Sign of the Cross

By JeanTre16

Chapter 9

Counterpoint

Author's Note Counterpoint is a musical art form perfected during the baroque era. It simultaneously overlaps two or more independent melodies that seem to be pursued by its counterpart, known as a fugue.

Chapter Description: Set to music, multiple objectives are played out for multiple Musketeers and maidens at the palace.

King Louis XIV's preferred accompaniment for the day would have been Marie Mancini, but his mother insisted the Cardinal's niece spend time with the ladies. To pass the hours, the king distracted himself by agreeing to learn a new counterpoint technique his personal musician dubbed was sweeping the world by storm.

Jean Baptiste Lully sat forward on the edge of his seat, as if entrusting a great secret to the young king and his orchestra. "One melody begins, then another enters to overlap; until, in turn, each set of individually added sequences seamlessly produce a complex…but invigorating composition." Ending his explanation in a crescendo, his enthusiasm proved contagious.

It was on this note, Louis found himself happily lured away from his beautiful companion for the day in the company of his musician. Clad in a voguish, gold embroidered jacket, the blond-wigged student considered his enticement in counterpoint to be based on more than its mere popularity. It had a beat. In his opinion, Renaissance music was good for putting old men to sleep. He was young and wanted modern, upbeat styles. Being king made him privy to have his way. Louis determined, if he could do nothing else for France, he would wake her up and move her into the next era with some zing.

Louis bobbed his head in a steady beat, holding his flute lightly against his pursed lips. With brows intently raising and lowering in matched rhythm, his eyes fixedly watched for his accompaniment's cue. Lully produced a lively introductory sequence on the beautiful mahogany harpsichord before looking up to approve the young apprentice's beginning movement. His protégé answered with a succession of richly plotted notes. Along with his small orchestra—cello, bassoon, timpani, and violin—their music filled the room and swept down the marble-laid palace hallways.

Their lively music drifted along, joining Queen Anne and Marie mid-conversation en route to receive their visitors. The younger's voice played its own constant melody alongside the flow of orchestra notes. "But I overheard my uncle say the other day that it was the hidden things that men incline their ears to. I'm sure he meant those deep philosophical concepts like Plato, Aristotle and Socrates studied. What else could he have meant?"

"You cannot know for certain, dear, what your uncle was speaking of. It seems frivolous to contemplate," Anne distractedly answered the talkative young lady while smoothing her dress habitually in preparation to meet her guests. "No matter, it sounds of no consequence." The queen made trifle of Marie's heady conversation. She was a woman of impeccable outward perfection, not of books and study. Her interest today lay in welcoming her callers with warmth and hospitality.

Not giving up her pattern of thought, the petite girl chimed away, "But, I do so want to know and understand such things. Would God have not given me such a mind and heart to know, and then be so cruel to deny me the opportunity?" Marie attempted reason with her royal figure-head. Her tight dark curls animatedly bobbed in tempo with her accentuated speech.

"Marie, it would be wise to leave such modes of conversation to the gentlemen. Apply yourself to the finer things of being a lady." Anne lightly gestured back in correction. Approaching a full length mirror, set in the hallway for the sole purpose of checking appearances before addressing company, she admired her lavender dress with gold accent against Marie's deep French-vanilla cream. "How aesthetically pleasing." Anne self-absorbingly reflected to her young companion. "Take note how our colorful contrast makes for a pretty show, flowing together along the music-filled corridor." Delighted by what she observed, she tapped her fan lightly in beat to the music. The fashion-smart woman breathed deeply and put on an air of regality. Her Majesty nodded in cue to the disquieted philosopher that their private mode of conversation had come to an end. Recovering their pace to the up-beat rhythmic sounds, they approached their destination.

An attending servant near the door announced the arriving women with a sweeping bow. "The Queen-mother and Marie de Mancini."

In elegant timing to the introduction, the two royally dressed females wafted through the breezy entry and faced the ensemble of ladies. Seven in all made up the group of women who stood in the great room. Multiple layers of complexities accompanied them. Each nervously contemplated the achievement of their objective. Each held anxiety of causing a cacophony in the overall balance of plans. Each silently prayed their desires would be fulfilled. Thus began their delicate interactions of wit against the backdrop of Lully's chasing musical fugues.

