Chapter XXVI...in which events at the palace take a dark turn...
CHAPTER XXVI
They passed into the main ballroom, where the group of twenty one acrobats was standing, all staring straight ahead. On cue, two drummers began to drum, and the men began to execute a series of elaborate tumbling routines that captivated the crowd.
Watching from the small platform that had been erected on the left side of the room, the King exclaimed, "It's quite amazing, isn't it Cardinal?"
Richelieu, wishing he was in his rooms with his mistress, sighed and responded automatically, "Yes, very entertaining, Your Majesty."
"And to think," the King said with a trace of petulance, "Treville tried to veto having this act, and the jugglers—all because they had never performed at court in France before! These entertainers hardly look a security threat, do they, Armand?" He giggled and indicated the bearded women, who were patiently sitting to the side, their bouffant calico skirts spread around them.
"Of course not, Your Majesty. Your judgement, as always, was impeccable."
When the acrobats had taken their last bow, acknowledging the thunderous applause, they formed a single file line and trotted off to the side. A ten minute intermission was called, and Athos and Charlotte wandered out of the ballroom and into a corridor. A small dark-haired page passed by them, then paused as he saw the action inside the hall. Slipping inside, he stood against the back wall, his eyes shining as he anticipated catching a glimpse of the show before continuing on his way.
"I wonder how d'Artagnan and Aramis are faring," mused Athos. "I hope their night is quiet and uneventful. I doubt Aramis' nerves could take another incident like the one that triggered our meeting."
"He is a contradiction, isn't he?" said Charlotte thoughtfully. "He is obviously an accomplished flirt, and has a real zest for life. But there is another side to him-a darker, more introspective side. He feels emotion very deeply, doesn't he?"
"Aramis has suffered much in his days," responded Athos in a quiet voice.
"That is what Treville told me about you," said Charlotte, giving him a searching look. "The night he came to ask for my help. Athos-" she hesitated, wanting very badly to ask him who the Anne was that he had called for in his delirium.
"Yes?" his eyes lifted to hers, so bright and honest at that moment that she could not bring herself to broach a topic that was no doubt painful.
"Thank you," she said simply. "For the gift of your friendship. Things have been—difficult of late for me, with my father feeling poorly and Michel-well, you got a good idea the other night of why I find him tiresome. You have brought light into my life at a time where it was badly needed."
"The feeling is mutual," replied Athos, raising the hand he was holding and kissing it, his lips lingering on her skin a fraction longer than she was used to.
A burst of applause then came from the ballroom. "Come," said Charlotte with a smile. "We wouldn't want to miss the main event of the night. How often do you get to see a troupe of bearded female jugglers perform with a dancing bear?"
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The leader of the jugglers bowed formally, then motioned for silence. "Good evening. My name is Madame Elisabeth. I am the founder of our troupe of accomplished artists. As a salute to the ladies, we would like them to be allowed to pass to the front, so they can get an adequate view without being obstructed by the taller gentlemen in the audience."
In response, the women in the audience began to thread their way through the crowd, murmuring their approval at being allowed such a privilege for once.
"Go ahead," Athos urged Charlotte. "I'll be able to find you easily once they finish."
Nodding assent, she moved to the front of the audience, several women urging her forward due to the fact that she was being escorted by the guest of honour.
When all were settled in place, Madame Elisabeth once again stepped forward, adjusting her headscarf with a flourish before speaking in a clear voice infused with more than a hint of drama. "May I request that all the candles except those ringing the stage be extinguished? It will greatly add to the enjoyment of the spectacle." All eyes turned to Louis, who motioned to his servants to fulfil the request.
As the room became darker, Athos circled the back of the crowd and sought out Porthos and Treville. "It's quite difficult to see in here now. Was it known in advance the candles would be extinguished, Captain?"
Treville shook his head in frustration. "I had refused the request of Madame Elisabeth to do so, but obviously she took the matter over my head." He sent a glare in the direction of the stage.
"I don't like it," said Porthos uneasily. "Somethin' doesn't feel right."
"I agree with Porthos," intoned Athos is a low voice. "Perhaps we should do some reconnaissance?" he raised an inquiring eyebrow at Treville.
"Agreed." Treville replied grimly. "You two head to the right. I'll work around the left side of the room, and then move to stand guard by the King and Queen."
