MTL - I Am Louis XIV-Chapter 1 wedge

   Chapter 1 Wedges

One night in 1648, Cardinal Mazarin, Chancellor of France, favorite and lover of the Queen Regent, followed by many entourage, frowning, hurried through the great gloomy arcade, passing by Half-deserted halls, broken passages, and stairs that spiraled up and down led to the king's suite.

The royal guards in the Guards Hall immediately jumped up from their chairs to salute him, almost overturning the small table between them, which was piled with playing cards and brown liards (copper coins) mixed with silver aegu (silver coins). ) - It seems that these gentlemen were busy with another kind of battle just now, but at this time the bishop had no intention to care about their small mistakes: "I want to see your majesty immediately."

The officers of the royal guards immediately went to report, and it took less than a minute for the king's palace manager Bontang to open the door for the cardinal with his nightcap. Mazaran waved his hand and left the entourage behind. Outside the door, he went in alone, and without waiting for the king to ask questions, he said, "We have to leave here immediately, Your Majesty, it is not safe here anymore."

   "Are they coming at last? Those traitors?" asked the king.

"Yes," Mazarin said, and was relieved to see the child king jump out of bed. The latter didn't even waste time waiting for the help of the first valet of the inner palace, and quickly put on the heavy clothes. Trousers and velvet jacket.

Mazaran stopped him when his Tibetan clothes chief brought a cloak for him. The bishop had an inconspicuous black coat draped over his arms. He pressed the coat on the king's immature shoulders, and then used the A hat adorned with a common grey plume concealed the king's pale blond curls that were so visible in the dark.

   When everything was in order, Mazarin stretched out his hand and took the king's shoulder. The king came to the throne at the age of five, and is now only a ten-year-old, but he was as strong as one would expect, far surpassing children of his age in every way, and Mazarin put his arm on his shoulder effortlessly, They walked out the door as fast as a pair of close friends.

The crimson light illuminates the small pieces of glass divided by the black iron frame. It is not the first or last light that the sun casts on mankind when it rises or falls, but the torches and candles that people gather in the courtyard to light. bright. In the courtyard of the palace, there are no less than ten four-wheeled carriages. They look almost identical, and they are all drawn by four horses of different colors. It is impossible to distinguish the identities of the passengers inside, but Mazaran can obviously recognize a certain person. With a signal, he led the king directly to a carriage, and the driver immediately opened the door, revealing a beautiful woman in a long black dress and a maid who was too young.

As soon as she saw the king, she stretched out her hand, and the king took it at once, and as he got into the carriage, he turned, "Monsieur Cardinal," he asked, "what about my brother, the Duke of Anjou? "

   "He's with me," replied Mazarin.

The king paused for a moment, and then he thought that this action was just to ensure that the blood of the royal family would not be wiped out in the riot. He didn't say anything. As soon as he got into the carriage, the driver immediately closed the door, and the wheels of the carriage Lin Lin Lin screamed, and about thirty Royal Guards in short coats, ordinary cloaks (instead of the usual uniform cloaks), wide-brimmed hats, and long swords, sabres, and four muskets also drove away. The horses that got off were ten in front, twenty accompanied them, and followed in the form of guards.

The other four-wheeled carriages followed and ran out of the dark courtyard. Most of these carriages were foreign guests, important courtiers, and those whom the Bishop of Mazarin considered to be in need of protection, but no matter how important they were, they could not be compared with them. After all, one of them carried the king and queen mother of France, and the other carried the king's brother and the actual ruler of the kingdom.

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Soon, the carriage turned a corner in one place and stepped into the grassy road. It should have been considered as an open muddy ground to build a simple fortress. When they saw them galloping, a group of thugs hid behind the fortress. Stones and burning fire were thrown, and the imperial guards immediately responded, and these people immediately ran away, even the wounded who fell to the ground and groaned.

   "Who are they?" The little maid next to the Queen Mother asked curiously while peeking out from the gap in the car curtain.

   "My people," said the king, with a mocking smile on his lips. Of course there are soldiers who rebelled privately and thugs bought with a lot of money, but more of them are ordinary Parisians. They are incited and bewitched to take to the streets to oppose their prime ministers and kings, just to get some petty profits. Not loving their king, not loyal to him, and now they even want to harm him.

  The king looked at the bold little maid: "You shouldn't ask the king before he speaks, who are you?"

   "Marie Mancini," replied the maid, "My uncle is Cardinal Mazarin."

  The king nodded, which was understandable. Although Mancini didn't sound like a Frenchman or a noble surname, Mazarin was well known for his humble background. It's just that he can't help but guess whether Mazaran loves this niece very much. After all, this is the first time he has seen Mazaran use the power and trust given him by the Queen Mother for a small person.

   "You should revisit your manners well, Miss Mancini," said the King.

  Marie Mancini tried to retort, but in the next moment, her voice was choked by a violent jolt.

The king stood up vigilantly, leaned sideways against the wall of the car, and looked out of the car. Paris at that time was not as prosperous and peaceful as the capital of a country hundreds of years later, especially after several wars between Catholics and Puritans. The city is devastated, wolves can be seen on the streets at night, foxes and rabbits can be seen everywhere in the cemetery, and the roads that are poorly maintained are full of potholes like the skin of a leper.

Speeding on such a road, one can imagine that the carriage is like a boat in a storm, bumping up and down, and the queen mother looks at her eldest son, her face pale, she is the princess of Spain, and then the queen of France, although Not loved by her husband, but never suffered such torture: "Your Majesty," she prayed, "let them slow down."

   "Sorry," her son replied mildly but grimly, "I can't."

He pulled the curtain of the car, so that everyone in the car could see what was going on outside. Even the Queen Mother would not be surprised if they encountered such a troublesome traitor or mob, but they were followed closely by some Tall and deformed devils, they are on all fours, running between the thorns and the woods, and their speed is not inferior to the horses. As long as the royal guards are slightly negligent, they will be pulled off the horses by the beasts that pounce on them. Their last miserable cry The sound was as harsh as a sharp needle, and one could not hear, but imagine, the splattering and gurgling sounds of beasts chewing on bone and flesh.

   (end of this chapter)