Dying By The Sword Part 7

Rochefort was looking neutral, his pleased expression gone. "I wish I didn't," he said. "Though in the beginning it was just . . . a suspicion, or less than that. A thought that the matter should be followed up. A vague idea that things were not all they seemed to be. So I . . . followed up on it. The Queen's correspondent, the d.u.c.h.ess De Chevreuse, who you know, is like the worst half of her majesty, and has already been responsible for one miscarriage of her majesty's, for encouraging her to behave in a very irresponsible manner in the halls of the palace . . ."

"Or at least that was the reason given," Athos said.

Rochefort shrugged minimally. "We intercepted correspondence of the d.u.c.h.ess's, next. The names this brought to us were a little . . . odd. It appears Madame la d.u.c.h.ess has for some time entertained correspondence with Captain Ornano, the governor of the house of Monsieur, the brother of the King."

Athos, completely confused by the introduction of the governor of Monsieur, the heir apparent, Gaston d'Orleans, could only raise his eyebrows and try to appear more knowledgeable than he was and yet less enlightened on the matter than he felt he should be.

Rochefort smiled and shook his head. "Perhaps I should explain," he said. "I understand your friend Aramis is quite au courant of every possible affair in the court. I judge it will not be a surprise to you if I say that we've had some strange reactions to the announced marriage of Monsieur to Mademoiselle de Montpensier?"

"Is he to marry her?" Athos asked.

"But . . . It has been announced by his majesty himself," Rochefort said, as though shocked that anyone at all could have missed this all-important news. "Surely-"

Athos shook his head. "My only interest in the royalty is to serve them," he said. "Not necessarily in the person of the present occupant of the throne." And, added, hastily as Rochefort raised his eyebrow in turn, "No, I don't mean anything disloyal by that. I am a musketeer of the King's and I will serve him to the utmost of my understanding and my ability. That is not what I meant. I meant . . ." He steepled his hands, then shook his head. "When I was . . . fifteen, I ascended to the dignity of Viscount de Bragelone, the junior t.i.tle in my family. As such, my father judged that I should be knighted according to the true and ancient rites. What occasioned the knighting-the performing of an act of valor-all that matters not. It was an organized tourney, in which I could display my prowess." He was aware of a rueful smile distending his lips. "Such as it was, at the time. Good enough for my father's blessing, at any rate. And he took me to the Abbey of St. Derris where the crypts hold the bones of the kings of France. There he made me aware that the occupant of the throne such as he is, remains, for all he is our sovereign and King, a pa.s.sing being-a mortal like all other men. What I must serve, he then told me, and made me understand, is the monarchy of France. The present occupant is merely the . . . vessel of that sacred line, that power which represents and rules all of the kingdom."

In Rochefort's eyes, for just a moment, there was something of a fellow-feeling and a look of understanding. "As I a.s.sume the Cardinal would say, we must worship the presence of Christ in the sacrarium and not the vessel itself."

Athos shrugged. "I would say something akin to that. But while one might, on occasion, destroy the sacrarium, one should never destroy the King. Which doesn't mean one should take a great interest in his life or that of his relatives, either. I have gathered, from gossip, that the King's marriage is an unhappy one, and the only reason that matters to me is that it reduces the chances of France's having an heir and, therefore, lays the kingdom open to the depredations of foreigners intent on seizing the throne. My only interest in Monsieur, therefore, is that he is the heir to the throne and stands between us and a disputed throne. Whom he marries signifies little, next to the imperative that he marry and sire children for the crown."

"It is the Queen Mother's only interest, also, I believe. That and that Mademoiselle de Montpensier carries with her a large dowry as well as all the ancient dignities and powers of that branch of the Bourbons. Her mother was a Joyeuse and the Queen made much of her and . . . indeed, of the daughter. In fact, you could say the Queen Mother has been planning this match since before Monsieur was breeched. The sum of this all is that, Monsieur being seventeen, the King has granted permission for the marriage to take place." He looked at Athos, half in wonder, as though meeting a strange creature, and half in amus.e.m.e.nt. "If you do not listen to gossip, it is possible you don't realize this would throw into disarray several people who have an interest, direct or indirect upon the throne and the fate of Monsieur and any heirs he might sire, in particular."

Athos frowned. He did not, in fact, take any interest in gossip. However, he had been born and raised as a n.o.bleman, sitting night after night at his father's table, in their domains de la Fere, and listening to the discussions that washed up in their rural province, like echoes of a far-off sea. And then, after all his ambitions and hopes and desires had come to an end in the person of a beautiful blond woman marked with the fleur-de-lis of infamy upon her peerless shoulder, he'd come to court. There, he could no more hope to avoid being immersed in gossip than a fish could hope to avoid being immersed in water.

