Chapter 886: The Holy Presence
Joseph pressed a hand to his forehead, having nearly forgotten about the Pope’s arrival.
He turned to the Countess of Debeninac and nodded. "Please inform Her Majesty that I will ensure the Holy Father is properly received."
Once the Queen’s lady-in-waiting had departed, Joseph turned to Eman. "Fetch Monsieur Fouché and the Viscount of Besançon for me."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Half an hour later, the Director of Intelligence and the Police Commissioner arrived at the Crown Prince’s drawing room, bowing with hands over their hearts. "Your Highness."
Joseph gestured toward the sofa. "Please, sit. I wish to discuss the Holy Father’s arrival in Paris."
Fouché spoke up quickly. "Rest assured, Your Highness. I have deployed over four hundred agents and conducted five rounds of background checks. There will be no accidents."
Joseph gave a faint nod. "I am not concerned about security."
Fouché and Besançon exchanged a look before turning back to the Crown Prince. "Then you mean...?"
"In the basement of the Church of Saint-Sulpice, Your Highness," the Intelligence Director replied. "My men are guarding him day and night."
Muzarelli had reached Paris the previous week. However, as he approached the outskirts, Joseph had instructed the Intelligence Bureau to intercept him discreetly.
"Very good," Joseph said. "Prepare a full set of ceremonial regalia for him, and then..."
A flash of surprise crossed Fouché’s eyes, but he nonetheless nodded. "As you wish, Your Highness."
Joseph then looked toward Besançon. "The day before the Pope’s carriage enters Paris, you are to do this..."
"Yes, Your Highness."
An hour later, Fouché and Besançon walked out of the Crown Prince’s drawing room. They shared another look; Besançon silently crossed himself, while a thin smile played on Fouché’s lips.
Three days later.
The motorcade of Pope Pius VI moved slowly along the empty King’s Highway, roughly ten kilometers from Paris.
The Pope rode in a golden carriage that resembled a mobile palace, pulled by twelve pure white stallions. Its wheels were wrapped in shock-absorbing silk, and a crowd of peasants who had spotted the procession along the way trailed behind it.
Just then, more than three hundred Paris police officers appeared ahead. Under Besançon’s command, they surrounded Pius VI’s entourage and dispersed the onlookers citing security concerns.
Besançon offered a silent prayer of repentance before approaching the Pope’s carriage. He did not kneel according to protocol, but merely bowed slightly with a hand over his chest. "Merciful and Great Holy Father, for specific reasons, we must ask you to change your carriage," he announced loudly.
The stout Pius VI, supported by two priests, stepped down from the carriage and looked at Besançon with confusion. "And you are?"
"Jacques Pierre de Besançon, Director of the French Police Bureau." Besançon gestured toward a white "Jewel VI" carriage parked nearby. "You will take that vehicle to the Palace of Versailles."
The priest beside Pius VI frowned. "Why is this necessary?"
"The Police Bureau has received intelligence that someone is plotting an assassination attempt against the Holy Father. As you know, there are elements in Paris dissatisfied with the Holy See."
Pius VI glanced back at his own luxurious carriage. "Monsieur Director, my carriage is quite secure."
He waited a moment, but seeing that Besançon remained unmoved, he finally nodded. "I appreciate your arrangements. We shall use that carriage."
The priest at his side signaled the Papal Guard standing nearby. The Swiss mercenaries, dressed in their red uniforms, immediately formed ranks to march toward the white carriage.
Besançon, however, raised a hand to block the guard captain. "Please proceed to the coaching inn to rest. From this point forward, the protection of the Holy Father will be handled by the Paris Police."
The captain of the guard firmly pushed Besançon’s hand aside and gave the order for the guard to continue advancing.
Besançon sighed and raised his right hand in a sharp signal.
Hundreds of Paris police officers immediately trotted forward, physically forcing the Papal Guard to the sides of the road.
The guard captain glared at Besançon, his voice low and threatening. "We have all taken oaths never to leave the Holy Father’s side. What do you think you are doing?"
Besançon turned back to Pius VI. "Holy Father, for your safety, my men must take charge of the security detail."
The Pope stood frozen before the carriage, looking utterly lost.
The standoff lasted for a tense moment until Besançon sighed again and raised his hand a second time.
In the distance, over a hundred police officers instantly unslung their flintlock muskets, pulled back the hammers, and aimed them directly at the Papal Guard.
These officers had been handpicked by Besançon. Most were men who had followed the Crown Prince since his days at the Saint-Antoine police station. If it were the Crown Prince’s order, they wouldn't just point guns at the Papal Guard—they would fire on the Pope himself without a second thought.
The Papal Guard numbered fewer than a hundred and fifty men, and most were equipped with halberds. They only had about forty flintlocks among them and did not dare to move.
Pius VI hurriedly waved his hand at the guard captain. "Leonhard, do as this gentleman says."
"But..." The captain glanced at the dark muzzles of the muskets surrounding them and gritted his teeth, signaling to his men. "Stand down."
The following day.
Several luxury carriages of the "Jewel" line—common sights in Paris—slowly entered the city.
The convoy was surrounded by nearly two hundred Paris police officers in neat ranks; even the musicians had been drawn from the police band.
There was no red carpet along the route, nor were there children scattering flower petals. At first glance, it looked as if the police were escorting high-profile prisoners into the city.
Parisian citizens gathered in curiosity, whispering among themselves about what was happening.
Soon, people noticed the high-ranking clergy in purple robes at the front of the convoy, carrying an ebony throne, a monstrance, and young acolytes wearing lily crowns.
The police at the head of the carriages carried banners bearing the cross and the crossed Keys of Saint Peter—the coat of arms of the Holy See.
Someone cried out in surprise, "That... that looks like the Pope’s procession!"
Pius VI leaned his head out of the carriage window, waving to the onlookers with an awkward smile.
It was no wonder the Parisians were unaware of his arrival. In this era of limited information, if the newspapers didn't report it, very few would hear of it even if someone at Versailles leaked the word.
Finally, after a long and grueling journey, Pius VI’s procession reached the vicinity of the Palace of Versailles.
The devout Louis XVI and Queen Mary were already there in full ceremonial dress, accompanied by over a thousand nobles to welcome him.
Seeing the familiar, grand spectacle, Pius VI finally felt a sense of relief wash over him.
Suddenly, another convoy of over a dozen carriages, protected by sixty or seventy Papal Guards, cut in from the northeast.
This new convoy collided with the Pope’s procession, instantly throwing the entire scene into chaos.
Queen Mary watched the scene in shock, turning to the guard captain beside her. "What... what is happening?"
The captain hurried off to investigate and quickly returned to the Queen. "Your Majesty, that is the procession of Cardinal-Prince Muzarelli. It seems he happened to arrive for his visit today as well..."
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