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In The Shadow Of The Sun King

By Golden Keyes Parsons

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CHAPTER ONE
Madeleine paused at the well, her bucket of freshly picked spring flowers teetering on the edge of the stone rim. Barking dogs intruded upon the late afternoon stillness, and birds rose from the trees into the sky. Then she heard the pounding hooves.
The bucket dropped from her grasp and clattered to the cobblestone walkway, scattering the colorful blossoms. She lifted her skirt and ran from the side of the manor toward the entrance of the estate, scattering quacking ducks and geese as she went. She looked down the road, through the canopy of arching trees, then heard François before she saw him.
Her husband had ridden into Grenoble earlier that morning to oversee the sale of two of their pedigree horses. Now he galloped into view. What could be wrong? His dark hair, ordinarily bound in a queue, flew around his shoulders from beneath his hat. His eyes were wild with terror.
“Dragoons! S-saw them from the ridge.” He reined in his horse, and chips of dirt and rocks showered in every direction, pelting Madeleine in the face. He jumped to the ground, and his breath came in gulps. “Hurry, they’re just a few minutes behind me. Where’s Jean? We must get the boys to the cave at once.”
Madeleine ran toward the imposing stone manor, crying over her shoulder, “Jean is in the back of the house, in the gardens. I’ll get the children. Meet me behind the stable.” She swept into the house, grabbing the boys’ jackets and caps from the anteroom inside the front door as she called to them.
Her mother, Elisabeth, was sitting beside the huge stone fireplace with three-year-old Evangeline in her lap. “Madeleine, what’s wrong?”
“Dragoons! Help me get the boys to the stable. François is getting the horses ready to take them to the cave.”
Elisabeth stood, settling the child on her hip. “Come with me, Vangie. Let’s go upstairs.” She looked to Madeleine. “I’ll get their extra clothes together.”
“No time for that.”
“Maman?” Eight-year-old Charles peered around the corner of a door.
“Where’s Philippe?” Madeleine’s voice rose.
“He’s upstairs. Why? What’s wrong?” His innocent eyes widened. In his hand he clasped a tiny wooden soldier.
“I’ll get Philippe.” Elisabeth, carrying Vangie, rushed past Madeleine up the stairs.
Madeleine took a deep breath and knelt in front of Charles. She took hold of the boy’s wrists and concentrated on keeping her rising panic from showing in her voice. “Uncle Jean is going to take you to the hideout for a while. Remember how we practiced?”
Charles nodded.
“Hurry, now. Run to the stable. I’ll get Philippe.”
“But why, Maman? Why do we have to go to the hideout? Is somebody coming?”
“No time for your questions. Go!” Madeleine ran up the stairs after her mother.
[ds]
Charles darted to the back of the house, out the door, past the turret extension, and down the path to the stable. Henri, their stable master, came out of the barn carrying a saddle and two saddle blankets. François and Jean were bridling up two horses.
“No time for saddles,” François said. “They’ll have to ride bareback.”
The older man stopped, holding the blankets in midair. “But—”
“They can do it. Jean, you take the chestnut with Charles. Philippe can ride the mare.”
Madeleine and Philippe came down the outside staircase from the second level of the house—Philippe thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. Madeleine clasped Charles’ garments in her hands.
“Don’t stop for anyone or anything until you get to the river,” François instructed his younger brother. “Go upstream straight to the cave, and stay there until one of us comes for you. If the dragoons follow, they will think you have gone downstream—it would be the easier route.”
Jean nodded. “I understand. I’ll take good care of the boys.”
“The supplies in the cave can last at least a week.”
“Don’t worry, brother. We will be fine. I’ll wait for word.” Jean mounted the stallion that pawed the ground, impatient to get underway.
“Here, Charles, you need to wear your cap.” Madeleine cuddled his chin with her hand and then tucked his red curls underneath the hat.
Philippe mounted his black mare with twelve-year-old confidence, eager for adventure. “Don’t worry, we will be fine. See you soon?”
“Yes, son. This won’t be for long.”
Jean lifted Charles in front of him. “Hold on tight to the mane, little one.”
Charles turned and looked up at his uncle. Jean flashed a reassuring smile to the young lad and patted him on the thigh.
François gave the horses a swat, and Charles, clutching the horse’s red mane, turned and waved good-bye.
Jean led the way, quickly urging the horse to a gallop, and Philippe followed, using a small riding whip to drive his mount to keep up.
[ds]
“Hold on, Charles. Hold on!” Only now did Madeleine sense the lump in her throat. “Hold on, my precious sons.” She waved good-bye, then slowly brought her hand down to cover her mouth and stifle a sob.
