“I bring greetings from Shogun Tsunayoshi in the name of Higashiyama-tennou the Emperor, the greatest monarch of the East, as you are the greatest monarch of the West.”
His attendants carried chests of black and red lacquer, painted with golden dragons. The chests contained fifty bolts of patterned silk, fifty kimono of exquisite color and pattern, and fifty jade figurines on silken cords, each jade creature so lifelike that the puppy might leap from the prince’s hand and scamper around the floor, the frog might croak and leap into the reflecting pond. Jade curves interconnected and intertwined; it was impossible to imagine how anyone had carved them.
Finally the prince took from beneath his outer robe a long narrow box of red lacquer, utterly plain.
“The greatest treasure, from our finest artist.” He knelt and placed the box on a small lacquer table carried in by two of his attendants. Reverently, he drew out a scroll and unrolled it. The backing and border were of fine silk with a subtle pattern, but the scroll was nothing more than white paper marked with three scribbles of black ink. The prince held the scroll as if it were a relic or the original parchment of Scripture. The courtiers whispered; Madame said to Lotte, “Why, when the Siamese came, even their gifts were better than that one!”
His Majesty nodded to the Prince without giving any hint that he might be disappointed or insulted.
“Our allies the War Chiefs of the Huron.”
Two wild Americans walked in, an elder and a younger man, side by side, wearing beaded deerskin, massive steel knives, and hats from Paris. They did not remove their hats, and no one corrected them. They never bowed; they never smiled, though Marie-Josèphe fancied she saw the younger man’s lips twitch with laughter. Lines of pain and age marked the older man’s face, for he had lived through the destruction of his village, his family, his people. The remnants of his band were the allies of the French in the same way as James and his court in exile.
Two servants carried a birchbark canoe to the King and placed it at his feet. The younger Huron unrolled a shirt of fringed white deerskin sewn with porcupine quills in striking geometric patterns.
His Majesty smiled. “You sent me beaded swaddling clothes when I was a child. It’s fitting that you give me a beaded shirt now that I’m an old man.”
The older chief unwrapped a smaller leather parcel and brought out a pipe decorated with long, golden-brown, white-tipped feathers.
“We bring the peace pipe,” the younger chief said in perfect French, “to celebrate our alliance.”
They laid the gifts at His Majesty’s feet.
“Her Highness the Queen of Nubia!”
The Queen of Nubia, her skin and hair and eyes the color of ebony, was the most beautiful woman Marie-Josèphe had ever seen. A million tiny beads of gold and lapis lazuli formed her headdress, clinking together in soft music. Her pleated linen robe was fine and sheer as silk, translucent, outlining and revealing her body. Only her wide gold necklace and girdle preserved her modesty, covering her breasts and her sex. She entered the throne room reclining on a litter carried by eight large dark men, followed by four young women, almost as beautiful as she, waving fans. Four more of her attendants led her gift into the throne room. The courtiers murmured in surprise, for they had never known horses to climb the stairs of the chateau, nor ever seen such strange striped horses as these, harnessed four abreast to a hunting chariot. Scenes of oryx and cheetah glowed in the colors of precious stones on its golden sides. Handsful of carnelian, turquoise, and lapis had been crushed to give the colors their unearthly intensities.
Snarls reverberated through the room. Marie-Josèphe caught her breath, certain that Sherzad had shrieked so loudly everyone could hear her. Then the courtiers near the door gasped and shouted and surged backwards.
Six cheetahs stalked across the floor, their claws clicking and scratching on the parquet, their spotted gold coats more striking than any metal. Each wore a collar paved with a different precious stone, fastened to two leashes, for two huntsmen held each beast.
Everyone drew back except Madame, and by necessity Marie-Josèphe and Lotte, for Madame was fascinated by the creatures.
“Your prowess at the hunt is renowned,” the Queen said. “I bring you a hunting chariot and the greatest chasers in the world, cheetahs from the plains of my homeland.”
“Your gift is as extraordinary as your beauty, great queen,” His Majesty said.
The treaty ceremony began.
Marie-Josèphe glanced down. Count Lucien slipped into place beside her.
“The ship has sailed,” he said softly. “Do not hope too much.”
“I have no other choice but hope,” Marie-Josèphe said. Under cover of the reading of the treaty between Louis and Innocent, a long drone of Latin, she whispered, “Count Lucien, why did you come to my defense? To Sherzad’s defense?”
“You have the truth of the matter. Butchering a sea monster cannot benefit His Majesty. Ransoming a sea woman can.”
“Is that your only reason?”
Without replying, Lucien turned away to watch his sovereign resign some of his authority to the Church of Rome.
Marie-Josèphe rode Zachi along the path beside the Green Carpet. Visitors picnicked on the grass. His Majesty’s courtiers had deserted the gardens to prepare themselves for Carrousel. Hidden quartets filled the air with music. The pumps shrieked and groaned, a background to the cheerful tunes, to the rain of the fountains.
A heavy wagon rumbled into the music and the beauty and stopped beside the Fountain of Apollo. A half-dozen men jumped out, carrying staffs. The chevalier de Lorraine dismounted from his tall horse and led the way into the tent.
Marie-Josèphe urged Zachi into a run. At the tent, she dropped her drawing box, scrambled down, and left Zachi standing.
“Sir! Stop! In His Majesty’s name!”
Lorraine turned back from Yves’ laboratory. “Where is the key to the cage, if you please, Mlle de la Croix?”
“It isn’t time! It’s only noon! His Majesty promised — !”
“Calm yourself. His Majesty orders the sea monster to perform for his guests.” He rattled the bars of the cage. “Leap, sea monster!”
“No!”
Sherzad leaped high, splashing down dangerously close to the edge of the fountain.
“She can’t leap properly — there isn’t room — as you see, you needn’t prod her!” She stood between the men and the cage, trying to think of a protest that would stop them.