Chapter 37 : Storytime II

It was very late into the night when he felt a gentle hand shaking him awake.

"Your Highness," the man whispered.

"What is it, Armand?" the Prince replied thickly, annoyed that his sleep was being unduly disturbed.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but it is urgent."

Startled, Philippe rose himself to a seated position.

"Did something happen to His Majesty?"

"No, Your Highness, nothing like that. But Capitaine de Treville is here with the three Musketeers."

"What, Treville? At this hour?!" the Prince replied incredulously.

"Oui, Monsieur. It's about the Dandurand girl."

At the mention of the Comtesse de Dandurand, Philippe jumped out of bed and straight into the robe that his valet was holding up for him.

As he walked towards his private library, his heart was racing. He had gotten so attached to that mysterious young woman throughout the convention. It was such a brief time but her presence had stirred something in him. It made him painfully nostalgic to a different time, to a long-gone past and to a person who had become only a memory.

When he moved to the Louvre, Philippe had requested several tutors but he had never felt a sense of real connection to any of them. Yet with Marianne, he could never shake that odd feeling of familiarity. Her presence somehow evoked Francois and he could never understand why. Before they had left the convention, Philippe had requested that the Comtesse de Dandurand become his official companion. Louis, finally happy to see his brother emerge from his sombreness and especially desiring the company of a woman, wholeheartedly agreed.

"Although, Philippe, I daresay, your choice is peculiar. There are many more women out there with grander titles and greater beauty," Louis had teased his brother.

Philippe had smiled and said, "While that may be, there is something special about this one."

A secret, a longing, a connection…

Aside from his burning desire to dig more into this young lady's mysterious past and find out what it was about her that troubled him, he saw in her a true companion. They were similar, her and him. They were both new and uninitiated to the world. They were both locked up and thrown away in their respective towers for the majority of their lives.

But no more.

Philippe had plans for them. They would spend their time in intellectual pursuits, in reading and in making discoveries. He would host salons and become a patron of philosophers and artists. They would travel together, explore different sceneries, sampling the different cultures in Europe. Why not go to the colonies, even! She would become his advisor, his mentor and he would become her patron.

Of course, they would never travel alone. He could still see her in his mind's eye with her youthfulness radiance, blushing and giggling at everything the musketeer Porthos said. When she wasn't looking, or when she was walking a few steps in front of them, he could see the musketeer sheepishly grinning with a lovestruck look on his face as he watched her from behind. He had been drunk on her. It brought Philippe so much joy to see them together, to witness the blossoming of love. Quite a stark contrast to what his reality had been his whole life.

But there was still another layer to this complex plot that the young Prince was hatching (he had become accustomed to hatching plots at this point): the Comtesse had a valet who trailed around after her everywhere she went and Philippe was banking on his presence.

Being at court, Philippe was introduced to all kinds of women, but he never took much of a liking to the pursuit of the opposite sex. He hadn't taken a liking to the pursuit of sex at all, in fact. So much had happened in his life that it was difficult for him to access that space in his mind.

But something changed that night at the tavern. As soon as he saw him, something in his body stirred. Since then, the memory of Marianne's valet haunted his dreams and dominated his fantasies. He could think of nothing else. For the first time in his life, Philippe understood the meaning of being lovesick.

His plans were thus crafted to perfection. While his companion would take the musketeer to her bed at night, he would take her valet.

Yes, perfection!

Except…

Well, except that it all went downhill a day later.

Louis had burst into his room that morning and announced that the Comtesse de Dandurand was engaged to the Comte de Rochefort. He was enraged, pacing up and down the room. How could she do that to his brother? Women were deceitful creatures, never to be trusted! To think that she would choose Rochefort, Rochefort, over the Prince of France! What nonsense! Philippe could have any woman he desired, there were so many others with grander titles and greater beauty…

"Please, Louis, that's enough," Philippe had stopped him before his brother launched into more insults in the direction of the Comtesse.

Something was not right. She loved Porthos. He had seen it with his own eyes. No doubt this was Richelieu's doing…

And what Richelieu wants, Richelieu gets.

Philippe felt queasy at the thought of Marianne being married off to Rochefort. He needed to find out what Richelieu had planned and hatch his own to overthrow it. He needed to save his friend.

