"King-Me" (10)

Within days of the arrests, Condé's mother, the dowager princess Charlotte de Montmorency, his wife, Claire de Brézé and sister, Anne de Bourbon-Condé, duchess de Longueville, started stirring up civil unrest. The Charismatic Bourbon ladies drew disaffected persons of every kind to rally to their cause—riot and revolt flourished once more. Vigorous attempts for the release of the princes began to be made. The women of the family were now its heroines. The dowager princess demanded from the parliament of Paris a fulfillment of the reformed law of arrest, which forbade imprisonment without trial. The Duchess of Longueville entered into negotiations with Spain, and the young Princess of Condé, having gathered an army around her, entered Bordeaux and gained the support of the parliament of that town. Anti-Mazarin sentiments were still high among the frondieurs, and it was said that the people of Paris—with the parliaments full knowledge and consent—actually burnt him in effigy. In lieu of this open threat, the princely conspirators were transferred to the prison at le' Havre.

A stricken Mazarin received news of this latest turn of events at his residence in the north-country. Maurice Gaspar had never seen the great Cardinal looking so beaten down. His face was sallow and his hand trembled as he stretched it forward to take the missive. The guard could not help but think that wounded beasts were often the most dangerous.

Jules Mazarin glowered as he broke the seal and read the message. The spy network he had built up so meticulously over the years was in shambles. The few reports he did receive were incomplete and disorganized. This one proved no different. It seemed that the dire invasion of his sanctum had somehow lost him nearly two-thirds of his guards… Some had been killed, of course. A few had ended their own life rather than face him in disgrace, while others had fled.

But most unsettling had been the realization that by some Herculean effort there had been those who had managed to defect. The thought chilled him. The dark power that bound his tools should have made any such attempts immediately fatal. But the obelisk had been damaged and there were those who had been quick to take advantage of the fact. Now, even his body servants were in limited supply. He crumpled the note and tossed it in the fire. It had been years since he'd had to personally get his hands dirty in his own affairs but those miserable vermin left him with no choice.

He would have to free Condé himself, and then the only prudent thing to do would be to leave the country until things began to simmer down. The queen would recall him to court… of that he had no doubt. What had she said in her last letter… something about spending some time in the Rhineland? Not exile, no; it would be a tactical withdrawal. If Mazarin could meet with another master of the dark order in Germany, together they could perhaps find a way to mend the obelisk. Then he would repay those faithless fools who dared become turncoats and seek refuge among his enemies.

Finally recalling himself from his thoughts, Mazarin turned his attention once more to Gaspar. "I'm going to need the uniform of a musketeer. Get one for yourself, Bernard and Villefore as well." The tallow-headed guard looked too stunned for words. In a moment of weakness Mazarin actually was tempted to encourage the man and said, "You are the only trustworthy assets I have at the moment." Then more characteristically he added, "You know what will happen if you fail."

Maurice Gaspar shivered uncontrollably at the thought as he hurried to obey his master.

O-o-o-o-O

Weeks after they were first taken, Louis Condé sat with his brother, Armand de Conti, and brother-in-law, Henri Duc d' Longueville, around a sumptuous table, breaking their fast. Outside, rain beat against the window glazing and the wind moaned but inside it was warm and dry. The walls were paneled and there was a fine writing desk in the corner. If you refused to acknowledge the bars on the widows and guards at the door you could almost believe the nobles were taking their ease in one of the finer inns in Normandy, rather than prisoners of i la maison d'arrêt /i in le' Havre.

Though a prisoner, the king's cousin was still treated with deference by the guards. For this reason Conde and his dining companions were taken by surprise when the door to their suite was suddenly thrown open. The young general paused, spoon raised partway to his mouth, and blinked uncomprehendingly at the specter standing travel warn and dripping in the doorway. If not for the fire in the man's eyes the prince would have been tempted to laugh.

Jules Mazarin was not wearing his characteristic red robe or the black cowl of the order. He wore common britches, boots and a musketeer's tunic that was at least two sizes too small. The shirt sleeves rode far up his wrist.

"I must admit I did not expect to see YOU here. Would you care to join, us your eminence?" Condé smiled drolly.

"The devil take you!" Mazarin declared irascibly, circumstances having stripped the Cardinal of his usual calm. As he entered the room the renegade prince noticed that the guards stationed on each side of the door stood seemingly frozen in place, slack-jawed with vacant staring eyes.

The prince held his kerchief to his nose and sniffed wryly, "The devil take me, you say? Where do you propose we go, O' dark one?"

"I've brought your release, you insolent cur." The Cardinal ground his teeth together. "Though why I should put myself out on your account is beyond me. You are without a doubt the most insufferably thoughtless, prideful, arrogant, shameless…"

"We've only just sat down to eat… would you care to join us?" The Prince cut into the dangerous man's rant.

