Dying By The Sword Part 14

"Well . . . I remember Athos giving me wine, after all that brandy, which even then, and given the way I felt, seemed to me far less than a good idea."

"And?"

"And then he talked a lot about some d.u.c.h.ess that answers to Marie Michon, but I confess there my memory is foggy and I have no clue at all what he meant. He seemed to imply there was a conspiracy on the life of the King."

Planchet shook his head. "No, Monsieur Athos only said that the Cardinal had told him there was a conspiracy on the life of the King, but that he didn't quite believe it, as it were, sir."

D'Artagnan nodded. "I'm not sure I believe it either. Though there must be a conspiracy on the Cardinal's part. Or at least . . . if there isn't . . ." He shook his head. "He either wants us to be roped in, or he's fighting for his life. Either of those would justify his inventing a conspiracy on the King to get us to defend him."

"Yes," Planchet said. But he bit his lip. "You don't remember . . . that is . . . I'm sure he would want you to know, because he was talking to all three of you, but you must pretend I don't know it, myself."

"Planchet, you make no sense at all."

Planchet sighed again. "It is only that I shouldn't know this, but . . . sir . . . Do you remember Monsieur Athos saying he is a count?"

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Not from hearing it this time, but I've suspected it for a long while. You see . . . I went with him to his friend the Duke de Dreux and it was all 'milord this' and ' and 'milord that' and 'Would the Count de la Fere wish water for his shaving?' I haven't said anything, because I wasn't sure he wanted anyone else to know. I suspect too, though he's only a count, that there is family prestige or other, because the duke treated him quite as an equal."

Planchet nodded. "Well, he told them all he was a count. And that . . . that is . . . that he'd just seen his wife."

"His wife?!" D'Artagnan echoed. "Am I drunk still or were you, Planchet? Athos isn't married."

"Well, Athos might not be," Planchet said. "But the count was. To a beautiful woman who turned out to be marked with the fleur-de-lis."

"The . . . Poor Athos."

"Yes, sir. And he hanged her, and he left his domains. And then . . . And then yesterday he saw her."

D'Artagnan whistled under his breath. "No wonder he was drinking. But it must be all a chance resemblance. I mean, women look like each other, and there are cousins and sisters, and daughters, if it comes to that."

But Planchet inclined his head. "Only he says he never made sure she was dead, after he hanged her, and you know . . ."

"I know," D'Artagnan said thinking he couldn't have been very sure he wanted her dead. Slicing her throat and leaving her in a thicket would have been the way to that. Trying to hang her, no. After all, it took expert hangmen to kill people with a rope and they had traps and deep falls and properly constructed gallows. So Athos can't have been sure in his mind and his heart that he wanted her dead. And he'd left her . . . without checking. "And what does this have to do with me, Planchet?" D'Artagnan asked, curiously.

"Well, sir, Monsieur Athos said that she was called 'milady' by those in the Cardinal's service. And then . . ."

"And then?"

"And then she looked uncommonly like the foreign lady you just described."

"Athos's wife?" D'Artagnan asked, bowled over. "But . . . you said the Cardinal's service?"

"That's where he saw her. At the Palais Cardinal."

"Oh," D'Artagnan said, then, turning around. "Do you mean . . . I mean, does she know who Athos is and what . . ."

"I don't know," Planchet said. "I'm afraid, sir, I would a.s.sume the worst."

"Yes. I suppose I must do so," he said. He thought how the lady didn't seem to be truly threatened by the ruffians he'd chased away and how she had invited him to dinner on such small a service. "A fleur-de-lis . . ." he said.

"On her left shoulder," Planchet said. "If you should . . ."

"I hope I shan't," D'Artagnan said, whose heart had never been sanguine over even flirting with a woman not his Constance. Now it was cringing at the idea. And anything more . . .

"I would call it off altogether," he said. "But then, if she is bent on having her revenge on us, that would be the same as putting her on her guard. And besides, if it's her . . . and if she means to entrap us, better myself, with my eyes open, than the others." He thought about it for a moment. "Far better myself than Athos."

Where Athos Tries to Understand the Impossible; Porthos Contemplates the Inscrutable; And Madame Bonacieux Keeps Her Silence

"MADAM," Athos said. "I understand that we had to be informed of Hermengarde's death. In fact, with poor Mousqueton still in the Bastille, and her being killed in the same way that the armorer was killed, I understand our being apprised of it immediately. But why did you ask D'Artagnan to come here? And why with such urgency?"

