Page 27

The Path to Destruction

Snow clung to the gilded windows of the Hall of Mirrors, but the December wind’s howl was muted within the King’s Cabinet.

Within, the voices of royal ministers droned on as if the unrest in Paris were a distant tale instead of a storm about to strike.

The lack of urgency turned Rollant’s blood cold.

The King’s Cabinet was a world unto itself—removed from hunger, from revolution, from reality.

“The Assembly of Notables refused to double the deputies of the Third Estate, but they decided to follow the traditions of the old ways,” Minister Necker said with a despondent undertone.

Another Assembly.

Another path to failure.

Rollant’s frustration simmered beneath his indifferent facade.

His time in Paris had given him a growing sympathy for the people.

He had pleaded with the King not to follow tradition, to meet with the people directly, to address their demands for equal representation, social justice, and fairness in law and taxation.

But his words had landed like stones in a pond, rippling against the stillness and subsequently forgotten.

Instead, the King, persuaded by his ministers, had called another gathering of the nobility not to discuss changes or reform but to determine how to run the Estates-General promised in May of the coming year.

They all clung to tradition like a raft in a storm, blind to the tide pulling them closer to ruin.

The worst of it, Louis clung to the illusion that the people wanted a king, wanted him, and even liked him.

Louis rapped his fingers on the table. The sound echoed, firm and deliberate, in direct opposition to his character.

“I voided the Paris Parlement’s order to double the deputies at your urging,” he said, a trace of hesitation creeping into his voice.

“But now you ask me to overrule my own veto? To stand against the Assembly of Notables? To alienate my nobility?” He paused, glancing at Necker as though seeking reassurance. “How will I not look the fool?”

The new Minister of Justice and Keeper of the Seals, Charles de Paule de Barentin, shook his head. “No, my King. That order should have come from the throne, not the Parlement.”

Necker interjected with a cautious tone.

“The nobility will retain their traditions, as they have insisted. But I fear their decision to adhere to the old voting system will make passing the tax reforms nearly impossible.” He hesitated, glancing at Barentin before continuing.

“Perhaps the Third Estate’s grievances deserve more consideration than we’ve given. It may prevent worse disruptions.”

“Minister Necker’s ‘considerations’ have already weakened the crown’s authority, emboldened the Third Estate, and increased his ever-growing popularity among them,” Barentin said with a pointed glare.

“Now he would have us bow to the mob in the name of reforms that will never satisfy them, only to grow his wealth and favor.”

Necker shook his head. “I have done no such thing. The whole objective of this council is not to let the state go bankrupt. I am personally funding the state affairs as of current. We must have the tax reforms passed one way or another . . . and soon.”

“Then we are back to where we started,” Louis sighed and glanced at Rollant.

The King wanted his guard to shield him from the decisions that needed to be made.

The pamphlets about the Notables decision had already begun circulating throughout France, and outrage was felt in the streets.

But Rollant clenched his fists at his side.

As Louis’ attention returned to those seated at the table, Rollant focused on the portraits on the wall.

He had never been so immersed in the king’s affairs in several centuries.

Only since meeting élise had he cared one way or the other.

Rollant owed his encounter with élise to Louis’s missions—a fact he could neither resent nor celebrate.

Yet, the King’s senseless decisions remained a bitter frustration.

He had sent Rollant on these missions to Paris, and then ignored his detailed reports that held clearly worded actions and direction.

He leaned on Rollant for his centuries of knowledge and experience, but failed to take any of his advice each time.

Rollant was a pure royalist; however, the monarch had chosen time and time again to undermine his own authority, generation after generation, squandering absolutist power.

Rollant didn’t mind the trips to Paris; in truth, he longed for another, if only to see élise—see if she was still alive.

Yet every departure left guilt gnawing at his chest for leaving her with that wretched man.

He was torn between duty to the crown, wanting to see it upheld, and élise, suffering because food was too expensive.

A soft sigh escaped.

Her time to die would come, and he would live on with a second heartbreak for another six hundred years, watching kings squander their birthright for indulgence and luxury.

King Louis tapped his fingers on the large oak table again and rolled one of his hobby locks in the other hand. Rollant noticed the hesitation in his movements and the glance at Necker for reassurance. It seemed the king was to answer a question, but words eluded him.

“Captain of the King’s Bodyguard,” Louis called to him, breaking the tension.

Rollant stepped to attention, his leather boots clacking softly on the polished floor.

“How do you feel about the traditions of the Estates-General?” Louis asked.

Rollant did not want to revisit the same report ad nauseam. The king was well aware of how he felt about the old traditions in the present situation, so perhaps Louis wanted the council to hear.

The fire crackled in the hearth, but the room remained indifferently cold.

Rollant scanned the ministers’ faces, each marked by arrogance or dismissal.

The council had clung to old traditions, reinstated the Parlements, did not act a decade prior at the first overstep of Parlement power, undermined each other to gain fame, legacy, and riches, and promised an Estates-General, leading the crown into its current predicament—a storm even royalist ideals could not weather.

The council had already decided, Rollant realized, that whatever words he spoke would be unwelcome.

“If you cling to tradition, Your Majesty, it will not anchor you—it will drag you under. Paris is already stirring, and another tradition will not silence the mob. Vote by headcount, not by social status. It matters not if the Third Estate is doubled when their vote counts the same weight as each of the First and the Second.”

Barentin gestured to Rollant. “Am I the only one hearing this? Even the Captain of the King’s Bodyguard is not loyal to the absolute authority of the King. Advocating for the mob?”

“I heard it,” La Luzerne, the Minister of the Navy, said.

Rollant puffed his chest at the man rumored to be keeping the price of flour inflated.

