Father Joseph, the éminence grise, who stood like a shadow beside the cardinal. A walking conscience. A man of silence. A man whose very mysteriousness made him feared.

Father Joseph and the cardinal had one enormous project upon which they agreed. They must weaken the influence of the Hapsburg family. With Spain to the south, the Holy Roman Empire and the Netherlands to the east, all under Hapsburg family control, France was boxed in. The interest of France must therefore be to weaken the Hapsburg threat.

One might like Richelieu, or not; but no one could doubt his devotion to France. It was one of the reasons de Cygne was proud to serve him. Father Joseph, however, was another matter. The aging monk was against the Hapsburgs for another reason. They did not want to go to war with Turkey. That was not so surprising. Turkey was on the borders of their empire. Why should they want to stir up trouble so close to home? But Father Joseph wanted all Christendom to proclaim a new crusade against the Moslem Turks. It was his obsession. First weaken the Hapsburgs, then let France lead the West, as in olden times, against the Moslem power. Privately, Charles considered the idea of a latter-day crusade the height of folly and certain to bring ruin upon his country.

Once he had been summoned into the room by Richelieu when Father Joseph was with him, and the cardinal had remarked with a smile: “Father Joseph wants France to lead a new crusade against the Turks, de Cygne. What do you think?”

Thank God that he’d already learned the rules of survival by then. With a low bow to the monk he had replied: “My ancestors were crusading knights, Eminence. It is even believed that we descend from Roland, the companion of Charlemagne, who died fighting the Moslems of Spain.”

A clever answer. It seemed to say everything, and in fact said nothing. It appeared to satisfy the monk, anyway, and Richelieu smiled.

Rule number one of survival: Never, never tell anyone what you really think.

This evening, therefore, he bowed respectfully to the aging monk as he passed. Father Joseph really didn’t look well. Perhaps he was going to die. That wouldn’t be a bad thing, thought Charles.

He went through the small door from which Father Joseph had emerged, and found the cardinal writing a letter in his office.

“Sit down, my dear de Cygne,” he said quietly. “I shan’t be long.”

Charles sat quietly. The room was high and handsome without being sumptuous. Shelves of leather-bound books lined the walls—for Richelieu was a great book collector. It might have been an office in the Vatican. Patron of the new Académie française, connoisseur of the arts, subtle diplomatist: Richelieu was a Frenchman, but he was more like an Italian prince of the Church.