To himself, Athos was thinking that, in fact, the woman had probably sent for D'Artagnan as part of an attempt at reconciliation. At least, he hoped he wasn't underestimating her, and of course, anyone would shrink from using the death of an innocent girl, almost a child, for such personal purposes. But then, Athos had known enough women to know that women weren't everything. In point of fact, when it came to manipulating circ.u.mstances and in any possible way using someone else's misfortune to advantage, there was very little he'd put past a determined woman.

His suspicions seemed to be confirmed by the look of almost fright that Madame Bonacieux darted at him. Then she looked behind him, and around her, as if to ascertain that no one could hear her, and she dropped her voice to a whisper. "Because, Monsieur, D'Artagnan talked to her this morning, and with her friend being the servant of one of you, and with her being . . . well . . . it was rumored, though she denied it when asked, that she was with child. The rumors have already started," she said, looking frightened, "that her killer was one of you. One of the inseparables, they say. Some say that it was because she was with child, and you feared she'd hang on you or ask for support after her friend was executed. And some wonder if she knew something to Mousqueton's detriment and was therefore silenced." She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped at her eyes. "No one has done anything about it, yet, monsieur, but I can tell you that as rumor grows, well, people will start to get some strange ideas about you and . . . and about D'Artagnan. And though I fought with him, I . . . well . . . I wouldn't want any harm to come to him, or any of you."

Perhaps because he felt guilty about having thought ill of her before, Athos forced himself to bow. "No," he said. "No, I understand that. I wouldn't wish any ill to come to any of us, either, and while I'm sure that D'Artagnan is utterly innocent, I also know how rumors can grow and fester. I will . . . warn him. And I will do what I can to solve this."

A look to the side showed him that Porthos looked like he'd heard everything, and his eyes were full of that intent light that showed that Porthos was thinking. This was always a perilous proposition. Porthos could think very well, and indeed very fast, but the things his thoughts could wreak were often far less than orthodox.

Athos himself was not sure what to think, as he bowed over Madame Bonacieux's hands and told her to be careful and that he would do his best to keep D'Artagnan out of the path of harm. "Though you know D'Artagnan, madam, and you know, therefore, how difficult that can be."

And she had given him a little rueful smile. "Yes, indeed, I do know, since I argued with him simply for trying to keep him out of a duel, where, you see, he ended by getting injured."

This brought Athos to with a start. "A duel?" The only time recently that he could think of D'Artagnan's getting injured had been right here, in the gardens of the palace, and there D'Artagnan must be exonerated from recklessness. A fool he might be, and gallant to a fault, and always to rush in defense of others or his own honor. But even D'Artagnan could not have known that he would be attacked by stealth, while walking across the gardens in the royal palace towards an appointment with his mistress.

"Last night," Madame Bonacieux said, "I . . . someone told me that he had a duel, and so I called him to come to me, because I believed, of course, that he would come to me rather than go to the duel. But he didn't. And when he appeared this morning, he was injured."

"But . . ." Athos said at a loss. "He was attacked by stealth while coming to your appointment. From whom did you hear this, madam? It is very important that I know."

Madame Bonacieux was looking at him with intent eyes. "You mean . . ."

"I mean that I think whoever convinced you to send him a note and ask him to come to your chambers on that night, at the hour of the supposed duel, was laying a very clever trap for my young friend."

The lady went pale. "Impossible," she said.

"Why impossible, madam? Who can have told you?"

"She doesn't know I have any relationship at all with him," she said. "She couldn't possibly have guessed."

Athos only raised his eyebrows, a gesture of such imperiousness, that he often found people answering questions he had not yet asked them. This woman was no match for his questioning. She sighed. "It was the . . . it was the d.u.c.h.ess de Chevreuse," she said. "And she only mentioned it in jest. Because of . . . You know she's friends with your other friend Aramis?"

Athos nodded. He personally would not call it friends but he knew that the lady had some relationship with Aramis, and he would guess-reluctantly, if absolutely pressed on the point-that the relationship probably required close contact. But for the purposes of this conversation, he would call them friends.

"Well, she was talking-not to me, but to a crowd of people, and she said that Aramis would have a duel on his hands-he and his friends both. And I thought . . . She said they would be fighting for their lives that night. And so I thought . . ." She looked horrified at the idea that perhaps D'Artagnan had got wounded because of her attempts to protect him.

"And do you remember, madam, who it was that the lady was talking to?"

Madame Bonacieux shook her head. "Some of her circle, you know. The women she talks to, and some of the men who admire her. But . . ."

"But?"

"I remember little Hermengarde was standing by."

"I see," Athos said, and bowed swiftly, ready to depart. Then stopped. "No, wait, one more question-whom did you tell that you were summoning D'Artagnan to you that evening?"

"Why, no one."

