Page 40 of The Darkest Oath

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.

CHAPTER16

The Call of Change

BASTILLE, PARIS, JANUARY 1789

---