The two horses followed the low stone wall that ran the length of their property from the chateau until it reached the river. They rode down the slight incline, jumped the wall, and headed toward the line of oak trees along the river sporting the bright, budding green of spring leaves. The mountain peaks in the distance still glistened with the last of the winter snow. A trail of dust arose behind them, but settled quickly in the thick grass.
“Hurry, boys. Get to the trees—get to the trees.” François clenched his fists as if the motion would help the young man and two boys reach their destination quicker.
The frightened parents willed themselves to cease staring after their boys and started back toward the three-story chateau. Madeleine glanced up at the gables in the steeply pitched roof and saw the children’s governess, Claudine, peeking out from behind a tapestry drapery. Smoke curled from one of the chimneys. The outdoor servants, clearing the formal gardens of the winter debris, stopped their work and watched the masters of the estate return to the path leading to the house. Madeleine looked up to see her mother’s plump figure bustling down the path with Vangie in her arms.
Vangie stretched her arms toward the vanishing figures of her brothers. “Vangie go too.”
Madeleine took Vangie from Elisabeth, encircling the pouting child in her arms. “Non, mon petit choux. Your brothers are going on a trip. They will be back soon. Let’s go back to the house now, it’s getting late.”
Evangeline continued to fuss. She rolled her chubby hand into a fist and rubbed her eyes, squeezing out tears that rolled down her cheeks. “Vangie want to go too.”
“Mère, take her upstairs and prepare her for bed.” Madeleine handed the child back to Elisabeth. “Use the outside stairs. Find Claudine and Suzanne and alert them—but be discreet. The dragoons will be here any moment.”
As she hurried to follow François up the path to the house, Madeleine stepped on something. She bent down and picked it up—it was Charles’ wooden soldier. Clutching it to her chest, she glanced toward the forest, where the riders were still visible. “Oh, dear God, protect them.”
For the first time since François came galloping into the estate, Madeleine allowed herself to look into his dark eyes. She saw fear there, but he gathered her into his arms. “Remember our plan. The boys have gone to visit relatives in Spain. We must remain composed.” The thunder of approaching horses diverted him.
Pulling herself away to look directly at him, Madeleine brushed his hair back with her hand. “This must be a mistake. Louis wouldn’t allow the dragoons to harass us.”
François gave her a grim nod. “Let’s hope so.”
The two hastened to meet the regiment at the entrance of the house, François with an arm firmly gripping Madeleine around her waist.
The red-and-blue uniforms of the dragoons came into view, galloping down the entryway François had traveled twenty minutes earlier. The soldiers began to dismount.
François approached the officer heading up the regiment. “Greetings in the name of our glorious Sun King, Louis.”
The officer, wearing a scarlet coat with silver buttons, met François’ salutation with a cool acknowledgment from astride his magnificent white stallion. “Yes, indeed, we do come in the name of our King Louis. We have orders to billet our soldiers here. As Protestants—Huguenots—you owe our Catholic troops that privilege.”
The officer spat the words Protestants and Huguenots out of his mouth as if they were poison on his lips.
“Of course, sir.” François’ initial effort to appear gracious melted in the face of the impressive officer.
The commander turned and issued orders for his band of soldiers to take their horses to the barn. “Grain and water for our horses?”
He wasn’t asking permission, but directions.
“Yes, sir, this way. I’ll get our stable master.” François led them down the path, flanked by tall shrubbery, toward the barn.
Madeleine knew he was directing the soldiers’ attention away from route Jean and the boys had taken just moments before, moving as slowly as possible to give them opportunity to reach cover. The late afternoon shadows were already beginning to plunge the trees into darkness.
The commander dismounted and gave the reins of his horse to an assistant who looked barely sixteen years old. The young soldier led the stallion toward the barn.
The commander turned and stared at Madeleine, the flag of the dragoon unit, which he was holding, ruffling in the breeze. His muddy gray eyes were encased in a swarthy face, heavily lined from much time in the sun. “I’ll have a look at the house now.”
Madeleine shuddered and curtsied slightly, embarrassed by her plain brown, rough cotton skirt with the soiled apron. She willed her knees to stop trembling. I look like a peasant! She tucked wisps of her thick mahogany hair back under her cap and retied it as they turned to walk toward the house.
A footman stood ready at the ornately carved, arched doorway of the house and bowed from the waist as Madeleine ushered the commander inside.
Entering the foyer, the commander voiced his approval as Madeleine showed him the first floor of the manor. “Ummm . . . yes.”
