The King's Conversation with Friedrich Schomberg

Three days later, the people of Rethel's old town received news from Paris. Viscount of Turenne was startled and helpless at the outcome, with a small measure of unspeakable relief and joy as well. He changed into the clothes the King had bestowed upon him—at this time, a magnificent coat was not easily obtained. Viscount of Turenne had earned himself a considerable fortune through his talent for war, but compared to the royal household, even the finest clothes he had prepared for himself were inevitably eclipsed. What was more, the garments bestowed by the King incorporated many elements from the Netherlands—or rather, they were precisely a Dutchman's cavalry attire.

Viscount of Turenne naturally felt a particular fondness for such clothing. When he entered the army at the age of twelve, he had gone to serve under his uncle, Prince Maurice, in the Dutch army. Everyone around him had dressed this way, and he himself had retained that style until he was twenty-four, when he decided to serve in the French army instead.

Dutch clothing was somewhat different from French clothing. Queen Mother Anne would have called it more frivolous, but the King rather liked its lightness and simplicity—the shirt beneath had a pair of long, broad white collars, soft as swan wings as they lay over either shoulder, their edges trimmed with exquisite lace of the same color; the coat was made of heavy, lustrous satin, with a narrow slit on each side of the chest and each arm, falling past the hips and fastened with a delicate leather belt. From the belt hung a purse, a short-barreled firearm, and a rapier. Its lapels were embroidered with splendid patterns, and there were buttonholes at the waistline to suspend the breeches; the breeches were somewhat loose, tied below the knees with ribbons knotted into bows, while the shoes were open-topped ankle boots.

To Viscount of Turenne, such an outfit made him seem several years younger. Yet at the final step, he hesitated, for lying conspicuously on the tray was a light chestnut-colored sash. It was Prince of Condé's color. To show his support for his friend, Viscount of Turenne had always worn it gladly, even when appearing before the King.

Louis was still waiting for Viscount of Turenne in the same room. The moment he saw the viscount, his gaze fell upon the man's shoulders. Upon finding them bare, he called the viscount to his side—Viscount of Turenne was uneasy as well. He still felt ashamed, toward Prince of Condé and toward the King, yet he was also full of expectation. The absence of the red sash he had expected at the King's side made the soldier in his prime sink inside. After all, this was neither the first nor the last time the King had suddenly changed his mind.

While he was still standing there in a daze, the King had already removed his own red sash and draped it over the viscount's shoulders. Then he took off a very large diamond brooch and used it to fasten the sash in place.

Such an honor was even more unbelievable to Viscount of Turenne than the earlier blow. He was so startled that he could only stammer incoherently. Or perhaps he was trying desperately to express his gratitude, but no one could make out what he was saying. The King did not know whether to laugh or cry, and could only have him sit beside him and drink a cup of wine. It took the viscount quite some time to calm down. Stroking the smooth silk sash and the glittering diamond brooch upon it, he could scarcely speak.

"Viscount," Louis said warmly, though with a trace of reproach, "I thought you had already understood what sort of person I am." He reached out and linked arms with Viscount of Turenne. "Your actions are indeed unforgivable in the eyes of a king, but for France, you merely held the right convictions and took the wrong road! That is to say, perhaps I ought to punish your actions, but I have nothing to reproach in your heart. From this point onward, I do not need you to repay any debt. I only hope that, like Prince of Condé, I may become your friend. That alone would make me very happy."

Louis truly spoke from the heart. After all, besides Bontemps and Mali, everyone around him belonged to either Mazarin or Queen Mother Anne. Oh, perhaps La Rivière should be added as well, but that superintendent was far too slippery. One could use him, but relying on him would be no better than going to hell to fetch water.

Viscount of Turenne could naturally sense that sincerity. He apologized to His Majesty again and again with genuine feeling. The King accepted his apology and flattery, then raised another matter. The moment it was mentioned, Viscount of Turenne changed from an awkward courtier back into a rational general. As had been mentioned before, General Friedrich Schomberg of the Holy Roman Empire had brought one thousand infantrymen. Around three hundred had later fled, and another five hundred had been added, leaving him with twelve hundred men. Viscount of Turenne had brought roughly three thousand soldiers to attack Rethel's old town, along with twelve cannons. This was why he had initially believed he could take it in one vigorous stroke.

Of course, all these soldiers now belonged to the King, four thousand men in total—some had been wounded or killed in the earlier battle. Then a major problem lay before the King: these men's pay and supplies. In Turenne's opinion, it would be extremely unwise to disappoint them, but satisfying their demands would have troubled even Prince of Condé.

The King asked Viscount of Turenne what he had intended to do when he was still serving Prince of Condé, after taking Rethel.

Viscount of Turenne answered frankly that he would take part of the wealth from Rethel and the King's baggage, dismiss some of the soldiers on the spot, and then lead the rest back toward Paris.

