The Sun King Conspiracy (25 page)

W
HEN Gabriel returned to his father’s house, he found him still in his office on the first floor. He looked tired.

‘My son, I am so happy that you were able to come straight back,’ André de Pontbriand declared.

‘Here you are,’ replied Gabriel, holding out the red leather case bulging with the notorious papers. ‘This is what I found on the floor of the prompter’s box at the theatre.’

‘Let me see,’ said André, putting on his pince-nez. ‘Sit down, my son, this will probably take a little while.’

André de Pontbriand minutely examined the parchments contained in the document case one by one. As he read them, he sorted them into separate piles on the large mahogany table he used as a desk. Gabriel watched his father admiringly, taking his time to rediscover the man by observing him closely. Little by little, he noticed expressions or family traits that brought back vague childhood memories.

‘There we are,’ the old man said at last, rubbing his eyes. ‘As you see, I have sorted the papers into three categories. That’, he said, his voice filled with emotion as he pointed to a sheet lying on its own, ‘is the document sold by Naum to Mazarin. On the back is the coded despatch note followed by my signature, which you recognised.’

André de Pontbriand slid his trembling hand over the document.
Gabriel gazed in silent amazement as his father battled with emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

‘If you knew how important this piece of paper is to me,’ said the old man barely audibly, letting the document slide slowly from his grasp. ‘And beyond me, for the future of the world! And you have brought it back to me …’

Tearing himself away from his memories with some difficulty, he silenced Gabriel, who was about to ask another question, and turned to the rest of the papers.

‘This here,’ he went on, indicating the second pile, ‘is an infinitely simpler form of encryption, known as Italian code. For years it was accessed quite easily by all those associated with the Court, but it hasn’t been used since it was broken during the Fronde. It is known to have been the code used by Anne of Austria for her secret correspondence. At first sight I think I can identify these as official deeds. I will need a little time to get to the bottom of them and discover their contents. And those over there are financial papers, written in such a way as to prevent them being accidentally read by some junior employee. It seems to be some kind of hidden accounting that shows the various manipulations undertaken by His Eminence to increase his own wealth. Look at this one, for example,’ said André, showing one of the documents to his son. ‘It reveals the shadowy arrangements that were devised for the purchase of the Montereau and de Moret toll houses by third parties in the Cardinal’s pay.’

‘Now I understand why Colbert and his henchmen are so fiercely determined!’ Gabriel exclaimed.

‘Whoever lost or hid this leather case in your theatre must have known perfectly well what they were looking for,’ André went on. ‘But let us return to the documents in the Italian code,’ he added,
turning to the second pile. ‘Allow me a few moments to translate these deeds. I think they might well contain an important State secret.’

As his father opened drawers and took out strange little rulers covered in figures, and then busied himself copying them onto the documents in question, Gabriel reflected that he had been entirely unaware of the explosive nature of the writing case.

Now I understand why the whole world seems to be
against me,
thought the young man, even more impatient to know the truth.

‘Well, Monsieur de Pontbriand, you have been sitting on a bomb!’ exclaimed the old man after a long period of silence. He was evidently satisfied with his work. He stood up and walked round the table to show the document to Gabriel, who seethed with impatience as his father read on, looking more and more astonished.

‘First of all, we have here the official deed of marriage between Anne of Austria and His Eminence Cardinal Mazarin! Do you know what that means, my son? If the Fronde members or those in their service had been able to get hold of these parchments, I believe the Kingdom of France would have exploded, with incalculable repercussions. What is more, this code is child’s play for anyone with a little knowledge of the cryptographic art!’

Gabriel could not believe his ears. The rumour had spread all over Paris, it is true, but nobody had imagined that proof of the marriage between the King’s mother and the Chief Minister could be so easily accessible.

‘But that is nothing compared to the letter attached to the deed.’

Gabriel was in a state of high excitement.

‘What does it say? Who sent it?’

