The King and the Potion-Maker's Conversation

There was a witch at the King's side, Mali Mancini, but as for a male wizard, apart from those few people the King had never met, there was only the potion-maker they had happened to encounter while passing through another town. Louis naturally remembered the man; after all, his wife had been far too striking. "I do not remember knowing a wizard," the King said. "And as a clergyman, it is hardly virtuous of you to say such a thing." Although the Church of Rome had established the Inquisition and acknowledged the existence of dark creatures, churchmen still steadfastly proclaimed that dark creatures were only a tiny minority, and that beneath the protection of God and the saints, the world was filled with light—this was why only those at the very peak of the pyramid could know of the existence of the hidden world.

In 1525, the secular court of Navarre burned thirty women accused of witchcraft after their trials, causing an enormous uproar. The following year, the Inquisition specially convened a ten-man council. Its documents clearly stated that most members agreed these sinners were not witches, because the crimes they had confessed to could not possibly have existed; they might have been mere imaginings, or a cover for their true crimes. From then on, every case in which someone was sentenced to death for practicing witchcraft had to be submitted to the Supreme Council of the Inquisition for review, rather than being judged and carried out in private.

Regarding this matter, Louis guessed it had most likely been a painful adjustment between the surface world and the hidden world. If even half of those thirty witches had been genuine, it could be called a stern warning to the hidden world. And the authority ultimately obtained by the Supreme Council of the Inquisition both ensured their control over the hidden world and established their authority in the surface world.

From what Louis had glimpsed, the chief judge of the Paris Inquisition was a young man named Yilalue. It was said that his sudden rise to become chief judge was inextricably tied to Cardinal Mazarin, but like most important ministers and noblemen now, he paid little heed to the young King. That much could be seen from the fact that, with almost mocking irony, the King had only a witch and a vampire at his side even now. Perhaps in this chief judge's mind, Louis was still merely a child who could be deceived at will. But presumably, after Louis returned to Paris this time, clergy from the Inquisition would appear at his side as well. After all, he had come of age, and Bishop Mazarin also intended to hand him some simpler affairs of state for practice.

The accusation made the clergyman blush. He had to admit that the King was right, but may God forgive him—he had truly seen that man use witchcraft, and he had also killed someone with poison. That was the problem. He had originally meant to hand him over to the secular court, but the man had shouted that he had once had an audience with the King, which made the clergyman hesitate greatly. After all, he had to consider the King's reputation. Originally, he had wanted to delay the matter until... that was to say, the man had already been injured and nearly dead, so the clergyman had simply waited for him to die. But today, he had seen the King again.

"I truly do not remember meeting a wizard," the King said with fortunate magnanimity. "But I have never refused anyone's request, so long as he is French. Perhaps he has seen me and I simply do not remember him. Let us do this: bring him here and let me see him. Perhaps then I will recall him. But you must do this quietly. Do not let anyone else know, because I do not intend to interfere with the law. If he truly killed someone, whether with poison or a dagger, then he ought to be hanged. But if he has been wronged, I am also willing to hear him out."

Since the King had said so, the clergyman had no reason to object. A few hours later, he brought the man before the King. Interestingly, he did not use the night to conceal his tracks; instead, he draped a monk's robe over the man and openly brought him into the King's residence.

The moment the King saw him, he recognized him as the potion-maker who had traded with them. He had already been terrifyingly thin, but now he was utterly wasted away, needing two monks to support him just so he could stand steadily. No wonder the clergyman had brought him before the King without hesitation. Even if he truly was a wizard, in such a dazed state, barely able even to lift a finger, he could only inspire pity, not make anyone feel threatened. The moment Mali saw him, she sprang to her feet. After the clergymen withdrew—they were now almost certain that the King did indeed know this man—Mali gave him a little potion, and he woke up.

The moment he saw Mali, he revealed a bitter smile, then turned his gaze to the King. "Ah," he said, "I should have known. Only you could have gotten me out of prison."

"Perhaps I will have to send you back," Louis said. "You have been accused of killing someone with poison."

The man fell silent for a moment. "I can only say that I have never harmed an innocent person."

Mali gently tugged at the King's sleeve.

"Then tell me. When I saw you before, your wife and daughters were with you. Where have they gone? Why are you here? I thought you would find a town to settle in. You had identification papers, and at least two thousand livres."

"That is exactly what I did," the man said. "I took the money and identification papers you bestowed upon me and went to a town. But at the inn, a great noble happened to encounter my wife. He fell in love with her at once. But my wife was utterly faithful to me and immediately rejected him in righteous indignation. The next day, we left that place at once, thinking the matter was over. But who would have known? I suddenly ran into someone I knew. I had once sold him a bottle of cough medicine. He seized me and declared that my medicine had poisoned his son to death—his son had indeed died, but I swear it absolutely was not because of my medicine. Every bottle was as effective and safe as the one you received, but no one believed me. The officials there threw me into prison and confiscated all my property."

"Then how did they learn that you were a wizard?"

