A/N: Many thanks for reading and reviewing. Thanks to Beeblegirl, Justaguest and Guest who I cannot thank through review messaging.
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CHAPTER FOUR
The Louvre
The Plan Unfolds: Tact, Diplomacy and Outright Lies
It had been a long and tedious morning in the Louvre.
"Where is Captain Treville?" the King asked for the second time in an hour. Louis was in a particularly skittish mood this morning, and it was taking all of Richelieu's tact and diplomacy to keep his attention.
Richelieu sighed inwardly and watched as the last of this morning's petitioners finally made their way out of the room.
"He is engaged on a matter of security, Sire. He has been requested to escort Bishop Liebeault to his parish in the diocese of Maillezias."
Treville's absence for the next few days needed a worthy explanation, and this one would ensure some days grace. The King was aware of the Bishop's recent visit to Paris, but had not had the time to meet him on this occasion; leaving the pleasantries to his Cardinal.
Louis frowned, his beautifully-shod foot tapping on the gleaming black and white tiled floor.
"Why does the Captain of my Musketeers have to escort him?"
"Because the Bishop is transporting a precious icon between two of his abbeys. He wishes to travel quietly but safely, and not draw attention to himself," Richelieu intoned patiently, the lie slipping easily from his lips.
"I could think of no-one more suitable, Sire," he added. "The Bishop has been a good friend to us."
In fact, Richelieu had always found the man over-bearing and insufferable, but in the coming endeavour, he had at least found a use for him, if in name only, and he evoked his name readily.
Of course, there was no "precious icon" and the Bishop travelled lightly. It was a harmless, but useful lie. The sooner the Bishop left Paris the better, and Richelieu had already made the arrangements for a small Red Guard escort to expedite matters.
Before Louis could ask another Treville-related question, the Cardinal deftly placed the large pile of parchments he had been holding before the petulant King.
In response, Louis huffed and screwed up his face, looking for all-the-world like a three year old child.
"I'm bored, Cardinal!" he whined.
"Just these, Sire, and then we can take a walk in the garden."
"The garden!" Louis cried, leaping to his feet and rushing to the window.
Richelieu's lips pressed tightly together in agitation but he followed his King and stood at his back; his hands held tightly behind him beneath his cloak, fingernails digging into his palms.
Below them, amongst the box hedges and roses, was a sea of blue cloaks.
"My," the King said, "so many Musketeers! I do not think we have seen the like, Cardinal," Louis said.
"No indeed, Your Majesty," Richelieu said, joining him at the window and relaxing at the sight below them.
The last thing Richelieu needed was for the King to complain he was defenceless in light of Treville's absence. It seemed that Treville had had the same thought.
Later, when Louis looked out of his window again, his Musketeers were still standing there, in formation.
"We are well guarded today, Cardinal. What are they doing?"
"They are waiting to take you hunting, Sire," Richelieu played his final card.
"Hunting?" Louis replied, a wide smile spreading across his face.
"Yes, a surprise, Sire. Baron de Beaufort has invited you to join him at his Estate in Rouen."
This, at least, was not a lie.
"Really? That is a surprise to me Cardinal. We have not seen the Baron at court for quite some time."
"Oh, he was very insistent, Sire. He realises he has not shown due respect to Your Majesties, and wishes to make amends," the Cardinal trotted out.
"Oh!" Louis looked pleased, and appeared to be mollified by the Cardinal's explanation. The Baron de Beaufort's estate was renowned for being well stocked with all manner of game and he had a reputation for excellent entertainment and largesse.
"You will be gone for several days, and," he waved his hand over the documents, "Once we have completed Affairs of State, there is nothing to stop Your Majesty taking up his very generous offer."
An offer, thought Richelieu through gritted teeth, that he would be paying the reluctant Baron for, for quite some time.
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Meanwhile, Treville, Athos, Porthos and Aramis had tethered their horses and were striding into the Chatelet, with Musketeer Cadet Dupois following in their wake.
Seeking Governor Henri Leclerc, Treville and Athos entered his office, whilst Porthos, Aramis and Dupois remained outside.
Looking up and seeing the Musketeers brandishing their weapons and on high alert, Leclerc rose suddenly to his feet; his chair scraping on the stone floor.
"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, waving his hand at them, and the men he could see hovering in the corridor.
"Our apologies, Governor Leclerc," Treville said, "but we have reason to believe there is a threat to His Majesty's gold reserves. I must request you allow us to search the floors and that the guards on the vaults are doubled immediately.
