Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,101

never travelled in public on his own and his status was measured by the number and rank of those accompanying him. Charles de l'Aubespine, marquis de Chateauneuf and Keeper of the Seals of the kingdom of France, could hardly ignore convention on this occasion.

The only road from Paris to Dampierre passed through the villages of Vanves, Velizy and Saclay. It was a journey often leagues, which the marquis wanted to make on horseback, without resting and despite the burning sun, leaving his coach and baggage trailing behind. He was obviously impatient to reach their destination. But he also wished to make a grand entrance at the castle, where madame de Chevreuse was already waiting. So they halted at the gates to the domain for long enough to shake the dust from their clothing, refresh themselves and brush down their mounts. It was a matter of putting on a proud display. For Leprat, it allowed him to observe that Chateauneuf, despite being in his fifties and having considerable experience when it came to women, seemed as eager and anxious as an adolescent before his first gallant rendezvous. The duchesse had indeed made him lose his head.

They had arrived in the afternoon to find Dampierre swarming with busy servants and craftsmen.

The paths were raked clear, the gardens were tidied, the trees were pruned and the canals were dredged. But at the heart of all this laborious agitation was the castle itself, where preparations for the forthcoming festivities would continue well into the night. The king, the queen and the entire royal court would be arriving on the morrow, the day of the ball itself. Everything had to be ready to receive them.

'It's beautiful, isn't it?'

Leprat turned his head towards Mirebeau who had come out to join him and then looked again at the sunset reflecting off the calm, shining waters.

'Yes,' he said. 'Very beautiful.'

'This domain is one of the most splendid places I know. Whatever the season, it's a veritable feast for the eyes . . .'

He broke off as a deep, mournful trumpeting almost deafened the two men.

'And for the ears!' exclaimed Leprat before they both burst out laughing.

They turned around to watch as a tarasque crossed the terrace separating them from the castle, plodding along at a slow and steady pace. The enormous, shelled reptile was pulling a train of three wagons piled with the pruned trunks of trees that had been cut down to embellish a prospect in the park. Two tarasque drivers were guiding the beast, using both their voices and their pikes. It moved forward with a rattle of the heavy chains linking its six legs to the collar encircling its neck.

Still smiling, Leprat and Mirebeau returned to admiring the view of pond, without either feeling any need to speak. Since he had discovered that Mirebeau was actually in the service of the marquis de Chateauneuf, Leprat had felt himself drawn even closer to the gentleman in the beige doublet. Now there seemed to be really little difference between them, other than the fact that they served their respective masters with equal loyalty. Life might easily have reversed their roles or allowed Mirebeau to become a member of the Cardinal's Blades. It was perhaps simply a matter of circumstances.

Leprat's gaze was drawn to an island at the far end of the pond, an island upon which he was able to make out some ruins and the silhouettes of men apparently keeping watch over them.

"What is that?' he asked, pointing his finger.

'It's the island of Dampierre. An island which isn't truly an island, since it's connected to the bank by a causeway that you can't see from here. The duc is having some pavilions built there.'

The ruins were in fact buildings being constructed.

'According to legend,' Mirebeau went on to say, 'in the time of Charlemagne there was a lord living in a black tower upon the island. He performed vile rituals there and terrorised the entire region, to the point that some valiant knights came to challenge him. Unfortunately for them, the lord was not only a wicked sorcerer, but also a dragon . . . There is, in the castle here at Dampierre, a tapestry representing the heroic combat between these knights and the monster.'

'Did they defeat the dragon?'

'Don't knights always triumph in tales?'

'And the tower? It looks like there is nothing left of it.'

'It was razed to the ground and its stones, reputed to be cursed, were thrown into the pond so that they could never