Queen Anne spoke first. "Madame d'Artagnan." She nodded her head in acknowledgment. It was the matriarch's hope of spending more time in acquainting herself with the young wife of her favorite's son. Anne diplomatically introduced the woman beside her. "May I introduce Cardinal Mazarin's niece, Marie Mancini." An appropriate round of curtsies followed.

Marie, if forced to confess, would have blurted out her dislike of small talk and requested excusal to spend the day with Louis. "It's a pleasure to meet you," Marie pleasantly offered instead, smiling no more and no less than polite.

Jacqueline, while attempting to read every betrayed movement to sketch Marie's character, kept a keen eye out for Louis. She knew she would soon have to couple those objectives with her necessity to cover for her comrade's absence. But until then, she would have to practice her skills in female civility. "May I present my companions, Rosalina, Theodora and Maria." Immediately the female Musketeer realized she had forgotten to mention someone and with slight faltering added, "And this is Sophia…Siroc's cousin." She landed her introduction on a minute miss-key and hoped the queen and Marie had not noticed. One last round of proper curtsies met in concert with the dramatic conclusion of the first musical piece.

In the absence of music, Anne looked at her unexpected guest standing shyly behind the others. "Siroc has a cousin?" Her expression showed wonderment.

The female impersonator's only reply was a forced nervous giggle. Hoping to leave as little impression as possible, he raised his opened fan before his face to hide all but his eyes. Pleadingly, he shot a glance at Jacqueline to help him out of his awkward moment.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Jacqueline masterfully drew Anne's attention away from the disguised man by appearing to relay in a secretive tone of voice, "Sophia's very shy." The female Musketeer's convincing cover succeeded. A better subject could not have accomplished the task.

Anne's gaze once more returned to this young woman she so much desired to know better. Smiling at Jacqueline, the queen offered, "Let us chat in the parlor over refreshments." With a summoning gesture to a servant, Her Majesty gave order. "You may bring our beverages now." After giving directions to her servant, she returned her attention toward her guests. "Cappuccino will be served today. I trust it will be a treat for you. Coffee, no doubt, you've heard of, but, it was one of our own Musketeers, a brilliant handsome young man, who first brewed this wonderful concoction for my son and me here at the Palace." The royal woman went on as if she were revealing never-heard-of information to her guests. She had no idea, of course, that two Musketeers were present who knew of what she spoke of. And one of those two happened to be the very man who could tell her more about cappuccino than she knew—the inventor of the machine himself. The flaunting woman gestured for the party to follow her lead and be seated.

At the mention of his invention, Siroc perked. This, along with the queen naming him brilliant and handsome, had an intriguing affect on the young scientist. While the group made their way to be seated, he silently basked in his glory with a perpetual smirk on his face. He wondered what else she said about him in the company of others when he was not around. Momentarily he laid aside why he was there and watched with anticipation as his cappuccino machine was rolled out on a service cart.

As the company lighted upon their richly decorated seats, Siroc watched the cappuccino being made like he were a fly on the wall. He grinned eagerly at first, but eventually cringed and closed his eyes with each abusive misuse of his invention. This progressed until the blonde-wigged, burgundy dressed man could not contain himself. With a look of wanting to get up to show the man how to properly use his machine, he leaned over to Jacqueline and whispered, "He's destroying it."

"Shh," Jacqueline sharply countered his whisper. "Check your pride and go along with it." Her friend's furrowed brow hinted he wanted to argue with her, but their tête-à-tête was interrupted by the queen.

"What did you say, dear?" Anne had noticed the shy young lady in conversation with Jacqueline and genuinely wanted to be included. Concurrently the queen received the cup of cappuccino the servant offered her and took a sip.

Jacqueline and Siroc looked at the queen in stupefied unison. Trying to maintain their cover, the Viscompte's wife fumbled for her voice. "Your Majesty…Sophia was informing me…" The agenda driven woman paused and decided to turn their blunder into an opportunity. She lowered her voice. "…She has requested to use…the wash room."

