The Moon and the Sun

If Mlle de la Croix would free herself, Lucien thought, I wager she’d be quite magnificent. He laughed to himself, then sobered, for her piety enslaved her. Her signs of affection troubled him; the match would be disastrous.

* * *

Zachi offered to outdistance every other horse and rider. Marie-Josèphe asked for moderation with her hands, her voice; the mare settled, and cantered behind the princes. The rutted road of a few days before was transformed to smooth grass.

Grateful for the horse’s good manners, and reserving a small part of her attention for Chartres and Lorraine, Marie-Josèphe tried to put aside her worry for the sea woman. She enjoyed the wind on her face, the freshness of the day, the sunlight and shadow dappling the world.

The caleche broke through the forest into a wide meadow. The sun’s heat rose around her like a tropical sea, bringing with it the scent of crushed grass. The caleche stopped. The hunting party ranged itself to either side, and the gun-bearers brought the hunting-pieces.

Drums and beating-sticks coalesced into a ring of noise. Zachi arched her neck, snorted, pranced in place. She wished to join her sister-mare Zelis. Marie-Josèphe would gladly have let her. She hoped to speak to Count Lucien, to make up, somehow, for her inexcusable behavior. But Count Lucien rode near His Majesty. Marie-Josèphe had no leave to approach the King, not even to speak to her brother.

A bearer handed a gun to Count Lucien, who inspected it and handed it to His Majesty. Pope Innocent and Mme de Maintenon remained empty-handed, but Yves accepted a fowling-piece.

Yves was a dreadful shot, when we were children, Marie-Josèphe thought. I hope he has improved—or more creatures than rabbits will be in danger today!

The sea woman returned to her thoughts. Marie-Josèphe could not glory in her own taste of freedom, when her friend swam round and round in the filthy brackish water, trapped, she who had been used to swimming in the clean deep sea, any distance, any direction, governed solely by her will. Only His Majesty could restore her to her home and her family.

“Mlle de la Croix—”

Marie-Josèphe started. So intent had she been on the sea woman’s peril that she had forgotten her own.

“—you must give me a token to carry, like a knight of old.” Chartres plucked at a bit of her lace, smiling, his wild eye giving him a rakish look. The breeze ruffled the long white plumes in his hat.

The Duke of Berwick rode beside him, which astonished Marie-Josèphe. Madame would surely disapprove of her son’s associating with a bastard, even James Fitzjames, the King of England’s natural son.

“Let my friend Chartres be your champion, do,” Berwick said. He spoke with a heavy accent, but he did not lisp like his father, and he was very handsome.

“I have no token, sir,” Marie-Josèphe said.

“Come now, you must—an earring, a handkerchief, a lacing from your corset—”

“A ruffle from your petticoat,” Lorraine said from her other side.

The men on their larger horses pinned her between them. Zachi liked this no more than Marie-Josèphe. She flattened her ears and stamped one hind foot.

“If I give you my handkerchief, sir, I will not have one, and my mother would be ashamed to see me.”

The drumming neared, a wall of sound.

The ground thundered as the ancient aurochs, freed from the Menagerie, lumbered from the forest. The hunting party cried out in amazement and appreciation of the exotic creature.

The aurochs plowed the earth with its hooves; it ripped leaves to shreds with the points of its long horns. It bellowed and tossed its head, glaring about it with age-dimmed eyes. The other hunters held their fire, in respect of their King’s right to take the huge bull.

His Majesty aimed. The aurochs drank the air with wide wet nostrils. As if scenting the danger of gunpowder, it lowered its head and charged the royal caleche.

His Majesty fired.

The aurochs thundered toward him. Its wound pumped blood straight from its heart.

“Your mother is dead, Mlle de la Croix,” Lorraine said.

“You are cruel, sir.”

Count Lucien calmly handed His Majesty another loaded gun. With equal assurance, His Majesty aimed, and fired.

The aurochs stumbled, recovered, and plunged on.

Even Chartres hesitated with astonishment, but the game Lorraine led was too tempting. He leaned from his saddle and snatched at Marie-Josèphe’s petticoat lace.

His Majesty aimed, and fired a third time.

The aurochs lurched and fell, crashing to the earth before His Majesty, running as it lay. It spattered blood all around, on the ground, on the caleche, on His Majesty’s dark gold coat. When it died, the hunters cheered His Majesty’s elegant shooting.

“You are missing your hunt, sir.” Marie-Josèphe slapped Chartres’ hand away; this time she meant to hurt him.