A Word in Season
Blue Fenix
Anne of Austria, Dowager Queen of France, swept out of the grand ballroom where her royal son was watching his nobles dance. The queen was very nearly dancing herself. Her face and her movements radiated intense happiness. A few of the most observant courtiers turned to stare. Happiness had been a stranger to the queen not only during her son's reign, but during most of her husband's lifetime.
The most attentive eyes watching the queen belonged to D'Artagnan, the captain of the Musketeers, supervising the guards in the main hallway. Queen Anne called him to her with a slight motion of her head. The dozens of courtiers in sight, even the observant ones, paid little attention. The Queen had every right to give orders to palace security. She leaned close to her faithful subject, her face composed, her eyes bright, and whispered half a sentence.
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Five minutes' watching turned D'Artagnan's suspicions into certainties. The physical resemblance was absolute as he'd been told, but the nervous, warm-hearted boy on the throne was in no way Louis XIV. D'Artagnan moved through the edges of the crowd, disturbing little of the formal court dance. The young man looked afraid as D'Artagnan approached him. "Sire, there is a security problem. If you would come with me."
"I want to watch the dancing." The boy tried for Louis' tone of command, with little success. "I shouldn't leave my guests."
"Please, your majesty."
This youth had no habits of absolute power, far from it. He gave in, still frightened, after D'Artagnan had only stared at him a few seconds. The false king gestured for the celebration to continue without him -- the gesture more successful than his version of Louis' speech - and left the ballroom. D'Artagnan followed a pace behind like a good subject, indicating a smaller service passage to the side of the main hall. Ten paces further along that passage, D'Artagnan grasped the back of the king's coat like a man catching a wayward kitten.
"You aren't very good at this." D'Artagnan opened the secret passage with one hand and dragged the young man inside.
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He found the others at the water gate, preparing a flat-bottomed boat for escape by river. They had Louis, now dressed as a laborer, bound and gagged. His friends, the king's enemies. D'Artagnan knew them like the bones of his own hand. When they moved slightly, seeing him, he could all but read their minds. Aramis, cool-faced in a crisis, had a dagger one easy move from Louis' throat. Porthos, uneasy but waiting for a lead from the other two. And Athos. Athos had sworn it; the next time we meet, one of us dies. He looked less eager now to punish D'Artagnan for his king's sins. He looked sick. But he also looked desperately afraid for the changeling boy. D'Artagnan did not underestimate him. Athos with something to protect would kill more readily than Athos with no hope but revenge. D'Artagnan made no threatening moves to his prisoner, only moved him on ahead to within a few yards of the others.
Athos, white with despair, stepped forward with his sword half-drawn. "Let him go, Gascon. This isn't the Carmes Deschaux, this isn't about honor. If you make us fight you ..."
"But it is about honor," D'Artagnan said. "Aramis. By your faith, by our friendship, is this Louis' twin brother by blood?"
The question confused Aramis, but he grasped at any possible delay in their slaughtering each other. "As God sees me," he said. "I carried Philippe off at the old king's orders when he was five hours old. And I have seen him since, before we formed this plan. How did you know?"
"You put a pretender under my eyes, and you expect I won't notice?" D'Artagnan said. "But Anne told me the heart of it. You should have too." He let go of his prisoner. Aramis stared at him. Athos, quicker, pulled Philippe to safety with the expression of a mother tiger.
D'Artagnan walked past them all to Louis, who was trapped in the river boat next to Porthos. "What will you do to him?"
"What he did to his brother." Pain crossed Aramis' face. "No. What I did to his brother, at his command. A prison cell, masked, alone, unheard. For life."
The pain registered in D'Artagnan too, like a sword through the stomach. He stood frozen for several seconds, eyes closed, unheeding of friends or enemies. Then he laid his hand on Louis' shoulder. "I cannot serve you any more," he said very softly. He glanced at Aramis. "Don't hurt him any more than you must."
He stepped back from the boat. Athos blocked his path. "You change suddenly," he said. "Or you're setting a trap. You were a king's man for life, a month ago you would have killed me to protect him. Now you abandon this young Caligula because Louis XIII had a second son?"
