Red Children Market

Once everything had been agreed upon, the next day's itinerary was swiftly delivered into Cardinal Mazarin's hands. He carefully examined the king's handwritten order; rather than verifying its authenticity, he seemed to be judging the little king's skill and fluency in using correspondence. After reading it, he directly wrote beneath it: "I respectfully obey Your command." He signed his name below those words, then added a note for the commander of his mercenaries, ordering him to assign one hundred strong, handsome young men to safeguard the Queen Mother, the king, and the king's brother on the following day. Each man was to receive an allowance of one gold louis.

Before sending out the letter, he dispatched a trusted cleric to invite the chief judge of the Inquisition—the Paris tribunal—to see him. He purchased the chief judge's promise with one thousand gold louis: the streets and alleys of Paris would absolutely contain no werewolves or vampires the following day. Mr. Yilalue was very young, with a pair of long, narrow brown eyes. When he smiled, he looked exactly like a fox. As he inspected the gold coins packed tightly together in the small chest one by one, he casually mentioned that he had received another letter from Mr. Maidalchini yesterday. In it, Mr. Maidalchini, who had now openly become the agent of the agent of God, "strongly" disapproved of the Inquisition's ambiguous attitude toward the French royal family. He vehemently demanded that they withdraw from Paris as soon as possible, until Cardinal Mazarin was willing to meet their demands, cease sheltering Urban VIII's Barberini family, and expel them from Paris.

But even merely to repay Urban VIII for his favor in promoting him, Cardinal Mazarin would not do such a thing. What was more, he had already received considerable gifts from the Barberini family, and France was not afraid of Innocent X. His only miscalculation had been that the Church, taking advantage of the Parisian commoners' uprising, had urgently summoned the then chief judge of the Inquisition, resulting in the king's party being attacked by a group of Serbian werewolves. Fortunately, the tribunal at that time still contained one of Cardinal Mazarin's trump cards—Mr. Yilalue.

Mr. Yilalue had originally been only a minor clerk in the Paris tribunal. His ability to act beyond his authority, and to become chief judge, had much to do with Mr. Mazarin's full support. As for the former chief judge, since he had been willing to heed the Pope's decree, he could remain in Rome forever and need never return to Paris.

But it needed to be solemnly stated that although Mr. Yilalue and Cardinal Mazarin stood on the same side, official business still had to be handled officially. After all, the people of the inner world had also reminded Yilalue that he could not, like the former chief judge, lean too heavily toward the outer world, whether it was the Holy Father or the cardinal. Mazarin was quite dismissive of this, but to him, anything that could be solved with gold louis was no problem at all. Besides, it made it easier for Yilalue to show goodwill toward the people of the inner world.

"Do you still have enough wheat?"

"Enough," Yilalue said. "Or perhaps you could give us some more oil and fat."

The cardinal nodded. "Take it," he said. "I'll have merchants find you." Though Yilalue was young, he had never revealed too much about the inner world to him. Just as he never answered questions about wheat, he remained vague about other supplies as well, lest the cardinal be able to guess how much strength they still retained in the inner world. But they had always welcomed gold louis, even though Mazarin's spies had never seen a single marked coin in circulation on the market.

Having received a satisfactory answer, Yilalue promptly took his leave. He did not put on any display of being especially close to the cardinal. After he left, Retz, the Church's coadjutor bishop, immediately came to visit. This fellow truly was shameless beyond measure. During the popular uprising, he had plainly stood with the people, yet once the king returned to Paris, he assumed the appearance of being unswervingly loyal to the royal family. He even paid frequent visits to Queen Mother Anne, attempting to persuade her to replace Mazarin.

Had the king not firmly opposed it, he might truly have succeeded. Looking at that old face even more unpleasant than his own, Cardinal Mazarin had several times wanted to pull open a drawer and throw the letters Retz had written to Prince of Condé and Gaston, Duke of Orléans, into his face. Yet in the end, he restrained his anger and courteously saw him out. In addition, he reminded Co-adjutor Bishop Retz that the king intended to rebuild the chapel at Tuileries Palace. Naturally, that was a devout undertaking; His Excellency the coadjutor bishop could not simply turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to it.