Louis's wealth was deposited around Paris in various forms, but his gold reserves were buried deep under the Chatelet. It was an astute move, given that the guards in the facility were on constant duty and the building itself was a granite fortress.
Leclerc was horrified. He prided himself on running a secure facility and had no desire to bring dishonour upon himself by failing in his task. Likewise, he had no desire to fall foul of the King or the Cardinal and so he agreed to Treville's curt request.
Treville thanked him and ordered Athos to search the upper floors, and Aramis and Porthos to take the dungeons below ground. He turned on his heel, taking his cadet to search the central floor.
Left alone, Leclerc began shouting his own orders, and soon the sound of running feet and shouting could be heard throughout the building. Chatelet guards were sent to the vaults to check and stand guard and to the other floors to accompany and assist the King's Musketeers.
Amongst the guards was Gaspar Recule, a jailer of one year's service. He has seen Treville visiting the mysterious prisoner on the central floor over the last few weeks. It was he who first escorted the woman into her cell with this man in attendance. Now, he was caught up in the noise and confusion, but stayed close behind Treville and his cadet, as they checked on the prisoner. Recule told Elizabeth to step back before unlocking her cell and stepping aside to allow Treville through. He remained in the corridor with the cadet, allowing Treville a few moments to assure himself that Mistress Cromwell was safe and secure in her cell, before escorting them back down the corridor.
On the upper floor, Athos was leaning against the wall, his arms folded, peering out of the small window to the courtyard below, biding time.
Porthos was enjoying himself, making as much noise as he could, bellowing at the guards to open each cell. Aramis was behind him, but less noisy; looking for an empty cell he could make use of.
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The chest had been delivered a few days earlier, and Treville had sat with Elizabeth, showing her the books, whilst at the same time, in a low voice, explaining the inventiveness of the chest. He told her the chest would be put to good use on a specified morning, and she should be ready; he would return on that morning to explain.
That day had now arrived, and the few moments Treville had spent with Elizabeth had been time enough to pass her a small, hand-written note.
They were leaving, he had said gently, as he pushed it into her hand. All she had to do was follow these instructions.
And then he had left the cell.
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Once Treville had gone, Elizabeth had read the note and then burned it in the flame of the candle and ground the remains into ash with her heel. She then lifted the lid of the chest, and removed the books. Finding the hidden catch she had been told about, she had released the inner lid easily; discovering the clothes inside. Taking them out, she saw this was a man's leather uniform. Not the very distinctive uniform she had seen Athos and Porthos wearing, but a less striking version, more utilitarian; and smaller. She realised then, that it was a cadet's uniform, similar to the one she had seen on the young man who had accompanied Treville earlier on his brief visit, when he had given her the note; before the place descended completely into chaos.
She could hear Porthos bellowing, as he moved between her floor and the one below. That, she understood, was her cue.
She was to change into this uniform, and then replace the books on the shelf. She was to put her own clothes in the chest, as Treville had impressed upon her that he did not want them to be found. There was also a hat, which he insisted that she must wear, when the time came, to hide her hair. There was enough of a gap that she could then squeeze herself under the laden shelf; the weight of the books keeping them securely in place. She was then to lie in the chest, pulling the shelf down over her.
Subsequently, when the guard and Treville came back a second time, amid the unlocking and searching of cells and the noise and chaos of the morning's events, she was well hidden within the chest. She heard Treville roar indignantly at her supposed "escape."
"What witchcraft is this?!" the jailer had bellowed as he stomped around the room.
She heard her bed being tossed aside, and items thrown from her small table. She had felt the lid of the chest fly open above her, and had held her breath, but then it was slammed down again and she heard single footsteps hurrying away; no doubt to raise the alarm. Two swift taps on the chest from Treville and she was reassured that the jailer had gone, and his plan was underway.
Deep in the bowels of the Chatelet, Aramis found an empty cell. Making sure he was alone, he set a small fire in the corner, piling straw on top. Fanning the flames with his hat he paused until it caught, and then quickly left the cell to meet up with Porthos. Elsewhere, Athos was causing the Governor grief, and Treville and Cadet Dupois were about their own tasks.
A short while later, amid the mayhem, word reached Governor Henri Leclerc that his mysterious prisoner's cell was empty, and the prisoner was nowhere to be found.
The Governor was apoplectic with rage.
To be continued ...
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A/N: The Diocese of Maillezias became the Diocese of La Rochelle.