"The late king had no sons," D'Artagnan said. "Not one."
Aramis stared, taking it in. "The Queen favors you, she has from the first. A genteel flirtation, we thought. We were your dearest friends, and you never hinted ..."
"Hinted at what? Treason great enough to destroy me, the Queen, the child, and anyone who heard a whisper of it?" D'Artagnan glanced at Philippe, who stared back from Athos' protection. "Children," D'Artagnan corrected himself. "Sharing that would not be friendship."
"We shared everything once," Athos said. "The four Inseparables. We were never whole, none of us, after that bond was broken."
"I broke it first. I beg you forgive me." D'Artagnan held out his hand.
"Idiot." But Athos hugged him hard, close to tears. He reached out and brought Aramis near, too, with an arm around his shoulders. Porthos, occupied with keeping Louis prisoner, could only grin at everyone.
"I never hoped I could be open with you again." D'Artagnan drew back first. "But we have time and eternity for friendship, and very little left of tonight. The duty guards check Louis' room every half-hour after he retires. If they find him gone they report to me. If they find us both gone there will be trouble. Aramis, you did have a plan beyond taking him out of the palace?" Aramis looked offended. "Be about it, then. I'll return the ... Philippe to his chambers."
Philippe backed away. "Athos? Please come with me."
"You could never be safer than with D'Artagnan at your back, Philippe," Athos said. "But if it would ease your mind." He glanced at Aramis, who nodded slightly; after twenty-five years' service together the exchange covered as much as a long debate. "All for one, then. We'll meet tomorrow, or as we can."
Aramis joined Porthos and their prisoner in the boat. While he was still unbalanced Louis slammed a shoulder into him, fighting the ropes around his wrists, screaming into the gag. Only Porthos' greater weight on the other side kept the shallow punt from swamping. Aramis caught himself against the side of the boat. A wooden club lay nearby, but with D'Artagnan's eyes on him he only tied Louis more tightly. Aramis gestured, and Porthos pushed the young man from the seat to the bilge for extra security. "What is he trying to say?" Porthos asked.
"He is saying, traitor. To me," D'Artagnan said. "We can at least give him the last word. Tomorrow then, gentlemen." He turned and herded Philippe toward the main part of the palace.
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They reached the king's chambers without incident; Philippe leading the way, pale and silent, Athos and D'Artagnan flanking him at a respectful distance that kept the whole width of the hallway within striking range. Philippe held a kind of composure until Athos locked the suite door behind them. Then he stared openly, fearfully at D'Artagnan. "You are my father."
"Yes, your majesty." D'Artagnan felt the same way. Philippe was too strange to him, a different soul behind the same face. Expressions, gestures that he understood from Louis meant the wrong thing or nothing at all. He only felt sure of Philippe's fear.
Then the boy suddenly looked relieved. "If I'm not a king's son, then I don't have to be king."
They stared at Philippe. "It's too late," Athos said. "To discuss this tonight, I mean. We're all tired."
"No, you mean it's too late to escape my 'destiny'. But what makes it too late? Louis could abdicate or disappear or something."
Athos looked uncomfortable. "No-one abdicates a throne without a good reason."
"I have a good reason! We can make up a good reason. A religious conversion or something. You told me Louis is unpredictable." Philippe looked from one older man to the other and backed up a little. "It's all different now. I'm not really royalty. I have no right to be here."
D'Artagnan stared at him, overwhelmed, wordless. Philippe kept talking. "I don't mean to offend you." The boy hesitated between 'Captain' and 'D'Artagnan' and even 'father,' and used none of them. "I know you're a good man; the others never stop talking about you. But I thought I had some kind of real claim to the throne." Philippe looked to Athos for support. "Louis is gone. He's not here to give orders, to kill people, that's what you wanted..."