And the gossip ran rife, of course, as it would, since the twenty-five-year-old King had no heir and his fraught relations with his wife made it very unlikely indeed that he would have any. For a time-and perhaps still, though Athos refused to enquire-there had been a running pool among the more daring of the musketeers about who might sire the heir of France.

Oh, not themselves. The d.u.c.h.esses, princesses and minor n.o.blewomen at court might disport themselves with the dashing young men, though even they-themselves-were not so zany as to allow their heir to be conceived by one such. Stories might abound-they always did-about how this or that heir to this or that domain favored this or that n.o.bleman. But it was all nonsense, and of this Athos was fairly sure.

The Queen, like Caesar's wife, must be above reproach and as such, she could not have it rumored about her that she slept with this or that musketeer-and in as crowded an environment as the palace, the gossip would fly far and wide, if she so much as favored one of them with a look or permission to kiss her hand.

No-the names on whom the hope of an heir for France rested, at least to believe some irreverent musketeers, were higher and more carefully guarded: Buckingham had for a time been a favorite, lending an air of intrigue to every one of his visits to France; then came Richelieu himself, though it was rumored by many that he had indeed made the attempt and been spurned; after that were many would-be contestants-almost every n.o.bleman in France, truth be told.

But to Athos it had always seemed that-though the gossip didn't scandalize him as it scandalized Porthos who had more than often threatened to duel someone for it-as much as they ran pools and gossiped and amused themselves with such, the musketeers didn't believe the Queen would stray. Nor indeed did anyone else.

In fact, considering the position of queens as almost strangers and often suspected of insufficient loyalty to their adopted land, it seemed strange to Athos that any of them ever strayed. It was a brief pleasure, surely, and not worth the beheading that would follow.

Therefore, everyone expected the throne to, eventually, devolve on Monsieur, Gaston d'Orleans, the King's younger brother. And after that, he knew that some families were waiting, in the full expectation that neither of the royal brothers would produce heirs, and the throne would thereby devolve to them. "I have," he admitted, "heard the princes of Conde and Soissons speak as though they quite counted on the throne being theirs one day. In fact . . ."

"In fact?"

"In fact, to the extent that I've paid attention to such gossip, which, if you permit me, seems exaggerated considering his majesty is still young and, though not in the best of health, might yet live for decades-it was to worry that if ever it came to such a pa.s.s, those two houses between them might tear the kingdom apart." And, afraid that Rochefort would think this fear hyperbolic, "They have pride and greed enough for that."

"I agree, they do," Rochefort said, his voice expressing his surprise that Athos and he might agree on anything. "And I confess they were two of the people on whom the news of Monsieur's intended marriage fell heavily. They cannot, after all, count on the throne, if Monsieur sires a child at eighteen. So, you see . . . they were unhappy. All the more so since Monsieur de Soissons has for some time been trying to make his own arrangements with Mademoiselle de Montpensier."

"You think the d.u.c.h.ess de Chevreuse is acting for them?" Athos asked. It didn't seem an impossible idea. After all, De Chevreuse had a reputation for intriguing for the sake of the intrigue itself.

"It is possible," Rochefort said. "All the more so since there are intimations that the fair lady has had some veiled correspondence with the two of them. And we've heard their names fall in conversation with the Queen."

"But then her interest in this Captain Ornano must be . . ." Athos said. "That he might yet convince the Prince to refuse to marry Montpensier."

Rochefort smiled. "You are wasted in the musketeers, Monsieur le Comte," he said, and bowed. "If you worked for the Cardinal, your genius for intrigue would be rewarded as it deserves."

"If I worked for the Cardinal," Athos countered, "my good manners forbid my explaining what I would deserve, since you, yourself"-he gave a small bow-"have that honor. Reward would not be exactly the word for it though. Remember my father made me a speech on serving the monarchy."

"We each serve it as we see best," Rochefort said.

"And if De Chevreuse is doing this," Athos said, changing subject, "what proof have you it is not at the behest of Soissons, who perhaps still wishes to marry Mademoiselle de Montpensier?"

"Or her dowry," Rochefort said.

Athos bowed. He knew why most men married. He had not done so, but that was perhaps to his detriment. Certainly, considering whom he had, indeed, married, to the discredit of his good sense and judgement.

"It might be at the behest of Soissons," Rochefort said. "But the truth is, she has talked to the Queen about replacing the Cardinal with someone more amenable."