They moved into impressive great room with its heavy, burgundy draperies framing sparkling beveled windows. Madeleine was glad that the servants had already done the spring cleaning. She pulled all the draperies back as the commander and his aide entered the room. An elegant sofa and chairs, matching the draperies, formed a sitting area around the fireplace.
“This will do nicely for our headquarters office.” The commander walked around the perimeter of the large area, taking off his gloves and slapping them to the palms of his hands as if to punctuate his conversation. He stopped in front of a desk decorated with gold filigree, which stood in front of a tall bookcase. “I see you like to read.”
“My father valued education.” Her father’s library of the writings of Calvin, Viret, d’Aubigné, and other Protestant theologians was neatly shelved in the bookcase beside a large fireplace where a fire struggled to stay alive. Madeleine moved toward the hearth and straightened the pewter candlesticks that adorned the massive stone mantel above the fireplace.
“You Huguenots think that the theology of John Calvin is education?” The officer’s ominous voice rumbled through the room. “That is not education—that is heresy.”
Then a fake cloak of courtesy covered his ire. His voice, though softened, still held a veiled threat. “Please forgive me, I have failed to introduce myself. I am Commander Paul Boveé, of Régt. des Dragons du Roi.”
Madeleine curtsied once more. “And we are the Clavells.”
“Yes, I know. And you are Madeleine De Vaudois De Clavell. A Vaudois—your family is well known in Dauphiné for your—shall we say—religious heritage.”
A familiar shiver fingered Madeleine’s spine as she remembered the slaughter of members of her family for their faith when she was but twelve years old. Had they not been nobility at court at the time, she and her parents would have met the same fate.
“You and our king were childhood friends, is that not correct?” Commander Boveé toyed with the cup-shaped handle of the sword hanging by his side and smiled. His lips curved upward, but his eyes remained emotionless.
“Yes, sir, that is correct on both points. King Louis has spoken of me?” She felt a moment of relief. Perhaps they would be spared the atrocities taking place against the Huguenots across the country—the pillaging and burning of homes, the arrests, rapes, murders, and the kidnapping of children to be educated in Catholic monasteries. Did she dare hope that her father’s former position at court and her childhood friendship with Louis would protect them?
“King Louis speaks fondly of you.” Commander Boveé looked at the bookshelf and followed the lines of the case down to the tiny wooden soldiers Charles had aligned in battle formation in front of the fireplace only minutes ago. “It appears we have a future soldier in the family.”
Madeleine began to gather the toy soldiers in her apron. “Actually, the maid was cleaning and took them off the shelf to dust. How careless of her to leave them lying on the floor.” She replaced them on the bookcase shelf.
“I see. Interesting formation. Does the maid always line the soldiers up in battle readiness when she dusts?”
“No—well, I don’t really know.” Madeleine cocked her head demurely. “Grand designs, so perceived, are often the result of chance, are they not?”
“Yes.” The commander gave Madeleine another chilling smile. “Perhaps.”
She stepped past him. “Let me show you the rooms in the back of the house.”
The large cooking area seemed to satisfy the commander. The fragrance of the turnip and cabbage stew, laced with pork, brewing in a large black kettle over the flame in the kitchen fireplace, filled the house. Large rounds of bread, baked earlier in the day, cooled on a heavy wooden table. The rich scent of yeast lingered in the air.
“The granary, buttery, and cheese rooms are there—through the breezeway.” Madeleine indicated the utilitarian rooms with a wave of her hand.
Commander Boveé started through the breezeway. “May I?” His red cap with the falling bag and fur turn-up followed the movement of his head from side to side as he surveyed the surroundings.
“Of course.” Madeleine led him through the chambers where servants performed their duties to keep the manor in running order.
He paused in the granary. “God has blessed you with abundance—and lots of places to store it.”
“Yes.” Madeleine watched as Commander Boveé poked his sword into some of the large sacks of grain. She knew he was looking for her sons. The more time he spent on this phantom hunt, the more time the boys and Jean would have to reach the hideout.
They walked from the buttery room through the breezeway into the kitchen and back to the front of the house. Madeleine’s thoughts were jumping from her sons making their getaway to her daughter upstairs with her mother.
Officer Boveé laid his hand on the railing of the staircase to the second floor. “And upstairs?”
“Bedrooms.”
“Is anyone up there at this moment?”
“Yes.”
“And that would be. . . ?”
“My mother, the children’s governess, and our daughter, Evangeline, who is getting ready for bed.”
“I see. And your sons? Where might they be?”

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