“Too dangerous.”
“That never stopped M. Molière.”
“He was fearless when confronted by censors and prisons, it’s true,” Lucien said. “It isn’t so easy to be fearless when confronted by my father.”
“Your father challenged him?”
“Challenge a commoner? Certainly not. He offered to have lackeys beat him senseless for insulting the Queen. M. Molière rather lost his sense of humor about the situation.”
“Poor M. Molière.”
“Poor M. Molière indeed, he could have been the downfall of my family. And of His Majesty’s family, if Monseigneur’s birth were also called into question.”
“It’s true that Monseigneur doesn’t quite resemble —”
“Please do not insult the late Queen in my presence.”
“I beg your pardon. But why such complexity? Why not simply spirit you away?”
Amazed that she could be so intelligent and yet so naive, Lucien said, “Because the daughter of a queen and a commoner is not much threat. The son of a queen and a companion of Charlemagne might challenge the throne of France as well as Spain.”
She nodded her understanding. “What of your sister?”
“I have no sister. Do you mean the changeling?”
“Yes.”
“She’s content, she says, in her convent; she possesses all the piety my family lacks. Her true parents were Spanish, of course, members of Her Majesty’s retinue.”
“Doesn’t she want to live in the world?”
“Perhaps not,” Lucien said, “for she too is a dwarf. And a Moor, with a Christian vocation. She’s respected where she is. France is her home. Where would she go? To the Spanish court as her true father’s successor? She could speak truths to their pathetic king, but he’d never hear her.”
“Is this why you’ve decided not to have children?”
“Because they might be snatched away and put on the throne of Spain?” Lucien laughed. “A horrible fate. No, I told you why I’ll never father a child. Why do you think there’s any other reason?”
“What of the future of your house? And your ancient title?”
“My younger brother will carry it on.”
“Your brother! Does he —”
“Resemble me? Not in any way.”
“— come to court?”
“Not if I can keep him from it.”
“Why not?”
Lucien sighed. “My brother’s a fool.”
“I cannot believe it!”
“Don’t misunderstand me. Guy is perfectly amiable. He’s good-hearted. But as for wit, or intelligence — he has neither. He allows himself to be drawn into mischief, thinking only that it will be good fun.”
“And yet you give him the future of your family.”
“I found him a good wife,” Lucien said. “She’s of excellent origin and no little fortune. She isn’t her own first cousin. Even better, she isn’t Guy’s first cousin. She’s fond of Guy and she manages the family well. Her children are a joy. When my nephew comes of age, I’ll grant him the title comte de Chrétien. He won’t disgrace it.”
“Will your nephew have your spirit?”
“He’ll have my mother’s spirit — and my brother’s strong back.”
“What of —” Marie-Josèphe said hesitantly. “What of the woman you call mother? Your father’s wife? Did she hate you terribly?”
“I honor and love her. She’s my mother, as her husband is my brother’s father.”
“In the eyes of the law, but — ?”
“In the line of inheritance, which is the important thing. We’re both acknowledged, and legitimate, and cherished. She treats me graciously, as my father treats her son. She and my father are dearest lovers. Unlike most husbands and wives, they aren’t unfaithful to each other for their pleasure or their love. Only for their children.”
“Who is your brother’s father?”
“That isn’t my secret to tell,” Lucien replied. “You must ask me some other question.”
She thought for a moment. “How did you come to leave court? I can hardly imagine you anywhere else.”
“I didn’t leave willingly. I left in disgrace.”
“I cannot believe it!”
“Do you see in me no potential for disobedience?”
Marie-Josèphe laughed. “You’d disobey any order, you ignore all convention! But, displease the King? Never.”
“Youthful foolishness. I was barely fifteen.”
He had never told anyone the truth, that he took the blame for his brother’s foolishness. He was the eldest, after all; it was his responsibility to help Guy find his place in His Majesty’s court. At that he had failed. Guy bore the worst punishment; His Majesty never exiled him, but Lucien sent him home to Brittany and refused all his entreaties for a second invitation to Versailles.
“His Majesty’s punishment worked to my great advantage,” he said. “He sent me with his embassy to Morocco. To learn diplomacy, he said. We travelled through Arabia, Egypt, the Levant.”
“The greatest mathematicians in the world lived in Arabia,” Marie-Josèphe said. “Until M. Newton.”
“I didn’t have the honor of meeting Arabic mathematicians,” Lucien said. “But I met sheiks and warriors and holy men. I rode with the Bedouins. My sword was forged in Damascus. I lived in a hareem.”
“A hareem — but how?”
“On our journey, we all fell ill, with a dreadful flux — I’ll spare you the details.”
“I know the details.”
“I am sorry to hear it. The Sultan took us into his household. A less brave and ethical man would have put us out to die. Some of us did die, but his altruism saved most of us. His physicians watched over the grown men. The women of the household cared for the boys, the pages, for in the house of a devout Mahometan, the men live in one part of the house, the women and girls in another. Young boys live in the women’s quarters until they reach a certain age and develop a certain attention.
“As a youth,” Lucien said with dry directness, “I was rather small. In the chaos of illness and darkness and death, I was mistaken for a page of ten, rather than a young man of fifteen. No one in the embassy could say it was a mistake and call me back. We were too sick. I came to my senses all unaware, wondering if a god really did exist —”