Yet before he could come up with anything, things took a turn to the worse. Much, much worse.

His worst nightmare had materialized: the Iron Mask was back at large…

The disgust he had felt at the idea of his friend's fate being manipulated by Richelieu into marrying Rochefort was then replaced by sheer horror. Richelieu was manageable. The Iron Mask was not. He had kidnapped the Comte de Dandurand and attempted to kidnap Marianne. She had run away, but who knew where she was or what could have happened. He could have gotten to her by now and imprisoned her.

The thought made Philippe sick. If anyone knew what it was like to be a victim of the Iron Mask, it was him. His mind conjured up all sorts of horrific images concerning the fate of his friend.

He had thus frantically ordered search parties and commanded Treville to update him on any progress immediately, no matter what.

In the meantime, he had set out to do some investigations himself and he knew exactly where to start.

….

The Cardinal hadn't been surprised when his servant announced that His Highness, Prince Philippe, had come to see him.

An irate Louis-lookalike stepped into the room.

Richelieu hadn't liked the idea of Philippe in the first place. To him, Philippe's presence was dangerous. It was a threat to France's stability and prosperity. Philippe's favor with his brother also irritated him. Anne was enough as it is and getting rid of her was an undertaking that continued to fail despite his best efforts.

"Don't worry, Your Highness. Both my Guards and the musketeers are actively searching for the Iron Mask. You are perfectly safe," Richelieu began, attempting to inject some false security.

"You know that's not why I'm here," Philippe retorted.

"Oh?"

"You seem quite calm about the fact that the Iron Mask had penetrated your residence for the second time, kidnapped your friend and attempted to take your lieutenant's fiancée."

The Cardinal turned around to face the window.

"Paul-Francois de Dandurand knew that he was playing a dangerous game," he replied calmly, rubbing his goatee.

"Why did you invite Pierre de Rameau to your convention, in the first place, while fully knowing the rumours about his involvement with the Iron Mask?"

"You have done your homework, I see."

"Your staff prove to be very knowledgeable under stress."

Richelieu chuckled wryly, "Who would have thought the lost Prince had a panache for spies and politics!"

"Enough pleasantries! Lives are at stake, have you no compassion?" Philippe slammed his fist onto the Cardinal's bureau.

The Cardinal turned around and regarded the Prince with haughtiness.

"Compassion has no place in this line of work, Your Highness."

Before he could continue, Philippe was at his throat, holding him up from his collar.

"Tell me, did you orchestrate this so you could get rid of me again? Bring us to your residence, which was already set up to switch me and Louis, then have me killed and blame the Iron Mask for my death?"

The two men stared at each other in ire, before Richelieu broke away, closing his eyes and exhaling profoundly.

He then softly said:

"No, believe it or not. I was trying to save your life once and for all."

Philippe held Richelieu for a moment or two before he released him from his grip.

"Explain yourself, Richelieu. I won't ask you again," Philippe calmly said, turning away.

….

The events of the Iron Mask and his elaborate plot had shaken Richelieu to the core. After his release from the Chatelet, he had spent the next few months determined to erase traces of all and any organized societies that lived in the shadows. In other words, he intended to restore order.

He had sent his spies far and wide and had written to those whose loyalty he could count on. One of those was Paul-Francois de Dandurand. A brilliant inventor and a fellow alumnus from the College of Navarre where Richelieu had received some of his education. He knew that the inventor was a recluse.

Richelieu had used his influence on his friend in the past to acquire certain inventions that would place France at the forefront of technological and militaristic advancement.

So, it was with great surprise that he had received a letter from the inventor, in which he expressed his desire for a private audience with the Cardinal, as he had pertinent information regarding two secret societies that lived and thrived within the folds of the country. In exchange for the information, he solicited protection for his only living relative – his niece.

The two men had met when the Cardinal invited the inventor to the King's ball towards summer's end. It was the perfect opportunity to show his valued informant that he intended to keep his part of the bargain by means of producing a match between the niece and his lieutenant.

Paul-Francois was a man who was haunted by paranoia, so that gesture on the Cardinal's part worked to ensure his trust.

As such, the neurotic inventor, plagued by anxiety for the life of his niece, revealed all kinds of information to the Cardinal.