The three split up, and Athos found himself distracted by trying to pinpoint Charlotte in the sea of silk. If there is something less than savoury about to happen, I do not want her caught up in it.
"Athos!" hissed Porthos. Reluctantly turning his gaze from the centre of the room, he saw the big man motion to him impatiently. "Come on!"
Focus, he told himself. If you do your job, Charlotte will have nothing to worry about.
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Athos was feeling more and more apprehensive as he and Porthos circled behind the crowd. The periphery of the room was now shrouded in darkness, with all eyes focused on the women on stage, who were energetically juggling progressively more challenging and dangerous objects. An enormous black bear was led out into the centre of the action, and was met by loud applause.
As if in response, the bear rose on its hind legs and began to turn in circles, nodding in time to the drummers. Meanwhile, Athos and Porthos were having an increasingly difficult time navigating around the obstacles that seemed to be everywhere—small tables laden with empty glasses, ladies' wraps trailing off chairs, instrument cases left carelessly on the ground by the bands of strolling musicians…
Suddenly, Porthos nearly tripped over a large heap on the ground. "What is that?" he growled. Leaning down, his face became grave, and he motioned to Athos. "Dead body," he hissed.
"Who is it?" Athos' voice sounded controlled and focused, but Porthos' ears detected a hint of strain that was unusual for their de facto leader to display.
"Don't know," Porthos shook his head, cursing as he fumbled in the dark, trying to roll the body over as he spotted a length of cord around the man's neck. "He's been strangled though." When the big man managed to turn the body over, Athos caught a glimpse of a familiar crucifix around the man's neck, and his jaw set grimly. "Father Marcel. The palace chaplain."
"What?" responded Porthos in disbelief. "Why? He's the gentlest soul around."
"Apparently someone felt he was in the way," stated Athos flatly.
'This is not good," muttered Porthos. And no sooner were the words out of his mouth, than the candles ringing the stage were extinguished, and the room went pitch black.
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Anxious murmurs arose from the crowd, but these were quickly drowned out by shrieks of terror that came from the circle of spectators nearest the stage. Several torches suddenly flared on the stage, revealing a chilling scene. The "bearded women" had shed their skirts and headscarves to reveal themselves as men clad in breeches, sporting belts bristling with weapons. Each now had a woman from the audience held in front of him as a human shield, with a knife to her throat. As Athos scanned the faces of the women, he saw in dread what he had been hoping not to see, and his heart stopped—Charlotte, her face white with fright, held tightly against the chest of the hulking man who had previously been "Madame Elisabeth."
"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out, his voice disturbingly courteous. "We regret to bring a halt to the festivities, but the time has come for the audience participation part of the evening. Luckily, we have a dozen gracious ladies who have volunteered to be part of this segment. In case you are deliberating about mounting a rescue mission—our loyal friends the acrobats have been kind enough to form a cordon around the outer ring of the room. And, yes, musketeers—they are all armed," he called out.
"I see the King and Queen, along with the Cardinal, have somehow already beat a hasty retreat, but I have a feeling that the Dauphin will be making an unannounced appearance in the next few minutes. " He smirked.
Outside the ballroom, Gabriel froze. He had become restless waiting for the action to start, and had decided to hurry downstairs and complete his errand. But upon hearing these words, he instinctively knew that the man meant to hurt the baby he had sworn to serve and protect. Staying in the shadows, he crept down the hall to a back staircase he knew was a shortcut to the Dauphin's suite, and shot up the stairs as fast as he could.
In the ballroom, all eyes were riveted on the stage. "Now, each of our lovely ladies will call on her husband or escort to provide her ransom—no ransom, she dies. Simple as that. In case anyone wants to be a hero—don't try it—please. One signal from me and all these women die. It's nothing to us. The Dauphin is the big prize. This is merely entertainment while we wait. We will start on the far end of the stage." Athos suddenly became aware he was holding his breath, and slowly exhaled, keeping his eyes intent on Charlotte. She was standing very still, her eyes roving over the audience in what he was sure was an attempt to find him.
The first man stepped up with his hostage, an elderly lady in a blue silk dress ornamented with golden flowers. He whispered in her ear and grinned, digging the knife into her neck. Her voice, high and thready, floated out over the audience. "Pierre?" she called, shaking like a leaf.
"Pierre, you've got three minutes…hope you can still walk at a decent pace," called the leader. An eerie silence followed, and the woman called out several more times for her husband, increasingly desperate. The clock continued to tick, and the leader finally nodded to her captor, who slit her throat in one swift move, dropping her body to the ground.