"You have respect for justice and the truth," D'Artagnan said. "I've waited most of my life to hear words like that spoken in the king's chambers. It's true. By asking you to carry on, to take the crown under false pretenses, I compromise your honor. Aramis did not ask this. He acted in good faith that you were a king's son. I always knew there would be a price for my own ... personal treason against the throne. I didn't think an innocent would be asked to pay in my place. But the other choices may be worse. I've seen reports, heard rumors that Louis ignored. The country is close to open revolt. Any sign of weakness at the throne could start a bloodbath."
Philippe looked very young. "But I thought the king could do whatever he wanted."
"Louis thought that," Athos said. "Louis was wrong."
"Your father..." D'Artagnan cut himself off. "Pardon me. Old habits. Louis XIII had brothers, uncles, cousins with their own connection to the throne. None of them could have overthrown a crowned king. But leave the throne open and they'll be on it like vultures. Each with their own alliances among the nobles and their own support troops. It would be worse than Henry of Navarre's time, worse than Richelieu's religious wars. And it could carry on just as long."
"Spain would be on us in a month, maybe England," Athos said.
Philippe looked cornered; he looked, momentarily, as petulant as Louis. "Why does it have to be me?"
Athos went to him, speaking softly, the voice D'Artagnan had heard him use when his own son was small. "I know you're afraid, Philippe. We will listen to you, we won't force you to stay on the throne. But you have to know the consequences of the choices you make. You aren't like Louis. I know you. You couldn't buy peace for yourself at the cost of other people's lives." D'Artagnan stood silent, a stranger before his strange son, afraid of driving him further away.
"I only wanted an ordinary life." Philippe shook his head. "For years no one would tell me who I was. Now you all tell me - but it doesn't mean anything."
"You must decide yourself what your life means. We can help you, advise you, but only to a point."
"It's another prison." Philippe looked desperate. "It's another mask."
"It can be, if you let it." Athos' tone put hope in the hard words. "But you can make a difference in the world, ease the lives of thousands of people
you'll never meet. If you're only an ordinary good man on the throne, you'll be a great improvement over Louis and the house of Bourbon. But you have the potential for even more. Who you are," Athos glanced at D'Artagnan, "What you've seen and suffered could make you a great king. If you have the courage."
"But I'm afraid." Philippe looked from one man to the other. "I know I'm wrong to be. I know you're ashamed of me, that you wouldn't be afraid ..."
D'Artagnan found his voice. "I have been afraid," he said, "Every day, every hour, for something over twenty years. And frequently before that. None of us will judge you for being afraid, Philippe. Athos is right. We can't - we will not - make you keep the crown if it's truly too much for you. But you don't know yourself what you're capable of." He risked holding out a hand. "Will you trust us for a little while, and try?"
Philippe looked ready to bolt. But he reached out, hesitant, and put his hand in his father's. D'Artagnan held it, not too tightly. "I don't know you," Philippe whispered.
"Then maybe we should do that first."
Athos circled silently behind them. He came back with two cups of wine from King Louis' personal supply. "Drink this, Philippe. The evening's been a bit fraught." The boy obeyed him automatically. "And you. It's not Milady's wine of Anjou."
D'Artagnan gave the ancient joke the frown it deserved. "I don't want anything."
"Take it anyway." Athos brought a third cup for himself, barely sipped it. He talked about inconsequential things -- horses, the country estate where they'd hidden Philippe, Porthos accidentally destroying a barn -- until the boy's head drooped. "Go to bed, Philippe. It's your bed now. We'll keep watch, nothing can hurt you."
Philippe looked asleep on his feet, half from post-battle reaction after his busy night and half from the unwatered Burgundy. "Good night." He hesitated, unsure what to say to a newly discovered father.
D'Artagnan took his empty cup away. "Good night, Philippe. Don't worry about anything. We have time now."
Philippe smiled a little; the expression had a fragile charm entirely unlike Louis. "That's what my mother said." He disappeared into the royal bedroom.
D'Artagnan just sat, tired, utterly happy. Athos watched him with some of the paternal fondness he'd shown for Philippe. After a while he poked him. "The blessings of fatherhood," Athos said quietly.