‘Anne of Austria, my son, sent it to Cardinal Mazarin. And its content is incredible: this letter, Gabriel, dated 1638, twenty-three years ago, is from a young mother writing after the birth of her child to the child’s father …’

‘Mazarin was the King’s father?’

His head was spinning.

‘My son,’ said André, ‘now you know enough about the affairs of the Kingdom to appreciate the importance of these papers. They would be capable of unleashing a civil war …’

‘But what are we to do with them?’

‘We will have to act with extreme caution. I imagine Colbert is actively searching for them. Your life and mine would carry little weight in comparison,’ he concluded sombrely. ‘You said you would be in London for a few more days. First, I shall take the necessary steps to reassure my Brothers about the fate of our company’s papers. As I told you, I am not worried in that respect. The codes have not been broken; they are indecipherable to everyone except me. One day I shall explain to you how I can be so certain,’ added André in answer to his son’s questioning look. ‘As regards Mazarin’s secret accounts and the proof of his marriage, you shall take those papers back. I imagine that the private residence in which the King of England has accommodated you is the best-guarded place in the Kingdom. Before you leave, we shall discuss what to do next.’

Gabriel found his father’s cold determination suddenly reassuring. He realised just then how much he had missed this paternal protection.

‘It is getting late, father,’ said the young man, seeing from the clock that it was half past eleven.

‘And you must be hungry! I could eat a horse,’ added André,
leading Gabriel to a downstairs room where a cold meal awaited them.

‘I am delighted by what you said just now,’ said the young actor, attacking a magnificent slice of lamb. ‘I shall pray that the return of these compromising papers enables you to come back to Amboise soon,’ added the young man, suddenly overcome by a tide of emotion which he vainly attempted to suppress.

At these words, André de Pontbriand was unable to stem his tears.

‘That is my dearest wish,’ he said. ‘You cannot imagine how transformed I am by the happiness of seeing you again. This evening, I can hardly feel the aches and pains that have been bothering me for several months. It is as if some of your strength and youth has been passed on to me!’

The conversation continued between the two men, both eager to find out about each other and make up for lost years. Gabriel kept trying to persuade his father to talk about the precious text to which several generations of Pontbriands had dedicated their lives. In the end he appeared to sink into deep thought.

‘What are you pondering all of a sudden?’ asked his father after a moment’s silence.

‘Didn’t you think to make me part of that line too? If this secret is so important, why didn’t you want me to be one of those men charged with protecting it?’

‘Believe me, my son,’ André told him, ‘if I don’t tell you any more about our family’s secret this evening, it is only to protect you. Please don’t be impatient!’

When he saw Gabriel’s sombre expression, the old man leant towards him and looked him right in the eye.

‘Do you want me to tell you the truth? For years I hoped that the line would be broken. For years I have lived as a recluse, licking
my wounds, hating my destiny and hoping beyond hope that you would escape all this. I hoped that my generation would end our quest, and that you would be freed from it … That’s why I was so overwhelmed when I learned what had happened, that you had found the documents … Do not think badly of me,’ he added, his voice suddenly tired. ‘Come. You want me to prove what I say? Well, I am going to tell you a secret that is worth more than gold. Listen carefully, Gabriel, for very few men have heard what you are about to hear. I am going to read you a translation of the text which was lost for so long, and which you found. That way, you will already be one of us.’

He went away to his office and returned a moment later with the document.

Gabriel listened in astonishment to what seemed to him to be a long succession of plant names and expert dosages. André de Pontbriand smiled when he had finished reading.

At one o’clock in the morning, after talking at such length with his son, the old man decided to go to bed. He suggested that Gabriel should spend the night with him.

‘You can sleep in the armchair in my office,’ his father added. ‘Then we can look at the documents again tomorrow morning.’

Delighted, the young man bade his host goodnight and went to settle down for the night. He couldn’t sleep, and kept turning over in his head the strange phrases spoken by his father. It was very late when he finally fell into an uneasy slumber.

