A/N: I'm back! You can thank whatever star you have above your head! Well, as I announced in the author's note last time, I am still trying to retrieve my works, but thankfully, GOTP did not need a lot of reediting, so I just rewrote it from memory. I can honestly say it's better than the first template I had done, so be happy!
To thank you for not killing me with the long wait, there is a second chapter awaiting you after this one. ;) Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Musketeers or the plots of the episodes. I do own, however, my OC Juliette and the plot surrounding her.
2. The man at the market
Armand-Jean du Plessis, Cardinal de Richelieu, was far from being a loved man in Paris, especially for the poorer people of the lower city. He was a ruthless man of God. Wise, no doubt, as well as an excellent counsel to the King – as far as citizens were concerned – but he had such an aura of darkness around him that the story of his death did not stir anything but mild interest in Juliette's heart.
She was more aware than others, maybe, that Richelieu was openly opposed to the King's Musketeers – she had heard Aramis and his companions talk about it in ushered tones when making their way to the garrison or Athos' house. That's perhaps also because of that that when Jeanine ran inside with her news, she merely shrugged and said "May his soul rest in peace." The older woman stared at her in awe, but did not question her apparent indifference, instead taking her leave and going back to her little ones.
Juliette checked her sword and attire were properly locked under her bed before she exited the house for the day.
It was plain as day that Louis' favourite Minister's death was the main topic in every conversation as she made her way to the seamstresses' workshop. Everywhere her ears caught sound of a voice, she heard the words 'pity', 'who else' or 'taxes will rise'. She rolled her eyes more than once. How lowly people were ignorant. From what she had gathered, either by her neighbour's friends or by her midnight strolls, the Cardinal was as far from a people's person as there was in the world.
Well-versed in plots, treasons of all sorts and even murders, when given the opportunity, Juliette had also heard from the tallest Musketeer in Athos' group that he was doing whatever he could to send the Queen back to Spain.
And even if such things as foreign queens and politics of all kinds did not interest her at all, she felt that plotting against your sovereign' wife was surely not something every 'good man' would do.
So whenever someone started a conversation with her in the ways of 'Have you heard?' or 'Will you attend the funeral?', she merely shook her head and walked by. As if she'd ever walk to the nearby church to pray for such a man's soul while his body rested, no doubt, in an ebony casket engraved with gold. She'd rather die.
"Juliette!"
The young woman whirled around and a smile appeared on her lips. Marie, Jeanine's eldest daughter, was hurrying her way, her apron dirty with mud, her cheeks as tainted as the rest. "Marie! How are you?"
The young girl smiled shyly. Juliette appreciated her kind soul, but sometimes, in the dead of night, she kept thinking that she would not last a second alone in the world. When her parents chose to marry her to some neighbour's son, she'd be nothing more than a pet to her husband, unable and unwilling to at least talk back.
"I was helping gather potatoes." She paused, wiping her dirty hands on her apron even more. "Are you heading to the market?"
Juliette shook her head, eyeing the basket she held in her hands. "Not yet. I have an errand to run first. Would you come with me?"
Marie smiled. She would have been pretty if Jeanine could have afforded something else than the old rag her daughter wore, and if water was also spent to wash bodies instead of dishes. "I'd love that."
"Then be ready in about an hour. It leaves you enough time to freshen up, I think." Juliette winked, and walked on.
Although she was far from being rich, especially after her husband died, Juliette Durieux was proud to say she was not needy. She still regularly received money from the Durieux' workshop in Bayeux, albeit far less than what she owned eight years prior, and she spent her coins as wisely as she could, only buying enough food to last two days, and mending her own clothes.
The dress she wore that day, she had made it herself. She had chosen a tough piece of light green linen and had fashioned a long dress with it, adding a navy blue belt to the ensemble. She was rather proud of the result.
In the neighbourhood, people talked about the way she spoke. About the way her hair flew endlessly down her back without a single knot in them. About her white teeth. And if she was aware of that, she had long since decided not to care about such things. Jealousy, when ushered in front of a fireplace at night, was overall harmless. It was the jealousy uttered behind backs in the middle of the street that, in her little experience, held the most danger.
Marie joined her at the seamstresses' precisely an hour later. The girl's cheeks were red from running down the by then crowded streets, and held a wide basket already containing a bottle of syrup, no doubt for one of her countless siblings.
When Juliette's eyes fell to the thing, she made a grimace. "Young Roger is ill. Again."
Juliette sighed. "It's the fourth time this season. Your mother should go to the physician."
"She can't. We have no money for that."
Juliette made a face, but did not answer. She had, many times in fact, offered Jeanine some money. The older woman had refused vehemently and had not spoken to her several days after each trial. She knew better than to try her pride again. "Well, let's go then."
The closest market in their area was set in a rather large avenue, just at the foot of one of the many churches in town. Halfway between the Musketeers' garrison and the Royal Palace of the Louvres, it was often visited by King's men and courtiers alike. But remained quite cheap.
After filling her basket with fruit and a single piece of meat for her coming meals, Juliette searched for her young companion, who had gone buying some bread a few stalls away.
It was at that precise moment, when she turned around in search for Marie's dirty-blonde hair, that Juliette saw them. A group of five men riding into the market, their leader shouting to get people from stepping out of the way.
Juliette quickly recognized the leader: Athos. The way he rode his horse, with the arrogant posture of a nobleman, made her cringe. His blue eyes fell on the citizens he crossed path with with nothing but indifference. It made her blood boil.
Behind him, Aramis rode with a smile on his lips, especially when he met the eyes of a lady in the crowd. No matter her birth, no matter the quality of her dress. She appreciated that character trait: he loved women. All women.
At the rear rode the two Musketeers she did not know the name of: the tallest, strongest-looking of the four, who bore a faint scar on his left eye; and the young, brash addition to the group, who held himself as if he couldn't be happier anywhere else.
But it's the fifth man who caught Juliette's attention. Something in his figure struck her at once, a mixture between recognition and fear.
Long, dirty-blonde hair brushed the man's shoulders. His hands were tied at his back, and he was gagged, but his eyes were dancing on the crowd as if he was trying to find someone who could help.
When he met Juliette's eyes, time froze.
Those eyes. As blue as the purest sky of summer. A long time prior, they would have been filled with love. But right then, they were filled with surprise. And a good amount of anger.
Juliette gasped, her basket escaping her grasp. It fell to the ground, fortunately without spilling its contents on the dusty ground of the street.
The five men passed her, and Juliette let out a deep breath.
This man...
He looked exactly like Antoine.
