“Are its claws so much sharper than the sea monster’s?”
“Sharper — and it has bigger teeth. It wouldn’t sing to me when I spoke to it!”
The ladies laughed. As if she had commanded it, music sparkled upward from the grotto beneath the octagonal tower.
“The musicians are in the grotto.” Lotte whispered, “It’s full of water pipes — if you know where the faucets are, you can soak anyone who walks through! My uncle the King used to douse anyone who dared enter. Such fun!”
The tiger diverted her from the fun. It hurled itself at the dividing wall between its compound and the next. The camels lurched away, grunting and spitting with fear. The stench of their shit mixed with the tiger’s scent-mark. Their fear aroused the lions in the next compound. The lions roared and the tiger challenged them; the camels huddled in the center of their enclosure. On the other side of the dome the elephant trumpeted in fury. An ancient aurochs, its red hide turned roan with age, tossed its wide horns and bellowed continuously. Leashed birds — bluebirds and bluejays — on the balcony shrieked and beat their wings. Torn feathers fluttered to the ground.
In the distance, the sea monster cried out in answer.
On the circle of balconies overlooking the enclosures, courtiers shouted and applauded. Chartres was not the only one to torment the creatures with oranges, or stones.
Everyone, even the animals, suddenly fell silent.
His Majesty had arrived.
All the court gathered in the central dome: the men, bareheaded, nearest His Majesty; the women at the back of the group, conscious of the honor, for women did not usually attend His Majesty’s public dinner. Marie-Josèphe looked for her brother, but Yves was nowhere to be seen. The bound birds cried and beat their wings. A cardinal broke free, hit the curtain like a powder-puff, fell stunned, recovered in mid-air, flew into the curtain again, and tumbled to the floor, its neck broken. A servant scooped it up and out of His Majesty’s sight.
His Majesty sat alone at a small, elegant table beneath an arch of scarlet and gold orchids; Monsieur stood nearby with his napkin. The most favored courtiers served his food: Count Lucien poured his wine. His Majesty ate as he performed every task: calmly, majestically, deliberately. He gazed straight forward, chewing steadily through course after course of his first meal of the day: a platter of thick soup, fish, partridge, ham and beef, a plate of salad.
After the partridge, His Majesty turned to Monsieur.
“Will you be seated, brother?”
Monsieur bowed low; a servant hurried to bring a chair of ebony and mother-of-pearl. Monsieur sat beside his brother, facing him, holding his napkin ready.
When His Majesty had finished his ham, he glanced toward M. du Maine, standing in the front row with Monseigneur the Grand Dauphin and the legitimate grandsons.
“M. du Maine, the weather is fine for Carrousel, is it not?”
M. du Maine replied with a bow even deeper than Monsieur’s. The legitimate son watched the bastard favorite with a foolish expression of transparent envy.
His Majesty ate alone. Out of respect for the King, Marie-Josèphe resisted the temptation to pilfer a bit of meat from the tables behind her. No one paid her any mind; if she dared, she could take the edge off her hunger. She might also find herself curtsying and trying to fashion a proper greeting through a mouthful of food. She imagined Count Lucien’s disapproval. She would die of embarrassment.
But I’m hungry enough to eat one of the sea monster’s fish, she thought. Alive.
Wriggling.
His Majesty finished, put down his knife, wiped his mouth, and dipped his fingers into a bowl of spirits of wine to clean them. When he rose, all his court bowed.
An instant later — as if by coincidence, but surely by careful plan — Pope Innocent, with his retinue of Bishops, Cardinals, and Yves, paraded into the dome. The courtiers bowed again.
“Cousin, welcome,” His Majesty said.
His Majesty, accompanied by his brother and his sons and grandsons, and His Holiness, accompanied by his bishops and cardinals and his French Jesuit, strolled together out of the hexagonal room onto the balcony overlooking the lion’s enclosure.
The musicians on the balcony — several strings and a harpsichord — struck up a bright tune.
His Majesty’s ravenous courtiers set to.
“Mlle de la Croix, may I offer you your second glass of wine?” Lorraine, looking particularly elegant, loomed above her. Marie-Josèphe admired his smile, his eyes, his new brocade waistcoat.
“You’re too late for that,” she said. His eyes widened and he made one quick bark of laughter. She became frightfully aware of the daring cut of her bodice. “I would like a glass of wine, sir, thank you.”