Thus, the king unexpectedly received another two bills of exchange: one from Cardinal Mazarin, worth one thousand gold louis, and one from Co-adjutor Bishop Retz, worth one thousand five hundred gold louis.

This made what he needed to do much simpler. Naturally, these bills of exchange would not all be converted into bread, for that would only fill the bellies of those wheat merchants hoarding goods and driving up prices. The king entrusted the matter to Mr. Fouquet. This superintendent of finances had once again been given an opportunity to prove himself. He would exchange the money for as much coarse grain as possible—oats, rye, peas, and the like. Anyone willing to work at the chapel would receive grain directly.

What disappointed him was that although the king relied greatly upon him, he had also given Jean-Baptiste Colbert an opportunity. Yes, that small merchant who had provided horses for the king. His task was far more dangerous and difficult than Fouquet's, because he was to go to Italy and purchase as much maize as possible. This crop was also grown in France, but the citizens of Paris were still unfamiliar with it. For that reason, its price had not yet been driven up by unscrupulous merchants.

The king stood at the window and watched Colbert ride away from the Richelieu Residence. At first, he cautiously walked alongside his horse, but when he reached the corner and turned, he could not restrain his excitement any longer. He sprang into the saddle and galloped away at full speed. Of course he was excited. A merchant accompanying the court like him could at most glimpse the faces and bearing of the great nobles while standing guard at the gates, yet he had now crossed the threshold and entered the hall, serving the king just as those highborn lords did.

"Best not disappoint me," Louis murmured. The cardinal and the Queen Mother did not approve of the king's appointment of Colbert, for he did not even equal Nicolas Fouquet. Fouquet's grandfather, father, and Fouquet himself had all been superintendents of finances to the king. In other words, they could barely be counted among the "nobles of the robe." Although such status could be inherited merely by paying the king the annual tribute known as the paulette, and could not compare at all with the "nobles of the sword," who had gained their titles through bloodline and merit, it was still better than an ordinary merchant accompanying the court.

Persuading them had not been easy, and one could imagine that if Colbert failed at this task, it would become extremely difficult for Louis to promote anyone afterward. If so, Mr. Colbert would not merely lose his chance to rise to prominence; a noose might even be waiting for him.

The king went to sleep later than usual that day, though still earlier than most of the court. Just then, Notre-Dame had already struck five, and the citizens had all gone to bed, but the night at court had only just begun. If there was no ball, then Queen Mother Anne and the noblewomen would certainly be gambling. Entertainment in this era was scarce. Louis had also considered whether he might devise some games to displace gambling, but when he thought of what he might have to do in the future, he gently set the notion aside again.

And just as he was preparing for bed, Bontemps, the superintendent of his bedchamber and his first valet, returned. By custom, he had gone to check on the sleeping arrangements of the king's brother Philip, Princess Henrietta, and Miss Mali Mancini. If they were still lingering anywhere besides their bedrooms, Bontemps was to read them the king's order and require them to return at once to sleep. This was also one of the amusing anecdotes the nobles relished discussing. Queen Mother Anne indulged it greatly. In her heart, what time children went to bed was hardly worth caring about; they were not commoners who needed to rise early for labor or economize on candles. But she was pleased to see the king caring for his younger brother.

"His Highness Prince Philip expressed his thanks and asked after Your Majesty's well-being. Her Highness Princess Henrietta expressed her thanks and asked after Your Majesty's well-being... Miss Mali Mancini..."

Louis waited for a long while, but no further words came. He put on his linen undergarment himself. "What is it?"

Bontemps looked around and made certain that only he and the king were present. "Miss Mancini hoped I could bring this to Your Majesty. She said that placing it beneath one's pillow would allow one to sleep well and wake full of vigor..."

Bontemps's hesitation was not without reason, because the object Mali Mancini had given him looked very much like... some kind of instrument for casting a curse.

