CHAPTER SIX
Books?!
Bernard's body sagged as he looked at the books laid out before him. Picking one up, he noted it was a handsome volume but, as he could not read, it had no meaning to him. As such, he could not sell them, and it would be obvious they belonged to someone far above his own station! He may even be accused of stealing; a sure death sentence. He could not believe his bad luck. Cursing, he began to throw the books one by one out of the cart onto the grass verge.
Dipping his hand down between the books, his fingers suddenly scraped on a wooden surface. That was strange; the chest was at least two thirds deeper than this wooden lid.
He removed all the books and looked at the internal lid that was left under his hands. Ignorant of the hidden lever, he took out his knife, and ran it along the edge where the shelf sat against the wooden sides of the chest and twisted until he could sink it deeper and begin to lever this lid out.
His luck may still be in, he thought, as he worked.
This lid lifted slightly and he levered again, gaining enough space to push his fingers inside. After a few moments, it came up and he lifted it toward him and peered inside.
It was empty, save for a woman's simple dress, shoes and chemise.
He dragged the meagre items out with an angry cry and tossed them behind him. Once he had calmed down, he picked up the discarded dress again and examined it. At least he may be able to sell it, plain as it was; his only saleable piece of booty.
Pushing the empty chest off the back of the cart, he dragged it into the woodland and set fire to it, tossing the books into the fire with some satisfaction.
That sly old Cardinal could whistle for his chest.
And his damn books.
Whatever the purpose of this chest, he could not fathom, but he made sure no-one else would know what had happened to it, including His Eminence.
Stepping over Gravois body, he untied the two horses and led them off. At least they would make enough to fund a visit to the nearest tavern, with enough left to keep his wife happy when he eventually returned to her.
oOo
Leaving Porthos and Aramis to return to the Garrison, Athos raised his hand to them at the fork in the road and turned his horse to now ride hard back to the Louvre.
He left his horse at the Royal stables and walked briskly around to the ornate gardens. He could almost forget where he was in the bright sunshine amongst the intricate flowerbeds and wide pathways; but he could not forget who he was here to meet.
As he walked in the gardens he caught sight of the man in question walking briskly down the pathway between the low box hedging, boots crunching on the gravel; his cape billowing behind him.
"All went well?" Richelieu asked, his voice low; eyes scanning his surroundings, before turning his intense gaze to Athos.
"Yes, Eminence," Athos removed his hat and inclined his head in an approximation of respect for his office, if not for the man. "Your gift was delivered, and has been utilised."
"The prisoner in question and your Captain are together?"
"They are."
Richelieu handed over his letter of authority, with a brief explanation that he was to convey to Treville.
"If this fails, it will be on his head," Richelieu added quietly; unnecessarily in Athos's opinion. Of course it will, he thought. None of them were under any illusions as to the consequences of failure in this mission.
Athos schooled his featured to neutral.
"Indeed, that is quite clear," he replied, pushing the letter inside his jacket.
"I commend you on your planning, Lieutenant," Richelieu said, looking away. "I could have use for a man like you," he added, looking thoughtfully toward the palace, before drawing his cape around him and turning back towards his apartments without another word; knowing he would not receive an acknowledgement to his statement from the Musketeer.
Athos watched the man's back as he swept back along the gravel pathway.
"Would that day hopefully never arrive," he muttered to himself, as he made his way out of the Royal grounds.
He had one more appointment to keep.
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A small house on the outskirts of Paris.
Elizabeth Cromwell perched on a wooden settle next to the hearth of the small house she and Treville had ridden to, following her swift exit from the Chatelet.
It was a house that Treville had owned for some years. Few knew of it. He had found it useful over the years as a place for quiet respite; not only for himself, but for any of his men who may need it from time to time. It was very sparsely furnished, befitting a man such as he; just the bare essentials scattered around the room. However, at the moment, despite its sparse functionality, the house was fulfilling its purpose.
She looked an incongruous sight, and had not spoken since they had arrived and Treville had steered her to her present seat. Her pale, wide eyes followed Treville as he moved around the room, gathering provisions that had obviously been left for them prior to their arrival. There was a slight tension in his shoulders and the ever-present frown on his face that she had become familiar with of late; but he overall seemed relaxed and purposeful.