The next woman's husband was at the stage in less than 30 seconds, frantically handing over anything even remotely of value on his person. The leader nodded, and his accomplice pulled the woman back away from the edge of the stage. "But you promised! I want her back!" screamed the man.
"All in good time, my man," sneered the leader. "The whole point of having hostages is to keep everyone in the room on their best behaviour. Your wife can still die if anyone—" he raised his voice-"does anything stupid."
Charlotte kept as still as possible, not wanting to give the man holding her the satisfaction of screaming or struggling, although her instinct was to do both. His arm was tight around her neck, and she felt a bit lightheaded when he turned to the side to speak to one of his comrades and tightened his grip.
So this is how I may die, she thought. She felt strangely objective about the concept. Perhaps it's just my brain refusing to accept it. If only I could see Athos one more time. At least if I am to die, I got to experience the thrill of being cherished—if only for a short time—by a man who was truly worth loving. Once that thought filtered into her mind, the tears suddenly flooded her eyes.
What if our relationship had been allowed to grow and flourish? What would our first fight have been about? She imagined they would argue in a spirited fashion, but she also imagined the making up as—well, just as intense and passionate, if their short interlude in the shop had been any indication. Would we had had children? She pictured a little boy in her mind, a son—dark hair sweeping over his forehead, with blue eyes smiling at her as he raced into her arms….
When the woman next to Charlotte was wrested to the edge of the stage, she was sobbing and nearly incoherent. The man holding her cursed, trying to get her to calm down. In frustration, he finally yanked the diamond necklace off her neck and cut her throat. She made a loud gurgling noise, her eyes staring wide, as blood sprayed from her neck, coating the side of Charlotte's face. The warm coppery smell, combined with the gruesome picture in front of her, made Charlotte feel intensely nauseated almost instantly. She could not look any more, and turned her head away. The sight of blood during the course of her work with patients never troubled her, but the fear of seeing the woman next to her dead in a heap on the stage was too much.
She looked down, her eyes focusing on her shoes-the only gift he ever got to give me—and saw a ribbon of bright red blood lazily curl under her feet. She gagged on the bile rising in her throat, almost aspirating. Her captor loosened his hold on her, throwing her to the stage in disgust. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, which had fallen loose from the tidy chignon, he hauled her up on her knees, pressing the blade of his knife against her jaw.
"So," he asked casually, as if they were having a conversation over a cup of tea, "how much do you think you're worth to the hero of the hour?" He looked down at her hand. "Hmmm…not married—or engaged. Are you just a whore hired for the evening, or does he actually pretend to care for you?"
Her eyes swimming in tears, she held her tongue as he continued to smirk at her. Raising his voice, he called out sharply, "She's not sure, Athos the musketeer hero—not sure how much she really means to you. So let's find out, shall we? You've got sixty seconds to make it to me and hand over the dagger the king gave you, or she dies. Your choice."
Athos, his eyes riveted on Charlotte, felt as if he could not breathe. He began shoving his way through the crowd, Porthos close in his wake. Frustrated by his slow progress, he called out "I'm coming! Do not harm her!"
"Maybe you'll move a little faster if I bleed her, hmmm?" The man delicately sliced a 2 inch gash under her chin, and Charlotte screamed in agony, blood streaming down her neck. Athos and Porthos raced on, and reached the edge of the stage in seconds.
"ENOUGH!" Athos' eyes were burning as he threw the dagger down in front of Charlotte. "Let her go. She is an innocent woman."
"Perhaps in a bit…" replied Charlotte's captor casually. "She is a pretty little thing, though…I'm of a mind to keep her." He kissed her lingeringly on the neck, causing Athos to nearly rush the stage, stopped only by Porthos wrapping his arms around him, the big man whispering urgently into his ear.
"Stop, Athos…you are of no help to her if you lose your head. He's just tryin' to goad you." Athos halted in his struggle, his mind gradually realizing that Porthos was right. He sought desperately to catch Charlotte's attention, but her eyes were tightly closed, and her lips moved silently. She is praying, he thought in despair. Please do not let this be my last chance to see her alive.
Next time...danger spreads to the royal nursery, involving Aramis and d'Artagnan, while Charlotte disappears, leaving Athos frantic with worry...