"I'd be happy to take her," Marie broke into the conversation. She wanted any excuse to pry herself away from trivial pleasantries. Even a walk down the corridors with a companion who lacked intelligence enough to hold a decent conversation would suffice. Besides, she could take the route past the music room where Louis was and at least see if she could sneak a glance at him.

Placing his fan down for the first time that day, the man dressed as Sophia received his cappuccino in mocking manner as the others. He sniffed his drink hastily, scrunched his face at its ghastly smell and set it down without tasting it. Picking up his fan again, he shot Jacqueline a look of panic from the side of his eyes and gestured with a twitch of his head toward Marie. This would get complicated if Marie escorted him. He had prepared for guard contingencies, but was not prepared for dealing with a young lady, especially the Cardinal's niece.

"No, dear." The queen seemed drawn back as much by Marie's interjection as she was by her guest's request. Anne looked at the blond-haired lady hiding behind her fan. Deciding the poor girl suffered from enough embarrassment, she placed her cup and saucer down on a small ornate table and motioned discreetly for a guard to near her. She raised the back of her hand to her mouth and whispered something to him privately.

Marie gave a quick pout relaying her disappointment, but quickly regained her composure to receive her cup and saucer from the servant. She took one sip for protocol and set it down. Quietly she looked around the room in boredom.

Meanwhile, Jacqueline took a sip of her cappuccino and wrinkled her nose in response to its extreme distastefulness. Her comrade had been right about the servant destroying his invention. She made a mental note to apologize to him later for her rashness. Placing her beverage down on a nearby table she relayed to Siroc in secrecy, "You'll have to go now, no matter what."

He understood and gave her a sober nod in acknowledgment.

At this point, music again began to flourish in the palace from the direction of the music room. Unlike the light airy tones of the first composition, Lully's new piece rolled with strong undercurrents of emotion. Set to the new melodramatic counterpoint rhythm, each renewed their design to sway events in their favor.

The red-coated guard regained his posture and looked playfully over to the burgundy dressed subject. He wore a grin that made the blonde-haired man's skin crawl. "Mademoiselle, if you would follow me."

Siroc rose rhythmically from his seat. Despite how this Cardinal's pawn gave him the creeps, this was it; it was show-time for the scientist. He would not get a better presented arrangement than now. He recalled his captain's words that morning, informing him that Mazarin was scheduled to be out of the palace on business for the day. The servant of the king dutifully put his humiliating circumstances aside and focused on his work.

Rosa, Dora and Maria's appeal to the Queen-mother had been the prearranged instrument to mask Siroc's detachment from the group. Despite its dual purpose, the request was genuine and the weight of responsibility fell to the eldest of the three. Seeing the young Musketeer receding down the music amplified hallway, Rosa overlapped his objective with hers. Having been properly presented to the woman, she hoped could help her siblings and her return home, she spoke forwardly, "Your Majesty, you are so very kind to see us on such short notice. I cannot tell you how much it means to my sisters and me."

Her Majesty received the appreciation with a delicate dip of her head. Distracted momentarily from reclaiming her cappuccino, the queen paused to give her half-kinswomen a good look for the first time. Rosalina, who addressed her, sat at her side in the place of importance. This stunning young lady Anne knew to be the eldest of the three. She was slightly shorter than her junior, Theodora, and had rich but fine, dark wavy tresses of hair she wore draped on her shoulders in a large Spanish-style comb. Her eyes were chocolate brown, graced with a lively sparkle produced by her ever present smile. Fair and olive in skin-tone, she was a perfect model of a woman from her youthful homeland. France's former regent posed that although Rosalina was delicately beautiful in appearance, she showed strength in her manner of conduct.

The French queen's gaze drifted to Theodora, the second of the three sisters, who sat next in order near her eldest sister. Tall and slender, she rose just above Jacqueline in height. Her neatly arranged hair was coarse and of a lighter brown hue than her older sister's. Light brown, gold-flecked eyes complimented her deep olive complexion, giving her the glowing appearance of having seen much sun. Anne noticed how she carried herself in support of her senior.

