Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.
Chapter 9
Porthos wheezed and gasped. His lungs screamed for air. He had lost his purse and the thief was long gone by now. Or was he? There was a slight form huddled in a shadowed doorway. Perhaps it was the thief. Rage took hold of him. No urchin was making a monkey of him. "Come out here!" Porthos growled and seized hold of the hapless boy, dragging him out into the open. However, the large man soon realised he was mistaken. The youth was taller than the little cutpurse. The youth wrenched his arm free and fled, limping heavily. He was gone before Porthos could apologize for his behaviour.
"Porthos, you are an imbecile," Porthos gasped and felt disgusted with his actions. Bullying a crippled beggar indeed, some behaviour from a former musketeer.
In another part of Paris…
"Any sign of him?"
"No."
"Keep searching!" Michel barked. Rafael and Gabriel ran off into the dark night. It was a futile attempt and they knew it. The boy was far too innocent to wander the rough streets of Paris. Michel had found Philippe's forgotten crutch in the brothel's parlour. Now he held it in his hands, ready to be returned to its master. He had made it himself, constantly replacing the crutch to keep pace with Philippe's growth. He cursed his companions. If they had had not been busy indulging their own appetites with the fat whores…
He calmed himself. Philippe would be upset if they fell out with each other. The boy was far too sensitive. Some primal instinct warned him of unseen eyes. He glanced up at the window of an abandoned building. There was nothing to be seen. He shrugged and continued into the night.
D'Artagnan had ducked back into the shadows mere seconds before Michel looked up. It was by chance that he had glanced out of the window at the commotion from the street below. He had only returned to his hiding place after a futile search of his own for Toni. He had been hoping they would lead him to the prince. If the Cardinal's personal henchmen were searching for Philippe, where could the young prince be? Where could his daughter be?
Philippe was nearly in tears as he turned about the alleyways. They all looked the same to him. He had been wandering the alleys without food or drink since he fled from that scary woman. She was nice to him at first but then she started touching him and taking off her clothes. In his panic and confusion he had climbed out of the window and fled into the alley behind. Some boys had surrounded him and beaten him up. They also took away his purse, boots and that nice vest Gabriel gave him at Christmas. He had huddled in a doorway hoping his friends would find him, until that scary giant dragged him out of hiding. Now he was limping about the rough cobblestones with his feet cut and bleeding… Was that a light? He tried the door. It yielded to his touch.
"I don't get it. How come you are so afraid of the sight of blood?" Toni chided gently as she inspected the wound on Raoul's arm. The cauterizing they carried out earlier was a slipshod job and the wound had re-opened during the last scene of the play. The play had ended. Aramis had offered to accompany Monsieur de Treville back to his home after being reassured that Raoul's injury was not serious. The night-time streets of the city were no place for an old man to risk alone, especially one unable to hold his sword. Toni decided to wait for Porthos to return at the theatre and tend to Raoul's wound. A doctor had been sent for.
Raoul hissed with pain as Toni peeled back a strip of bandage stuck to his wound. "Why should I tell you?"
"Your father charged me with teaching you to fence. As your teacher, I must say that your phobia of blood is not something that cuts you out for a swordsman." The confines of backstage meant she was so deliciously close to Raoul. The other troupe members were busy putting away the props and costumes. Raoul had been stripped of his costume and wig and sat clad only in his breeches. It was uncomfortably warm from the brazier and a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. He was not as muscular as the farmhands who worked on her father's farm but that did not make him any less manly in her eyes. Toni was conscious of how her heart was thumping. No, she must concentrate on her role as his fencing teacher.
"When I was very young, I wandered into the kitchen and fell into a barrel of blood. The servants had slaughtered some pigs and were keeping the blood for black pudding. I almost drowned in the stuff. Couldn't abide the sight of blood since," Raoul said with a shudder. "Of course, things did not improve when that man decided to cure my fear by dragging me to the local slaughterhouse."
"You mean your father?"
"That man, the comte…" Raoul nodded wearily. "I wish he were not." He felt oddly at ease in Toni's presence. It was as if he had known the young man all his life despite having met only two days since. The quarrel of the morning had long been forgotten. "As far back as I can recall, he and my mother have always been quarrelling and fighting. One would wonder why they got married in the first place or if they ever loved each other… I like to write plays, a make-believe world for people to enjoy, even for a few hours."
"Yes, you were wonderful as the Widow. The audience enjoyed it…" Toni smiled. Her parents loved each other tremendously, so Mama Rosa told her, She was far too young when her mother died to have any clear memories of her, but her father always had that look of pure love in his eyes when he spoke of her late mother. It must be awful to have one's parents constantly quarrelling.
"The play was not one of mine. I have written a few but they are not quite ready to be put up. One day, I will have my plays performed at Versailles before His Majesty…" A clatter from the front of the curtain drew their attention.
"What's that?" the pair turned towards the curtain. The theatre should be shut up now. The actors were in the dressing room enjoying a late supper. Was it Jacques returning with the doctor? Surely he would know to use the back door…
Raoul pulled aside the curtain. Someone had knocked over metal tubs by the stage. A dirty, bedraggled youth was cowering by the tubs. His bare feet were cut and bleeding.
