L'amante de Porthos

Chapter 37 Story Time I

Disclaimer

I have done my best to make sure that the historical context in this chapter is as accurate and true as possible, however, please feel free to point out any fallacies.

The names of the characters and the regions they presided over or owned are purely fictitious. If they correspond to any real names or regions, it is coincidental.

The Ordre de Lys-Blanc is also purely fictitious. Any implied involvement of any of the characters who existed in reality or in Dumas' novels is also fictious and of my own imagining.

...

The door violently burst open with a dramatic flare, leaving behind shards of wood that broke off where the lock had been fastened. Athos' sword was halfway out of its sheath when he saw the intruder, who barged in with a huff. But it wasn't an intruder; it was the owner of the manor, the Comte de Rochefort himself. Athos returned his sword to its place.

To everyone's astonishment, Aramis and Porthos walked in behind the Captain of the Red Guard. Gerard, who had stood up with his hand on his pistol, felt completely disarmed upon seeing the blue tint of his beloved musketeer's doublet. A sense of comfort enveloped his heart, but it was quickly replaced with apprehension as he spied Treville's menacing stare at the two musketeers: they had broken their orders.

But Treville seemed more perturbed by the presence of Porthos, thus leaving Aramis the discreteness to send a faint smile in the direction of Gerard, before she turned to her left to face the person she had truly longed to see: Athos. The latter, however, seemed baffled and unsure whether to fix his gaze on her or on Porthos. He thought he would be angry, or troubled, but he found himself relieved. They were all together again. They can face this new imminent threat together. No, Athos the Musketeer will not die in a nameless tavern. He will die fighting side by side with Porthos and Aramis, come what may.

The room went abominably silent as the newcomers and those present registered the presence of each other, each one weighing their own thoughts carefully, wary of producing any small reaction that would set this field of dynamite into a full explosion.

Porthos stared back at his Capitaine defiantly for a long time. They both knew what his presence here meant. But it didn't matter any longer. The three musketeers were together again. He turned in the direction of Athos and nodded to his friend. To his surprise and relief, Athos reciprocated, but Porthos could still feel the iron glare of his Captain burning a whole in his forehead.

….

"What is going on! Let me in! Move away!" came a shrill cry from behind the two newcomers who stood blocking the door. Gerard stiffened. That voice!

She shoved Porthos and Aramis aside, penetrating the room with as much of a theatrical comportment as its owner.

It was akin to a painting, where each subject stood frozen in place, facing someone or another as if time was stopped. Marianne was the only disruptor but she, too, joined in the scene when she perceived her old friend by the bed of the invalid.

"Marianne…" he whispered. He was about to break the perfect scene and jump towards her. He was desperate to welcome her in his arms, to lift her up and twirl her like he had done so many times. He was desperate to go home, and she was it. Home. He wanted to comfort her, to know everything, to throw himself at her feet and ask her to forgive him, to explain everything, to reunite, to… Her stare stopped him short. It was neither angry nor characteristically cold. It was simply void. As she turned around to disrupt the scene with her movement once more, he spied the bloody wound on her head. She had been on her own, without him. She had had experiences without him. In that process, they had become strangers to each other.

Meanwhile, Rochefort had removed himself to a far corner of the room, where he quietly – and with great amusement – observed this peculiar scene with its real-life actors and their intriguing dynamics.

"Monsieur Lemay!" Marianne exclaimed and plopped down on the bed, taking the old man's hand in hers, "You're alive, thank God!"

….

Of the main group, Athos was the first to break away from his position. Marianne conversed animatedly with Monsieur Lemay. Whether she intended for Gerard to hear the account of her journey was unclear, but he was in close vicinity to listen anyway. Although he did not dare interrupt or ask any of the burning questions he longed to ask.

Porthos looked from Gerard to Aramis and nudged her playfully, to which she responded with a "Stop it!" glare, crossed her arms on her chest and faced the wall.

Athos, Rochefort and Treville convened in the corner, giving each other updates and questioning one another over the recent events, in an attempt to bring together the pieces of this difficult puzzle that was the Iron Mask and his plans.

When they had finished, Treville turned back to ask Monsieur Lemay to begin relaying the story he had promised them before they were interrupted by the newcomers.

In the meantime, Athos whispered to Rochefort, "It was rather peculiar that M. Lemay had been left with no appropriate medical attention."

Rochefort stiffened, "Cardinal's orders," he simply replied. So, the Captain was right. Lemay knew something and the Cardinal wanted his death to look natural, Athos thought to himself.

"And yet, you somehow kept him alive long enough for us to find him and then you placed a lousy guard at the door and gave orders to your butler not to alert the rest of your regiment should we come knocking on your door."

Rochefort remained silent and turned away. Athos smiled, "I suppose we're all becoming adept in this new business of breaking orders." To which Rochefort threw him a side glance before looking away, confirming his complicity. "Anyway," continued Athos, "There really was no need to break the door. I would have gladly opened it if you announced yourself."

"Well, you know how I like to make an entrance," jested Rochefort.

"Mmm, it's your door, in the end." He moved back to where he was, right next to Aramis. Right where he belonged.

….

Lemay was about to begin his recollection when he stopped short on perceiving the Comte de Rochefort in the corner. The right-hand of the Cardinal himself. Sensing his hesitation, the group collectively turned their heads, tracing Lemay's line of sight towards the culprit in the corner. Then, someone said:

"We can trust him."

The group was further astonished to discover that it was not someone who had spoken. Rather, it was spoken unanimously by two people on opposite corners of the room. Athos and Marianne exchanged a regard of surprise at this unintended synchronization. It seemed they had both arrived to the same conclusion through their own separate ways.