Lastly, the regal woman took note of Maria, the youngest, smallest and most delicate of the three. She had the deepest of brown eyes and dark hair against a creamy skin-tone. The striking contrast added to her delicate appearance. But beneath her exterior, the queen could tell a steady source of stamina lay readily available. Anne's diplomatic experience told her instinctively that the young girl's heart would readily follow the lead of the older two.

Arranged in a circular seating arrangement, Anne's gaze completed the composition. After Maria, Sophia's empty seat, Jacqueline and Marie to her immediate left. Seeing her company dressed simply, yet in elegance, the queen concluded they made a formidable delegation. Knowing the sisters came to request her aid, she returned her gaze to Rosalina and she set the next wave of discussion in motion. "Tell me more of how you came to be here."

Rosa met her cue with persuasive precision and began to elaborate. "Being the daughter of a former Spanish king, you know our people are of a proud and mixed heritage. You are aware of the troubles we face with the parliamentarist Aragon court. While there are privileges and autonomies to our court system for some, it is at the cost of those being born of the wrong noble bloodlines. The battle between the Aragon and Castilian kingdoms reached our front doorstep last year, taking our father's life and driving my sisters and me into exile. We have been running ever since. Your gracious Majesty, we are tired and desire to go home with your help." The bold Castilian noblewoman took a short repose to measure the Queen-mother's response. Sighing to regain her composure, she proceeded. "All we ask is a letter of your good will bearing your name. Surely those of the Aragon court will bow to the words of their Majesty's daughter. We would not ask if we thought we had a prayer of reaching Castile alive without it. You are our last hope."

As rare as it was to see Anne in the role of diplomat, her royal upbringing had afforded her the training. France's Queen-mother placed her words carefully. "We do live in precarious times, my dear Rosalina. The troubles you speak of in Spain are known all too well here in France. What you ask for, my good word, I'm afraid would not do you any credit. Nobility no longer respect the good word of royalty as it once did in Spain or France. Here too we have had our share of troubles with nobility uprisings. I am sorry to bear such foreboding words." The seasoned queen paused to allow her hint of denial to have effect. Instilling her appearance with uplifted spirits, she suggested an alternative. "If you should decide, however, to reside here in France, I would personally see to your request."

For a moment, Rosa let the queen's sobering words sink in. What little hope her sister's and she had of returning home had just been quenched. Despite the queen's upbeat offer for French residence, she knew her sister's were heart-broken. They would finish their pampered palace visit as planned until their disguised friend returned from his mission. Then in sync with Lully's overlapping sorrowful fugues, Rosa's sad thoughts drifted to their cross-dressed counterpart. She hoped he was meeting better success than they had.

oooooooo

Siroc, in his burgundy dress, and the red-coated palace guard fell in step. The woeful music turned into dramatic rolling chases as they made their way down the corridor. To make sure they walked the route past Mazarin's office, the disguised man often stopped in pretense of admiring the artwork adorning the palace hallways. The philandering man seemed not to be in a hurry and even encouraged the side-winding. Appallingly so, the scientist deducted the bold man was interested in more that just a woman's company. Before long they had wandered in close enough proximity to the sleuth's destination. Having had enough of the increasingly inappropriate advances, the man dressed as Sophia drew back his left fist and walloped the unsuspecting guard squarely on the jaw. Abruptly putting the man out, the Musketeer found need to cradle his fall to avoid others from hearing the large frame hit the floor. Dragging him before Cardinal Mazarin's office door, the undercover soldier left him there. He wanted the man in plain sight where he could see him coming to again.

No longer in company of another, he forgot his feminine cover and reverted to his masculine stance. It was a good thing no one saw him there too, the sight was truly disconcerting. Brazenly searching his pockets, he pulled out a pair of light-weight gloves to conceal his fingerprints. He continued probing his pocket until he found a soft-tipped but solid sinew used for upholstering heavy fabrics. Having done detective work on palace locks before, he knew the tip would not leave the conventional scratch marks of a hard metal pin. Hopefully, there would be no sign the lock had even been fiddled with. He put the gloves on before guiding the instrumental object directly to its destination, as though the inventor could see its inner workings. In an instant, the door was unlatched. Cautiously, Siroc opened the door, making sure no one occupied the room. Satisfied that no one did, he quickly entered and began his search.