"I'm sorry! Please… don't hurt me."
"Raoul, help me here…" Toni hastened forward to reassure the newcomer. There was a dull thud behind her. Raoul had seen the bloody footprints leading from the theatre's side door and fainted. Jacques' voice called out from the back door at that moment.
"I've brought the doctor! Where's the patient?"
Versailles. The queen mother's chambers.
"We're so glad you enjoyed the play, mother," Louis XIV gently re-arranged the rugs on Anne's lap as she sat in her armchair. "Shall we leave you to rest now?" The fire was burning brightly and the room should be comfortably warm in no time.
Anne's hand reached out and gripped his wrist. "Stay, please."
"Do you wish us to read to you?"
"We must talk, about His Majesty's actions today…" Louis made a face at his mother's words. Still, he lowered himself into the chair beside hers. "His Majesty refused to meet with Duke Leopold to discuss the treaty of the Netherlands. The lands of the Marquise le Roche were not conferred on her surviving granddaughter. The Spanish ambassador was turned away when he came with the marriage proposal from the King of Spain… And your little act with the daughter of that Alsatian noble… Louis, did you have to caress her so openly before the entire court? The corridors are all awash with news of your latest mistress. That young lady is the betrothed of your own captain of the King's Guards."
Louis could not help but chuckle softly. The look on the nobles' faces was priceless when he kissed the young woman during their dance. Odette was full or protests at first, but she finally yielded. She was no doubt waiting patiently for him in his bedchamber now. He was looking forward to more of what he had enjoyed earlier in the evening.
"Louis, please. His Majesty must always conduct himself with dignity and put the interests of France first. His Majesty is young and would do well to listen to advice… Duke Leopold is well-schooled in the Netherlands situation and can offer you sound advice. A match with the Spanish princess would be beneficial to both kingdoms but must be carefully negotiated. The King of Spain is one quick to take offence. The lands of Marquise le Roche are still in limbo despite her passing two years ago. Her granddaughter has petitioned the court for…"
"Mama, you mustn't worry yourself with such matters… That woman can throw herself on the charity of a convent for all we care. I am France. I will decide what is best." Louis patted his mother's hand to reassure her that he was not angry with her. Soon he would be taking hold of the reins for himself and not be obliged to listen to her or Mazarin. Perhaps she was upset about that.
"Louis, there is also your treatment of my loyal servant, D'Artagnan. And your long-lost brother…"
"That knave is a liar and my brother is dead. You told me so yourself," Louis snapped impatiently. Still, he did leave his seat.
"What if Philippe still lives?" Carefully, Anne related D'Artagnan's discovery of the plot to her son. Louis shook his head when it was done.
"That is foolish talk, mama. Mazarin would not dare raise a hand against us. The knave is not only a liar, he is mad as a hatter to see shadows where none exist."
"But what if there is truth in this?" Anne pressed. "Would you be merciful to them? To your own brother? You shared a womb and a cradle. Promise me this, be merciful to your own twin."
"I promise, mother. I'll be merciful to him." Saying those empty words, Louis leaned in to kiss her forehead. It was too warm. He would ring for the maid. He was the only son Anne needed.
Back at the theatre.
"Doctor, how's he?" Toni asked. Raoul was still out cold and sprawled over two large clothes trunks set end to send. The young beggar, Philippe, was tucking ravenously into a meat pie and wrapped in a rug against the cold. It was a wonder he had not caught a chill yet. His face had been cleaned and he was oddly familiar even though Toni could not recall from where.
"Both are well. Monsieur Raoul's injury is not life-threatening even if he did lose a bit of blood. That might have brought about the fainting. I recommend unwatered wine and red meat for that. Take care of the wound and call me if there is any infection. As for young Philippe here, I've cleaned out his cuts and bandaged them. He'd need to rest for a bit. Nothing we can do about the limp, I'm afraid. Watch for infection in the boy's feet too," The doctor smiled. "Madame, you did a fine job with helping me clean out their wounds. If you ever decide to leave the stage, I know I can do with a helper…"
"But I am not…" Toni paused and nodded instead. "I'll consider it." She paid the doctor and showed him to the door. There was no need to explain her disguise and little chance their paths would cross.
She turned her attention to Philippe. There was something which did not add up. Under the mud and dirt, his skin was pasty pale. His hands were far softer than expected for someone living on the streets. His garments showed signs of care. Someone was caring for him and was probably looking for him now. His family must be informed.
"Philippe, do you have family?" A nod from the boy.
"Can you find your way home?" This time a shake.
"Could you tell us their name?" The boy looked straight back at her with an unnervingly trusting look.
"Their names are Michel, Rafael and Gabriel… Father calls them his Archangels… Could you please help me find them? They'll be so worried…"
Great, Toni felt like slapping her own face. The boy must be some simpleton who was prone to seeing angels and stuff. Behind her, Raoul made a sound somewhere between a moan and a chuckle. He had a just awoken and caught the last bits of the conversation.
Author's Notes:
Philippe should be in good hands with Toni and Raoul.
