Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas.
This is pre-novels. Response to To Wed a Musketeer challenge.
Angsty Milady-Athos pairing as seen from the point of view of an outsider.
To Tear Asunder
In the years I have been a priest, I have seen my share of weddings, but there was no other wedding I recall where the heavens seemed to frown upon so darkly. Lord forgive me. As a priest, I should not pay heed to the folk superstitions of the laity. However, the sky was menacingly overcast that morning. The wind rattled the roof shingles and tore through the trees like a beast from hell. Later, whispers of heaven's displeasure or the Comte's curse on the wedding would be bandied about in local taverns. There were only two other souls in attendance, the groom's old nurse and his best friend since boyhood. Both were to be his witnesses.
Young Olivier de la Fere's choice of bride had caused great scandal. The Comte had refused to give his blessings. Olivier was to be betrothed to a cousin from his mother's line, a noble lady of fine breeding. However, that was before he met his beloved Anne while gallivanting away from his family estate. The maiden's family was not well-known, perhaps the Comte believed her of too common stock for his only son. Servants whispered of the terrible rows which broke out at the manor between father and son over this matter. Olivier was every bit as stubborn as his sire. He brought his intended to the manor and when the Comte refused to tolerate her under his roof, he set her up in the most lavish rooms in the best inn. The matrons clucked their tongues when she came unaccompanied by even a single maidservant. No decent lady ever travelled alone.
I had presided over the wedding of the Comte and his now deceased wife. It was the first wedding I officiated at, a new priest forced to undertake the task by the sudden illness of his superior. The church was packed to overflowing and the sun beamed down on all. Now his son was to be wed in the very same church as the father, while urgent business had called the Comte away from his estate. Perhaps I should have counselled him to seek his father's blessings first, but young Olivier was so much in love, he swore that if he weren't wed to his beloved soon, they would wed in the next town, or province. There was even some foolish talk of sailing for the Colonies and being wed at sea. Thus he had my agreement.
The hour was growing late, the guests restless. There was no sign of the groom and I wondered if the Comte had somehow forestalled his rebellious son. There was no sign of the bride too. The downpour started just as a horse galloped up to the church. In the saddle was Olivier and he held his lovely bride before him. Anne was extremely young and very fair. She had the face of an angel. She was clad in the dress her husband-to-be had ordered made for her. The seamstresses who worked their fingers to the bone over the last fortnight spoke of expensive fabrics and laces, imported from as far as Florence and Venice, the likes of which they had never seen. Her hair was tousled from the wind, her ringlets in disarray.
He carried her in his arms into the church, so that she would not muddy the hem of her dress or her shoes. It was against custom that the couple meet before the wedding. Old Agnes quietly made a sign with her gnarled fingers to avert evil. Even Porthos managed to look slightly scandalized but he recovered himself. We proceeded with the ceremony amidst the flickering candles and howling wind.
"If anyone present has any reason these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace…" I intoned the words in Latin and could not help looking expectantly at the closed church door. Agnes pursed her chapped lips but did not speak a word. Porthos fidgeted where he stood. Everyone probably expected the Comte to burst through the door then. Olivier took his bride's hand in his, as if daring anyone to speak against their union. No one did.
The church was old, dating back to the time of the Normans and a good many of the windows had no glass within. A stray gust of wind blasted through one such window as the bride was signing the wedding contract, snuffing out several candles and startling the lady such that she left an ink blot upon the paper. Apparently distraught, she tried to remedy the situation by sponging up the spilled ink with the edge of her sleeve but that only made it worse.
The groom only murmured something into her ear to reassure her. The wind died down and the downpour eased as I mechanically droned on. Despite his outward calm and earlier bravado, Olivier was nervous. He fumbled with the ring as he tried to slip it onto his bride's finger. With a clink which was resoundingly loud in the hushed confines of the church, it slipped from his fingers and onto the flagstones. One might be forgiven for thinking it was a shield and not a thin band of silver which had fallen. The ever-superstitious Agnes unobtrusively made the sign to avert evil again while Olivier searched the flagstones for the ring. Indeed all seemed to be conspiring against the union of the young couple.
It was Porthos who found the ring where it had rolled up against the pew beside him. Olivier muttered his hasty thanks to his friend before slipping the ring onto his bride's finger.
"That which God had joined, let no man tear asunder…" I ended the ceremony with a feeling of relief that no other misfortune had befallen the couple. The couple kissed passionately amidst hesitant applause from Porthos. Old Agnes simply shrugged, turned and slipped out the side door.
"Stop the wedding! Olivier, you get away from her, you hear!" The main door of the church burst open and a livid Comte stormed into the church. His travelling clothes were drenched from the downpour. He glared at the couple. Olivier held his new wife closer to him. I rush forward to calm the enraged nobleman but he shook me off as if I were but a fly. If it weren't for Porthos catching me, I fear I would have done myself an injury falling against the pews.
"You're too late, father. The wedding is over with or without your blessings. Anne is now my wife and your daughter-in-law… That which God had joined, let no man tear asunder," Olivier replied calmly.
"She is not worthy of you. Mark my words, boy… You'll regret wedding this…" the Comte glowered at young Anne, who cowered like a frightened hare. Her husband put his arm protectively around her.
"Father! Anne is a kind, gentle soul fully deserving of my love. I love her. I pray that with time you will accept her…"
Angered into speechlessness by his son's reply, the Comte could only storm out of the church. That night I prayed for the reconciliation of father and son.
The cardinal ordered me to another church shortly after. More years lapsed before Olivier's path and mine crossed again.
He was alone when he came into the church I was posted to. Recognizing each other, we fell into conversation. We sat on a bench in the churchyard exchanging news of common acquaintances. Porthos was serving in the musketeers alongside Olivier. I learnt the old Comte had passed on, but not before he had made peace with his son. He made no mention of his wife. Curiosity got the better of me, old fool that I was.
"How's your wife?" I asked guilelessly. He fixed me with a look of both bitterness and sorrow.
"She's no longer on this earth…" he spoke haltingly. What misfortune had befallen the couple? Was it childbirth which had claimed her? Or perhaps illness? The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh… I heard that plague had swept through the region after I left. Olivier's reaction forestalled any further questions on my part.
Murmuring he was needed on patrol soon, he rose from the bench and made for the gate.
"Olivier… Your wife…" I struggled to find words of comfort but found none. "I will pray for her soul…"
He paused. "Yes, abbe, see that you do… please…" With those words, he disappeared into the busy city streets.
Author's Notes:
It was a bit tricky getting into the head of an old priest who probably has but a fleeting acquaintance with Milady. For the sake of easy reading (and writing), I have omitted any real Latin phrases. I probably went a little overboard with the father-son quarrel but young Athos' stubbornness would probably have him eloping with Anne if he failed to persuade the priest to wed them.
Thanks to lil for the wedding superstitions.