Thanks to all who read, reviewed and favourited the last chapter. Sorry for the delay in updating, but I was on holiday and that means so much work to catch up on when I get back. I hope to up date at least every week from now on.
Milady
She seldom allowed her uncertainty to show. Her studied self assurance an armour crafted over many hard, painful years trying to survive the harsh Parisian slums. It was what helped her to make it through the humiliations of her time in Saracen's service, - a mere commodity to be sold, hired out to fulfil the fantasies of ugly, sweaty, cruel men. It had allowed her to rise above such humble beginnings and become the wife of a Comte!
Never show weakness - unless it is to gain the sympathy of a mark, as with the King. Never regret. Never confess. Never stop fighting even when all seems lost and you face a hangman's noose! And never be weakened by love. Love is only ever a weapon to be used against others. An illusion to project to get what you need, to bend another to your will, or gain an advantage. But she broke her own rules when she met Athos.
At first he had simply been another rich man to be used as a meal ticket for a time. Someone she could seduce, steal from and leave without a backward glance. But no! She had fallen for him before she even realised. A deeply honourable man, caring, despite the expectation of his rank. He revealed a passionate nature beneath the calm facade. A desire to break out from the cold restraints of his privileged upbringing, to break through the polite and accepted haughty looks. Athos the musketeer was the true man she had seen beneath the societally expected front. Seeing him as she had the last few weeks - struggling to protect Aramis, The Queen and France, leading others, he had been so alive, so vibrant, so much the man she had not been able to stop falling in love with.
She had spent so long hating him. Craving his death. Wanting him to suffer as excruciatingly as she had. Wanting to destroy him. She had almost succeeded! The haunted man who had let her go after she faced his sword in the alleyway showed that it had almost turned out as she hoped. She had believed what she said then, neither would be free until they were both dead. But these last few weeks she hadn't been able to ignore her feelings. The passion between them exerting such a powerful force that neither could escape or ignore. The realisation that she still wanted him. That despite his treatment of her, ordering her to be hanged, she still loved him. And despite all the pain she had visited upon him, despite the last few years. Despite her plotting with the Cardinal, her manipulation of D'Artagnan. Despite Thomas. She knew he felt the same. So, as she stood by her carriage...waiting, she truly believed he would join her. But the longer she waited the more her hope dimmed, until she could hold no longer. With a leaden heart she returned to the carriage and started the journey for Calais and then England. As she sat in the back with the curtains closed, she did something she had not done since the day he had proposed. She cried. Tears were a weakness, not to be tolerated where she grew up. Only used as a weapon to manipulate weak men. But for a few moments she let herself be weak. To feel and accept all she had lost. Then she drew her false cloak of self assurance around her. Lifted her chin defiantly and steeled herself to survive.
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At Calais she met him. Pierre Delacroix. A third son of a noble family. The estate had many debts entailed with it, so the smarter members of the clan had sought to make good investments in trade. If those trades involved certain illegalities and dealing with unsavoury characters, not to mention connections with the Indies and the shipment of human cargo, well so be it.
He swaggered around with the arrogance of a man with money, pedigree and very little true grace or benefits of breeding. She knew he had noticed her as she ate in the tavern. Trying to decide her next move, and wondering how long the few baubles she had managed to sequester from Louis gifts would last her after her passage to England was secured. Always a woman to recognise a lucrative opportunity, she demurely returned his glance. Effecting a shyness of an elegant woman forced to wait for passage in such a place. She soon reeled him in. She was a widow, who was forced to travel to relatives in England due to her late husbands debts having left her penniless. Hating to leave her beloved France, but a lone woman without out a protector had little choice!
Six months later she was firmly established as his mistress. With reasonably elegant lodgings, and a healthy clothes and jewellery stipend, such as befits a man who wishes to demonstrate his prosperity when parading his beautiful possessions. Fortunately his business dealings meant his presence was not as tediously frequent as it might have been. Allowing her time to enjoy herself in the large provincial town he called home. Although her time alone unfortunately allowed her more time for thought and reflection, and unavoidably she returned in her mind to Athos. Those passionate last few days they had shared just half a year ago, the fact that Pierre couldn't hold a candle to the man in any way shape or form, in manner, in kindness or in the bedroom. She was not prone to dwelling on such things except when they fuelled her desire for vengeance. But for all her disappointment and hurt that Athos had not followed her, she found she could not wish him ill. In fact to her amazement she found the opposite. She hoped he was well, and safe. The rumours of war ahead with Spain were everywhere. The realisation that Athos would be a part of that, sent to fight and perhaps die on some distant battlefield, filled her with a dread and alarm that she could not deny. Somehow her anger and resentment, and hatred for him had gone. She wished she had another chance. To be better. To be what they could be. But no. She refused to dwell on such things. This was about survival. She did not need to steal, kill or harm anyone. She had what she needed from Pierre for now, and had already sought to acquire some things to help her start over when he grew tired of her. She knew survival...oh yes she knew it. But her time with Athos meant she wanted to try to survive without having to kill.
