“Chrétien,” the King said, “Brittany lacks a bishop. Were I to nominate one, His Holiness will invest him with the others, as soon as he signs the treaty. To whom do you wish the appointment offered?”
“To Nemo, Sire.”
His Majesty raised a questioning eyebrow. “To no one?”
“If M. de Chrétien has no nominee, Your Majesty, the position and the revenue might best be given to —”
Lucien interrupted Father de la Chaise. “It suits my family for the appointment to remain empty.” He finished his wine; Quentin poured again.
“Sir, you’re trading the spiritual health of Brittany for a few bits of gold,” de la Chaise said. “Your people need direction. Your family is sufficiently wealthy, and Brittany already bears the reputation —”
“Enough, sir. I asked for M. de Chrétien’s suggestion, and he has given it. About my decision, I will see.”
A new bishop would send much of the revenue from his lands to Rome. Without a bishop’s household and responsibilities to support, the parishioners would pay their taxes to His Majesty, and be left with something to eat after what threatened to be a poor harvest.
You’re too proud for your own good, Lucien said to himself. You neglect to explain yourself to His Majesty because you think Mme de Maintenon will give herself credit for your decision, because she might believe she shamed you into unaccustomed acts of charity.
Explaining himself to His Majesty was unnecessary. Lucien’s sovereign possessed great political astuteness; His Majesty often understood the motives of his subjects and his advisers before they understood themselves.
“What have you for me today, M. de Barbezieux?”
“Orders, Your Majesty, for quartering troops among the Protestants.” Barbezieux drew papers from his campaign desk.
“Very good.” Louis signed the documents. Barbezieux and de la Chaise looked on with approval. Already busy with another bit of needlework, Mme de Maintenon smiled.
Lucien said nothing, for nothing he could say would make Louis change his mind.
He had already tried, harder than was prudent. The proposal was meant to hasten the conversion of the heretics, but as far as Lucien had seen, it had caused only disaster and treason and the enrichment of men who did not deserve any rewards. Yet instead of withdrawing the failed orders, the King extended them. His Majesty’s intolerance —
Mme de Maintenon’s, as Lucien preferred to believe — prevented him from seeing how severely the draconian measures against Protestants damaged France and His Majesty himself.
It’s easier to be an atheist, Lucien thought. And less dangerous. The King’s troops do not have permission to quarter themselves in my house, to loot it, to abuse without limit the members of my household.
“Is that all? Good day, then, gentlemen,” the King said to Barbezieux and de la Chaise. “M. de Chrétien, you will stay for a glass of wine.”
Barbezieux and de la Chaise bowed and withdrew.
Quentin refilled His Majesty’s goblet, and Lucien’s. Mme de Maintenon refused refreshment. Lucien sipped the wine; it was too fine a vintage to gulp even for medicinal purposes.
His Majesty closed his eyes, revealing for a moment his exhaustion, his age.
“Give me some simple task, M. de Chrétien,” His Majesty said. “Nothing to do with statecraft or religion. Something I may grant with a purse, with a wave of my hand.”
“There’s the matter of Father de la Croix, Your Majesty. The dissection.”
“Did he not complete it?”
“He completed the important part, Your Majesty. Apparently some few small muscles and sinews remain for him to observe.”
“His first attention must be to the matter we investigated last night.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
His Majesty waved his hand. “Otherwise, as his time permits, he may do as he likes with the carcass.”
“I will tell him, Your Majesty. He’ll be grateful.”
They sipped their wine in companionable silence, as if they were campaigning or at Marly, where etiquette weighed less heavily.
“You trouble me, M. de Chrétien,” His Majesty said.
“Trouble you, Sire!”
“You ask me for nothing.”
“No wonder I trouble you, Sire,” Lucien said. “Nothing is difficult to give, being so insubstantial.”
His Majesty chuckled, but would not be diverted. “All around me people beg for rank, for position, for pensions. For themselves, for worthless family members.”
Lucien wondered if he were being used to convey a message to Mme de Maintenon, who had obtained endless perquisites for her feckless brother. It was equally likely —more likely — that His Majesty spoke without considering her feelings.
“I’m afraid, M. de Chrétien, that if you are dissatisfied, you’ll flee my court again to the adventures of Arabia.”
“I have no reason to return to Arabia, Your Majesty,” Lucien said. “I went there only because you commanded me to leave your sight.”
“I often wished for your good counsel, while you were gone. Will you not take some reward, if only a token?”