He cast frequent glances at her and, on one occasion, their eyes had locked; both aware of what they had done. Nothing was said, but she had given him a very slight nod and the vaguest of smiles in gratitude.
It had all gone well, he considered, as he stored items into two large saddlebags. His Musketeers had provided an excellent diversion at the Chatelet. His cadet, Dupois, had performed well, making sure he was seen by assisting the Chatelet guards in carrying out the smouldering straw before slipping quietly back to the Garrison on foot; leaving his horse behind for Elizabeth.
Even Richelieu had played his part; ensuring the ample inventive chest had been delivered; giving the opportunity for Elizabeth to hide inside, after changing into the spare uniform.
Amid the mayhem she had walked out with Treville as his cadet, right under the noses of the panicking guards.
Hearing two soft knocks on the door, she startled and half rose; but Treville held up his hand to her and smiled.
Opening the door, he stood aside as Athos strode in.
The two men greeted each other and Treville carefully closed the door.
"All is well?" he asked gruffly.
"As planned," Athos replied.
Looking swiftly around the room, his Lieutenant nodded at Elizabeth and reached into his jacket, removing Richelieu's letter. Treville relaxed, seeing Cardinal Richelieu's seal. It was addressed to the Queen Consort of England, Henrietta Maria.
"It is the letter requesting an audience with Queen Henrietta Maria in your name, as agreed," Athos addressed Treville but his explanation was for Elizabeth's benefit. "His Eminence is confident the Queen will grant you a hearing. She is keen to draw a line under this, and Mistress Cromwell ..." he gave Elizabeth a small bow, which made her blush, "is still one of her favourites."
"She does not doubt me?" Elizabeth cried, her hand to her mouth.
"The personal correspondence between the Queen and the Cardinal has been very private. Let us just say," Athos replied, addressing Elizabeth directly, "the Cardinal feels from the tone of their correspondence that she is tired of Sir Edmund Temple's attendance on her, and his loose tongue. She does not know of Sir Edmund's treachery. Once she is told of this and has evidence of it from your own mouth, Richelieu has no doubt it will be enough to condemn him."
"His blackmail of you will be proof enough of your innocence," he added by way of comfort.
Although Elizabeth was comforted by Athos's words and the implications that the Queen still bore her favour, she was still unsure whether her word would be enough. She was well aware of how plausible Sir Edmund Temple could be, and she could only hope she would have the strength to both defend herself, and accuse him, when the time came. However, she had no choice, and these men had laid all on the line to get her this far. She must now gather all her strength to see this through.
"Thank you, Athos," Treville said, sincerely, and began to wrap the letter in an oilskin cloth, to be stored with their provisions.
An awkward silence hung in the air.
Treville knew Athos felt uneasy, not knowing the route he now intended to seek to the north of the country to cross the Channel to England. From here on, Treville had kept the rest of the journey and timescale to himself, impressing on his Lieutenant that he had endangered his men enough.
Realising his Captain was still being as resolute as ever, Athos sighed and clasped his hand.
"A safe journey to you both," Athos murmured.
He bowed once more to Elizabeth Cromwell, who smiled her thanks to him, before slipping quietly out of the door.
Treville gently closed and locked the door, and turned to look at the young woman dressed in one of his cadet's uniforms.
They were on their own now.
To be continued ...
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A/N: Oh ye of little faith – did you think the Musketeer's planning would have been so basic as to leave Mistress Cromwell alone in that chest? Treville would never have allowed it. Lol.
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Re the use of books:
**In 1619, Hugo de Groot escaped from Loevestein Castle by hiding in a book chest that was regularly brought for him. The chest was taken by boat across the moat and he fled to Paris where he was well received and granted a pension by Louis XIII. The chest he escaped in, with the help of his wife and maidservant, still exists and is exhibited at the Castle. (The guards must have been looking the other way that day when he was carried out.)
By the late 17thcentury, there was a rather disorganised library for the use of inmates of the Bastille, although its origins remain unclear.