The Ordre de Lys-Blanc was nothing new to the Cardinal. He had long suspected that his friend was initiated within them, as were many philosophers and artists, and his suspicions were finally affirmed. What surprised the Cardinal was the knowledge that Paul-Francois de Dandurand had, in fact, known about the existence of Prince Philippe from birth.

King Henry IV, fearing renewed tension in France if he were to present twin sons, sought to hide one of them from the public eye. He had loved them both, but keeping them both meant risking another civil war and spilling more blood, so he had to make a difficult choice.

And so, with permission from him, the Ordre had taken Philippe into their care. The choice between Philippe and Louis had been by hazard, really. It could have just as much been Louis, but luck would have it otherwise.

There was, however, another motive: although he declared himself publicly Catholic, the King of France and Navarre had not forsaken his Reformed ways in his heart. He had thus wished for his hidden son to be raised in the Protestant faith. In that regard, he had chosen Philippe to be closer to him in his heart.

After the assassination of Henry IV, the rise of Marie di Medici to regency caused some turmoil within the Ordre. She had never liked the idea of them nor had they liked the idea of her. Marie had no interest in Philippe. She had wanted the throne to herself and that was her primary focus. However, for her plans to succeed, those who knew about Philippe needed to be eliminated.

And they were. One by one.

Except by that point, Paul-Francois had completely severed his ties to the Ordre, so he fled the attention of Marie's assassins. Instead, his attentions had shifted somewhere else, to another organization, a darker one.

"Why?" the Cardinal had asked, distastefully, as the man in front of him transformed from being a friend to a traitor within a matter of seconds after this revelation.

The answer, however, was simple. It was the same reason that drove many men to act recklessly: it was for a woman. For love and revenge.

He had revealed Philippe's secret to his fiancée and the love of his life: Rosalie de Rameau.

Shortly after, she was assassinated. It was the Ordre who had taken her life, so he left them and joined her brother, Pierre de Rameau, in his quest to triumph against the Ordre.

This drastic change in alliances had caused a tremendous disturbance between Paul-Francois and his brother, Charles. Like his brother, Charles de Dandurand was a brilliant inventor. He was also a man of charisma, who had become a sensation at the Court of Navarre after marrying the Protestant Katherine d'Aren. The couple were dedicated to the Ordre and they were dedicated to their King.

Paul-Francois' secret activities with the Iron Mask's group became troubling for them both. The two brothers quarrelled constantly and Charles threatened to betray his own brother to the King if he did not cease his activities with them.

The quarrels went on and they became public. Charles was the type of man to drink. He was loud and blunt when he was drunk. Once or twice, he almost revealed his brother's secret to others. It became time to eliminate him.

Naturally, Paul-Francois would never agree, but Rameau had tolerated this spectacle long enough. He had hated Charles for other reasons too: he stole the woman he was once engaged to. He had stolen the love of his life from him, he had stolen Katherine.

So, Charles was eliminated.

To Rameau's misery, his men, who had been responsible for Charles' death, did not take into account the fact that his wife had been with him on that day. In his wild grief, Rameau killed his own men for this miscalculation.

As for Paul-Francois, he fell into his own abyss. The two men parted ways never to speak again until six years later when Rameau wrote to him a note saying, "We have Philippe, thank you for the information. You are welcome amongst us any time."

It had been an invitation that Paul-Francois de Dandurand refused. After that, he closed his doors and shut himself off from the world.

The next few years passed by peacefully. The inventor had isolated himself successfully. He no longer received visitors. He barely responded to letters. He poured himself entirely into his work and into educating his niece, whom he kept busy at home.

But then, almost two years ago, a woman had come knocking on his door. She had been irresistible, but Paul-Francois was too jaded with life to be concerned with games of seduction. Yet as soon as she requested the invention, he knew right away. It was Rameau. It was the Iron Mask. They were going to execute their plan finally, to place Philippe on the throne and to control everything.

At that point he realized that he had been the only man who could stop them. But before he could even think of anything or refuse her request, the woman batted her emeraled-green eyes at him and innocently said, "I was told you have a niece, non?"

Check mate.

He couldn't sacrifice Marianne's life. To hell with France and to hell with the monarchy. He had caused the death of all those whom he loved. She was all he had left.

