How the King Persuaded Viscount of Turenne (Part Two)

Just as Viscount of Turenne eagerly prepared to listen with washed ears, the King glanced at Bontemps. The First Valet, so deeply favored by the King, immediately poured him a cup of low-alcohol wine from Épernay. The monks had added peaches, spices, and extra sugar to it, and the King had chosen it only because its alcohol content was lower than that of ordinary wine. After all, he knew full well that alcohol did the human body no good—he merely took a tiny sip before handing the cup to Viscount of Turenne. The Viscount hastily rose from his stool and accepted it with both hands. Perhaps because he had noticed many things he had failed to notice before, he absentmindedly drained it in one gulp. Such behavior was slightly discourteous. He rose again and bowed in embarrassed apology, but the King merely waved a hand.

"You know, I have always loved reading," Louis said. "Books enlighten mankind, probe the mind, and illuminate ourselves as a mirror does—you know of Richard III." He looked at Viscount of Turenne. As the second son of the Duke of Sedan, Viscount of Turenne had likewise received a complete education. Though he had left home at twelve to join the army, he had not neglected a single thing he ought to have learned. Naturally, he knew Richard III. "He was a king's second son, a king's brother, and a king's uncle. He had crossed swords with rebellious ministers three times, and throughout the struggle for the throne, he stood unwaveringly by his elder brother Edward IV. Brave and skilled in battle, keen-minded, and just in governance, he was deeply beloved by the people. He established Parliament, built universities and churches, promulgated laws favorable to the people, and recaptured territories seized by the Scots... Viscount, a man like that—if he was not a saint in life, he ought to have been canonized after death. So please tell me: what sort of ending did he meet in the end?"

Of course Viscount of Turenne had read accounts of that king. Had Louis directly denounced Richard III as a base usurper, he could have defended him with the king's earlier achievements. But Louis had first listed Richard III's good deeds and asked only of his end, and the reason for it. That left him in a difficult position, for just as Louis had said, before Richard III deposed his nephew Edward V, he truly had been like a saint. His virtue was beyond reproach, his accomplishments beyond dispute, and he had much in common with Prince of Condé as he was now.

Yet to make Viscount of Turenne state truthfully why Richard III had suffered such a fate was like forcing him to personally condemn Prince of Condé—for when Richard III's brother Edward IV died, he had appointed him Lord Protector with the power of regency. He was already beneath one man and above ten thousand, with vast lands in Northern England as his fief. In power, status, and wealth, none could compare to him. Yet Richard, then still Duke of Gloucester, had conceived a greed blacker than all evil. As mentioned before, he found a way to bribe a bishop, who claimed that Edward IV's marriage to the current queen was invalid. Thus he stripped his two nephews of their right of succession, deposed Edward V, and became Richard III himself.

But a throne gained in such a manner was not secure. Two of his former supporters, Duke of Buckingham Henri Stafford and Earl of Richmond Henri Tudor, both rose against him. In the first rebellion, Duke of Buckingham was defeated by Richard III and beheaded, but Henri Tudor escaped and launched a second rebellion with his uncle.

In the battle against Henri Tudor, Richard III's three most trusted subjects—Thomas Stanley, the first Earl of Derby, Sir William Stanley, and Henri Percy, the fourth Earl of Northumberland—all turned their coats on the battlefield and went over to Henri Tudor. Though the latter's claim to the throne was not stronger than Richard III's, they did it nonetheless. As a result, Richard III, who had held the advantage in both numbers and battlefield position, was utterly defeated and even died on the field.

Though he fought until his final moment with matchless valor, people always mentioned only his last mocking cry: "Treason! Treason! Treason!..."

Richard III believed Henri Tudor was the traitor, but in truth everyone knew that he himself was the true rebel. His corpse was displayed naked to the public; when it was carried back on horseback, it was smashed open against a stone. He was buried in the Church of St. Francis in Leicester. All his achievements were wiped away with a single stroke, no one spoke of his past, and he was called the most wicked and ugliest of kings. Even his smallest faults were chewed over, over and over, then magnified—by people who, while Richard III had lived, could not possibly have met him even once.

"They are different, Your Majesty," Viscount of Turenne could only say at last.

"How are they different?"

"His Highness the Prince is not such a cruel man."

"Neither was Richard III," Louis said. "You are not an ignorant man, so I will not feed you fine-sounding empty words. I can only say that you think little of me because I am still a child. But Viscount, children are not the only ones who can be manipulated—do you think Richard III did not wish to be an upright man? Do you think he was born evil? Or that some devil crawling out of Hell tempted him? No, absolutely not. Perhaps he too once accepted the authority bestowed by his brother with both sorrow and joy, intending wholeheartedly to raise his nephews to adulthood. But what changed him?

"I could not understand it at first, but when I saw Prince of Condé, I understood. Sir, it is you, and the many people around him, constantly egging him on and urging him down that dishonorable road. You see only the splendor he would enjoy after becoming king, yet fail to see the dangers he must inevitably face. I dare guarantee that the moment he sits in that position, everyone who sees him will not cry, 'Your Majesty the King,' but will instead shout in their hearts, 'Look at that traitor!' Every ambitious man will be wild with joy, because he is not the king's son, and his right of succession does not come before mine. When my father Louis XIII departed, he placed my hand in Condé's, so that he would assist me—not replace me..."