"I told them, Your Majesty." The man paused, gasping for breath. Mali handed him a bottle of potion, which he took and drained in a single gulp once more. "Not long after I was imprisoned, a jailer told me that my wife had been taken away in a splendid carriage, along with our two daughters. I immediately thought of that great noble, Your Majesty. There could be no other possibility. Though my wife is faithful, she is as fragile as a flower. Once she no longer had me, she would be at a loss. At such a time, if someone told her he could clear my name, she would certainly believe him without a second thought. Alas, it is not her fault, merely a weakness women are born with. I do not blame her. But I also knew that man would not save me. He would only make sure I died as quickly as possible.

"And here, I did not even have a single person who knew me, Your Majesty. I could not find anyone willing to testify for me, nor anyone who would pull strings for me or bribe the judge. I could only admit that I was a wizard, because for more than a hundred years, secular courts had not been permitted to try wizards directly. My name would be passed on to the Inquisition. Of course, it was also possible that I would still be hanged or burned, but at least I had gained more than two weeks for myself. That was not useless, was it? Did I not wait until you came?"

"What evidence do you have to prove that your medicine did not kill that child?"

"Of course, Your Majesty, so long as you are willing to investigate," the potion-maker said. "I sold that man the medicine six months ago, but his child died two months ago. Who would keep a bottle of cough medicine for four months before giving it to a sick child? Of course, if you are willing, give me the child's body. I can determine his true cause of death."

Only then did Louis truly look at the man. To be honest, after learning that this was all a potion-maker could do, he had lost his previous interest in them. But if the man could determine the cause of death from a corpse that had been buried for two months, then the skill he possessed was far more valuable than any so-called potion of youth. At the very least, the King would be willing to extend his hand—a hand that could be generous at times, yet was also exceedingly miserly.

What followed was exactly as the potion-maker had promised. He found traces of diphtheria on the child's body. His medicine could only cure coughs and was useless against the actual disease, so it could only be said that he was not a competent physician, or that he was a negligent apothecary. But to say he had poisoned the child to death was sheer nonsense. Thus, the man who had falsely accused him was hung upon the gallows where he had wished to see another hang, while the potion-maker was brought before the King by Bontemps, the King's first valet.

"You are innocent now," Louis said.

"Thanks to your favor," the potion-maker said. "I fear I will never be able to repay the kindness you have bestowed upon me."

"You wish to find your wife," the King said.

"And my daughters."

"But I do not advise you to do so."

"Why?"

"Because your wife has become the Duchess of Mortemart, sir."

"That is impossible!"

"Entirely possible. The Duke of Mortemart was thoroughly bewitched by your wife. With one hand, he sent you into prison; with the other, he took her and your daughters away. You said it yourself: women are always weak. And she had children—three of them. She had to consider her children. Now, not only has she become a duchess, but all three children have received the Duke's acknowledgment. Oh, and your youngest child has also been born, just a few days ago. Another girl."

The potion-maker stood where he was, straight as a rod. He had regained both freedom and health, yet at that moment he looked even more terrible and frail than he had in prison.

"Forgive me, but I must still go and find her."

"Then read this letter first," the King said. "It is not from your wife, but from your daughter Athenais, dictated by her and written down by my messenger. It is also what she wishes to say to you. Read this letter, then decide whether you still wish to go to Bordeaux."

What follows is a letter dictated by a five-year-old girl and written down by the King's messenger:

To Monsieur Varo Vesali, my father:

By the time you read this letter, my mother, your wife, will already have married the Duke of Mortemart. My youngest sister was born two days after their wedding, but like us, she has also received the Duke's acknowledgment. That is to say, from this moment onward, your wife has become a duchess, and my sisters and I have become the Duke's daughters as well.

I must say, you were a good husband and a good father. When Mother was with you, she was very happy, and my sisters and I could feel your love for us. But you were still wrong. Your mistake was that you should not have become Mother's husband.

I am still young, Father. You often say that. But even though I am young, I know that it is hard for someone to keep a treasure if he lacks the strength to protect it. Just like the stories you told me: even a dragon will have people come to seize its hoard, and you are merely an ordinary potion-maker.

Mother loves you; there is no doubt of that. The only reason she agreed to the Duke's proposal was because she believed you were dead, and she lacked the means to continue raising us. She was even pregnant and needed care. But I must say, Father, this is the happiest and most peaceful period I have seen her live through since I can remember.

She will not be awakened in the middle of the night by a leaking roof, nor will rats fall onto her. She does not have to worry about being driven out by the landlord... or insulted. Yes, when you could not see her, she ate three meals a day on time, with supper and pastries besides. She had maids to serve her and massage her cramped legs and feet. Her children could eat until they were full and wear clothes that fit. She no longer had to keep count of how many liards were left in her pocket. Her greatest daily worry was whether the vase should hold daffodils or roses.

Sara and I also live peacefully. Though we do not see Mother very often, we are allowed to live on the estate. We receive fifty livres of pocket money every month, and we attend lessons—Latin, flute and singing, dancing, and some courses that will only begin once we are older.

So I think, Father, if you believe that the wandering, unstable life we had before was better than the life we have now, you may come here and appear before Mother. You may also take us away.

Merlin entrusted us to you, so now we await your judgment.

Kisses.

Françoise Athenais de Rochechouart de Mortemart