Part VI: Atonement
If yet I have not all thy love,
Dear, I shall never have it all;
I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,
Nor can intreat one other tear to fall;
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent…
(John Donne, 1572-1631, Love's Infiniteness)
NOTES:
Part VI is partly based on Season 2, ep. 7, "Marriage of Inconvenience"
1. Broken Vows
Paris, June 6, 1631
He follows her quickly down the grand staircase, past the Red Guards who are escorting her out of the Louvre.
"Take it," he says, handing her his purse. "This is all I have."
She refuses his offer as he expects she would. As he too would have done. It was the wrong thing to do. The wrong thing to say. He knew the moment he said it.
Still he has to do something. Say something. "I am her husband, I am responsible," he reasons. He has deceived himself thus before. The first time, when he had signed her death sentence, he now dreads to recall. The second was almost a year ago. "Go ahead," she had defied him, facing the pointed edge of his sword. "Only do a better job this time." He had declared himself responsible for her actions, and then had thought himself magnanimous for letting her go. He was convinced that providence worked through him somehow. That his was the hand of fate.
"Who should I trust? You?" Catherine's angry words resonate in his mind still. Now Anne's rejection resonates in his heart: "There was a time when your good opinion mattered to me. It no longer does."
He failed Anne, as he had failed Catherine, all in the name of his honor and his duty. Such convenient pretenses these two have been, his honor and his duty! Neutral and muted of feeling. He was raised to believe the heart is his most dangerous adversary. He was taught that it confuses the mind; that it has been the ruin of many a great knight. And what else distinguishes a nobleman but a dispassionate mind and level-headedness in battle? He recalls the oath he had sworn before his father in the royal crypt back when he was a boy. It has sustained him his entire life and made him the man he is. He never doubted his ability to uphold that oath or his superiority because he thought he did. Looking back now he is not sure he understood the meaning of it or what it really entailed. It was all too subtle, and he was too determined. Too eager.
2. A Convenient Marriage
Paris, June 7, 1631
"The past is dead," I told him as we both stood in the rain in the busy market street. I meant it.
He scoffed at the idea. "The past is never dead," he said, "you are no more able to change than a scorpion."
That is where we differ he and I. He lingers in bitterness aimlessly. I think it life wasted.
This is not to say that the past does not catch up with you occasionally. It can even come as a surprise. What you do with those encounters however is not inevitable as he surmises.
That is also where we differ. He was raised to believe in providence. I was not.
They introduced the man as Francisco Rodrigez de Flores, one of the gentlemen in the retinue of Count Gondomar (1), the Spanish ambassador to King James. His sounded like a fake name. He looked like a fake man. Too polished. He had the face of a cherub: pretty and ageless. A pleasant mask impossible to decipher. I had met many such fake men in the life I had left behind in Paris. I was taught how to spot them early on and took special pride in ferreting them out in a crowded room. "Your instinct is infallible, dearest girl," Mother used to say. "As long as you never let anything cloud your instinct. Your heart most of all; it is the worst enemy although one as talented as you will never fall victim to her heart."
I should have been less arrogant. I should not have been so sure of myself. I should have followed my instinct the moment I met the excellent Señor de Flores. But I had a new life, and I desperately wanted it to be unblemished. I had persuaded myself that it was my imagination; that being suspicious was ungrateful. This is my first excuse for failing to see him for what he was. There is a second one. For I was more foolish still. I was in love. I had never been in love before; or since. Those were strange days. Strange times. It felt safe for the first time, being in love thus. I deceived myself enough to think that I had become a child of providence. I thought myself immune. I was not.
We had but just arrived in England. George, my intended husband was a kind man, fair, and generous. At times he reminded me of my father, although most memories of my father were replaced by the stories I had made up about him through the years. His younger brother, Henry, did not share George's generous spirit nor his kindness. Henry was not an evil man, just mean-spirited. He did not approve of my liaison with his brother. It was understandable but that did not make Henry less unsavory to me.
I cared little about politics back then, although I had always been privy to all kinds of political talk. Mother's house was full of ambitious men of a certain position in society and at court. I would share the stories they confided in me to Mother. I thought it entertaining. I realized much later that these stories were part of what made me so valuable to her. She sold those stories the same way she sold me. It was in his Eminence's service all this became clear. I made sure she paid back what she owed me for all those years of unintended labor.
When I arrived to England however, I cared little for politics French, English, or Spanish. But George and Henry cared a great deal, as they also cared for Buckingham's patronage. It was all about the marriage of prince Charles, the heir to the throne. (2) Piecing it together later, I realized they had been sent to France by Buckingham to observe French intentions and ensure the alternative option of a French marriage. Of course, Buckingham was pushing for the Spanish match, so much so that he and the prince visited Madrid in disguise to win the Infanta directly. Villiers was a reckless and unscrupulous man.
George was averse to the idea of a Spanish queen in England but would never oppose the Duke, his patron. Henry was less careful but obliged his brother and the family debt to the Duke. They both understood the Duke's power, which often overshadowed that of the King. It was not so much because of religion. George was a secret Catholic despite putting up appearances. But he hated the Spanish. He thought them ruthless and hypocritical. "They wear their religion as a badge of honor while practicing the most atrocious acts against God," he used to say. He preferred the French. Thought them refined and civilized. George was an unflinching man, with strong opinions.