"Ah, Your Majesty, ah, Your Majesty..." Viscount of Turenne cried repeatedly, gripping the silver cup tightly without knowing what to say, because there was nothing in the King's words that could be refuted.

"This is what I wished to tell you, Viscount. As a general and as a prince, Condé has no shortcomings, none that could even be criticized. But as a king, Condé's weaknesses would be as conspicuous as a target hanging before fortifications. His enemies would gleefully strike there first, smashing him, his honor, and his achievements to pieces together. And he would not even have the possibility of striking back, because he could offer no law or human sentiment that could stand firm.

"As for me and my brother Philip, we could become his new crimes at any moment. Viscount, it is not that he lacks nobility of character, but that conspiracies in the dark always seep through every crack. Just as we still cannot be certain whether Edward V and his brother died on Richard III's orders, yet whenever people mention Edward V, they say, ah, that child king murdered by his own uncle!

"If you, your master, and your friend Condé still insist on going your own way," Louis said, "I swear that one day people will call Condé the same!"

He shook his head and continued, "So I cannot understand your thinking. What are you doing this for? Power? Clearly not. Honor? Nor that. Money? Absurd—if it is for honor and loyalty, then you ought to advise him, rather than fan the flames, so that your friend may take the right road. If it is for France, God, Viscount, then as you told me, turn your head and look out the window. Look at those subjects struggling amid famine."

Viscount of Turenne turned toward the window uncontrollably. Though there was nothing outside but an empty square and high walls, he recalled the starving people and the gallows he had encountered along the road.

"Viscount," Louis said for the first time in a questioning tone, "how many more wars do you think they can endure? One, two, or three? Or more?"

"Ah, Your Majesty, please say no more..." Viscount of Turenne pleaded.

"I watch my subjects die for nothing," Louis said. "But even if your wishes are fulfilled, the war will not end. My uncle, Duke of Orléans Gaston, is already in Paris petitioning the Parlement to declare him regent king. England, Spain, and the Holy Roman Empire are all our enemies. And our allies..." He smiled at this. "If we have any, do you think they would come back to help us, or to bully us?"

Viscount of Turenne was truly troubled now. He had to admit that the King was right, but his promises to his friend and benefactor prevented him from making a decision at once.

"How about this," the King said. "Do you gamble?"

The question plunged the Viscount into confusion. If the King's words had been like a barrage of heavy punches that left him dazed and disoriented, then this question was like being forced to swallow a cup of strong liquor. He almost felt sorry for himself. "Occasionally, Your Majesty," he replied. "So long as it is done properly, gambling is an exercise beneficial to body and mind."

"Then would you be willing to make a wager with me?"

"Please name it, Your Majesty. I fear I have nothing to offer you now."

"You are mistaken. You have plenty of stakes," Louis said. "What I wish to tell you now, Viscount, is that you have always worried that I am manipulated by Mazarin. But that is not entirely true, though people all believe he watches over me like a father.

"If it must be put that way, I can only say that I trust him because he is the man my father entrusted to me."

"And?"

"I will prove to you that I am not a puppet in his hands. Here, Viscount of Turenne, remain here as a guest for a time. I will send the Bishop a letter, asking him, for my sake, to retire to Liège."

"How could that be possible?"

"Why would it not be possible?" Louis said. "He is neither Gaston nor Condé. He will be willing to obey my request." He extended his hand. "Will you make this wager with me? If the Bishop is willing to follow my order and retire to Liège, you will come to my side and fight for me, even if you must face your friends."

"And if he cannot?"

"Then I will give you a horse, a servant, a purse full of money, and your weapons and cloak, and let you go like a merciful and generous sovereign."

"I can scarcely believe it!"

"It is the King's promise," Louis said.

Viscount of Turenne rose. From his shifting expression, one could see that he was engaged in a fierce inner struggle. But the King's words, along with what he had witnessed on the road, helped him make his decision. He laid his hand over the King's and knelt. "I am willing to make this wager with you."

Louis immediately smiled with delight. He had Bontemps escort Viscount of Turenne out. In view of the trust he placed in the Viscount, he was permitted to move freely through the castle like a guest rather than a prisoner. Bontemps, however, wore a deeply worried look when he returned. Louis knew what he was thinking, but he could not tell Bontemps—before the battle began, had not Queen Mother Anne said that she had received a secret letter from the Bishop? Because of everything that followed, she had even forgotten to tell Louis about it. In that secret letter, Mazarin had said that since the rebels kept claiming he was the chief culprit behind their decision to rebel, then for the sake of the King, the Queen Mother, and France, he was willing to yield.

Thus, Mazarin had already decided to retire to Liège. Until then, only Queen Mother Anne had known; Louis himself had only learned of it that morning. But that did not prevent him from cleverly taking advantage of this difference in timing.