The D'Artagnan Romances and the characters are the creation of Alexandre Dumas pere. They are now in the public domain.
Chapter 4
"I cannot let gypsies enter our establishment…" the surly servant girl who had opened the back door to them apologized. The four had worn the best travelling clothes they in their luggage, except for de Beaumont who had retained her gypsy-like disguise. The establishment was without a doubt a brothel. The young maid was clutching her shawl over her barely clothed bosom. The streets of Nantes might be deserted at this hour but the atmosphere within the building was almost festive. The old woman was not to be easily deterred.
"Ah, but we wish a word with Milady…" the old woman deftly pulled out a gold coin from under her shawl.
"I…" the young maid paused, torn between her mistress' orders and greed. Her hesitation was to cost her.
"Millie! We need more of the Burgundy…" a woman's voice called out. "Who's that at the door?"
"Anne… Is that Chantilly lace on your petticoat?" de Beaumont greeted the lady, pushing past the hapless maidservant. "And this Burgundy wine, a fine vintage from my very own estates… It seems my fears for your safety were unfounded, Anne," she drifted into the kitchen with D'Artagnan, Durand and von Fersen following in her wake. Milady was stunningly beautiful. D'Artagnan gave a sharp intake of breath at the sight. Durand helped himself to a serving tray of canapés before the outraged maidservant shooed him away.
"Well, there are some professions that flourish, no matter the climate…" Milady purred and batted her lashes coquettishly at D'Artagnan and von Fersen. "Is this a social call or shall I get my ladies to make these gentlemen comfortable. For the Count, there is a lady who has a striking resemblance to Her Majesty, but it will cost him…"
"We seek shelter, food and above all, information…" de Beaumont scowled as she surrendered half the contents of her purse to Milady.
"About what?" Milady dropped her coquettish airs. "I run a decent business here…"
"Your husband, Olivier de la Fere." D'Artagnan started at de Beaumont's words. Athos had never mentioned a wife, even fleetingly, to him. As far as he could recall, there was no portrait or any other sign of a woman ever being in Athos' life on his estate, apart from Athos' dearly departed mother.
"That man has not been to see me since our separation," Milady yawned. "How fortunate for me that we were separated before I was a Comtess for long or I would be rotting in prison like him…"
"Athos is in prison?" D'Artagnan exclaimed. "We must…"
"Calm down," de Beaumont urged and grabbed hold of D'Artagnan's shoulder before he could bolt out into the alley. "What of his son?"
"The little bastard? He's probably dead and good riddance…" At those unfeeling words, D'Artagnan fought the urge to slap the woman.
"In which case, would we have the comforts of food and board? You are still his wife, Anne, be it only in name. Would your current beau take so kindly to a noblewoman?" de Beaumont asked, her features an inscrutable mask.
"Oh, I don't know…" Milady feigned nonchalance. "The rooms will be in use until mid-morning, earliest. You might make yourselves comfortable in the kitchens if you like… Millie can get you some beard and stew if you are inclined."
"We thank you for your generosity, Madame…" the ironic edge to de Beaumont's reply did not go unnoticed by D'Artagnan. They needed both food and rest. They were obliged to make do with what was offered.
D'Artagnan awoke with Durand snuggled up against him in their corner near the stove. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he shook his young companion awake. Von Fersen had disappeared sometime during the night and D'Artagnan wondered if he had succumbed to the charms of one of courtesans, probably the one who bore a passing resemblance to the queen. In the parlour, de Beaumont was surrounded by a knot of ladies waiting to have their fortunes read by an outlandish-looking gypsy woman. As D'Artagnan watched, the old lady read the card selected by a rosy-cheeked brunette.
"Ah, the Lovers. I see a time of great testing ahead, Mademoiselle, for you and your young man… never fear, true love will prevail, da?" de Beaumont affected an odd accent to her speech which was exotic to hear. D'Artagnan wondered if it were Russian. Seeking out his remaining companion, he climbed up to the upper level before ducking into an alcove at the sound of approaching footsteps.
"That man wants me in Paris with him! Calls me his lucky charm… truth is, he can't bear the thought of me with other gentlemen! Careful there, there's china in it." Milady's grumbling echoed down the hall as she directed a pair of servants moving a large trunk.
"Better you go with him, Madame… They say he is touchy. Didn't he shoot a secretary of the Duke for insulting you once?" a courtesan asked. It was the girl whom Milady had claimed resembled the queen. D'Artagnan thought the resemblance superficial at best and heightened by make-up and dim lighting. "They say he had his tailor's entire family thrown in prison after their daughter spurned him… We don't want to be called royalists or counter-what-ever… Do have a care, Milady…" she shuddered visibly.
"Don't worry. With luck he'd have his head lopped off," their hostess whispered conspiringly.
"Is it true he has tired of waiting for instructions from Paris and given orders to empty the prisons, Ma'am?"
Milady laughed dryly. "Yes. They have all been sentenced to death…You can run the place for me while I'm away… and don't get too fond of that Count."
D'Artagnan swore under his breath and hurried to find von Fersen. He found him lying asleep and naked as a new-born baby in a bed so opulent it would not have looked out of place in a Duchess' bedchambers.