Methodically he scanned the room's contents, his movements mirroring the deeper undercurrents of the background music. He had been in the Cardinal's office before. It was always neat and tidy as though no real work ever went on there. But the inquisitive man suspected otherwise. What he looked for would not be in plain sight. Quickly, the infiltrator opened each drawer, studying its contents systematically. At one point he found an old arrest warrant with Jacqueline's picture on it. "What's this still doing in here?" Siroc mused. Putting the poster back where it came from, he continued his way around the room without success. He glanced over at the unconscious man lying in front of the door. The guard was still out cold, but the Musketeer determined he would not be out for much longer.

With his last few moments, Siroc stood by the small secretary desk lining the outside wall. Looking at the small wooden horse-head he inquired thoughtfully, "Mazarin, oh, Mazarin. Where do you keep your secrets?" He placed his gloved hand on the wooden head and turned to scan the room once again. From his position he spied something small and red stuck behind the large armoire across the room. A look of discovery crept over his face. Releasing his grip on the wooden figure, he was drawn over to the large piece of furniture on the adjoining wall.

Crouching, he carefully took hold of a small red piece of torn cloth caught behind the oversized antique and held it up to scrutinize it. Processing his discovery he concluded its source was the Cardinal's red robe. He examined the location where he found it. "Peculiar. How would a piece of Mazarin's outfit wedge itself in such an out-of-the-way place?" On to a hunch, Siroc removed one glove and placed a finger in his mouth to wet it. He held his crude, but effective, draft sensitive instrument near the place the fabric had been lodged. As he suspected, he felt a cool, strong draft flowing from behind the large piece of furniture. Scaling his moistened finger up and down the height of the armoire, he noticed the draft ran the whole height of the structure. Whatever cavity lay behind this massive piece of wood, it was no small opening. Replacing his glove, he positioned his hands on it for leverage and attempted to move the piece. It was solid and would not budge.

Suddenly, he was alerted to the reviving guard outside the office. Regardless of what he suspected lay behind Mazarin's armoire, Siroc was out of time. It would be better for him to report what he knew to his captain than to be caught and have no information at all. Vowing to return to discover the source of cold air flowing from the Cardinal's office wall, he gave the room a final visual check. Satisfied that everything was as he found it, barring the red cloth he placed in his pocket, he exited the room. He suspected he was on the verge of uncovering some secret alcove for storing Mazarin's heretic secrets or perhaps it even concealed a passageway. But leading to where? The Musketeer's considerations were cut short by the sound of moaning.

Siroc skillfully relocked Mazarin's door. Clearing his throat, he braced himself to deal with the awakening guard. He slapped him lightly on the cheeks to aid his revival. "Naughty!" he scolded the rousing guard in a squawking whine.

Looking at his surroundings and back at the lady crouched over him, the stunned man sat up. He touched his jaw where the disguised man had landed his fist. Rubbing it, he lifted himself up off the floor. Dazed, he asked, "How long have I been out?"

Siroc squawked, "Not long."

Realizing the shy, squeaky voiced woman was responsible for his lapse of consciousness, he was too embarrassed to report the incident. He did not want a soul to know what happened to him. He suspected the shy woman would hold to her secrecy as it was her modesty that would be in question otherwise. Hastily, he rose to his feet and began to follow the woman back to the parlor. "I thought you had to go…I mean…use the wash room," the reddened man asked, not sure what to think of his recent experience.

The actor shrugged and shook his head as if to say he no longer needed to go. Without saying a word, the impersonator quickened his step. In cadence with his completed task, Lully's counterpoint composition came to its metered finale. Siroc was anxious to wrap up his number as Sophia as well and bring his performance to an end.

oooooooo

Arriving back at the parlor, Siroc rejoined the others and gave his female comrade a nod of acknowledgement. He had completed his mission.