T
HE sound of furniture crashing to the ground suddenly awoke Gabriel, who at first did not know what was going on.

‘Help!’

His father’s muffled cry left the young man in no doubt, and he swiftly snatched up his sword which lay on the ground beside the armchair where he had fallen asleep. In a single bound, Gabriel was in the corridor. It was so dark that he had to grope his way through the unfamiliar house. As he reached the door to his father’s bedroom, a faint glimmer of moonlight illuminated André de Pontbriand’s inert body sprawled across the bed. At that same moment, a man knocked into him as he ran from the room.

‘Stop right there!’ roared Gabriel.

The only response was the menacing glint of a blade, and the fight began. As he defended himself against his assailant, Gabriel realised that the man was not alone, for he could hear a huge commotion coming from down below. Charles Saint John’s trading offices were obviously being systematically searched. Driven by rage, the young man fought harder still against the thug who had just attacked his father. Leaping deftly aside to evade his adversary’s blows, he found himself first on the staircase, then a moment later in the large room where clients were received. Everything had been turned upside down. The bales of precious fabrics had been torn open, and chests full of spices emptied. In the adjoining room, several men carrying
torches were in the process of emptying the cupboards where the merchant kept his accounts.

‘You’re done for!’ he cried, launching himself in the direction of the shadowy figures.

Oblivious to the danger, the young man found himself fighting four against one. He had forgotten none of the lessons he had received from his uncle at Amboise and wielded his blade with rare dexterity, skilfully parrying the four villains’ attacks. He was wondrously agile. He dealt one of his adversaries a deep wound in the shoulder. Then, with a masterstroke, he plunged his blade deep into the heart of another, who collapsed without even finding the strength to cry out.

At a brief command from the wounded man, the three survivors fled through the window they had broken to get into the house. For a moment, Gabriel thought of pursuing them through the darkened streets, then changed his mind as he remembered his father lying upstairs. The young man seized a torch and rushed to the bedroom where he had surprised the attacker a few minutes before. As he approached the bed, Gabriel paled. There was a small patch of blood on his father’s nightshirt, just above his heart.

‘They’ve killed him!’ he gasped as he saw the old man’s livid features, and his head began to spin. Distraught with grief, he gazed at the body of the father he had miraculously rediscovered only a few hours before.

Gabriel forced himself to be calm. He would have to return to Fouquet immediately and place himself under his protection. He rushed into his father’s office to gather his things, and in particular the precious documents which he would now have to protect. Before he went downstairs, he stopped one last time in the bedroom where the body of André de Pontbriand lay.

‘Father, I shall do my utmost to be faithful to you,’ murmured the young man, his eyes brimming with tears as he took one last look at the father whose life still remained so full of mystery.

Before Gabriel left the house, it occurred to him to search the man he had killed as he lay there in a pool of his own blood.

‘Who are these villains, and who are they working for?’

The discovery of a letter in his victim’s inside pocket provided the young man with his answer. The letter was signed by Charles Perrault, chief of Colbert’s police. The men had been instructed to follow ‘
young Gabriel during his stay in London, and at all costs and by any means necessary to retrieve any documents in the said actor’s possession.’

The young man felt a wave of anger sweep through him.

‘So, it was Colbert himself who killed my father,’ he told himself. ‘Colbert is going to pay for this with his life, even if I have to sacrifice the remainder of mine!’

The rest of the missive provided him with additional information: ‘
At the end of your mission stop at the coaching inn in Beauvais, and send me a letter informing me of your return to France. Whatever happens, await me there.’

In a flash Gabriel made up his mind not to waste a moment longer in London, but to set off in pursuit of his father’s murderers.

I’ll send Fouquet a letter telling him that I’ve returned to Paris,
the young man said to himself as he left his father’s house,
then I shall head for Beauvais!

Pain and grief had given way to cold rage.