In the Year of our Lord sixteen hundred and seventy two, his majesty King Louis XIV of France went to war against the Dutch Republic.
As his subjects well knew, the insults against his majesty had been grievous indeed- the most notable, of course, being the mocking depictions of the sun emblem. An affront to the king was an affront to the nation and could not be tolerated. And so, once again, the armies of France would march in the Low Countries.
It was a given that the King's Musketeers would be involved in the coming campaign; even if his majesty had not so commanded it, the Chevalier D'Artagnan, would doubtless fervently have wished it. The captain had been possessed of a thirst for battle of late. His men never allowed their speculations as to his reasons to be overheard by him, but speculations there were, and plenty, whenever they thought he was not listening.
There was one man among them, however, who kept his speculations to himself. He knew already of the keen ears and the sharp eyes of his captain. He knew D'Artagnan would likely overhear any words he dropped on the matter; the captain made a point of knowing the whereabouts of his officers in times such as these. And besides, his sense of propriety would not allow him to speak. He therefore confined his speculations to his thoughts.
But who was this man? We ought to proffer a description of him, so as not to puzzle the reader as regards his identity.
In plain terms, the man we are describing was a conformist when it came to his sense of fashion. As his compatriots wore the arrangement of facial hair known to us today as the Van Dyke, so did he. As they wore their hair long, in extravagant curls, so did he arrange his blonde locks. As they wore the costume of the cavalier, so too did he. Many a mistress could he have won, had he been so inclined. Unusually for that period, he was not so inclined.
He was Armand-Marie, Chevalier de Sauveterre, and he was the latest ensign in Musketeers of the Guard.
His current location was a chair beside a table in the corner of the common room of an inn. Beside him was a wine bottle, and nothing else. He had no company.
From his chosen corner, he surveyed the scene within the common room. His comrades were deeply engaged, both in gormandizing and in conversation. He would not join him, and they knew better than to invite him to do so. Their conversation interested him as little as his interested them.
Not for me are the tales of their amours, of their pleasure-seeking and carousing. Not for me. I seek no glorious adventure, will make no grand gesture of heroism needlessly. I am myself, and for that, I am an outcast at dinner.
And yet, he followed D'Artagnan.
The Chevalier D'Artagnan: shrewd, cunning, keen-witted, loyal, gregarious…ambitious
That, he had long ago decided, was the chief point of difference between them. His captain was ambitious. He, on the other hand, desired only to serve his king in whatever capacity he was given.
My king. My adulterous king.
He would never say anything. He never could say anything. If his majesty paid no heed to the churchmen, there was nothing he could do.
And besides, it is the position to which I owe my allegiance. God shall judge the man who fills it as he pleases. I must serve the throne of France.
But I am not ambitious. Must one be ambitious to serve his majesty? Must one have one's hands in the pockets of great men?
No, it cannot be so…or is it? Can my captain not be a great man? My ambitious captain? My captain who would have a…glorious demise?
Could that be it? Could that be his wish?
So ran the thoughts of the Chevalier de Sauveterre as he sat in the corner of the common room. So full of them was his mind, that he failed to notice the man slide into the seat opposite him until the newcomer had already completed his action.
"Ah, Chevalier, you drink alone once more," were the newcomer's words.
It took but the first intonation for Armand's mind to register the presence of D'Artagnan.
"I did not see you enter, Captain" said Armand, "or I would have greeted you properly."
"Bah!" D'Artagnan exclaimed. "My men saw me enter, how could you not?"
"My apologies, my mind was elsewhere."
"Your mind is often elsewhere of late."
"There is much to contemplate."
D'Artagnan gestured at the bottle.
"You have finished only one third of the contents?" he said. "You are a rare man."
At this, Armand arched an eyebrow. "In that I am not inebriated?"
"I once heard it said by an Englishman that brevity is the soul of wit," said D'Artagnan.
"With respect, Captain, there are times when I would beg to differ."
"We both know one such time," said D'Artagnan.
Armand smirked.
"I remember it well. Your slowness in disarming me was surprising."
"I was toying with you."
"I know that."
"You did not at the time."
"That is true."
Armand watched as D'Artagnan's eyes strayed to the bottle.
"Take it, and welcome," he said. "Though I warn you- this cannot compare to the wines of my home."
"You forget, Armand, that I am a soldier. I take what I may get."
So saying, D'Artagnan opened the bottle and emptied a draft from its opening into his lips.
"You wonder at my inelegance," he said, observing Armand's expression.
"As always, Captain, you know me."
"Which is why you are now an officer," D'Artagnan replied. "So speak to me now, and tell me what is troubling you."
"I am not troubled," said Armand, his expression neutral.
"Do not seek to be impenetrable," said D'Artagnan. "I know of the gossip. Surely it is at least on your mind."
"How freely must I speak?"
"As freely as you please. Why do I wish to fight in this war?"
Armand cleared his throat.
"I believe you wish to die."
D'Artagnan frowned.
"I do not wish to die," he said, "I merely believe that I am fated to do so. But I would that it were on the battlefield, and not in Lille."
"Whence you shall depart before long, I believe."
"Indeed. His majesty desires that I govern the city, and I go where his majesty wills. I am sorry I shall not be there to observe your performance in combat. I would be with my new officers at such a time."
"If the Lord wills that we meet again during this war, perhaps you shall."
D'Artagnan laughed.
"You should have met Aramis," he said. "You could have sung hymns together."
"He lives yet," said Armand. "We might one day, if God allows our paths to cross."
D'Artagnan looked thoughtful.
"On the other hand, you would do better meeting with Bazin," he said. "He is more that sort of man."
The Captain of the Musketeers spared another glance at the bottle.
"Nearly empty," he observed.
"You must have been thirsty," said Armand.
"I was. I thank you for the wine."
"Would that I could treat you to better."
"As I told you, a soldier takes what he may get."
So saying, D'Artagnan stood up from his chair and took his leave. Armand did not watch him go, but he did turn the captain's parting words over in his mind.
What may you get, Captain, besides cheap wine? You are Captain of the King's Musketeers, you are Governor of Lille. Perhaps a Marshal's baton might suit you next. You have the ambition to achieve it, and you have his majesty's favor.
And I do not envy you.