Page 63

The Silence of Mercy

The Commune instituted the new National Convention, which stripped Louis of his title and renamed him Citizen Louis Capet.

Madame and Monsieur were gone, replaced by Citizen and Citizeness.

To the Convention, all were equal—except for the king, who had been reduced to a criminal awaiting his sentence.

Rollant stood silent among the guards at the Temple as they jeered at the former royal family, their laughter echoing through the cold stone halls. Graffiti marred the walls of Louis’ chambers, depicting him hanging from the gallows—a sight his children should never have seen.

Rollant’s stomach churned at their cruelty. He wanted to believe they would at least spare the children, but the Revolution left no room for innocence.

The Convention set up a trial with the judgment and sentence already written for Louis. Riots broke out in favor of the former king across the countryside; the rioters were disturbed by the trial and possible execution.

Rollant had watched Louis revise his last will on Christmas Day, bent over his desk with the soft scratch of the quill the only sound in the cold, still air.

His hand moved steadily, unflinching, as he inked his final thoughts to his family.

For a moment, Rollant’s gaze fell on the king’s shoulders, stooped under the weight of centuries of monarchy—and the burden of its end.

It should have been just another moment in his centuries of servitude, but élise’s face rose in his mind.

The tremble in her voice when she called him a monster flooded his memory.

He had traded love for duty and sacrificed his chance for happiness on the altar of an eternal oath.

But what was his service worth if it could not save the man doomed to die?

A new year began, and the Convention voted to execute Louis for his high crimes of treason.

They had let him see his family one last time as they delivered the verdict.

Rollant gritted his teeth. The family did not even have time to grieve together, except for a few hours the day before his execution.

The unfairness of it all turned his stomach.

The irony was sadistic: A government that would kill for alleged injustice yet commit the same injustice and consider it righteous.

The guards laughed as Marie-Thérèse and Louis Charles clung to their father’s legs, their hands trembling with desperation. “Look at them,” one guard sneered, “clutching to their precious king as if he could save them.”

“Do not mock pain,” Rollant barked, his voice sharp enough to cut through the laughter. “Especially the pain of children.”

The guards fell silent, muttering curses as they shuffled into the hall.

Rollant stood his ground, his fists clenched.

He had made enemies with his outburst, but he didn’t care.

Let them hate him. Let them mock him. He would endure it all for the sake of the family.

Night fell, and Louis retired to his cell.

Rollant let himself into Louis’ room and closed the door. Tomorrow would be the day the new king took the proverbial crown, the young Louis Charles, a new master to serve. Rollant glanced through the bars in the door’s top at the other guards, laughing at crude jokes.

Louis sat at his desk, dry-eyed with a vacant stare. His calm demeanor unsettled Rollant, who had witnessed the man’s moments of indecision and weakness far too often in life. But tonight, the king seemed resolute, as though he had made peace with the inevitable.

“Hugh Capet,” Louis whispered. “June 1, 987 AD. The day my ancestor was elected to the throne. Louis XVI. January 17, 1793. The day the last king was elected to die.”

Rollant remained silent, unsure what to say, but Louis spoke again.

“I will miss my son’s laughter,” Louis murmured, his voice low. “And Marie-Thérèse’s stubborn wit. I wanted more time to guide and prepare them for a life without me. But perhaps the Lord will grant me mercy and take me before I see them suffer further. Perhaps . . .”

He trailed off, his gaze distant.

“Perhaps my death will mean something. Perhaps it will bring peace. If not for France, then for them.”

Rollant lowered his head. He wanted to reassure Louis and promise him everything would be fine. But lies had no place in this room. “Your children will remember you as a king and as a father,” Rollant said softly. “That will be your legacy.”

Louis nodded with a finger rubbing his lip. “You don’t think a rescue would bring more bloodshed?”

Rollant thinned his lips. For all the qualities Louis was not, he had always wanted peace.

“They are closing the city walls in the morning to fend off any rescue attempt,” Rollant whispered as he stood by the dim flicker of a candle, its feeble glow casting long shadows across the cold stone walls.

“They have stationed me in the crowd to prevent revolt. My only regret is that I will not be by your side.”

Louis nodded, controlling his hand’s fall to the table. “At least I will have Father Edgeworth with me on the scaffold and my friend Chevalier Rollant de Montvieux in the crowd. I shall look at Father for the strength of my spirit, and I shall look at you to bring strength to my body.”

“It was an honor to serve your crown,” Rollant said in hushed tones to not draw the other guards’ attention.

“My name and monarchy are blameless,” Louis said with a reassuring nod. “Though few believe it.”

“I would argue most of France believes it,” Rollant said. “I can see the corrupted minds of those leading the Convention. Half of the deputies attempted to argue against a trial and execution. I wish I were able to save you from this.”

“Oh, Rollant,” Louis said as he cradled his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. He reached out and patted Rollant’s forearm. “I never knew how much you cared for us. I only assumed you were this silent, stoic knight forced to live an oath.”

