“ànd they tortured us.’”
The Northmen tied the sea man to their dragon prow. His screams warned them of rocks and reefs. Sometimes they aimed their figurehead toward the rocks, and laughed at his cries.
“`They used the sea women against their will, as no woman wishes to be used.’”
The Northmen threw the sea women overboard. They floated, limp, bruised, bleeding from secret places.
“The sea people —” Marie-Josèphe choked on tears. “Please, sea woman, please, no more.”
You must finish, the sea woman sang. You promised to finish the story.
Marie-Josèphe continued. The sea people comforted the injured sea women. But just out of the sight of the eyes, sleek and deadly shapes appeared. Hunting sharks surrounded the group, scenting the blood, moving in to attack.
The sea people turned outward to defend themselves, circling their injured friends and their children for protection. They sang a song of description and warning into the sea, so other families would hear it and beware the men of land and their marauding ships.
Yves stared at Marie-Josèphe, shocked. He had arrived, with Dr. Fagon, while the story surrounded her, filling her sight. Marie-Josèphe stammered out the end of the tale; she covered her face with her hands, hiding her tears. Her heart thrashed wildly, driven by horror on the sea woman’s behalf, fear and embarrassment on her own.
The visitors and most of the courtiers applauded, cheering as they would for the greatest drama of Racine.
“There, there, my dear,” Madame said softly. The Princess Palatine embraced Marie-Josèphe, holding her gently against her ample bosom, stroking her hair. Lotte joined them, patting Marie-Josèphe’s hand.
“What a tragic story! How imaginative you are!”
“Overwrought melodrama,” Lorraine said.
“You’re too harsh, sir,” Chartres said mildly.
“Come along, child,” Madame said. “We’ll ride with the King’s hunt. The fresh air will have you well in no time.”
“Fagon,” Lorraine said, “you should bleed her again.”
Marie-Josèphe started, ready to fly to Zachi, ready to run. Lorraine laughed, her first true enemy.
Count Lucien cleared his throat.
“Letting blood is not,” Fagon said nervously, “is not indicated, at this time.”
19
In the midst of a chaos of horses and dogs, carriages and shouting, Zachi stepped delicately across the paving stones of the courtyard. Marie-Josèphe stroked the mare’s sleek red-gold neck.
“Do you know my frailties, dear Zachi?” she whispered. I’m only tired, she thought, though her feverish despair resembled no exhaustion she had ever felt.
Zachi swiveled one fine ear, then pricked both ears forward and arched her neck.
Her walk was as smooth as still water.
Shouting, beating their leopard-spotted ponies’ sides with their heels, the young princes clattered across the paving stones. A half-grown hound bayed and scrabbled to chase them. Its leash, fastened to the collar of an experienced old bitch, strangled it back.
The bitch growled; the pup cowered. The King’s hunt assembled, fifty horses and riders, a dozen open caleches. The stallions snorted and reared; the courtiers preened as proudly.
Horse sweat, human sweat, dung, smoke, and perfume mingled with the scent of orange blossoms and the cool sharp air of September. The sky glowed blue.
Monsieur and the Chevalier de Lorraine rode out on matched black Spanish chargers. Monsieur’s diamond patches glittered against his powdered skin, his new coat gleamed with gold lace, and white plumes spilled nearly to the cantle of his saddle. He cocked his hat in the most stylish manner. Lorraine, impossibly elegant in his embroidered blue coat, sported a new diamond ring, displayed over his glove on his forefinger.
Marie-Josèphe hoped she could avoid him in the crowd.
“Unusual to see Monsieur riding astride,” the Duke du Maine said. His heavy hunter shouldered up beside Zachi.
“He has a beautiful seat, sir,” Marie-Josèphe said. “See how his horse responds to him.”
“He wishes he could put that bridle on Lorraine, and make him admire his seat.”
Maine chuckled.
Marie-Josèphe could make no sense of Maine’s comment, except the insulting tone.
“I have heard he led bravely,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Riding at the head of his company in battle.”
“Not until he’d spent two hours before his mirror. He must have taken four hours, to get himself up today.” Maine’s horse moved closer. Maine’s knee brushed against Marie-Josèphe’s leg. Zachi flattened her ears and nipped at the horse. Marie-Josèphe did not correct her.
“Monsieur has been kindness itself to me, sir,” she said. “And Madame, and Mademoiselle — I wouldn’t like to hear them spoken of with disrespect.”
Maine turned toward her. The motion straightened the unevenness of his shoulders.