Mazarin slouched into the seat he was offered and put up his feet. He continued in a somewhat mollified tone. "What DO you think I've been working at these past years, boy…Do you think it is easy cultivating a king? Louis had begun to trust those I'd set in place to manage the country for him! In one ill-conceived night, you undo all my hard work. Now, he plans on declaring himself king in his own right… He's so angry he won't even answer my letters. Did you murder your father before he could teach you when to leave things well enough alone? What were you thinking Louis le Condé! You may have the same first name as our young king but YOU are NOT the one wearing the crown! We had a plan."

"You were too slow, old man," the prince scoffed.

The Cardinal's face reddened, unaccustomed to such insolence. "Beware," Mazarin growled. He would have liked to send a shaft of dark power lancing into the haughty prince, but in his current state, with the obelisk damaged as it was, holding the guards stupefied at the door took nearly all his power. The prince's insolence proved that he knew, or at least suspected, the Cardinal's dilemma. Mazarin fingered the stiletto-sharp dagger that hung at his belt. Perhaps he did not have full use of his arcane powers at present, but that would not prevent him from inscribing a smile on the noble's neck that went from ear to ear. Still, one did not dispose of mediums so easily. And this boy's family had served the order for generations.

"Allow me to fill your cup, your eminence," Armand Conti broke in, trying to distract the man from the attentions of his bellicose elder brother—and perhaps ingratiate himself with the dangerous Cardinal in the process.

Mazarin quaffed the warm liquid and admitted it felt good running down his raw throat. Some of the stiffness from the long wet ride left him. Mazarin mentally cursed those dratted musketeers who had stolen his carriage, forcing him to ride horse-back like a commoner. They were the real source of his ire. True, Condé was guilty of a horrendous miscalculation, but if not for his current vulnerability the damage could have been more easily contained. Mazarin pulled a sealed parchment from the breast of his doublet. "As I said, I bring your pardon, but know you are no longer under my protection. After this, your mistakes are on your own heads. I am leaving the country for a time… I suggest you follow my example." With that he rose to leave.

"What about the guards, Eminence?" Henri Longueville asked dumbly. They were not a bad pair. The one was a good cook and he rather enjoyed playing cards with the other…even if he had lost his grandfathers watch to the man. He wanted no harm to come to them, but perhaps he could retrieve the watch before the master's power released the guard.

"They'll have no true memory of what transpired. You will need witnesses that your release is legitimate. Show them the pardon and they'll simply let you go," the Cardinal said hastily and took his leave. Despite the rain, there was a ship waiting, and he intended to be on it.

O-o-o-o-O

The Musketeers laid aside their grey doublets to don the royal blue tabards marked with the silver fleur-de-lies. They formed a magnificent cavalcade together with the queen's guard and the Swiss regiment. More than 2,000 riders accompanied the king from Sainte-Chapelle where he had received Mass to the courtyard of Parliament.

While the final preparations of the king-making were under way, the young prince slipped away to look in on the four musketeers. "My brother, the king, says to tell you that it is good to have you near, who have done so much to make our big day possible. But not if it risks the health of our friend," the prince told them. He was obviously relieved the medic had agreed to let Private del la Cruz attend. Still, Philip Coreman stood nearby and sent Ramón a stern glare whenever the Spaniard's enthusiasm threatened to get out of bounds. Captain Duval had insisted that Siroc, Jacques and d'Artagnan stand by to lend aid in case he overextended himself.

Even former frondieurs could not help but admire the grandeur of the young king. Though he was only five feet five inches tall, many people marveled at how handsome, well built and robust he was. The transformation began when those cads invaded the sanctity of his royal boudoir culminated with the arrest of the vile perpetrators. Gone were the vestiges of meekness and vacillation, when September 7, 1651, Louis XIV came into his own.

The queen was already present on the royal platform, set up in the courtyard, to witness Louis's grand entry. Prince Philippe was by her side before any thought to look for him. The crowd seethed and crested like a living ocean before it finally parted to admit the young king. With grace and ease, Louis dismounted his spirited Arabian stallion and addressed the assembled crowd and the parliament. His eyes flashed like an avenging angel and his voice was strong. "Gentlemen," the king announced, "I have come to my parliament to tell you that in accordance with the law of my state, I am going to take upon myself the management of my government. And I hope that the goodness of God will grant that this will be with piety and justice!" The declaration was met with resounding applause, cries of joy, and the striking sound of drums and trumpets.

When the din had quieted, once more, Louis turned to his mother and announced loud and clear, "Madam, I thank you for the care that you have been pleased to take for my education and for the governing of my kingdom. I pray that you will continue giving me your wisdom. I wish to see you, after me, as the Chief of my Counsel." Lastly, he turned to the assembled nobles and made it clear that, as his father and grandfather before him, he would be accepting oaths of fidelity due the rightful king of France.

