The Hurlyburly's Husband Read Online Free PDF Page B

prove his bravery and – if he was not slain – to hope for some financial largesse – at last – on the part of a grateful sovereign.
    He was not afraid when he came across sappers digging blast holes for explosives at the foot of the walls, nor to know that when they collapsed the moment would have come for hand-to-hand fighting, and he would have to go at it, steel against flesh! He knew why he was there, above all for whom he was there. The thought of his wife and the comfort he would bestow upon her carried him forward. The pikemen encouraged one another, shouting, ‘Kill! Kill!’ The fusiliers cried, ‘Forward fearlessly!’ Louis-Henri closed his eyes, bit his lower lip and thought, for Athénaïs! Clumps of earth flew up beneath his horse’s hooves, and the pikemen running at his side stirred up the dust. The clatter of firearms continued behind him.
    Now he would have to show his mettle. Already, in the hedges they passed, the crushed blackberries bled like wounds. The hills all around were covered in flowers. The air was still. They prepared themselves for the end of the world. Louis-Henri’s banner, with his coat of arms, fluttered in the landscape. A bird flew overhead with fruit from the hedge in its beak; its reflection in the stream lingered after its passage. Montespan’s mind roved and wandered aimlessly, in quest of shadows and a charming labour. He was filled with bloodlust. For his wife – his soul mate, his precious care – he had made this leap into the silent abyss, and he brandished yellow and black taffeta against the sky. Marsal’s fortifications seemed to loom higher and higher when suddenly there came music from inside the city.
    ‘What is that?’ wondered the marquis, pulling on his horse’s reins.
    ‘The chamade,’ replied a pikeman standing near.
    ‘The what?’
    ‘The call of trumpets from the besieged, signalling that they surrender.’
    ‘What? Oh, no, it cannot be! Why are they surrendering? They have no right! I’ve borrowed twelve thousand livres tournois – twelve thousand! – to pay for this war! So they must defend themselves, and pour boiling oil upon us, and shoot at us, and launch the cavalry … and give me my chance to act the hero!’
    But white flags were waving above the towers of Marsal. The Marquis de Montespan, utterly disconcerted, turned about. And what did he discover, far behind him – blazons flapping in the wind, an immense army filling the entire horizon on the cliff above the plateau. So many cannons, and kettledrums, and flags, and standards! Montespan stuttered at the sight, ‘But-but-but who are all those people?’
    ‘His Majesty with his personal army.’
    ‘The monarch has come? But I did not know. I did think, three companies of squires like myself do not amount to much to attack a city …’
    An envoy from the King galloped to the city gates, took a message and sped back the other way to confirm the news: ‘The Duc de Lorraine agrees to honour his promise!’
    Montespan’s fusiliers fired into the sky to show their joy. Only Louis-Henri was sulking. He could have wept. All it took was for the King to show his strength on the horizon and the rebels surrendered their arms without firing a single musket. And now Montespan would have to go home without a shred of fame, more in debt than ever. What an unfortunate end to what had been a very strange war. Sometimes fate dealt one an unexpected hand.
    As they returned to the capital, Louis-Henri rode for a spell alongside Maréchal Luxembourg, nicknamed the ‘Tapestry-maker of Notre-Dame’ for the great number of flags he had collected from the enemy and which he sent to decorate the cathedral. Under his arm he was carrying the flag of the Duc de Lorraine …
    All the way to Paris, in every town they went through, the monarch ordered street performances – ballets, plays – which his courtiers also applauded. All the splendour of the kings of Persia could not compare with the pomp