Lemay resigned himself. There was not much time to lose anyway, "Very well, children, listen carefully…"

…

"I needn't tell you all the sordid details of that terrible day… St Bartholomew's Day many years ago… Nor do I need to describe the events and plots that led to it. But after that shameful day, we decided to form a union of some sorts. In public, some of us were known as les politiques. But in anticipation that the tides may turn against us, we created a network in secret.

We called ourselves the Ordre de Lys Blanc. White to symbolize purity and peace. We came from all parts of France. We were anyone and everyone: inventors, intellectuals, poets, artists, philosophers, farmers, even soldiers. We were nobility and we were commoners. We were men and women. But most importantly, we were Catholic and Protestant. Our mission and desire were to foster peace, harmony and to advance intellectual and economic pursuits – essentially any pursuits that sought to lift us out of our differences and into advancement and progress. We wanted to transcend, to create a place and a society that was just and tolerant. An utterly utopian and naïve vision, you might argue. But we preserved nonetheless.

"We were lucky in that our values were shared by the King of Navarre himself, the Tolerant King Henry, who was to become Henry IV, King of France and Navarre. He stood by us and we stood by him. In public and in secret, we all worked together for the same vision: a unified and prosperous France."

Athos observed his comrades. Each of them sitting at the edge of their seat, intently engrossed by this novel revelation of a history they had never known. Even Rochefort, who had been reclined against the wall, was now upright and attentive. The only person who seemed unaffected was Capitaine de Treville.

…

"Alas, there were people who were keen to throw over the monarchy for their own personal gain .Their strategy left quite the breeding ground for certain renegades and those with anti-monarchic ideas began to prosper and organize themselves. In many ways, they were like us. They worked in public, under the direction of the Guises. But they also worked in private – and that, my friends, is how the band of the Iron Mask began to take hold. There was no "Iron Mask", per se at the time. But it seemed that inevitably, the icon became flesh-and-blood.

"Just like us, they kept quiet for many years, but at one point, something stirred that prompted them to commit the atrocious act of kidnapping Prince Philippe.

"I had often had my theories about when and how they found out about him in the first place. This letter from Paul-Francois de Dandurand confirms everything for me.

"Now that I had given you an image of the France we were in, I can begin to describe the actors in this tragic play."

….

"As in many tales of our time and those before - and probably after us - , this is a tale of love - first and foremost. It begins with a woman.

"She was the daughter of the Marquis d'Aren*, a descendant from the Bourbon-Conde line two times removed, thus making him a distant cousin to Henry IV."

Monsieur Lemay paused and sighed deeply. He closed his eyes and smiled, as if he was no longer in the room, but somewhere else. Somewhere long gone…

In a softer voice he continued:

"She was the most beautiful and highly regarded young woman in Bearn. There was no one around that hadn't heard of her bewitching beauty. She had eyes as blue as an infant night sky right after dusk. They were so deep and so rich in shades of blue, you could get lost in them and lose your soul along with it.

"She had unusual hair, too. It was a dark mahogany, with streaks of aubergine in it, that complemented her eyes, occasionally giving them a violet tinge. When you met her, it was the most difficult thing in the world to take your eyes off of her. She was the perfect marriage between Aphrodite and Medusa. Yet, in spirit, she was every bit like Athena herself.

"Many pitied the Marquis when his young wife died leaving him with two very young daughters. Many urged him to remarry, but he solemnly refused, choosing instead to pour all his energy on his daughters, the eldest in particular.

"The young heiress grew to become a formidable woman. She was every bit beautiful as she was intelligent. She took to pursuits which were more suited to her male counterparts as if it had been the most natural thing in the world. She was skilled with the sword and the finest rider and huntress there ever was in Bearn and the Kingdom of Navarre. The pride and prize of her father. The son he never had, some would say.

"Her skill became so renowned, there were no hunting parties that took place without her. Thanks to her father, she had also grown up with a mind that was sharp and politically oriented. She had ideas and strategies that baffled even the most experienced of us. And she debated them with such conviction, too. Oh, she lay many men to shame! Naturally, it wasn't long before she was invited to the Court of Navarre, which greatly honored her father. She was truly a Princess in her own right. An extraordinary woman!"

Monsieur Lemay chuckled softly at the memory. However, his face darkened not soon after.

"Although some aspects of her demeanour were already part of her character, some were further exacerbated. For to be amongst the company of men constantly and to earn their respect, a woman had to be a certain way.

"She had become known for her cold and detached intellect. Her beauty was icy, as was her demeanour. She was reserved, calculating, strategic and very sharp. She was also a devout reformist, which made her more stern and self-preserving, given the horrors her people had to endure. As such, she was a difficult woman, and those who had ambitions to ally themselves to her high-born family by marriage, were quickly discouraged or turned away.

"There remained, however, a few men with courage. Yet, those who did have the misfortune of falling in love with this otherworldly creature, would meet a tragic Fate. And such was the case with the young Pierre de Rameau, or as you all now simply call him 'Rameau'."

…

"But, Monsieur Lemay?" it was Marianne, who interrupted.

"Yes, my child?"

"Who was this woman?" Marianne asked in her usual petulant and impatient way.

"Oh, did I not mention it before?"

"NO!" everyone cried, unanimously.

Monsieur Lemay chuckled.

"Why, it was Katherine d'Aren, of the Bourbon-Conde House, the Marquise d'Aren and, afterwards, by marriage, the Comtesse de Dandurand."

Then, turning to Marianne, he said gravely, "Your mother."

*Aren is a small region in the Bearnaise part of France, close to Pau. I don't know if it was ever a county or a marquisette.