The King Leaves Paris a Second Time

Compared with the first time, when they left Paris for the second time, Louis, the Queen Mother, and the others were far more composed. Though the nobles and close courtiers could not help cursing those detestable rioters without end, the great personages were much calmer this time. While playing cards, the King made a few casual inquiries and then understood, half laughing and half crying—unlike those poor, lowly people whom they had never even considered worthy of notice, Prince of Condé, who had stirred up the second Fronde rebellion, was also an aristocrat, and possessed royal blood as well. Even if Prince of Condé posed a greater threat, they would not feel that they had been insulted.

But such tolerance extended only to nobles. After all, even if Prince of Condé became King, at worst they would suffer coldness and disdain; their fiefs and titles would not be shaken in the slightest. And who knew? Perhaps in a few years, the King would change his mind—or there might be another new King. Look at the Duke of La Rochefoucauld: because he had become embroiled in court intrigues, he had once been exiled, yet now was he not Prince of Condé's honored guest? In Bordeaux, he made no attempt to conceal his constant companionship with the Duchess of Longueville, looking for all the world like a lawful married couple—though the Duchess of Longueville had made the long journey to Bordeaux to seek aid precisely in order to rescue her husband and younger brother.

But a change of throne was no good thing for a King. Leaving aside everything else, there was the recent example of England's Edward V. This pitiful boy King had been the same age as Louis was now when he succeeded to the throne, but his uncle, the Lord Protector Duke of Gloucester—later Richard III—declared that the marriage between the late King Edward IV and their mother, Elizabeth Woodville, had been invalid. A bishop stepped forward of his own accord and declared that he had officiated Edward IV's marriage to another woman, and that woman had still been alive when Edward IV married Elizabeth. Therefore, the later marriage was invalid, and Edward V and his younger brother, the Duke of York, became illegitimate children, stripped of their right of succession. The two children were imprisoned in the Tower of London and mysteriously vanished a few months later.

Louis had even specifically searched for the fate of the two children. Some said that when Henry VII of the Tudor Dynasty subjected James Tyrrell, a supporter of Richard III, to severe torture, he confessed that he had killed the two princes on Richard III's orders. They had remained in the Tower of London, their bodies placed in a small clothes chest and sealed inside a niche.

When he saw this outcome, Louis could not help but feel a chill run through his entire body. He did not doubt in the least that if matters truly developed to the point where Prince of Condé or Gaston, Prince of Orléans, became King, Philip and he would meet no better fate. The only consolation was that while the King certainly had enemies within France, there were also many willing to support and remain loyal to him. Among them was even a young general from the Holy Roman Empire, who had led roughly three hundred infantrymen to fight for the King.

Louis had once asked Mazarin whether they could take Prince of Condé, Conti, and the Duke of Longueville with them; at the very least, they should take Condé. The Cardinal, who now had some understanding of his King, immediately grasped his meaning. But as a man of the Church, a Cardinal more skilled at conspiracies and bargains than open battle on the battlefield found himself caught between two horns of a dilemma. He told Louis that even if they took Prince of Condé away, they would have to treat Condé as a prince along the journey, because he had no substantive crime to answer for. Yet in that case, some people might be swayed by Condé's words and conduct, or directly help him escape. It would be better to leave the three men imprisoned in Vincennes Castle. That castle remained the strongest military fortress in all France, and the men guarding it were also the Cardinal's most trusted subordinates.

Louis said nothing more. Before long, facts would deliver a slap across the face of this Cardinal who was, at times, far too stubborn and self-opinionated.

On the seventh day after the King's carriage procession wound its way out of Paris, a party arrived at Vincennes in carriages late one night. The forest at night was like a lightless cloak, swallowing every ray of illumination. Only now and then could they hear the flutter of a night owl's wings as it flew past. The clatter of hooves was painfully sharp amid the deathly silence. The gatekeeper of the castle was startled awake. He sprang to his feet and rang the little bell. The guards opened their eyes; they too had not enjoyed a proper night's sleep for several days. Everyone knew that Prince of Condé, his brother, and the Duke of Longueville were in Vincennes. The Parisian mob, troops loyal to Condé, or ambitious men like Gaston might break through the city gates to rescue Prince of Condé.