"Wake up, we need to save Athos before it is too late," D'Artagnan hissed and shook him awake.
"What about Marie… I mean, Her Majesty…" von Fersen mumbled and groped for his clothes among the many silken cushions. D'Artagnan did not wait for him to get dressed but hastened downstairs to find de Beaumont.
It was with great relief that the grisly machine was idle in the city square. Travellers they had encountered told lurid tales of how the heavy blade severed bone and flesh with great ease and how the ground underneath ran red with blood. The prison itself was heavily-guarded. The guards wore shapeless cloth caps and carried wicked-looking bayonets, muskets and other weapons. Half-dozen scrawny youngsters practised their drumming at the prison walls. Taking in the impregnable stone walls and heavy guard, D'Artagnan was forced to admit that breaking in to effect a rescue was nigh impossible.
He was about to go away when one of the drummer-boys caught his eye. Raoul!
"Raoul!" D'Artagnan darted forward as the boys broke ranks and put away their drumsticks having completed their practice session. He took the boy by the shoulders and spun him round to face him. It was Raoul without a shadow of a doubt.
"Monsieur! Unhand me at once," the boy protested. There was no hint of recognition in his eyes. All D'Artagnan saw was fear and shock. He released his grip. "You are mistaken, citizen…" the boy dusted himself off. "The name's Jacques…" He stepped back from D'Artagnan before sprinting off to join his fellows who were making a game of tormenting a hapless stray dog. Could he have been so badly mistaken?
He had seen Raoul often enough during his stay at Athos' to be mistaken. True, the boy was scrawny and his clothes were ragged and too big for his thin frame. His face now had a pinched look to it. The drummer boy was Raoul. D'Artagnan started after the boys, only to be stopped by de Beaumont.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked. D'Artagnan haltingly explained. When he was done, the former spy shook her head.
"There are lookalikes a-plenty, young man. You must have been mistaken."
"I am not…" D'Artagnan insisted. De Beaumont whispered something into her servant boy's ear. Durand sauntered forward. Raoul was arguing with a bigger boy. Apparently, Raoul objected to the treatment of the dog. Joining the boys, Durand seemingly took Raoul's side of the argument. Insults and jeers were thrown as the argument heated up. The quarrel was disintegrating into a shoving match. The boys soon launched into a fisticuff. D'Artagnan wanted to intervene but his aged companion dragged him away from the scene.
Durand returned to Milady's house of ill-repute later that afternoon sporting a few bruises to show for his adventure. Milady had departed from the city that morning, much to D'Artagnan's relief. He realised that he had taken a strong dislike to the woman.
"His name's Jacques, at least that's what they call him. They found him wandering about the streets with a bleeding head wound and without a clue as to who he is about half a year back," the boy explained between mouthfuls of bread and gravy. "Lives with the other lads who have signed up for the revolutionary army as drummers. Says he wants to be a soldier…"
"But he is Athos' son… He can't fight with the revolutionaries…" D'Artagnan protested.
"If he has no memory of his past, he doesn't know his father's a comte…" Durand pointed out.
"Will he recover his lost memories, ever?" D'Artagnan asked. He should have returned sooner to France.
"Perhaps with time, months, years… or perhaps never," de Beaumont replied. "When I was in St Petersburg, there was a young captain who was kicked in the head by a horse. When he finally awoke, he was like a young child. Had to be taught how to feed and dress himself all over again. Perhaps for Raoul to deny his past would be to save his life… Now, where's that Axel?" she put down her knitting needles.
"I thought I saw Monsieur von Fersen with Mademoiselle Cecilia, the one they say looks like the queen… Oh, Madame, the boys heard them say they would be executing the all prisoners tonight," Durand added. "If Jacques' father is one of those prisoners, should we tell him?" he sucked the gravy off his fingers. D'Artagnan swore under his breath. De Beaumont clucked her tongue. They had to act, and soon.
Paris
Aramis strolled into their rooms with a smile on his face. He finally had some good news for his comrade. Porthos was cleaning his boots with a rag. "Porthos, Athos is alive, but imprisoned in Nantes," he patted Porthos on the shoulder.
"In prison? Athos in prison? We must do something…" Porthos leapt to his feet.
"We will, I promise…" Aramis replied. Olivier de la Fere was a known royalist. Perhaps some letters signed by members of the Committee, vouching for his sympathies with the revolution… It would be an uphill task to convince them. It would be difficult, but at least he was alive. There was still hope. That was what was important both to Athos and them.
But who could he safely approach? Robespierre has become increasingly paranoid after Marat's murder. General Lafayette had been arrested on suspicions of pro-royalist sympathies. He could try Camille Desmoulins, but no, the man has yet to forgive him after an unfortunate incident involving the lovely Madame Desmoulins. Madame Roland, a dear friend of his, was already under suspicion and it would be a matter of time before she was arrested. The others...
"Wine?" Porthos offered his friend his hip-flask. Aramis silently accepted.
Author's Notes:
I have put to rest the question of Raoul's well-being. There is a slight change in the title – Since the royalist factions would have considered Louis Charles King Louis XVII upon the death of Louis XVI, I have decided to stick to that convention.