“I am loyal to the crown,” Rollant declared. He should not have said anything more, but the new Minister of Justice had inflamed the very reason for Rollant’s turmoil of eternal life, and the Minister of the Navy spoke of hypocrisy if the rumors were true.

Rollant’s focus turned to King Louis. “If you do not give voting equality to the Third Estate?—”

Barentin interrupted. “We are giving them voting equality. Their vote counts the same.”

Rollant shook his head. “With all due respect, Minister, their vote counts less by proportion. As Minister Necker stated, if the goal is to pass tax reforms, the Estates-General will vote two to one and override the Third Estate’s vote. If you vote by headcount, the tax reforms will pass.”

“Voting equality by headcount? If we do such a ridiculous thing,” Barentin said, standing up and leaning on the table, “the Third Estate will have great power. They would strip the clergy and nobility of their voice. The First and Second Estates are the bedrock of this crown’s legitimacy.”

“I have been in the streets of Paris,” Rollant said, glancing at Louis to see if he needed to close his mouth, but found the king studying his lock. Rollant realized Louis had wanted Rollant to state his position for the council and leave the decision with them rather than making it himself.

With a soft sigh, Rollant continued. “If you do not give the Third Estate power or at least a voice that can make a change, they will march to your palace door and drag you all out to publicly answer for the perceived crime of luxury amid famine and silk among rags.”

Barentin scoffed again. “How will they get past the French Guard Regiment, the most elite and prestigious warriors in France and Sweden?” he sneered, as though the question itself was an answer.

Rollant folded his hands behind his back and spoke, his voice cutting through the condescension.

“The Third Estate numbers well over 20 million, Minister. The King’s Bodyguard, barely three hundred.

The French Guard numbers about three and a half thousand, but per my observations, most of them would defect should an uprising occur.

Lastly, the Swiss Guard, about nine hundred.

Even if there were no financial crisis and you did not have to disband the Door Guards, the Gendarmes, Provost Guards, Musketeers, and the Calvary-Lancers, by the sheer size of the mob that will come to pound down the door, the Military Household of the King of France would be reduced to nothing in a matter of moments. ”

“Let’s not over sensationalize the situation, Monsieur,” Louis Pierre de Chastenet, the newly instated Secretary of State for War, leaned forward and said with a hint of amusement in his tone.

“The mob would never reach Versailles. The French Guard alone would crush them before they stepped past the city gates. I doubt any good soldier would defect. And twenty million, you say? The King commands a quarter-million troops. Do you truly believe the mob can outmatch the might of His Majesty’s military? ”

Rollant slid a sideways glance at Chastenet.

“If they responded in time. Though the bird may fly at a great speed, horses, men, and boats cannot match its pace. You would have barely organized the soldiers into marching formations by the time the Queen’s head was on a pike being paraded out of Versailles. ”

“You dare dismiss the might of the French Royal Army?” Chastenet slammed a fist into the table. “You speak of mobs as if they are organized armies. Peasants with pitchforks will not overthrow the might of His Majesty’s forces.”

La Luzerne added, “Will you let your guards speak in such a way?” He directed the question to Louis, but the king held a tight grip on his lock and a finger tracing the intricate engravings. His head was down. Rollant was not sure the king was even listening.

Barentin flicked his hand in Rollant’s direction, dismissing the conversation.

He turned his attention to Louis. “Your Majesty,” he said in a voice that caused Louis to jump.

The King jerked his head up and listened to Barentin.

“Your Majesty, this is not the place for outrageous conjecture. To defy the nobility and clergy now would fracture your crown. The Estates-General alone will pacify the Third Estate.”

Necker chimed in. “Yes, I believe the Estates-General will give the Third Estate the voice they so deservedly desire. It will be a first step to reform and mend the?—”

La Luzerne cut Necker off. “The people want structure, not chaos. The Estates-General will restore order. The Captain of the King’s Bodyguard paints a grim picture, but such an outcome is highly improbable. They will not act against their divine king.”

Rollant sighed as most people he encountered in Paris no longer believed in God.

Chastenet stood at the table. “I propose a vote by a raise of Minister’s hand if His Majesty agrees.”

Louis glanced at Rollant before giving a short nod.

“Very well,” Chastenet said. “Those in favor of voting by headcount.”

The room stilled. Rollant scanned the table of rich men. They would not, could not understand.

“I cannot alienate the nobility, not any more than I have,” Louis finally said, his voice rising in uncharacteristic firmness.

“Without the clergy’s and nobility’s support, the crown would collapse, and I would lose my family’s throne and possibly my life.

The Third Estate must see the Estates-General as enough.

Tradition has held this monarchy for centuries through war and discontent—it will hold again.

I have not raised taxes. I have sold fine fabrics.

I disbanded entire divisions of my royal house to help the Third Estate.

I will not gamble the stability of my reign on a path unproven. ”

Though his words were firm, his hunched posture and shaky glances around the room differed.

“The starving rarely see clearly, Your Majesty,” Rollant said as he returned his hands to his side and stepped back into his position, resigned to say no more.

As the ministers debated words in the king’s forthcoming decree that would placate no one, Rollant focused on the gold leaf on the walls, shimmering like the last light of a setting sun, fragile and fleeting.

Monarchs fell when their thrones became blind to the world outside their walls.

Again, the question plagued him: if the crown crumbled, would his curse crumble too, or would it bind him to eternity amid the ashes of another to-be fallen kingdom?

élise’s face lingered in his mind, a vision of what he could never have. Duty had bound him for six centuries. Perhaps, one day, he might be free—but hope was a luxury for mortals. He had no such claim.