By My Sword Alone by David Black (ebook reader ink TXT) 📕

your thoughts, chevalier. We should converse often, you and I. People who think as we do are rare beasts in this city of God.’

It hadn’t taken James long to work out that de Valençay was probably reading his mail. But why? Why read the mail of a lowly courtier? He almost certainly had other spies at the palazzo; like all continental monarchs Louis would want to keep a close watch on what James Francis Edward Stuart was up to, in case he actually succeeded. And that was when James worked out the why. De Valençay would know of all the hours that James and the king-who-was-not spent together in the private chambers; the young, loyal aide de camp and the monarch in waiting who had no-one to trust. They were going to talk. It was only human nature. The only question was; what about?

Life at court. It was why James had shut his ears to its noise these days, why he was so sick at heart.

The king, meanwhile, was droning on. And James was composing in his head his next letter to Davy, while contemplating snuggling in under the quilt of the Duchesse de Villars. She was young, her husband old and fat and always at cards, drunk. She was James’ latest divertimento on the endless merry-go-round of courtly dalliances that helped the days go by in the palazzos and villas of this city that was every bit as decadent as it was holy.

‘But that is not why I have asked you here tonight, James,’ the king was saying.

James looked up; his reveries instantly shelved. The king was peering at him closely. ‘I have a mission for you.’

*

James’ preparations for his journey were well in hand, so the billet from de Valençay, to join him for a promenade along the banks of the Tiber, was tiresome. But de Valençay had intimated he had some information for him that must help him in his forthcoming mission. So much for the secrecy of the king’s chambers. So, out into the early March chill he’d gone.

And there he was; de Valençay, bundled in a fur coat and wearing cavalry boots and a full, insulating wig. Ambling aimlessly, tapping and prodding with a walking stick he didn’t need, along the paved, tree-lined path.

‘A-ha! Colonel Chevalier Lindsay!’ he said, on sighting James. How on earth had he found out about his new status? How did he find out about anything?

‘You have heard of my appointment, m’sieur le comte,’ was all James said.

‘How could I have not? It is the talk of the salons …’

It was not.

‘Well, among the ladies of the salons.’ And with that, de Valençay gave his customary conspiratorial grimace. ‘Tell me, is your new regiment fashionable?’ he asked. ‘When I tried to make out its name, all I saw was a preposterous profusion of consonants I could not begin to pronounce.’

‘All Polish names are difficult to pronounce, comte,’ said James, equably. ‘As for whether it is fashionable, you’d have to ask the queen. She arranged it for me.’

‘So you are off to the north. To the Polish and Lithuanian commonwealth. To lend your service there, in their time of grief at the death of Augustus the Strong, King of Poland, and Grand Duke of … the other place. We do not know how long you might be, but we do know it gets cold in the winter, which was why I wanted to alert you to my little gift being handed in to the palazzo’s concierge for you, probably as we speak. It is a trifle, but I am sure you will welcome it, if you come to feel the cold. And look! You are making me tell you what it is!’

James wasn’t.

‘Ruining the surprise! Oh, very well. It is a coat, not unlike mine. Made of the pelts of sable. Very rich. And comforting.’

James, eyeing de Valençay’s coat, said, ‘You are most generous, comte. But my departure many hundred leagues to the north is going to make it difficult for me to repay such generosity.’

James knew a fellow like de Valençay did not dispense gifts like that for nothing.

‘On the contrary, colonel,’ said de Valençay. The tone of his voice had changed. It brought James up. This was business now. Except de Valençay went into a long, silent reverie that James knew better than to interrupt.

Then, with his mantis smile, he said, ‘You know King Louis in his latest missive to me … its chatty postscript … was recalling how highly he’d thought of you when you were in his service.’

James snorted. ‘You are practising upon me, comte. You are suggesting the King of France even knows my name? I very much doubt it.’

It was de Valençay’s turn give a laugh. ‘You’d be quite right to doubt it, my dear James. Louis, as God’s direct appointee on earth, has neither the time nor inclination to remember the likes of you. But the men he employs to think his earthly thoughts, most definitely do. I have been asked to speak to you today, not to interrogate you on the nature of your mission …’

‘Just as well,’ said James, ‘For I would tell you nothing.’

‘How gallant, James. But your loyalty is as misplaced as it is irrelevant. I already know more about where you are going, and why, than you do. No, it is to ask you for a favour. When you compile your reports for your king … what some people might call spying … I would like you to forward a copy to me.’

James spoke rather too harshly in response; but then de Valençay’s accusation had angered him greatly. ‘Spying? How dare you, sir!’

‘My dear James. I know you are going to claim that you have merely been asked to offer your service to a foreign court, and of course, while there, report …