"Which you must know is the dream of most of the n.o.bility in France, and not exactly treason in itself."

"Perhaps not, but we know how attached our King is to Richelieu."

"Or how attached he pretends to be," Athos said, remembering more than a few times when Louis XIII had shown himself overjoyed at his musketeers thwarting some plot of the Cardinal's.

Rochefort bowed. "But you must see," he said, "that it would be the worst for the Queen if the King's brother were to have children before . . . the royal marriage is fruitful. It would be a reproach to her, and, doubtless, lead to her loss of importance. So you must see . . ."

"That she would lose by it, yes. That she would conspire against her husband and her kingdom thereby, no, I do not need to see that."

"Perhaps not," Rochefort said. "But the Cardinal and I would very much like it if you should investigate in that direction, shall we say."

Athos all but paled. Through one of their previous adventures, they had managed to keep the crown on the head of Anne of Austria, despite the Cardinal's best efforts to unseat it. Was he truly fated to remove it this time? The Cardinal, with his fine lessons on the theory of chess, should understand that the knight was more often used to protect the queen than the p.a.w.n. If it came to that, Athos would have to resign himself to the loss of Mousqueton.

Or perhaps, he thought, ensure his freedom by other means.

But what could he do if the Queen, herself, was part of a play for the King? The horrible prospect put a shiver up his spine.

A Fortuitous Meeting; Where Three Friends Are Better Than One; The Impossibility of Two Musketeers Dueling One Guard

D'ARTAGNAN hurried to the palace with a confused and worried mind. Oh, he did not doubt Constance, whose nature was as her name, nor did he fear that she might entangle him in some plot. But he did fear that a plot was already in place and might entangle himself and Constance without mercy.

On the way to the palace, he responded to Porthos's questions as to what D'Artagnan had been doing near the armorer's, with half syllables, which not only led Porthos to believe that D'Artagnan had been seeking additional work, but to heartily approve of it, because, as he put it, the pay in the guards seemed to be as bad as in the musketeers, and that was as irregular as the very irregular finances of their sovereign.

D'Artagnan didn't bother arguing how unfit it would be for him to take a position as an a.s.sistant baker, or even an armorer. Porthos was, after all, the only one of them who had ever done work for pay. He'd been employed as a dance and fencing master upon first coming to Paris. And he was a proud man-or at least, he liked to wear clothes resplendent enough to put the royalty to shame, and he told a great many innocent falsehoods about his familiarity with princesses and d.u.c.h.esses. Yet, he could consider with equanimity a course of action-becoming employed as a servant, under an a.s.sumed name-which would have made Aramis speechless, caused Athos to challenge someone to a duel for accusing him of it and which, had D'Artagnan given the idea his full attention, would have made D'Artagnan blush.

There was absolutely no reason to argue with Porthos, and D'Artagnan was concerned with far weightier worries. The note from Constance worried him, after what might have been the deliberate entrapment of Mousqueton. If they were right and if the Cardinal were so desperate to get leverage against Anne of Austria and to make Anne of Austria confess to some plot that he would stoop to entrapping Mousqueton, would he not prefer to entrap one of them?

He'd looked at her letter, and it did look like her handwriting, but would not the Cardinal, in all but name and honor the King of France, be able to command someone to imitate the hand of a woman who lived at court and who had, doubtless, written notes to various people living there?

He felt a shiver down his spine, even as he gave his pa.s.sword to Monsieur de la Porte and got admitted into the palace-or at least into the dark gardens adjoining the palace. Because his eyes were sharpened by his awareness of danger, his mind prying the edges of every dark corner, every lengthening shadow, he was alert and ready, and dropped his hand to his hip at the sight of a man walking towards them.

The words, "Who goes-" were on his lips-the training of years as a guard in the long watches of the night. But he got no further than that because his eyes had recognized the tall, slim figure, the glimmering blond hair, the fashionable attire of his friend Aramis.

"Aramis," he said, at the same time that Aramis's voice echoed back, "D'Artagnan."

The two stood in the winter garden, surrounded by bare trees, looking at each other. D'Artagnan was surprised to see something very much like hostility in his friend's eyes.

It was only when Aramis said, "He made you come after me, did he not?" that he understood the mute resentment in the green eyes.

"Athos?" he said, and, to Aramis's nodding, "No. I convinced Athos that you-and I too-must be allowed to investigate this by . . . having freedom of movement. I am here because I got a letter." He felt himself blush. "From Madame Bonacieux," he added, with reluctance that came not only from laying open his affairs to his friend, but also from his consciousness that Aramis's lovers were of a much higher level in society.