Everyone present, from the duke d'Anjou to the officers of the crown, took the solemn oath. Prince le Condé, of course, was absent. Even so, Louis, in his generosity, offered his royal cousin a full pardon if he would humble himself before his king and be loyal evermore. Condé refused to do so. The general's acerbic letter said in no uncertain terms that he felt he had been wrongly imprisoned and actually threatened the king saying; "You have forced me to draw my sword against my will, and you will see that I will be the last to return it to the scabbard."

The king was grieved, of course, but he had done his best to make things right with his cousin. There was nothing else to do but continue with the plan they had set; it was time to summon the blade-bound.

O-o-o-o-O

The royal twins stood together on the crest of a small hill and surveyed the valley and the incredible throng assembled below. The young king had never truly been part of a war-host before, and the enormity of it all dazzled him. From this distance he could see each unit delineated by color: Amber, Tan, Rust, Jade, Red, Violet, and Grey and Black to preside over the rest. Was it wrong to utilize these living weapons forged by Richelieu's uncanny art? Louis didn't know… which was why they decided it would be Philippe who addressed them as king this day. The oft tortured prince understood these people in a way Louis never could; it was fitting that he be the one to direct them.

"Nervous?" Louis asked his brother.

"No more than you were facing the Parliament." Philippe smiled.

Louis nodded and squeezed his brother's shoulder encouragingly and they walked arm in arm to the dais. To one side stood Captain de Batz and the queen; to the opposite side stood Emris and the young musketeers. Even in something as formal as this, the two legends could not be compelled to stand together.

Immediately, a hush fell on those assembled and all activity ceased. The statuesque warrior woman known only as Protector, stood before the men and in a clear voice she announced, "Blade-bound, behold your king!" She paired the pronouncement with an expressive sweeping gesture, which did in-fact, include both boys. Her slight smile was playful and encouraging. It seemed to say 'you'll do just fine.'

The twins could feel all eyes on them, riveted, imploring…fearful. Louis broke off and went to stand with his mother and d'Artagnan Sr., and Philippe made his way onto the platform alone.

What do they want of me? The prince swallowed hard. There was no need to shout, as his brother had before the parliament. Siroc had been conducting tests on how sound traveled and resonated. The inventor assured him that the shape of the glade would magnify his words and broadcast them easily even to those in the farthest ranks. Philippe cleared his throat experimentally and began:

"I come before you not as a noble or a king, but a brother. Civil war threatens to tear apart this proud land. I have called you because I know you were trained and held in reserve for just this eventuality. I am young, it is true, but I am not deluded enough to believe that there are no casualties in war. I understand many of you feel you have no choice but to fulfill the duty which you have been trained for… to accomplish and perhaps give your lives because you are sworn to obey the oaths that make you blade-bound." Philippe swallowed hard before continuing.

"I have been told that many of you have managed to carve out lives for yourselves to live as men…rather than the slaves you were created to be." He could feel unease ripple across the crowd. It was a monumental pressure knowing that these men had been trained in such a way that a single word from him could cause them to fall on their swords. Not a few of the soldiers appeared as if they expected him to do just that.

Philippe shook his head. "I am proud that you have exceeded what your master expected of you and will not condemn you for it. I realize that many of you even have families now, and I stand in awe of your accomplishment. I need you, France needs you, but I do not want you to serve me as slaves. The oaths you have sworn were to 'Louis the Just' who wore this crown before me, and to his minister Richelieu. I can not and should not expect you to serve and die at the behest of those who are already in the grave. If you fight, do so because you choose to do so. Who would know as well as you that peace is a precarious thing… you have already prevailed over overwhelming odds to live free. I will not take from you what you have gained. Rather I ask that you fight to preserve the peace and prevent the nobles, my cousins, from harming what we have worked so hard to build. Who will stand with me?" he asked. He expected a cheer or something, similar to that which followed his brother's speech before the parliament.

But this was no wild mob. Like a wave, breaking on the shore, the soldiers knelt. Placing a fist over their heart, in a salute similar to the centurions in ancient Rome, they pledged him their fealty as only they knew how. i "Semper fidelis, Semper paratus, animis opibusque parati nulli secundus." /i (Always ready, Always faithful, prepared in minds and resources… second to none.)

It was good that Emris had seen him schooled in Latin. Louis likely would not have known how to formulate an appropriate response, else he would have said thoughtlessly i 'nemo me impune lacessit'. /i (No one provokes me with impunity). But Philippe knew better; he returned their salute smoothly and said i "Non mihi, non tibi, sed nobis dixi" /i (Not for you, not for me, but for us I have spoken).

The End…for now