Señor de Flores was courtly and attentive. Especially to Henry, who always sought an audience for his incessant complaining. "Poor Henry needs a friend, even if it is a Spaniard," Olivier pointed out when I spoke to him of Señor de Flores. "I fear I cannot oblige him. He is a man of too many grievances and I have no patience for it." He was happy then, and as blind as I was.
His only unhappiness was that I had married George. "Would you marry me instead, Monsieur?" I would ask him, knowing his answer and that he would never lie to me. He would lower his eyes. "I would marry you this moment," he would say, "if I were not in exile. If the livelihood of my entire family did not rely on the good graces of a changeable King who looks upon us with suspicion. If I could afford to displease the Duke." In retrospect, there were too many "ifs." In retrospect, he was too cautious, calculated even. In retrospect, duty came before any feelings he had for me. But at the time I was too much in love to question any of it.
I questioned nothing those days. When George died I mourned him but also thought it another sign that providence was on my side; our side. For Olivier and I were now free. The Spanish match fell apart and the prince was betrothed to the French princess. Those advocating for the Spanish paid dearly, some with their lives. All except Buckingham who managed to come out not only unscathed but more powerful. The French King was pleased. Olivier was summoned back to France.
"Come back with me," he said.
I followed him back to France without another thought.
It was years later that his Eminence showed me the two letters. The first was signed by a certain Charles Cesar. A trusted agent in Madrid was what the Cardinal called him.
"Your Eminence,
Matters have reached a crucial turning-point. The Spanish Match is not proceeding as desired. Despite appearances the reckless visit to Madrid by the Duke and the Prince only rendered the entire affair even less attractive to the eyes of the bride-to-be. Word here is that even the Duke may shift alliances soon. Gondomar will not permit such a thing. He will not permit his career to end in failure. He has too much at stake. He is determined to remove all possible impediments. Not the Duke directly, for that would be a serious miscalculation. Definitely those close to the Duke that are more inclined towards a French alliance. I believe you are acquainted with the de Winter brothers. The old one in particular. He is loyal to the Duke and has been an outspoken advocate of French interests. The younger one is a fool who can be easily manipulated. Gondomar is certain that an act against the old de Winter will shake any intention by the Duke to align himself with France. Gondomar has enlisted a number of men trained to act discreetly on such occasions. 'A death with no blood spilled' is the order. There is an Italian among the men commissioned. You know the man and his work. Francisco the Priest. He works with that whore Sophia Martinez. I hear he was paid dearly for the job. I am not familiar with their plan. But the old Baron is now newly married to a woman of no consequence. She might prove a convenient decoy.
Charles César"
The second letter was in Buckingham's hand. I could tell without even looking at the signature. I had seen much of his correspondence by then.
"Your Eminence,
I must first congratulate you for your ascendance. We should celebrate the upcoming betrothal that will connect our two kingdoms. The Spanish affair was perpetrated by the schemer Gondomar and his agents. The man wanted to end his career in glory. There were unforeseen victims but we must not linger on such unpleasant matters. I want to assure you that the awkward situation regarding the untimely demise of the Baron de Winter, a good friend of France, is in no way connected to any of our common interests but was a personal matter. The old man was married to a woman of ill repute. We must assume his death was motivated by greed. We should put this entire sad affair behind us and rejoice instead in our newly minted alliance.
In Friendship,
George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham."
I remember his Eminence's eyes fixed on me, as I read this correspondence. I suppose he longed to see some dramatic reaction. But by then, it was hard to find anything surprising.
"How would you like to repay the Duke for his deep appreciation of you?" he inquired with a wry smile.
"Very much, Your Eminence," I replied.
"Word is that he is about to sail from Portsmouth to join the rebels at La Rochelle. He must not."
"Then he shall not, Your Eminence."
The Duke never left England. I never touched the knife that killed him just as he never touched the poison that killed George. We were even.
The man who administered that death now crosses my path once again, attempting to kill de Treville. Señor de Flores, Francisco the Priest, Francisco the loyal servant of Princess Louise. The latter is highly unlikely. As it is highly unlikely that she is his intended victim. She should be dead by now, if George and de Treville are proof of how efficient he is. What was the name of the woman he worked with? Sophia… Sophia Martinez...
De Treville is also an unlikely victim. This reeks of that snake Rochefort and whatever plan he has set in motion. I have warned him already…
It is surprising how sometimes the past catches up with us in the most unexpected ways. It is what we do with those encounters that matter, for I am convinced there is no fate. There is only choice. My choice now is clear.
NOTES:
Count Godomar: Don Diego Sarmiento de Acuña, Conde de Gondomar (Nov. 1, 1567-Oct. 2, 1626) was a Spanish (Galician) diplomat who served as Spanish ambassador to England from 1613 to 1622, and afterwards as a kind of ambassador emeritus, Spain's leading expert on English affairs until his death.
The story uses a historical incident known as "The Spanish Match".
To Dumas purists: because the BBC series changed the time frame of the entire story from Dumas (it starts 5 years later) this alternative sequence of events when it comes to the de Winter part of the story is now possible. In Dumas de Winter is Milady's second husband. With the changes in the BBC series that timeline does not work very well any longer esp. since the Siege of La Rochelle is no longer part of the Musketeer story.