He advised the King to do the same, for the cost of dismissing soldiers was far lower than paying and supplying them. But Louis did not wish to do so. Unfortunately, the French army, the English army, and the Spanish army at this time had not the slightest restraint from any so-called morality or regulations. Soldiers were bandits. Whether it was a city or a country estate, what they did most was plunder and steal. According to Viscount of Turenne's plan, half the soldiers would be dismissed—two thousand men. Those two thousand might not be able to do anything to Rethel's old town, but the peasants around it would be cast into a living hell.

"But four thousand men," Viscount of Turenne said, "are too many." He wanted to suggest that the King could at least dismiss Friedrich Schomberg's troops first, but after pondering for a moment, he abandoned the thought. This left an odd look on his face when he left the King's room and encountered General Schomberg in the corridor.

The King had not summoned General Schomberg, but neither would he refuse Schomberg's request for an audience. In his view, Schomberg was even more trustworthy than Viscount of Turenne. Even if their relationship had initially been only a transaction, not every hired soldier could demonstrate such willingness to remain loyal to a written contract and maintain such unyielding resolve.

General Schomberg was in fact somewhat younger than Viscount of Turenne. He had been born in 1615 and was thirty-six this year, the very finest age for a commander. In the corridor, he saw Viscount of Turenne's red sash and the diamond brooch upon it, worth at least one thousand livres. He felt envy, but also a touch of despondency.

"You have come to see me," the King said with his customary gentleness, "yet you wear such a troubled expression. Have you encountered some matter that cannot be resolved?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Schomberg said. "I have indeed encountered something that only you can resolve."

"Please, speak."

"Your Majesty, I have come to take my leave. Yes, I am leaving."

The King was startled and even rose to his feet. "God," he said. "Why would you have such a notion? It was you who protected my mother and me all the way here, and you have just won a victory for me. I was preparing to grant you a fitting reward, yet you say you are leaving. Has someone treated you discourteously?"

"No, Your Majesty, no."

"Then has someone withheld the pay owed to you and those loyal soldiers?"

"No, Your Majesty."

"Then someone must have skimmed your wine, bread, and dried meat."

"Even less so, Your Majesty. We even have cheese to eat."

Now it was the King's turn to be perplexed. "Then please tell me," he said, "what is it that compels you to leave?"

General Schomberg hesitated for a while. Clearly, he did not wish to state the reason. "You now have General Turenne."

"Good heavens!" Louis said. "Have you ever seen a man chop off his left hand merely because he has a right one?"

"What if that left hand is forever unwilling to dip into holy water and make the sign of the cross?" Schomberg said.

Only then did Louis understand. As someone who in truth possessed no faith at all, he could not help overlooking certain things. Now Schomberg was reminding him of this: Schomberg was a Protestant, while the French royal family—from Queen Mother Anne to Mazarin, and Louis himself—were Catholics. The St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre was not far in the past. Even with the courage of a lion, Schomberg had to consider whether he could receive the recognition he deserved in France.

"I can understand your concerns," the young King said. "But General, I must also tell you that I do not intend to let you leave."

"But..."

"You are a Protestant," Louis said. "What concerns you most is nothing more than your honor and your life—perhaps also your soldiers' pay." He walked to the desk and sat down. Bontemps immediately poured him some ink and brought over a quill and parchment. Louis wrote several lines upon it, then handed the parchment to Schomberg.

Schomberg took it and saw the following written on it: From the day I enter Paris, General Friedrich Schomberg shall be granted French nationality and a marshal's baton, and shall immediately receive property worth fifty thousand livres. Below that was the King's signature.

General Schomberg's face immediately turned crimson. He had to admit that when he came to see the King, he had indeed intended to obtain some... promise from him. But now that the King had truly done so, he was overcome with shame instead.

"You need not concern yourself with that at all," Louis said. "For these were things I had intended to give you in the first place. And there is more." He opened the desk drawer, took out a long, flat box, and handed it to Schomberg, gesturing for him to open it at once. Schomberg obeyed the King's command. The moment he opened the box, he saw a broad, bright-red sash, with a diamond brooch resting atop it. In value, it was no different from the one Viscount of Turenne wore upon his shoulder.

At once, Schomberg lifted the sash and draped it over himself. Then the King personally fastened the brooch for him.

"Now you are certain to stay," Louis said, brushing a hand over the other man's shoulders, which trembled slightly with emotion.

What General Schomberg did not know was that, as he walked into the courtyard with satisfaction and relief, the King watched him from the study window and spoke as though to himself: "Never mind Catholics, Protestants, Orthodox Christians, or some so-called worshipper of Brahma—so long as he has talent and is willing to be loyal to me, even if he is the devil, I would want to make use of him."

Naturally, these words could not be said for others to hear. Not Schomberg, not Viscount of Turenne, and certainly not Mazarin or Queen Mother Anne. Not even Bontemps was an exception. The only possible person was perhaps Mali Mancini, a witch.