But Aramis didn't seem to catch the implication, nor to be inclined to deride D'Artagnan's choice of society. Instead he leaned in close to his friend and said, worriedly, "Madame Bonacieux? She has sent you a note? What did she say?"

"Nothing, except for asking me to meet her."

Aramis gave him a curious look. "Is this normal, then?" he asked. "For her to send you a note ordering you to come to her at the royal palace?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "No," he said, and blushed a little. "Normally she comes to see me. She has the keys to my lodging, and she will come in any time of day or night that she can get away. I a.s.sumed . . ." He cleared his throat. "I a.s.sumed she did so today, coming into my lodging and leaving me her note, since I was not there and neither was Planchet. Unless, of course, she sent the note earlier, while Planchet was still there. Why are you looking at me with such an expression of reproach, Aramis?"

Aramis's expression of reproach did not abate, but he frowned harder at D'Artagnan. "My friend, sometimes I am reminded of how young you are and that you are, in fact, far younger than I, myself, am or remember being. How can you, at such a time as this, come to a summons written on a note, without any warranty that it is from someone who means you well? Did you at least take the precaution of not coming in the way she told you to? Or the way she expected you to come?"

D'Artagnan frowned. "I came the way she asked me to, and gave word to Monsieur de la Porte."

Porthos said, "Surely you can't think that Monsieur de la Porte is betraying us? He has always been on the side of the Queen. His-"

"Porthos," Aramis said. "We are now in such territory that I'm not absolutely sure the Queen means us well. And I know the Cardinal means us ill."

"What do you mean you don't think the Queen means us well? We have always been her devoted servants, and in fact, we have allowed her to remain on the throne and we-"

Aramis's finger darted out, and stopped D'Artagnan's lips. "Shh," he said. "Shhh. Do not be foolish. Doesn't even the Bible exhort you not to put your faith in princes?"

"But-"

"No," Aramis said. "The devil. I'm starting to suspect, with Athos, that this whole thing is deeper than we thought. Where is Athos, speaking of him? What is he doing?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I presume he is back at his lodgings, with the servants. He did not tell me he intended to do anything else. At least . . ."

"At least?"

"At least since I disabused him of the notion that he could pa.s.s for a peasant looking for work," D'Artagnan said.

Aramis's chuckle echoed like a clap of thunder, all the more surprising because until it sounded, his features had been so grave and tense and full of foreboding. Now he grinned at D'Artagnan. "Surely even our friend could not-"

And at that same moment, Porthos lunged past D'Artagnan's shoulder, sword out, so quickly that D'Artagnan was forced to dart out of the way or be trampled. And in darting out of the way, he noticed a motion. Something dark moving past his line of sight towards Aramis. At the same time, Aramis had his sword out, and his cloak wrapped around his arm, and was defending himself from two adversaries at once.

D'Artagnan in turn found himself fighting two men, attired all in black and wearing what looked uncommonly like monkish cowls. They had sword and dagger out, each of them, and there were at least six. They fought fiercely, with quiet intensity, their only noise being grunts of surprise when their attacks were parried, or sudden exclamations of pain, when first Porthos and then Aramis put his sword through one of the adversaries.

Faced with two of them, D'Artagnan, for the first time in his life, found himself sweating to hold his own in a duel. He'd fought two guards of the Cardinal before, and wounded them both. He'd fought more than two of them, sometimes, truth be told. But this-this was something quite different. These men fought with unerring ability, as though each of them had been as well trained as D'Artagnan himself had been by his battle-veteran father. It was all he could do to meet each of their thrusts and push them away.

In his mind, his late father's voice echoed, in quiet reproach, never be happy that you are parrying each of an enemy's thrusts, my son. The truth is that if you're only parrying you have already lost, for you're never attacking. You have to be lucky every time they attack, and they only have to be lucky enough to let the sword go through once. never be happy that you are parrying each of an enemy's thrusts, my son. The truth is that if you're only parrying you have already lost, for you're never attacking. You have to be lucky every time they attack, and they only have to be lucky enough to let the sword go through once.

But though his father had trained him on how to respond to sudden attack, and given him intensive practice on dueling two experienced swordsmen-often recruiting his friend, Monsieur de Bhil for the occasion-he had never trained him in fighting two people who were intent only on murdering him.

"Holla there, what goes here?" a voice called, out of the shadows.