Rollant hung his head. “I was for a long time. I feel I have failed you.”

“You haven’t failed anyone, my friend,” Louis said softly.

Rollant lowered his gaze to the floor. It felt like a lie, even if Louis believed it.

He had watched the monarchy falter under a weight he couldn’t lift, seen centuries of kings and queens fall to their human frailties while he stood powerless to save them.

He was no guardian. He straightened his shoulders, shoving the thought aside. “I only wish I had done more.”

Louis removed his hand and rubbed his lip.

“No, you have watched over me all of my life, Rollant, and I am sorry I did not listen to you for most of it. Perhaps it would have been different had I listened and leaned on you in the cabinet from early on.” He shook his head.

“Now, all I ask, my immortal guard, is that you watch over my family the best you can.”

“If I could give my life for them, I would. You know this.”

“I do, but the numbers are too great. Just as they subdued you in the Tuileries, they would do it again, and rather than take my children prisoner, they’d execute them on the spot if they saw you resurrect from the dead .

. .” Louis chuckled with sorrow and a shake of his head.

“Or they’d all burn for associating with sorcery. ”

Louis palmed his face. “I will own my fate, and I am again sorry yours is tied to the crown. Maybe with my death, you will finally be rid of your oath.”

“It has been an honor to serve the crown faithfully for six hundred years. And, there will always be Frenchmen who regard your family as the true kings—I will serve your son, and once he passes, his son or your brother. Just as it were when the House of Bourbon took the throne, I’m sure other descendants of Hugh Capet will vie for it once the people realize your death will not be sufficient for them. ”

Rollant shook his head at the coming bloodshed. He’d seen it in the Hundred Years War, the Wars of Religion, and the War of the Henrys. More blood would be shed even in the new Republic.

“But I will miss you, Your Majesty, as I miss all your ancestors. I doubt I will ever see you again, but I know you will see Sophie and Louis Joseph and all your friends already passed in the Lord’s fold.

The Queen, Louis Charles, and Marie-Thérèse, they will all see you again one day in the far future. ”

Louis was silent for a moment before speaking again. “When the world ends, and the Lord comes in his might, I’m sure the sorceress’ magic will also end, and then, my friend, I will see you again.”

Rollant’s lips pressed tight. Louis spoke of heaven with certainty, of peace and reunion.

And yet, for six hundred years, Rollant had been denied such solace.

Death offered no end, only a brief escape before the torment began again.

He envied Louis—envied the finality of his fate.

If the sorceress’ magic ever did end, what would be left of him?

A man without faith, without family, without purpose, and without the only two women he had ever truly loved.

“To death, then,” Rollant lifted an imaginary toast.

Louis nodded and pursed his lips as he lifted his imaginary glass. “Or rather, to a new beginning.”

Rollant smiled. “To a new beginning,” he whispered.

The Captain of the Temple Guard approached, and Rollant pulled a prayer book from his pocket and loudly said as a cover, “As requested, here’s your prayer book.”

Rollant lobbed the small-bound leather book on the desk as the Captain opened the door. He glanced at Rollant and then at Louis before sneering.

“Lights out,” he barked and shut the door after Rollant left Louis. “And you,” the Captain addressed Rollant, “you’re retiring for the night. The procession starts at eight in the morning. Be ready.”

Rollant dipped his chin. “Yes, Captain.”

The January cold seeped into the walls as Rollant settled into the barracks for the night.

A fire crackled faintly at the far corner of the room, its warmth too distant to reach him.

His breath fogged before he closed his eyes.

He tugged his coat tighter around him, but the chill wasn’t just from the stone walls.

élise’s tear-streaked face came unbidden to his mind, a memory that cut sharper than the draft. He’d told himself a thousand times she was better off without him and safer in Charonne with Hugo. He clung to it, though it never quieted the ache. He had traded love for duty and lost both.

Her name trembled on his lips like a ghost of hope. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer, not for himself, but for her. For her safety, her happiness, and for the hope that one day, she might forgive him.

There would always be a crown, he mused.

And it would always keep him from élise, from knowing love, and he had done it to himself.

He wondered if she was happy in Charonne.

He hoped the violence in Paris had not seeped into the countryside.

He hoped élise had followed his advice and not spoken her mind, for he feared the radicals in the Convention would not stop with Louis.

They would go after any supporter of the King, any who disagreed with their clown trial and vote of execution.

Robespierre was not a man to be trifled with.

He prayed to God that Robespierre would keep his hands off Louis Charles.

But prayers meant little in this new world, where faith was scorned, and virtue twisted into terror.

Rollant’s curse might have made him eternal, but it also made him helpless.

Perhaps he could protect Louis Charles from assassins, but what shield could he offer against a mob baying for royal blood?

Against the guillotine? The royalists and the Austro-Prussian forces would reinstate Louis Charles as King if they won the war, and if the child died, the crown would fall to Louis’ brother, the Count of Provence, who had fled the country.

What service could he offer an absent king?