"Yes." D'Artagnan's face changed. "I'm sorry, Athos. I didn't think."
He waved off the apology. "What I've lost is ... lost. I can keep living, now that Louis is paying for his sins. Philippe deserves you."
"But you are the one he trusts."
"No matter. He'll have all of us, as long as he needs us." Athos sat down opposite his friend. "It's as good as the old days, having you back in the fold. Better. No Richlieu or Mazarin out for our blood this time."
"Much better." D'Artagnan had gone serious again. "But in the old days we only had to fear for each other. Tell me what they did to Philippe." He sounded calm, on the surface. His eyes added, all of it.
Athos nodded, giving in. "Apparently they left him pretty much alone as a child. While the late king was alive, there was always the chance he might need a replacement heir," he said. "Private tutoring in the country, the boy's bright enough. The same during most of the regency, until he and the king were both about seventeen. Then Louis found out about him." Athos looked away. "Six years ago he was put in solitary confinement in the Bastille, locked in a mask for extra security."
D'Artagnan stood up suddenly. He went to a wooden chest beside the king's writing desk. "Someone brought this to Louis about a month ago. A prison messenger. No one overheard their conversation." He took out an iron mask, heavy as full armor, with a lock at the back.
Athos nodded. "We left them a dead man that they thought was Philippe, so no one would report his escape."
The thing fell out of D'Artagnan's hands. "And I was no help to him."
"You had no way of knowing." Athos didn't risk touching his friend. "You were as blameless as Philippe."
"Or as guilty as Louis. I knew what he was capable of. Everyone else condoned his actions because he was the king. I excused him because he was my son." D'Artagnan looked up. "And your son paid the price. I failed you both."
The last time D'Artagnan had spoken of Athos' dead son, Athos had come within inches of killing him. Now he shook his head. "But you tried. It was never your death I wanted, except that you put yourself between me and Louis. I was angry with you. I told myself I hated you. But I care about very few people in this world. Too few to lose the best of them." He put a hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder. "Philippe is a second chance for both of us. He has a good heart."
"At the very least, he has a loyal advocate." D'Artagnan sat down, the mask on his lap. He leaned back, eyes closed, looking ashen in the half-lit room. "You were always true to the ones you loved, whatever it cost you. Myself ... tonight, I can think of no one I haven't betrayed, or failed. The old king, Queen Anne, the three of you, Philippe, Louis ..."
"Think of Louis as dead." Athos spoke softly, but with steel in his voice.
"He isn't, though." D'Artagnan patted the mask. "Did you see his eyes, in the boat downstairs? He thought I was coming to save him from you. And I would have, if not for Philippe."
"How long have you known?"
"That they were twins? About an hour." D'Artagnan rubbed the bridge of his nose, winced. "I had to choose ... I did choose. I know Louis was evil. But I watched him grow up. I can't let loose of all that in a moment."
"He's alive. That's more mercy than he deserves."
"Is it?" D'Artagnan handed over the mask, fifteen pounds of rough-surfaced metal. "Is it mercy?"
Athos looked at it, hard-eyed, weighing the thing in his hands. But his expression softened when he looked back at his friend. "You're the one who deserves mercy, not Louis. I wish I could give it to you. I won't stop hating him. And you, I suppose, can't stop loving him."
"I did that long ago," D'Artagnan said. "But he is still my son. My responsibility."
"And Philippe," Athos said.
Some of the helpless tension went out of D'Artagnan. "And Philippe." He glanced back at the door behind him, at the king's inner chamber. "I had no hope, except to minimize the evil Louis could create. I never dreamed of Philippe. I'm still not used to the idea of him, no more than he is used to me."
"As you said, we have time now." Athos poured more wine. "You look like you need this." He held out his own glass. "To revenge."
D'Artagnan held his glass still. "Absent friends."
Athos nodded, accepting the revision, and touched glasses. "Absent friends. And to our king."
"To the king." D'Artagnan completed his friend's toast with enthusiasm.
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are, --
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
-- Tennyson
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