On that sound, one of the adversaries lunged, and his sword blade thrust towards D'Artagnan. D'Artagnan had only the time to interpose his arm to push the blade away from his chest. And then his opponent was gone; vanished, as though he'd come out of the night, and left via the night itself.

And D'Artagnan realized, only then, that he'd been wounded and his arm was bleeding profusely. He watched the blood drip from the cut which had pierced both the velvet of his doublet and his flesh and, from the pain of it, had grazed the bone of his forearm.

"I see, musketeers with their swords out," the voice that had spoken out of the shadows said again. "Dueling, were you?"

Into the relative light of their position-in the middle of the garden where neither shadow of tree nor of wall fell on them-strode Jussac, one of the Cardinal's favorite guards. "Porthos, Aramis, D'Artagnan. Tell me, who was dueling whom? Not that it matters, as you have undoubtedly been dueling, and therefore you are all arrested and you'd best hope that the new edicts weren't signed tonight, else you shall all be beheaded by first dawn."

Porthos answered only with a long stream of swearing-inventive swearing, D'Artagnan noted, even in his shocked state, his hand holding his wounded arm up and staring in disbelief at the stream of blood pouring forth. He was fairly sure whatever the Cardinal might or might not have done to or for his niece Madame de Combalet, it could not be what Porthos had just said he did. Mostly because it was anatomically impossible and probably fatal.

He felt light-headed and as though he would presently lose consciousness; only Aramis touched him on the arm and said, "D'Artagnan." And D'Artagnan, looking up from his arm, realized that Aramis had put away his sword, and was holding up one of his immaculate, embroidered, silk-edged handkerchiefs, and trying to remove D'Artagnan's doublet.

"Can you remove your arm from the sleeve without my cutting it away?" Aramis said. "Your doublet might be salvageable with the insertion of some panels. I'm sure Mousqu-Well, one of our servants should be able to help with that. Only I must tourniquet your arm as soon as it may be, else you will bleed out very quickly."

As though in a dream, D'Artagnan opened his doublet and removed his arm from its sleeve and watched Aramis tie the handkerchief around his arm. A gulp escaped him when Aramis tightened the handkerchief, and then Aramis made D'Artagnan lift his arm. "It will help stop the flood," he said.

Meanwhile, the guards of the Cardinal had come into the light, and it was de Brisarac and Jussac and about six underlings. Jussac, apparently under the control of an idea that dominated all others, said, "Which of you wounded the boy? What were you dueling over? I thought you were inseparables."

"I knew you had deformed moral structures, to serve the Cardinal so willingly," Aramis said drily. "I did not know that you also had subnormal wits. Why would we be dueling each other, Jussac? We are friends. We are, indeed, inseparables."

"The first time I met the boy, you were all dueling him," Jussac said.

"Oh, that was because I had only come to town, and made their acquaintance," D'Artagnan said. "Now I know them better than that, and I would never duel with all of them at once."

"So you would duel them one at a time," Jussac said.

Aramis gave D'Artagnan a warning look and said, "I wish you wouldn't speak, my friend, not while your head is clouded by blood loss. You see that Monsieur Jussac is determined to judge us before he has any facts." Then turning to Jussac, he said, "We were crossing the garden, together, as you see. We were looking for our friend Athos, who said he might come and help supplement the guard today. And out of nowhere, we were ambushed by men in black wearing monkish hoods. What you saw was our effort at defending ourselves, nothing more. It was no duel, with appointed time and seconds, but surely, even under the Cardinal's rule, a man is still allowed to defend himself when in fear for his life?"

"I didn't see any men," Jussac said, mulishly, jutting out his chin. "What I saw was the three of you, with your swords out. And since I know you've fought each other before . . ."

A stream of invective escaped Porthos, prompting Aramis to say, "Porthos, I don't think the Cardinal can have done that."

"And why not?" Porthos asked, in a challenging tone.

"Because I think you'll find," Aramis said, "that only women have that organ."

"Oh," Porthos said, and frowned. "But I meant it in the sense where things aren't really true, but the spirit of them is, anyway."

"The metaphorical sense? Even in that sense, that is not something I'd ascribe to the Cardinal," Aramis said, absentmindedly and then, examining D'Artagnan's arm. "I think the bleeding is slowing."

"Well," Jussac said. "Porthos can have the pleasure of explaining to his eminence his views on anatomy and metaphor, both, since I know his eminence will be overjoyed to see you. As will, might I add, most of our comrades. If the edicts have been signed tonight, which will cause you to die in the morning, we might even throw a party."

"Ah, yes," Aramis said. "I've long known that you were afraid of us."

"Afraid? Us?" de Brisarac asked.