But when they reached the walls, they felt much more at ease. Such heavy walls could only be pierced by cannon. Their smooth surfaces offered nowhere to climb, and even if someone could scale them with ladders, the narrow windows would still leave them trapped between advance and retreat. They carried their lamps and looked down—the visitors below raised torches as well. By the light cast by the blazing flames, they first saw the broad-brimmed hat often worn by Cardinals when traveling. Then the other party removed his hat, handed it to a cleric at his side, and raised his head.

"Oh, heavens!" the leading guard immediately cried. "How could it be you, Cardinal!"

Yes, the visitor was Cardinal Jules Mazarin. He was almost no different from when he had departed. While waiting for the guards to move away the stones and sandbags piled behind the castle gate, he kept his brows furrowed, wearing an expression of impatience that he nevertheless had no choice but to endure. The lines at the corners of his eyes drooped sternly as a result, while the thin lips that had once determined countless people's fates were pressed tightly together. The guards might have wanted to offer a word or two of flattery, but at the sight of him like this, they wisely lowered their heads and held their tongues, merely following the Cardinal's orders and taking him to the rooms of the three noblemen.

As the three most important "guests" at Vincennes, Prince of Condé, Conti, and the Duke of Longueville were naturally imprisoned at the very top of the keep of Vincennes Castle. Looking down from the tower, one could almost overlook all of Paris. As the guards had said, the only creatures able to speak with His Highness the Prince were birds in flight. Four-sided walls encircled the keep, its stone blocks fitted without the slightest crack. Its windows were narrow and few, and after Prince of Condé arrived, the guards had even sealed off some of the windows below thirty feet.

Prince of Condé was surprised to see Cardinal Mazarin, but beyond that surprise, the proud prince and general showed little emotion. Perhaps in his heart, no matter how high Mazarin climbed, he would forever remain a cleric of humble birth. Compared with Prince of Condé, his younger brother Conti behaved far worse. The moment he saw the Cardinal, he thought that the Cardinal might have come with men to execute them. When the Cardinal ordered them to follow him, Conti even began shouting loudly and refusing to obey. He snatched up a candlestick and waved it about, swearing that he would never die silently like a coward.

Wax dripped onto the carpet together with sparks, nearly causing a small fire. Fortunately, the Duke of Longueville was there. He used a bottle of wine to avert the tragedy of being burned to death first, then used the empty bottle to make Prince of Conti quiet down, at least like a respectable man.

Cardinal Mazarin led them out of the keep and out of the castle. As they boarded the carriages, Prince of Condé looked around and noticed that the Cardinal had not brought many people. He glanced at the Duke of Longueville. Though they would not disgrace themselves by shouting and screaming like Prince of Conti, that did not mean they would meekly submit to death with their hands bound.

When the carriage slowed more and more, finally stopping in a clearing within Vincennes Forest, Prince of Condé was asked to disembark. He jumped down. In the castle, he had still received the treatment due a prince: silk shirts, wine, steaks, golden bread, carpets, soft beds, and so on. No trifles troubled him, no assassinations or schemes threatened him. He had even put on a little weight. He was in excellent health now, brimming with energy. Cardinal Mazarin stood opposite him, less than six feet away. Prince of Condé could easily seize him.

The Duke of Longueville thought so too. He shifted his feet and moved to one side, blocking the Cardinal's path.

The Cardinal seemed utterly unaware. He gave Prince of Condé a faint smile, raised a hand to lift off his broad-brimmed hat, and casually tossed it onto the ground. Then he unfastened his buttons, removed his scarlet vestments, and stepped on them. At this point, even Prince of Conti, dullest of men, knew that something was wrong... no matter how absurd a cleric might be, he would not do such a thing, because vestments were to them their finest adornment, weapons, and armor.

At last, Mazarin—or rather, that thing pretending to be Mazarin—raised a hand and pressed it against his face, then gently drew it away, as though removing an invisible mask. What Prince of Condé and the others saw was a completely unfamiliar face. His hair fell past his shoulders, nearly gray-white, and his eyes were like the darkest rubies they had ever seen.

Upon realizing that he was facing something inhuman, Prince of Condé involuntarily took a step back.

"There is nothing to fear, Your Highness," the vampire said. "It is an honor to serve you."

With that, he let out a shrill, piercing howl. Accompanied by that howl, the attendants all threw back their cloaks and, together with him, transformed into countless bats and flew away.