"What did you do after you heard that? You must have been in some agitation. Or at least it sounds as though you were. Which surprises me a little, to own the truth, because the fact that musketeers fight duels should not surprise a lady who is in an intimate relationship with one of them. You know that we-"

"Fight," she said. "Yes, I do. And knowing it doesn't make it easier to bear, but I understand that men of both honor and temperament . . ." She shrugged as if to express that there was much one could forgive to men of those attributes. "No, this agitated me more than it would just knowing that one-or all-of you were about to fight a duel. You see, there was such malice in her voice, as though . . . as though there were some treason at stake, something horrible about to happen. And I thought . . ."

"You thought you'd preserve my friend, which is very worthy," Athos said, reluctant to admit the, to him, impossible idea that a woman had acted, in fact, from the best of motives. "But what did you do, exactly, madam?"

"I went to my room, and I wrote a note to D'Artagnan, summoning him to come to me. I didn't know the time of the duel, but I surmised that he would be coming home to change or pick up his other sword, or some such thing."

"Yes," Athos said. It was true. All of them usually repaired home before a duel, if for no other reason because one liked to look one's best. "And whom did you send with the note?"

"No one," she said, and blinked in confusion. "I went myself."

"But that means you must have told someone you were leaving or asked someone for permission?"

"Only the Queen, monsieur, only the Queen. And surely you don't mean-"

Athos didn't mean. The thought might cross his mind, dangerous and slick like an iced-over river, but he didn't dwell on it, nor was it something he wanted to encourage. While the Cardinal might suspect the Queen of whatever he might very well want to suspect her, and while the lady, herself, had been known to make less than steady choices or informed decisions, yet it was not to be believed that she had conspired against men who had so often bled in her service. He simply shook his head and bowed.

"Well," Madame Bonacieux said, "I must say I can't conceive how anyone knew of my decision, to choose to bring him here and that I hope . . . I hope I'm not responsible for his wounding. You will tell him that when you see him, will you not?"

Athos nodded. "I will do my best to persuade him you meant him no harm." Which, if nothing else, would make for an amusing change and quite a bit of surprise to D'Artagnan to hear Athos-Athos, of all people-defending a woman. "Meanwhile, madam, may I beg of you to stay silent on the subject of D'Artagnan's visit here, this morning, and to contrive to make it as little known as possible that you . . . that you have an intimate knowledge of him?"

"Yes, oh yes. If indeed it was my fault that he got wounded; that he might easily have got killed, it is dangerous for me to do anything else that might bring a trap upon him. I shall be as silent as the grave."

He felt so guilty for having suspected her of perfidy earlier, that he bowed over the hand she proffered to him, and lightly touched it with his lips. Yet he waited till he and Porthos had gone some distance before deciding to speak. But then, Porthos spoke first.

"The devil," he said. "I wonder what she means by that, that Hermengarde was seen with a musketeer before she was killed."

"Well, she might not have meant anything at all," Athos said. "It seems that D'Artagnan did come to the palace earlier and spoke to Hermengarde, even I have gathered that. So it would seem that he was seen with her. You know what people are like about places and times. Quite likely this is what they refer to, and nothing of more import."

"Quite likely," Porthos said, but he was biting at his moustache. "The devil of this," he said, "is that now everyone will naturally think we are involved. I wish I could see Mousqueton and ask him what exactly was happening and what he thought he was doing, to be getting in this sort of trouble."

Athos felt a sudden stab of enlightenment. "I wish you wouldn't try to talk to Mousqueton, Porthos, not unless you can arrange it through Monsieur de Treville." This because he could think of many other ways for Porthos to manage the thing-ways that were more in keeping with Porthos's peculiar mind. They could involve all or anything, including fomenting an armed revolt that took over the Bastille. Porthos's capacity for admirable and transforming action was only comparable to his inability to understand the world at large.

"Well," he said, dolefully. "I don't think Monsieur de Treville is going to arrange for me to see him at all. And the devil of it is, we might likely find out who killed the armorer by talking to Mousqueton."

Athos mentally added to his excellent friend's qualities-or lack thereof-his complete inability to imagine how his words sounded to other people. "You cannot possibly mean that," he said. "The only way for us to discover that would be to find that Mousqueton had murdered the armorer."

"What? No. What I mean is that clearly there are other circ.u.mstances surrounding this, including Mousqueton's proposed marriage. It's all inscrutable without his view of the matter."

Athos was so surprised that he stopped, stock-still. "Porthos, my friend, did you just say it's inscrutable?"

"Yes, yes, I did. It means it can't be penetrated with eye or mind, depending on whether it's a physical darkness or a darkness of the spirit." He looked at Athos's expression, and Athos must have looked back in total shock, because Porthos guffawed. "It's this new plan of Aramis.' "

"Oh?" Athos said, somewhat fearful, because when a plan of Aramis's involved Porthos in it, the results were usually incalculable and often bizarre.