It was an acorn, but it had been dyed a bluish green. Its lower half had been carved into the shape of a closed eye, with the eyelid and eyeball clearly distinguishable. Strange writing had been engraved upon it. It was fixed to a silver base shaped like a raven's wings.

The king sighed softly. "It is only a little girl's wild fancy," he said. "Bontemps, give it to me."

He took the acorn from Bontemps's still-hesitant hand and, amid the superintendent of the bedchamber's unspoken reservations, placed it beneath his pillow. Sure enough, he slept extremely well that night. He even suspected that he had not turned over once in his sleep.

Bontemps opened the window, and fresh, icy air immediately rushed into the room, along with clear, dazzling golden morning light.

At this time, there were still at least two bell strikes before the Queen Mother awoke. Farmers, townspeople, and traveling merchants had already appeared in the streets. The king ate a simple breakfast, then went to complete his two lessons—fencing and dancing. In the dance lesson, his brother Philip was his partner. While he attended fencing, his brother went to try on new clothes. After the lessons, he had an extra serving of cheese in the bathing tub, then waited with his brother in the small reception room outside the Queen Mother's bedchamber. About an hour and a half later, the Queen Mother finished dressing and arranging her hair. By then, the bells had already rung their third peal. It was noon, but for the Queen Mother, this was a day of deliberately rising early for a visit to the market.

After the Queen Mother had attended Mass, they naturally ate lunch at the Richelieu Residence. Although people centuries later were more enthusiastic about tasting delicacies while shopping, the markets of Paris at this time had mostly chalk and sawdust; unfermented bread; wine that had been mixed directly with filthy river water and turned sour; roast ducks made of mud; cheese crawling with maggots, glittering only because it had been brushed with a layer of fat...

By the time the group finally left the Richelieu Residence in grand procession, the sunlight had already begun to slant slightly. Fortunately, the Red Children Market chosen by the cardinal was not far from the Richelieu Residence. The market had been established under Louis XIII. It was broad and orderly, and the dung on its streets had not yet piled too high. Along the street stood three or four jewelry and silk shops worth seeing, as well as coppersmiths, bakeries, and ceramic and toy workshops. In the square along the street were fruit and vegetable stalls and livestock sellers. Farther back, near the Seine River, was the fish market. Cleaning fish required a great deal of water, and heaps of fish skin, scales, and entrails needed to be thrown away. The cardinal did not recommend that the king go there, because the stench could suffocate a person.

And then you throw all that suffocating refuse into the Seine River, and continue drawing water from it to drink?

Fortunately, Cardinal Mazarin was not foolish enough to drink such water. He, the royal family, and several important ministers all drank spring water sent from Fontainebleau. Fontainebleau originally meant "beautiful spring," and lay about fifteen leagues from Paris. Every morning, carriages delivered water to the Richelieu Residence; even the water used for the king's baths came from there. The cost of water had long since exceeded that of milk. Louis naturally knew this, but he could also pretend not to know. His frequent bathing was not merely for cleanliness, but for health. After all, the medical methods of this time were still tantamount to murder.

Naturally, the king and the other nobles could not travel on foot. They rode in open carriages toward the Red Children Market, escorted by musketeers and mercenaries. As they neared the market, a group of children in red cloaks ran out from a dark gray building. Under the direction of a cleric, they bowed to the king and cried out, "Long live the king!"

"These are children from Saint Mary's Orphanage." Seeing the king's puzzled expression, Fouquet promptly bent forward attentively and said, "They always wear red cloaks, which is why the market here is called the Red Children Market."

It seemed that the oldest among these children was only about as old as Philip. The king held out his hand to Fouquet, who immediately understood and took out a purse. The king withdrew a large écu from it and handed it to a musketeer beside the carriage. "Give this to that cleric. Tell him to make the children a bowl of cabbage soup, with cheese and butter in it."

The musketeer immediately obeyed and went over. The king returned the purse to Fouquet. Fouquet looked as though he dearly wished to praise the king's benevolence, but they had arrived at the market by then. A loud cry from a vendor drew the king's attention away. Watching the pale golden back of the king's head as he walked away, this noble of the robe could only close his mouth in disgruntlement.