If he did what they asked, surely, they would leave him alone after that. So, he had set to work on the machine.

He had delivered and gave them what they wanted. Yet before he could breathe a sigh of relief, they began requesting more. He couldn't refuse. By this time, Maxim de Rameau had somehow gained the favor of his niece. He gained more than her favor, in fact. He chose to blind himself to it but he knew that Maxim did not treat her well. He saw the marks on his niece. Yet one false move on his part and Maxim could finish her.

How many times had the young de Villebois stormed into his study, his temper flying like a dragon? He, whose temperament was as calm and as serene as a babbling brook on a dewy spring morning.

"How could you let her see him? How could you possibly stand for this? You have no compassion, no ounce of love in your bones!" he had yelled at the top of his lungs.

"You'll be there to protect her," was his only reply. His hands were tied.

…..

After the fall of the Iron Mask in Belle-Isle, the Comte de Dandurand could finally breathe some relief. When the Cardinal's letter came, he did not hesitate. Rameau and his organization had suffered a blow and this was probably the only chance he would get. He will secure Marianne first, marry her off to a high-ranking officer under the Cardinal's command and then work closely with the Cardinal to bring down Rameau once and for all.

The plot was simple: orchestrate a convention as an opportunity to invite the Comte de Rameau. With Paul-Francois' help, Richelieu had in possession all the information he could possibly need to convict and execute Rameau. He only needed proof, to catch him in action. They then publicly announced to the attendees that the Comte de Dandurand had won the bid of building a new and advanced weapon for France. This was the bait: Rameau would certainly want to get his hands on this weapon before anyone else.

He will thus attempt to kidnap the Comte de Dandurand to secure it for himself. To facilitate this, Richelieu had to loosen security around his residence to give the impression that it was unguarded. Yet when the time came, the Red Guard would come to the Comte's aid and rescue him, while arresting Rameau at the same time. In the meantime, the girl would be secured with Rochefort, who was always too eager to please his superior.

Except that, Richelieu had no intention of rescuing anyone. In his eyes, Paul-Francois de Dandurand had become a traitor. He also knew too much. He needed to get rid of him. His assistant will certainly be killed by Rameau and his men, so that was another advantage. In the end, Richelieu instructed his Guard to follow Rameau to his hiding place, storm it and leave no one alive.

But the Cardinal, once again, was outwitted by the Iron Mask. Not once did Richelieu suspect that he would see the Iron Mask himself ever again. At his residence no less! Good heavens!

He was also outwitted by the inventor. Paul-Francois knew that he would lose the Cardinal's favor once he confessed his affiliation with Rameau. But that didn't matter. As long as Marianne was secure, nothing else mattered. No one else did. Not even Gerard, despite his affection for the boy.

At the convention, he had been pleased to see his old friend, Monsieur Lemay. He alerted Lemay instantly to the plot and sent out a distress plea throughout the Ordre. Although their activities had dwindled over the last few years, some members remained active and alert.

To the inventor's relief and Richelieu's dismay, his niece was saved.

His guards having been killed by the Iron Mask, there was no way for Richelieu to trace Rameau and the Iron Mask to their hiding place. He had sent search parties to Rameau's residence and to the manor that belonged to the infamous Manson but there was nothing and no one.

This was a dangerous place to be in: the Iron Mask was a dangerous criminal and he was an immediate threat to the King, thus putting Richelieu under more pressure. Lemay knew too much so he instructed Rochefort to let him die naturally. As for the girl and the inventor's assistant? He ordered Rochefort to search France high and wide for them. They were now the only link he had to the Iron Mask.

…..

Philippe he knew he had to find Marianne before either Richelieu or the Iron Mask did. For she, too, held the key to unlocking the secret to his past.

"Treville, what news?" he demanded as he stepped into the room.

"Forgive the intrusion, Your Highness," Treville bowed and stepped aside, revealing a young woman with dark auburn hair and a muddy dress.

Philippe's heart almost stopped. He looked around the room, at the Captain, at Marianne, at the three musketeers, his eyes finally resting on the young man to the back of the room: Marianne's valet. His ruggedness and messy appearance made him look all the more appealing. Yet, as he inspected them all one by one, he realized that every single one of them was battered and bruised in one way or another.