"Yes. He thinks that if I learn a new word every week, soon I will not feel about long words the way I do, and I won't confuse their meanings either. So this week, he taught me the word inscrutable, and he has told me to make sure I use it in all possible cases. I presume I used it correctly."

"Admirably so," Athos said, suppressing a smile. The friendship between Aramis and Porthos was in itself one of the inscrutable mysteries of life. The two men could not be more different if they'd been knit from entirely different clay, on opposing sh.o.r.es of different continents. And yet, they bore each other's quirks with greater kindness than the rest of them often could.

They were now at the gate through which they had come, and Athos demurred. "Porthos, I believe I should go and talk to . . . to the d.u.c.h.ess the lady mentioned, but I am not sure any of us should be outside alone. We can't help that Aramis and D'Artagnan are, though we can hope they met with each other and that one is guarding the other, but . . ."

"I see," Porthos said. "This is what I propose to do. You go and speak to your d.u.c.h.ess, and then you come and talk to me in the kitchens of the palace."

"The kitchens?" Athos said. He knew from their previous adventures-though it had never fully been explained to him-that Porthos had conceived an almost fear of one of his majesty's head cooks.

Porthos sighed resignedly, and combed his moustache with his fingers so that the tips pointed upwards. "It is a cross to bear," he said, "to be so handsome that women fall in love with one at a glance. The cook was more than usual importune. But I am hoping that I can get information from her without . . . without its going too far."

Half amused, though he had to admit that maids, cooks and peasant women did indeed seem to fall in love with Porthos at a first glance at his shining head of red hair, his strong features and his sparkling eyes, Athos nodded. "Well, I'll come and find you in the kitchens, then, when I'm done interviewing the d.u.c.h.ess.

The Disadvantages of a Hot Day; Many Ways to Slacken Thirst; Evangelists and Pigs

ARAMIS had realized, about an hour into the drive-no, the journey, for it was epic and involved shades of odyssey-that he probably could get to Paris earlier if he got down and walked. This because not only did the oxen move at a snail's pace, but also the two men in charge of the oxen felt it inc.u.mbent upon them to stop at every roadside stall and every isolated farmhouse to purvey themselves with the necessities of life.

There were two reasons he hadn't actually jumped off the oxcart. The first was that while the oxen were probably slightly slower than Aramis could walk, by sitting in the cart he was sparing his legs, for what he expected would be a run all over Paris to locate his friends, once he got to town. The second, and no less pressing, was that the necessities of life-according to his ex-captors-included a great deal of food and wine, which, of course, they shared freely with him, by way of reparation.

On the road so far, he had tasted some very good ham, some excellent bread, a strong-smelling cheese and a dozen boiled eggs. All of this-the day being hot for the end of winter-had necessitated washing it down with a great deal of wine.

So, by the time they stopped on the farm at the edge of town, where his amiable hosts had friends or contacts or cousins, or whatever it was they had, Aramis was feeling quite at ease with the world and, indeed, of a warm and glowing disposition, where all would be forgiven.

They let him off and explained they were about to go back to the neighborhood where they'd first mistakenly importuned him, so they could capture the original miscreant.

"Well," Aramis had said airily, "only, be sure to take a box with you, in case he resists."

This had resulted in many laughs, which had eventually dissolved into giggles and a never end of "your musketeerness," and Aramis was never to understand exactly how, but he found himself walking along the street with Jean and Marc in the best of understandings.

Or at least, he hoped they understood him correctly, since he was attempting to lecture them on the biblical significance of their names and explaining that if they were evangelists, and his name were Luke, they would be three of a set of four. This seemed to impress them profoundly, and Marc expressed the earnest hope that, if he had his life to live again, he could become knowledgeable in Latin and Greek "and all that horse manure." Forgiving his way of expressing himself, which was clearly due to his lack of exposure to the belles lettres, Aramis said, "My friend, Porthos, he has the same problem. That's why . . . that's why we have this plan." He walked along for a while in silence, his mind a.s.suring him that he'd said absolutely everything he needed to say, until Jean said, "Your musketeerness?"

"Yes, mon bon mon bon Jean?" Jean?"

"You never told us your plan."

"Oh, it's simple. You take a word, any word. The word this week is inscrutable inscrutable. And you learn that word for a week. And when the word is-" Aramis stopped because his intended audience had run in opposite directions, away from him, as fast as their legs could carry him.

Looking forward, Aramis discovered the cause of their fright. There were not one, not two, but at least six men, wearing dark cloaks and armed with swords. "I knew you would come back," the leader of them said, advancing towards Aramis with drawn sword.