Wondering what he may have turned up, Jacqueline could not help be disquieted at her failure to launch her personal objective for the day. She had not run into her king. As she turned to leave ahead of the others, Jacqueline literally almost pivoted face to face into Louis coming from the adjoining hallway. "Sire!" she responded out of habit in the lowered tone and mannerism of Jacques Leponte. "I mean, Your Majesty…" she quickly covered in her own voice as she curtseyed. Unsure whether it was the awkwardness of her response or his sudden confrontation with the woman he had not seen since their encounter in his throne room, she sensed an initial twinge of pain in her king's expression.

"Ah, Madame d'Artagnan," he tactfully recovered his air.

Jacqueline's thoughts raced. Did she see him looking at her cross necklace? Yes, there was no mistake. His eyes had nervously shifted from her pendant to her face—back and forth. If the question had not practically burned within her, she might not have been so quick to think. Noticing a brief delay of her companions, she took advantage of their privacy to blurt out her question. "Please, if you would. Please explain your note…"

Before she could ask more, he turned to face the same direction as she, away from the room and the others. He took her arm in his and positioned himself securely by her side in privacy. Looking over his shoulder, assuring no other overheard his reply, he whispered, "I cannot. It is not my place to tell you." Then, as quickly as he had taken her into his confidence, he released her.

With furrowed brow, he looked at her, re-donning his initial look of pain, and lightly shook his head as if at a loss for words. As quickly as the young king's countenance had changed from pain, to civility, to pain, he once again shone with a delighted smile as the others joined them and the sight of Marie registered his attention. This remarkable young king was learning the many faces of royalty.

Yet, something about Jacqueline had made it difficult for him to hide his true emotions. But what had he said? Had he said it was not his place to tell her about her necklace? He was the king! If it was not his place, whose place was it? The discouraged Musketeer woman wondered if she would ever get to the bottom of her riddle. Who else could she possibly ask her questions to now? Her moment was lost. Her heart sank.

oooooooo

Later that evening, Jacqueline and Siroc reported to their captain on their reconnaissance mission. Just prior to their meeting, Captain Duval had spoken with Rosalina. Her report was not encouraging. But, in spite of her discouragement, she told Duval she was resolved to seek God's guidance and forge a path on behalf of her sisters. She promised that as soon as they had discussed their options, they would inform him of their course of action.

Pacing the office floor, Jacqueline's summarizing words to her captain in regards to Marie were not very encouraging either. She waved her arms in frustration as she spoke. "Aside from her being young and harboring a genuine disinterest in trivial matters…coupled with excessive interest in learning and literature…she's a very normal girl and amazingly compatible with Louis. You can't fault a person for their extravagant mannerisms and talkativeness." Finishing her speech, she slumped down in the wooden-backed chair before her captain's desk. She knew it was not what the worried man expected to hear but perhaps he could be thankful that it also was not as bad as he had braced himself for. Still, Jacqueline never felt so unresolved in all her objectives.

As for Siroc's main contribution, he waited for his comrade to vent herself before leaving his reclined position against the wall. Wearing his traditional Musketeer uniform, which he had gladly exchanged his earlier attire for, he relayed his findings. First, he reported that he did not turn up any of Morin's works. To this, Jacqueline and Duval were reinforced in their discouragement. It seemed all their objectives had been met with dead ends—all but one. A wide grin slowly covered the blond man's face as he held up the red piece of cloth and revealed his discovery in Mazarin's office. If his discovery led to what it suggested, it had the potential to counter all their failures. Siroc concluded, "He may have something hidden behind that piece of furniture. We'll have to go back in there."

With this ground-breaking bit of news, Captain Duval looked his soldiers in the eyes. Enthusiastically waving a clenched fist, he passionately resounded, "If there is something hidden—and there is, believe me, I know there is—then it can be found. It will be found! There is nothing hidden that cannot be uncovered. We'll find what Mazarin is hiding. And when we do, his day of reckoning will come. And I pray we'll be there to see it."