Book III: XIV

Part I: The God-Given (III)

"Your Majesty," one of the clergy said to me as he bowed. "We are honored and humbled to be in your presence."

I looked at Maman. She nodded. I nodded back at the man.

"Come, Your Majesty," he said.

We followed him into the church. I paid little attention to anything except the floor beneath our feet. Beneath the ancient stone arched ceilings, we stood before the decorated coffin in which my father lay. I did not understand what was being said when the words were not in French, nor could I put those I understood in context. I watched Philippe for a while. He spent most of his time looking at his shoes. When he caught me looking at him, he would grin at me. I knew he knew less about what was going on than I did.

Once the talking was finished, everyone bowed to us. We were led out of the church and into the light of day. The sun hurt my eyes. As Mother spoke to the clergy, I saw the footmen preparing for our return to Paris. I was tired. When Maman took our hands, we were led back to our carriage. Once we were inside, I sat down and leaned against the side of the window. After Maman had sat down, the door shut, and our journey began. Philippe lay his head on my lap and quickly fell asleep. Soon after, I drifted to sleep. Until my majority, France was in my mother's hands, even as I bore the burden of its people as King Louis XIV.

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After our father was laid to rest, the changes in the court were immediate. Where once there was discretion, there was wantonness. I was still too young to understand, but I began to notice how revealing the ladies' gowns were. I could walk down the hall and see a couple doing obscene things. Unless I was with Mother or Mazarin, no one seemed to mind what they did in my presence. I might have been the king of France, but I was still a child. I was in my minority, and if it did not bother Maman, such things would go unpunished. She was the regent and held my authority in her hands under the guidance of Mazarin.

One night, while I was sleeping, I felt the familiar tugging at the end of my bed as Philippe made his way to me.

"Louis," he whispered loudly as he shook me. "Something is wrong."

"What is wrong, Philippe," I asked. I sat up to see his little face twisted in fear.

"He is hurting her," he said.

"Who?"

"The guard," he said, pointing towards the door. "She is yelling."

"Who is yelling," I asked.

He put his finger to my lips. That is when I heard the screaming. We looked at each other in terror. I climbed out of bed and we followed the sound of the woman's voice. It was coming from outside my door. We slowly opened the door. We saw one of our mother's ladies with one of my garde du corps. Though it was dark, I could see he was not hurting her.

I slowly closed the door.

"He is not hurting her, Philippe," I said.

"Then why is she yelling," he asked me.

"I do not know," I answered. "I think that is what they are supposed to do."

"Louis," he said, crossing his arms. "Why are they supposed to do that?"

"Why would I know that, Philippe?"

"Because you are the king."

"I am only four years old," I answered. "I do not know everything yet."

"Why not," he asked.

"Sire," I heard Bontemps say to me as he came out of my bed chamber followed by another valet. "Your Highness? Why are you awake at this hour?"