Vonda McIntyre - The Moon and the Sun

Mme de Maintenon obeyed her husband. The King opened a black velvet bag and poured out a magnificent parure of diamonds and sapphires: earrings, brooch, and bracelet. The jewelry gleaming in her palms, Mme de Maintenon sat obstinately motionless, her eyes tightly closed.

His Majesty’s cheer faded. “You may open your eyes.”

Mme de Maintenon barely glanced at the ornaments. “How beautiful—of course I cannot in good conscience wear them.” She pressed the jewels into His Holiness’ hands. “Sell them, and give the proceeds to the poor.”

“Your charity is legendary.” His Holiness handed the parure to Yves, who took it with the same reserve with which he had handled the dead fox.

Louis remained impassive. Madame was not so stoic.

“I could never part with a present from Your Majesty,” she said. “I’m far too selfish and worldly. I shall wear my bracelet to Carrousel.”

His Majesty nodded to Madame.

Even his smallest action is splendid, Marie-Josèphe thought, and dared to hope for her friend.

“I should sell it to pay my servants,” Madame whispered to Marie-Josèphe, “but I shall wear it—if Monsieur doesn’t insist on borrowing it!”

“I would have liked to see you wear my gift, if but once,” His Majesty said to Mme de Maintenon. He did not raise his voice; neither did he make any attempt to keep the conversation confidential. Monsieur suddenly turned to Lorraine and began a spirited discussion; similarly, Madame displayed the intricate clasp of her new bracelet to Marie-Josèphe. Everyone pretended to be unaware of the exchange between the King and his wife. Even His Holiness looked politely away, asking Yves about some nearby bird or leaf or insect.

The King has no private moments, Marie-Josèphe said to herself. It must make no difference to him, whether he speaks in front of a few noblemen serving at his awakening, or in front of his whole court.

“Sire, I’m a plain old woman. I’d look foolish in a young bride’s baubles.”

“You’re always beautiful to me,” His Majesty said.

“My only beauty is my good work, which I dedicate to you, who rule by the grace of God.”

Louis, called in his youth Dieudonné, God-given, shook his head. “That’s true, yet I’m still a man, who desired to give his wife a gift.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between the King and Mme de Maintenon.

Monsieur’s sudden giggle interrupted it. “The sea monster?” he cried. “The sea monster told bawdy tales?”

“Indeed it did, and Mlle de la Croix translated them for us.”

Lorraine looked past Monsieur, past Yves and His Majesty, past Madame. He smiled his devastating smile at Marie-Josèphe, but he had robbed himself of its power over her.

“Do you tell your story again, Mlle de la Croix,” Lorraine said easily, “for Monsieur and for His Majesty.”

“It isn’t my story, sir.” She did not plan the rude chill in her voice, but she could not regret it. “It belongs to—”

“I forbid you to repeat it,” Yves said.

“—the sea woman.”

“It’s entirely improper, Monsieur,” Lorraine said. “About Northern raiders—and bestiality with sea monsters.”

“Would that not be rather cold—and slimy?” Monsieur shuddered theatrically. “I would prefer—but, my dear, you know what I prefer.”

“It was not about bestiality,” Count Lucien said. “It was about murder, rape—and betrayal.”

“To be sure, M. de Chrétien, it was.” To Marie-Josèphe, Lorraine said, “Your story gains in excitement—coming from your lips. Barbarians ravaging gargoyles—”

“Sir!” Mme de Maintenon’s flushed cheeks were the only color about her. “Consider in whose presence you are speaking!”

Curiosity vanished from His Holiness’ expression, replaced by offended virtue.

“Mlle de la Croix,” His Majesty said, “teach the sea monster tricks, if it amuses you, but govern this delusion about her nature. Your mother would never have invented such appalling stories.”

Silence fell. Monsieur stopped chuckling.

“Your Majesty—”

Lorraine interrupted her. “She thinks Your Royal Highness is a cannibal.”

“And govern your tongue as well.”

“I never believed any such thing, Sire,” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed, horrified. She had only wished to protect him from such an accusation. “Never!”

“Forgive my sister,” Yves said. “She has not yet recovered from her illness.”

With a persistence driven by fever, Marie-Josèphe continued. “Your Majesty, please spare her life. She’s a woman with a soul, like yours or mine. If you kill her, you’ll commit a mortal sin!”

“I would entertain His Holiness’ views on mortal sin,” the King said. “I might entertain even your brother’s. But I hardly think I need listen to yours.”

“Do you call His Majesty a murderer?” Lorraine said, his voice as soft as oiled silk.

“It is neither murder,” His Holiness said, “nor against any commandment, to kill a beast. God put beasts on Earth for the use of man. You must not task yourself with moral philosophy, Mlle de la Croix. It’s too demanding for the minds of women.” He made a gesture of dismissal. “Dabble in your natural philosophy, or better yet take up cooking.”

“Natural philosophy proves the sea woman is human!” Marie-Josèphe cried.

Louis shook his head. “Dr. Fagon assured me you were cured of your hysteria.”

Count Lucien placed his hand on Marie-Josèphe’s wrist, startling her, stopping her protest.

“Your Majesty,” Count Lucien said.

Both Mme de Maintenon and Innocent pointedly ignored him, but His Majesty responded with open curiosity.

“Your advice, M. de Chrétien?”

“Consider, Sire, if Mlle de la Croix is correct.”

“Ridiculous,” said Innocent.

“She’s proved the sea monster understands her.”

“That is true,” His Majesty admitted. “However, I am led to believe her cat understands her. Am I to give M. Hercules a place at court?”

His courtiers dared to titter at his joke.

“You are fortunate to live in the modern age.” Innocent gazed on Marie-Josèphe with concern, and suspicion. “In times past, a woman who spoke to animals—to demons—risked the stake.”

The courtiers stopped laughing. Yves paled. “Your Holiness, my sister has made a pet of the monster. She doesn’t realize—”

“Be easy in your mind, my son,” Innocent said to Yves. “I don’t accuse your sister of being possessed. I do suspect she may be mad, mistaking beasts for people.”

“As the Church mistook beasts for demons,” Count Lucien said.

Innocent glared. “There was no mistake about it—they were products of demonic possession. The Inquisition drove out the satanic influence.”

“Their status changed once—why not again? What remains to be proven,” Count Lucien said to His Majesty, “is whether the creature speaks a human language and therefore is not a creature. This is a scientific age. If I understand what Father de la Croix has said of science—he will correct my errors, I trust—science demands proof. Allow Mlle de la Croix to prove her contention.”

His Majesty’s gaze searched Count Lucien’s face. Finally, impassively, he said, “I will see.”

Marie-Josèphe entered the sea woman’s prison. She hesitated, swaying dizzily. Murk clouded the pool. Marie-Josèphe sat down before her equilibrium deserted her. Her arm throbbed.

She whispered the sea woman’s name. “His Majesty will hear me on your behalf. You must tell him a story I could never make up. A story to move him. A story to charm him to our cause.”