d had that blanket since I was twelve. I wanted its familiar roughness and warmth, I wanted its old smell. Nothing around me smelt right just then, not even me.

  I heard light footsteps outside, then a tap on the door. I said nervously ‘Come in.’

  The door pushed open and there was André. He was wearing a nightgown just like mine, but he’d obviously thrown away the cap and I suddenly wished I had too.

  He said ‘Hullo,’ and leaned against the doorway. ‘I came to see you were all right.’

  I ignored the coldness of the bed. ‘I’m fine, it’s all lovely.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, not moving. ‘I just thought you might be finding things a bit strange. You know, just at first.’

  I started to say no, then understood. I remembered the Comtesse saying ‘he must learn greater distance’, then thought ‘Sod her, I’ll start tomorrow,’ and pulled back the covers.

  He brightened. ‘Perhaps just the first night …’ He climbed in beside me, then shot back up towards the pillows. ‘Bloody hell, they’ve forgotten to warm it. Have you rung?’

  I felt suddenly very stupid. ‘No.’

  I felt him looking at me. His voice said ‘You’re right, let’s not bother.’ He sucked in his breath, plunged down under the covers, said ‘See? It’s fine,’ then shivered and said ‘Fuck.’

  I started to laugh. It was an odd kind of laughter, it felt almost painful, but it really was getting warmer, just having the boy with me helped. I said ‘You mustn’t say “fuck” now, you’re a gentleman again.’

  ‘Oh shut up,’ he said comfortably. ‘You sound like my grandmother.’

  I blew out the candle without even thinking about it, and curled up with my pillow.

  After a moment he said ‘She’s going to let me marry Anne, you know.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘I think so. But do you think Anne will want it herself? She might have forgotten.’

  Women never forget anything, they just kind of hoard it up to use against you later. I said ‘You’ll have to remind her, won’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said thoughtfully, wrapping his arms round his pillow. ‘Mmm.’

  The darkness didn’t feel frightening any more, it was warm and soft and so was the bed. My mind drifted and swam with pictures of the day, and I found myself thinking of that girl at Le Pomme d’Or, the way she’d stood with her wet dress clinging to her body, those seconds I’d held her in my arms. Another memory floated past, something I hadn’t taken in at the time but was somehow waking pictures of an empty hamlet and a row of wooden crosses in an overgrown field. I snatched at the cause of it and forced it into sense.

  I sat up and said ‘That was a Spaniard.’

  ‘What?’ he said sleepily.

  ‘That man in the courtyard, the dark one with the little beard. He said “¡Madre de Dios!” He was Spanish.’

  ‘Was he?’ He was silent a moment, then said ‘Well, so’s the Queen, come to that. This is the city, there are all sorts here. He’s probably a diplomat or something.’

  It seemed odd to me, having Spaniards about and not fighting them, but André knew more about these things than me. I shoved the memo
ry aside, lay back down on the pillow, and went back to thinking about the girl.

  Three

  Anne du Pré

  Extract from her diary, dated 2 August 1640

  Last night I dreamed of André. I was back in the Forest of Verdâme, dressing behind the screen and listening to the sound of him riding away, but then his voice said ‘Anne’ just the way it did before he kissed me, and he hadn’t gone at all, he was standing behind me and I had no clothes on. It made me feel very strange, and I am still a little shaky now.

  I think it is Florian who prompted it. He came in early last night, and sat counting off the rings on his fingers like beads on a rosary, which is always a sign he is thinking back to our captivity. He seems still to live in constant fear of starvation, and insists on keeping as much wealth about him as he can. I might have given it no special significance, but when I retired he embraced me and said ‘Anne, you know I’ll always protect you, don’t you?’ with an earnestness I could not mistake. It has long preyed on his mind, that dreadful night when I cried for his help and he could not save me, but I believed him recovered from it and cannot think what could have recalled it to him now.

  It will be to do with these vile friends of his. He was doing so much better before they came. This morning I plucked up courage to tell Father so, but he only hemmed into his beard and said that Florian is engaged in an important investment for our futures and I should not question a connection he himself approves.

  But I do question it, I do. I am not the child they think me, I am sixteen years old and know there is something wrong. I do not understand why Father tolerates these people, for Bouchard and Desmoulins are openly contemptuous of our humble origins, and if the others are like them then they are simply abominable. Bouchard treats Florian like a stupid child and the servants like dirt. Everything they hand him has to be polished on his handkerchief before he deigns to touch it. Once I asked if we had given him a dirty glass, but he slammed it down with annoyance and refused to drink at all. Father reproached me with discourtesy to a guest, but when I asked about discourtesy to our servants he pretended not to hear. He always does when I speak about the servants as people.