It was 6 months to the day since she had waited in vain for Athos and for the first time she was returning to Paris. Pierre had invited her to accompany him to show her off at some balls thrown by acquaintances and business associates. From what she had gathered these would not be elegant soirées but rather more debased entertainments for a niche crowd. Hence why she had been invited rather than his wife. Pierre promised her visits to fine dressmakers in Paris to ensure she decorated his arm perfectly at these events. Another symbol of his successful acquisitions.
But en route still a day away from the city, he had another surprise for he. Some special entertainments organised by a disgusting little man named Devereaux. She knew the type. Obsequiousness oozing from every pore as he oiled his way around those with money, power or influence. His cold, cruel and calculating nature could not be hidden from someone like her. Nor was the lewd way he stared at her when Pierre looked away. They met with a crowd of about two hundred other people here for the show, and were lead deep into the woods, by a group of vicious looking men in Devereaux's employ, mercenaries, swords for hire. The spectators included nobles and rich men, who were kept separate from the lower class patrons who could afford the entrance fees and the price of the wagers. The handful of women attending as guests (and not as purveyors of drinks and available for hire for the night) were also Mistresses of the wealthy patrons. After all one wouldn't bring one's wife to such an event! In a large clearing in the woods were a number of animal pens. The squeal of dead and dying animals and stench of blood made her feel sick. In one pen were the cock fights, in another dogs. These were gathered round by the lower classes, clearly Devereaux was egalitarian about his willingness to not miss out on any source of income. Then there was a cage with bears and some other exotic animals not from France's shores. As they passed Pierre mentioned that he had sourced some of these animals, on his trading ships, for Devereaux. All these entertainments were being bet on by the spectators. Finally she, Pierre and the other wealthy patrons were ushered into a large tent. This was where the special bouts took place. The ones that set Devereaux's entertainments above the rest. A hefty fee was paid by all entering and much more would be exchanged to gamble on the outcomes. Milady knew that no matter what, the house would always win. She was still unclear as to what sort of fights could be taking place that excited such interest and high entrance fees. She entered the tent and gathered with the other spectators around a large cage in the centre. Devereaux then slithered his way to the front and addressed his audience.
"Welcome my esteemed and learned guests" He fawned.
"Such fine, educated gentlemen as yourselves will of course know well of the great arenas of old. Where fine folk, such as yourselves, got to watch as men were pitted against other men in a fight to the death!" He paused revelling in the crowds attention.
"Four men will enter the ring. Four different weapons will then be thrown in. A dagger, A sword, A pistol and A cudgel. Which participant will reach which weapon first?"
Devereaux grinned revealing yellow or missing teeth.
" Quickly place your bets and select your champion! The winner will be the man alive and standing at the end. He will then defend his win at the next event. Should he survive ten battles he will be freed" at this the crowd booed - mercy clearly not in their plans.
" I should perhaps tell you, my fine friends that no champion has survived more than six events" The spectators laughed raucously at this. "And, Should any of the losers still live at the end of the bout, then you may decide their fate. Like the Emperors of old, raise your thumb upward and he will be spared to fight again. Turn your thumbs downward and he will be run through. You have the power of life and death!"
Devereaux voice rose to a crescendo at the last part and the crowd cheered. Milady smiled to cover her distaste as she saw Pierre beaming and baying for blood along with the rest.
"Without further ado, your competitors!" Three large men with sacks over their heads were shoved into the arena by at least eight of Devereaux's hired thugs.
"And our reigning champion - survivor of four bouts, here to fight for the fifth time!" Devereaux raised an arm to his right where a fourth man was shoved in, struggling with his three burly captors. Then one by one the hoods were removed before the captors quickly retreated locking the cage behind them. Milady gasped as the Champion's hood was removed and there stood Porthos. A look of fury on his face.
Then weapons were thrown through the bars and the vicious fight for survival began.
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This is the first time I have written Milady. I love Maimie's portrayal of her. I hope I managed to capture something of the character. I would appreciate any feedback on this. I realise I left it before the action, but you will get to read about this in later chapters. The next chapter will be up within the week, possibly even by the weekend.
Thanks so much for reading. Reviews are so appreciated.