‘But now it is not only Charles’s determination you must contend with.’
‘Yes. That is what appals me most - the fact that Louis is part of all this. Since I arrived at Versailles he has been like a father to me.
‘And fathers do not sell their daughters to the highest bidder?’ I said dryly. ‘Besides, no one knows better than Louis that a king can sometimes prevail where others cannot.’
‘True. But you must not feel bad, Carlo. It is me who should be apologising-to you. When I told you in France that you were too low-born to marry me - now the boot is on the other foot, I realise how insulting that was. I behaved abominably.’
‘It hardly matters now.’ I held up the letter. ‘Not compared with this. What are you going to do? Will it be the king’s bed, or a nunnery?’
‘Neither.’
‘Neither!’
She lifted her chin. ‘I am still Louise Renee de Penacoet, Dame de Keroualle, the eldest daughter of the oldest family of Brittany. I am no man’s concubine, king or otherwise. And certainly not because some jumped-up errand-boy of an ambassador tells me I should be.’
‘Then you must stand aside, surely?’
‘There may be another way.’ She began to pace up and down the inlaid floor. ‘I think Louis does not really care whether I am King Charles’s mistress or not - that is simply a means to an end. And the end is influence - that is to say, holding Charles to the terms of the treaty.’
‘War against the Dutch.’
‘Exactly. If I can achieve that without giving myself to the king, even Louis will have to admit that being his mistress isn’t necessary’
‘But how will you do that?’
‘I have Charles’s ear. And I have his confidence. He has talked to me already of the treaty, and his doubts about it. It seems to me that I can put the case for war just as easily without. . . without aU this nonsense about yielding and mistresses.’ She looked at me. ‘Will you help?’
‘I am not sure how I can.’
‘I’m not sure either, at the moment. But I do know that it will be the two of us against all of them. And that I cannot do it alone.’
‘Then I will do whatever I can.’
Of course I would: I would do anything, rather than see her in the king’s bed. But in my heart I was uneasy.
For who knew better than me that men want most the one thing they are told they cannot have?
Louise
I inform the ambassador of my decision. He looks pained, but does not actually order me onto the next boat back to France. For the moment, at least, it seems I am their best hope.
‘And how do you mean to achieve this?’ he wants to know. ‘Through reason and learned debate?’
‘Partly. And partly by invoking his late sister’s wishes.’
‘It is not merely a matter of persuading King Charles of the need for war. He will have to defy his own Parliament. That will involve considerable risk to his own position.’
‘Parliaments can be dissolved.’
""Mon Dieu - have a care,’ he says faintly. ‘That was how his father lost his head.’
‘Bribed, then. From what I have seen of England so far, they all have their price.’
‘All this bribery, just to spare your honour, mademoiselle?’ he says laconically.
‘All this bribery to achieve our objective. After all, I do not think my honour alone would have persuaded Parliament of the need for war, do you?’
When he has gone I go to the window, calming myself
This is something new: to meet with an ambassador, and bend his will to mine. And, what is more, to reframe a suggestion almost a command - from my own king. I have not defied Louis, exactly - that would be a most foolhardy thing to do - but I am making it clear that I, a mere woman, am going to go about this in my own way.
At best, I will be allowed to try. If I fail, the consequences might be even more unwelcome than being shut up in a convent.
Something else I consider: Madame would not have spoken to an ambassador like this. Madame’s way was always to trust people, to believe in their goodness, fixing them with the radiance of her gaze until the person she was speaking to became caught up by the force of her conviction.
But that, I am starting to realise, is not my way. *
I go back to the harpsichord. The seat doubles as a chest, for storing sheet music. I lift up the cushioned lid and feel at the bottom of the pile, then draw something out.
Aretino’s Postures: bein^ u true Account of the lewd Methods und divers Positions employed by u so-culled Lady, lately come from France.
Pornography, slipped under my door. They have not even attempted to make it look like me, but that is the suggestion.
Why, I wonder, flicking through the pages, is there so much fiiss about which way one lies to be coupled? What can it possibly matter if one is on the right or the left, or standing up, or sitting? And what could convince any woman that squatting over a man as if over a pot is a decorous way to behave? I shudder. As for the later pictures, the ones with more than one woman, or more than one man . . .
Yet, somehow, I have not been able to throw it in the fire. There is something about the etchings, for all their crudeness, a kind of vulgar relish, that both repels and fascinates.
And there is instruction here, of a kind.
I hear Lady Arlington’s voice in my head. The kin£f is an accomplished lover. Perhaps coupling is quite like tennis after all; a game which must be learned like any other, initially baffling, but simple enough when you master the rules.
And I have never yet come across a game I cannot win at.
I think: do I really want to marry - to become some nobleman’s brood mare, obliged to do this for him whenever he wants when I could be the confidante of a king instead?
And at the thought of how the stakes in this game are rising
how the abyss on each side is deepening -1 am surprised, and not a little curious, to find that what I feel is not so much fear, or disgust, but excitement: the thrill of someone who walks onto a' tennis court, and feels a racquet in her hand.
Louise
Charles listens to me play, lolling in a chair beside me, his long legs almost touching mine. In his lap a spaniel scratches lethargically with its hind leg at one tangled ear.
‘Have you given any thought to the Dutch!*’ I ask, as if it is no more important a subject than any other we discuss.
He glances at me. ‘Why? Does your king become impatient?’
I play another phrase. ‘My king? I have two kings now.’ I smile at him. ‘But if you mean Louis, I believe he is always mindful of the need for haste.’
Charles grunts. ‘I have heard that he is sometimes over hasty.’
‘As a statesman?’
‘In aU respects.’ He leans forward. ‘I prefer to take my time.’
‘As a statesman?’
‘In all respects.’
In response, I drop the speed of my playing, comically, from cindpinte to adagio.
‘I have been in wars, you know,’ he says. ‘They are rarely as glorious as people think. As a young man - a boy - I fought Cromwell, my army against his, pikes against swords, Enghshman against EngUshman ... It left me with a lifelong aversion to the shedding of human blood.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘Don’t tell my ministers. But I have always preferred negotiation to conquest.’
There is an edge to his last comment: we are not simply talking now about wars.
‘I like to watch you play,’ he says idly. ‘Did you know that you lift your chin at the start of every measure?’
‘Louis believes that delay will only make the war more arduous. To strike quickly and decisively will save more lives than it costs.’
‘I am familiar with the argument,’ he agrees. ‘But it does not explain why we must strike in the first place.’